Seeker Weekly's new issue

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

as far as i see - junodream 

Seven months of rageDidn't ease the painSmiles up on the maskFading all the way

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

Zora Krum never expected a simple invitation to the Yule Ball to cause this much noises. Cedric Diggory asked her to be his date over a week ago, and yet it's still the topic of conversation echoing through the corridors and across the Great Hall.

She's not sure if it's because he's one of the Triwizard Champions and therefore his date suddenly matters, or if it's because everyone assumed he was going to ask that girl—Cho Chang. Or maybe people are just bored and desperate for gossip. That's probably the most realistic explanation.

Either way, Zora hasn't given him an answer yet. Not officially. But deep down, she already knows what she's going to say.

Walking arm in arm with Angelina and Adeline across the courtyard, she tries to keep the conversation elsewhere. It doesn't work.

"You know you can just say yes," Adeline nudges, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"Or," Angelina chimes in, sarcastic as ever, "you could take your time. Really reflect. Maybe even give him your answer after the actual ball. Bold move, but I respect it."

Zora groans. "I'll deal with it later. Right now I want to focus on the match. I need to get a sense of what we're up against."

Angelina gives her a dramatic squeeze. "Don't worry. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are harmless. Slytherin's a bit more vicious. And then there's us," she flashes a smile. "But obviously, we're unbeatable."

Zora rolls her eyes. "You sound just like your captain."

Angelina only laughs in response, the kind that makes it impossible not to smile, and the three of them exit the castle, heading down toward the Quidditch pitch.

The atmosphere is already electric. Students dressed in yellow or blue crowd the stands, chanting and stomping on the wooden bleachers. Zora feels it before she even sees it—the buzz of collective energy, the vibration in her chest that only Quidditch can fuel. A small smile appears on her lips. She's not playing today, but the adrenaline is there all the same.

It's different from Durmstrang where Quidditch matches usually end in shouts, sometimes fights. Encouragements aren't whispered between friends—they're roared as challenges. There's no warmth in the crowd. Here, it's... better. It's something she could start to like.

When they reach the stands, Angelina gives them a quick wave before jogging off to the Gryffindor section, apparently obligated to provide her "emotional support" to Wood.

Zora and Adeline settle into seats between students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Zora takes a spot beside her cousin, Viktor, while Adeline sits next to Fleur.

Zora and Fleur exchange a polite nod before she turns to Viktor, who's already watching her with a soft smile.

"Hi, слънце," he greets.

She doesn't even glance at him. Her eyes are locked on the players warming up below.

"Hi dear cousin of mine," she says. "How does it feel to be the most popular Champion in a school that isn't even yours? Must be fun to thrive on the edge of constant, possibly-fatal danger."

Viktor sighs dramatically. "I am not dignifying that with a response. You excited for the match?"

Zora bumps her shoulder into his gently, finally smiling at him. "Yeah. Can't wait to see what we're playing against."

He lifts a brow. "Scared?"

She scoffs. "Not even slightly."

"Didn't think so."

A wave of screams suddenly rolls across the stands. Zora turns instinctively, scanning the field for the source—and then she sees him.

Cedric Diggory walks onto the pitch, broom in one hand, goggles in the other. He's wearing that easy, self-assured smile like it costs him nothing, and when he catches her eye, he winks.

Zora's face stiffens into something that tries to be a smile but ends up somewhere between confusion and panic. She has no idea what to do with herself. And with the situation, by the way.

Because ever since last weekend in Hogsmeade, since that charged game of pool who turned into something awkward and most of all, ridiculously heated, things have been... rather off.

Zora doesn't really know why she hasn't answered Cedric yet.

Which is strange, because she already knows she's going to say no.

And it doesn't even make sense. Cedric has everything. He asked her with that charming smile, eyes warm and full of confidence. Captain. Champion. Prefect. He's got it all—he is the dream, on paper.

Zora shouldn't be hesitating. Cedric is fun. Kind. She likes spending time with him, truly. He makes her laugh. But she doesn't want to go with him. 

Or— maybe it's not the actual reason. Because she could say yes to him, go with him. As friends. 

Maybe the real reason she's waiting is because—

Because she's waiting for something else. Someone else. 

She catches the thought before it settles and shuts it down fast.

Don't do that. Don't think that.

Zora exhales, a tight breath that does nothing to steady her. She tries to distract herself, eyes wandering along the stands, scanning the sea of students.

Until she catches sight of him. 

Oliver.

He's sitting a few rows down, elbows on his knees, leaning forward like he's trying to stay focused on the conversation next to him. A fellow Gryffindor says something—probably a joke—but he doesn't laugh.

Because he's not listening. He's watching her.

Their eyes meet. It's the first time they've looked at each other since that night at the Three Broomsticks.

Since that moment.

Zora's chest tightens.

The memory is instant—physical. His hand on her waist, steady, firm. The heat of his palm still lingers if she thinks too hard about it. His body pressed against hers, guiding her, his breath warm in her neck and against her cheek. The way his voice dropped low near her ear. 

It had knocked the air from her lungs.

She hadn't understood it then. Not fully. Not while her heart was pounding so hard she was scared he could hear it. Not while her whole body had betrayed her, leaning back into his touch, every nerve on fire.

It had felt like a moment outside of time.

And then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over. He stepped back. The spell broke.

And she understood.

She'd seen Cedric's furrowed brows across the table. Alicia's silence. Fred's half-hidden smile.

The room had shifted. That's when the awkwardness came. That's when she realised it. 

Oliver had pulled away like he'd touched something burning. Barely said a word after that. He hadn't looked at her. Hadn't looked at anyone. Just disappeared before the evening ended, tense and tight and unreadable.

And ever since, Zora's been trying to make sense of it. Of the way he acted. The way he left. The way his hands shook just slightly when they touched hers.

Why had he rushed in to help her with the shot, after asking Cedric to do it instead?

And one question won't leave her alone.

Did he know?

Did Oliver know that Cedric had asked her to the ball?

Is that why he looked like that? Why he acted her like that, then vanished ?

No. No. That's ridiculous. That's not it.

Right?

And then there was Cedric, walking beside her on the way back from the pub, his voice soft and almost teasing when he asked, "You're sure there's nothing going on between you and Wood?"

Zora had frozen. Fumbled. She'd muttered a "no" that sounded like a lie even to her own ears, and then stayed quiet the entire way back to the castle.

She hasn't known what to say since.

A sharp whistle cuts through the air—signaling the start of the match—and both Zora and Oliver break eye contact, turning back to the field like nothing happened.

She blinks hard, trying to focus.

It's going to be a long game.

Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff. Stakes are high — the team who is going to win this will become serious rival for the Cup. She knows it, and she knows both captains know it too.

She watches the players rise in the air, eyes narrowing as she scans their formations. Hufflepuff's Beaters — too slow on the left. One of them lags behind, taking too long to anticipate Bludgers. 

One of the Ravenclaw Chaser makes a tight turn and the Hufflepuff Keeper hesitates, just a beat too long.

Zora's mind runs very fast — her eyes dart between players, reading patterns, spotting fractures, making mental notes. 

She admires Roger's leadership — the way he speaks little but controls everything with glances, positioning, presence. But she also sees it: his pride sometimes makes him take unnecessary risks. That last pass? Too flashy. If Stretton hadn't caught it, it would've been a turnover.

Still, the coordination between the Ravenclaw Chasers is sharp. They move like they've practiced until dawn. They probably have.

She leans forward slightly, following the rhythm of the game — pass, dodge, loop, shot, deflect. Ten points. Twenty. Thirty. The crowd grows louder with each successful goal.

And yet—

She can't help her eyes to dart his way. 

Still on the stands, elbows on his knees, looking focused. And then his eyes are on her again. 

Their look at each other, just for a second. She blinks and tears her eyes away.

Focus.

One of the Ravenclaw Beaters is distracted — not good. A Bludger slams into Stretton's shoulder and throws him off course. Zora winces. She can already tell the bruise will be nasty.

She watches Cho try to regain momentum, but the Hufflepuff Chasers are getting more aggressive now — closing the gaps. They lack Ravenclaw's finesse, but they're stubborn, and sometimes stubbornness wins games.

Zora can't help but respect that.

But she also can't help to look into his direction. Again. She meets his eyes already on her. Again. 

She feels the ghost of that night press against her skin. She presses her lips together.

No. No. She shuts the thought down before it blooms too wide.

On the pitch, Cho fakes left and goes into a perfect dive. Her teammates cover her — tight formation, beautifully executed.

Seconds later, her hand punches the sky, the golden Snitch shining between her fingers.

Ravenclaw wins.

The stadium explodes in cheers. Zora stands with the rest of the crowd, clapping, her throat tight and her hands stinging from how hard she claps. Ravenclaw deserved this. 

She feels a little bit bad for Cedric, but his team was clearly behind on this match. She makes her way down to the pitch, past screaming students and flying scarves.

Roger is there — helmet under his arm, sweat-damp curls stuck to his forehead, pride radiating off him.

"Congrats Captain, you flew like a pro," she says, stepping up with a smile.

Roger chuckles, still a little breathless. "Didn't I tell you we'd win?"

"You implied you might. That's not the same."

He laughs, then pulls her briefly into a victorious, one-armed hug. They separate just as quickly and smile at each other before Roger goes back to his team. 

Zora turns around and falls face to face with Cedric. He approaches quietly, always that smile on his face. 

"You don't look too disappointed for a Captain who just lost his first match," Zora says. 

He shrugs and runs a hand in his hair. "Not really. I have other things to focus on this year."

She rolls her eyes. "What about your team ? They'll be disappointed." 

"Don't worry, they'll be fine," he says and takes a step closer. He clears his throat. "Did you come here to lecture me about my team management or to give me your answer for the Yule Ball ?" 

There's a pause. Zora lets out a breath and quickly looks away. "Look, I-"

He sighs, cutting her. "So, it's a no then ?" 

His voice is gentle. No pressure, no edge. Just... a question.

Zora hesitates for a moment. Then she nods.

"Yeah. It is. I'm sorry."

Cedric doesn't flinch. He smiles, the kind of smile that says it's okay.

"I figured," he says. "But I had to ask."

"I'm glad you did," she answers. "And I hope... we're good."

"Of course we're good," he says easily. "Still friends?"

"Still friends."

He gives her a friendly nudge and walks off, blending into the crowd.

She looks toward the stands.

Oliver is already gone.

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

The next day, Zora is sprawled upside down on the Gryffindor common room sofa—her head hanging off the edge, legs tossed over the backrest. She lets out a long, dramatic sigh.

Rain taps steadily against the windows. It's been pouring since morning. Angelina somehow managed to drag both Zora and Adeline inside for the afternoon to hang out with her and her friends.

After a solid debrief of yesterday's match and a few rounds of wizard cards, boredom has started to creep in.

Adeline lies on the floor, back against the sofa. Angelina lounges on the opposite couch with Alicia and Katie. The twins are slouched together in one of the big armchairs, and Lee sits on the wide window ledge, watching the storm.

At the other side of the room, a bit far away, is Oliver. He hasn't looked up once since she walked in. He's perched on a desk near the fireplace, scribbling in his notes. No doubt analyzing every second of yesterday's match.

"Your head's gonna explode if you keep letting it hang like that," Angelina calls out, not even looking up from her game of Exploding Snap with Katie. 

Zora sits up with a groan, her face flushed. "Alright, seriously, what are we doing? I'm bored out of my mind. This feels like one of my endless family dinners. Please, don't make me relive that trauma."

Fred shrugs. "You could help us prank Snape."

Angelina snaps her head toward them, gaze dark. "How many times do I have to say this? Leave us out of your suicidal missions. If you want to die in a cloud of rage and potion smoke, that's your business."

George winces. Zora raises an eyebrow, amused. "What did you have in mind?" she asks.

That's all it takes. The twins stand up like they're about to deliver a speech that could end world hunger.

Zora sends a confused look to Angelina, who groans and buries her face in her hands. "You shouldn't have asked. Now they'll never shut up."

"We have created one of our most brilliant pranks," George begins dramatically, pacing like a professor giving a lecture.

"For our dear, dear, dear,  and most beloved Potions teacher," Fred adds with exaggerated sincerity.

"The idea is simple," George keeps going. "We've invented a delicious charm we like to call Glissosa."

"It'll be put right into the bucket the house-elves use to mop the Potions classroom. Tomorrow, when Snape walks in and takes only four little steps—"

"He'll slide," Fred cuts in, smiling proudly. "A glorious, catastrophic slide."

"Possibly several feet," George finishes.

Fred nods solemnly. Zora looks at them, unimpressed.

"The perfect prank to hit him where it hurts most," George says. "His dignity."

Zora stares, wide-eyed. She takes a breath and finally mutters, "I'm genuinely fascinated by how you two have the time to come up with things this stupid... and somehow this brilliant."

Lee and the girls chuckle. Fred and George slap each other a victorious high-five. "That, dear Zora, is the secret to all our charm."

Zora rolls her eyes just as Alicia leans forward with a mischievous smile. "Speaking of charm... have you answered Diggory yet?"

Zora groans. "Are we really doing this right now?"

Everyone perks up immediately, eyes shining, eager to hear the answer. They all nod, smiling like devils.

Zora exhales, trying not to smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Oliver glance up for the first time all afternoon—though his eyes remain fixed on his notebook.

"Yes, I answered him," she says.

"And?" Lee presses.

"I said no."

The girls blink at her in surprise. The boys gasp, dramatically and far too loud. But it's the way Oliver's gaze finally lifts and lands directly on her that catches her off guard. She meets his eyes for a moment before forcing herself to look away.

Did he hear that from all the way over there?

"Why would you do that?" George exclaims, outraged.

"What's the big deal?" Zora shrugs. "I just didn't feel like it. That's all. But it's fine, we're still friends."

Alicia shakes her head in disbelief. "Honestly, I don't get you sometimes, Zora. I'd kill to have Diggory ask me to the ball."

Zora smiles. "I can set you up if you want."

Adeline scoffs. "Seriously ? How about you set me up with Ivan first ?"

"Wait, wait," Alicia leans forward, eyes narrowing. "Are you saying no because someone else already asked? Or because you're waiting for someone else to ask?"

Zora opens her mouth, but her voice falters. Instinctively, her eyes flick toward Oliver in the back of the room, now scribbling again in his notes. For the briefest moment, she swears there's the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"I– it's– I don't know, no. Let's just drop it, okay?"

Everyone starts talking at once, tossing out opinions, jokes, and theories. Zora groans and drops her face into her hands.

"Are you bloody done?" she mumbles through her fingers.

The rest of the afternoon unfolds in much the same way—Fred and George take turns recounting elaborate prank ideas, they all exchange gossips about who's going to the Yule Ball with whom, bets are placed on the upcoming First Task, and a lazy game of Exploding Snap is passed around.

As dinner time comes, Zora is sprawled back on the couch again, now flipping through an old, half-ripped copy of Seeker Weekly. She turns each page with increasing frustration, the paper almost tearing apart under her fingers.

Finally, with an annoyed grunt, she slams it shut and throws it across the room. It lands with a dramatic thud near the fireplace. Heads turn.

"I swear," she groans, dragging a tired hand down her face, "if I could jsut get my hands on the latest issue of Seeker Weekly, I would literally sell a kidney for it."

Everyone blinks.

"It's sold out everywhere. Gone. Not in Hogsmeade, not at the castle, and Merlin knows when I'll get back home!"

Angelina sits up straighter. "Can't you just owl your mum and ask her to send it to you?"

Zora snorts, crossing her arms. "Right. I barely get a letter asking if I'm alive, let alone thoughtful care packages with my magazines inside."

"You talk about that magazine like it's sacred book," Adeline adds.

Zora gasps and gets closer. "Because it is, Durand!" she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "They did a special feature on the Vratsa Vultures' new defensive strategy. A new formation—pure genius. I have to read it."

She turns to scan the room. "None of you are secretly subscribers, by any chance?"

A wave of head shakes. No one.

Then Fred shrugs lazily. "I could always bribe a first year. I know one who's obsessed with the team."

Zora gives him a look. "I appreciate this, Weasley. But no, thank you. I'll preserve my dignity and my organs."

She pushes herself to her feet and stretches. "I'm gonna go check if any of the Durmstrang idiots got their hands on a copy. Maybe I can trade them something. See you all at dinner?"

Everyone nods or mumbles in agreement, and a chorus of "See you" and "Good luck" follows her as she exits the common room.

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

After a completely failed attempt at finding the magazine—and a painfully long dinner spent next to Adrian Pucey, who tried again (and failed, again) to form some kind of strategic alliance with her—Zora finally makes it back to her room on the Durmstrang ship.

One of the few perks of being the only girl? She doesn't have to share her space. Sweet, rare privacy.

She takes a quick shower, towel-dries her hair in a rush, and returns to her desk, where two unopened letters have been gathering dust for the past week. She takes them, slips under her covers, and stares at them for a long moment.

One is from her mother. The other is unmarked—no sender.

She hasn't opened them because, deep down, she already knows what's inside. She can feel it, like a knot in her stomach, growing tighter with each passing day. The idea that her mother still has the power on her—even from a different country—makes her feel sick. 

She doesn't need to shout to control her; her voice is in every syllable, every "suggestion," every guilt-laced word.

Zora takes a breath. Then tears open the envelope from her mother with a sharp rip and unfolds the letter.

Dear daughter,I hope this letter finds you in good health and that the English weather has been somewhat bearable. I've been informed you won't be coming home for Christmas. A shame, truly, since we are hosting the Vassilievs for dinner, and both Alexei and his father were looking forward to seeing you again.

Zora rolls her eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't fall out of her skull.

You could have made arrangements for your dog instead of leaving him here alone. He's either following me everywhere or sulking—it's tiring. Thankfully your aunt has taken it upon herself to care for him.I would appreciate it if you wrote to me more often. Viktor writes to his parents. He even writes to me. Our Champion ! I was so happy to hear the news. I'm proud of your cousin. He mentioned in one of his letters that you've joined the Quidditch competition of Hogwarts. I'm not sure what kind of game you played to get your way into that, but I would rather you drop it as—

Zora doesn't even finish reading.

She tears the letter apart, bit by bit, shredding the pages with quick, angry hands until they're nothing more than confetti in her lap.

She stares down at the mess of parchment for a moment. Then pushes it all aside.

Zora sits there, breathing hard, her entire body fed with rage, and somewhere beneath it—humiliation. That old, familiar ache. The one that comes from knowing you'll never be enough. Not for her, not for the woman who should have been her loudest support but instead plays judge, jury, and executioner with every letter.

Of course Viktor writes. Of course he's a champion. Of course she's proud of him. Zora could win the bloody Triwizard Tournament herself, and she's sure her mother would still find a way to make it sound like an inconvenience.

She stands abruptly, pacing the narrow space of her room. Her bare feet are cold on the ship's floor, but she barely feels it. She feels heat. Like fire trapped under her skin. She wants to scream, throw something, anything. 

Why is it never enough? Why is she never enough?

Joining the Quidditch competition was supposed to be a victory. She earned her place—no trickery, no "game" played, just raw skill and recognition. But no. To her mother, it's something to be ashamed of. Something to give up before it becomes inconvenient or, Merlin forbid, impressive.

Zora runs a hand through her damp hair, fingers slightly shaking. She wants to tell someone—to scream to the world—that she is trying. Every day. She is holding herself together with spit and pride, surviving in a place that never quite feels like home, never gives her a moment to breathe without proving herself. 

And yet all her mother sees is a girl being difficult. A girl who doesn't come home for the vacations. Who refuses to fold into the mold she's been assigned—wife, host, pawn.

Zora stops pacing.

She's sick of this. So fucking sick of her pretending like I don't exist unless I'm useful to her.

Her throat is tight, and she bites the inside of her cheek until it hurts, refusing to cry. She won't give her mother that, not even in private.

Zora walks back to her bed and stares at the unmarked envelope. She sighs and finally opens the second letter.

Bingo.

Alexei.

She doesn't even bother hiding her grimace as she unfolds the parchment and begins to read:

Dear Zora,This letter is mainly to inform you that I've secured a position—thanks to Papa—at the Ministry of Magic. I am now the secretary to the Director of the Department of Magical Offenses. A highly important role, needless to say. You missed the celebration Mother hosted in my honor—such a shame, really.There's something else I must tell you, something that weighs heavily on my heart. I was quite hurt by how you treated me at the Quidditch World Cup. I've thought about it often, and the lack of consideration you showed me in favor of that Oliver fellow was rather painful. I know we don't know each other very well yet, but I genuinely want to make this work between us, and—

"For fuck's sake," she mutters under her breath before tearing the letter apart with one swift, practiced motion. With a flick of her wand, she lights the pieces mid-air on fire. They vanish in a soft hiss of smoke and magic.

She collapses deeper into the mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it might hold some answer.

 The silence in the room is thick, deafening, leaving her only with her destructive thoughts. 

So this is her future?

A life of playing the perfect wife, smiling at cocktail parties full of empty conversation and wine that tastes like diluted poison. Laughing at jokes that make her skin crawl. To be Alexei's trophy at countless Ministry parties.

Giving up Quidditch. Giving up herself.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Never.

Zora sighs and decides to try and sleep, hoping it might help her putting her thoughts away. She turns onto her side and reaches to blow out the candle—but something on her nightstand catches her eye. Something that definitely wasn't there before.

She frowns and sits up, reaching for it slowly, cautiously.

Her heart skips a beat.

The latest issue of Seeker Weekly.

She stands upright, fully awake now, flipping through the pages in a frenzy, her fingers shaking with disbelief. It's real. It's actually real. Page after page, the articles, the interviews—the Vratsa Vultures' new formation is in there.

She flips harder through the pages. No notes. No card. No scribbled name. 

Nothing. Just the magazine.

"No way," she breathes, the words coming out of her mouth before she can stop them. Her voice is barely more than a whisper, tinged with shock and something close to wonder.

She looks around the room, as if the mysterious benefactor might still be there, hiding in the shadows. But it's just her, the soft creak of the boat, and the quiet rustle of paper between her hands.

A small smile ghosts across her lips for the first time that evening.  

But then she realises. Someone brought this to her room. Someone knew.

Her mind instantly jumps to Angelina. It would be exactly her kind of move. Angelina had seen how desperate she was earlier, had heard her complain, had that little smile when Fred offered to bribe a first-year. Maybe she went ahead and did it herself. Wouldn't be the first time Angie pulled strings without saying a word.

But then again... Angelina would've left a note. Something like "don't say I never did anything for you," scrawled in messy ink with a little smiley face. Something.

Zora taps her finger on the cover. No, not Angelina.

It had to be someone who had been there during the conversation. 

Suddenly her stomach flips. What if ... ? 

No way.

She tries to forget about this for now and starts to read the magazine, the smile still hanging on her lips.

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

 At breakfast the next morning, Zora drops her bag on the Gryffindor table with a loud sound, making Fred nearly choke on his toast. A few heads turn.

"Alright," she says, arms crossed. "Who did it?"

"Did what?" asks Angelina, blinking at her, a spoon halfway to her mouth.

"Don't play dumb. One of you snuck into my room last night and left this." Zora pulls out the Seeker Weekly from under her arm and drops it on the table like it's evidence in a court trial.

Angelina stares, eyebrows raised. George whistles. Fred leans over with interest.

"Oh, so you got your hands on it after all," Fred says. "Decided to bribe that first-year yourself?"

Zora narrows her eyes. "I didn't bribe anyone. It was just... there. On my nightstand."

"Creepy," George says.

"Or romantic," Fred corrects, smiling.

Zora rolls her eyes and turns to Angelina. "Was it you?"

Angelina snorts. "You think if I got my hands on that thing I'd give it to you? Please, I'd frame it and hang it above my bed just to mess with you."

Zora sighs. She's barely listening anymore.

Now she knows who did it. She grabs the magazine and makes her way outside the castle. She walks across the grass, boots crunching slightly with the cold. The pitch is mostly empty, except for faint sounds coming from the Gryffindor locker room.

She doesn't knock. She pushes the door open and finds him sat on the bench, unstrapping one of his gloves, hair still damp from practice. He looks up but doesn't seem really surprised.

"People usually knock, you know."

"Noted. I'll send an owl next time." Zora replies, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her.

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

She holds up the Seeker Weekly, one hand on her hip. "You going to admit it?"

Oliver blinks. "Admit what?"

Zora gives him a look. "Seriously? You're going to do the whole innocent act?"

"I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about," he says, tugging off the other glove and tossing it into his bag.

"You broke into my room last night and left this on my nightstand."

He turns toward her, arms crossed, and tilts his head slightly. "That sounds wildly inappropriate."

"Cut the crap, Wood."

He shrugs, lips twitching like he's fighting a smile. "Did you ask Angelina ? Maybe you've got a secret admirer or something. Or maybe it's the twins. Careful, it might be cursed." 

She narrows her eyes. "C'mon. I know it's you."

He raises both hands like he's surrendering. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Please go, I need to change."

Zora glares at him, then lets out a slow exhale and takes a step back.

"Fine," she says, half-turning toward the door. 

Oliver doesn't respond.

She stops at the door and turns slightly. "Well, whoever it was, they made my day."

And as she turns to leave, she catches it.

The smallest, most fleeting smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He doesn't look at her.

But she sees it.

And she smiles too.