Charity's work

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

what difference does it make ? - the smiths 

But now you make me feel so ashamedBecause I've only got two handsWell, I'm still fond of you

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

"God, you look so mean in this picture," Zora says, looking at the official portrait of the four Triwizard champions in her hands. 

Viktor glances over her shoulder and rolls his eyes. "Good. I need to scare the competition."

Zora shoots him a mock glare. "Please. Everyone knows deep down you're just a giant Balkan teddy bear."

"Not so loud," he mutters with a small, reluctant smile.

Zora tries to suppress her own smile, but it flickers briefly before she sighs. She feels Viktor's arms come around her shoulders, pulling her close in that way that always feels like a shield against the cold.

"What's on your mind?" he asks softly.

What isn't?

That's the real question.

She exhales and shakes her head a little. "Got a letter from Mama. Oh—she congratulates you, by the way."

Viktor nods and leads them to sit down on a stone bench behind them in the quiet courtyard. Snow dusts the ground and Hogwarts is starting to look a lot more like Durmstrang. Cold. Impenetrable. Icy.

Zora hates it.

"She's written me one almost every week since the champions were announced," Viktor says after a beat. "More than my own mother, honestly."

Zora lets out a bitter laugh. "More than mine, too."

She sinks forward, burying her face in her hands. The truth is, that last letter hit harder than she expected. Life here had felt peaceful—quiet enough to forget the pressure, the constant disapproval, the feeling that she's never enough for her mother.

Here, she didn't think about what defined her back there, at Durmstrang, through her mother. Here, she made her place, her name. Captain of the Delegation team simply by being good at Quidditch. For herself. For what she's worth.

There's no worse feeling than being too much and not enough at the same time. Than never being what people want you to be. Than never belonging. Than never being useful. Than always disappointing.

It's exhausting. It's painful.

"I hate her," Zora says finally, her voice sharp.

Viktor inhales sharply and gently rests his hand on her hair. "No... you don't hate her."

She turns her face to look at him. And in her eyes, Viktor is sure he sees a flicker of something dangerously close to hatred. 

"Sometimes I wonder if you're not her real child," she says quietly. "Everything she should be doing for me, she does for you. It's... frustrating."

"That's not true. She really loves you, Zora. I—"

"She fucking worships you for joining a deadly tournament, but I play Quidditch and it's like I've failed her forever!" Her voice rises sharply, louder than she intends. A few students passing by glance over, curious. 

Viktor doesn't reply. He knows. Deep down, he knows she's right. If only she knew. 

"And then," she adds with a scoff, "as if that wasn't enough, I got a letter from that idiot Vassiliev. That was just the cherry on top."

Viktor raises an eyebrow. "What did he want?"

"I don't even know. I stopped reading after he whined about how hurt he was that I didn't introduce him to Wood at the Quidditch World Cup."

Viktor blinks, confused. Zora raises her eyebrows in return.

"Yeah. Exactly. That was my face, too. Poor little ego must've gotten bruised," she adds with a dry half-smile.

She crosses her arms and lets out another long sigh.

"If Mama really thinks I'm going to go along with her stupid matchmaking schemes, she's delusional. Never. You hear me? Never am I giving that guy another second of my time."

Viktor doesn't answer this time either. He just lets out a long breath, pulls her closer, and presses a quiet kiss to the top of her head.

If only she knew.

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

"Dragons?" Zora practically shouts as they walk down the path toward the arena for the First Task. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Angelina shakes her head, saying nothing.

Zora narrows her eyes, studying both girls carefully. "Wait a second..." She stops dead in her tracks, hands on her hips. "You two knew?"

Angelina and Adeline exchange a look, then slowly nod, almost in sync.

"Perfect. Just perfect!" Zora throws her hands up in frustration. "Can someone please explain how I'm the only person in all of Britain who didn't know about the dragons? My own cousin is competing!"

Angelina looks her up and down, unimpressed. "Because of that", she answers gesturing to her. 

Zora huffs, spinning on her heel and storming forward again. "Unbelievable. Actual dragons. What's next? They bring out Voldemort himself for the final round?"

A few students walking nearby whip their heads around at the mention of the name.

"What?" Zora snaps. "Saying his name isn't going to summon him, okay? Everyone relax."

She walks the rest of the way toward the makeshift arena, boots crunching in the thin layer of frost, with Angelina and Adeline trying to keep up just behind her.

The stands are already packed, buzzing with energy. Even the professors' section looks full. She spots the last few empty seats near the Gryffindor team and sinks into one without greeting anyone, her arms crossed tightly.

Angelina and Adeline slide in beside her, each taking a side.

"What's with her?" Fred says from just behind them.

Angelina doesn't even turn around. "Bad day. She'll be fine."

"Zora having a bad day? Now that's a first," Fred answers, earning himself a middle finger from Zora without her even looking back.

She scans the arena. Inside, boulders and sharp rocks scattered like broken bones. Above, Durmstrang's red-and-black flag waves proudly in the wind. Students everywhere are wearing pins—some supporting Diggory, others showing open disdain for Potter. She can practically touch the excitement in the air. 

Zora leans toward Adeline. "Aren't you worried for Fleur?"

Adeline shrugs, calm as ever. "Not really. She's brilliant. She'll be fine. Same for Viktor."

Zora takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the edge of the wooden bench. "I hope you're right."

Then, the voice of Dumbledore cuts through the arena, signaling the start of the First Task.

Cedric Diggory steps out of the tent first, met by thunderous applause from the Hogwarts crowd. Everyone rise to their feet.

Everyone except Zora.

She stays seated, hands clenched in her lap, her stomach a tight knot of nerves. Her foot taps anxiously against the ground. She doesn't even notice someone leaning in close behind her until she feels a warm breath against the back of her neck.

"Remember Viktor's duel against the six cows Andrew enchanted back at camp two summers ago? He walked out of that without a scratch. He'll be fine."

Zora tilts her head slightly and meets Oliver Wood's steady, reassuring gaze.

She exhales, just a little. "Thanks," she whispers, offering him the ghost of a smile before facing forward again.

She tries to ignore the shivers his voice and his breath on her neck gave her and the fact he noticed she was nervous. 

The task begins.

Cedric holds his own. He's quick on his feet, clever. He casts a transfiguration spell to morph a boulder into a dog, luring the dragon away just long enough to grab the golden egg. The crowd roars.

Then Fleur steps into the arena.

Zora grabs Adeline's hand so tight she winces. "Sorry," Zora mutters, eyes glued to the field.

But then—just as the crowd settles—a tall Hufflepuff boy in a crooked tie and nervous smile walks closer to their row.

"Zora?" he says, like he's been working up the courage for hours.

She doesn't even look at him. "Yeah?"

He clears his throat. "Uh, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Adeline turns slowly. Angelina raises an eyebrow. The entire Gryffindor bench goes alert like a pack of wild dogs sensing blood.

"Oh oh," someone mutters behind her.

"Poor lad," George whispers.

The boy shifts from foot to foot. "So... I was thinking—uh—maybe if you're not already going with someone to the Yule Ball, maybe you'd wanna go with me?"

Zora blinks. Once. Twice.

"...What?"

He smiles, hopeful. "The Ball? With me?"

There's a pause. A very long pause.

Zora finally turns her head to him, very slowly. "Are you joking right now?"

"Uh—no?"

"You're asking me to a bloody dance—now—while people are literally out there getting roasted by dragons?"

The boy opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

She gestures furiously toward the arena. "My cousin could be on fire in five minutes and you're like, 'Wanna slow dance to some harp music?' What fucking planet are you on?!"

There's a stunned silence.

Fred, behind her, barely contains his snort.

The boy tries to stammer something like, "I-I just thought—"

"Yeah, well. Think better next time," she snaps, and turns her gaze back to the field.

The Hufflepuff flees. Someone claps sarcastically. Angelina mutters, "Brutal."

Adeline leans in. "Bit harsh."

"I was gentle," Zora hisses. "He's lucky I didn't hex him."

And then George's voice, very loud and very amused, cuts in from just behind her.

"You know, Krum, if this whole quidditch thing doesn't work out, you could always get a job terrifying innocent Hufflepuffs."

She turns halfway, gives him a dark look. "Shut it, Weasley."

George smiles. "Just saying. You're really bringing the festive cheer."

Fleur's performance ends with her almost burned in a mix of cheers and relieved applause.

The crowd settles again.

"Krum!" the announcer calls.

Zora shoots to her feet without thinking and throws a hand over her mouth.

"Krum! I can't see a damn thing back here!" Fred calls behind her, clearly trying to get a rise out of her.

"Then stand up, genius," she says, eyes locked on the arena.

Everyone ends up standing. Oliver stands too, just silently. No comment. Just a sharp focus on the arena—on her.

Adeline catches the look he gives her. The way his eyes are on her instead of on the arena like everyone else. 

The arena is dead quiet now. Then Viktor steps out.

He moves with that same natural confidence he always had. The Chinese fireball stands at the other end of the arena, its massive body turned into his direction.

Zora grips the railing in front of her, knuckles white.

Fred mumbles, "He better not die. We all bet on him."

"Shut up, Fred," she hisses.

The dragon lunges. Gasps erupt through the crowd.

Viktor dives, rolls, sends a curse that rocks the edge of the arena. The dragon rears back with a furious screech. He doesn't stop moving. Every spell he casts is tight, controlled, fast. His shoulder bleeds from a near miss, but he doesn't flinch.

Zora's eyes don't leave him once. "Come on," she breathes. "Come on, idiot..."

The dragon blasts fire—he dodges, barely. Zora winces. Right behind her, Oliver shifts just a bit closer, eyes locked on her. On her every reactions. 

And then Viktor does something bold—stupid, probably. He sprints straight toward the dragon, and casts a curse to blind the dragon.

The crowd leans forward. Seconds pass. No one can see him under all the rocks and the dragon moving because of the curse, trying to find Viktor. 

Then suddenly—a flash of movement. The golden egg is in Viktor's hand.

The whistle blows. The crowd explodes.

Zora lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and slumps back into her seat.

Last out: Harry Potter.

The arena is restless now—everyone buzzing from Krum's drama. Harry walks in looking like he's about to faint.

"Poor boy," Zora says. 

"C'mon Harry !" The all Gryffindor team shouts. 

The dragon roars. Zora raises an eyebrow. "He's really just gonna walk in there like that? No plan? No backup?"

"He's got his wand," Lee says.

And then Harry runs.

"What the hell is he—"

The crowd screams as Harry summons his broom, dives straight toward the dragon like and dodges fire midair like he's been doing it since birth.

"Okay, that's—kind of impressive," Adeline admits.

Zora doesn't answer. Her jaw is just... hanging open.

Harry loops, climbs, dives again—and in one bold swoop, he grabs the egg mid-flight and flies out of range just as the dragon lunges.

The whistle blows and the crowd goes wild. 

After the task, students start walking out of the stands in chaotic little groups, everyone still buzzing with adrenaline.

"That was insane," Angelina says. 

Adeline nods. "Fleur was brilliant, Krum was a amazing as ever, and Potter—well, Potter flew like he was born with wings."

"Krum finished first," George adds. "We're going to be super rich."

Zora rolls her eyes. Fred leans next to her. "You sure you don't want to go back and apologize to that Hufflepuff? He might still be into you after that public execution."

She jabs him with her elbow. "Keep talking, and you'll be the next public execution."

They all keep walking, arguing about who did best, placing bets for the next task.

Zora lingers near the back, rubbing her temple. She honestly is just relieved her cousin made it alive. And then—quietly, just as they're about to turn the corner—Oliver falls into step beside her for a second.

He doesn't look at her. "I told you you didn't have to worry."

And before she can answer, he's gone—already walking ahead with the others.

Zora stares after him for a beat, without realising she is smiling. 

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

The next day, after celebrating Viktor's victory aboard the Durmstrang ship, the girls meet up for a little outing in Hogsmeade. The previous evening had been... interesting, to say the least. Zora had found it surprisingly easy to convince the Durmstrang boys to bring Adeline, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia back with them onto the ship. A few butterbeers in, and Zora has to admit—her fellow Durmstrang students are actually tolerable when they're drunk.

Much to Zora's dismay and to Adeline's obvious delight, Ivan asked her to the Yule Ball, and she of course said yes without a second of hesitation. The two of them spent most of the night out on the deck doing—well, God knows what. Zora doesn't even want to imagine.

She knows Ivan all too well. He's the kind of guy who should legally be banned from engaging in any type of relationship—romantic, platonic, or otherwise. But then again... Zora had seen the smile on Adeline's face, the way her eyes lit up when he asked her, and she'd decided not to ruin it. Not this time.

It's a freezing Sunday morning, but the sun is shining brightly. The girls have finally agreed that it's time—one week before the ball—to go dress shopping. But when they arrive at Gladrags Wizardwear, they freeze in place, staring at the sea of Hogwarts students inside.

"Goodness," Zora says, eyes wide. "Looks like everyone had the same brilliant idea."

"If there's nothing left, I swear, I'm screwed," says Angelina. "I'll just wear my Quidditch gear, screw it."

Zora smiles. "A dream come true."

They eventually squeeze inside, walking through the crowd and making their way to a rack of dresses. Zora scans the store, her expression twisting in disgust.

"There's too much color," she groans, flicking through a row of pinks, pastels, and glitter. "Too many sparkles. I feel like I'm being visually assaulted."

Adeline nods in agreement. "Where is my French elegance, seriously?"

Angelina rolls her eyes. "Don't be picky."

"Sorry, but Durmstrang doesn't exactly scream 'glitter and rainbows.' Our vibe is more color of death meets blending into the dark stone walls."

Angelina snorts and lifts a bold red dress from a nearby hanger. "What do you think?"

Zora crosses her arms and eyes it up and down. "Couldn't be more Gryffindor if it tried."

"Perfect. I'm taking it," Angelina says with a grin, then disappears into the fitting rooms.

Zora sighs and reluctantly moves toward the rows of dresses, dragging her fingers along the fabric with all the enthusiasm of someone facing a death sentence. She knows she has no choice but to buy something—she hadn't packed anything remotely ball-appropriate.

"Well, finding a dress is one thing," Adeline says, turning to her, "but what about your date? You're the only one left."

Zora shrugs. "I can go solo, you know. Revolutionary idea."

"You could've avoided this if you hadn't turned down half the school," Adeline replies, hands on her hips. "I mean seriously. You actually said no to half the school."

Zora just shrugs again.

Adeline looks at her. "What are you waiting for, exactly?" Her mind flashes to the glance she caught Oliver giving Zora the day before. "Or who are you waiting for?"

"No one," Zora snaps, a little too quickly.

Adeline raises an eyebrow, smiling. She pulls a dress from a nearby hanger—a silky brown on with a delicate neckline—and holds it out to her. 

"Here. This would look amazing on you. Brown's totally your color."

Zora groans but drags herself over and takes the dress from her.

"And," Adeline adds with a grin, "it matches Wood's eyes."

Zora shoots her a deadly glare but says nothing. She heads straight for the fitting rooms.

The lighting is terrible and the mirror has fingerprints all over it, but when she pulls the curtain shut and peels off her coat, she suddenly feels the quiet weight of the moment.

She slides the fabric over her head, carefully adjusting the collar around her neck. It fits like it was tailored for her—high at the neck, hugging her waist. It's classic and elegant. She doesn't usually do pretty. But this—this is something else.

She turns slowly in front of the mirror, brushing her hair off her neck to see the full effect. The collar feels almost regal. The back is slightly open, but not too much. She frowns at her reflection when she suddenly pictures herself wearing this next to him. 

She shakes the thought away, fast and hard. It's just a dress. 

She finally steps out from behind the curtain. 

Adeline gasps softly. "Mon dieu. You look—wow."

Angelina whistles low. "Okay. Yeah. That's it. That's the one."

Zora shifts awkwardly under their stares. "It's not too much? I hope I don't look like when my mum makes me wear dresses that has more decorations than a Christmas tree."

"No," says Adeline, walking around her in a slow circle. "You look so good."

Angelina tilts her head. "I mean... it is a little long. But that might be for the best."

Zora narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Angelina smiles. "Just saying—Wood's still not over your golden Halloween dress."

Zora rolls her eyes hard. "Oh please." She groans. "Why is everything always about Wood?"

Angelina raises an eyebrow. "Because everything is always about Wood. You didn't see how he looked at you at Halloween. I'm telling you, he's still recovering from that golden dress."

Zora's eyes narrow. "I swear to Merlin—"

"Okay but," Adeline cuts in, smiling, "she's not wrong. He looked like he was about to drop his butterbeer and propose."

Zora crosses her arms. "You're done?"

Angelina grins and lifts the hem of her own dress slightly. "Yes, let's talk about me now. Does this dress make my ass look phenomenal or incredible?"

Zora smiles. "That dress is dangerous."

Angelina nods. "I aim to it."

"You look so good in red," Zora adds as Adeline goes to the fitting room to try her dress. 

She walks out wearing black velvet dress with lace details at the sleeves and hem. It's short—very short.

Zora arches a brow. "Ivan is definitely going to like this."

Adeline tosses her hair and giggles. "Fine by me."

"Not very subtle though," Angelina says with a smiles.

"Subtle is for cowards," Adeline answers.

They all laugh. Zora looks at her one last time in the mirror. 

"Okay," she says, smoothing her hands over her dress again. "Maybe this wasn't the worst idea."

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

The following week drags on painfully slowly. The castle is filled with rumors about who's going to the Yule Ball with whom, and the gossip only seems to escalate. Everyone is talking about Krum and Granger, Angelina and Fred, Cedric and Cho... and the fact that Zora still doesn't have a date. 

But what really has people whispering is that Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood has turned down every single girl who's dared to ask him. Every single one. 

During a break, Angelina, Adeline, and Zora watch from the top of the staircase as yet another Gryffindor girl walks away from Oliver with her shoulders slumped, wiping at her eyes.

"Oof," Adeline mutters, cringing. "That was rough."

They've just witnessed the rejection live, and it was not pretty.

"God, it's like you two are made for each other," Angelina says, nudging Zora in the ribs. 

Zora rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right."

But deep down, her stomach twists. The ball is in two days, and the truth is... she really doesn't want to go alone. It's not like she wanted to reject all the boys who asked—honestly, she lost count at some point. It's just that... she's been waiting.

Someone who hasn't asked her yet. 

Someone who probably never will.

She won't admit it. Not even to herself.

But with every passing day, she feels more and more foolish. At what point did she convince herself that Oliver Wood was going to ask her? Socially awkward Oliver Wood. Oliver Wood who probably hates her since like forever. 

And she's not supposed to feel that way. He's exhausting. He's oblivious. He's obsessed. Honestly. Except...

She can't stop thinking about every single moment they've shared since the last summer at camp.

The moment under the porch. The storm in the cabin. The moment in the locker room. The way he interrupted her conversation with Pucey at the Halloween party. The detention. The game of pool. The magazine.

Every one of those memories is carved into her. They replay in her mind on a loop. They make her heart beat a little bit faster everytime. She remembers everything deeply. 

The smell of rain. His cologne when she fell asleep on his shoulder. His hand against the curve of her neck. The way he took her hand to drag her away from Pucey. The sound of his laugh. His body pressed against hers. That smile, guenine smile, when she cornered him about the magazine.

All of it. 

She watches him walk off toward the Great Hall and lets out a sigh, shaking her head like it might shake the thoughts out too. When she turns back around, both girls are watching her with their arms crossed and their expressions screaming: Seriously?

"What?" she snaps.

Adeline raises an eyebrow. "I swear to God, just ask him already, Krum. You two are embarrassing."

Zora doesn't answer. "We're going to be late to class."

They start walking toward Defense Against the Dark Arts, the conversation left hanging in the air. Zora is so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she barely notices someone step into her path—until she almost crashes into them. A pair of hands catch her by the shoulders.

"Careful there, Krum."

She blinks, looking up to find Adrian Pucey standing in front of her, smiling like he just won a bet.

"You," she says. "Great."

"Just the person I was looking for," he says.

She raises a brow. "Oh yeah?"

His friends linger nearby, and even Adeline and Angelina step aside.

"As you know," Pucey begins, dramatically smoothing his robes, "I am a respectable gentleman. Persistent, yes, but respectable."

Zora raises an eyebrow. 

"With the ball only two days away, I know from my sources that you still don't have a date."

She sighs. "That's correct," she admits, already annoyed.

"Well then," he says, "I'm here to renew my offer. Zora Krum, will you accompany me to the ball?"

He's already asked once—right after she turned down Cedric. She told him no then. She's about to tell him no again when something catches in her chest.

Two days. And she still doesn't have anyone.

Behind Adrian, Adeline and Angelina are frantically shaking their heads, waving their hands in a clear DON'T DO IT gesture. But Zora's eyes drift, almost involuntarily, to the corner Oliver had disappeared around a minute ago.

Reality settles in her stomach like a rock.

She looks back at Adrian. At least he has the audacity to ask twice. Which is more than she can say for herself. She's just as much of an idiot for waiting for something that's clearly never going to happen.

She sighs. "You know what, Pucey? Maybe I could spare some charity."

His eyes sparkle. "I'll take it. Charity included."

She grabs his hand and gives it a firm shake. "Fine. I'll go with you. But no matching outfits, no corsage, and you get one dance. Got it?"

He steps closer, lowering his voice like he's sharing a secret. "After one dance with me, Krum, you won't want to leave my side. Believe me."

"Ew, Pucey. Ew," she says before heading back toward the girls.

"See you Saturday night, Krum! Can't wait," he calls after her, already walking backward with a smile on his face.

Adeline scoffs. "Tell me you didn't."

Zora exhales sharply. "I did. And if I die of secondhand embarrassment, bury me in the Great Hall please. 

Angelina just sighs. "At least it'll make good gossip."

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

The sun isn't even up when Oliver's broom touches the frosted grass of the pitch. The sky is a bruised purple, clouds still half-asleep. George is already there, stretching his arms with a quiet groan, and the two of them exchange a nod.

No words.

They mount their brooms and take to the air like it's instinct. Drill after drill. Speed sprints. Turns. Bludger deflection. Catch-and-pass with a Quaffle in rapid succession. Their breaths grow heavy, their movements more aggressive. It's clear they're both trying to shake something off.

After nearly an hour, they drop onto the grass, breathless, sweat clinging to their skin despite the chill. Oliver gives him his bottle of water and George takes it gladly. 

Oliver is the first to speak.

"You talk to Fred?"

George rolls onto his back, eyes fixed on the sky. He sighs. "No yet."

A pause.

"You should have." 

"It's hard, Ollie. He's my brother and, it's too late you know ? I should have do it before. And I don't want to mess with whatever they have. 

Oliver plays with the grass. He feels deeply for George. "Look, I don't think there is anything between them except friendship. Two days ago I saw him flirting with a Ravenclaw."

George stands up. "Really ?" 

Oliver nods. 

"God, I don't know what to do." 

"Talk to Fred. He doesn't know your feelings towards Angelina. If he did, he would have never asked her," Oliver adds. "I'm sure of this." 

"Yeah, you're probably right. It's just-" George pauses. "Sometimes it's hard to be his brother." 

Oliver stands still. It's the first time George ever tells him this but Oliver noticed it a long time ago. Even if he doesn't talk much, he notices. Fred is more comfortable with people, easy-going. He takes a lot of place and it doesn't give George much left. 

"It must be hard, yes. I can't imagine what it's like to have a twin. But you should tell him. He doesn't do it knowingly. Step up. We like you as much as him, Georgie. You are your own person, you know ?"

George looks at him deeply and nods. "Thanks Ollie. I think I really needed to hear that." 

They fall silent again. There's a comfortable honesty between them, a kind of peace.

Then George turns to him. "What about you?"

Oliver frowns. "What about me?"

George smiles. "You know what I'm talking about."

Oliver almost laughs. "No I don't."

Of course he does. 

George gives him a look. "Mate."

Oliver doesn't say anything at first. Then he sighs, raking a hand through his damp hair.

"I don't even know myself," he admits. "She's... maddening. Infuriating. Sometimes I hate her. Sometimes I don't. Well I know I don't. It's like she enjoys getting under my skin."

"But?"

"But—" Oliver closes his eyes for a second, the image of her in his mind clear as day. "But she's also... She walks into a room and suddenly I can't think straight. And I hate it. I hate how much space she takes up in my head."

George is quiet, listening.

"I keep thinking about a lot of things," Oliver continues. "About moments we shared. At camp. Here. About sometimes the look she gives me. I-, I don't know what to think about any of this. I'm so fucking lost and I've never been lost in my life."

George smiles. "I think it's a good thing. It brings you back to reality a little."

"Shut up."

Oliver kicks a bit of grass at him, but he's smiling now. Quietly. Almost sadly.

 "I think—" He stops himself. "I think she makes me want things I don't even have words for."

And maybe what unsettles him most is how, when it comes to her, the words come effortlessly—like they've always been there, waiting.

George lets that sit for a second. Then he says, "Ask her."

"What?"

"To the ball. Just ask her."

Oliver scoffs, sitting up. "She'll say no."

George raises an eyebrow. "You really think she rejected every guy just to go with no one?"

Oliver shrugs. "She probably just doesn't want to go."

George shakes his head. "She's waiting for you, mate."

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

The thought has been running loops in his head all day. Every hallway, every classroom, every minute at dinner — he keeps replaying George's words.

She's waiting for you.

He has thought about it all day. Should he ask her ? No, of course not. Why would he ask her ? 

But should he ? 

Yes, maybe he should. He can already picture her at his arm and damn, that feels good. 

The fact Oliver spots Zora after diner alone in the corridor he is walking in finished to decide for him. 

He feels his pulse quickening, his legs slightly shaking. God he hates feeling that way because of her. He walks to her, the adrenaline taking over his mind and body. 

She is reading something against the wall, head tilted, hair falling forward.

He clears his throat.

She looks up. "Wood."

"I—uh. Hey."

He curses inwardly at how nervous he sounds. Since when does he get nervous?

Always, next to her. Always. 

She lowers her book. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yes. I just— I wanted to ask you something about—"

"Krum!"

The voice cuts him. Adrian Pucey rounds the corner, smiling ear to ear. He puts a hand on Zora's shoulder. "Can't wait for tomorrow night. Be on time, yeah? I've got a whole routine planned."

Zora rolls her eyes. "Can't believe I agreed to go with you. I must have hit my head. Charity case of the year."

Oliver feels it instantly. Like a cold fist to the gut. His stomach drops. 

She's going with him.

She's not waiting for anyone.

Not for him.

Pucey gives Oliver a nod and walks off whistling. Zora turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You were saying?"

He stares at her. At the place Pucey just touched her shoulder. 

She's going with him. With Adrian Pucey. 

He shakes his head. "I—uh. I wanted to ask if you... if, uh, if you're, still okay with, uh," he stammers. "With the training switch. We need your Thursday morning next week."

She blinks, clearly confused by the shift, but nods slowly. "Sure."

"Great," he says, already stepping back. "Uh, Thanks. I'll—see you."

He doesn't look back.

But the ache in his chest follows him all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

And what he doesn't know is that Zora is feeling the same. Because she was hopping he would ask her. She would have dumped Pucey a hundred time if he did. 

If only he did.