Oliver Wood was not a happy person. He stood in front of Professor McGonagall, his Head of House, as Madame Hooch falsely accused him and the Gryffindor Quidditch team of covering the Quidditch pitch with forks. Of course, this was something Oliver would never dream of doing, as he likely respected that pitch more than he did half of his professors.

McGonagall had asked him to explain what had happened, because she correctly believed that forking a Quidditch pitch was the last thing he would do. He bitterly informed her that he thought it was his worst enemy in Ravenclaw who was responsible. McGonagall sent Madame Hooch to go find the girl in question, and Oliver waited with his arms folded over his chest, brooding.

That damn German, Rüdiger Von Straussburg, lazily waltzed into the room as if she owned the place. He rolled his eyes when she came up beside him, gave him the once-over, and turned to smile innocently up at McGonagall.

"Yes, Professor?" she asked in an overly sweet voice. He could've gagged.

In fact, he did, sort of.

McGonagall fixed him with a look before coming around the desk and standing in front of the pair.

"Miss Von Straussburg, are you aware that the Quidditch pitch was, for lack of a better word, forked this afternoon?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ah," she said shortly. "Wood here is under the impression that it was you who did so," she looked at the Ravenclaw with a raised eyebrow.

Von Straussburg looked back up at her Transfiguration professor expectantly.

"Was it?" McGonagall finally asked.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, a smug look on her face as she glanced at Oliver out of the corner of her eye.

McGonagall sighed, "You two have been causing problems for one another this entire term."

McGonagall's gaze slid to Oliver, giving him a pointed look. He'd just served a two day detention with Snape for purposefully exploding Von Straussburg's cauldron during Potions.

"Rüdiger," she said, using the girl's full name. The girl in question scowled. "You know this means you'll have a detention to serve. One week."

"Of course, Professor."

Oliver smiled smugly.

"However, to try to foster camaraderie between the two of you," McGonagall started, turning, "Wood, you will also be serving detention."

He gaped at his Head of House.

"Professor, that's-"

She held up a hand to silence him. "I had your detention with Professor Snape shortened from a week to two days so you would have time for Quidditch practice. I expect the two of you to meet outside the trophy room with Mr Filch at eight o'clock."

"Yes, Professor," the two grumbled.

She gestured for them to leave, and they both turned.


"This is absolute rubbish," Von Straussburg cried as soon as Oliver closed the door behind himself.

"Why are you so upset about it? You deserve the detention."

"I don't deserve it with you," she said harshly.

He glared at her, "I'm not thrilled, either."

"Wasn't expecting you to be, you prat."

And with that she marched off. Oliver groaned, before stalking back to Gryffindor Tower, decidedly needing a long shower before dinner.


"You will be polishing all the trophies," Filch said, holding his beloved Mrs Norris in his arms and stroking her.

Oliver raised his eyebrows. This wouldn't be too bad.

"No magic," Filch said, holding out a hand expectantly.

Von Straussburg gave her wand to Filch quickly, seemingly expecting the man to take away their wands. Oliver handed his over a bit more hesitantly.

Filch looked between the pair and nodded. "Get to it then."

And with that, he turned to leave, pulling the door shut after him. The Ravenclaw pressed her ear to the door, stepping back when she could no longer hear the echo of Filch's footsteps.

Oliver stood by the small table, about to reach for the polish, when Von Straussburg elbowed him in the side, effectively pushing him out of the way.

"What the-"

"Hush up," she whispered, unscrewing the polish cap and rubbing different areas of the cloths in it.

Oliver watched with a raised eyebrow, curious as to what she was doing.

Suddenly, her hand disappeared within her robes. When it withdrew, there was another wand in her hand, identical to the one she'd given Filch not ten minutes prior.

"What do you think you're doing?" Oliver reached out, pushing her arm downwards.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" she said pompously. "I'm making this easier for the both of us. You should be thanking me."

She raised her arm again and, with the flick of her wand, the trophies were shining spotless, save for two small ones.

"How'd you do that?" he inquired.

"Magic," she said sarcastically, hiding her wand back in her robes.

He gestured to the two dusty ones. "What about those two then?"

"You really are thick, aren't you Macduff? They're for when Filch comes back in two hours. We can look like we're finishing up."

"Oh," he said. He watched her as she crossed the room and sat down along the wall. "So, what do we do?"

"Whatever the bloody hell we want," she said, pulling out a textbook and quickly becoming engrossed in it. Typical Ravenclaw, he thought, rolling his eyes as he slid down the opposite wall.

He stared up at the ceiling for some time before the silence became too irksome to bear. "Where'd you get that extra wand, anyway?"

She looked up at him, "It's my wand."

"No, you gave your wand to Filch."

"That one wasn't real."

He furrowed his eyebrows.

"A cousin made it for me. Filch can't do magic, so he'd never know."

Oliver gave a short nod, and the auburn-haired girl turned her focus back to her book.

"What are you reading?"

She didn't look up at him, "You really trying to be chummy with me like McGonagall suggested, Wood?"

He scoffed.

"Right then."

Again, silence enveloped them. Another thirty minutes had passed before Oliver was so bored just sitting against the wall that he stood, picked up one of the cloths, and went to polish a dirty trophy.

He could feel her eyes boring into his back. "Like what you see?"

She snorted somewhere behind him, "Hardly."

He rolled his eyes.


He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Von Straussburg finally came over and sat cross-legged next to him, quickly polishing the other trophy.

He couldn't help but watch her out of the corner of his eye as he absentmindedly ran his cloth around the rim of the trophy in his own hands.

He didn't know what it was, but when he looked at her, there was a slight something tugging within his chest. He shook his head, quickly trying to rid himself of a feeling that, when he further mulled over it, made his skin crawl.

He soon heard footsteps echoing outside the room, and the door wrenched open. Von Straussburg turned to look over her shoulder, surprise on her face, before she stood, set the trophy back, and dusted herself off.

Oliver followed suit, placing his cloth on the table next to hers and joining her in front of Filch. The man's eyes scanned the rows of trophies before he gave a grunt and reluctantly returned their wands.

"Thank you," she said in a chirpy tone, the fake wand disappearing somewhere in her robes.

The pair left Filch and began making their way towards the staircases.

"You're good," he said once they were out of earshot.

"I've had a lot of practise, no thanks to you," she said, staring in front of her.

"Even though I hate you, I have to admit that was brilliant," he said, pushing the conversation.

She stopped, turning to look up at him. "Honestly, Wood, don't even start."

He rolled his eyes, continuing on.

He heard her quick footsteps as she caught up with him. They were about to turn to reach the staircases when he noticed she had stopped.

He turned and looked at her. "What?"

She didn't look at him, but rather walked towards a door to an empty classroom that was left slightly ajar.

He rolled his eyes but felt compelled to follow her.

He pushed the door open further. "Von Straussburg," he said softly as he walked into the room.

"Shh," she hissed.

He walked along the wall, "What is it?"

She reached out for the cloth and pulled on it, revealing a large mirror. They both stared up at it. Oliver's eyes scanned over the writing along the top of the frame before they drifted down and settled on Von Straussburg's reflection. Her eyes were wide as she reached out to it, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

He smirked. "Get that much pleasure looking at yourself, then?"

Her eyes in the reflection darted over to him, "No, you git." She stepped out of the way, "Come look for yourself."

Her attention turned to inspecting the golden frame as Oliver hesitantly stepped before the mirror.

What he saw shocked him.

There he stood, not much different than how he looked now, holding the Quidditch Cup in his left arm. He saw his team smiling behind him proudly, laughing and reaching out to clap him on the back. Next to him he saw...

His heart pounded in his chest and his eyes widened. His reflection had its right arm around the shoulders of a certain small, auburn-haired Ravenclaw Quidditch captain who was beaming up at him.

Her voice broke him from his panicked thoughts. "Well, what do you see then?"

"I've won the Quidditch Cup," he said shakily, turning his gaze to meet hers.

"Ah, like you would've needed a magical mirror to tell you that."

She sighed and held up the cloth that had been covering it, "Help me with this."


Oliver's mind was racing, not sure of what to make of what he'd seen in the mirror just minutes before, as they climbed the stairs hastily.

"What did you see?"

She scoffed jumping up the steps two at a time, "Like I would tell you."

"Do you suppose that it shows the future or something?"

She stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to face him. "No, it showed us what we truly want."

Oliver's heart raced.

"Wha- How do you know that?"

"Because," she said, exasperated, before continuing in a matter-of-fact tone with her hands on her hips. "The writing, if you cared to look, said 'I show not your face but your heart's desire.'"

He felt his stomach drop.


Oliver Wood lay in his bed that cold November night, replaying the mirror's reflection over and over in his mind. That mirror had to be wrong, because there was no way that his heart would, or could, ever truly desire that mad, infuriating, rude, conniving Ravenclaw Rüdiger Von Straussburg.

But then he got to thinking she really wasn't all that bad. She was smart, though the voice in his head shot back 'more like smart ass.' She was mildly amusing, 'when she wasn't trying to destroy your life.' She was better at Quidditch than he'd willingly admit aloud, 'but she's on a rival team.' She was pretty, to which that annoying little voice had nothing to volley back.

He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillows. He was not going to sleep well tonight.


Ah, a companion to A Bird in Flight. I'm happy I got this written down. Hopefully it's shed some light on Oliver's change in feelings towards a certain Ravenclaw Quidditch captain who we love. The idea turned into a one-shot because 1) some of you wondered how love had sprung from hate and 2) I was listening to Coldplay's "Glass Of Water" on repeat. As you very well know, J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, and I own that which you do not recognize from it. I hope you enjoyed this little installment. Please leave a review! Yours.