Dandelions

STARS AND GLITTERING EYES

October was an odd month of the year, for Rory in particular. Everyone was getting all up in a fuss about costumes and parties, underground passageways and the best way to smuggle booze within Hogwarts' walls. There was an air of excitement everywhere, even in Professor Bins' classroom--the student body couldn't help but be alight with expectations for all that was to come.

Hallow's Eve celebrations would be in full swing before the end of the month, and not long afterwards, quidditch tryouts would immediately follow with anxiety and giddiness alike. It was almost too much for Rory to keep up with, and he struggled with what to be excited the most about.

It surely didn't help that, for him, he also had his birthday to worry about. While he didn't want anything too big or special, he still had that nagging, irrational fear that his friends would get caught up in all the festivities and skip over it altogether. Then, of course, there was the opposite. Maggie had been hinting at some big surprise that she'd saved up for October twenty-seventh, refusing to give any hints or confirm any guesses as to what it was.

Rory was left, after all of this, with a weird feeling in his chest that wasn't quite ethereal happiness and not yet debilitating anxiety. He was caught in the purgatory of wondering just what the hell to focus on, of figuring out what it was he was supposed to do.

School work had also hit that odd lull where they weren't really learning much of anything interesting, and there were no exams or essays or practicums to worry about for a little while. It was most likely intended as a break, for students to enjoy Hallow's Eve and not worry too much about school. But, with the absence of assignments to keep him on track, Rory found himself feeling a little lost.

Lame.

In study hall, he would sit with an open textbook next to a piece of parchment littered with notes from class and studying, barely paying attention to his own work in front of him. He'd sit perched on the edge of the bench, elbows on the table and his palms pressed against his jaw--eyes lazily pretending to scan the room before finding their target.

Oliver Wood, a boy in his fifth year with the newly minted title of 'quidditch captain' for Gryffindor House. His hair was short, cropped tight to his head with a bit of fringe to keep his forehead warm or something. His shoulders were broad and his arms were toned, and if you'd asked Rory--he'd swear the boy looked more like a swimmer than a quidditch player.

When he spoke, his words were laced with a Scottish film, a lilt to his words that made even his softest phrases sound a little bit forceful. He wasn't exactly a loud person, most would describe him as quiet--at least where quidditch wasn't involved. Rory himself had watched Wood go on long tirades about quidditch plays and his infamous diagrams, long, drawn out plots on how to win the quidditch cup that year.

It was a little odd, Rory couldn't pick out things about Oliver Wood that he particularly liked. He just kept finding himself coming back to him, like his eyes would just drift toward his direction naturally. Perhaps it was the way his face looked smooth, like a marble statue. There were never any passionate expressions on his face unless he was on the quidditch pitch, and so he looked statuesque everywhere else.

It could've also been the fact that Wood was everything Rory wished he was.

Oliver Wood was tall and handsome, that much was easy to gather. He could always be found somewhere with a gaggle of people around him, all equally vying for his time and attention. Not only his popularity, but his skill as well. To be so adept at quidditch that McGonagall named him quidditch captain--when she could have so easily found someone else, it was impressive. It was attractive.

There'd been several times throughout his stay at Hogwarts where Rory contemplated walking up to him, striking up a conversation about quidditch--simply because he had no idea what else to talk to him about.