Dandelions

WIDE OPEN, OR OPEN WIDE?

The wind whipped around the quidditch pitch as students clambered into the stands to watch one of the first games of the season, Gryffindor against Slytherin. The blood feud between the two houses was enough to get anyone mildly interested into the stadium, and the Boy who Lived seeking for one of the teams was a surefire way to keep their attention rapt.

Rory no longer found himself sitting on some shoddy bench in the dugout, now he sat on a different shoddy bend--much higher up in the woodworks of the stands than he'd ever been. Oliver stood by the exit door, peering out into the stadium with his typical unreadable expression.

There was a certain tremble in his frame, as he sat on the bench, and Rory could've sworn there was not a single muscle in his body that was not filled with the jittery nerves that were prompted by the thoughts in his brain.

Quidditch. Real quidditch.

He looked down at his hands as his fingers laced themselves together in his lap. George was silent beside him, staring hard into the wooden beams across from them. Fred was chopping it up with Lee somewhere, and the girls walked laps up and down the hallway as they spoke quickly about anything that would keep their minds occupied.

Rory closed his eyes as an irritable sigh escaped his nose, replaying his and Maggie's conversation from earlier in the day.

The class periods had passed by entirely too slow, and he had stared at the clock hour after hour. It wasn't until the midday break that he had actually gotten to sit down with her and explain everything that's gone on--how overwhelmed he felt at the thought of what might be happening.

"Let's not get in a tizzy, now," Maggie had said, putting up her hands like she was calming an animal. "There's always an explanation for everything, alright? Let's not be scared of things that make sense."

She sat there for a few minutes, running one hand through her hair while her fingers tapped along her thigh.

"Did he say it in a particular way?" Maggie mumbled, putting both hands in her lap as her eyes met Rory's, "Like did he say it like he meant it some other way?"

"Well-" Rory sputtered, not sure why he was caught off guard by the question, "I guess so, he doesn't normally sound like that."

"Like what?" She prompted, "Say it like he said it."

Rory rolled his eyes, immediately feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

"He said, like- Well, he said it like, 'You're a good chaser, Roland,' and that's when- God, this sounds so silly." He buried his face in his hands, shocked that his cheeks actually felt warm to the touch.

"It's not," Maggie insisted, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's really not, you know, I don't think it is."

"It feels silly," he groaned. "I feel stupid."

"You're not," she fussed, "I can't help you if I don't know how he said it!"

"Fine, fine," he sighed, sitting back up and taking a deep breath in. "I said he should call me Rory, and then he said, 'You're a good chaser, Rory.' Just like that, with the little pause before my name. It felt..."

"It felt special, didn't it?" She almost whispered.

"Yeah," he breathed out, feeling his shoulders sink a little, "It did. I did."

"Then that's what counts," she nodded, like they'd just had the most factual conversation. "If he spoke in a way he doesn't usually, and he said something he wouldn't usually--then it's out of the ordinary. People don't just act out of the ordinary for no reason."