___ understatement of the {year}, & demelza

[Oliver Wood]

St. Mungo's was just as it had always been: lofty, cool, sanitized and filled to the brink with patients. There were people everywhere, some with very gruesome injuries, ranging in severity from a middle aged man with a toilet protruding from his head to a little girl with a goblin who kept poking its head out from her nose.
Then of course, were the really sad cases. One woman kept talking at blank walls before her and offering her hand to coat racks and broom closets. The secretary behind the desk seemed ignorant of the people in the lobby until they came up to her to ask for directions.

Oliver Wood already knew were he was going; to the second floor for a minor mistake he had made at his last Quidditch practice, which involved the ground, his broomstick and a bludger in a place which was now very uncomfortable to sit on.

Oliver sighed as he strode painfully up the stairs to the second floor landing. He took an abrupt right turn, as if he knew this floor very well and walked into a small office wherein an elderly mousey-looking doctor sat. “Doctor Mooth,” he nodded as he closed the door behind him.
“Ah, mr. Wood, come in, come in.” The doctor waved a hand toward a seat opposite him, but Oliver quickly shook his head and leant against the wall.

The doctor raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Again, Wood?”
Oliver nodded and averted his eyes, just as the doctor muttered something under his breath and stood up, looking as if he’d much rather be giving an unbound cow a needle in the rear. “Alright, you know the procedure. But I’d really like an explanation as to how that damn bludger got up your arse this time, Mr. Wood.”

It would have been a comical situation if it had happened to anyone else. In fact, in a few days time, Oliver would probably be laughing at his own misfortune. But at the moment, he was in far too much pain to even answer questions. “Oh, never mind,” he snapped, dropping his pants and facing the wall. “Do it quickly.”

Moments later, Oliver was out the door, pants back on, face quite red, and moving quite humorously. He, however was in a horrible mood and didn’t see the young woman he was bound to walk into unless he looked up, since she was turned away from his talking to someone. Suddenly, he was on his already painful ass on the ground, watching the young woman he recognized as Demelza Robins wobble and tumble to the ground a few feet from him.
“Ah, sorry about that,” he muttered as he picked himself up. “In a bit of a rush. Are you alright?” He moved toward her and offered his hand to assist her.

[Demelza Robins]

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This place was anything but foreign to Demelza Robins. Since… well… birth the young woman had been in and out of the institution, the healers fixing and mending every odd little situation she’d managed to get herself into. There was the time she broke every finger on her left hand due to a particularly nasty bludger; or the time she was jinxed by her cousin and could only make quacking noises; and then there was the time she managed to grow a thick coat of brown hair over all her teeth. You name it, Demelza has endured it.

It was at St. Mungo’s that Demelza was now; she had been searching fruitlessly for a certain room for the past half-hour, and had yet to find even the slightest trace of it. Winding through the hallways of the building, she breathed deeply; for some reason, the fresh fragrance of whatever citrus-scented cleanser the janitorial staff used was incredibly relaxing – and it also meant that there was potential help nearby. Demelza quickened her pace and searched behind every corner for a sign of life. Finally finding a janitor passing in the hallways, Demelza nearly jumped for joy.

“Excuse me, Miss?” the young woman began, “Can you help me find a room?”

The janitor, a blonde-haired woman with unfriendly, angular features grimaced. “You’ll have to go down to the first floor and register first, ma’am,” she stated, the ending emphasis making her seem even angrier.

"Er, no," Demelza stated awkwardly, "I’m not a patient. I'm actually looking for a friend of mine. The woman at the front desk told me he'd be on this floor, but I've looked everywhere and I haven't been able to -" at this particular moment, Demelza was cut off and sent toppling to the ground by a force stronger than herself. Coming to her senses, Demelza recognized a rather familiar face standing before her, hand extended to help her to her feet. "It's quite alright," the young woman said in response to the man's apology, her face not betraying this statement. If anyone was well-accustomed to tumbles and trips, it was Demelza Robins. She - and her teammates, as well - were all quite amazed that she was able to stay on her broom during practice. On her feet, the young woman was ridiculously clumsy. In fact, this was the reason she was here now.

It had been a particularly difficult practice to begin with. The conditions were anything but complimentary, and the team were all hovering in their stations, straining to see through the rain and fog. Demelza was seated firmly on her broom, hands holding the end tightly so she wouldn't slip off. The captain called to her to get her attention, and the young woman swerved quickly to the left to face him, her broomstick colliding with something solid. The "something solid" had, in fact, been a bludger. The bludger was then sent soaring halfway across the pitch, and collided with the keeper's arm with a sickening crunch. Practice was called off, and the man had been sent immediately to St. Mungo's, where Demelza had come in the hopes of offering him her apologies and condolences.

The young woman accepted his hand and rose to her feet, releasing his hand from her grip to dust the excess dirt off her jeans. She then stood, hands on her hips, facing Oliver Wood. "Yes, yes; I'm fine," Demelza replied, pausing to survey the man's expression, "But judging by the look on your face and the position you're standing in, I'd say you're not."

[Oliver Wood]

He pulled her gently to her feet, frowning regretfully. Had he not been in so much pain at the moment, he would have protested that he should buy her lunch or at the minimum a drink, but it seemed like a foolish idea. Sitting down for such a long period of time was not in his ball park at this moment, especially not with the agonizing pain.
When he was content no serious injury had been done to Demelza, Oliver stood back and watched her brush off the minimal dust from her pants and smiled inwardly to himself. Too bad she hadn’t offered him that job.

He glanced back at her face quickly, a bewildered look spreading across his face. “Judging by the look on my face?” he repeated uncertainly, and quickly tried to smother all emotion from his face. He admitted he must have looked awkward standing there with legs a little farther apart than usual and face set into a grimace of fixed concentration, which was only there to throw off any guess at why he might not be alright.

“Hm,” he said slowly, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I suppose I would look that way.” He shuffled his feet and glanced around the hall, finding the janitor Demelza had been talking to previously had taken his misguided step as a signal to leave. His shirt was ruffled and a button or two was undone at the top, only adding to the wrinkles, his pants as well were baggier than usual, but only to allow extra access for his legs.

He smiled slowly, leaning toward her. He studied her quickly, wondering if telling her why he was here was such a good idea. “To tell the truth,” Oliver said quietly, “I’m here because of an accident in Quidditch that was painful.” He gave her a quick smirk, prepared to leave it to Demelza’s imagination. Hopefully she’d assume he had had a gallant accident proving his masculinity to her. He had always found her attractive and worthy of a little bit of show-off. “Why are you here?” he asked, as an after thought.

[Demelza Robins]

Taking in the sight of her disgruntled-looking companion, Demelza smiled. In the short while she had gone without seeing Oliver Wood, he seemed to have gotten more attractive (if that was, indeed, possible), even despite his current… situation. At this moment, the young woman sincerely hoped that the man wasn't a skilled Legilimens. It wasn't that Mel was ashamed that she found her fellow Quidditch player attractive; on the contrary, she hoped to make it known. However, to have read Demelza's mind and hear such a statement would only have given Oliver's ego a completely unnecessary boost.

"Ah," Demelza began, nodding her head, "Understandable. So what exactly...?" Before she had time to finish, an inevitable slow smile began to spread across her face as Mel put two and two together and had a vague understanding of what happened to Oliver. She winced slightly, partly to show her sympathy for the man, and partly to prevent herself from laughing. Sure, the young woman had heard of incidents like this before, but never had she met the victim of such a fate.

"Me?" the young woman inquired, caught unaware and obviously trying to buy herself some time, "Well… I just came here to… uh, visit a friend. He's here for a Quidditch-related injury as well. Nothing serious, though." She sincerely hoped that Oliver would not question further about her friend's injury. The story was a rather embarrassing one to tell, and quite frankly, Demelza felt the need to impress Oliver.

Taking a step further toward the nearest wall, Demelza turned her back to it and leaned against it, crossing her arms. "So, aside from the obvious, how've you been these days, Mister Wood? Breaking hearts and blocking goals, or is there more to it, Captain?" The young woman had no idea why she liked to tease Oliver so much. Perhaps it was the fact that she saw him as such an easy target, or maybe she wanted to test the waters, seeing how much she could get away with. Either way, the older Quidditch player was bound to find her constant teasing as flirtation, and his assumption would be almost completely correct.

[Oliver Wood]

Oliver grinned at her quickly, flashing his great white teeth at her as he rearranged himself in a way that wasn't too uncomfortably so he was half leaning over her as she leant against the wall. He lifted his arm and placed it against the wall above her head, relieved that he had abandoned his no-cologne-and-deoderant routine for one day and that it had been this one.
The last thing he wanted was for Demelza to get a wiff of his sweat, for even Oliver had to admit, that was a disgusting smell, but he had grown used to it, much to the horror of his team-mates and roomies.

The look on her face as she asked him what he was in St. Mungo's for was almost heartbreaking. It was adorable and if the situation hadn't been so unbarably embarrasing, he would have grinned back. Instead however, he shifted his weight from foot to foot several times and looked at the ground, his face turning a red the Weasley twins combined would have been put to shame with.

Finally it seemed, she changed the subject and answered his question. She was here for a friend, compassionate? Possibly just a little. But how close was this friend of hers, was she sparing any details that might have been necessary for him to know? Hopefully not.
"I hope your friend is alright then," Oliver nodded, unwilling to ask for fear of the answer he might get.

"Oh, there's more than that, miss Robins," Oliver smirked, glad to be away from the subject of quidditch and the accidents occuring within the game. Some of the things that happened in that game almost made the game unnecessary to play.
"Of course, there's flirting as well." He gave her a pointed look and smirked again, before glancing down the corridor again.

"Is your friend in desperate need of your immediate attention, or can I distract you long enough for a drink?" He asked, silently adding something preverse in his head about possibly going 'home' after that.
The unusual thing about Demelza was that she had captivated him from the moment they had met. Other girls enchanted him, but only for a little while. This girl was different, she was unusual and he was willing to offer several months of his life dedicated solely to her, not simply a couple of fucks.

"I'd really like to take you out," he said, intending to stop there. "For a drink," he added slowly, after a moment, deeming the previous statement a little too forward, he didn't want to come off as a ladies man. He wanted her to see his good side. "To apologize," he added again.

[Demelza Robins]

At the change in Oliver's position, Demelza couldn't help but smile. This was the closest the two of them had been in... well... ever, and Demelza was currently feeling quite thankful that she had brushed her teeth and spritzed herself with a choice light perfume before she left her house. Again, the reminder of the need to impress Oliver was in the back of her mind, nagging her to do something impressive and flirtatious. Ignoring this impulse at the moment, Demelza chose to simply stare at the ceiling until Oliver felt the need to relieve her of her silence.

Biting back another laugh as she saw the red rise in her companion's cheeks from the corner of her eye, Demelza averted her attention back to the ceiling. She was finding it increasingly impossible not to find silly little reasons to smile and laugh at the man, and decided avoiding eye contact was the best remedy for this.

"Ah, he'll be alright," Demelza said nonchalantly, waving her hand in a dismissive flourish, "S'what he gets for playing Quidditch against me, right? I can be so intimidating at times." At the latter part of her statement, the young woman rolled her eyes. At least part of the statement was true.

The brunette smirked playfully, raising an eyebrow at Oliver's response to her teasing. "Flirting, huh?" she inquired, a faux speculative look upon her dainty features, "I'd have never guessed. You just don't seem the type, Mr. Wood. Such an upstanding gentleman..." She trailed off and fought the temptation to laugh. Obviously, Demelza's future did not lie in the world of acting.

"Hm," the young woman contemplated, "Well, I suppose he can survive without me. And I could use a drink..." She paused in thought for a moment, recalling her schedule and trying to remember if there was anything she was forgetting. She frowned lightly, her nose wrinkling in slight distaste as she recalled something. "Oh, Merlin," she groaned, "I completely forgot that I'm supposed to go out to dinner with my older brother tonight. I'm really sorry, Oliver..."

Demelza laughed loudly at the reluctant way his sentences formed. She was beginning to find him rather irresistable. "Oh, alright," she said, admitting defeat, "I'll send him an owl and tell him I'm... shall we say... 'previously engaged'." Another inevitable smile formed at the corners of the young woman's thin lips as she contemplated where this night would lead.

[Oliver Wood]

He smiled down at her from his advantageous height, watching her avoid his gaze a couple times and try to hide a smile. If she hadn't moved her head so quickly to hide her smiles, he might have been completely oblivious to them.

She smelled like spring flowers he noted as her hair brushed past his face, tickling his chin. She continued to avoid his eye and Oliver suddenly became a little anxious. Perhaps she was previously engaged? He shook his head quickly to clear the thought and realized he looked just a little odd doing so, and swiped at the air with his free hand, as if at a fly.

He laughed at that. She did have a sense of humor, or at the very least a decent knowledge of sarcasm. "At times," he agreed, leaning more heavily against the wall and drawing himself a couple inches closer to her as he did so. "But what about me?" he asked, fixing his face into a half-scowl of concentration and a half-dog-like face that was quite humorous. "Am I intimidating?"

"Of course flirting!" Oliver exclaimed, a little surprised she was mocking him about it. "What else is a guy to do when he's completely drunk and there are many nice-looking girls around? Not flirt? I think not!" He gave her a look that suggestively reproachful, then sighed. "But of course, I flirt when I'm not drunk as well. But then the girls have to be real beauties."

"I think you could do with a drink as well," he said, pushing himself from the way and taking a step away for a casual distance between them. They weren't intimate afterall, or at least, not yet.
Oliver's heart sank in slight desperation and major dissapointment at the subject of dinner with her brother. At least it wasn't with another guy she might have a relationship with, an intimate relationship.
"Ah," he nodded slowly, not allowing his face to relay his emotions. "It's quite alright. Some other time, I suppose."

She smiled at him suddenly and laughed, saying she would have a drink with him. "Oh, are you sure?" He asked, not willing to push her too hard toward her previous engagement with her brother, but wanting to be sure she was content with his idea. "Alright, but as you said, it is almost dinner time.. How about I take you out for something to eat instead and a drink after if you'd still like. How does that sound?"
He grinned back at her, happy with the outcome of this visit to St. Mungo's, even if it had been a little uncomfortable earlier on.