Unintended

Oliver had just been yelled at by his coach, but he hadn't really heard a thing. He'd just stood there numbly, letting the barrage of sound wash over his tired body.

"If I hear that this happens again, I'm taking you off the team!" roared the coach before angrily stomping off the pitch.

Oliver's teammates had stood silently, watching to see what he would do. Normally, he probably would've shouted back and he would have been the one to stomp away dramatically. But he had only stood there with his back toward them, quiet and unmoving. Just as Jem took a step forward, Oliver abruptly sat down and began pulling clumps of grass from the pitch.

"Oliver?" said Jem, approaching him cautiously. He squatted in front his his teammate, but Oliver continued to pick grass as if his life depended on it.

They all watched him for another minute, but it was clear that he wanted to be left alone and no one would be able to persuade him otherwise.

"Well, I'll just...be going now," said Jem, standing up and putting his hand on Oliver's shoulder. "If you need anything..."

Oliver paused for a second, and the team waited expectantly, but once he resumed his previous action, they walked slowly off to the showers. Once he was alone, Oliver laid down on the perfectly groomed field and stared up at the clear sky above.

"Is this what you wanted for me?" he said in the direction of the clouds. "To feel trapped like you did? I only tried to make you proud of me because I knew you did everything for me. But it's all worthless because you're not even here to see it."

He lay there for another hour, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and the chill of the shadows when the clouds passed overhead. Then he slowly stood up and brushed the grass from his trousers. He knew exactly what he had to do.

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Percy was unable to sleep that night. Visions of Alice found him at every turn. He could still feel the pressure of her lips on his, the silkiness of her hair as he ran his fingers through it.

No, no, don't think about it.

He put the pillow over his head, hoping he could block out all the noise, but he couldn't. Everything was in his head and there was no way to make it stop. His face crushed into the mattress beneath him, he wondered if Alice was what he had been missing in his life. Or really, a woman.

He was embarrassed to admit to himself that he had only dated one girl since Penelope, and that had been nearly three years ago. Every time he went home, his mother would inquire about his love life and he would shrug the questions away, saying that he was too busy to think of such things. Deep down, he had always wished he'd had someone. He watched his classmates get married one by one. Hell, even his youngest brother had a girlfriend.

Maybe the problem was that he had felt unworthy his whole life. He wasn't charming or really superbly talented in any way. He'd developed his pompous, bookish demeanor to trick people into thinking that he too had something, but really all it had done was guarantee his aloofness. After spending so many years alone, he had begun to think that he didn't deserve someone, that he was destined to be a lonely bachelor for the rest of his life.

But then there had been Oliver: handsome, confident Oliver, who had broken the barrier and gotten Percy to open up to him. The few days they had spent together were probably among the best days of his life. Then there had been the fiasco after the game, and everything had crumbled to dust in seconds. Oliver hadn't even called since, and Percy was too afraid to. Well, easy come, easy go.

Still, he knew that confronting Oliver had been a terrible mistake. It was none of his business. If only he'd had the sense to keep his mouth shut, he might be laughing at something Oliver had said over the phone this very minute. But he hadn't, and now he had ruined things. Or had he? He didn't know.

And tonight there had been Alice. He tried to convince himself that he had been tipsy, but he hadn't even finished the single glass of wine Alice had poured for him. He didn't know what puzzled him more: that he had kissed her, or that she actually liked him. Alice was so beautiful, he was sure that she could have any man that she desired. Why him?

Perhaps she thought he was someone who could truly appreciate her, and not just be in awe of her looks or want to show her off as a trophy. These things were certainly true, but Percy was unable to realize that he was a rarity. He thought there must be many other men who had the same types of thoughts that he did, but he was naïve in this sense.

Though he did like Alice, her affection made him uncomfortable. He admired and respected her, and that's precisely the reason it was difficult for him to do anything besides admire and respect her. He wasn't sure if he wanted anything beyond friendship at all.

And thus, a very confused and frustrated Percy finally fell asleep, only to be woken a mere three hours later by his alarm birds.

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"You can't resign!" shouted Jem indignantly, spilling wine on the carpet.

The team was assembled in Oliver's suite, as he had invited them to dinner saying that he had an important announcement. He'd waited until everyone had finished eating, and then he told them the news in a flat, emotionless voice. As he had expected, there was instant pandemonium after the initial shock had dissolved.

"You can't resign!" repeated Jem, hastily cleaning up the wine spill

"Too late," replied Oliver calmly, trying not to grimace as he sipped some sparkling apple juice from the wine glass he was holding.

"What do you mean, 'too late'?" demanded Luke. "Have you already told Coach?"

"I've just sent him an owl,' said Oliver. The coach stayed in a different hotel about a mile away from theirs, as was his custom.

"So it's not official," concluded Travis.

"But it will be," said Oliver.

"I don't understand why, though," said Jem.

Oliver sighed. "I just feel like there's something else I should be doing."

"Like what?" Josh interjected.

"Like...I don't know," said Oliver, frustrated, "...helping people."

"But we do help people," said Jem. "All those fans out there who love Quidditch but just haven't got the skill--we make them happy. Well, when we win, anyway. That's helping people."

Luke gave him a disgusted look and turned to Oliver.

"Well--well, I--understand," he said, rising from his seat. "I'm going to bed. We've got an early game tomorrow."

Heads turned to look at the clock, and the others murmured their assent. They slowly shuffled out, and Oliver shut the door. He was startled when he turned and saw Jem standing there with his arms crossed.

"Um, hi," said Oliver. "Is there something...?"

"I don't understand why you're quitting," said Jem coldly.

"If you want to know, I'm still playing in the match tomorrow," he said tiredly.

"Oh," said Jem, but he made no move to leave.

Oliver shrugged and began packing his clothing.

"I think you're making a mistake."

He looked over his shoulder and saw Jem glaring at him. "Pardon?"

He strode up to Oliver so that the two of them were about a foot apart. Oliver rose to face him.

"You. Are. Making. A. Mistake," said Jem forcefully, poking Oliver's chest with his finger as he said each word. "We need you."

"This isn't your decision to make," said Oliver gruffly, pushing Jem away. He immediately sprung back into place.

"You don't know what you're doing. This is stupid, Oliver. You're just...angry, and you're being melodramatic. This team needs you. Hell, I, need you."

Oliver turned to stare at Jem uncomprehendingly; Jem blushed.

"What did you just say?"

"I...I..." stuttered Jem.

"Forget it," said Oliver, turning back to the duffel bag.

"I love you," blurted Jem. "You've always helped me out. I was only sixteen when I made the team, and you were the only one who ever treated me like a person without asking me to prove to you that I was good at Quidditch." He swallowed, falling silent. Oliver had not turned around. Had he said too much?

Oliver set down the shirt he was folding and turned to look at his teammate. Jem really was very young. He was only nineteen; the rest of the team members were in their early- to mid-twenties. He remembered the day of Jem's arrival, his boyish delight at meeting his idol, the legendary Oliver Wood. His cheeks had hollowed out since then, and he had sprouted to nearly Oliver's height, but he was a boy trapped in a man's body. You could see it in the way he moved and talked, as if he were unsure of himself.

He had never meant to be anything more than a mentor, an older-brother-like figure. He only vaguely remembered what it was like to be a hormone-driven teenager, though it had not really been so long ago. He'd been forced to grow up quickly, so his teenage years hadn't really allowed him the freedom of impulsiveness. Every move was planned meticulously.

He wondered what Jem's childhood had been like. Jem came from a rich family. His father was a journalist for one of England's most prestigious papers, and his mother was a singer-turned-actress. He had a younger sister who had begun her modeling career at the age of six by debuting in her first beauty pageant. Jem's parents had wanted him to become a lawyer, but once it became clear where his real talents lay, they supported his decision to play Quidditch wholeheartedly. Jem was lucky, there was no doubt about that.

When he'd first joined the team, the other teammates thought he was just a spoiled brat who had bribed the coach for a spot on the team. They put him to the test, and when he emerged two hours later, triumphant, they grudgingly accepted him. But Oliver had only nodded when the coach introduced their new team member. There were plenty of things in his life that he had no control over, and this was just another one of them. As long as it improved their chance of winning the World Cup, he didn't particularly care.

Oliver had been the one to defend Jem whenever the other teammates talked about him behind his back. When they saw the way he acted towards Jem, treating him with respect, they realised their own wrongdoing. They were a team and also a family, not rivals. They had all become protective of Jem ever since.

Oliver looked back at Jem, who was staring at the ground. He walked over and put his hand on Jem's shoulder.

"Jem," he said softly, and his teammate looked up at him. "I understand how you feel...why you feel this way. But the truth is, I never meant for us to be anything other than friends. I'm flattered, really, that you think so much of me...but this won't work. I'm six years older than you..."

"My mother is eight years younger than my father," said Jem, his jaw twitching.

"You're only nineteen," said Oliver. "You'll find someone who can give you what you need and what you want. I'm not that person. I'm sorry. It really kills me to say this to you, Jem. I like you a lot. But you're like a younger brother to me."

"A little brother? Is that all I ever was to you?"

"Please understand, Jem."

"I understand," he said bitterly, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Have a tissue," said Oliver, conjuring a box and holding it out to Jem.

"Thanks," said Jem. "But can I just...hug you?"

"Oh, um, of course," said Oliver, taken aback. He let Jem throw his arms around him and they stood there for a minute or two. Jem sighed audibly and buried his head in the crook of Oliver's neck, a difficult task as they were within inches of each other's heights. At this, Oliver thought it was best to end things where they were, and he gave Jem a pat on the back and stepped back.

"I'm sorry for being like this," said Jem. "I don't usually go around crying...please don't tell anyone."

"I won't," said Oliver, and they exchanged a last glance before Jem left the room. Oliver sighed and went back to packing. Why was life so complicated?