Extra: Wood and Gemma (Part 1)
Rewind to before Malfoy provoked Potter.
"Marcus Flint! If you could tear your eyes away from my chest, maybe you wouldn't be worse than a Squib!" Gemma Farley sneered, her voice dripping with mockery.
Flint's face turned the color of liver, his lips twitching as if to retort, but Gemma was already walking away.
Alistair Eckmo, a former Slytherin Quidditch team member, watched Flint's anger flare and cautiously asked, "Are we still practicing?"
"No practice," Flint snapped, his eyes still glued to Gemma's hair as she retreated. "Find yourself a new partner." With that, he stormed after her.
Alistair had been dragged into this by Flint, and true to Slytherin tradition, he didn't dare refuse the Quidditch captain's orders.
Thankfully, Flint let him off quickly.
"Merlin's beard! That git's finally gone," Alistair muttered, breathing a sigh of relief.
He grumbled for a moment, making sure Flint wasn't coming back, before heading off to find his dorm mate.
In the crowd, Flint's gaze locked onto Gemma Farley ahead of him. The Slytherin prefect was wearing a silver-green robe, her figure shimmering coldly in the candlelight. To Flint, she looked absolutely stunning.
Then he noticed Gemma's eyes flickering toward the Gryffindor side.
Curious, he followed her gaze and saw Oliver Wood's face.
Flint's knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists. I knew she was lying, he thought, fuming. She's not just playing around—she's serious about that half-blood Wood.
Meanwhile, Wood was showing Katie Bell how to hold her wand. "Katie, you're gripping too hard. Relax a bit…"
Katie tried his advice and successfully cast a Disarming Charm.
"Thanks, Wood," she said gratefully. "I was the last to hear about the Duelling Club, and everyone else had already paired up. Lucky you were willing to be my partner."
"I'm the Gryffindor Quidditch captain," Wood replied simply. "I don't leave my teammates hanging."
Katie gave him a sweet smile, though she had her own motives.
That day when a Bludger knocked her off her broom, it was Wood who caught her.
From that moment, she'd been smitten. She started noticing how handsome Wood looked on his broom—only a smidge less than Harry, in her opinion.
So, she'd used the Duelling Club as an excuse to ask him to pair up.
"Come on, Katie, you've got this," she silently cheered herself on, then mustered the courage to look up. "Oliver, do you think I—ouch!"
Someone rudely bumped into her. Clutching her shoulder, she turned to see a blonde woman staring at her coldly.
Gemma Farley had been quietly watching Oliver Wood's every move, so she'd noticed Katie's odd behavior right away.
She'd meant to hold back—there were too many people around—but found herself drifting closer.
As a sharp Slytherin, one glance told her exactly what Katie was thinking. When she saw the hope in Katie's eyes, Gemma couldn't help herself. She strode forward and deliberately knocked into her.
"Watch where you're going," Gemma said haughtily.
Katie recognized the Slytherin prefect. Normally, she'd argue back, but today she didn't want trouble. "Wood, let's go over there…"
"I said, watch where you're going!" Gemma raised her voice.
Even Wood, oblivious as he could be, caught on now.
"Was that on purpose?" he asked, stepping in front of Katie. "Gemma, you—"
"Don't call me Gemma!" she snapped, her voice sharp as she saw him shielding another girl.
Only after shouting did she realize they were in the Great Hall, surrounded by curious young witches and wizards watching the drama unfold.
Forcing down her frustration, Gemma plastered on a fake smile. "Mr. Wood, we're not that close. Call me Prefect Farley."
Wood realized his mistake and opened his mouth to speak, but Katie beat him to it. "Is this how Slytherins act? It's clearly your fault, and yet you're acting so…"
Seeing the icy glint in Gemma's eyes, Wood stepped forward again. "Prefect Farley, Katie's right. You owe her an apology."
Gemma's throat tightened. Without another word, she turned and left, unable to stay a moment longer.
Flint seized his chance to approach. "Gemma, I need an explanation. Didn't you say—"
"Get lost!" she snapped, not breaking her stride.
But Flint wouldn't let up. "If you're too scared to go public, that means you know Slytherin and Gryffindor won't last. So why not choose a man who can stand by you openly? I think—"
Gemma stopped and fixed him with a withering look. "Flint, our secret relationship isn't because we're afraid of being found out. It's just… our thing, got it? If you keep pestering me, don't blame me for playing dirty."
Flint froze, watching her walk away. His mind flashed back to the scene he'd witnessed in the broom cupboard: Gemma kissing Wood in that grimy space, her robe tugged open, Wood's hand slipping inside…
The memory of Gemma's flushed face ignited Flint's rage. His grip on his wand tightened, veins bulging, scaring those nearby into backing off.
Marcus Flint was brash and arrogant. In his mind, the Quidditch captain belonged with the prefect, and he'd long considered Gemma his.
But her scornful look just now made him feel like a clown.
"Wood!" His voice was ice-cold, eyes locked on the Gryffindor captain in the crowd.
As Wood looked up, Flint shoved past two Ravenclaw students to confront him.
"This your new girlfriend? Not much of a looker, is she?" Flint taunted.
Wood ignored him, turning to Katie. "I'm sorry Gemma—er, Prefect Farley—bumped into you."
Katie, now calm, had picked up on the tension between Wood and Gemma. It wasn't hard to guess they were a couple.
"I'm fine, Wood. You should go talk to her," she said kindly.
Wood shook his head. "I think we're already over."
"Over? What do you mean, 'think'?" Katie asked, seeing the worry on his face.
"I mean—" Wood started, but Flint cut him off. "Heard you've been sneaking off to the library lately. Don't think I don't know what you're up to."
Wood tucked his wand into his waistband. "What I do is none of your business."
He glanced toward the Slytherin side and caught Gemma looking his way.
That small gesture set Flint off.
"Her father accepted my family's betrothal gift last week," Flint said loudly, silencing the nearby whispers. "And in the Slytherin common room, she kissed my cheek."
Wood's fist slammed into the wall. "Say that again," he said, his voice colder than a Forbidden Forest breeze.
He couldn't help but recall their last broom cupboard meeting, interrupted by Flint. Gemma had pushed him away, saying, "It's just a fling." Those words had stabbed his heart, and now Flint was twisting the knife.
"I said," Flint stepped closer, their faces inches apart, "she's mine."
"Perfect!" Lockhart suddenly jumped in. "Malfoy refused to demonstrate the Disarming Charm, but we've got two Quidditch captains eager to show us how it's done. Step back, give them space!"
Lockhart shoved Katie aside. "Miss, don't block the way. I'll referee."
No one paid him any mind. Wood and Flint were locked in a glare, Flint's breath reeking like a rubbish bin, but Wood didn't flinch.
Lockhart kept shouting about "keeping it civil," but his voice was muffled, like it was trapped behind a thick spiderweb.
Flint's fingers suddenly grabbed Wood's collar. "You think Gemma would give you a second glance?" His teeth ground together. "When she's wearing my name on her engagement ring—"
Those words hit Wood like a scalding cauldron. Without thinking, he grabbed Flint's neck with one hand and drove a fist into his stomach with the other. As Flint grunted, Wood took a punch to the nose, blood streaming instantly.
"Come on," Flint sneered. "A duel for the princess, like knights?"
Wood said nothing, taking another heavy blow. His nose was probably broken—Gemma's favorite feature—but he didn't care. All he could think was that he couldn't lose.
"Stop!" Professor Flitwick's voice cut through the chaos as the two rolled on the floor, grappling.
Wood's elbow pinned Flint's waist, but Flint's nails dug into his arm, tearing his red-and-gold robes and exposing a scratched arm—still wearing the green cord Gemma had given him.
Flint kicked Wood's knee, flipping him over in a moment of pain. "Gryffindor's dumb lion only knows how to punch stomachs?" Flint's fist hovered over Wood's face, clutching a torn scrap of his robe.
Wood dodged, his head smacking the cold floor.
In a blurry moment, his hand brushed Flint's pocket. With a hard yank, a Nimbus 2001 maintenance manual fell out, the gold-embossed words "Gifted by Lucius Malfoy" glaring in the candlelight.
"So, you only got a broom through handouts," Wood spat, wiping blood from his mouth and laughing. "No wonder you're scared to duel with wands."
That did it. Flint's hands clamped around Wood's throat, but Wood landed a punch to Flint's mouth.
The crowd screamed, but neither cared.
A Levitation Charm finally pulled them apart. Their robes were filthy with dust and blood, like two beasts fresh from a mud pit.
Flint, still struggling in midair, dropped a silver snake-etched cufflink by Wood's feet. Staring at it, Wood recalled Flint's words: She's engaged. Was that why she called it "just a fling"?
Heart heavy, Wood let Madam Pomfrey treat his wounds, his eyes blankly searching for Gemma in the crowd.
There she was, looking his way with worry.
Worried about what? That I busted Flint's face? Wood thought bitterly, giving a self-mocking smile.
"Wood, stop moving!" Madam Pomfrey snapped, holding his head still. "Unless you want a night in the hospital wing, stay put."
When he looked again, Gemma's eyes were cold.
Back to the present.
Madam Pomfrey finished treating them. "Filius, just surface wounds. They're fine now."
"Thank you, Poppy. I'll handle it from here," Professor Flitwick said, turning to Wood and Flint with a stern look.
"Gentlemen," he said sharply, "care to explain what happened?"
"Nothing, Professor," Flint said, licking the blood from his lip. "Got carried away."
"Carried away?" Flitwick's voice rose.
Flint shrugged. "You know how it is, Professor—Slytherin and Gryffindor." He emphasized the houses, then smirked at Wood. "Right?"
Wood didn't answer, his eyes scanning the crowd. Gemma was gone.
I'm just a rat skulking in the shadows, he thought, heart sinking.
Seeing Wood's silence, Flint grinned, thinking he'd won.
"Wood?" Flitwick prompted. "Your thoughts?"
"Nothing to say," Wood replied automatically. Seeing Flitwick's disapproval, he added, "Just Quidditch rivalry fallout. I won fair and square."
Flint's smile froze, his fist clenching. "Oliver Wood! That day in the broom cupboard, I should've—"
Hearing the cupboard mentioned, Wood's mind flashed to Gemma's fingers brushing her sleeve earlier—their signal for "meet me at the broom cupboard."
"Excuse me," Wood said, ignoring Flint's barking. "Professor Flitwick, I need the loo."
Flitwick sighed at Wood's bloody nose. "Go, lad. If you change your mind, come find me."
"What?" Flint waved his fist. "Why's he allowed to leave? You're biased, siding with Gryffindor—"
"Enough, Mr. Flint!" Flitwick's sharp look silenced him. "I know Oliver, and I know the kind of person he is. I'm letting this slide for now, but if you keep pushing, I'll have to call your Heads of House to decide your punishments."
Flint shot Flitwick a resentful glance and pushed through the crowd to leave.
Filch stopped him. "No wandering the castle alone after dark. Stay put until the Duelling Club's over."
"Then why can he go?" Flint jabbed a finger at Wood's retreating figure.
Filch, stroking Mrs. Norris, was unmoved. "Professor Flitwick allowed him to the loo."
Flint spun to find Flitwick, certain Wood was off to meet that wretched Gemma Farley.
In the broom cupboard, Gemma stood alone in the dark, waiting quietly.
Extra: Wood and Gemma (Part 2)
Dust floated in the moonlight inside the broom cupboard as Gemma leaned against the chipped brick wall, her fingers absentmindedly tracing a red-and-green cufflink—Oliver Wood's gift to her.
Her heart jolted like it had been hit by a Bludger when she heard hurried footsteps outside. She quickly stuffed the cufflink into her pocket.
The moment Wood pushed the door open, moonlight spilled across his face.
Gemma's breath caught. A fresh cut marred his nose.
Madam Pomfrey, in her usual lesson-teaching style for brawling students, had only stopped the bleeding, leaving the wound partially unhealed.
They stood there in the silent cupboard.
Gemma could smell the faint tang of blood on him, a remnant of his scrap at the Duelling Club. Wood noticed her clenched fists, knuckles white, as if she were holding something back.
"Why'd it take you so long?" Gemma finally spoke, her voice hoarser than she'd meant. She'd wanted to ask about his injury, but the words came out as a reproach.
"I went to the usual broom cupboard first," Wood said, his voice rough, eyes lingering on her tense jawline. "When you weren't there, I checked every one I could find." He paused, then added, "Professor Flitwick held me up with a few questions."
"That cupboard got found out. No way I'd go back there," Gemma said, twirling her hair, trying to sound casual.
She suddenly turned away. "Got nothing else to say?"
Wood hesitated, then spoke slowly. "What you said last time… was it true? Were you just messing around?"
"That's what you want to talk about?" Gemma's voice trembled, and Wood felt his heart crack.
"Yeah, it matters to me," he said, clutching his chest, staring at her back. "Are we really done?"
"Idiot!" Gemma spun around, stepping closer, close enough to see her reflection in his eyes.
She pressed her hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin. They both froze for a second.
Wood suddenly pulled her into a hug. When she didn't pull away, just stood there stunned, he let out a shaky breath.
Gemma breathed in his familiar scent, feeling a wave of comfort. "What I said that day… it was all lies."
"Flint barged in, and your hand was still under my shirt. I panicked and just blurted something in true Slytherin fashion," she said softly, but with unwavering certainty.
"I know," Wood cut her off, his throat tight. "I knew it wasn't true."
Gemma froze.
She'd prepared a whole speech—about Flint's pestering, why she'd kept their relationship secret, why she stubbornly called him Wood instead of Oliver.
She even wanted to tell him about the scribbled notes she'd tucked into the Quidditch Tactics Compendium she'd slipped him in the library. But his "I know" lodged her words in her throat like a Silencing Charm.
Wood suddenly grinned, though the movement tugged at his wound, making him hiss. "I saw it in your eyes. I knew you loved me."
"Then why'd you go and fight Flint?" Gemma asked, baffled.
He looked down at her, her golden hair gleaming even in the dark. "Because he said you kissed him."
Gemma's head shot up. "That's why—?" Wood cut her off with a kiss, silencing her protest. She froze for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back fiercely.
It had been too long since they'd kissed.
Moonlight streamed through the cupboard door, casting diamond-shaped patches on the floor.
After a long moment, they parted, breathless.
"Why didn't you come back to the cupboard?" Gemma demanded, panting. "Did you know I waited there every Saturday until curfew?"
"I thought we were really over," Wood said, his voice raw. Gemma instinctively leaned closer into his chest.
"Didn't you just say you knew I was lying?" she mumbled, resting her head over his heart.
"I only figured it out just now," Wood admitted clumsily.
Gemma burst out laughing at his stammered explanation.
She remembered last term's downpour. Wood had broken his arm practicing saves on the Quidditch pitch. She'd run through the rain to fetch Madam Pomfrey, only to return and find him awkwardly casting a waterproofing charm on her bookbag with his good hand.
"So, you know now," she said lightly.
"I'm still not entirely sure," Wood teased, tightening his grip. "Flint mentioned an engagement. Is that true?"
"You're holding too tight," Gemma said, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "My marriage is my choice. Got it? I'm yours."
Wood couldn't hold back anymore. He kissed her again, harder this time.
Gemma felt this kiss was fiercer, more desperate. In a daze, someone's hand slipped under her robes, and she instinctively jerked her head up—accidentally knocking Wood's injured nose.
He yelped in pain.
"Your nose needs fixing," Gemma said, trying to push him back, but he didn't budge.
"Madam Pomfrey already sorted it," Wood said, attempting to toss his robes aside, but Gemma was firm. "It's bleeding again!"
Wood buried his face in her neck, taking a deep breath before reluctantly letting go.
Gemma rolled her eyes. Instead of fixing her disheveled robes, she pulled a small bottle from her pocket—a healing potion she always carried, labeled with a wooden sticker.
"Hurry up," Wood urged, eyeing her pale skin. "I told Flitwick I was just popping to the loo. We don't have much time."
"And yet you had time to brawl with Flint?" Gemma uncorked the bottle and poured some potion onto his wound.
Wood winced as a sharp pain shot through his nose, quickly replaced by a cooling sensation.
"This stuff's brilliant," he said, touching his nose.
"Didn't I give you a few bottles before?" Gemma stuffed the rest of the potion into his trouser pocket, her hand brushing something warm.
"Used them all up," Wood said, his voice shaky.
Gemma pulled her hand back casually. "Figures. With how hard you train, it's a miracle you're not always banged up."
"I didn't bring much this time, so use that one sparingly," she said, but before she could finish, Wood scooped her up.
Gemma dodged his kiss. "Put me down. I've got questions."
Wood didn't give up, wrestling with her robes until his hand found the cufflink.
"You still carry it," he said, surprised.
Gemma snatched the red-and-green cufflink and stuffed it back in her pocket. "And you're still wearing that bracelet I gave you."
"Such an idiot," she said, touching the green cord on his wrist. "You got clocked in the nose by Flint because of it, didn't you?"
"It was the first thing you ever gave me," Wood said, as if it were obvious.
Gemma muttered something, leaning into his chest.
"What'd you say?" Wood asked.
"Why'd I pick a secret relationship?" she said louder. "Because you're Quidditch captain. I didn't want to mess things up for you."
Wood didn't look up. "So, we can go public now? I'm in my final year next term. I won't have time to stroll around the Black Lake with you openly."
"Then we'll head back together," Gemma said, grabbing his eager hand. "Careful, this is a new robe."
"When I'm a Quidditch star, I'll buy you a hundred," Wood said, fumbling with her clasp. "Can I?"
Gemma didn't answer. She kissed him instead.
"Wood! Wood!" she gasped instinctively.
"Call me Oliver!" he growled.
…
They leaned against each other, panting.
After a moment, Wood recovered first, stroking her hair. "Why won't you call me Oliver?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Gemma said lazily, nestled against him, tracing his chest. "Not telling."
Wood roared, kicking a broom aside and pinning her against the wall. "Then I'll find the answer my way!"
…
Gemma's hair was soaked by the end, but Wood still couldn't get her to say "Oliver." No matter what he tried, she stuck with "Wood."
Catching his breath, Wood realized, "Is it getting too late?"
Gemma, still recovering, didn't answer. Wood, the Quidditch athlete, had stamina she couldn't match.
"Sorry," he said, casting a cleaning charm. "I'll be more careful next—"
Gemma pressed a finger to his lips. "Never apologize for that."
Wood picked up their crumpled, sweat-soaked uniforms.
"Sorry, I should've used mine," he said again.
"Do I need to spell it out?" Gemma shot him a look. "I like your roughness. It proves I'm still attractive to you."
"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," Wood said, swallowing hard as he looked at her flushed face.
"Next time," Gemma said, pushing him back as she stood. "It's really late."
"Didn't you agree to go public?" Wood asked, confused, trying to pull her back.
"Public relationship, not public private life," she said, dodging his hands and slipping on her robes.
"Same difference. We've been gone so long, they'll guess—" Wood started, unusually sharp, but stopped at her murderous glare.
Gemma bent to pick up her trousers, nearly falling. She steadied herself against the wall, catching Wood's hesitant look.
"No more apologies," she snapped. "Be a gentleman and grab my trousers."
Wood shut his mouth and handed them over.
"Not that dirty," he said, but at her glare, he raised his hands. "I'll take them and destroy them properly."
"That's more like it," Gemma nodded, satisfied.
As she dressed, Wood froze. "Merlin's beard!"
"What? Too eager for you?" Gemma cast a drying charm on her hair. Seeing him still sitting, she huffed, "Get dressed! I need to get back and take my potion."
"You're not worried about your dormmates gossiping?" Wood asked, standing.
Gemma admired his physique before answering. "You've gotten dumber since we last saw each other. We're public now. Why would I care about gossip?"
"Right," Wood said, grinning as he dressed.
"Leave those pants. We'll toss them later," Gemma said, leaning against the wall, amused at his awkward dressing. "After all this time, you're still so shy."
Wood didn't reply, but he dressed faster.
"Phew," he said, fully clothed. "Let's go."
"Wait," Gemma said, drying his hair and fixing his collar to hide a bite mark. "Now we're good."
They stepped out, but this time, Gemma looped her arm through his.
Seeing his goofy grin, she shook her head, wondering why she'd fallen for such a dolt.
"Leave Flint to me," she said. "I'll handle him."
"How?" Wood frowned.
Gemma didn't want to explain her Slytherin tactics. "Next Quidditch match, I'll hex his broom into a cabbage."
Wood paused, eyes gleaming. "Nah. I'd rather beat him fair and square on the pitch." He leaned closer, whispering, "Like I beat you."
Gemma's ears turned red.
Last year, they'd bet on who could memorize A History of Magic Chapter 10 first. She lost and owed him a butterbeer in Hogsmeade.
But Snape showed up, forcing them to hide in the snow for half an hour.
"That didn't count," she said stubbornly, but smiled.
Wood opened his mouth to tease about their earlier moment, but her smile stopped him. He'd save it for the next time she played tough.
Footsteps echoed from the Great Hall. They froze, exchanging a knowing glance.
Wood took a deep breath and pushed the door open, but the scene inside wasn't what he expected.
"Thank Merlin, they're safe," Professor Flitwick said, turning to Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall strode over, her sharp gaze lingering on Gemma's arm in Wood's. "Where have you been? You know the rules—"
Madam Pomfrey interrupted, "Minerva, let me check them for curses first."
Wood and Gemma exchanged confused looks.
Then Snape swept in.
"Well, well, look at the lovebirds," he sneered. "Seems the attacker picked a bad time. Should I tell them to come back tomorrow so you can have more time?"
It hit them—someone else had been petrified.