Author's Note:

Hello! I am glad to have caught your attention and I hope you continue to read and I hope you all enjoy! Please feel free to give any advice, thoughts, etc. after you've read. And as a disclaimer, the major characters and plots were created by the fabulous JK Rowling. Without further ado, I will let you go to read.

-Kamuela

Quidditch Nazi

"Wood!"

Oliver Wood, who had been trying to get off the Quidditch Pitch with his broom propped upon his shoulder turned, eyeing the other who had been practicing testily. The practice had not gone well, in Wood's opinion at least. The reserve team of Puddlemere United had spent three hours of that mid June day goofing off, flying in crazy circles, dodging bludgers spiraling out of control after a particularly daft beater hit it too hard. Oliver, who had just bought a Firebolt, had wanted to see what he could accomplish with such an amazing broom. He was extremely disappointed when the rest of his team had decided to call it quits early as it was Friday and there weren't any practices scheduled during the weekend.

"What?" Oliver shot back to the two people who he considered his best friends on the team. One was Finn Lovell, a gangly man two years older than Oliver, who had the position of seeker on the reserve team. The other was Eli Jennings, a stocky blond haired, blue eyed Irishman, about four years older than Oliver. Jennings was one of the chasers on the reserve team and a brilliant one at that.

"Me and Lovell are going to The Blue Vinny. You coming?" The Blue Vinny was the only pub in Puddlemere and it was densely populated each night. Jennings was the one who asked and Oliver only needed a minute to think about it.

"I'm busy today," he responded. Lovell in turn, laughed.

"What are you going to do? Tweeze your ruddy broom?" and with that he cackled with Jennings. Oliver colored to the tip of his hairline and shook his head furiously.

"It's not my fault that bloody beater managed to ruin my brand new broom!" he exclaimed, storming across the field. It was a bit dramatic, even Oliver had to admit, for the only damage done to his broom was a bent straw. Lovell and Jennings followed him and sustained their pestering.

"I must say," said Jennings, "Daniels is a rather talented beater. Who'd of thought that girl could hit a bludger so hard! She hit me once in the jaw when I said that no girl could ever be a beater effectively. My jaw broke instantly and she's never let me live it down."

The group made it into the locker room and Oliver mechanically opened his locker and began to change from his navy blue practice robes into street clothes. Lovell and Jennings continued bickering near his locker, smacking their Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-Ones on the ground when they wished to emphasize their words. Oliver grimaced each time the straw hit the floor and made that swishing noise; he was sure they were going to snap in two! Finally, when Oliver was ready to Disapparate to his flat, he said goodbye to his startled friends.

"What? Leaving?" Lovell questioned at once.

"Yes," Oliver returned, "I have to go home. It's nearly dinner."

Jennings looked down at his wizarding watch. It had tiny stars on the dial. "Blimey, it is almost dinner! What do you lot say that we pack it up and go to the pub then, eh?"

Lovell seemed agreeable. "Precisely what I was thinking." Both heads turned to face Oliver, who looked less than pleased with the idea.

"I have to check for any owls and feed my cat," he returned, placing the locking spell on his locker before balancing his broom on his shoulder.

"Ah that cat barely knows you're alive," Lovell groaned. "And who'd owl you? Firebolts can't write letters, don't you know."

Oliver laughed bitterly. "Ha ha. Just because I'd rather go flying than take a different girl out each night doesn't mean anything."

Lovell lifted his tan hands up, offended. "Hey Woody old pal, I don't go out with more than one girl anymore, remember? It's just me and Imogene." Oliver had known this, as Lovell and Imogene had been engaged for about four months by then, but it was still fun to tease him about that since it obviously hit a tender spot.

"So is Imogene coming to the pub tonight?" Oliver asked with a smirk.

"Well… she's out with one of her girl friends and I told her it'd be just you, me, and Jennings, so no."

Oliver sighed. "Alright. I'll come tonight. I just want to feed my cat and check my mail. I'll be over to The Blue Vinny in about an hour." His two friends congratulated Oliver on a well-made decision before the final plans were made and Oliver Disapparated to his house.

Once Oliver was in his flat, he immediately put his broom in his closet, on the hanging device his mother had ordered for him over Brooms-R-Us. His home was decorated extremely bare, as most of his money was put into buying food and saving up for the Firebolt. Ever since Oliver had had a go on Harry Potter's broom, he wanted a Firebolt for himself. It was so expensive it had taken him up to two years to save up for, but it was all worth it.

Kicking off his shoes, Oliver sat on the couch, an ugly blue plaid contraption that had smelled of wet dog when he bought it. Now, after many air freshener charms, it smelled like 'flowers after an April shower.' Oliver looked about his living room, searching for his cat. The walls had a light yellow color on them that was starkly unusual in exchange to the dark wooden floor. Posters of various famous Quidditch players winked at him while they flew about in the frames on their dated brooms. The coffee table in front of Oliver held up a half-eaten donut of the previous night, the jelly middle seeping onto the plastic plate. There were various Daily Prophet newspapers on the shelf beneath the coffee table and even a few Quibbler newspapers (although Oliver seriously doubted there was a vampire whose name was 'Count Gargamel). Then, on the floor, a little ways away was a wrinkled and uneven woven rug.

When his stomach growled, Oliver stood, stretched, and headed into his just as cluttered kitchen and he searched through the cabinets for an apple. When he found the red fruit, he took a bit out of it and began to continue his search for his cat. Finally, after many minutes of searching and calling out his cat's name in vain, he found the red point Siamese. Oliver laughed. The cat was sitting on top of a cupboard, looking down at him as though he was wondering why he was looking for him, as he was right there. The cat's name was Angus.

"Come 'ere kitty," Oliver said, reaching up and grabbing Angus. The finicky Siamese immediately jumped down from his arms and began rubbing about his master's legs, purring. Oliver got the Siamese his food and then he went into his bedroom to find his owl, Rhiannon. The glossy brown speckled owl hooted when she saw Oliver.

"Any letters today, Rhiannon?" Oliver asked. The owl clicked her beak in response. Oliver reached over to grab the two letters beside the owl and read them quickly. One was from his mom asking if he was still planning on going to his parent's house for Christmas. Wood grabbed a parchment and wrote her back, saying he was planning to go to see them for Christmas but the team might need him so not to make any permanent plans. The other letter was from Fred and George Weasley. It was a large envelope attached to a package wrapped in brown shipping paper. At first, Oliver was concerned to open the letter from the Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes but then he decided it could not be too terrible. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out, reading it instantly. The letters were charmed to flicker different colors every second, making it extremely hard to read.

Our Dearest Quidditch Nazi:

Congratulations on making the reserve team of Quidditch's infamous, Puddlemere United. Let us anticipate they do not have as embarrassing of a season as they had last year. Here's hoping they enjoy dawn practices and a grumpy Keeper when they do not play as intensely and as devotedly. Enclosed is a gift coming from our hearts. God bless.

Signed,

F & G Weasley

"Quidditch Nazi?" snapped Oliver, looking at his owl indignantly. "I suppose they think it was just pure skill that won them that Quidditch house trophy! No, it was hard-work and dedication!" Rhiannon hooted in response, as if she were soothing her master.

It took a few minutes for Oliver to realize his friends were just teasing him. When his pride finally allowed it, he moved to open the parcel. As soon as it opened, a firework of confetti exploded in his face. Spluttering in surprise, Oliver waved his hands about the mess and saw that there was a small box in the bottom of the confetti debris. After opening this box, Oliver found a miniature figurine of himself, storming about the bottom of the box yelling things like, "Weasley, stop snogging Johnson!" and "Quit talking and start flying!" and "That Quidditch trophy won't win itself, don't-ya-know." Oliver couldn't help but laugh at the familiar Scottish accent emitting from the figure. Oliver grabbed a parchment, scribbled a thank-you note, and gave it to Rhiannon, asking her to deliver it to the red-haired twins after she delivered the other note to his parents.

Finally, after checking that the doors were locked and the windows tightly shut, Oliver Disapparated to the Blue Vinny. When Oliver was outside the pub, he opened the door and stepped inside. The building was made of decaying wood that was painted white with dark brown trimmings against the walls. The insides of the pub were true to the time that it was built –the furnishings were the same too. It was explicitly a pub for the witches and wizards of Puddletown, and it brought a strange lot of them most nights. That night was no different, which the crowd of wizards about the bar table and an ancient-looking witch sitting in the far corner in robes of bright fuchsia and orange striped tights explained. The witch in the corner was letting the dog in her lap drink some of the ale she had in her mug.

Oliver found his friends seated at a table, eating some potato skins. When the two men saw Oliver, they stood and waved, as if it were not obvious that their friend had not already spotted them. Oliver shook his head embarrassedly and sat down at the table.

"Glad you could make it," Jennings said, shoving a whole skin in his mouth at one time. "Yeh wan' a bit'?" he asked with his mouth completely full. Oliver shrugged.

"Sure." He reached forward to grab a skin for himself. He took a tentative bite, as the food looked disgustingly greasy, but found it was to his liking. He popped the rest of the article in his mouth and grinned. "Order me up a beer, then, would you Finn?"

Lovell nodded and sauntered over to the bar table to ask the tender for a tipple. When he returned with the ale, he set it in front of Oliver and the young man took a deep swig of the drink. Within a few minutes of natural talk, Jennings stood up, stretched, and walked over to a table filled with witches who were all looking quite bored with themselves. When he reached the table, he offered a hand and the girls all seemed much more enthused.

"You need a girlfriend," Lovell laughed when he saw Oliver staring openly at the young witches.

"Huh?" When Lovell repeated himself, Oliver shook his head definitely. "No. I could never have enough time for both Quidditch and a girl. And no girl in my mind is more important than Quidditch."

Lovell positively cackled. "No girl more important than Quidditch? Ha! That's exactly what I said before I met Imogene. Now I find myself cutting short my practice time to go be with her and plan for the wedding."

"See? I could never do that," Oliver responded evenly, taking another drink. "I like to practice from sunup to sundown. Sometimes I don't even eat anything until I go to bed because it just seems too trivial to stop and take a break. I had a girlfriend during school and it never worked because she'd always be so angry with me for my dedication of Quidditch and not her. I never knew how to explain it to her because she didn't have a hobby like me. All she had was her friends and herself."

"So that's why you should get yourself a girl that's into Quidditch too, mate," Lovell supplied. "You could both obsess over the sport together. You'd be together all the time if she was as maniacal about it as you, then you'd be set."

"Maniacal! Obsess? I am dedicated. Not obsessed," Oliver retorted. Then, he looked past those two things and thought about what Lovell was actually saying. "Don't even try to hook me up with Daniels. My sources tell me that she and Eli have something going on – if you get what I mean."

Lovell laughed. "Yeah, I think so too, but don't try telling Eli that. He thinks they're just sex-playmates, nothing more. He'll realize soon enough, though."

"Yep." Oliver ran his fingertips along the edge of his glass. "Does Imogene like Quidditch?"

"Hell no," Lovell snickered, "But for me she puts up with it. I mean, I don't really like law, but I put up with her job."

Oliver smirked. "What does she do?"

"Uh, she works in the Ministry of Magic in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She's part of the International Confederation of Wizards. It's pretty hectic right now on account of the You-Know-Who scare. All the other countries are owling and asking whether this is Britain's type of a 'practical joke' and she has to calm them down and tell them that no, although we all wish that this was just some sort of joke, it really isn't. Speaking of You-Know-Who," Lovell said, "have you seen this?"

He searched for a newspaper, The Daily Prophet, and opened it to the new business section. There was an add for the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. A picture was beside the article of a poster. Brilliant letters spelled: Why are you worrying about You-Know-Who? You should be worrying about U-No-Poo. The constipation sensation that's gripping the nation.

"You should have seen it when the two owners were in the picture," Lovell declared. "They kept making these awful faces, bursting into canaries, and they would shank each other too. Oliver's mouth opened when he realized just who the 'two owners' were.

"Blimey! Fred and George Weasley?"

"Yep. D'you know them or something?"

"They were on my Quidditch team back at Hogwarts. They were bloody brilliant beaters! Best in the history, I'm betting to say. They helped me win the House Cup – one of my fondest memories." Oliver could hardly stop himself from beaming proudly.

Lovell seemed surprised. "You're going to have to introduce us sometime, then. I hear their store is wicked." Oliver said he would.

While Jennings continued to flirt with the girls, Oliver and Lovell finished the potato skins and ordered some more drinks. It was an enjoyable night after all, Oliver thought contently. It was to neither Oliver nor Lovell's surprise when Jennings was next spotted snogging the witch wearing the designer green robes in the corner of the Blue Vinny at around midnight. Lovell, who had bet Oliver a few galleons that this was who Jennings would pick to snog next, collected his money with a grin.

"I could have sworn it would be the blonde," Oliver said. Lovell merely laughed.

None of them realized how late it was until it was nearing two o'clock. Neither of the two men seated at the table were anxious about time, they did not have any practices until Monday and it was the weekend. However, soon, it became apparent that they had to unhinge Jennings from the woman he was seemingly attached to and go home. Before they could find a path through the mass of tables, chairs, and people, Lovell received an unexpected guest. It was Imogene, her fair skin paler than usual and her blue eyes teary. Her unnaturally white-blonde hair was unkempt and she looked as though she had spent no time to make herself presentable.

"Imogene? What is it?" Lovell stood up and looked at her sharply.

"Lorraine… her husband is dead! The Death Eaters killed him, Finn." And the hysterical woman collapsed in tears. Lovell knelt beside her and wrapped his arms about her. Oliver looked on with anxiety; the night had turned sour in only a moment.

"Eric is dead?" Lovell looked bewildered. "It can't be!"

"Oh it is… Lorraine showed up at our flat crying and I asked her what was wrong and she told me," the blonde-haired witch swallowed harshly. "She received news that he was murdered at work today. I suppose he would not let someone pass during his security shift at the atrium. Who else would kill him then a Death Eater? Oh Finn, I didn't know how to console her, I mean what can you say? I've spent all this night crying with her. To think that Eric is dead is ludicrous. He was your best man for the wedding! He just cannot be…"

She was babbling and Lovell stared at her with wide eyes. Oliver was feeling even more out of place when Jennings hurried over, the witch in the green robes still clutching his arm. Jennings took one look at the devastated couple and then he turned to Oliver.

"What's happened?" he asked in a flash, the lipstick stains on his white shirt forgotten.

"Eric Munch has been killed," Oliver said. He had not thought Imogene could cry any harsher, but she did.

"You gotta be kidding me!" Jennings started. "I just saw him the other day with Lorraine! God, what is going on these days?"

Oliver shrugged, very much wanting to go home. His legs twitched to leave the bar, to leave all the depression and high-emotions. He did not, however, and he watched his friends' faces fill with a turmoil that Oliver shared within his heart but did not show on his face. Finally, in what seemed like hours but in truth was only minutes, Imogene had herself under control, and she stood, trying to smooth out the irreparable wrinkles in her skirt while Lovell wrapped his arms around her waist. The witch that Jennings had been snogging had left already, leaving Jennings awkward and alone. Oliver hated to be the first to break the silence, but he really wanted to go home.

"I better go, it's nearly three o'clock," he muttered, hoping he did not sound too hasty. He did not want his friends to think he was heartless.

"Yeah," Lovell said, looking at his fiancée. "We should too. Are you going to leave Jennings?"

Jennings could only nod. His silence was proof enough something bad had happened. Oliver nodded, his jaw clenched, and he raised a hand in a small wave. A good-bye just felt so final in a time where death was so common. Oliver Disapparated to his home and he showered as soon as he unlocked the front door and entered his extremely dark home. He felt more soiled than if he had just practiced Quidditch.

- - - - - -

Over the next few days, Oliver somehow managed to avoid having to attend the funeral of Eric Munch, but he sent the newly widowed Lorraine Munch a bouquet of lilies and a card that he scribbled a note inside. It was a hard note to write, Oliver decided after he had to charm the card blank many times over again. What was one supposed to say to someone who had just lost their husband? Once again, Oliver felt a deep hatred for the Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. No one should be able to take away so many lives just for power. Oliver tried to practice Quidditch as much as possible. He even charmed a Quaffle to throw itself at him at odd directions and speeds. Many times Oliver caught it, but when his mind suddenly clouded with the trials of late, he missed it and the Quaffle would hit him harshly – usually square in the face.

Finally, a week after Oliver heard the news of Eric Munch's death he met Lovell and Imogene at The Three Broomsticks. After so much time spent outside practicing Quidditch during the last week, Lovell noted, Oliver was so tan from the sun he hardly looked Scottish. They were drinking a round of butterbeers while Imogene voiced what she deemed very exciting news. She was still somber after the death of such a good man, but she was finally trying to return to her normal every day routine. Life goes on.

"We have decided to postpone the wedding for a while due to… well, you know. But we've decided on a date," she said, taking a sip of the drink before tapping her shocking pink painted nails on the edge of the mug.

"What is it?" Oliver asked.

"July 20," Imogene said. It was a month away.

Oliver smiled warmly. "Congratulations."

"That's not even the best part of our news," Imogene replied with a smug grin. "We're not going to have a new best man to honor such a wonderful man, but we're going to have a 'Groom's Assistant' instead. They'll have the same duties, just a different title. Finn chose who he wanted the other day."

Oliver's heart sunk. Surely it wasn't… "It's Eli, then?"

"No," Lovell laughed, "I wouldn't trust him with my ring. It's you."

"Me?" Oliver echoed.

"Yep," Lovell smiled. "You're my best friend, aren't you?" To this, Oliver merely grunted with a half-hazard smile. "So do you agree?"

"Of course," Oliver said. He would not deny his friend such a high offer since it would be so very rude.

After all of the arrangements were made for when Oliver would get the ring (after Imogene had to leave for work, of course), when the reception would be, what he had to do exactly, and when fittings for the dress robes would be, Lovell voiced the fact that Oliver had been trying not to think of all morning.

"Sounds to me like you're going to need a date for the wedding, Mr. Groom's Assistant," Lovell teased. Oliver's cheeks turned red. "I have a cousin…"

"I know just who I am going to go with, thank you," Oliver brushed off brusquely. Lovell nodded.

"Sure. I can't wait to meet the lucky little lady." Neither could Oliver.

He stood and the friends shook hands before they went their separate ways. Oliver went straightaway to Diagon Alley where he planned to figure out just who his date would be. Despite a (what he hoped) cool persona to his good friend, Oliver had no clue who he was going to ask to be his date to the wedding. He could go single, but it would be embarrassing to have to walk down the aisle alone. When he was just going to be a guest he was okay, he could be okay single just sitting somewhere – hopefully out of the public eye. Now… being the Groom's Assistant changed everything!

Diagon Alley was extremely vacant, Oliver found to his surprise. He would have thought that being summer it would be filled with teenagers and pre-teens running about trying to find a way to break the 'no magic' rule for underage wizards. However, it was filled with only a sparse amount of people, and all of these people walked in tight clusters. Even some of the shops were closed; the boarded windows suggested that they would be closed for a long time. When Oliver made it to the new store of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he pushed his way into the store. Oliver accidentally knocked over a huge display of different charmed Quills and he cursed, trying to set them all back up before anyone could notice his act of clumsiness.

"Oh don't bother, sir," came a voice, and Oliver looked up to see a man with bright red hair flick his wand. The display came together again. The man (Fred or George, Oliver could not tell) gaped at his newest costumer. "Merlin's beard, is that you Wood?"

"In flesh," Oliver retorted. "It's nice to see you again…uh—"

"George," replied the proud store owner. He seemed to pop his expensive crocodile skin jacket. "It's been long. Nice to see you haven't forgotten about your former teammate."

George was only kidding, but Oliver flushed and tried to make a good excuse but just ended in stammering like a fool.

"Don't worry about it," George replied with a vague wave of his hand. "Oi! Fred! Get your arse over here!" The mirror image of George Apparated just before the two, and his eyebrows nearly disappeared in his shaggy red hair.

"Wood? No, it can't be!" Fred staggered about with his hand on his heart. "So you haven't forgotten me! You're welcome for the Quidditch Nazi figurine. It's one of our most popular toys." Fred gestured to the display tin of boxes with figurines that looked like Oliver. "Once you open the package they begin to yell at you to keep practicing and do your work. Hope you're not mad, buddy."

Oliver was stunned to say the least. "No… I'm not mad…"

"Good," Fred said. "Are you glad you got the first 'Quidditch Nazi' figure?"

"I didn't know those existed," Oliver spluttered. "I thought you just made me one for… well for old time's sake."

"It was actually Forge's idea," Fred said. George gave a little bow. "Yes, yes. We're counting on you becoming a famous Quidditch player now, Wood." Oliver nodded.

"I'll get right on that, then."

"No slacking off," George snapped. He looked positively joyous afterward. "I've always wanted to tell you that." Oliver chuckled a little. Fred elbowed him harshly in the ribs.

"Don't mind him; he's just been locked up in the lab in the back trying to perfect our day dreaming pills. We're trying to get the user to be able to day dream about anything. Killing You-Know-Who, snogging that irresistibly fine teacher, or even being the Minister of Magic. Right now, the only thing that happens is the user gets a little woozy; hence, George's eyes are out of focus and his swaying stance – typical for as of this moment. Come our break-through and this should be extremely popular, mark my word! I'll give you the first finished product. Maybe you can dream of being famous, eh?" Fred's tone was merely banter.

"So did you come here to buy something, or for something else?" asked George airily with a keen likeness to Professor Trelawney.

"Is premonition a…" Oliver began but Fred nodded and interrupted him.

"Another side effect. Perhaps we should send Trelawney a batch of the unfinished version, eh?" Fred laughed. "So there is something else you came here for?" Oliver nodded reluctantly. The twins were in very good moods and Oliver knew that was bad for him. They were doubtlessly going to make fun of him for the rest of his life.

"I'm the Groom's Assistant for one of my friend's weddings and… well, I need a date."

"Awe shucks," Fred piped up, "I'll be honored to take you!"

"Not you, you dolt," Oliver snapped.

"Then me?" George flittered about, flapping his hands in front of his eyes. "Why I always knew there was chemistry between us on the pitch but not that kind of chemistry!"

"Not you either," Oliver said. He sighed. This was only going to get worse. "Have you talked to any of the old chasers lately?"

Fred's face suddenly turned serious. "You aren't thinking of taking Angelina are you? Because we're going out steadily." Oliver knew this and he shook his head.

"And I'm going out with Alicia so you're not taking her," George piped up. Both Oliver and Fred faced George with incredulous looks on their faces.

"You are?" Oliver and Fred asked at once. Then, Fred's face lightened.

"The pills are finally starting to work!" Fred rejoiced. Oliver was clearly lost so Fred clued him in hastily. "George has been trying to buck up the courage to ask Alicia out ever since the Yule Ball when Alicia went with that Ravenclaw cad."

Oliver nodded before he assured them that he did not want to go with neither Alicia nor Angelina. He spoke too soon, for the process of elimination left only Katie Bell. When Oliver realized this, his cheeks turned a brilliant red.

"Katie Bell, then," Fred said. Oliver thought a moment about denying, but as it went too far already, he only nodded. "So I suppose you want to know if she's still dating that awful Hufflepuff, Chad Mc-What's-His-Name." Oliver nodded again. "No, she's not. They broke up after the end of her sixth year when she realized she was too good for snarl-tooth Magee. So then, are you going to pop the big question?"

Oliver blushed yet again and tried to hide his embarrassment. "Well, uh, I was thinking about it."

"She likes long walks under the moonlight, her favorite candy is the licorice wand, and she likes to eat at Madam Puddifoot's," George said, monotone.

"Err, thanks George," Oliver said. George gave a shrug. Oliver breathed deeply. "So, if I asked her, do you think she'd want to go with me?"

"Sure," Fred said, surveying his ex Quidditch captain. "I mean, you aren't that bad looking, and if you just smiled a little more often and actually made an attempt to crack a joke and didn't obsess so much over Quidditch…"

"Katie likes Quidditch too, though," Oliver defended.

"She does, but that's not all she wants to talk about," George said in a very shrink-ish way. "She's a girl, remember."

"Thank you Doctor Forge," Fred said. "You're really feeling it, aren't you bud?" George shrugged. "If you need anything else, you can come back tomorrow, but Wood, as you can see, we're extremely busy business folk. Write us a letter – would you darling? Ciao."

And with that, Oliver was left alone to stare at the love potion. It would be so much easier, but with a final decision, he decided to ask Katie to the wedding the old fashion way. The dangerous way. Because of all things, Oliver Wood was no coward! He dodged bludgers, caught Quaffles with his teeth if he had to, barked at his team millions of times to get them to win the cup (which they did), passed the strenuous try-outs of Puddlemore United, and played Quidditch in front of thousands of people. He even stood out McGonagall's wrath after he told her he did not care if Harry rode a broom that may be cursed because as long as Harry could catch the Snitch on it, nothing else mattered. Therefore, Oliver assured himself, asking Katie out should be easy.

- - - - - -