Marcus Flint shouldered his way through the crowds. The Quidditch World Cup. Heaven.

"Hey Flint," came a voice from somewhere to his right. He frowned the voice was strangely familiar but he was sure it wasn't any of his friends.

He glanced over and felt his eyebrows shoot for his hairline. Grinning and waving at him was Oliver Wood. WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME?! He thought back, wondering confusedly when he'd ever given the brunet ex-Gryffindor any reason to be friendly towards him, he could think of none.

"Congratulations on making the Falmouth team," chirped the younger man, "They've got an excellent line up this year, it's going to be a close contest all the way. Let's just hope that the skills that are entering league Quidditch show up next time England has an international match."

Marcus nodded hesitantly, the whole situation was exceedingly surreal, "The England squad never stood a chance this year, they lost half their team before the cup started and the rest of the team are just incompetent."

"Still," Wood chuckled, "It was a little humiliating. There were better played games back in Hogwarts."

"Um-hum," Marcus said, noticing with some discomfort that the smiling youth had fallen into step beside him.

"I assume you're supporting Ireland?" Wood asked, unperturbed by his lack of response.

"Of course," Marcus said, noticing with a hint of amusement Wood's Ireland-green pullover which once upon a time he would have called Slytherin-green.

Wood chuckled and caught his eye with a flicker of a smile.

"You still playing Quidditch?" Marcus asked awkwardly, it was the only thing he could think of to talk about when he wasn't even sure why the conversation was going on.

Wood chortled, "Of course! Puddlemere United reserve team…"

"Really, then I guess you stand good chances at making the line up by late season year then," Marcus remarked, "Their current keeper isn't going to last much longer."

Wood shrugged, "Would've been nice to make a team straight off but reserve isn't bad when you consider how few people make it all."

Flint nodded sympathetically, "When you think about it there are fourteen league teams and each team's got seven players – there are only ninety-eight people in the country at any one time playing professional Quidditch on a first team."

Wood let out a low whistle, "I never thought about it like that before – that's kinda cool."

Marcus nodded and they walked along in silence for a few moments.

It was strange, throughout school Wood had been a rival and an enemy, but now they were out of Hogwarts Wood was just a fellow Quidditch player – albeit on a different team. There was no need to resent him for his house and there were very few other reasons to be had. Oliver Wood had never been easy to dislike.

"We should catch a few drinks after the game," Oliver blurted out suddenly, "I know a pub not too far from here and it'd be nice to catch up."

Marcus wondered vaguely what on earth they could have to catch up on. Then he caught sight of the hopeful look on the charming young man's face. He suddenly couldn't think of any good reasons to say no.

"Sure…" he shrugged.

Oliver beamed in a blinding way that caused him to almost trip over his feet, "Great – it's a date."

Marcus decided there was really no reason to correct the phrasing.

A/N Review?