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Dirty Work by ShieldSnitch3
Chapter 1 : You've Got (Black)Mail
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 11

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“ARGH!” Oliver lets out a noise that sounds like a strangled cat and fumes across the common room.

Our fellow Gryffindors dive for cover, cowering behind each other in fear. The majority of them are first and second years, as everyone else is enjoying a quaint and spirited day in Hogsmeade. Everyone except for me, that is. And do you want to know why?

Because of that complete twat, Oliver Wood. There I was, having a perfectly wonderful time in The Three Broomsticks, when he just had to come up and annoy me. This is how our conversations generally go:

Oliver: You should join the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Me: No.

Oliver: Why not?

Me: Because I hate Quidditch.

Oliver: How can you hate Quidditch?

Me: Because I do. End of story. Go away.

Oliver: Not until you say you’ll join the team.

Me: I hate you more than I hate Quidditch.

Oliver: I don’t care. Join the team.

Me: No.

Well, you get the drift. Eventually it escalates into an all-out screaming match with me telling him to go die in a hole and him responding with some equally prat-like comment.

Anyway, as I was saying, I was sitting in The Three Broomsticks with my friends, drinking a delicious chilled Butterbeer, when Oliver the git had to come up and start bothering me about Quidditch. And of course, he never stops, so my mates made me leave because we’ve been having the same damn argument since our fourth year and they’re bloody sick of hearing it.

Yeah, well imagine how I feel.

But even when I leave, I can’t shake the tosser. It’s like his life’s goal is to irritate the hell out of me, so of course he follows me back up to the castle and into the common room, the whole time badgering me about Quidditch.

And thus, here we are, standing in the common room, sending venomous glares at each other from across the couch, with a bunch of scared-out-of-their-wits second and first years ducking for cover. Which is another way you can tell that they’re youngsters. Anyone third year and up has been around Oliver and I for long enough to tune out our constant stream of bickering.

I don’t even know why he wants me on his team so badly anyway. The Gryffindor Quidditch team plays just fine without me, thank you very much. Plus, they’ve already got seven players. Oliver, Angelina, Alicia, FrednGeorge, Katie, and Harry. That makes seven, assuming that you count FrednGeorge as separate people, which clearly, Oliver does not, because otherwise he would not be asking me to join his sodding team which already has seven players!

I apologise. I ramble when I’m narked. Which is basically anytime that I’m around Oliver. Therefore, Oliver makes me ramble.

He’s been staring me down this entire time, as if that’s going to make me join his team. Yeah, right. I am so not intimidated by Oliver Wood.

“You,” I say, poking him in the chest from across the couch, “are a complete and utter nut case.”

“But I’m an adorable nut case, yeah?”

Oh, boy. Now he’s going to turn on his patented Oliver Allure™. I would roll my eyes, but it’s pointless. When the boy gets an idea into his head, he doesn’t stop for anyone. But really, you’d think he would have learnt by now that it doesn’t work on me.

He hops over the couch, landing next to me, and begins to work his charm. I back away in response as he slowly advances towards me. But before I can plan out my getaway, my back hits the wall. Oliver smiles and leans both of his palms against it, pinning me between his arms.

“A little bit too close for comfort there, Ollie boy,” I say.

“Oh, come now, Lexi. You know you like it,” he teases. “If you join the Quidditch team, you can see me even more than you do now. And I might even be shirtless.”

I sigh, bored with these silly games. I proceed to duck under his arms, pop up behind him, and smack him upside the head.

“Ouch! Uncalled for!”

This time, I pin him to the wall, and growl, “Your stupid tricks might work on the majority of females, but they won’t on this one. Now sod off and leave me the hell alone!”

I spin around and march out of the common room, leaving Oliver dumbfounded in my wake. If I hurry, I might have just enough time to make it to Honeydukes. My supply of Fizzing Whizzbees is dangerously low, and it’s only the first weekend of term.

I’m sure I look like a mess, red faced and flustered from my row with Oliver. Oh, who the hell cares. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anybody, especially not that dishy Ravenclaw Noel Hemsley. Yeah, he’s a seventh year. Yeah, he’s been eyeing Penelope Clearwater since last year (who, by the way, is dating Percy Weasley). But that doesn’t mean that a girl can’t hope, right? Right. Or at least that’s what I’ll tell myself as I pine hopelessly and absurdly over Noel...

Oh look, I’m in Hogsmeade. Isn’t that just dandy and convenient? I speed walk towards Honeydukes, determined to get my Fizzing Whizzbees, and pass by my very annoying brother snogging Alicia Spinnet.

Woah, woah, woah. My brother, my Wren, is snogging Alicia? This is so not normal. What kind of whacked up Hogsmeade trip is this? I mean, I know Wren’s had a thing for Alicia since like, ever, but Alicia’s always loathed him for being, well, Wren.

Let me explain: I get complaints about my brother on a daily basis from both faculty and students alike. Yeah, like I can control him. His best mates are FrednGeorge, for the love of Merlin.

I try to shake the image of the pair of them snogging out of my brain and push my way into Honeydukes, which is extremely crowded, as per usual.

“Oi! Lexi!” one of my best mates, Chloe Everson, calls from across the store. I grin and wave, grab a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees, and stride over to meet her. She’s shopping with some of our fellow Gryffindors, Lee Jordan and the aforementioned FrednGeorge.

“And now, please welcome the newest member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Lexi Covington!” Lee says in his ‘Announcer Voice.’

I glare at him, but Lee just continues onward with his commentating. “After years of Captain Oliver Wood constantly pleading with the lovely Miss Covington, she has finally given into his demands, yeah?”

“No, she most certainly has not,” I say in a pointed answer to the question on everybody’s mind.

“UHH,” the group moans.

“This means that we’ve got to put up with another year of arguing,” George whinges. “I don’t think my heart - or my ears - can take it, Freddie.”

“That makes two of us,” I mutter under my breath. I swear, I don’t know how I’m going to deal with sodding Oliver Wood pestering me for another year.

“So, how are things with you and Lover Boy?” Fred inquires.

I kick him in the leg as hard as I can.

“Ow! Lex, you’re so violent! I can’t help it if you and Ollie are in lurve.”

“He is so not my lover boy, so stop calling him that!”

“How are you so incredibly thick-headed, Lex? You could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife.”

“I would rather stab him with it!”

“Violent bitch,” Fred mutters before I kick him again.

“Oh, stop teasing Lexi, you guys,” Chloe says, coming to my rescue. “She obviously only has eyes for Noel.”

Wow, what a great friend you are, Chloe. No, seriously, you should win an award or something. I’ll have Lee announce it. ‘And the winner of this year’s Friend Most Likely To Spill Your Crush to the Biggest Blabbermouths In School Award goes to... Chloe Everson!’ And the crowd goes wild!

Honestly, could she have picked worse people to spill to? Lee will make sure to announce it “accidently” during a Quidditch match in front of the entire school. That is, if FrednGeorge don’t let it slip before then. Which will probably happen. Because if there’s one thing a Weasley can’t do, it’s keep a secret. Trust me, I know. There’s a reason that no one in their family has ever been a Keeper. Cough Charlie cough.

“I hate you all,” I proclaim solemnly to our circle before marching off to the counter to purchase my Whizzbees. Merlin, I need sugar.

I stomp out of Honeydukes and pass my brother and Alicia again (are they really still snogging?) as I make my way back towards the castle. So far, sixth year is going horribly. Oliver’s already asked me to join the Quidditch team at least 27.64 times, Chloe’s spilled my secret, and I just found out this morning that as a part of “Prefect duties” I have to tutor third years in Transfiguration with Percy Weasley.

I can’t bloody stand Percy Weasley.

As I walk by the Quidditch pitch, I spy a solitary broom zooming along. Who the hell is practising Quidditch on the first weekend of term?

My curiosity, damn you, overrides my desire to return to the common room. I walk towards the pitch, increasingly aware of the fact that I am an incredibly stupid person. Why? Because I am voluntarily walking towards said pitch.

I scan the skyline for the lone broom and locate it swiftly. Bloody hell, it just had to be him, didn’t it? Of course, out of all the Quidditch fanatics that would be out here, it just had to be Oliver Wood. Did I really expect it to be anyone else? Merlin, I’m such a masochist.

“Can’t stay away from me, can you, Lex?” Oliver yells from his broom as he comes speeding towards the ground, Quaffle tucked neatly under his arm. “Or are you just reconsidering my offer?”

“No on both counts,” I say.

“Oh, come on, Lexi. Why won’t you just agree to join the team?” He’s made it to the ground and has begun to amble towards me with that stupid smirk on his face.

“Because I -” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“And don’t bloody tell me that you hate Quidditch, because I know it’s not true. For one thing, it’s physically impossible for anyone to hate Quidditch, and for another, I saw you playing with your dad over the holiday, so I know you like it.”

When the hell did I see him over the summer? I didn’t. And the only place I ever play Quidditch is at home...

“You bloody creep!” I exclaim, fitting the pieces together. “You’ve been stalking me!”

“I have not been stalking you.”

“Then why the hell were you watching me at my house over the summer?”

“I’m trying to get in good with all the Puddlemere players. I’ve taken to visiting them over the holidays. I figure it’ll improve my chances once we graduate,” he explains matter-o-factly.

“So you’ve been stalking my dad? That’s even worse!”

“Jeez, Lex, chill. I’m not stalking anyone in your family. I stopped by your house to meet your dad, but your mum said he was out back playing Quidditch with you, so it could be awhile, but to come on inside and have a seat.”

“You’ve been in my house?! What the hell, you perv?”

He rolls his eyes, not even bothering to get angry. “So, why won’t you join the Quidditch team?”

I exhale in a very annoyed fashion. This is how it always is with Oliver. We get talking about something other than me joining his damn team, but it always comes back full circle. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to be on your bloody team because I’m bloody tired of being on bloody Quidditch pitches or at bloody Quidditch practices or at bloody Quidditch benefits because my bloody father plays for bloody Puddlemere and my bloody mother is their bloody resident Healer?”

He raises an eyebrow in that stupid cocky way of his. “You really use that word way too bloody often.”

“I don’t bloody care!”

Now it’s his turn to sigh in annoyance. “Look, Lex, I’ve never considered the fact that you might be tired of Quidditch, because in my experience, you can never have too much of a good thing. But I see where you’re coming from. So, I have a proposition for you.”

I look at him warily. Oliver’s ‘propositions’ are never good.

“Nothing bad, I promise,” he says, noting my expression. He tosses the Quaffle to me, then explains, “It’s a bet of sorts. Five penalty shots. You play Chaser, yeah? If you score the majority of the shots, you win, and you don’t have to try out for the team. If I block the majority of the shots, I win, and you do have to try out. Simple enough. What d’ya think?”

“Bloody no!” I exclaim, chucking the Quaffle at his prattish face. Oliver catches the Quaffle with ease (damn his Keeper skills!), and gazes at me impatiently. “Why the hell do you think that I would ever agree to that?”

“Because if there’s one thing you can’t resist, it’s a challenge,” he says mischievously. “So, what d’ya say, Lex? Think your Chasing skills are better than my Keeping skills?”

I grind my teeth in frustration. He bloody well knows that if he poses it as a challenge then there’s no way I’m backing down. “I don’t think I’m better than you, I know I am. Challenge accepted.”

“Then let’s go,” he says, pulling out his wand. “Accio broomstick!” A few seconds later, a broom comes hurtling towards us from the general direction of the broomshed.

“This isn’t fair!” I whinge. “I’ve got the crap broom!”

“Well, if you’re so much better than me, it shouldn’t matter,” he says, mounting his Nimbus 2000 and kicking off towards the goal posts.

I follow suit, trying my best to get the hang of the crap broom. Everyone knows that the school brooms are pieces of Hippogriff dung. I honestly feel sorry that they make the first years learn how to fly on these things. No wonder so many students are awful at flying.

Oliver tosses the Quaffle to me from in front of the goal posts, and I consider my strategy very carefully. There’s no way in hell that I’m losing to him. I’m going to kick his arse and look damn good doing it. I study him for a few minutes, trying to figure out which hoop to go for. I think back to all the previous Quidditch matches that I’ve watched him play in. Think, Lex, think! What do I know about Oliver?

Hmm... He’s a Quidditch Nazi, his favorite team is Puddlemere United, his notes are always smudged up ‘cause he’s left-handed, his favourite colour is navy blue, he’s absolutely horrendous at Ancient Runes... None of this is helping. Wait a second, he’s left-handed! Of course! That’s my in! I gaze at him for another minute, and I notice that he is unconsciously drifting towards the left hoop (well, his left, my right). I lean forward on my broom and fly straight towards the left hoop before swerving off at the last minute and shooting towards the right.


Oliver dives for the Quaffle and reappears momentarily. He throws it back to me, and says, “All right, you got one shot past me. Let’s see you do it again.”

I fly towards him for my second shot, aiming for the right again. He blocks it lazily, as I knew he would. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he jeers from his broom.

Oh, trust me, Ollie. I will. It’s all part of the plan. He’s expecting me to aim right, so as I zoom in for my third shot, I fling the Quaffle towards the left hoop. He catches wind of my plan at the last second and speeds off towards the left hoop, fingertips grabbing for the Quaffle. Nonetheless, he’s too slow and the Quaffle sails through the hoop.

He dives for the Quaffle again and tosses it back to me. I only need one more goal to win. I can do this. To throw him off, I speed directly towards the goal without hesitation. He was expecting me to sit and study him, not attack right away. His eyes widen in panic as he sees me coming at him, and I shoot for the left hoop again. This time, however, he blocks the Quaffle and sends it flying back towards me.

“Two-two. Next shot decides the winner,” he calls out.

This is not going as I expected. Now the pressure’s really on. Okay, let’s think this one through, Lexi. I’ve shot left twice and I’ve shot right twice, and he easily blocked one on both sides. But I haven’t shot for the middle yet... Which is exactly what I’m going to do now. I execute a Woollongong Shimmy, zig-zaging back and forth as fast as my crap broom can go. Oliver counters with a Double Eight Loop around the goal, trying to match his zags to my zigs. I’m close now, almost within shooting range -

I launch the Quaffle for the centre hoop, praying that his Loop is ahead of my Shimmy. Yes! The Quaffle flies cleanly through the hoop, winning me the challenge.

“Ha! I win, Wood. Now I don’t have to try out for your bleeding team,” I yell as I float back towards the ground.

“You’re good, Lex. You’re really good. If I had you on my team...” He trails off, touching down onto the grass of the pitch.

I stride over to him cockily, quickly decreasing the distance between us. I can’t help it; I have to rub it in his face. I wait until we’re barely a wand’s length apart, stare him straight in the eye, and say, “Too bad I won’t be trying out.”

He stares back at me for a few seconds with a slight grin on his face, and before I know it, he’s pressing his lips to mine.

My first reaction is to coil away, but him being the bloody muscular Quidditch bloke that he is makes it impossible. His lips roam over mine for what feels like ages but can’t have been more than a few seconds. Finally his body relaxes and I make my escape.

“Wood!” I scream, shoving him off of me. “What the hell was that?”

I smack his arms and chest, pounding him furiously, then give him a kick for good measure.

“That, Lexi, was a snog. I can’t say I’m surprised that you don’t know what one of those is, considering your charming personality.” He smirks and I punch him in the arm. Merlin, if I only had my wand.

“But more importantly, it was my insurance,” he says, still smirking.

“Your insurance? What the bloody hell does your insurance have to do with this?”

“You see, that snog was my insurance that you’ll be trying out for the team this year.”

“How does you sucking my face off insure that I’ll try out for your precious team?”

I swear, this boy is mental.

“Because if you don’t try out, I’m going to spread the word that we snogged,” he says triumphantly.

Like I said, the boy is absolutely mental.

He widens his smirk and cocks his head to the side at my blank expression. “Let me clarify. If you don’t try out for the team, I’ll tell Lee and FrednGeorge.”

“You wouldn’t,” I gasp.

“Wouldn’t I?”

I blanch. As previously mentioned, those three (two?) are the biggest blabs in the entire school. If they find out that Wood and I snogged, the whole school will know in an infinitely short amount of time. The entire female population of Hogwarts will be attempting to rip my throat out before dinner. Plus, FrednGeorge already tease me constantly about the supposed ‘lurve’ between Oliver and I. It’s bad enough now - I can’t even imagine what they’ll do if they find out about this. It’s fully loaded ammo.

“You are a cruel, cruel man.”

“Correction. I am a brilliant captain. I’m doing whatever it takes to create the best Gryffindor team possible. And hey, if I have to take one for the team along the way...”

“Jeez, Oliver. I didn’t know snogging me was that disgusting. Which, by the way, you didn’t have to really do. It’s not like anyone saw us. You could’ve just said that we’d snogged.”

“I, Lexi, am a man of honour. I would never knowingly spread lies. It was a necessary - albeit unpleasant - action that I needed to take.”

Great, so now he’s blackmailing me and insulting my snogging ability. That deserves a kick.

“Bloody ow!” He yells, hobbling on one foot and clutching at his right leg.

“Serves you right, you git,” I mutter before stalking off the pitch.

This is going to be an awful year.

I storm into the common room with my usual pleasant demeanour, a.k.a. pissed off at the world. With a frump I sit down on the couch between two of my fellow sixth year Gryffindors and best mates, Andrew Sutton and Justin Hopkins, making sure that my general sourness is known to the common room. Chloe is seated next to Andrew, legs propped up on his lap, twirling her hair and looking like a shameless flirt.

“What, rough day of drinking Butterbeer, Lex?” Justin asks teasingly.

“Not so much the Butterbeer as the bloke who came with it,” I growl.

“Oh, the throes of young love,” Fred says from by the fireplace, where he is playing Exploding Snap with his better half.

“Shut it,” I say menacingly.

“Is Ollie boy getting under your skin again?” Justin inquires in mock concern.

“I said, shut it,” I say, smacking him on the upper arm.

“Why, speak of the cap’n! There he be,” Fred says, pointing over to the portrait hole.

FrednGeorge jump up from their game, salute Oliver, and yell, “Hullo, Cap’n, sir!” in unison.

“At ease, gents,” Oliver says as he takes a seat inside our little circle. “Good news, everybody! Lexi has finally agreed to join - er, tryout - for our Quidditch team!”

“WHAT?” Five heads turn to stare at me in perfect synchronisation.

“Is this true?” Andrew asks incredulously, looking extremely rattled.

“Mmhm,” I mumble, not wanting to admit it out loud.

“Where is Lexi and what have you done with her, you fiend?” Justin asks in horror.

“Haha, very funny,” I say, smacking him again.

“Oh, no! Oliver’s Imperiused her!” Andrew yells.

I glance around the room for something to distract me from the awkwardness of the situation. My eyes land on Couple’s Corner where Alicia and Wren are snogging each other’s brains out.

“Oi! Wren!” I bellow, launching a pillow towards him and Alicia.

“What?” he yells, whipping his head around and looking extremely perturbed.

“Stop that! There are first years in here and you’re corrupting their innocent little minds!”

“Don’t be such a prude, Lex! Just because you haven’t had a good snogging in ages doesn’t mean that you should take it out on me!”

“Wren Covington! Don’t you dare take that tone with me,” I say warningly.

“Okay, Mum. When was the last time you snogged a bloke anyway? Was it when you snogged Charlie Weasley?”

“You snogged Charlie?!” FrednGeorge exclaim in outrage.

“For your information it just so happens that I snogged someone toda -” I begin before I even think about what I’m saying. I freeze mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the fact that everyone in our group is still staring at me.

My face starts to flush violently and I feel the burning heat of Oliver’s eyes on me. I can’t bring myself to look at him, yet I know that he has that ever present smirk plastered on his face.

“Who’d you snog, Lex?” Justin pries after a brief silence.

“Yeah, Lex, who’d you snog?” Oliver asks smugly.

I think it’s the first non-Quidditch related thing that he’s ever said to me.

“You snogged Charlie?!” FrednGeorge yell again. Oh, good. At least they’re still stuck on that one.

“Who snogged Charlie?” FrednGeorge’s little brother, Ron, inquires from across the room.

“Would all of you lot just leave me the hell alone?” I shout in frustration. I jump up off the couch and fume up to my dormitory, grateful to escape the probing eyes of my so called ‘friends.’

I have a few short seconds of bliss before Chloe comes sprinting into the room, dragging our other roommates, Nina and Trinity, with her.

“Who did you snog?” she demands.

“No one!”

“That blush didn’t come from no one,” she says slyly.

“I just - er! It doesn’t matter!”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easily, missy,” Chloe says, grabbing my arm and sitting me down on my bed. “Spill. Now.”

“It wasn’t anyone!”

“Was it Noel?” Trinity pipes up from the corner.

“Oh, yeah, I bet it was Noel!” Nina exclaims.

“No! It wasn’t Noel!” I say. “Now let it go.”

“You can’t just snog someone and then not tell us who it was!” Chloe complains.

“I can and I will.”

“No way,” Trinity says. “You are telling us who you snogged.”


“We’re not going to let this go.”

I sigh, knowing that Trinity’s right. My roommates never relent when there’s gossip to be found.

“I’m still not telling you,” I say stubbornly.

“Fine, twenty questions, then,” Nina says.

“Oh, all right.” I might as well give them something, seeing as we won’t be talking about anything else for the next hundred days or so. “But I have the right to refuse to answer any question!” I add as a precaution.

“Yay!” Chloe squeals, clapping her hands with delight. “I’ll go first! Is he in our year?”


“Me next! Okay... is he dishy?” Nina asks.

“Er - well, yes. I s’pose he’s quite fit.”

Now it’s Trinity’s turn. “Do we know him?”

“Well, obviously. He’s in our year.” Twat.

Chloe grins mischievously. “Does he play Quidditch?”

Frickity frick frick.

“Not answering.”





“Dark-haired or light-haired?”



They all ponder the answers that I’ve given them. Luckily for me, they were all fairly generic questions. There’s no way they’ll be able to figure it out from that. Well, if it satisfies them, I guess it’s all good.

I soon bore of the never-ending discussion of my possible snogees, during which Oliver was mentioned only once, thank Godric, and decide to slip back down to the common room. Unfortunately, my roommates do as well.

I head back to my spot on the couch and rest my head on Justin’s shoulder. Today is giving me a headache.

“There, there, Lex,” he says, patting my head. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the mean, gossiping roomies.”

“So,” Chloe begins, settling back down next to Andrew, “we’ve got some information. Apparently, he’s in our year, with average height, dark hair, and muscles.”

I groan and start to slam my head repeatedly against Justin’s shoulder.

“Oh, and Lexi says he’s quite fit,” she adds as an afterthought.

Oliver’s face lights up and that stupid smirk spreads across it again.

I will kill you while you sleep, Chloe.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” I mumble and proceed to exit the common room through the portrait hole. Where are my Fizzing Whizzbees when I need them?

“Covington! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for the past twenty minutes!”

Just my luck. Percy Weasley. Hogwarts stick in the mud and git extraordinaire. I honestly don’t know what Penny Clearwater sees in him.

“What do you want, Weasley?”

“We’ve got a Prefects meeting! Right now!”

Oh, bloody hell. I completely forgot about the sodding Prefects meeting. Great. An hour of sitting around listening to the same spiel as last year (and what we heard on the train, for that matter). At least I’ll get to stare at Noel the entire time without being labelled a stalkerish freakazoid. Mmm... Noel. He has got to be the most scrumptious Head Boy to ever walk the Hogwarts halls, and yes, I am including Bill Weasley in that count.

The Perce Man (he hates it when I call him that) drags me off to the meeting, which is even more boring than I expected. Apparently, Noel is taking his job as Head Boy very seriously, which means that he blathered on for thirty-four minutes over schedule about absolutely nothing.

As soon as Noel finishes his long-winded monologue, I sprint at full speed out of the room. “Bye Perce Man!” I yell over my shoulder, waving at Percy, who’s wrapped protectively around Penny. He takes a break from scowling at Noel to scowl at me, and I see Noel chuckle out of the corner of my eye. Aww, I made him laugh! He is so adorable I can hardly stand it.

As I head back to the common room, I decide to take a detour to see if I can find Peeves. The pair of us actually get along quite well, as I give him full authority to pull any and all pranks on Percy, and may or may not supply him with said git’s schedule...

I round a corner, running smack dab into another student, and am about to apologise profusely before I realise who it is. “Bloody hell! Watch where you’re going, Oliver!”

“Oh, hullo to you too, Lex.” He runs his fingers through his hair and leans casually against the wall. “So, you think I’m quite fit, do you?”

A/N: Hello, everyone! So I know that I already have another story in progress (And All That Jazz), but I can no longer hide my love for Oliver and his maniacal obsession with Quidditch. So... what did you think? Yay or nay? Any favorite parts? What do you think of the characters? The plot in general? 

Please make me happier than Oliver in Quality Quidditch Supplies and review!

Until the next chappie, folks!

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