A strange sound permeated Oliver's Quidditch dream. Gryffindor was in the lead! Victory was near…
Something woke him.
He opened his eyes, shocked into consciousness. What was that noise on the roof? The squirrels weren't that heavy, and there definitely weren't so many.
He followed the noise, whatever made that noise was traveling across his roof en masse. It sounded like miniature elephants, all headed toward his fireplace. Perhaps it was the ninja dream again. Suddenly it was quiet – too quiet. High pitched badly disguised whispering enveloped him. Maybe he was dead.
A light flipped on and Oliver found himself surrounded by a herd of scantily-clad muggles. He groped for his wand. Drat! It was not on his person. Anywhere. The scantily clad muggles quieted as one wearing a "Oliver Wood is my home-boy" t-shirt stepped forward.
"Heyy." She said scandalously.
Oliver's eyes widened in fear. His life flashed before his eyes. Had he gone through life with such high hopes, hopes of playing for England, hopes of being someday on par with Viktor Krum himself, to be mobbed to death by muggle fan-girls?
Her suggestive expression turned maniacal as she launched herself at him, arms extended and landed with a dull thud on Oliver Wood. A sound like thunder rent the air as the remaining worshippers followed suit to glomp our poor hero.
"Nooooo! Get…off!" He cried. But crying was futile. As was struggle and prayer.
Is this the end? He wondered as the light disappeared behind the screaming hordes of scantily clad muggles.
Oliver's vision darkened.
Truly, this was the end.