Thank you Belle, for inspiring me (: ... even though you have no idea had you did so! xD

He'd lost a Quidditch game. He didn't like losing. He hated losing.

Losing made you a loser. He didn't like being a loser either.

And when things don't go quite right, what else is there to do other than drown your sorrows in a good bottle of alcohol? And so, Oliver Wood, renowned Keeper for the Chudley Canons, leaned against the Potter's kitchen bench, a bottle shaking in his hand.

"Don't drink too much, Oliver," Ginny had warned. "All the kids are here and they don't need to see you drunk."

He'd nodded with a flippant wave of his hand, oblivious when she'd sent him an irritated glare and was carted away from him by Harry, who had said over his shoulder, "She means it, Oliver. Get drunk with the kids here and you'll never come back."

Harry had waved his wand around for good measure, but the action was wasted on Oliver, who was too busy opening another bottle to pay attention to the younger boy. In all honesty, he'd rather be at a pub—the Leaky Cauldron, to be exact. But no, he'd promised that he would make it and even if he was spending the evening hidden in the corner downing firewhiskey, he had been told that he simply had to make it. Why, though, he wasn't exactly sure.

Despite ignoring the young Potter couple earlier, Oliver had no intention to get drunk. And so he found himself resisting from wrenching the cap off third bottle and instead, reached for a glass of water.

It wasn't long before the kitchen was no longer his own and several of the Potter-Weasley children had scrambled in in order to find the chocolate biscuits and soft drink. Lucy Weasley, a small girl that had inherited her mother's brown hair, propped herself next to him, her brown eyes imploring his. Silently, she lifted her hand, rubbing her thumb against her fore-finger.

"I'm not giving you money, if that's what you're asking," Oliver joked, painfully aware of the stench of alcohol he was breathing into the child's face.

Lucy rolled her eyes, politely coughing to the side after inhaling. "I'm not asking for money." She did the action again, slower this time. "I'm playing a thousand tiny violins, just for you." She repeated the action, beaming up at him.

Ruffling her hair, Oliver grinned. "Why would you do that?"

"You looked sad," Lucy explained, tugging at her plait and smoothing the now static hair on top of her head. "But don't worry, I don't play the violins for just anyone that I see sad. Only the ones I care about."

He sighed wryly. "Only the ones you care about?"

"Yeah," she said. "So are you happier now? That I played my violins for you?"

"Yeah, suppose."

Lucy smiled at this, her plait bouncing above her shoulder as she let it go. With a small spring, she sat on the bench top, her legs swinging as she rocked back and forth. Looking shyly in the direction of Oliver, she leaned over quickly and pecked him on the cheek.

"I'm glad I make you happy, Ollie," she spoke, her mouth working overtime as the words tumbled out in a heap, before leaping off the bench and scurrying away to join her long-gone cousins.

Ollie? Oliver groaned, rubbing the spot on his cheek in frustration. He was going to break the little girl's heart. Percy was going to kill him. Harry was going to kill him. And dear Merlin, he needed a drink.