(You have permission to skip to the beginning of the story if you don't want to bother with reading an old coot's ramblings.) Greetings, my fellow addicts! Now that it's summer, I'm completely hooked, and even decided to write my own – primarily because there just aren't enough Hermione/Oliver stories out there. Well…I hope it won't be a total bomb, but I suppose that's your (the reader's) job to decide whether it is or not. ). Now why don't I stop talking myself in circles and let you get on with your reading!

Disclaimer (I actually read Terms of Service page, trying to find out once and for all whether these things were ACTUALLY necessary or not…and I deduced that drumroll making one couldn't hurt, right?): I hereby yield all ownership of citations and characters referred to, applicable for all chapters.

Synopsis: In Hermione's 7th year at Hogwarts Secondary, her seemingly perfect existence as Head Girl is shaken up by the return of Oliver Wood as a flying instructor, as they commence their tumultuous (and did I mention clandestine?) relationship.

– Prologue: The Clash –

Hermione never predicted that she'd be the subject of an accidental voyeur. At least, not one on a broomstick. And certainly not Oliver Wood. It was an afternoon like any other -- well, not really. A Quidditch game was taking place, the Hogwarts castle virtually deserted by the students who scrambled to witness the enthralling match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Hermione, though wanting to partake in the excitement as much as everyone else, forced herself to remain in her dorm to complete a Potions assignment with a deadline that was fast approaching.

Honestly, doesn't anybody else realize that schoolwork may actually sometimes be the foremost priority? the third-year reasoned in her mind. Then, with a more vehement conviction, thought, And can't Snape be more sympathetic in doling out due dates? Honestly!

Hermione threw down her quill, having suddenly lost the desire to work. Besides, it was sweltering in the stuffy dorm room. Being late spring, the sun seemed to constantly shine with an unrelenting heat – rendering the entire student body incessantly restless in their thick school robes. Already in only a blouse and skirt (a scanty combination already, in conservative girl's opinion), Hermione wiped the sweat off her brow and made a futile attempt to sweep back her wild hair. Not being able to take it anymore, she stripped down to her undergarments, reasoning that her dorm mates wouldn't return until much later, seeing as the festivities of the game were presumably still in full swing.

I feel like a caged wild animal, pondered the fourteen-year old with some amusement. She got up to walk around, relishing the circulation of cool air wisping from the open window and kissing her skin.

Feeling even more daring, she traipsed to face her full length mirror and gave herself a complete assessment. Save for the bird's nest crowning her face, the girl deemed herself to be positively plain and pale from the lack of outdoor activity. Or any activity at all, for that matter. This past year Hermione had stood back and watched (with a mixture of awe and disgust) as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil grew from girls to young women -- applying makeup by wand (deemed by Hermione to be a very dangerous and inessential habit, however much attention they garnered afterwards), and going out with older boys. Put it this way: If Hermione had a sickle for every time she saw Lavender share a pumpkin juice shake with Ernie McMillan at Hogsmeade, she'd be able to purchase a Firebolt for every single member of the Weasley family. (Not that they'd accept the charity of a girl who profited off glowering jealously at happy couples in her spare time or anything.)

Hermione began to get silly. She pouted like a muggle movie star, blowing a kiss to her reflection. She raised her arms above her head and danced, swiveling her hips from side to side. One thing the girl liked about herself was her flat stomach -- though she would probably never have the courage to show it off. Hermione flexed her biceps, bursting out in laughter as she realized how skinny her arms were. She checked out her butt, clad in her lacy lilac panties. It was slight and firm -- certainly no J.Lo, but she supposed it would suffice. Laughing once more, she 'shook what her momma gave her', and flopped back onto her bed, completely uninhibited. Man, she forgot how fun it was when no one was around to judge and ridicule her. It was then that Hermione became conscious of how sad it was that this was the single most exhilarating thing that she had done in a long while.

"That was absolutely titillating."

Hermione rolled over, thinking it was the mirror talking, but to her surprise, saw two eyes peering out at her from the open window. She shrieked in surprise, promptly wrapping herself in red and gold bed sheets and throwing "Hogwarts: A History" at the intruder.

Wood caught the book purely by reflex, the realization of who he was staring at dawning upon him. "H-Hold on...Oh shit, you're Potter's mate, aren't you?" He inquired, suddenly looking like he was in trouble and backing up slowly. However, Oliver just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.

"Stop staring, you pervert!" she screeched in horror, and threw another book. This time, The Monster Book of Monsters caught Oliver directly in the chin, clinging and clawing with its teeth. He cried aloud and dove out of sight. Hermione gasped and ran to the window sill, half-hoping that his eyes had been clawed out, but at the same time not wanting the poor boy to plummet to certain death!

She spotted him struggling to stay aloft while simultaneously trying to tame the literally monstrous book. "Oh no..."

Please don't die or become incapacitated beyond repair, Hermione panicked, imagining the possibly horrible repercussions that could ensue. The entire school's population would eat her alive when they found out that she had been the cause of the beloved Oliver Wood's untimely, gruesome death -- finding him at the trunk of the Whomping Willow next to a shatter broomstick, his beautiful face mauled by a textbook that was deemed to be hers, and his gorgeous body too mutilated even for a wizarding autopsy. Goodbye promising career in professional Quidditch, goodbye beautiful family with many Quidditch-inclined offspring who could have had their own promising careers in the sport had Hermione not have overreacted and killed the would-be legendary Oliver Wood. Hmm. This could potentially turn very very ugly.

The girl had become so preoccupied with imagining the grotesque consequences of her actions when the person who had previously been put in a very compromising position resurfaced at her window.

"I believe this is yours, Miss Granger," he said, extremely sheepish and disheveled, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

Hermione took the book, noticing that it had been hit several times over with the Immobulus charm, and set it down on her bedside table, where it purred demurely. "Well I hope you've learned a lesson, you peeping tom. What did you think you were doing?" she demanded haughtily.

"I've learned my lesson, believe me. I just thought you were my girlfriend -- Wait, let me rephrase that -- I thought you were Celia. Celia Evans."

Hermione blushed a little at this comment -- Celia was possibly the most beautiful girl in seventh year, however air-headed she had been known to be. "Well, of course I'm not. Don't you think she'd be watching you at your game?"

"It's over. We won!" he rejoiced, still energetic from the adrenaline rush that sports would give a person -- not that Hermione would know. "And yeah... I suppose that'd make sense. My apologies, miss," he offered, looking at her with intense hazel eyes.

Hermione mumbled something incoherent, having to exert all her willpower in order to resist the undeniable charm of the famous Oliver Wood. He was infamous for womanizing unsuspecting, impressionable young girls for his own entertainment. Hermione had to be careful in order to guard herself against such philandering types of men.

"Really sorry to interrupt your seduction of the mirror."

This offended her. "Oh sod off!" she replied, shoving him away from her window, sending him on a tailspin only to land safely on the lawn below. It was almost surreal to watch as friends, fans, and fanatics instantly swarmed the Quidditch Captain and carried him on their shoulders into the building.

Hermione shut the window, practically breathless from the encounter. What happened just now was wrong, sexist, and against many of the principles she strived so hard to uphold. Yet...

'Oh OLIVER...' she thought with longing, and let herself flop backwards onto her bed, the prospect of completing the Potions assignment completely gone from her mind.

–

Alright, bonus points for whoever can pinpoint the Shakespearean connection in this chapter.