Neville had returned to his final year at Hogwarts, hoping to take the spot as apprentice to Professor Sprout. He studied diligently and socialized frequently, his battles during his time there the previous year giving him the confidence he had lacked for so long. He had decided that day to reward his hard work on his lengthy Charms essay by attending the final Gryffindor quidditch practice of the season. He climbed to the top of the stands, behind many of the girls of his house. As he took his seat, he noticed a familiar face!
"Oliver Wood!" he exclaimed, "What brings you back to Hogwarts!"
Oliver looked at the tall man sitting next to him, staring intently until recognition washed over his face. "Well, I'll be a thestral's backside! Neville Longbottom! Good to see you, mate! I'm here as a scout for the Puddlemere reserve team!"
The two chatted amicably about the strongest prospects at Hogwarts that year, Neville painfully admitted that Slytherin was likely to win the cup, and Oliver taking notes on the plays his former team favored. As they watched, the Seeker took a gorgeous dive towards the snitch.
Neville let out a sigh, "I wish I could fly like that. I'm rubbish on a broom."
Oliver chuckled a bit and clasped Neville's shoulder, "Flying's not that hard, let me teach you!"
That is how Neville found himself on the quidditch pitch during his free period with a broom and a slave driver of a flying coach for the past three weeks. "Grasp the broom more firmly! Higher! Left! Right!" Oliver barked orders like the head of the Auror Department. Neville flew higher to escape his commands and noticed a grin on Oliver's face and the slightest tint of red to his shaggy brown hair.
"He's damn near attractive when you can't hear him shout," Neville thought as he soared around the pitch, vaguely listening to the commands still being hurled at him. As he landed, he could almost see the impressed glint in Oliver's eyes. However, the words that flew out of the quidditch player's mouth caught him totally off guard.
"Go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend," Oliver blurted out as soon as Neville's feet touched the ground.
The shock on Neville's face was apparent. "Like on a date?" he muttered shyly.
"Only if you wanted it to be, I mean you don't have to and all, I just mean like as friends unless you want it to be a date, I mean it can be." Oliver spewed out, almost as fast as his brain could register the words.
Neville turned scarlet and Oliver's shoulders slumped. Then Neville laughed, his whole face breaking into a wide grin. "Alright, mate. It's a date. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks at noon."
Neville pecked Oliver on the cheek and made his way to a much needed shower, glowing with excitement for the prospects of the week to come.