The crowd went wild as Puddlemore United scored the tenth goal of the night. The opposition was fierce, but the chasers were fiercer. They quickly regained control of the quaffle and were headed towards the goals again, when suddenly-
"OOOO!" the anouncer's augmented voice sounded through the stadium. "MARCUS FLINT JUST NAILED CHASER LUCAS PRATT IN THE SIDE OF THE HEAD WITH HIS MASSIVE BOOT. HE'S HEADED FOR PUDDLEMORES AND THE FALCONES MAY STILL BE IN THE GAME."
Marcus grinned as he flew past another of the chasers and nearly knocked over the poor seekers on both teams to get to the goal. He tossed the ball with a triumphant grin on his face.
"OH, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE WOOD STOPPED HIM JUST IN TIME," the announcer chuckled as he watched on."BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, FLINT. YOU LOT ARE STILL NIL TO PUDDLEMORE'S 50 AND- WHAT'S THIS? DID THE SEEKERS SEE THE SNITCH?"
Both seekers were flying in the air with the grace of acrobats chasing after the walnut sized ball. Their small forms almost dancing in the air, they would occasionally reach out one of their hands to catch the elusive prize.
"WELL, THEY ARE REALLY GETTING AFTER THAT SNITCH, BUT WAIT," said the announcer. "THERE IS STILL A MATCH GOING ON, ISN'T THERE? FLINT HAS POSITION OF THE QUAFFLE YET AGAIN, AND HE IS DETERMINED TO GET IT INTO THE GOAL. BUT, OH DARN THE LUCK, FOILED AGAIN. AND- HEY THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR!"
Oliver rolled his eyes at the wave he received from his opponent that consisted of only one finger.
"You idiot," he mumbled. "You're going to be ejected from the game...again." Although, he supposed considering the team the larger man was currently playing for, it was most likely an honor more than an a point of shame. He chuckled at the thought, and focused back to the game. A game that mercifully ended only a few minutes later when Gwen caught the snitch for their team and flew to the pitch below to deafening cheers.
"AND PUDDLEMORE UNITED WINS THE GAME! WHAT'S THIS? IT LOOKS LIKE CHASER MARCUS FLINT AND KEEPER OLIVER WOOD ARE HAVING A BIT OF A ROW. EVERY TIME THESE TWO FACE EACH OTHER, HONESTLY." The announcer watched with a barely suppressed grin.
"Damn it, Oliver!" Marcus fumed. "You could have at least given me one goal! We both know there was no way our shite seeker was going to get the snitch!"
"Oy! Who are you calling shite?" fumed Bella. "At least I made an effort." Marcus ignored her and continued to glare at the other man.
"You know you would hate me if I went easy on you, love," Oliver replied with a smirk on his face. "Besides, I can't be playing favorites just cause you're my baby." Marcus glowered, but he accepted the kiss on his cheek, and the flush on his cheeks were not entirely from the exertions of the game.
"Oy, you two! You're making people sick! Are you lot coming for a drink over at the pub or not?" The announcer watched with pointed amusement.
"Piss off, Jordan!" Marcus snapped. He scowled as Oliver started to chuckle. "Don't encourage him, Olive!" He received a smack on his arm.
"Don't call me that in public!" he chastised. "And you know he's just messing with you." Marcus grunted. "Now, let's go hit the showers and have a drink with the boys." Marcus rolled his eyes but followed his lover all the same. As much as that man drove him insane, he would always be grateful Oliver survived the war and that they found each other again, and that they would always have qudditch.