Chp. 6

If asked to define herself in a single phrase, Hermione would have gone with, "a tad bookish". She was never really one to party or get riled up. Not that she did not enjoy a good firewhiskey or cheering on the boys as they played Quidditich. And not that she did not enjoy letting her hair down every once in a while. But given the choice between a pub or a good novel, more often than not Hermione would be found curled up with the novel and a steaming cup of tea. Truth be told, being around large crowds always made her a bit...irritated. Glancing around her, she silently fumed that irritated would be a mild description as to her current disposition.

"I swear on Merlin's beard that the next person who cuts me off or stomps on my toes will be on the receiving end of a very potent bat bogey hex!" Ground out Hermione with a dangerous flash in her eyes, after having been jostled into Harry for the fifth time that evening.

Harry blinked owlishly at the ranting Hermione and fought the grin that threatened to spread across his face. The poor girl looked one solid shove away from hexing Voldemort to grow petunias from his ears; her left eye had developed an odd twitch and her hair was crackling wildly around her face with an incensed energy.

For the past ten minutes, the two had been elbowing their way through the near-rabid Quidditch fanatics that were awaiting the start of the game. Hermione had lost count how many times she had batted away errant, squeaking bats hanging from red and black striped hats. The magicked adorations almost looked offended each time she smacked them out of her face. Twice, the tiny witch had to side step vendors that apparated to the game, suddenly appearing before her from out of nowhere. Each time Hermione stared in horror as their piled wares wobbled dangerously atop their carts, threatening to defy the magic that held them aloft and topple onto her petite form.

The atmosphere was just as riled as was The World Cup during their fourth year. It would appear that, once again, Voldemort and his followers would try and spoil the day. Hermione glowered.

"I'm serious, Harry! One more time, and I'll-oof"

Hermione was cut off when a well placed elbow found its way to her gut. The offenders, Hermione discovered, were a flock of girls rushing past the duo and squealing in delight.

"Hermione," warned Harry, as he warily watched the young woman, waiting for any sign that the witch intended to attack the group.

Wide-eyed and mouth gaping like a cod, Hermione stared as the flouncing fans ambushed a very muscular man standing outside of a door built into the stadium. The man surveyed the group with indifference, beefy arms crossed over his chest and shaking his no in response to whatever they were saying.

"Harry, what are they doing?" she asked, curiosity winning out over her ire.

Harry snorted at her question.

"Read the sign above the door," he replied, pointing to a gold embossed sign.

Hermione's mouth formed a small 'o', as understanding dawned on her. Under a wavering lamp shown the words, Locker Rooms; Puddlemere United. Her anger was replaced with mild amusement as she watched a few of the girls try to charm the man blocking the door. Hermione had to roll her eyes when one of them leaned forward, allowing the man a clear view down her shirt. The man looked semi-remorseful as he, once again, shook his head no. Collectively the groups' shoulders slumped, and they slunk their way to the side, glaring at the guard.

She almost laughed aloud. Really, who would be daft enough to try to enter into the team locker rooms right before a match?

"Come on Hermione, let's go fetch Oliver," Harry called as he strode purposefully towards the bouncer.

Hermione fought down a groan as she eyed the colossal man blocking the door. A wry smile flittered across her lips as she found the answer to her question; apparently Harry was daft enough to try. Hermione rolled her eyes at his obvious disregard for any sort of plan. Did Harry really expect them to be granted entrance? She looked back to the group of girls who were slowly inching their way to the door of the locker rooms, while trying to appear unobtrusive. Hermione seriously doubted that she and Harry would be allowed in when the others had been denied. So what, were they supposed to overpower the guard and force their way inside? The man was positively enormous! Or did Harry expect them to blithely stroll in, as though they belonged in the lockers?

It was times like these that Hermione wished she had her own cloak of invisibility. Or that they had not forgotten to bring along Harry's cloak.

"Uh, Harry, just how do you propose we get around that mountain of a man," she queried, her eyes fixing on the guard as she jogged to catch up with her friend, "I mean, really, it's as though someone dumped a pile of rocks down and decided to give them a name!"

The man in question met Hermione's gaze and gave her an amused look, having overheard her conversation with Harry. Hermione's eyes widened in mortification and a hot flush spread across her face.

"Well, since you just made friends with him, perhaps he will let us through if you ask," said Harry cheekily.

The boy-who-lived let out a small oof as he received a swat in the arm from a thoroughly miffed Hermione.

oOo

Oliver had just finished adjusting the ties on his pants when the shuffling of feet and deep, apologetic tones of the Puddlemere United's bouncer, Darrel, sounded throughout the changing area.

Oliver's eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped when he saw Darrel turn the corner, walking in a very uncomfortable hunched position so that he was at the same height as one smug looking Hermione Granger. Darrel looked abashed as he finished apologizing to the tiny witch for his previous behavior.

"-and if your seats are not close enough, let me know. I can bring you back through here after the game so you can meet all of the players," Darrel finished. The man gave Hermione a worried look, as though hoping she would be pleased with his offer.

Oliver noticed Harry hovering just behind the large bouncer. He gave his old teammate a baffled look to which Harry lifted his arms, indicating he had nothing to do with the current situation.

"Darrel, that is very generous, but completely unnecessary. Thank you so much for escorting us back here. I trust next time, there won't be this misunderstanding."

Darrel nodded, a frightened look in his eyes. Quickly the bouncer scurried off without a backward glance, muttering under his breath about hell hathing no fury.

Oliver spared a look to his teammates who were gearing up before the game. They all wore varying degrees of amused and shocked expressions as they observed the scene unfolding before them.

"Bloody hell woman, I've seen hardened criminals break down before him, and you've got him eating out of your hand," exclaimed Danny.

Hermione, who had been watching Darrel's retreat, spun and met the beater's gaze. She flashed the man a grin and gave an airy shrug.

"You just have to know how to handle people."

Danny, whose eyes were lasciviously raking down Hermione's form, opened his mouth to make a smarmy response, when Oliver cut him off with a waspish tone.

"What are ye two doin' ehn the changin' rooms?"

Oliver watched Hermione's shoulders stiffen and her mouth thin into a tight line at his tone, all traces of her good mood completely diminished after a few words from him. He almost felt remorseful at being the reason she lost her teasing air, but could not bring himself to actually feel bad; Danny's presence around Hermione bothered Oliver. Or maybe it was just Hermione that bothered Oliver. Either way, seeing Harry and Hermione in the locker rooms made Oliver wary; nothing good had come from those two, as of late.

"Looking for you, you prat. Change back into your robes, we have to leave immediately. You are not to play in the match."

Oliver mused that the ensuing silence would have been comical, had the situation been happening to anyone other than himself. He knew that, were he to turn around, he would see all of his teammates frozen mid-action. They all knew how touchy he was about Quidditch. The sport was his life. Him? Not play? The idea was almost laughable.

But as it were, he found nothing even remotely humorous about being ordered not to play. In fact, if he were entirely honest with himself, the idea of being ordered not to play by Hermione made him downright furious.

"Well that's just brilliant Hermione. Way to get straight to the heart of the issue. Ever heard of easing into subjects?" said Harry dryly.

The rustle of clothes from behind him told Oliver that his teammates were making their escape, apparently not wanting to be a part of the fight that was certain to break out.

"There's no use dawdling. Grab your things and let's go," said Hermione with more force than before.

When he still did not budge, she clapped her hands in front of his face, as though she were a nanny and he a belligerent child not quite ready to be finished playing with his toys.

Oh yes, Oliver was becoming quite angry.

"Care tah explahen tah me why I cannae play ehn the match, lassie?" Oliver quietly asked.

Though his tone held no hint of the ire boiling within him, his stance was the picture of pure lividity. He stood with his feet apart, hands curled into fists at his sides, and his head bowed. With a clenched jaw, he glared at the witch from beneath his lashes.

Hermione exaggeratedly rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I really do not have the time to explain everything to your testosterone fueled mind. Suffice it to say that we think you are in serious danger. Now grab your things and let's go!" She snapped, aggravation lacing her voice.

"Och, ya mean tah tell me tha' I cannea play beacause uhf a wee hunch ye have? What do ye mean ya thenk tha' I ahm ehn danger? " Incredulity and sarcasm filled his voice.

Hermione's nostrils flared and the tips of her ears began to take on a scarlet hue. Instead of responding, she stomped over to his locker, snatched out his gear bag, and threw it at his chest. Oliver exhaled heavily through his nose and ground his teeth. Words failed him as he glowered at Hermione, his bag laying empty and forgotten at his feet.

"I hate to agree with her, Oliver, but she's right. We don't know why, but we think the Death Eaters are after you. We really need to get you to safety as soon as possible. You shouldn't play tonight mate," Harry added gently.

Oliver felt his chest tighten and his body tense. His breathing became labored as he considered the utter absurdity of the situation he found himself in. He did not know whether to laugh or scream. His whole life, he worked towards one goal; to become a Quidditch player. And a bloody good one he was. And now, not only did the Death Eaters bring a halt to the sport that gave him meaning...now the Death Eaters and his former classmates were forcing him to give up the last game his team would ever play for Merlin knew how long.

With a growl, he fisted a hand into his hair. Brow scrunched, he glared at his shoes while he carefully picked his words.

"Hermione," he began softly, "A' ken that ye dinnea really spend a lo' o' time ahround me back ehn Hogwarts, but Harry," Oliver lifted his gaze and pinned Harry, "Harry ye ought tah know behtter. Ye know tha' Quidditch is meh everythin', and ehf ye thenk tha' the threat uhf an attack is going tah stop me from playin' then ya really dohn' know meh a'tall. I will be playin' tahnight."

Harry hung his head and sighed, guilt ridden. He scrubbed a hand against the back of his head as he considered Oliver's words. If there was one thing that Harry could understand, it was having a purpose in life. His purpose, to fight Lord Voldemort, had been forced upon him. And yet, it gave him passion and meaning; fighting for the light – knowing that his parents did not sacrifice their lives for him in vain was his everything. Who was he to determine whether or not what gave someone meaning should be taken from them?

Hermione, catching the indecision lingering around Harry's frame, dropped her jaw in shock.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me! Harry, this is ridiculous. Hold him down while I stupefy him," she ordered while patting down her robes, looking for her wand.

Just when she made connection with the smooth wood, she felt Harry's hand still her arm.

"If we let you finish this game, will you come with us after?" asked Harry

"WHAT?" sputtered Hermione, completely baffled by what was occurring.

Joy and bitterness fought to be the dominant expression to take residence on Oliver's face; he would get to play, but this would mark the end of his career.

"I promise on me mum's cookin' tha' I will follow the two of ya tah the end uhf the world once this game is through. Thank ya, Harry."

"Harry, he has Death Eaters after him! We need to keep him safe!" Hermione argued.

"He will be safe," said Harry simply.

For the second time that day, Hermione felt her mouth gape open and close like a beached cod.

"And just how do you propose he will be kept safe? He will be completely exposed if he is in the open."

Hermione was flummoxed. If the Death Eaters were truly out to get Oliver, their number one priority ought to be his safety; not his participation in a silly game. And yet some part of her (a rather small part, mind you) enjoyed seeing how relieved Oliver was to be allowed to play.

"We will keep him safe. You and I will be tracking his every move from the stands. And we'll get others from The Order to serve as lookouts in the crowd for suspicious behavior. It's not ideal, but it should be enough to get us through the game," said Harry. Turning to Oliver, he continued laying out his plan, "Afterwards, we'll get you to a secure location and figure out how you fit into this puzzle."

Danny's head poked out from around the corner, interrupting the trio's planning.

"Oi, Wood, cap'n says it's time for you to get on the pitch. They're about to announce the players for our fly around," Danny called. Although he spoke to Oliver, his eyes remained fixed on Hermione.

Oliver scowled.

"We'll get in contact with everyone, and get to our seats. Thanks for the tickets, Wood," said Harry, while giving the Keeper a shove towards the door leading to the pitch.

Oliver was halfway towards the exit when a tiny voice halted his movements.

"We'll be looking out for you. I promise," said Hermione.

Since his back was to her, Hermione missed the half grin that tugged at the corner of Oliver's lips. Shaking his head, he exited the locker rooms, knowing that her oath to keep him out of harm's way was her way of wishing him luck and giving her blessings. Now, it was game time.

While stepping onto the brilliant grass and hearing the deafening roar of the crowd, his one thought was that he hoped to live long enough to see the game through to its end.

A/N: Hello guys! I really have no idea what to write here, but I feel obligated to write something. Weird, I know. Ah...helloooo. Thank you for making it this far in the story. Your reviews and alerts...hell, just seeing that visitors came to this page, keep me writing! So Thank You. Seriously. And continue reviewing because it's the right thing to do. And don't you all want to do the right thing? ;-)