Chapter 3

After that, their tutoring sessions began in earnest and while Hermione found Oliver far more intelligent than he gave himself credit for, she struggled at first to find a way to make the lessons relevant to him.

The real breakthrough came during their third meeting after their row in the tower. When Oliver arrived that afternoon Hermione was already working on an advanced potions project. He peeked over her shoulder and pointed towards a notation she'd made next the brewing instructions.

"Why have you used Abraxan Hair for this? It's normally only used for Extstimulos. How can you be sure it won't react negatively with the Haliwinkles and explode while you mixing it?"

"Because the statistical probability of that happening in this scenario is so small as to be negligible," she replied.

Seeing the befuddled expression on his face she shook her head. "You know, it's times like this I really wish Hogwarts offered a course in Algebra."

"What's that? Is it like arithmancy?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste. "No. I'm talking about proper mathematics. Statistics and probabilities have all sorts of practical applications - even in sport."

"Really? School and sport? Now you've got my attention," Oliver tore off a scrap piece of parchment and handed it to her. "Show me."

"Alright." Hermione took her quill and began making notes. "You know how in any sport some occurrences are more likely than others and thereby the potential exists to use that information to aid performance or predict outcomes?"

"Aye."

"So each of those events can be expressed as a probability." She pulled a knut from her pocket. "For instance, if I toss this coin an infinite number of times, I'll get heads fifty percent of the time. However, if I only toss it twice, I'm not guaranteed two different outcomes. So probability isn't a guarantee of what will happen — only an indicator. That's where odds come in."

She began scratching more numbers on the paper. "Odds are used to indicate the relative difficulty of an event. The greater the odds, the harder it is for success to be achieved. Coaches," she pointed at Ollie, "use probability to determine what areas their team needs to work on in order to better their odds of winning."

Hermione paused and when Oliver nodded his understanding, she continued.

"The problem is that, no matter how good you are, you can't get it right every time."

Oliver pretended to look shocked. "Not even you?!"

Hermione stuck out her tongue as she smacked him playfully. "No. Not even me. There are simply too many variables involved in sport. All you can do is to take all the data available and use it to calculate the chances of a particular outcome. The more data you have, the better your predictions will be. "

She gestured towards the stack of books beside her. "That's why I find research so invaluable for all my projects. It's like...gathering information on your opponent. How often do they score? Do they tend to score early on or do they rally late in the game? Which players score most? Has the weather played a part in past outcomes? How much of a factor is equipment?"

Oliver leaned in, listening intently.

"You can then take it a step further by computing averages. Which team is youngest, heaviest, tallest?" She flipped the parchment over and kept scribbling. "You can then compare those numbers to your statistics. Does age or size equate to higher scores? Does a team with more experience have more or less penalties than a younger team?"

She looked at him expectantly. "You then combine all that data to hopefully make better informed predictions about outcomes — not just about sport but also things like potions. How a particular ingredient reacts with another in one instance can give you a pretty good indicator of how it might react with a different ingredient with similar properties in another instance. See?"

Oliver's eyes lit up. "Aye. I think I do." He looked at her and smiled. "How'd you learn all this? I thought you hated sport."

"My father likes to make the occasional wager on Muggle football matches when he's down at the local pub. Mum's pretty strict about the household budget so he has to give himself the best odds possible by using maths."

"Yer father's a wise man. I've always heard 'happy wife, happy life.' "

"Dad would agree with that," Hermione grinned. "And I don't hate sports. I'm just not very good at them. At my old school you were forced to participate regardless of your skill level and the other kids could be really cruel if your lack of ability caused them lose a game. That's why I avoid anything I don't have the capability of mastering — it hurts too much when I fail and disappoint everyone."

"I reckon a mind like yers could master anything you set yer heart on."

"So could you."

Oliver shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that..."

"I am. And I'm never wrong, remember?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Aye. How could I forget?"

"Well, do try and keep it in mind for the future, okay?" Hermione teased as she set the parchment aside and motioned towards his textbooks. "Now, let's take at look your assignments, shall we?"

They worked for another hour and at the end of the session, Oliver helped her to her feet and said, "You know, yer pretty good at this."

"For a muggle, you mean."

"Nay, it's not what I mean. Why do you keep bringing that up?"

"Because everyone else does."

"Nay, they don't."

"Oh, please, Oliver. If it's not purebloods like Malfoy constantly reminding me that I'm an inferior species that doesn't deserve to breathe — much less attend this school — then it's others who see me as a mere curiosity. Some sort of bizarre species to study instead of a witch like everyone else."

Oliver picked up her satchel and handed it to her. "Is that why you hate failure as much as I do?"

"I suppose," said Hermione, shouldering her bag. "Except it's not parental disapproval I fear most. It's everyone else's. When people make it clear that they don't want you around you have to fight twice as hard for your place at the table."

"Well, first off, Malfoy and gits like him are nothing but eejits that don't deserve a moment of yer time or energy. You've twice the ability in the little finger of yer right hand than that twat has in his entire body," Ollie stated firmly. "And anyone else that questions yer right to be here can bugger off. I've lived in the magical world my entire life and I'll tell you right now, Hermione Granger, I've not seen the likes of you before and I'm willing to wager my last galleon I'll never see the likes of you again."

"Thank you, Oliver. That means a lot coming from someone like you."

"What — a glorified broom jockey?" he teased.

"Stop saying that."

"Why? It's true."

"No, it's not. You're not just a brilliant quidditch player, Oliver. You're a bright, focused young man that shows exceptional promise in areas like leadership, organization and strategic planning — all qualities that could translate quite well into the business world or even political settings one day."

"Politics?! Me?" Oliver hooted with laughter.

"Why not? I can think of half a dozen Ministerial posts that would suit you perfectly," Hermione insisted.

"Well, when you get named Minister for Magic — as I've no doubt you will one day — I shall anxiously await yer invitation to discuss my appointment, Hermione Granger."

"Laugh all you want, but I'm going to hold you to that, Oliver Wood," smiled Hermione.

"I look forward to it," he replied as he opened the door for her with a theatrical bow.

xxx

The pair continued meeting on a regular basis, sharing a bit more about their personal lives at each session, slowing building a solid, if unconventional, friendship along the way.

One night, as they settled down to go over his most recent assignments, Oliver studied Hermione with concern.

"Are you doing okay, lass?"

Hermione blew a wayward lock of hair from her forehead. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You look knackered. You've got bags under yer eyes big enough to pack on holiday."

Hermione pulled a face. "Why, thank you, Ollie. That's just what every young lady wants to hear."

"Sorry. I didn't mean..."

Hermione waved him off. "Don't worry about it. You're right. I have been a bit...over extended lately."

"I suppose that's my fault, is it?"

"No. It's not. It's mine. As my mother would say, I 'bit off more than I could chew' this term — but things should improve after today."

"Why?"

"I went to Dumbledore this morning and dropped two of my classes."

Oliver's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow...That's a big decision for you."

"It's okay. I won't miss them. To tell the truth, I've always found Divination to be a bit rubbish and I could pass Muggle Studies in my sleep. Now I can focus on the subjects that are really important to me."

The boy laughed as he shook his head.

"What? What's so funny?" she asked with more than a hint of indignation.

"You know, lass...most people would have kept the easy classes and dropped the hard ones."

"Yes, well...My parents always said the question should never be 'is something is easy or hard?' It should be 'is it right or is it wrong?' Once you have the answer to that then you know what you have to do, regardless of how difficult it is."

Oliver regarded her with admiration. "That's an commendable sentiment. Yer parents sound like good people."

"They are. While they make it clear that they expect the best from me, at the same time I know that they love me and trust my decisions. They accept me for who I am — even though they don't really understand much of anything that goes on here."

"Yer very lucky to have a family who supports you in such a fashion."

"I am." Hermione smiled softly. "Who knows? Maybe one day you can meet them?"

"I'd like that. Maybe yer Dad and I can grab a pint and make a wager on some Muggle sports at the local pub."

"As long as you cover his losses if the bets don't pan out. Otherwise you'll be answering to my mother."

Oliver turned a bit pale. "Oh, aye. If she's anything like her daughter, the last thing I'll want to be doing is getting on the wrong side of her."

"Good move," giggled Hermione. "Now that we've got that settled let's get back to work. We've got fifteen pages to get through."

"Fifteen?" Oliver moaned. "Lass! That's cruel and unusual punishment. How about seven?"

"Twelve," proposed Hermione.

"Ten," countered Oliver.

"Ten plus three practice questions."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "You drive a hard bargain, Granger."

She gave a non committal shrug. "That's the deal, Wood. Take it or leave it."

"Alright, fine," he sighed. "Which question do you want to start with?"

xxx

They continued until the day McGonagall called them into her office and proudly announced that Oliver's marks now not only met but exceeded the required level to continue playing quidditch for the remainder of the year.

By way of thanks, Oliver invited Hermione to join Harry and the rest the team for a celebratory dinner at the Three Broomsticks the following weekend.

"So, that's how you managed it!" exclaimed Alicia after Ollie explained Hermione's presence at the table.

"We wondered what caused this miraculous transformation!" shouted Fred.

"Why didn't you tell us she was helping you?" asked Katie Bell.

"Yeah! Why the big secret?" inquired George.

"Because the poor lass had enough on her hands dealing with me. She didn't need the rest of you numptys bothering her for help with yer work as well." He gave Harry and Ron a pointed look then raised his glass and said, "Now let's give a big cheer to the person responsible for keeping me a keeper. Three cheers to Granger!"

Hermione blushed furiously as the table erupted in cheers as Oliver Wood toasted her very good health with a grin and a wink.