A/N: Woo-hoo! I updated all of my stories this weekend! ::does a little jig:: Heh.

Disclaimer: Everything but the plot is JK Rowling's.



Chapter 3: Dinner With the Woods





"Did you get 16-A from the downstairs file cabinets?" Seamus ran his hands through his sandy hair, eyes screwed up in frustration.

"Yeah, it's right here." His partner, Cho Chang-Wood, slid it across the table to him. "I already looked over it; there's nothing that would show that he was actively involved in the planning and procedure of the coup."

"What about the rest of them?"

She sighed deeply. "They've been looked over; Neville scoured the evidence for fingerprints as well. There's nothing to show that he was involved in much of anything except for the photographs."

"Good." Seamus watched people dart through the frame of a picture, sighing deeply. "I hope they don't manage to turn this all 'round on him. God knows he doesn't need any more crap."

Cho sent him a sharp look. "Remember what I said your first day on the job? iDon't get emotionally attached.i I know he's one of your mates from school and all, but he's a professional just like us. He knew what the stakes were getting into it."

"Still...I can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong." He shook his head. "Don't you ever get that way?"

She smiled wryly. "I got it the day Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw, before they won the Cup in my fourth year. Oliver still won't let me forget it."

"I never did understand how you two started dating…how can you stand all the Quidditch talk?"

"It just works that way. Besides, I make him keep it to a minimum at home. But we're getting off-track." Her eyes glinted under the harsh flourescent lights. "I think it's all set. All he has to do is spring the trap."

"If it were only that simple. You make it sound like we're hunting for bloody rabbits or something."

"What would Mandy think if she heard you use that language? Wait…what would iMrs. Brocklehursti think?"

"Shut up." Seamus stuffed all the materials back into the folder, adding some new things and placing a paperweight on top of it all. 'Banshees Suck!' was emblazoned on the smooth glass dome, shining greenly.

She chuckled. "Admit it, Finnigan…you'd be lost without my superior guidance."

"I bet Harry'd work with me on this case, even though he's only a part-time Auror. I could get anyone I wanted as a partner, Chang."

Rolling her eyes, she stepped out of the office, calling, "Quoth the raven: 'Nevermore.'"

********

"Oy!" Ron called after his team, nodding at the pair of Beaters passing him. "Hit the showers, all of you. The stench'll make us all sick."

A low rumble of tired laughter trickled through the bedraggled crowd of people. The head coach stood on the grassy field with Ron, face amicably set. "Have any plans for the next few years, Weasley?"

"Er…not really." He glanced at the older man. "I don't swing that way…"

"Don't be an idiot, that's not what I was talking about." He was smiling, despite his stern words. "I'm planning to retire soon, and I like the way you run things. I just want you to know that you're in the running for the head coaching job."

Ron felt a small surge of pride, intermingled with panic. "I don't know if I'll be here in five years." The wind picked up ever-so-slightly, ruffling his hair.

"Oh, I'm sure you will be. Chudley's gotten into your blood, I know it. It's unusual to find someone like you hanging on to a team like this."

"Not so unusual."

"Really?"

"Yeah…I like the underdogs better than the champions."

"Then you should've been a Hufflepuff." The two men turned around and were immediately arrested by a set of navy blue practice robes.

"Oliver! What are you doing here?" Ron clapped the star Keeper on his back.

"I wanted to talk to you."

He became serious. "If it's about next month's match…"

"No, no, nothing about that." He looked around, suddenly quite aware of the Cannons' coach's eyes, which were scrutinizing him closely. "We thought you'd like to come over for dinner."

Ron glanced at his colleague, who was still eyeing Oliver suspiciously. "I s'pose I'll come...but no Quidditch talk."

"Sure thing."

He rolled his eyes. In the relatively short time he'd known Oliver Wood, he realized that the man couldn't go five sentences without referring to Quidditch somehow. He was sure it'd come up during pre-dinner conversation. "Alright. I'll go back to my flat and change first."

"Bring Lavender as well, if she's there." The Puddlemere player grinned at him. "Unless, of course, you'd rather stay at home."

"Shut it, you." He grabbed his playbook-filled bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. "I'll be there." He exchanged goodbye with the Coach after Oliver disapparated, patiently listening to his warnings about Puddlemere spies and the like.

"Anything, and I mean anything even REMOTELY related to Quidditch, and you leave."

"Yes sir." Ron made his excuses quickly, not wanting to be lectured for any longer, and headed home with a flourish of his wand.



"Ron, you're home!" A perky voice sounded from somewhere in the house, and a second later Lavender came out. "I've been waiting for ages, sweet."

He gave her a weak smile. He hated nicknames, but it was Lavender. What could he expect? "I don't think you want to do that right now," he said. She stopped mid-kiss. "I mean, I'm dirty and sweaty."

"So? I haven't seen you in ages...and I'm not going through that absurd crisis anymore." She wrapped her arms around him, taking the bag out of his hands. "What d'you want for dinner?"

He kissed her on the cheek. "Actually, Cho and Oliver invited us over tonight."

Lavender's eyes lit up. "Oh! What am I going to wear? I left my favorite dress at Parvati's!" She disentangled herself from him, almost running into their bedroom.

Ron followed tiredly, already accustomed to her whims. Lavender was pretty easy to read, and he had become very adept at it in a relatively short period of time. "What about the white dress robes? Those look nice."

"Those are SO last season." Her voice was muffled as she dug through an endless pile of clothes. "Besides, Muggle dresses are nice and light. I like them better." She emerged a few seconds later with a pink-tinged outfit. "How's this?"

"It's fine, Lav." He headed for the bathroom. "You look great in anything."

She squealed, almost mauling him. "That's the nicest thing I've heard all day." She kissed him twice, hard, before letting go. "But it's not true. I don't look good in all dark colors except for wine or burgundy...that's why I didn't go to that funeral with you last year, honey. And...ick, you taste like grit."

He grinned in spite of himself. "Told you so." And he shut the door behind him before she could do anything to him. He thought, with some humor, that most other women would be offended by his saying she looked good in anything. Hermione would have been very offended. 'No more Hermione today,' he thought. He'd been unusually distracted that day, and it was due in no small part to the events of the other day. He was almost hit twice while teaching moves, and let four Quaffles sail past him while training with the Chasers. Roger Davies, the Cannons' Keeper, had laughed himself silly at this, saying something about younger coaches and the like. Of course, Ron had to swing a Bludger at him afterwards during scrimmage. But other than that, he was fine. Really.

He thought about his lunch with Harry as he showered. His best friend was a little more guarded than usual. Most likely he was still thinking about the library incident. Ron didn't know what the problem was; he and Hermione were happy. They were meant for each other. The hero swept the girl off her feet in a romantic haze of roses and stumbling declarations of love. Ron harrumphed indignantly as he shut the water off, wrenching open the shower curtains and grabbing a towel from the various ones hanging on the rack. Harry had absolutely nothing to worry about. He, Ron Weasley, typical wizard, wasn't about to do anything to jepordize the world's most celebrated young couple. "Not that I want to," he muttered, slipping on one of his Weasley jumpers and a pair of jeans.

"Want to what, pumpkin?" Lavender was combing her brownish-blond hair in front of the mirror, the straight, silky locks swaying a bit.

Ron, coming up behind her, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Pumpkin' had to be his most hated nickname. It was right up there with pookie, sweetums, and sugar. "I wish you wouldn't call me that," he said, hurriedly flattening his hair with a wave of his wand. "What?"

"That's not very hygenic," she said. "It's cute, but not Oliver-and-Cho's house cute. More Shopping-at-Diagon-Alley cute." Her voice was petulant as she sat him down, running her comb through his own hair.

He exhaled slowly. "Lav, we're going to be late."

"They'll understand." She gave his head a small pat. "That's better." With a flick of her wand, the gel bottle shot up and squirted into his hair.

"Urgh..." He hated when she fussed over his appearance like this, and said it. "This isn't necessary; it's only Cho and Oliver."

"You might see it as only Cho and Oliver, but I see it differently." She started as he stood abruptly, stopping any haircare aspirations on her part. "Ron! They live in a VERY affluent neighborhood, appearances are everything."

"Not to me, they aren't." He straightened his jumper and checked his watch. "We're fifteen minutes late."

"Sorry, pookie. Let's go."



The Woods' home was indeed in an affluent suburb, and this quarter was all- wizard. Some kids flew lazily by on their designer broomsticks, tossing apples to each other. A House-Elf was weeding someone's lawn, and a Kneazle was being chased around by a toddler, who was being chased by his mother, still in her Gladrags silk dress robes.

Lavender shook her hair out of her face, twining her arm around Ron's and looking around appreciatively. "Ron, when we get married and have children I want to raise them in a place like this."

"Mmm-hmm," he responded non-commitedly. "Here we are." Striding up the steps, he rang the bell and waited.

She could barely contain her excitement. "Their home was featured in Witch Weekly, you know. Cho let them take photographs, and they just remodeled. I don't think I've seen the new fireplace they put in; it's more than wide enough for Floo travel, but it has one of those glass things covering it. It looked beautiful. I want one just like it when we get a house, sweetums. Their backyard has a half-pitch and they just got Quodpot equipment installed as well."

Ron made an incoherent noise that Lavender interpreted as a sign of disgust.

"Ron, Quodpot is all the rage now. It'd do you good to learn so when we go to Parvati's-"

"Lavender! Ron! How are you two doing? Come on in." Cho hugged Lavender briefly before giving Ron a sympathetic smile. Shutting the door behind them, she ushered them into the living room. "Oliver's outside on the pitch."

"Thought he'd be." Ron stared out of the window, watching him try out the Double Eight Loop. He nailed it, and Ron cursed involuntarily. "Hey!"

"No cheating, you." Cho gave him a mock-angry look as she pulled the curtains shut. "Seriously, though, Oliver'd kill you if he saw you gawking out of the window like that." She turned to see Lavender ogling the fireplace.

"I love this!" She exclaimed. "It looks better in person than in the magazine."

Cho shrugged rather embarassedly. "Thanks."

"We could use the Hawkshead Attacking Formation...and then the Bludger Backbeat with Lynch...that'd leave the posts pretty much open...hmm..." A preoccupied Oliver slammed the porch door shut, absentmindedly kissing his wife. He pulled off his sweaty practice robes to reveal a regular t-shirt and football shorts, doing a double-take when he saw Ron and Lavender. "Oh, hi, you two. I wasn't expecting you to come."

Lavender giggled. "I wasn't planning on leaving today, but everything else I've planned can wait until later." She gave her boyfriend a suggestive look.

Ron grinned back. She was a beautiful girl, if not much else. "Looking forward to it."

"Get your minds out of the gutter, all of you." Cho remprimanded semi- seriously. "I don't want the disturbing mental pictures, thanks. Besides, dinner's ready."

The meal passed quickly enough, with Lavender talking quite a bit about interior design to Cho, who seemed politely interested. Oliver and Ron weren't saying much; as Quidditch was out-of-bounds, their conversation had drifted to vaguely amusing comments about their respective signifigant others. It quickly escalated into a serious conversation as the small group moved to the living room once more.

"I never really thought you'd end up with Lavender," Oliver commented thoughtfully.

'Me either,' Ron thought. What he said was a different story. "What makes you think that?"

"All the guys were betting on you and Hermione Granger getting together."

'Thanks. Thanks a lot. That really made my day.' "Are you completely daft? We'dve killed each other in a week."

Oliver laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, maybe. But there was still something there. Too bad you didn't take the chance when it was there, because my sources say she really fancied you in fifth year."

Suddenly the mashed potato in Ron's mouth was increasingly hard to swallow. "Who were these 'sources?'"

"Katie and Angelina, of course. They couldn't believe you'd missed it. But when they heard about she and Harry, they calmed down a bit. But who'dve thought those two would end up together?"

"Not me." The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I was the last to know. And you weren't even at Hogwarts anymore!"

He shrugged. "I just asked them about the team; they threw all this extra stuff in. Want something to drink? You look a bit pale."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, actually. Firewhiskey." He downed the glass in one gulp.



A/N: Please review! Please?