NOTES:

Oh boy... it won't be pretty. Oliver and Cass in the hospital together. Much chaos ensues.

DEDICATION:

To Cookie, fellow Flint and Slytherin Quidditch team fan, and the most artistic lj format designer I know. Go Slytherins!

DISCLAIMER:

::smites would-be-sue-ers::

*~*~*~*

Oliver Wood awoke and immediately noticed that some things were very wrong.

First of all, there was his bed.

It was certainly not the bed in his flat, the one that had an old Gryffindor banner as the sheet, and a comforter with a moving pattern of Quaffles, bludgers and snitches. Indeed, this bed was... white... all over.

Added to that was the fact that he felt as if his entire body had been run through a wringer. Sure, he was often sore after Quidditch practices, but nothing like this. This was miserable, bring-me-some-bloody-pain-potion-NOW from head to toe aching. Rather odd, and quite bothersome.

What the devil had happened to him?

And... of course... besides the fact that he was obviously not in his flat, and seem to have been caught in a hailstorm of rogue bludgers from the way he felt, there was also the small, tiny detail that there was a bed only a few feet away from his... and there was a girl fast asleep on it. She looked about his age or perhaps a few years younger, although her face was not visible from his vantage point, being covered, as it was, with the loose, short wisps of dark hair that fell forward. She was clad in a white sprigged hospital gown, and, like him, covered with a blanket.

Shrugging, Oliver turned his attention to the small nightstand by his bed, and gingerly picked up a full glass of water that was standing there. He brought the glass to his parched lips and sipped the cool water. And at that moment, the occupant in the other bed gave a sigh in her sleep and shifted slightly. Oliver spluttered on mid-sip when he saw her face and recognized who it was, and nerveless fingers dropped the glass on the ground, splashing water all over his pajama top and causing the glass to shatter.

At the noise, the girl's eyes snapped wide open. Blinking and wincing at the sunlight that came streaming through the window, she looked around, uncertain of where she was for a moment, before her eyes focused on another person, a few feet away from her. A sleep-mussed, wide-eyed, almost boyish looking Oliver Wood, dressed in striped pajamas. The top of which was rather drenched in water. Naturally, even for her, the first thought that came to mind was, "He looks adorable!"

This did not sit well at all. Slytherins didn't think or do adorable. It was a matter of greatest abomination and scorn for any Slytherin to act or consider anything adorable. And especially not Slytherins like her. That was just... wrong. And especially, ESPECIALLY not of… of sexist pigs! And… yeah! Cass shook her head quickly from side to side, clearing the mutinous thoughts effectually away. Unfortunately, the shaking brought a much more unwelcome advent of a throbbing headache, and she groaned and shut her eyes.

"Bloody sodding git… this is all your fault and I hate you… " she muttered, her face buried in her pillow. Her hands lifted to clutch the sides of her head, and then she bellowed out, her voice still muffled by her pillow, "SOMEBODY HAD BETTER GET ME SOME BLOODY POTION NOW!! BEFORE I CONCUSS THEM WITH MY BROOMSTICK!!"

"Charming…" Oliver grumbled, then rolled his eyes. A moment later, a nurse came into the room, and bustled about, fussing over both Quidditch players. Oliver grunted as the nurse handed him a new glass of water.

"How long am I going to be in here?"

"Oh, another week or so should do it, Mr. Wood," the nurse said comfortably, "You should be all rested and rejuvenated by then… just like Miss Flint, here."

"BLOODY HELL!" both Quidditch players exploded at the same time, "I'm NOT staying in here for a week!!"

"Oh… but you will have to," the nurse said complacently, "We can't have either of you falling sick later on. And besides, you're both Quidditch players, I'm sure that you can talk to each other to pass the time."

The nurse, thick-skinned creature, did not seem to notice or care about the lethal "you're-daft-and-evil-and-I-HATE-you-so-sod-off" glares that both Oliver and Cass sent her way. She gave the latter her potion, and bustled out of the room.

Cass Flint pointedly ignored her fellow patient, downed the potion, and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she was once again asleep, face partially concealed by the unkempt strands of dark hair falling from the crown of her head. Oliver gave her a sideways glance.

"And… she's finally quiet," he mused with a wry smile.

It was a very odd situation indeed.

* * *

Cass awoke a few hours later to find Oliver Wood sitting up in bed, his face buried behind a copy of the newest book on Quidditch strategies: Balls and Broomsticks by Flannery Fleet. Random mutterings were audible every now and then, usually regarding Quidditch strategy.

He was not aware that she was looking at the book with an expression of almost hunger on her face as he mumbled to himself, "The idiot! Of course the Porskoff Ploy would be the best maneuver in that situation… as if there were any doubt… how the bloody hell did that bloke make it onto a Professional team in the first place…"

Cass gave a disgruntled sigh. The bloody bastard… how insensitive could one be?! Here she was, bored out of her ruddy mind, and he had things to read! She gave a growl and huffed.

Oliver Wood paused in his reading at the sound and set his book, face down, on top of his blanket. "What's the matter with you?"

"Bored…" her voice was almost a whine, "This is bloody ghastly… I could be practicing right now! And there's not a single bloody thing to do in this place! You lucky wanker… where'd you get the book?"

"It's mine… just got it a few days ago, been carrying it with me so I can finish reading it… it's good, but the accounts of some of the games and players… bloody hell how can these people be such IDIOTS?!"

"Oh… I know! Once I read about a game between France and Brazil in 1962… these ridiculous fouls that some of them committed! Heinous, really… how anyone could be so incredibly stupid…"

It looked like this hospital stay would be even more unusual than they'd thought. Oliver Wood and Cass Flint were… for all intensive purposes, actually having a somewhat civil conversation. In the sense that they were both sniping about something different than each other.

Of course, it was certainly too good to last.

"But can't you see that that move was a ruse to get that Chaser to abandon the Quaffle?!" Somehow, both of them had, by an unconscious agreement, sat down together on her bed, and were flipping through the book and arguing about the information contained therein.

"But for that 'ruse', as you call it, to truly work, it would be a foul anyway! So what would the bloody point be?!"

"Look… if he were to fly like this… and then do a dive like so…" Cass was gesturing with her hands in the air, "THEN it would work!"

"But that's preposterous! The rival Chaser could just do this…" Oliver, too, was gesturing with his hands, moving one hand towards hers, like the hypothetical rival Chaser…

"WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?! WOOD, YOU SODDING BASTARD!! KEEP YOUR PAWS OFF MY SISTER!!!"

"And the dung has hit the fan…" Cass groaned, "Marcus, leave it alone… you're going to make my head hurt again, and seeing as to how it's been hurting a lot, I'll have to kill you if you make it hurt again…"

But Marcus did not seem to hear. He was too busy glaring at his old Quidditch rival, who glared right back, undaunted. Marcus was bellowing, "What the devil do you think you're doing, accosting my sister in her bed wearing pajamas?! Bloody hell I'm going to have to kill you now…!"

"Now look here, Flint!" Oliver snapped right back at the other man, "I was not accosting your sister in her bed! That's just… we were talking about bloody Quidditch!"

"Sure, Wood, that's what they all say!" Flint growled, clenching one hand into a fist and shaking it threateningly, "Stay in your own damned bed!"

"We were looking at a book together! You're daft… why would I ever want to accost someone in her bed in this state? HONESTLY, and especially your sister! I wouldn't accost her!"

"What?! Is there something wrong with my sister?! She not good enough for you?!"

"WHAT?! What does that have to do with anything?!"

"Indeed… what does this have to do with anything?" Cass muttered cynically, "Sod off, Marcus… if he'd really accosted me in my bed, I would have broken something over his head, concussion or no…"

"HOW DARE YOU IMPLY THAT MY SISTER IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?!? Wretched SOD!"

"WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU GOING ABOUT, FLINT?! I DID NOT IMPLY ANYTHING! AND BESIDES THAT, I DID NOT ACCOST HER IN HER BED!!"

"This is bullshit… I honestly don't care, or want to know, whose is bigger…" Cass groaned, then raised her voice over the shouts of the two arguing men, "MARCUS! WOOD! SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP BOTH OF YOU! Marcus… since you've obviously nothing good to say, get out."

"Cass…" Marcus Flint turned to his sister, still scowling, "You… what the devil were you thinking during that game… getting in the way of the bludger…"

"It's my game. I will play it as I see fit," her voice had all of the sudden gone deadly cold and calm, "Now… get out."

"What?! Cass… why do you have to be so difficult all the time? You never used to be like this… I'm just trying to watch out for you and everything, blimey…"

"Well… you just seemed to have answered your own question, didn't you? And don't you DARE ever try to 'watch out' for me in that manner, ever, ever again. I swear, if you do… it won't work. Not you, and not anyone, can tell me what and what not to do."

"Cass…"

"GET OUT."

Marcus Flint scratched his head and looked torn, frowning at his sister's mutinous face in worry and exasperation, "All right, Cass... I won't yell at the git over there for the time being... I'm just worried about you, is all. You know how dangerous you play..."

"Yes," Cass said stonily, "I do know. Marcus Flint, in case I have not made this absolutely crystal clear the last three-hundred and twenty-seven times that I've told you, it is MY CHOICE. I am well aware of what I'm doing... and I'm a grown woman now. Stop treating me like I'm a bloody twelve-year-old when I'm twice that age! You can't stop me, no matter how hard you try. And if you do keep on trying, I will be forced to hate you for the rest of both our lives." Both Flint siblings seemed to have forgotten about Oliver Wood, as they glared at each other half-heartedly, the brother's square-jawed, tanned face full of frustration, the sister's slightly paler and more fine-boned but no less stubborn face full of a weary bitterness. Finally, Cass spoke again, "Now, Marcus... just... go. Give Karen and little Katherine my greetings. Just... go."

"Cass..."

"Leave. Now."

Giving a growl, Marcus Flint turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

"Err..." Oliver Wood broke the uncomfortable silence in the room, and looked at Cass awkwardly. She had lain back down on her bed, and had pulled the blankets up to her chin. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and she seemed a million miles away. "Umm... what was that all about?"

"Sod off... you don't understand," she muttered, not turning to look at him.

Where had he heard those words before? Oliver frowned slightly... Warrington. The Chaser had sobered up, most surprisingly, when he'd mentioned Cass Flint and her peevish behavior, and Warrington had remarked, "You don't really understand... but then, that's only to be expected."

Just what was it that he didn't understand, anyway? For some odd reason, his supposed lack of understanding irked him greatly.

*~*~*~*

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