On Saturdays Harry liked to sleep in late. Before he went to bed he would always remember to shut the curtains tightly so that the morning light would not disturb 'the big sleep' – as he liked to refer to his Saturday lie-in.
He could be found there now, lying curled up on the bed in his darkened room. Locked in the world of his dreams, Harry was blissfully unaware of the red headed menace creeping into his room.
"Pst, Harry," Fred called in a quiet whisper as he shut the door behind him silently. For someone intent on waking Harry, Fred seemed to be going about it the wrong way. His actions and voice were far too quiet. "Harry," Fred cooed in an amused whisper. Apart from a slight stirring, Fred's words had little affect on Harry.
"I tried it the easy way, Harry," Fred said, shaking his head apologetically. "You've only brought this upon yourself." Fred backed up against the bedroom door. Grinning madly at the sleeping boy, Fred took a run up and launched himself at Harry. In a tangle of limbs, he landed half on top of Harry and half on the bed
Just as he was getting to the good part of his dream Harry was jerked awake suddenly. Disorientated, it took Harry a moment to notice the heavy weight on his legs. He was slightly alarmed until he heard the sound of choked laughter; he figured that whomever the mysterious visitor was they weren't there to kill him at least.
Squinting in the dark, Harry reached out to pat the body lying on his legs, and recognised his friend by the tell tale spiky hair, "What are you doing, Fred?" Harry said angrily.
Fred didn't answer immediately; he was far too busy laughing. "You should have seen it, Harry, I dive bombed onto the bed… It was a perfect 10." He quickly crawled off Harry's legs and then the bed, lest Harry try to extract any revenge.
"Why?" Harry whined tiredly as he slumped back against the pillows.
"Its 11, lazy bones," Fred informed him happily as he whipped open the curtains.
Harry groaned in despair as the harsh morning light burst into his once beautifully dark room. "Its Saturday, Fred!" Harry snapped grumpily as he pulled one of his pillows over his face. Not caring if he died from a lack of oxygen so long as it kept the light out of his eyes, Harry crossed his arms over the top of the pillow. It was almost as good as having the curtains closed and Harry felt himself drifting back to sleep until Fred, the killjoy, intervened.
"Oh no you don't," Fred said, rushing over to try and wrest the pillow away. Harry kicked out at him with his feet till Fred was forced to take a step back. "You cant go back to sleep Harry, Oliver's given us tickets to his match today!"
At those words wretched the pillow from his face and glaring daggers at Fred he jerked into an upright position. Embarrassment and anger rippled through his body as he stared disbelievingly at his friend. He had told Fred that he was absolutely forbidden from playing matchmaker. "What did you say to him?" Harry demanded, throwing the pillow at Fred.
"Relax, Harry, I haven't said anything to Oliver, yet…" Fred trailed off to grin evilly at Harry and he sat down on the edge of the bed. "He gives me tickets quite often," Fred added quickly when Harry looked set to hit him.
"Oh…" Well that wasn't so bad then, Harry thought, though he wouldn't admit that to Fred.
"I didn't mention you at all when I accepted the tickets. He however, specifically suggest that I bring you along…"
"Really?" Harry asked doubtfully. He wouldn't be at all surprised if this were one of Fred's pranks.
"Uh huh," Fred nodded in confirmation and, surprisingly he looked sincere. "He mentioned it quite a lot, so I think he will be pretty pissed if I take someone else along, but if you don't want to go…"
"No its okay," Harry said quickly, "I'll come with you."
"I thought you might," Fred said, smiling knowingly at Harry. "You go get dressed and I'll make you some breakfast," Fred added before heading out the bedroom.
Harry wanted to call him back and quiz him about what Oliver had said, he wanted to know everything, but he dared not. If Fred knew just how interested he was in Oliver, he doubted his friend's matchmaking attempts would remain very subtle. Fred would try to help, in his own way, and that would probably result in terrible things for Harry.
Carrying the clothes he'd haphazardly selected for the day, Harry traipsed out to the bathroom. He'd briefly considered dressing similarly to Fred – in slacks and a shirt – but had decided against such a move. What would be the point of getting dressed up? Oliver would be playing the game; he wouldn't even see Harry. Asides for which it was a sporting event Harry rationalized; he would wear what he usually wore when he bothered to go to a match.
With Mattias now located in the shed, Harry had a very peaceful shower until Fred started banging on the door, telling him to hurry. Deodorised, dressed and with his hair as messy as ever, Harry swept out the bathroom to find a cup of tea and a plate of toast waiting for him on the kitchen table.
"Good, you're back," Fred said when he heard Harry enter the room. Busy pouring a cup of tea for himself, he had his back to Harry. When he did turn around, cup in hand, Fred gasped, "You're not wearing that are you?"
Harry groaned and banged his head on the table frustratedly. "What is it with you and my clothes?" Harry sighed as Fred sat down in the seat opposite.
"When I was little I used to like dressing up Ginny's dolls," Fred said wistfully and Harry snorted into his tea. He doubted George would have let Fred get away with such behaviour for a second.
"Not really," Fred grinned and then his expression turned serious, "I just feel it's my humanitarian duty to help those who can't help themselves." He ran his eyes pointedly over Harry.
"Its Quidditch, Fred! Quidditch," Harry said, announcing each word clearly. He could have added that as far as he was concerned tracksuit pants and a hooded jumper was a perfectly normal outfit for a sporting venue but he couldn't be bothered.
"Okay, okay. Wear what you want," Fred said, holding up his hand in a gesture of peace.
They sipped their cups of tea in silence until Fred said, "So… Don't you want to know what else Oliver said when he came to give me the tickets?"
He badly wanted to know all they'd talked about, but Harry managed to shrug casually, as though he really didn't care. Harry was very proud of his efforts, especially when he noticed Fred looking disappointed by his response.
"You should have been there," Fred said, obviously deciding to continue regardless of Harry's 'disinterest' and Harry was indeed, inwardly very grateful. "It was so funny. He came over on – I think it was Thursday – for a 'chat' he called it… Anyway, he pretended to make conversation for a while but in the end he was totally pumping me for information about you, Harry dear."
"Really?" Harry said and he felt incredibly proud of himself for getting his voice to sound so relaxed despite the fact that his heart pounded excitedly in his chest.
"Yes really! And you should have seen him when he tried to find out if there was anything going on between you and me…" Fred trailed off laughing tears of amusement welling in his eyes as he remembered the encounter.
Harry nodded and offered a smile to show he was still listening. He tired as best he could to finish the rest of his toast while Fred was trying to stifle his laughter. Harry did however, wish he could have witnessed their chat and it annoyed him greatly that he couldn't ask Fred to submit the memory to a Pensieve without betraying his interest.
"Sorry," Fred said, regaining his composure. "Yeah so he asked about us and I told him that we'd never been together. A little white lie but Oliver can be a bit of a prick when he's jealous. Its that whole Neanderthal slash Alpha male thing he's got going…"
Harry nodded in understanding. He knew exactly what Fred was talking about. Oliver could take control of any situation and he was so strong. It was one of the things Harry found very appealing about the other boy. Well that and the fact that he was fucking gorgeous…
"He seemed to believe me but then he wanted to know whether you were seeing anyone else, etcetera. His questions went on for ages. I seriously can't believe he thought he was being discreet. In the end he gave me the tickets and 'suggested' I bring you along," Fred concluded simply.
Fred grinned over the top of his teacup, "You're in for sure!"
The damnable emotion that was hope flared in Harry again and he tried his best to suppress it. He couldn't really afford to get his hopes up or to get too excited because when nothing eventuated with Oliver (like at the house warming the week before) he had to contend with the disappointment.
"Really? What about Siobhan?" Harry asked quietly, it took all his effort not to spit her name out.
"Gone for good," Fred said, smiling triumphantly, "He told her to piss off in no uncertain terms, just as I told you he would." Fred's expression turned serious once more and he added thoughtfully, "He can be a callous barstard sometimes" – Fred shook his head sadly – "…but in her case it was entirely justified."
Harry had to agree. Siobhan was an absolute nightmare and he was really glad she was out of Oliver's life. He deserved so much better.
"Let's get going," Harry said, getting up and picking up his breakfast dishes. As Harry turned to the sink, he heard Fred give what sounded suspiciously like a groan.
"Oh I take it all back Harry!" Fred said, "Those pants really bring out your… arse."
"Fuck you."
****
Fred and Harry took their seats at the front of the box. "These seats are amazing!" Harry said excitedly as he wriggled his bottom in the plush leather.
Not only were they the most comfortable he'd ever sat in but they also had the most amazing view of the pitch. They reminded him of the seats he'd had when he went to the World Cup with the Weasleys all those years ago, though they hadn't been leather.
He noticed that unlike the pitch he'd gone to for the World Cup, Puddlemere United's ground seemed to have a staggering number of such boxes. On both sides of the pitch, corporate boxes ran the entire length of the field and the regular stands (already chock full of people) extended beneath them all the way to the ground. Harry pitied the poor people with ground level seats; they would definitely end up with sore necks.
Not only that but the masses out in the regular stands had to contend with the elements, while those in the boxes were protected. The wind looked fierce out there and if the clouds in the sky were anything to go by, it would soon rain.
"Is this one of the player's boxes?" Harry asked interestedly.
"Sponsors, I think," Fred said, turning around in his seat to look behind, "Yeah its Butterbeer's box." He pointed to the sign on the back wall.
"I like their seats," Harry grinned as he turned to look at the sign.
Still looking over his shoulder Harry checked out the other occupants of the box. When he'd first arrived, he'd wondered why the wizards were wearing business robes but, now that he knew it was a sponsors box, he understood. This wasn't just a match for them; they were working while pretending to relax. They stood around in little groups chatting about business while their partners stood silently at their sides pretending to look interested. It struck Harry as being very dull and he hoped that whatever he ended up doing with his life he didn't end up like them.
"I see why you told me not to wear this now," Harry laughed though he didn't really care what they thought of him; he'd never see any of them again.
"Don't worry about it Harry," Fred said tugging on the back of Harry's shirt, making him spin back around. "If anyone gives you trouble just flash them your scar, that'll shut them up. Well, either that or you could just bend over," Fred laughed.
"Shut up," Harry said, smacking Fred's knee warningly.
"I'm serious Harry," Fred said, the smirk on his face betraying his words. "I'm reconsidering your sense of style. I never thought the humble tracksuit pant could look so hot."
Embarrassed and amused at the same time, Harry chuckled, "So you'll leave me and my clothes alone from now on?"
"Well, when it comes to casual wear most definitely," he paused to look at Harry, "But with formal and club wear it's an entirely different matter. You're absolutely clueless in those departments."
When the announcers voice crackled out of the speakers, the businessmen stopped talking and slowly made for their seats. As it was a Puddlemere United home game, the Falmouth Falcons were introduced first. The announcer would say the name and number of the player before they would fly out onto the pitch. Harry was surprised to find he had actually heard of some of the Falcons players before but he didn't really care enough to pay much attention to the announcer.
"And now for Puddlemere United," the announcer bellowed and a huge cheer rose up from the crowd. Excited, Harry shifted to the edge of his seat. "Sporting the number one jumper for Puddlemere, Oliver Wood." The noise of the crowd lifted to an almost deafening level as Oliver flew out of the players tunnel, up past the stands and around the pitch.
Harry quickly picked up his Omnioculars and levelled them on Oliver. The man was flying around the pitch waving to the fans as the announcer called out the names of the other team members. Harry was vaguely aware of the announcer calling out Jackson's name but he didn't bother to search for him; he didn't want to take his Omnioculars off Oliver.
"Check out the falcons keeper," Fred said in a snigger. "He has got to be the funniest looking person I've ever seen."
Harry didn't want to take his eyes off Oliver but to keep Fred off his back Harry flicked the Omnioculars to the opposite end of the pitch and took a cursory glance at the keeper. "Ewww," Harry shrieked for Fred's benefit, as he swung back to look at Oliver.
"You didn't even look," Fred huffed.
"I did, he's ugly – big nose, boils all over his face…"
"I don't believe it," Fred said in amazement, "There's some idiot holding up a sign that say's he's sexy. Can you believe it Harry?"
"You never know he may be a very nice person," Harry said distractedly. He really didn't care about the Falcon's keeper.
"It's just because he's famous," Fred scoffed. "Oh look there's Oliver's fan club," Fred chuckled, still scanning the crowd.
"Where?" Harry asked eagerly.
Fred put a hand on Harry's Omnioculars, guiding them until Harry found what he was looking for. There, amidst a sea of people wearing Puddlemere's navy Guernsey's, were ten girls. They weren't wearing very much at all but each had a letter of Oliver's name attached to their chest. Harry hated them instantly.
Feeling uncharacteristically annoyed, Harry whisked his Omnioculars off the Oliver Wood girls and scanned the stands from left to right. He found another group of hussy's rooting for Oliver. This group was smaller, there seemed to be only four of them, but they drew Harry's attention because they had a big sign that said "Oliver Have My Baby!"
Taking his eyes from the Omnioculars, Harry turned to Fred, "He's quite popular isn't he?"
Fred looked at him with an amused smile on his face for a second and then turned back to look at the pitch. "Oh there's the ref… its about to start."
Harry kept his Omnioculars trained on Oliver for the entire match. Other than the occasional cheer, the only thing keeping Harry informed about what happened on the rest of the pitch was the score displayed in the corner of the screen on his Omnioculars.
As the Quaffle remained largely up the other end, Harry didn't get to see Oliver working his skills as frequently as he would have liked. However, whenever he did get to witness Oliver at work, Oliver's talent blew Harry away.
Harry was amazed at just how good a keeper Oliver had become. He'd been an exceptional keeper while at Hogwarts but over the years he had gotten better. Harry wasn't really surprised by this, after all Oliver was a professional Quidditch player, but he was nonetheless in awe of Oliver's ability.
He was surprised at how quickly the game ended; it seemed like they had hardly started playing when the referee blew his whistle, ending the game. After just forty minutes of play, Kirk Fitzpatrick caught the snitch for Puddlemere United. They won the match a staggering two hundred and seventy to a dismal thirty.
The players from the winning side did a lap of honour around the whole pitch. Harry had trouble keeping up with Oliver as he raced around the pitch waving to his fans. When Oliver stopped by the fans sporting the "Oliver Wood" sign across their breasts, Harry found him again easily. He watched with interest as Oliver signed some autographs for the people in the stand.
"Come on, Harry, let's get out of here," Fred said, pulling lightly at Harry's jumper.
Harry reluctantly drew his gaze away from Oliver and nodded at Fred. He didn't want to leave; didn't want the match to be over already. Even though Oliver had won, there was something rather anticlimactic about ending the experience.
Keeping these thoughts to himself, Harry followed Fred out the players box. They joined the throng of people making their way down to the ground floor. Harry self-consciously tugged his cap lower over his brow. Fred led them through the crowd masterfully, squeezing through gaps Harry hadn't even noticed and drawing the pliant Harry along in his wake. Once they managed to get out of the stands, Fred quickened his pace, pulling Harry through the crowd.
Harry pulled on Fred's hand to get his attention and drew to a halt outside the main souvenir stall. They were going the wrong way. The apparation zone was back in the opposite direction. "We're supposed to be going that way…" Harry said, speaking in a loud voice.
"We're not leaving yet," Fred said dismissively and he started to walk off, pulling a confused Harry with him.
"Were are we going then?" Harry asked as he trotted along behind Fred.
Grinning at Harry over his shoulder, Fred sniggered, "The locker rooms…"
'Oh God,' Harry thought.
