Please see prologue for disclaimer

A/N: I guess most of you thought that I had abandoned this story, right? Well, obviously I haven't and since it's still about three weeks until I'll have the time to write a longer chapter I thought I might at least give you a little aperitif.

Thank you all so very very much for your support. I really appreciate it :)

There will be individual Thank you's´ at the ending of the next chapter, ok? See you soon :)

CHAPTER 05

"I am most displeased," a cold, high-pitched voice filled the small chamber and sent shivers of fear down its sole occupant's spine who bowed deeper, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I know my Lord," he whispered hoarsely. "I will do better next time."

"Next time!" Voldemort, who had once been known as Tom Marvolo Riddle to the world, hissed. "Next week your work must be fulfilled! Everything must be ready!"

"Yes, my Lord," the Death Eater promised in a subdued voice. "Everything will be prepared by the time our team will play the Charity match for St. Mungo's. What a most ingenious idea it was to attack then, if I may say so, my Lord..."

"Quiet!" Voldemort's servant cringed as he heard the anger in his master's voice. "Of course it was an ingenious idea. It was my idea, after all." Cold shivers of fear trickled down the Death Eater's back as Voldemort laughed in an unpleasant voice. "Yes! Puddlemere's Charity match will be the perfect opportunity! Raising funds for my victims, indeed! Delusional fools!"

The Death Eater bit his lip. There was one thing he had yet to tell his master. A thing that would most definitely not please Lord Voldemort. Summoning all of his - rather meagre – courage the servant spoke up once more. "My Lord, there is one more thing." He took a deep breath before continuing, "Dumbledore will attend the match as a spectator. I'm afraid he's a great supporter of Puddlemere United."

It would take hours until the uncontrollable shaking had subsided enough for the Death Eater to be able to face his team-mates again. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

Oliver Wood had always thought of himself as a simple person. He liked simple things – Quidditch, a nice glass of butterbeer every now and then, Quidditch, music by the Weird Sisters, Quidditch – in short, nothing out of the ordinary. However, that had all changed with the arrival of one young witch by the name of Hermione Granger. In retrospect, the young Keeper thought as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he should have let Hermione get the Chudley Cannons book without putting up a fight. His life would definitely be a lot less complicated. And a lot less fun, Oliver mused as he finally took a steadying breath and pressed the doorbell to the Granger household. In the morning when Dan Halcombe, his team-mate on Puddlemere United, had invited him and that charming young lady from the day before´ to a spontaneous little Quidditch-party, everything had sounded like a great idea. Wood had borrowed Hermes from a suspiciously enthusiastic Percy (Oliver heavily suspected that Percy planned to invite Penelope during his absence), sent Hermione a note and went off to get his not-quite-date´ some flowers. Right. So if Hermione was only accompanying him as a friend, Oliver thought with a growing sense of hysteria, then why did his stomach decide to knot and twist itself while he stared at the door? Incidentally, it was right then that a small, distinguished-looking man opened it.

"Sorry, my boy, but Margaret was making such a noise that I didn't hear you straight away," the man smiled before offering his hand. "I'm Thomas Granger. You're Mr. Wood, I presume?"

Oliver nodded hastily. "Yes, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Wood," Dr. Granger said as he led Oliver into a tidy, but very comfortable living room. "Hermione's still upstairs. You know how young ladies are! They're never on time."

Oliver laughed somewhat nervously when Dr. Granger suddenly fixed him with a glare.

"Mr. Wood."

Oliver gulped. "Yes?"

"My Hermione is a special young lady. I hope you realize that and I do hope that your intentions are honourable."

Oliver nodded earnestly. What was he getting himself into?

However, Dr. Granger looked pacified and laid a comforting hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Good. I'd hate to hurt you, boy. You look like a decent young man, even though the front-teeth of your lower jaw stand a bit narrow together." Dr. Granger laughed jovially as he saw Oliver's bewildered expression. "Nothing to worry about, son! It's not as bad that you should visit an orthodontologist!"

Wood, who was really frightened by this odd man had retreated until his back touched the wall. No woman was worth facing this, Oliver thought desperately as he started looking around for a possible escape-route. However, whatever drastic measures Wood had planned to resort to in order to save his sanity were interrupted by Hermione's arrival. Oliver's breath involuntary caught in throat as he caught a glimpse of her surprisingly shapely legs coming down the stairs. Well, he amended his earlier thoughts, maybe some women were indeed worth the trouble.

"Daddy," she called in a surprisingly stern voice, "stop harassing Oliver!"

Dr. Granger seemed untroubled and smiled warmly at his daughter. "I wasn't harassing anybody, Hermy. Mr. Wood and I were merely having a nice chat between men, right lad?"

Oliver nodded distractedly. Who would have thought that bookworm Granger could look so...so...he was at a loss for words, while an oblivious Hermione scowled at her father. Then, in a sudden blur of motion she turned around and faced Oliver with a brilliant smile and a slight blush. "Hello Oliver."

"Hello," he breathed, relieved beyond belief when Hermione firmly grabbed his hand and led him out of that madhouse into the cool afternoon air.

"Don't let him scare you," Hermione said as she and Oliver strolled down a quiet alley on their way to the Halcombes' house. Over an unspoken agreement the two had decided to walk there rather than to use Floo-powder or Apparate (especially considering the fact that Hermione didn't have her Apparition-licence yet). This way they could enjoy the tranquillity and each others company a bit longer before plunging themselves into the loud and boisterous atmosphere that was typical of Don Halcombe's parties.

Oliver gave Hermione a wry smile. "Do you think there's something wrong with my teeth? I shudder to think what your father would have thought of Marcus Flint in my stead."

"I shudder to think what I'd do if you were Marcus Flint." Hermione laughed, "And trust me, your teeth are just fine. Dad's doing this to everyone, Harry, Ron, even poor Viktor." She paused a while in reminiscence. "It wasn't pleasant. Viktor refused to come close to dad ever since their first meeting."

Oliver shook his head in amusement. "You do have a thing for Quidditch players, don't you?"

Hermione stopped and looked squarely into Wood's eyes. "I was under the impression that I'm accompanying you only as a friend," she challenged him in a low voice.

A roughish grin tugged at Oliver's mouth as he too, stopped and leaned into her personal space. "We've never determined just how close of a friend you are to me."

"We didn't?" Hermione breathed, captivated by slight curve of his lips and that irresistible Scottish accent of his, as he smiled.

"No, but we really should, shouldn't we?" Oliver leaned closer, gently pulling Hermione towards himself. His eyes closed as the distance between their lips decreased. Hermione held her breath, lips parting ever so slightly as –

"Oliver Wood!" a jovial voice shattered the moment. "What are you thinking snogging your girlfriend in my lawn?"

Growling in frustration Wood drew back from Hermione without having even touched her lips and glared at his team-mate. "Hello Don," he grumbled, "your timing is impeccable, as usual."

Don merely grinned and led the two inside where a noisy crowd was already assembled.

The Death Eater had been attending the silly party for over two hours by now. He had been forced to listen to idle chatter from his so-called colleagues from the team as well as their dim-witted wives, husbands, boy- and girlfriends. The earlier meeting with the Dark Lord had left him with an unpleasant feeling of fear yet also with a gnawing sense of urgency. Tonight, he would have to make his move. He had no more time to waste. It had to happen tonight. The Death Eater straightened his back determinedly, forced his facial muscles into a fake smile and went looking for his target.

TBC...