Chapter Three.

Oliver straightened his dress robes for the ninth time that evening. Looking in the mirror he grimaced at his reflection. Stupid formal Balls. He honestly didn't understand why he couldn't just wear his Quidditch uniform. It was a Quidditch sponsored event after all, hosted by Q.U.A.B.B.L.E. Surely if everyone wore their uniforms it would look more festive or something. Or even promote team unity? Yeah that almost sounded believable.

He hated going to these social things. What was the point really? They were a complete and utter waste of time. Just think of how many new plays he could devise, how many new tactics he could develop. Instead he'd have to sit and pretend to listen to all those boring old know-it-alls, banging on about…well he wasn't sure what they were banging on about at the moment, he never paid any attention. He knew it wasn't Quidditch and that was all he needed to know. They had a match coming up. Surely that was more important, than well, a party.

It wasn't like he wasn't glad You know who was finally gone, that Harry had actually gotten rid of him for good. If anything he was overjoyed for Harry, now the poor kid could concentrate on something more important - Quidditch. But really how may parties did one person need, surely Potter was sick of them by now? Oliver would bet his broom that his former Seeker was just itching to get out there in the world of pro-Quidditch. It would be easy for Harry to get himself signed to one of the lower league teams and then work his way up. What could be better? In fact Oliver thought that he wouldn't mind having Harry on his team, couldn't possibly do any harm. Potter had always been a first class Seeker, no doubt about it, and surely whats-his-name would be pleased to give his position up to Harry. He was the Boy who lived to defeat the evilest wizard ever. Hey that wasn't such a bad idea, maybe he should have a word with the big boss before anyone else got the chance to snap Harry up. He was sure Flint would give it a try before too long. Hell Flint would try anything, conniving troll. What was he doing again? Oh right, the Ball!

Oliver grabbed his broom, Firebolt of course, being on a pro team did have its advantages, and stepped out into the night. After a quick disillusionment spell on himself and his broom he set off.

Merlin, there was nothing in the world that could beat flying, he thought as he rose over the clouds. Anyone who thought otherwise was about as intelligent as a Flobberworm. The freedom, the silence - well apart from the wind rushing in his ears that was, the inner peace it gave him, Oliver loved it. He was sorely tempted to forget the Ball completely and fly out over the sea, now that was a magnificent feeling to experience. But he was Captain now, he had responsibilities. Unfortunately. He touched down softly outside the building where the Ball was to be held. To the muggle eye it looked like an old abandoned Bingo hall, whatever Bingo was. He performed the counter spell becoming visible again and braced himself for an extremely dull night.

Ayla floo'd into the Ball at precisely seven o'clock. "Always strive to be punctual" her uncle had told her. "Gives a good impression to the customers and shows we have something on the competition." while Ayla admired her uncle and his keen business mind, she had to admit he did talk complete nonsense at times. Quality Quidditch Supplies didn't have any real competition, apart from a few small privately owned specialist shops, which posed very little threat to Mike Green's vast empire. But a job was a job, and she always tried to the best of her ability. Even if she hated that damn sport she was supposed to sell, as well as the customers that knew the exact way to annoy her.

She handed her traveling cloak to the cloakroom assistant and briefly checked her reflection in a nearby mirror. Wiping a smudge of soot from her nose, she once more repeated her mantra 'Quidditch is interesting' to herself before marching straight into the hall. She had to admit the hosts had outdone themselves. Being Halloween the room was decorated appropriately, pumpkins hovered near the ceiling, transfigured skeletons served food and drink the guests and giant cobwebs clung to the walls, displaying messages. 'Happy Halloween', 'Happy Potter's Day!', 'So long You know who'. Ayla was too busy reading the continually changing messages of thanks and goodwill to Harry Potter, as well as a fair few advertisements, to look where she was going, and walked straight into another guest. The wizard in question was nearly twice the size of her, which meant that Ayla merely bounced right off him and landed right on her backside. She looked up. She looked back down shaking her head and cursing every single person who had been so enthusiastic about her coming here tonight. Oliver bloody Wood. Just perfect.

Oliver looked down at the girl he'd just bumped into. Or had she bumped into him? He tried to think. He and his predecessor, Joe MacNally, had been discussing the keeping skills of various other teams. Nope, he really couldn't remember if he'd been walking. Looking at the girl once more, he concluded from her expression that he had in fact knocked her over. He felt MacNally nudge him in the ribs.

"Well help her up mate, looks like you knocked her for six. And it's not everyday a pretty witch lands at your feet now is it?" MacNally chuckled to himself, as if he knew something Oliver didn't.

Oliver offered out his hand.

Ayla was rather reluctant to take it. She just knew that some how this would get back to her friends. They'd want an in depth report of course. How his hand had felt. Whether he was gentle when picking her up - as if she were a delicate flower. Was his smell completely intoxicating? They really needed to stop reading those ridiculous muggle romance novels. Ayla noticed that she was drawing attention to herself by being the only guest sprawled out on the floor. She took his hand, noting it was slightly callused - probably from training, that he was neither gentle nor rough just helpful, and that he had no discernable scent. He was just a normal wizard. She thanked him and turned to walk away, hoping she could get through the rest of the night with a bit more dignity and no more accidents.

MacNally nudged Oliver again and winked, Oliver grabbed her arm.

"Let me get you a drink. You should probably sit down, you might have hurt yourself it looked like you fell pretty hard."

Damn. Why did he have to say that? Why couldn't he let her just walk off? Ayla turned and smiled, her uncles words echoing in her ears: 'Be nice to the players Ayla. If our customers know they shop with the pro's we'll be in high demand.'

"That would be really nice of you. Thanks"

They located a table and Oliver left to get the drinks. Ayla sat alone, resisting the urge to repeatedly hit her head on the table in front of her. Of all the people here, didn't it just have to be him? There was no way she could keep this from her friends now. She was a terrible liar. Plus she knew that their jaws would literally hit the floor when they found out, and that was always fun to watch. But why couldn't she have walked in to a referee? Or a commentator? Or a towel wizard? Somebody no-one had heard of. Ayla sighed. Right one drink, she'd be polite, look interested in what he had to say and then leave. Make her excuse, hide in the loo's for a while, and then re-join the party. If she bumped into him and, and she prayed to Circe she wouldn't, she'd say she had met up with some old friends and had lost track of time. He barely knew her, there'd be no way he'd know she was lying.

"I got you a Butterbeer, I hope that's ok."

Ayla spun around as Oliver's voice startled her from her thoughts. As she spun she managed to knock both drinks out of his hands and spill them over herself. Well this Ball is going swimmingly she thought. Drenched in Butterbeer, Ayla stood up trying to blink the drink from her eyes, to hell with small talk and pretending to be interested.

"I, uh, I'm just going to go, uh, dry off."

She pushed past him and strode off to the little witches room. She was suddenly aware that once again all attention was focused on her. Ayla knew that this was not the sort of attention her uncle had wanted her to gain.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies? Yes, that's the store where all the staff are clowns in training", Ayla said to herself in a fake whiney voice. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Drowned rat didn't quite describe her current look, but it came very close. Casting several drying and cleaning charms on herself did however change her resemblance from a wet rodent greatly. She stared at the mirror again, gearing herself up to return to what she could safely say was the least enjoyable night of her life. It's alright she told herself, hardly anyone saw and besides it could happen to anyone. No use crying over split Butterbeer. Best to just go out there, laugh it off and avoid Oliver accident prone Wood. This was all his fault after all.

Ayla was not however that lucky. Oliver was waiting for her outside the door, holding two corked bottles of Butterbeer and wearing an exceedingly sheepish expression.

"I thought we should wait 'til we're both sitting down and it's safe before we open these."

Ayla smiled maybe he wasn't so bad in spite of everything, including Quidditch.