CHAPTER FIVE

Summary: Hermione suffers a terrible attack and who should find her but one of Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors. The relationship that builds between them is one no one saw coming, but no one predicted the danger that would surely follow. Post-War. Rated M for a reason.

Disclaimer: I do not own canon events or characters, they belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making a profit from this fanfic, everything is purely for entertainment purposes.

Q&A

Black Banshee – that's a good question, she has to leave at some point and return to her life, or does she?...

Anyway, some more Hermione/Oliver bonding time on its way, and I promise, Hermione's attack hasn't been abandoned, we'll find out more about her time after the war before meeting Oliver soon, including more information about her possible attacker.

Page count: 12

Wood Estate - Monday 23rd November 1998

Oliver had always been a light sleeper; it didn't take much to wake him and so when he heard the sound of crying echoing through the manor, it woke him.

He sat up groggily and cast a Time Charm, seeing that it was four in the morning. It didn't take a genius to figure out where the cries were coming from and without thought he climbed out of bed and left his room. He always slept in only his boxer briefs since he got warm during the night and he didn't bother putting on any clothes.

His room wasn't far from Hermione's, on the same corridor in fact, when he reached her room the cries were louder, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Hermione was laid on top of the blankets and dressed in what looked to be a pair of leggings and an old t-shirt. She was laying on her side, facing away from him and Merlin was laid in front of her, she had her arms wrapped around him and she was crying into his fur.

He guessed the reality of her assault had finally hit her and to be honest, he was surprised it had taken her this long. He didn't know what possessed him to do it, he hated crying witches; he didn't know what to do and as a rule he generally tended to avoid them, even his mother. But he moved forward and climbed onto her bed, laying down beside her but not touching her, he laid on his back with his hands behind his head and he looked up at the ceiling.

She didn't acknowledge him, she didn't speak and she didn't tell him to leave. It was ten minutes later when he realised that it was cold in her room and so he shifted and pulled the blanket out from underneath him, pulling it over himself.

He continued to stare up at the ceiling, he didn't know what to say, he didn't know if he should say anything at all, and so he didn't, he stayed with her, but it was almost as if he wasn't there.

Almost an hour later Hermione's cries died down to sniffles and she fell asleep, Oliver being exhausted, tried to move out of the bed so he could return to his own room, but his body was aching with exhaustion and so he fell asleep.

Oliver woke up, his wand buzzing letting him know it was time for him to get up and get ready for training. He opened his eyes and he almost yelled in shock, but contained it.

He was in bed with Hermione Granger and he was currently wrapped around her, not the other way around, no, it was definitely him that was suffocating her in her sleep.

She hadn't moved in her sleep, still clinging to the large dog, but it seemed Oliver had moved closer to her in his sleep, so close in fact that his chest was pressed to her back, his arm was thrown over her waist and pressed against her stomach under her t-shirt, his head was buried in the crook of her neck, her curls tickled his forehead and the scent of jasmine and lemons assaulted his senses.

He frowned at himself and then slowly moved away from her, grabbing his wand, he left the room and headed to his own to shower and dress. He left his room in his Quidditch training uniform, his bottoms tied and midnight blue, tucked into his black laced up boots, his thin jumper, midnight blue with two yellow stripes down his sides, on the right side of his chest sat the Puddlemere United logo, on the left side of his shoulder there was a 'C' signalling that he was the captain of the team, and on his back in white block capitals was 'WOOD, 33.'

He didn't understand why they were so bloody tight, sometimes he could barely move in them, but he supposed it was the owner's doing, their way of drawing in more female fans by showing off the player's athletic and well defined bodies from their hard work and training.

He carried his broom over his shoulder, Universal Brooms Ltd had been working on a new broom for the last three years and they had finally been released after the war, though only to pro-athletes, they weren't yet on the market for the public. In homage to the war, it was named The Phoenix, since the public had been made aware of what The Order of the Phoenix's role was in the war. It was specifically designed for keepers, allowing perfect bursts of speed that a keeper needed to guard the hoops, the broom control was amazing, doing everything he wished without resistance and it had extra comfort charms on, the broom itself was sensitive, the slightest touch would take you left, or fly in a loop. It was the best broom he had ever flown.

He continued on his way to the kitchen so that he could make breakfast before he flooed to the stadium. His thoughts turned back to the position he found himself in that morning, it unnerved him, drastically so.

Oliver was raised to be a gentlemen, he was raised to respect women, he was raised to treat people with equality and kindness, and he did, but he wasn't an overly affectionate person. He just wasn't. The only people he had hugged in his life were his mother and father, that was it, no one else.

He had never shared a bed either, not even with his parents. Even as a child! He liked to have his space, he liked to be able to turn over in bed without risk of bumping into someone, he liked the ability to cocoon himself in his blanket, without someone nagging him for being a blanket hog, he liked that he could kick the blankets off the bed if he was too warm, without someone complaining it was freezing.

The fact that he had woken up, not only cuddling Hermione Granger, no, not cuddling, suffocating her in her sleep, was disconcerting to him. It was more than odd, it was a paradox.

The smell of food hit him when he walked through the living room and brought him out of his thoughts. When he entered the kitchen he was surprised to see Hermione sat at the table levitating plates of food over before doing the same with the cups of tea.

She looked up when she noticed his presence.

"Good morning, Oliver," she greeted, there was no evidence of her crying from the night before and he wasn't going to bring it up.

"Mornin'," he spoke, eyeing her carefully. "Hoo did ye get here?"

"Crawled," she grinned and he shook his head at her. "I made breakfast."

"Ye dinnae have tae do tha'," he commented, moving over to the table and sitting down, giving Merlin a scratch to the head in the process.

"It's the least I can do," she shrugged.

"A thought ye said ye couldn't cook," he raised an eyebrow.

"I can't, but I can bake, which means I can make pancakes, cereal's an option too, but that's about it for breakfast foods. Anyway, I made you chocolate chip pancakes."

"Hoo did ye know where ev'rything was kept?"

"Bobby got everything for me when I ran into him, well, crawled into him," she spoke and he chuckled at her, before taking a bite of the pancake.

"These are good," he complimented.

She grinned. "Thanks."

"Naw, seriously, they're really good, a've never had the talent fer pancakes." She smiled at him and he picked up his tea and took a sip. "Hoo did ye know hoo a take me tea?"

"Merlin, he helped me," she repeated his words from the day before and he chuckled at her.

They ate breakfast together and when they finished, Hermione flicked her wand sending the dishes to the sink to wash themselves.

Oliver stood to leave. "Oh, wait a minute," she said.

He stopped and looked at her curiously as she slid off the chair and crawled over to the kitchen island, which amused him. She pulled herself up and supported herself before she picked up a brown paper bag he hadn't noticed, she held it out to him and he walked over to her intrigued.

"I made you lunch." He faltered slightly, before continuing on his way towards her.

"A usually eat in the canteen."

"Yes, but if their food is anything like the food they serve at The Ministry, it's fatal." He snorted. "Besides, it's the least I could do. It's nothing fancy, just a ham and cheese sandwich, a Cauldron Cake, I didn't know whether you preferred apples or pears so I put one of each in and I also put in a few Liquorice Wands since you seemed to favour them last night, oh, there's also a bottle of pumpkin juice too."

He took the bag from her, shocked that she had gone to so much effort for him.

"Thank ye," he said, and meaning it. No one had ever made him lunch before, well, except house-elves or himself, she was the first person to do that for him and he looked at her thoughtfully, his head tilted.

"No problem, off you go, wouldn't want for you to be late for training," she shooed him with her hands, much to his amusement.

"Since ye cannae leave, what are ye gunna do today?"

"No idea," she huffed. "Thomas should be here soon, hopefully he'll bring me the things I need to research my St. Mungo's case, I said I'd hopefully have a treatment by Wednesday."

"Do ye want mae tae take ye intae the living room befere a leave?" he asked.

"No, I'm alright thanks, I'll just crawl."

He shook his head at her, before scooping her up into his arms. She squeaked and scowled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"What was the point in asking if you're going to ignore my answer?"

"Jus' tryin' tae be polite," he chuckled. "Do mae a favour, grab me broom fer mae."

She scowled. "I know where you could stick it," she mumbled, causing him to laugh, but she picked up his broom from the kitchen island and he walked out of the room with Merlin following him.

"Why do you insist on manhandling me?" she asked him, her head tilted to the side.

"It ruffles yer feathers," he smirked. Her scowl reappeared and she huffed. "Here ye go, we have arrived at ye destination." He put her down on the corner suite and stepped back, with the hand that wasn't carrying his lunch, he took his broom from Hermione. "A'll see ye when a get back."

"I'll be here," she sighed, "it's not like I can make a run for it, crawl maybe but I'd get lost and likely never make it past the front door before you get back."

He snorted. "Probably," he agreed, before turning and heading to the fireplace. "Don' even think aboot cheating at Monopoly!" he called over his shoulder.

Her huff of outrage was the last thing he heard before the green flames surrounded him.

. I am not making a profit from this fanfic, everything is purely for entertainment purposes.

Oliver was pissed. He was well and truly in a foul mood, once again, training had gone awful, worse than it had on Saturday and he didn't even think that was possible. He was wound up, he could feel his whole body filled with tension and stress, not even the hot water of a shower helped to calm him. And his back ached, during his yelled lecture to one of his starting chasers, Pallie, one of his starting beaters, Kings, failed to block a bludger and it collided with Oliver, right between the shoulders, he only just managed to stay on his broom. He had seen the team healer and there was no damage except for the large bludger shaped bruise.

He walked out of the locker room, his hair still damp from his shower, he gripped his broom tightly in annoyance when he heard the team pissing about, and he took a deep breath before walking to the fireplace.

It was only Monday and once again, he needed a Calming Draught, a shag, or a drink.

He stepped out of the floo and the smell of food once again hit his senses, it confused him, confusion masking his anger and annoyance for a small moment, before realising that he had forgotten about Hermione.

Well, that ruled out a shag, there was no way in hell he was bringing a witch back to the privacy of his home, especially when it would be a one night stand, and there was no way he was leaving Hermione on her own during the night; she would probably injure herself further if he wasn't there to watch over her. That just left a drink or Calming Draught, what the hell, he'd have the drink.

He walked over to the bar, depositing his broom on it and he grabbed a tumbler before filling it with fire whiskey and he took it with him to the kitchen, rolling his shoulders on the way.

His eyes caught the Monopoly board and the other board games on the table and he felt a smile tug at his mouth, his irritation diminishing slightly.

"Ye said ye couldn't cook," he spoke, leaning against the door frame, at which Hermione was leaning against the counter and dishing food onto plates.

She gave a yelp of surprise and quickly gripped the counter to stop herself from falling.

"Bloody hell, Oliver, don't do that to me," she hissed and he smirked. "You scared the hell out of me," she huffed. "And as I have said before, I can only cook one meal, spaghetti bolognaise, which coincidentally, you had the ingredients for and so I made you dinner."

"Breakfast, lunch, dinner," he listed off, "A guy could get used tae this treatment."

"Well don't, lunch is easy enough to make, breakfast is a limited choice of pancakes and cereal, dinner's only two options, spaghetti bolognaise or food poisoning."

He chuckled at her before walking into the kitchen and over to her, he placed his fire whiskey on the table on the way.

He picked up the plates and moved them over to the table before going back over to her and she grated some cheese into a bowl. When she was done he picked her up and moved her to the table and she scowled at him, whilst he smirked. He took his seat and after scratching Merlin behind the ears, they started eating their meal.

"So, what did Thomas say?" Oliver asked her.

She shrugged. "The same as yesterday, except my leg has healed, but I still need a few days before I can walk on it properly and the bump on my head isn't as troubling since its size has decreased. Thankfully, Thomas brought me the books I needed and I found the treatment for the case St. Mungo's sent me."

"What was it?" he asked curiously.

"Rheumatism."

"What?"

"Rheumatism, it's generally a muggle ailment, it's not seen very often in magical folk. It's basically inflammation that causes pain in the joints, connective tissue or muscles, generally it affects the elderly. Since most healers at St. Mungo's were born and raised in the Wizarding World, they're not aware of muggle ailments, and therefore they couldn't be sure what the symptoms of the patient pointed to, nor could they treat them. Treatment is basically a Pain Potion, a Numbing Cream and an Anti-Inflammation Potion, it should clear up in a couple of days, well, once I figure out a way to send in my diagnosis that is."

He just stared at her before clearing his throat. "A have an owl ye could use," he offered. She looked up at him.

"Really?"

"Hmm, ye can send aff a letter later."

"Thank you," she smiled and he smiled back. "So, how did training go?" she asked him.

Being reminded of training brought his annoyance back and she saw it on his face and she winced.

"That good, huh?"

"Tha' good," he confirmed. He ran his hand through his hair in irritation and Hermione giggled when it stood up at odd angles.

"What's the problem?" she put her fork down and leaned forward, giving him her full attention.

He huffed. "Well, Malloy's a tosspot tha' cannae stop looking at himself ev'ry time he flies past a reflective surface. Kings doesn't listen tae instructions an' Wilks keeps falling aff his broom. Pallie, Bishop an' Malloy aren't working tagether an' Thompson has the attention span af a goldfish. They aren't picking up the plays, aI mean, the Porskoff Ploy, the Woollongong Shimmy an' the Finbourgh Flick, they're the three simplest plays in Quidditch," he looked up at her to see that she had a completely blank look on her face; she was just blinking at him.

"Ye have no idea what a'm talkin' aboot, do ye?"

"Not a clue," she said shamelessly. "Did you lapse into a different language?"

He looked at her before he started chuckling, which quickly turned into a laugh.

"Okay, the Porskoff Ploy is when a chaser flies upwards an' throws the quaffle doon tae the chaser below." She nodded. "The Woolongong Shimmy is a chaser flying in a zig-zag motion tae confuse the opposing chasers." She nodded. "An' the Finbourgh Flick is a chaser using their broom tae hit the quaffle."

"Oh, okay, that's simple enough to understand, the Wollingongs..."

He chuckled at her.

"Woolongong?"

"That's what I said, Wololingings..."

He laughed.

"Wool..."

"Wool..." she repeated.

"Ong..."

"Ong..." she repeated.

"Ong... Woolongong."

"Ong... Wolingongs," she said and he burst out laughing. "Oh shut up," she huffed. "My point is, that play seems simple enough so why can't your chasers get it down?"

"A dunno, a dunno if they're doin' it tae mess with mae, tae piss mae aff or if they honestly cannae do it," he sighed.

"Maybe it's the broom," she shrugged.

He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. "What makes ye say tha'?" he asked curiously.

"Well, I know nothing about Quidditch, even less about brooms, but from my understanding, brooms are magical objects, magical objects that aren't built to last long term, the brooms at Hogwarts are testament to that. And I also remember Harry saying something about a broom needing to be replaced every four years since they tend to lose their capabilities. So by my reckoning, the brooms may be on their way out, making it difficult for your chasers to physically control the movement of their broom," she shrugged and he stared at her in something akin to awe. "But of course, I know nothing about magical sports and equipment," she shrugged once more. "But just in case, find out when your chasers last purchased a broom, all of your players in fact; it's unsafe for them to be flying them and one day they could just lose their magic and, well, splat! You're dead!"

She looked up at him and noticed him staring.

"What is it?" she asked him.

He shook his head, a smile appearing. "Nothing."

"Anything else bothering you about training?" she asked him, once more picking up her fork to continue eating the remainder of her food.

"Hmmm," he hummed in thought.

She just shook her head at him and continued with dinner, it wasn't long later when Oliver stood and took the dishes to the sink, before moving over to Hermione and picking her up before she even attempted to crawl along the floor.

She huffed but otherwise didn't say anything and she wrapped her arms around him, he thought it odd that he now felt calm around her, after twenty minutes with her no one would be able to tell how furious he was when he left training. When he entered the living room she shifted her arms slightly, nudging his bruise and he winced and she noticed and narrowed her eyes.

"What was that?"

"What?" he asked innocently.

She pressed against his bruise and he hissed. "That?"

"Nothing, jus' got hit with a bludger during training," he shrugged and regretted it immediately. He set her down on the corner suite.

"Shirt off," she ordered. He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"A'm sorry?"

"Shirt off, now!"

He smirked. "Now, Granger, if ye wanted tae get mae naked, all ye had tae do was ask."

She rolled her eyes. "Oliver, what did I say about cockiness?"

"It was the makings af an arsehole."

"Exactly, I've probably seen more shirtless men than you have, I grew up with The Weasleys, the twins were a nightmare to keep clothes on." He snorted. "And I'm a bloody healer, so shirt off."

"The team's healer took a look at it."

"Humour me," she said with narrowed eyes.

He sighed realising she wasn't going to back down and he quickly pulled off his jumper, he expected her to blush, she didn't, in fact she didn't even bat an eyelash.

She rolled her eyes as he stood there, likely expecting her to remark on his well defined and muscled chest, she didn't.

"Turn around then," she huffed. He blinked at her and did so. "Sit down, Numpty, you're too tall."

He sat down on the floor in front of her, she brought her legs up and crossed them and he felt her hand come up and she gently trailed her hand over his bruise, her skin was so soft, but it didn't stop the hiss that left him.

She tutted. "What did the healer give you?"

"Nothing, he said it was fine."

"Fine my arse!" she said outraged. "He should be fired!" he chuckled at her.

He heard her whisper something and he turned his head to see that a tub of white cream now sat in her hands.

"What's tha'?" he asked.

"I have a fair few Quidditch players as my patients, I see a lot of injuries such as this and so I created a concoction, it's basically a Numbing Cream and Muscle Relaxant, I made it specifically for injuries caused by bludgers." She gathered some cream and rubbed it into her hands. "This may feel a little weird," she warned him.

She scooped up more cream before carefully dabbing it onto and around his bruise.

He hissed but after a few seconds he sighed in relief when he felt the pain begin to ebb away. "How do you feel?"

"Better, much better."

"Unfortunately you'll have this bruise for a little while, please try and be careful," she asked of him, screwing the lid back onto the cream.

She noticed him rolling his shoulders and without thought she placed her hands on his shoulders and started to massage them, he slumped back against the couch and she chuckled.

"Why are ye doin' this?" he asked, his eyes closed.

"It's a habit."

"Hmm?"

"I've been doing it since I was a child, I used to practice on my dad, though when I attended Hogwarts, Harry became the sole focus of my attention, he was constantly stressed and he had more knots than the boy scouts." He snorted at her. "I'd give him back rubs a couple of times a week because it helped him to relax and focus. The night before his first Quidditch match was a nightmare, I had cramp for hours."

He chuckled and it turned into a groan when she found a particularly large knot in between his left shoulder and neck and she applied more pressure, working out the aches and pains. His head flopped forward and she smirked.

"The year on the run, that was the worst, we were all a mess; I was giving Harry back rubs three times a day. I could barely hold my wand. Fred likes to take advantage of it too, usually when we all visit The Burrow for lunch, once a month. In fact, once, Christmas my fifth year and his seventh, when Mr. Weasley was in hospital, I spent three hours giving Fred a back rub, every time I tried to stop he would scowl at me and put my hands back on his shoulders, murmuring threats," she laughed.

"But why are ye so good at it?" he mumbled, sighing, before groaning when she applied more pressure to rid another knot.

"Have you never had a massage before?" she asked him. "Even Harry didn't have this many knots our first year." He shrugged. "And in answer to your question, I went into the Muggle World and got a few lessons from a masseur so that I could improve my technique, I thought it would be good for my patients, not only does it help to relieve stress, but it encourages good blood circulation and the flow of magic around the body."

She dragged both her thumbs up and down the nape of his neck several times and he gave a groan and she snorted at him.

"Shut up, it feels nice," he muttered, he sounded like he was on the verge of falling asleep.

She continued working on his shoulders and neck, being mindful of his bruise in-between his shoulder blades. She lowered her hands when she was satisfied that there were no more knots, she skimmed past the bruise before dragging her hands down his spine and working out the knots that she found, with him letting out sighs, mumbles and groans.

"Okay, I'm done," she spoke, pulling her hands back.

"What?" he lifted his head and turned to look at her. His eyes were drooping and she smothered a laugh.

"I'm done."

He looked disappointed. "Naw, yer not, ye missed me lower back."

She rolled her eyes but conceded. "Fine, lay down for me."

She slid onto the floor and he took the hint and happily jumped up, he sprawled himself out on the corner suite on his stomach. Hermione picked up a cushion and moved it so that he could rest his head on it, which he wrapped his arms around.

"Move over a little," she spoke, patting his back to get his attention, he shifted closer to the back of the corner suite and she sat down on the edge beside him.

She brought her hands up and continued from where she left off at the middle of his back, she took her time working out the muscles, knots and the aches, changing the pressure applied to suit her. When she reached the small of his back she used her thumbs and pressed down, sliding back and forth to the centre.

"Merlin!" he groaned, it was muffled slightly thanks to the cushion and she chuckled when he shifted into her touch.

"You okay?"

"Awesome," he sighed.

She continued massaging him for a further twenty minutes.

"Right, I'm done," she spoke, pulling her hands away.

"Naw," he shook his head in denial.

She laughed at him. "I can't do this forever; I've already been doing it for over an hour."

"A saved ye life, ye owe mae."

She snorted. "Playing that card are we?"

"Aye, an' a'm not ashamed af it either," he held his hand out to her. "It hurts from having a death grip on me broom."

"I thought professional Quidditch players were supposed to be tough," she scoffed, but took his much larger hand in hers and began to dig her thumbs into his palm and he sighed. She took notice of the calluses on his fingertips, it was strange for someone as handsome as him to have hands like that.

"A am tough," he defended weakly.

"You're a big baby."

"It feels good, sue mae." She chuckled.

She continued with his hand for another ten minutes before dropping it, before she could say she was done, he turned over onto his back, put his hand behind his head and held out his other hand for her.

She rolled her eyes when he gave her a lopsided grin, which she had to admit, looked ridiculously adorable. She took his hand and gave it the same attention as she had his other.

In-between sighs and mutters, he watched her, his eyes glued to her face. She was completely focused on her task, her soft features had a determined frown on her face and her eyes remained on his hand, watching her movements.

Her fingers and thumbs tickled over his skin before applying pressure and taking away the aches of the day. He noticed how feminine and dainty, how small her hand was compared to his much larger one, her skin was soft, incredibly so compared to the calluses on his skin.

"The guy tha' ends up marryin' ye is a lucky man." He didn't know what possessed him to say it, it just came out. Her eyes flickered up to his and she gave him an amused smile.

"Hmmm, he may get massages and back rubs, but that's the only positive, he also has to put up with my inability to cook, my temper, my obsession with Sugar Quills, getting his arse handed to him in every board game I own and my rebellious streak." He frowned at her words but didn't say anything.

"Okay, done," she patted his hand and let go.

"Naw," he shook his head. "A havnae felt this relaxed in as long as a can remember."

"I've ran out of places," she replied amused.

He looked down at himself and then back up at her with a smirk. He gestured to his abdomen and put his hands behind his head.

She sighed, was he challenging her? The raise of his eyebrow confirmed he was. She raised her hands and used both of them to do his left side first, meaning she had to lean over him to reach, he shivered when the ends of her hair tickled his chest.

She kept her focus on her task and he happily let her get on with it. Sometime later she moved to his right, but stopped when she noticed a bruise, it was almost gone but it still looked painful.

"What's that?" she gestured to the bruise, his eyes opened and looked to where she was gesturing to.

He shrugged. "Bludger, a couple af weeks ago, it's fine, it doesn't hurt."

She sighed before prodding it. "Ow!" he scowled at her.

She found her cream before applying some to the bruise and then she proceeded to massage his side for ten minutes. He looked like he was asleep and so she brought her hands away from him. He made a sound of protest.

"Naw," he groaned.

"I'm done."

"Ye havnae done me feet."

"No, I don't do feet." He opened his eyes slowly, before giving her his best puppy dog eyes. "No," she said resolutely. "I've been massaging you for close to two hours, my hands are starting to cramp." He frowned. "Besides, you said I could borrow your owl and we need to finish playing Monopoly, the title for King or Queen of board games is still up for grabs."

That seemed to placate him. "Fine," he got up and started to walk out of the room.

"Oliver!" she called, he turned around just in time to get hit in the face with his Quidditch jumper. "Get dressed, you'll catch a cold."

He snorted at her, before walking out of the room.