"When did Oliver Wood move to America?" Harry asked George with perhaps too much interest.
"Oh, don't tell me you noticed how cute Wood was, too," said George, mussing up Harry's hair.

"Blimey, Harry, you've been gay that long?" Ron was dumbfounded as he followed George into the fire. The three of them were going at once; Harry still didn't trust his pronunciation since the Knockturn Alley incident, and George just thought Ron wasn't bright enough.

"693 East Janns Road, Thousand Oaks, California, 91362," George practically shouted. As they materialized in a foreign fireplace, he said to Ron, "Don't be an idiot. I know it's hard for you. But 'gay' doesn't just happen overnight. It's ... well, you're kind of born that way. It's like being a wizard. Which I sometimes doubt you are."

"Harry, make him stop," said Ron pleadingly. "Kiss him. I don't care."

"If you insist," said Harry, and he took hold of George's face with both hands and kissed him, long and hard. George grinned at him as he broke it off and said to Ron, "You're still a git, you know."

"Stuff it," Ron said, glowering till Oliver Wood walked into the room.

"George! Ron! Harry!" Wood was practically glowing as he hugged each of them in turn, holding onto Harry the longest. "Hey, you're looking fit, Harry. How's it going? Congratulations. Never got to talk to you after the battle. Feeling good again, then?"

"Yeah, I am, thanks," said Harry, a bit put off by the attention. George gave Wood a pointed look and hooked his arm around Harry's waist possessively.

"Oh, you two are together, then?" Wood blinked twice before saying, "Brilliant! Harry, I didn't know, you're gay, too?"

"Are you?"

"Eh, I go back and forth on that," he said with a grin. "So, didn't know till a few minutes ago you were coming, so I wasn't able to straighten up much." He gestured at the room, which was perfectly tidy, but for a stack of magazines on the table. "So sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it," said George. "We appreciate your hospitality on such short notice."

"Anytime, Georgie." Wood's grin was a tad flirtatious for Harry's taste. He put his own arm around George and scratched the taller boy's back. George looked away from Wood down at Harry, who thought of winking, but smiled instead, and George pecked him on the lips before saying, "Where we really have to go is Silicon Valley. At least, that's where we think we have to go. I don't know. Where do they keep the Internet, anyway?"

"Oh, Silicon Valley? That's all bollocks." Wood waved his hand dismissively. "Sit down. I'll get us some drinks."

"Butterbeer?" Ron asked, awed.

"Yeah, get it shipped here once in a while. Reminds me of home." Wood grinned. Harry ignored the slight stirring in his trousers, which became more noticeable as George, picking up on Harry's discomfort, began running his hand up Harry's thigh. Harry was grateful their laps were hidden beneath a table.

"Where you really want to go," said Wood, "is Newbury Park. It's 10 minutes away by car. And we'll be taking a car," he went on as Ron opened his mouth to object, "because this is a Muggle heavy area. It's one of the reasons I moved here. Well, that and the athletics club down the road. Have you all heard of football? Or soccer?"

"Dean really liked that," said Ron.

"And I saw a lot of games on the telly. My uncle," Harry explained.

"Brilliant." Wood grinned again. George's hand crept dangerously close to Harry's crotch. Harry did what he could to ignore it—though it was getting harder, in more ways than one. "Anyway, the library in Newbury Park. That's where the Internet is."

Ron gaped at him. "The library ... has the Internet."

"Yeah, course it does," said Wood, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He took a sip of butterbeer before adding, "It's just a bunch of tubes."

"A bunch of tubes," Ron repeated.

"Yeah," said Wood. "And I suppose all you'd have to do to destroy it would be to cut them. Seems simple enough."

Harry and George looked at each other. "We should go," said Harry.

"Yeah, now. Or 5 minutes ago, preferably," George agreed.

"Alright. I'll give you a ride," said Wood, and off went the four boys, at least one of whom, from the look on Ron's face, was seriously reconsidering his sexual preferences.

Harry hadn't ridden in many cars over the course of his life, but he'd been in mild traffic enough to know that Oliver Wood was a horrifying driver. He couldn't even get a decent hand job in the back seat as Wood's rather stupid looking car (ironically called a "SmartCar") ricocheted around curves and blew through red lights and stop signs.

"You said you needed to get there fast, right?" said Wood cheerfully to a car full of pale-faced passengers. "Well, we're there." The car literally skidded to a halt, and Wood walked them in to the library.

"You're good at the Imperius Curse, right, Harry?" he asked.

"Er. Yeah, I'm OK," said Harry. "But why—"

"Well," said Wood, "no one's here but the librarian. And the librarian has the key to the basement. That's where they keep the tubes."

"The Internet, you mean?" Ron asked.

"Right. The Internet. Anyway," Wood thundered on, "we either go the Muggle route and distract her or hoodwink her, or we do it the easy way and, you know, magic it out of her."

"Hermione would kill us," said Ron.

"Hermione's probably already down there," Harry pointed out.

"Oh. True. Alohomora or some shit like that," said Ron.

"I say we have Harry do the curse, if he's up to it," George said. "And I bet you are, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it's for her own good, right?"

"Right. Well. Go on, then," said Wood, and Harry did. It had been a while since he'd performed a proper Imperius Curse, and he thought the Memory Charm on the way out of the place might be even harder. But if all went according to their haphazard plan, Hermione would be with them by then, and she seemed to find those amusingly entertaining rather than extraordinarily difficult.

Still, Harry was able to perform the curse without much struggle, and soon enough, they were headed downstairs to the door ambiguously labeled "OLD BOOKS." Curiously, the door stood open. Wood, who'd made it to the front of the pack, turned to the rest of the boys and shrugged. He pushed through and gasped.

"Hermione? ... Malfoy?"

Bushy brown and slick blonde was colliding as the two of them, enemies not so long ago, snogged as though their lives depended on it.