Love Actually in the Potterverse

The Players

Old Married Couple: Belladonna Zabini and Mad-Eye Moony
Secretary: Pansy Parkinson
Young Married Couple: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger
Lovestruck Best Friend: Ron Weasley
Minister of Magic: Percy Weasley
Tea Lady: Lavender Brown
Lovestruck Coworker: Neville Longbottom
His Colleague: Ginny Weasley
Co-stars: Charlie Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks
Single Stepdad: Remus Lupin

Teenaged Son: Caspian Malfoy (OC)

His Love Interest: Elizabeth Granger (OC)
Writer: Oliver Wood
French Maid: Gabrielle Delacour

Rock Star: Zacharias Smith

His Manager: Justin Finch-Fletchley
Desperate Chef: Seamus Finnegan
Long-Suffering Best Friend: Dean Thomas

Prologue: The Writer and the French Maid

The offer of his long-time nemesis, Marcus Flint, to stay in his batch in Italy was the second most shocking thing that had happened to Oliver Wood that week. Under normal circumstances it would have been the first, but very little could top his long-time girlfriend, Katie Bell, running off with his brother.

He was grateful for the offer. He really was. But the last person he wanted to see after three days of lived-in boxers, stale pizza and otherwise lolling around his now-very-much bachelor pad (he reflected bitterly) in self-pity was a Slytherin.

"Civilised people typically require an invitation before calling on someone else," Oliver observed grumpily, running a hand over his head in a futile attempt to flatten his coarse brown hair.

"The beauty of being a Slytherin is that even when we haven't been invited, we're so charming that we can make the host feel as though we have," Marcus rejoined. "And civilised people typically shower every once in a while. Merlin, this place stinks. You should really reconsider your tactics. Gryffindors don't do moping very well. For one thing, it requires a certain class, which you sadly possess little of. Leave it to the Ravenclaws."

"How's Alicia?" Oliver asked in an attempt to change the subject. Marcus grinned lecherously. "On second thoughts, don't answer that. You Slytherins have to read sexual innuendoes into everything."

"And you Gryffindors have no sense of imagination," Marcus grinned. Oliver scowled at him. "Well, as much as I adore your stimulating company, I really have to get moving. Since you were so kind as to enquire after the purpose of my visit, I will tell you. The way I look at it, you're moping. And when you get sick of moping here, with Alicia being your closest female friend, you'll come around to our place - and mope. Which won't do at all. For one thing, you clash terribly with the furniture even when you are paying attention to your personal hygiene, or lack thereof."

"Get to the point," Oliver growled.

"Do you not enjoy my company?" Marcus feigned a sulky pout.

"No," Oliver said bluntly.

"You Gryffindors," Marcus shrugged pityingly. "No sense of subtlety. Very well. Since you are so eager to be rid of my presence, I have a little place in the Tuscan region where you are welcome to stay and pour your lovesick little soul into whatever novel endeavour you next attempt. When you tire of this rancid little cave, you can mope there all you like." His noise wrinkled disdainfully. "For one thing, it's clean."

Oliver took a moment to reflect. He was at a stalemate in the writing for his latest book, For Love or Quidditch. It was to be the final instalment in a series. All the previous books had gone on the bestsellers list, and his publisher had been totting this forthcoming one as the best. With all the madness of the last week, he needed a place with no distractions where he could clear his head and concentrate on getting things done. The batch was a generous offer. True, Flint had ulterior motives in offering it, but he had come to expect that from Slytherins. "You won't come to visit, will you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Perish the thought," Marcus said.

"Then it's settled," Oliver declared. "I'll take it. When can I move in?"

"As soon as you're able," Marcus drawled. "Believe me, the sooner I get you out of the country so that I can enjoy the - shall we say - company of my girlfriend without her fretting about you every ten seconds, the better. And do get a shower in the meantime." With a pop, he was gone.

"The feeling is mutual, Flint," Oliver muttered. To the best of his knowledge there weren't any Slytherins in Italy, and that was good enough for him. For the first time in three days, he pulled himself off the couch and considered packing.

* * * * *

Two days later, Oliver was in Tuscany. Two days and fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Upon opening it, he was tempted to slam the door shut again. "Oh, bloody hell."

"Just a few last-minute instructions, and then I'll let you get back to moping," Marcus grinned.

"You Slytherins really need to learn to wait for invitations," Oliver muttered.

"If I did that, then I wouldn't get invited anywhere, and I would never leave my house," Marcus said. Oliver had to admit that he had a point. "May I come in?"

"No," Oliver told him.

"As you like it," Marcus shrugged. "Anyway, upon observing your lack of cleaning skills, I decided to arrange something that would make your stay more comfortable, and you therefore less likely to leave. Due to your discomfort with house elves - an unfortunate side effect of a friendship with Hermione Granger, now the lovely Mrs Potter - I have arranged for someone from the village to come and keep things in order." He stepped to one side, and a tiny blonde girl was made visible. Her blue eyes watched Oliver searchingly, yet she did not speak.

"Er, hi, how are you?" Oliver asked awkwardly. Marcus shook his head. "Come stai?" The girl still looked at him blankly.

"She doesn't speak Italian," Marcus explained. "Just like you. She's from France, and she's taking a semester's study leave to paint the countryside. She needed some extra saldi and a part-time job, so I hired her." Oliver couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen this girl somewhere before.

"You remember Fleur Delacour, the TriWizard Champion from Beauxbatons ten years ago?" Marcus continued. "This is her little sister, Gabrielle."