Ignorance Is Bliss

The Gryffindor Quidditch team had long since learned that no matter how much it rained, practice would inevitably continue. It was precisely a training session like this that the team found themselves enslaved into the evening before Halloween.

"Are we done yet?" George whined aloud.

"Done? We just started an hour ago!" Oliver replied, clearly unable to contemplate why anyone would want to quit practice after only an hour (or ten).

"But it's raining!" Fred exclaimed. This was the understatement of the year. It was a record amount of rainfall that they'd seen all year. The pitch was so wet that many believed that if they stood on the pitch, they'd sink into the mud up to their shoulders.

"That is all the more reason to practice today!" Oliver said. "Now let's get back to what we came here to do." His tone left no room for further argumentation which, of course, the twins still did.

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When Oliver had finally deemed practice to be over, the whole team - sans Oliver - headed towards the locker room (and the warmth of the showers).

"Uh, Harry?" Oliver called. "Would you give me a hand with these?" He gestured to the box of Quidditch balls.

"Sure. What do you want me to do?" Harry asked, coming back.

"Do you think you could take this club and hit the bludgers at me?" Harry looked at him in surprise, wondering if he was going crazy.

"W-What?"

"Well, not directly at me! Just in this general direction," Oliver explained. Reluctantly, Harry agreed to the request. Harry took the beater's club and kicked off from the ground. He flew high, feeling the air fly past him, and let the rain pelt onto his face as he went straight up. For a second, he forgot what he'd come up here to do. He was reminded of this when one of the bludgers zipped past his shoulder. It didn't take very long to get the bludgers flying in the right direction; however, actually catching them was something all together different. More than once, Oliver was forced to jump out of the way, and after an hour only managed to secure one into the box. On one such occasion, Oliver stood up from where he'd landed on the ground and turned to find Marcus Flint locking the bludger into place. Oliver could see flecks of green grass and mud on the Slytherin's now drenched black school robes, and he notices some mud smeared on his face.

"Thought you might need some help," Marcus said matter-of-factly when he looked up to see Oliver staring at him. Harry flew above them, close enough to hear what they were saying, but neither seemed to notice him. "You look like you could use a shower," Harry heard Flint say.

"So do you," Oliver replied. Harry wasn't completely sure, but he thought he seen a strange emotion flash over Oliver's features. It was clear that the older boys had forgotten he was there, and remembering the incident he'd witnessed last month, he had a sneaky suspicion why. Again, he was filled with confusion, and a mass of disbelief. If he'd had any doubt as to whether or not they actually forgot he was there, it was quickly scratched when they both, without a word or glance, turned and left the pitch, leaving Harry to put the rest of the equipment away.

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When he was certain that everything was neatly put away, Harry headed towards the locker room. His school uniform was in his locker, and he wanted to get out of his completely soaked Quidditch robes. He opened the door to the locker room and was heading towards his locker when he noticed a black school robe and a scarlet Gryffindor Quidditch robe lying in the alcove that lead to the main area of the locker room. The sound of movement coming from the main area prevented him from noticing the Slytherin patch on the black robe.

He quietly inched forward to the corner where the alcove joined the main room. He peered around the corner just as a pale Irish back was exposed by eager Scottish hands. The masculine hands of the younger boy wandered over the pale muscular back of the older boy.

"You're too cold," came the husky Irish accented voice of Marcus as Oliver was pushed up against a wall. Oliver pulled Marcus into a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around the Slytherin's neck.

"And I know the perfect way to warm up," Oliver replied when they broke from the kiss, only to continue once he'd finished speaking. Realizing the two were clad only in boxers, Harry almost stumbled over the discarded robes as he rushed to get out, not really wanting to know what the perfect way to warm up was. On his way back to the Gryffindor common room, he had to admit that there was no doubt that the two Quidditch Captain's relationship extended far beyond the joys of Quidditch itself.

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Oliver walked into the common room about an hour and a half later, looking flushed and thoroughly disgruntled, but quite happy. He is muddy again, Harry though. But he was the only one who knew this, and having time to think it over (as he had arrived about an hour before due to his been caught by Filch for trailing mud in the halls), he decided to keep the new revelation to himself.

"Oy! Oliver, what happened? You've really got to calm down when it comes to Quidditch training. Looks like you knocked yourself off your own broom this time," Fred Weasley joked about the Gryffindor Keeper's seemingly non-stop Quidditch antics.

"You didn't really fall off, did you?" Katie Bell, a Gryffindor Chaser, asked worriedly.

"No," Oliver replied, grinning.

"But let me guess, it still has to do with Quidditch, right?" George asked, knowing that it being related to anything else would be impossible.

"I guess you could say that," Oliver said as he turned and headed up the stairs to his dormitory. He glanced to where Harry, Ron and Hermione sat and paused for a second, looking like he was about to say something to Harry. But Harry had suddenly become very interested in the book that was in front of him and wouldn't look Oliver in the eyes. Harry had noticed the mud smears on Oliver's neck, and recognized them as smears that could only be made by someone else's hands. Apparently he was the only one who took any notice to this.