“Mhm- ‘ello love..” Oliver mumbles, a bit nasally, probably due to the huge lump on his nose. The room is littered with groaning, sweaty students, the usual sight in the hospital wing after a Quidditch match.

You tense as Madam Pomfrey passes, but her hands are too full to notice a visitor’s presence way past visiting hours. As she leaves, your attention is on him again, a frown tugging at your lips. The scene that unfolded was a hard watch. The ball hitting his chest, his broom tumbling to the ground at a dangerous speed. The smile on Marcus Flint's face.

Hogwarts is already becoming unsafe, now you have to worry about losing your boyfriend to a bloody game? If only his sense of preservation was as big as his ego. A battered hand reaches up to rest on your hip “you're not mad at me are you?” He asks. His charm would've been efficient if he didn't have that stupid smile on his face. They won at the end of the day, that was enough for him.