For a split second, their surroundings were dark and blurred as they were ripped away from Dorchester. Just a moment later, they materialized in a recognizable location, surrounded by oddly dressed, spirited witches and wizards. The apparition had been successful. Olivia, having become used to the sensation, recovered quickly and mentally congratulated herself on successfully executing side-along apparition. She got a glimpse of the mass throng of anticipatory Quidditch fans before turning her attention to Davis, who had her hands on her knees attempting to gain composure. Olivia approached her friend and placed a sympathetic hand on her back.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked absentmindedly before realizing the obvious answer to her question. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Take your time.” 

Moments later, Davis stood straight. Her face was extremely pale and she looked rather worse for wear. 

“The wizarding world doesn’t have many pleasant modes of transportation.” She declared weakly, placing a hand on her stomach. Olivia chuckled at her friend’s ability to joke about her experience.

“Hey! At least you didn’t vomit!” Olivia proclaimed excitedly, checking her pockets to see if their tickets and map were still there. Simultaneously, Davis turned away and retched in the grass. “I spoke too soon.” She mumbled to herself before placing an arm around her frail companion.

“I’m just glad I got this out of the way before taking the apparition class.” Davis said lowly, accepting Olivia’s assistance and using her as a crutch. “I’d hate to get sick in front of the entire class. That would’ve been humiliating.” She coughed a couple times, motioning for Olivia to stop walking. She resumed her earlier stance with her hands on her knees. “Go on and check us in. I’ll stay here and collect myself.”

Olivia obeyed her friend’s instructions and headed for a small stone cottage next to a gate that was situated on the misty moor. When she approached, she kindly greeted Mr. Roberts, the seemingly overwhelmed Muggle site manager. She explained that her site had already been paid for and attempted to show him the proof, but he cleared her for entry without even glancing at her reservations. His attentions were keenly focused on a witch who was flying across the site on a broom. 

“What in God’s name-?” He muttered, his jaw dropping. In that same moment, a nearby Ministry of Magic employee in plus-fours aimed his wand at the baffled Muggle.

“Obliviate.” Suddenly, Mr. Roberts’ confused countenance erased itself, replaced by an expression of dreamlike content. Without a word, he turned to enter his stone cottage. The fatigued wizard had wiped Mr. Robert’s memory. “If only you knew how many times I’ve obliviated him today... I’m rather shocked his brain hasn’t turned to mash.” The Ministry worker mumbled, speaking aloud to anyone who would lend an ear. “We’ve told everyone countless times to only practice magic inside their tents. Nobody wants to listen, not even Ministry staff!” He scoffed before continuing. “The Anti-Muggle security at this event is subpar, to say the least...” The wizard’s fulminations against the Ministry were well-justified - Olivia looked into the crowd and spotted several instances of magic at first sight, including levitating banners, multilevel tents, and unsheathed wands. “Look at this! All in broad daylight, too!” In a fury, he shook his head and disapparated into the rambunctious campground, obviously discontented with his assigned job.

Olivia returned to Davis, who had retched again into the field. 

“Are you still not over it?” Olivia inquired quizzically. “I only got sick once.”

“Well, I’m still not feeling the greatest.” She said, her voice seeming fragile. “I think I can make it to the tent, though.” Davis swung an arm around Olivia’s shoulder and began walking towards the horde of Quidditch fans. “How far away is it?”

Olivia referred to the map. The two tents that were circled seemed to be positioned in the middle of the field. She peered out into the crowd to judge the distance.

“Maybe a ten minute walk. Not terribly far from here.” She said. “When we get there, we’ll get you something to drink.”

Davis stopped walking and turned away, getting sick a third time. She was so disoriented that she was at a loss for words, and merely shot a pleading, miserable look at her friend.

“You don’t need to walk.” Olivia determined, grabbing her wand from her sleeve and aiming it at the ground, conjuring a cot out of thin air. During the previous school year, Olivia’s transfiguration professor, Minerva McGonagall, had instructed the class on conjuration, which was a branch of transfiguration. “Lie down.” Davis did not question her friend’s command. In fact, she was in such pain that she voluntarily crawled onto the cot. Once Davis was situated, Olivia pointed her wand at the mattress. “Locomotor.” She muttered, watching warily as the apparatus lifted a few inches off of the ground. She scanned the vicinity to look for the wizard in plus-fours - she knew he would not approve of the endeavor, despite the extenuating circumstances. Davis closed her eyes and clutched her stomach as Olivia directed the cot alongside her as she walked, constantly referring to the map.

“Thank you.” The ill apparator said, speaking indistinctly.

“For sure.” Olivia acknowledged. “I don’t know any healing spells, but I’m sure Mrs. Wood will have some tricks up her sleeve.”

The floating cot unfortunately turned the pair into quite a spectacle. As Olivia carefully navigated the hovering bed through narrow passages between the tents, she received several bewildered glances. Many even expressed concerned sympathies to Davis, who was lying flat on her back and staring up at the clear skies. 

Finally, after fifteen minutes of careful trekking, Olivia directed the portable cot around a corner. According to the map, they were nearing their destination. Sure enough, her eyes landed on an insanely festive pair of tents. They were bedecked with substantial patches of shamrock and Irish paraphernalia. Olivia almost immediately recognized the tents as Oliver’s, and her suspicions were confirmed as she spotted him conjuring a campfire out front. He was sporting Ireland’s colors, dressed in an emerald turtleneck with green and white facepaint. On his shirt was a sizable green rosette. Olivia was surprised that Oliver had not colored his light brown hair to match the remainder of his outfit.

It was not long before Oliver’s smiling eyes met his girlfriend’s. He dropped his wand to his side and stood tall, a contagious grin spreading across his visage. The moment faded as soon as the floating cot caught his eye. Oliver’s hand fretfully flew to his forehead and his eyes widened. He ran dutifully in their direction to help.

“Merlin’s beard!” He exclaimed in a frantic manner. “What happened?”

They finally stepped off of the path, allowing Olivia to lower Davis to the ground. Oliver squatted down to examine her.

“We apparated here. It was her first time.” Olivia said weakly. She had drained a substantial amount of magical energy to transport Davis and was suddenly exhausted. “She’s gotten sick three times, which I found unusual. I only vomited once.” She collapsed to the ground beside the cot, heaving a fatigued sigh.

“That is a lot...” Oliver said skeptically.

“I didn’t know any healing spells, so I did the best that I could to get her here. Would your mother know any?”

“Oh, of course.” He nodded. “You go ask her about that. She’s in our tent. I’ll move Davis to her bed inside, I’m sure you’re spent after such a long walk.”

It was as if Oliver could read her mind. Olivia stood, thankful to be distancing herself from the conjured cot. As she headed towards the tent, Oliver’s father, Isaac Wood, stepped out with a package of pork sausages in hand.

“Olivia! Greetings!” He said jovially, heading in the direction of the campfire. 

Mr. Wood greatly favored his son, sharing Oliver’s tousled hair and broad smile. The only notable differences were Mr. Wood’s sharp blue eyes - Oliver’s were a deep brown - and distinct facial features. He was also quite lanky in comparison to his son’s athletic frame.

“Evening, Isaac!” Olivia responded happily. She enjoyed the company of Oliver’s parents, and due to their recent complaints had strayed from addressing them formally. They preferred a first-name basis.

“Now that Oliver’s finally gotten this fire started, I’m going to make dinner. I asked him to light it an hour ago!” Mr. Wood rolled his eyes jokingly. “When he’s surrounded by Quidditch, he loses touch with his listening skills.” Oliver’s father gave a hearty laugh, and Olivia joined him. He was exactly right - Oliver’s passion for the sport could be overwhelming at times. 

“What’s for dinner?”

“Bangers and Mash. Easy to cook over a fire. Sound good enough to you?” Mr. Wood inquired, sitting down before the fire.

“Sounds delicious.” Olivia grew hungrier at the thought. “Say - where’s Amelia?”

“She’s in the kitchen cooking the potatoes.”

Olivia headed inside tent, greeted by an expansive foyer and an elaborate chandelier. Wizards were able to make use of undetectable extension charms to expand the volume of their limited spaces. This did not apply to only tents - bags, luggage, and closets were often subjected to the charm’s effects. Olivia navigated her way through to the kitchen to locate Oliver’s mother.

As promised, Amelia was standing in front of the stovetop, occupied by a pot of mash. She was entertaining herself by humming the tune of You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me by Celestina Warbeck. 

Amelia was a very short and lively woman with curly, chestnut hair and kind, brown eyes she had passed to her son. Her down-to-earth attitude made her extremely likeable, and her countenance always appeared bright and sparkling. She was a kind, nurturing soul, and a Hufflepuff at heart.

Amelia stopped humming and turned to face the tent’s entrance, having detected Olivia’s presence. When their eyes met, Amelia flashed a pleasant smile. 

“Olivia! Dear! How have you been?” She rushed forward to hug her son’s beloved, squeezing her tightly around the neck. Olivia reciprocated the gesture.

“Lovely!” She said. “I’ve been chosen as Head Girl!”

Amelia’s eyes widened and she placed her hands on Olivia’s shoulders. 

“Head Girl? How marvelous! We’ll have to celebrate! How did Oliver react?” Amelia asked in an interested manner, turning again to check on her potatoes.

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Haven’t told him? And why not?” She pried, obviously confused, all the while maintaining her focus on dinner.

“Well, we haven’t had much time to talk, actually. We’ve been rather occupied with Davis, which is what I’ve come here to tell you about.” Olivia stated. “Davis and I apparated here.”

“She can apparate? I thought she was just a fifth-year.”

“Side-Along.” Olivia simply elaborated. “This was her first experience with apparition, and, well, let’s just say-”

Amelia dropped her spoon.

“Oh no. She’s sick, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Very sick, actually. She’s thrown up three times. I didn’t know any healing spells, and Oliver told me to ask you about a potion-”

“Oh, of course, dear! I’ve actually got a copy of The Healer’s Handmate on the bookshelf.” Amelia suddenly abandoned her post at the stove to make a beeline for the bookcase in the adjacent room. When she emerged again, she had a tattered handbook in her arm and headed straight for the exit. “Take over the mash, will you? I’ll go tend to Davis.”

Olivia took over dinner without a second thought. She and Davis were members of Hogwarts’ Culinary Club, a group led by House Elves. Members of the club would prepare dishes on the holidays.

Olivia had set the spoon to stirring itself and was busying herself at the spice rack when Oliver swept into the tent. When he saw Olivia preparing dinner in the kitchen at ease, he chuckled to himself. It amused him that his girlfriend so comfortably acted like part of the family.

“You and dad are tag-teaming dinner, I see.” He announced from across the room, his voice causing Olivia to spin around to face him. Oliver quickly stepped towards her, having desired a moment of her attention since her arrival. Unexpected mishaps had prevented them from sharing a proper greeting, and he wanted to compensate.

Olivia did not respond to his earlier observation, instead deciding to silently lean against the kitchen counter with a smirk on her face. Oliver took this as an invitation to approach her, which he did with haste - they had not seen one another since June. Oliver determined not to prolong their separation, sealing their long-endured distance with a tender kiss.

“I never got to properly say hello.” He reflected, pulling away from her. “Mission accomplished.” Oliver chuckled. “You sit down, I’ll finish dinner.”

“You sure?” Olivia asked, raising a brow. Oliver rounded to the stove, taking her arm and leading her to the table.

“Positive. You’ve been on your feet all day. Sit down.” He pulled out a chair for her, obviously in good spirits.

For five minutes, the two conversed about the happenings of the last two months. Oliver briefly shared his experiences as the Keeper of Puddlemere United. He began to ramble about the rigorous daily practice schedule, but stopped himself short to allow Olivia to share her exciting news. Upon hearing the details of his girlfriend’s long-desired promotion, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He grabbed her into a proud, congratulatory embrace.

“Does this mean you’re the boss now?” He asked sarcastically.

“I always was.” Olivia countered with a mischievous grin, raising a brow.

Isaac entered the tent, cradling the pan of sausages in the crook of his arm. Amelia followed suit, entering after her husband. There was no sign of Davis. Amelia had decided it best for her to sleep until the event.

After finishing their hearty meal, Oliver and Olivia helped Mr. and Mrs. Wood clean the table. Mr. Wood retired to the living room to spend his remaining time with a book, and Mrs. Wood prepared a dinner plate for Davis to consume upon her awakening. The young couple decided to pace the campground. Olivia desired to experience the atmosphere of the event without a giant, levitating bed at her side.

Oliver was more than happy to lead Olivia through the site - it had been his home for the past few weeks, and he had become impressively familiar with the complex arrangement of tents. The two emerged into the palpable energy of the campsite hand-in-hand, setting out to mingle in the crowds.

“Oh! Did I tell you that Marcus Flint was chosen to be a Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons?” Oliver said flatly, a scowl overtaking his positive profile. He was referencing Slytherin’s recently graduated team captain, who had served as his rival, enemy, and foil during his time at Hogwarts. 

“You mean they accept numbskulls?” Olivia inquired sardonically, gazing up at Oliver, who trumped her in height by a measly inch. Flint had been retained during his seventh year due to failing his final exams.

“Apparently so. I just can’t seem to get away from him.” Oliver suddenly narrowed his eyes and peered ahead as if his words had signaled him to do so. “Speaking of which, his tent is right there.” He gestured to a tent only three away from theirs that was draped with the Bulgarian flag. “I’ve been running into him all bloody week. Always scowls at me.”

“Ah, don’t let him get under your skin.” Olivia advised, squeezing Oliver’s hand. The temperature outside was steadily dropping, and the sun’s fading light was being replaced with the universal glow of campfire. “He’s a tactless prat, anyways. He doesn’t deserve your attention.”

Almost as if her insult had summoned him, Marcus Flint stepped outside of his tent accompanied by Cassius Warrington, a fellow Slytherin Chaser during Flint’s time on the team. Per usual, Marcus’ short, black hair was greasily combed into its signature point, paired with his notorious grimace. As he surveyed the grounds, his eyes landed on Oliver, causing his crooked teeth to reveal themselves through a devilish grin. 

“Bloody hell. He’s going to call us over, I can feel it.” Oliver muttered, preferring to avoid conflict with his old rival. “Just look straight ahead.”

Sure enough, as predicted, Flint nudged Warrington on the arm and blatantly pointed at Oliver.

“Wood! Didn’t think I’d let you ignore me, did you?” Flint shouted combatively, angered when Oliver continued to do just that - ignore him. “Wood!”

This time, Marcus abandoned his tent and moved to block the couple’s path. It seemed that Marcus could not survive day-to-day without tormenting someone.

“What do you want, Flint?” Oliver muttered bitterly, his pleasant, twinkling expression replaced by an angry glare.

“Forgive me for interrupting your romantic stroll,” Flint taunted, “but I couldn’t resist drawing this to your attention. You’re wearing Slytherin colors.” 

“And you’re in Gryffindor colors.” Oliver smartly countered, signaling at Flint’s red attire. “So is your tent. So is your entire family. Now, could you please step aside?” Flint had apparently not thought this through. He had attempted to provoke Oliver so much through the previous years that his well of insults had seemingly run dry. 

Oliver’s method of handling potential conflict amused Olivia. In the moment, he was a pacifist, skillfully managing to say what needed to be said without raising his voice.

“Absolutely not.” Flint continued to bar their path pugnaciously, crossing his arms and standing resolutely in front of them.

“You are so insufferable.” Olivia spat with an eyeroll. Oliver shot her a glance, as if pleading for her to control her often excitable temper. 

“Remind me, but I don’t recall asking for your invaluable opinion.” Flint rebuked, tapering his snake-like gaze.

“Watch it.” Oliver boldly berated, stepping forward in approach.. 

“Ooo! Warrington, did you see that? Wood just got shirty with me!”

After turning around and checking, Warrington confirmed that he did, in fact, see that.

“Just get out of our way, Flint.” Oliver demanded, frustratedly attempting to push past his grounded rival.

“No. Tell you what, Wood.” A mischievous smirk crept onto the face of Oliver’s conniving nemesis, making it clear that he had concocted some wicked scheme in his twisted mind. “I’ll let you by if you gamble with me.”

Olivia expected to hear a hard “no” from her morally sound companion, but was taken aback when he expressed mild interest.

“What kind of gambling?” Oliver inquired.

“Let’s bet on the outcome of the Quidditch match.”

“It’s a risky year for you to be placing confident bets, Flint.” Oliver advised.

“Ha! You’re one to talk!” Flint chortled unpleasantly. “We have Viktor Krum.”

“Precisely. He’s young. Inexperienced.”

“Better than what Ireland has! A couple of four-leaf clovers will get you nowhere on the Quidditch Pitch.”

“No, but they symbolize luck. Luck and talent will lead Ireland to victory.” Oliver pursed his lips, and Olivia felt his grip on her hand tighten. “And luck will win me this bet.”

After grinning slightly at Oliver’s corny, poetic monologue, Olivia’s eyes widened. Did he just agree to gamble with his biggest rival? Her eyebrows laced together with concern. Flint was immoral, corrupt, untrustworthy, and irresponsible, and despite the results, Oliver would be likely to emerge from the bet empty-handed. Olivia jabbed her boyfriend in the ribs with an elbow, attempting to stop him before he took the betting scheme too far.

“How about thirty galleons?” Flint suggested, turning to Warrington in search of an approving glance. “I bet you thirty galleons that Bulgaria will win the World Cup.”

“Fifty.” Oliver piped in, removing his hand from Olivia’s to cross his arms stubbornly. 

“Oh, you’re serious, then!” Flint gestured to his tent. “Fifty is nothing. I’ve got enough money to make fifty galleon bets with the entire crowd. Let’s go to eighty.”

Marcus’ weak attempt to sound intimidating failed, only succeeding in making him sound dense.

“Anyone with basic knowledge of mathematics could formulaically prove that you’re incompetent.” Olivia challenged bitterly. She was angry at Flint, but was growing frustrated with Oliver for participating in Flint’s games.

“This one’s got a fiery tongue!” Flint snapped, shifting his glare to her. “Keep that under control or you’ll be sorry.”

Oliver abruptly stepped forward and moved his face just inches from Marcus’, grabbing a fistful of his shirtfront.

“I warned you to keep her out of this, Flint, and I meant it.”

“Woah!” Flint immediately pulled away from Oliver’s grasp and chuckled. It appeared to Olivia that Oliver’s unexpected aggressiveness had frightened Marcus, who was trying to disguise his shock with empty insults. “I’ve never seen you like this, Wood! This girl must have an effect on you... It must take a lot of love to make you fight back, for once...” Flint’s confidence swelled when he heard Cassius snickering behind him.

“One-hundred galleons.” Oliver said bravely, his frustrations manifesting themselves in the form of a rapid impulse decision. Olivia quickly did the math in her head - if each galleon was equivalent to twenty-five U.S. dollars, then Oliver had just bet $2,500. Upon this realization, Olivia’s eyes broadened.

“Oliver! Don’t be so rash! Do you realize how much money that is?” She scowled.

He looked down at her with a blank expression that suggested he had failed to register her frantic advice. Flint laughed at Olivia’s panic-stricken voice. 

“Look what you’ve done, Wood! You’ve gotten your lady all upset.” He plastered a look of false sympathy on his face before re-inviting his default scowl. “I like it. Let’s go to two-hundred.”

“Two-hundred?!” Olivia cried out, smacking a hand to her forehead in anguish. She was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“Deal.” Oliver’s flat, unamused poker face remained as he stuck out a hand. Having expected Oliver to reject his recklessly impetuous offer, Marcus seemed dumbfounded at the sight of Oliver’s outstretched hand. He hesitated to make the commitment - the potential of losing such a large sum of money had finally dawned on him. “Well?” Oliver said again, waiting for his rival to seal the deal. After the passing of several contemplative moments, Flint surrendered his hesitation and partook in the handshake. The high-stakes deal had been officialized.