Disclaimer- I own nothing and make no money.

Thank's to Rosie for beta'ing.

"Did you see that, Hermione?" the excited voice of Ronald Weasley demanded as he jumped to his feet to cheer on the Cannons. "That was brilliant!"

Hermione paused to glance up from the program she'd gotten when they'd stepped through the gates of the Quidditch Pitch – she felt as though she should to show at least a small amount of interest in the scene in front of her - before focusing her attention back onto the program. While she didn't enjoy Quidditch and, as such, had successfully stayed fairly uneducated regarding the sport during her years at Hogwarts, she loved to read - and this was the only reading material available. She'd learned, so far, that, although her friends sang their praises, the Chudley Cannons were not having the best year…or the best decade, depending on how you wanted to look at it; and their competitors, the Kenmare Kestrels, were at their peak playing performance and had been for the past few years.

'In other words,' she thought as she flipped a page, 'the Cannons have no chance in Hades of winning.'

She looked at Ron and wondered why he was still obsessed with a team that had peaked years before he was even born, but she bit her tongue, knowing it must be a sports thing and that pointing such a detail out to him would only lead to a screaming match. She'd also learned something else during this game – though this discovery could not be credited to the program: sitting in stadium seats for more than an hour was less than pleasant. She'd actually come to that conclusion around two hours ago, but she'd been unable to do much except stand up a few times to get the circulation back, or sit and pray that the Snitch would be caught soon. She fervently hoped that this would not turn out to be one of those games that went on for days without interruption.

"Hermione, why don't you go get a drink or something?" Harry suggested, noticing that she was about to start reading the program again.

"It's impossible to get out of this aisle," she grumbled, looking down said aisle with a sullen look. It was narrow anyway, but with knees taking up half of the width, it would be more effort than her life was worth to attempt to maneuver through.

Harry followed her gaze and shrugged his agreement before he focused his attention on the game again. She looked down the aisle once more and winced as the stadium erupted in shouts – cheers and boos from both sides - as a call was made. Whatever had been said, it seemed that it was popular with the crowd.

"Everyone's on their feet, 'Mione, go now," Harry urged as he stood with Cannons crowd and cheered.

She sent him a grateful smile and stood to begin pushing her way along the row. It took the better part of twenty minutes to get to the top of the stairs and make her way to the bathroom, but she made it with barely a scratch. It wasn't until she had used the facilities that she realized she didn't quite know what to do now that she was out of her seat. She looked down the almost deserted corridor that ran under the pitch and began to make her way back to her seat, wishing that she had at least grabbed the paper on her way out of her flat.

"Now something tells me that isn't the face of a true fan," an unfamiliar voice said from beside her, causing her to jump. She recovered herself before looking up to see who had spoken.

"I'm afraid you're right," she answered sheepishly, looking away when she saw his tall frame, practically draped in the almost offensive colors of the Kestrels, emerald green with yellow accents.

He looked vaguely familiar – but then, with a job at the Minitry that had her in an office on the main floor, where most of the foot traffic was, that wasn't especially unusual; she sometimes thought that half the wizarding population of Britain looked 'vaguely familiar' to her. He looked to be a few years older than her and she found herself wondering if they had gone to school together. He would have been on a Quidditch team if the amount of merchandise he had on was any indication, and that alone told her that she wouldn't have known him well even if they had gone to school together.

"So why come?" he asked as he positioned himself in such a way as would allow him to look through the archway, out onto the field, as well as remain within speaking distance of her.

"My friends dra…brought me as a celebratory 'date'," she explained, catching herself and blushing as she almost completely gave away her dislike for the game.

There was a pause as he craned his head to follow a play; when it went out of sight, he asked, "Why would they do that, is it your birthday?" his gaze falling back to her.

"No." She smiled. "It's not my birthday. It's one of my friends' actually," she explained, thinking of how excited Ron had been when the tickets Harry and she had bought for him had arrived - he'd been worse than a child at Christmas with them. "If you'd like to go back to the game, don't let me keep you," she said when his gaze strayed to the archway again and he cursed softly at something that happened.

"Oh, don't worry. I needed to stretch my legs," he assured her before he gave her a look that had her thinking there was something on her face. "I feel as if I've seen you before," he said suddenly.

"I've got the same feeling."

"Were you at a Puddlemere game in the last couple of weeks?" he asked, still studying her.

"No, I haven't been to a game since the World Cup, when Ireland played Bulgaria - and that was almost seven years ago," she replied, before asking a question of her own. "Did you go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," he answered, then his eyes brightened and he smiled. "You were a Gryffindor, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was. I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced herself, offering her hand to him.

"I think I remember seeing you around the common room. I'm Oliver Wood," he said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it go.

"That sounds familiar," she murmured, trying to remember the name. "Were you on the Quidditch team?" she asked, just before an almost deafening cheer split the air and the rafters above them shook from the force.

She noticed his chest puff up slightly and resisted the urge to laugh at the man beside her as he answered. "Yes, I was and captain for two years, too."

"Then I must know you through Harry or Ron," she said as a few people began to trickle into the corridor. It seemed the game was over.

"Harry?"

"Harry Potter, he was on the Quidditch team from our first year," she explained, as she was almost knocked over by a rather dejected looking Cannons fan.

"Oh, Potter. Yeah, it's hard to forget a player with that kind of skill," he said, his eyes slightly unfocused as he thought back to the raw talent Potter had shown. "He's not in Quidditch professionally, is he?"

"No, he's been focused on a career in the Ministry," she said, then started as an arm wound itself around her waist.

"There you are, 'Mione. I was worried," Ron sighed, squeezing her to him before he let her go. "You're Oliver Wood, right; Keeper for Puddlemere?"

"Yeah, and you must be Ron," Oliver answered as his gaze flickered to the boy's red hair and scar-free forehead.

"Yeah. Brilliant game, wasn't it?" he asked, although, judging by the depressed look he was sporting, this was just a polite attempt at conversation.

"Hey, 'Mione, see you made it out alive," Harry joked as he joined the small group.

"Yes, thank you. You remember Oliver Wood, don't you?" she asked, motioning to the man.

"Hard not to. How you doing, mate? Good game last week," he said, shaking the Keeper's hand before turning to Hermione. "We're going out for a bite to eat, are you up for it?" he asked as he was pushed by passing Quidditch fans.

Hermione thought about it. She really hadn't enjoyed the game and it was more than likely that that would be the topic of lunch.

"I'd like to, but I have a few files at home I have to finish," she said, sending a regretful smile to her friends, who returned it.

"Alright then, 'Mione, I'll talk to you later," the red head said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek before he straightened and, with a nod to Oliver, walked off to the Apparation point.

"I'll see you at the party tonight, Herms," Harry said quietly before he too made his way to leave the stadium.

"Party, huh?" Oliver asked after Harry was gone with a small 'pop'.

"For Ron's birthday," she said, beginning to fidget with the program in her hands. "We're throwing him a party tonight."

"I don't usually invite myself places but would you mind if I came?" he asked.

Hermione gave him an odd look before she answered. "I'm not sure. Well, I suppose you could come - it's at The Leaky Cauldron and it's not as if we reserved it for our party. It's just a get-together really." She began to ramble, not used to talking to a member of the opposite gender unless they had red hair or a scar on their forehead.

"I'm not asking to marry you," he laughed, causing her to blush almost painfully and begin to stammer out an apology. "Calm down, Hermione. I figured that would be better than asking you to come to the Puddlemere game next week, you'd be surrounded by friends tonight," he soothed her, noticing her blush.

"Why on earth would you ask me to a game next week? You barely know me," she asked suspiciously.

"I feel it's my duty to change the opinion of any non-Quidditch fan." He shrugged, giving her a smile that settled her nerves a bit.

"So I could have been anyone and you would have invited me to a game next week?" she asked, feeling a bit hurt, although she couldn't figure out why.

"I was going to ask you to a game but decided not to, remember?" he asked still smiling. "And besides, I don't often meet a woman who's not ready to throw a phone number or her underclothes," at that he blushed, "at me."

If she was supposed to be flattered by his admission he would find himself disappointed. She studied him for a few minutes before she shrugged in indifference.

"I suppose Ron would appreciate another Quidditch fan there," she said, by way of an invitation.

"Wood, come on. Play suitor later, if we're late coach'll kill us," a voice called from somewhere down the corridor.

He looked over his shoulder and waved the person off before turning back to her.

"What time?"

"We'll be getting him there by seven," she said, glancing at her watch.

"I don't get out of practice until eight. I'll be there before ten and then we'll begin your Quidditch lessons," he promised before he turned and made his way towards his team mates.

"Lessons?" she called, feeling rather nervous. She liked to learn, yes - but at a party?

"I'll bring some plays and teach you the basics," he answered before he sent her a wave and Disapparated.

Hermione walked to the Apparation point and sighed as she Disapparated, knowing that all of her well laid plans of learning nothing about Quidditch - save the program she'd studied more than she'd have liked - were going to go up in flames tonight if he showed up.