"Then they do chase ye," he countered. "Gotta keep attention on ye at all times or they might just lose track of what you're saying, aye?" He gave her a smile, though. "Haven't driven me mad, though. Promise." He didn't want her to think that's what he was getting at.
He followed her into the pub and cursed, not for the first time in his life, the necessity of speech. He was never very good at it, well, when it wasn't Quidditch related. Folks always wanted to talk about things Oliver hadn't a clue about, and he'd kept quiet to avoid appearing daft... or talk about Quidditch instead. But now someone was talking to him about things he wanted to keep up with and he was no bloody good at it—he'd compared her to a Bludger for Merlin's sake.
Oliver focused his attention back on the situation again when she thought she spied a table. He craned his neck over her head and nodded, spying one in the way back before nudging her gently forward with his hand at the small of her back. "Though it might do better for the tall one to lead and the short one to follow, but at least this way, I can't lose you in the crowd," he said, leaning down near her ear so she could hear. On the way to the table tried to think of all the things he knew to talk about outside Quidditch so he could get the conversation back on track.