Oliver was still in his Quidditch gear. They'd had a rather rigorous practice for the better half of the day due to the upcoming game against Falmouth. Oliver's ribs were still smarting a little, but he was feeling relatively confident in his team's abilities. He desperately wanted to beat Falmouth -- especially after everything that Pucey had decided to say. Some part of him knew it didn't matter. Pucey wasn't even a starter for Falmouth. But all the same. He didn't want to give him any extra ammunition.
He was moderately surprised when he heard the knock on the door. They hadn't been expecting anyone as far as Oliver had known. He still hadn't made it to the bedroom to shower and change yet, but was instead drinking as much water in the kitchen as he possibly could. He glanced down at himself, knowing that he wasn't really presentable at the moment, but knowing he also had no choice. Shrugging, he headed toward the door.
"Tracey," he said in greeting when he saw who was there. That perhaps came as even more of a surprise. The times that Jonathan's cousin had dropped by were few and far in between.