Oliver, of course, was home and in pyjamas rather early that evening. He had been slightly deflated the last couple nights after his encounter with Gwenog and his resignation that nothing he did would ever induce her to liking him. Despite one promising comment to perhaps one day consider consenting to going to tea with him (was that really what he was reduced to?), she made it rather more than clear her contempt for him. So, after a rigorous practice in which he nearly threw out his back stopping every quaffle thrown his way Oliver settled into his couch to polish his broom (literally, not a euphemism) and sulk.
He nearly jumped a foot in the air when his quiet was disturbed by a thunderous crack and the appearance of one of his best friends. "Jaysus, Lici, I know I said you could come any time, but a journal warning would have been nice. What if I was naked?" he cried, putting his hand to his chest to settle his beating heart.