Oliver carefully fingered the shiny new bruise on his face. It felt as if a hippogryff had sat on his face and looked even worse. Wincing, Oliver applied the salve - violent green and not looking reassuring in the least - then watched it get absorbed by his skin. He blinked, sneezed and in the mean time watched the bruise disappear almost entirely.
A wide grin spread across Oliver's face as he not so gently slammed the salve back into the medicine cupboard and went to grab his cloak. He really had no idea how Muggles managed without magic. Hell, these days he had no idea how Muggleborns managed with magic. Forcefully pushing those dark thoughts aside, Oliver shooed the cat off his cloak, slung it across his shoulders and apparated away. Tonight was a night for fun and for catching up with his old idol, Charlie Weasley - in Oliver's opinion the only Seeker who was good enough to put even Harry Potter to shame. If he hadn't run off to play with dragons.
Still struggling to wrap his mind around this sacrilegious thought, Oliver entered the pub and scanned the place and almost immediately spotted Charlie at the bar. Thank Merlin for the trademark Weasley-hair.
"OY, WEASLEY!" Oliver yelled and pushed his way over to Charlie's side.