Oliver adjusted the stupid frill at his neck. Padma had been right, of course. He couldn't very well come dressed as someone from the American West because he wasn't Oliver Wood, he was James Crotchup and Crotchup did begin with a 'c' ('Damn, George and Fred and their idea of humor.') He already felt anxious enough as it was looking like James. He was worried about questions, suspicion and being discovered, however, he hadn't been lying to Padma when he's said the party would be a good opportunity to spy, not only on Aloysius, but on all the Ministry officials Padma has promised would be there.
He was pretty sure Padma was onto him regarding Lisa. The girl certainly wasn't oblivious. Still, Oliver had vowed not to compromise the situation with Lisa by trying anything in public. It was one thing to flirt with Lisa an hushed French at her home, but there were too many people here for him to be anything more than her French tutor. However, he did hope to seek her out. She wasn't the kind of person to be impolite and she'd surely introduce him to anyone in her group - which was excellent for Oliver. Still, he didn't like the reprimand Padma had given him before they'd left her flat. It was one thing to still be on amiable terms with one's ex, but she had no right to scold him for something he hadn't even done yet.
He watched as Padma glanced about the room, probably looking for the infamous Mr. Nott. Oliver hadn't met the man, but he wasn't impressed. Padma was acting as if he'd hung the moon, and while it wasn't an unattractive dress, it certainly wasn't so fabulous as to merit the gushing praise Padma had been throwing Nott's way. She rolled his eyes at her when she wasn't looking and turned to glance about the room himself. He wondered if George would be there. He really would like to talk to him about their plans, but it probably wasn't the best place for them to speak, no matter how hushed their tones.