Angelina was right. There was absolutely nothing she could say. There was nothing anyone could say. At this point, even if Pucey apologised, begged for forgiveness, crawled on hot coals, Oliver would still want to spear him through with his broom. And possibly roast him on a spit. And then bleed him.
"You can't keep seeing him." Oliver told her, his tone brooking absolutely no argument. "You can't keep flirting with him. Angelina, now that you know what he's done to me, I expect you to do the right thing. I expected you to do the right thing anyway, to be above shagging a man like him, a thing like him. I thought you had standards. That's obviously not the case, but NOW I EXPECT you to do the right thing. And if you don't. If you don't, Ang, if you keep seeing him? We're done. It's him or me."