Scratching his head and sighing, Oliver took another long sip of wine to quell whatever fears threatened to spill out of his mouth. Better to remain silent than remove all doubt... or something​.
The bar held a surprising amount of people for a Wednesday night; Quidditch fever had taken over, and many seemed to be out celebrating the lead up to the big finale. Lisa, unfortunately, wasn't at the bar but a team of prepared bartenders served familiar and vaguely familiar faces. Including the one of a very pretty blonde. Oliver, a creature of habit, had a serious weakness for blonde women given all but Romilda had golden tresses. His eyes lingered on her appreciatively, only to wander back to his friends and to the conversation.
"Yeah!" Oliver agreed, but really sure just what he was agreeing to. Truth be told he wants straddling comfortably numb and rather drunk.