"Harry?" Oliver asked one fine morning after Quidditch practice.

"Yes, Wood?" Harry said, unlacing his magnificent Quidditch boots.

"I, uh, have something to talk with you about." Wood said, looking a little nervous.

Harry, sensing his restlessness, nodded and followed him out onto the Quidditch pitch, away from straying ears.

Oliver bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. He kept looking around, and tried to avoid Harry's eyes.

"OLIVER!" Harry said exasperatedly. "What do you need to talk with me about? Is it that bad?"

"Harry…" Oliver Wood began. "The other boys have complained… the girls, too… and uh… well… can I ask you a question?"

"… Yes."

"Do you uh… do you… "

"Out with it already!" Harry nearly shouted.

"Do you ever trim your pubic hair!" Oliver asked quickly.

"WHAT?" Harry said, his flaming face turning flaming red.

"Well, it's just, the other boys have said while you guys are changing that it uh… it's pretty… it's pretty much not a pretty sight, Harry."

"Why are they looking, then, Oliver!?"

"Harry, Fred said it's gotten caught in your locker before."

"That was only one time! Okay, maybe four or five, but still…!"

"The girls say that when you uh, readjust your robes after you've been sweating… kind of lifting your shirt, you know? That, uh… well… they can see the hair from… there."

Oliver looked a little relieved to have finally said all of these things. Harry just looked down at the ground, ashamed.

"Come here, Harry, sit." Oliver said, dropping to the ground and patting the soft, lush grass next to him.

Harry dropped heavily next to the Keeper.

"Now, Harry, tell me. What's really the problem?"

"Oliver, it's… my hair… down there… it's the same as the hair on my head… I can't… I can't cut it… it just grows right back!" Harry began to cry.

Patting his shoulder, Oliver comforted Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's alright… I myself have problems…"

"Really?" Harry asked, his pickle-green eyes growing wide. "Problems with your pubes?"

"Well, no… I, just, well… I constantly have wood…"

"You're a Quidditch player! You always have a broom!"

"No, Harry, that's not what I mean…"

"Oh! Haha, your last name!" Harry said, throwing Oliver a sly wink.

"Harry… I constantly have an erection."

Harry gasped. "Doesn't… doesn't that… hurt?"

"Well, the broomsticks help a bit… but… I guess we all have a burden to bear."

"Yeah." Harry said, chuckling. "And I don't want to 'bare' mine…"

"Oh, Harry…" Oliver said, shaking his head and smiling. He suddenly grew serious.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Then they snogged.

The End.

Note: I am the worst writer in the world. This wasn't a serious fic, no worries! Or something. Ugh.

(Revised 11/22/07)