"Harry, can you please try not to nearly fall off your broom again?"
Oliver's voice carried throughout the Great Hall, making the entire Slytherin table snicker. It was the morning of yet another Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match. Oliver had the team training so hard, that Harry had indeed nearly fallen off his broom the night before.
"Well, if you hadn't have us train all night, every night, maybe I wouldn't." Harry retorted, humiliated now that the entire school knew about the previous night.
"Fat chance of that, Potter," Malfoy called from across the room. "My father and I have a bet; he believes that you'll go down because of one of your idiot Beaters, where I say you'll just plain fall off. You and your whole family are failers, just like the Weasleys."
Harry jumped up from the table, but was pulled back down by Oliver.
"Let's go get changed," he said to Harry, then turned to the rest of the team. "I'll meet the rest of you down at the pitch in 10."
Harry was still fuming as he and Oliver made their way to the quidditch pitch. Oliver had begun babbling about his newest strategies.
"Why wouldn't you let me have a go with Malfoy?" Harry asked him.
"Because I don't want our Seeker to be banned from the most important match in the season, half an hour before the match." Oliver told him.
"That Malfoy has some nerve." said Harry, still fuming.
"Yes, he does," Oliver said. "He's jealous of how great you are, Harry. You're going to do great things. Many of us care about you. I care about you."