Laughter is the best cure

Draco Malfoy stepped forward; a wide smirk plastered across his face. Even Oleandra was getting annoyed at this sight, and she was on his side!

"You're Lucius Malfoy's boy, right?" asked Fred Weasley, frowning. Weasleys and Malfoys were like cats and dogs; in other words, like Scotsmen and Englishmen, or Welshmen and Englishmen. Ever since the Englishmen's ancestors had killed King Arthur and Merlin, there have always been disputes in the British Isles. Wizards think themselves above such petty squabbles, but as long as there are at least two people left on Earth, be they magical or otherwise, there will always be conflict!

"What an incredible coincidence you'd mention Draco's father; he just happened to furnish our entire team with Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones!" said Marcus Flint.

Oleandra had also received one. When Lucius had heard about Draco's deal with Oleandra for her spot as Seeker, he had slapped his son on the back of the head. A ghoulish dismembered hand was no gift for a distinguished lady of noble blood, after all!

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint, flicking away an imaginary piece of lint from his perfectly polished broomstick. "They'll wipe the floor with those fallen branches you call brooms!"

"Oh look," he continued. "Your fans are storming the field."

He was referring to Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger who were coming down from the stands to see what all the fuss was about.

"What's happening?" Ronald Weasley asked Potter, pointing his chin briefly towards Malfoy. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought for the team."

Ronald Weasley couldn't believe his eyes. Even if he sold his home, he doubted he'd be able to buy even one of those magnificent specimens of modern enchanting.

"Not bad, don't you think?" Draco said condescendingly. "Maybe you could hold a raffle to raise some money for your team. I bet some museum would bid for those old Cleansweep Fives of yours!"

Draco could be a pretty funny guy when he wanted to, Oleandra had to admit. Those old brooms definitely belonged in a museum. If only he kept his mouth shut the rest of the time…

"What'd you give Greengrass to convince her to give her spot to you?" asked Ronald Weasley in disbelief. To him, being a member of the team was a great honour no one would give away willingly. If only he knew Oleandra would have actually paid for an excuse to get out of the hellish training!

"Malfoy gave me his hand," said Oleandra, holding back a yawn. He had given her a hand, a Hand of Glory, that is. Oleandra hadn't been doing much roaming around at night, so she hadn't actually used the thing yet.

"You're going to marry this creep?" asked Potter, horrified. He couldn't imagine a worse fate than being married to Draco Malfoy!

"No, wait, that's not what I meant —" began Oleandra. She should probably have worded that better.

"So, you forced this poor girl out and you bribed your way into Slytherin's team," hissed Granger angrily. "Just what I'd expect from your family. Pay your way through life, and when you can't do that, bully people into submission. At least Oleandra had real talent."

Draco's smug look turned into a grimace. Clearly, Granger had hit a sore spot for him.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he snarled.

"Oh no," Oleandra thought to herself. "He did not just go there."

For those unaware, the M-word is a slur for the Muggle-born, who were hated by most pure-blood families. The two Weasley twins lunged at Draco, intent on teaching him a lesson with their fists. Unfortunately for them, Flint's fists were bigger.

The two girls on the Gryffindor team gasped in indignation, and Ronald Weasley pulled out his wand. Was it Oleandra's imagination, or did his wand seem a little… crooked?

"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" Ronald Weasley spat.

In an amazing feat of magic, he wordlessly cast the Slug-vomiting Jinx, but somehow it rebounded on him. The poor boy was blasted off his feet with a flash of green light, landing on his behind.

"Mmph!" Ron turned green, and vomited a small pile of slugs. "Bleeh!"

All the tension drained in an instant. Oleandra stopped weaving the hand signs for the armour of Elhaz, staring at the peculiar sight in front of her.

All of the Slytherins howled in laughter. Oleandra laughed harder than she had ever had in her life, wiping away the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. Even Malfoy had completely abandoned his noble bearing and was rolling on the ground laughing, slapping the ground with his fist.

Ronald didn't seem to be quite done regurgitating slugs, but his friend still gingerly approached him, trying to avoid getting hit with the jets of slime spewing out of his mouth. Defeated, they took him away.

                                     _

Oleandra had some plans for that evening. Tonight would be the first meeting of the Starshower Club! Unfortunately, fate had other things in mind for her.

As she was about to enter the Slytherin common room, Professor Snape intercepted her. He was tailed by Daphne and Tracey, her co-conspirators in the Apparating Affair.

"Not so fast, Miss Greengrass," Professor Snape said. "You three will be doing your detention tonight."

Snape did not particularly like people who went on adventures. It reminded him too much of the people who had tormented him in school. Still, they were in his House, so he wasn't going to assign them too harsh a punishment, but he was still going to make them suffer. Just because he could!

"You," he began, pointing in Oleandra's general direction. "Will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Weasley."

Uh-oh. This was going to be awkward. She hadn't held back on the laughter, after all.

"As for you two, you will be removing the stingers from a batch of Billywigs I've just received," he said with a smirk.

Daphne and Tracey looked at each other in dismay. This was not going to be fun.