Oliver was stressed out. About quidditch. Half of his team had injuries, and weren't allowed to play in the next match, and he was super stressed. Why wouldn't he be? You tried your best to help him, and it worked a little.
"Ollie, honey, are you ok? Want me to get you a cup of tea or something?" You ask him, rubbing his back and playing with his hair.
"I'm ok, thanks, sweetheart." He turns around and gives you a nice peck on the lips, and then turns around and looks at his notebook full of plays.
"You know, I could be chaser, if you want me to. I'm a fairly good one." You compliment yourself.
"I mean, that could work." He shrugs.
"First, let's see how well you can play." He takes your hand and leads you to the pitch.
"This," Oliver picks up the big scarlet ball, "is the quaffle." Oliver instructs you.
"Yes, I know what it is." You giggle.
"Show me what you got, chaser." He tosses the quaffle to you. You guys mount your broom and you race up in the air and stop in the middle of the quidditch field-well, above it.
"Wow. You're pretty fast. Let's see what you can do." Oliver tests you. You speed up to him with the quaffle, fake him out and throw the ball into the hoop.
"Wow. You'd make a good chaser. Welcome to the team." He holds out his hand and you shake it.
You knew Oliver was going easy on you, but you loved him for it.
