A/N: This is just a bit of fluff. I'm actually working on a longer Oliver/OC fic…but I've got writer's block like nothing I've seen before, and this is what's coming out. I'm not a fan of the pedophilic OW/KB fics, so they're both in their sixth year in this story. Sorry if this offends your Harry Potter sensibilities…it was necessary. So I'm anticipating five or six chapters total...we'll see how this turns out. REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED. ONE YUMMY QUIDDITCH CAPTAIN TO EACH LOVELY REVIEWER!!!!!!!!! (let me know if Davies, Diggory, or Wood is more your type...though I s'pose you could always go for Flint... x_x )

**Disclaimer: I'm sure we're all aware that Harry Potter is not mine! :D

Chapter One:
A New Broomstick

Katie Bell practically flew from the quidditch pitch into her dormitory. When she reached her room, she flung herself wildly onto the bunk that had been her refuge for her last six years at Hogwarts. Had anyone entered the room at that exact moment, they would have encountered a damp-haired Katie quaking behind a thin scarlet curtain, eyes feverishly darting back and forth underneath eyelids squeezed tightly shut.

In short, Katie was traumatized.

A mere half hour before, she had been joyfully zooming over the pitch on her new broomstick, a belated birthday present from her brother in Ireland. Although it was nowhere near the quality of Harry's broom, her new Nimbus was still a top-of-the-line model--the envy of the entire Gryffindor quidditch team. Excepting Harry, of course.

But that was beside the point. Her broom had been so much the envy of her fellow teammates that their captain Oliver Wood had even called a special practice so that everyone could admire--sorry, learn to work with--the new broom.

Upon reaching this last point, the trembling Katie clutched the headboard of her bed tightly in one tense hand.

Oliver Wood.

Oliver bloody Wood.

Katie took a deep breath and steeled herself for memories of the last fifteen minutes. How could so many things suddenly go awry in only one quarter of an hour? It didn't seem possible.

So there she had been. Skipping innocently to the locker room, merrily singing snippets of her favorite showtunes as she wound her way through various rows of lockers, headed towards the showers. Well, skipping could be an exaggeration. And it wasn't precisely singing, to be perfectly accurate. More like humming. Anyway.

She had returned from the pitch a few minutes later than everyone else--all she had wanted was a few extra moments in bliss with her new broom! That was it! No more, no less. Just the broom. Only some--gah! Moving on.

Because of the delay, the rest of the team had exited the locker room by the time her shower had finished. She wrapped a fluffy towel around herself and began to wring out her saturated hair. She had only just begun this drying ritual when she heard her captain's voice calling seductively from the other end of the row of showers.

If she was smart, she would have run as fast as she could in the other direction. Or maybe even jumped on her broom and--Katie sighed from her spot on her bed and resolved to stop straying from what had actually taken place. She needed to sort this out, not sit shaking in bed, dithering over what she should have done. It was just a dumb accident, anyway. Bloody fucking Wood.

Well, Katie had not turn tail and run as she should have. In true Katie fashion, she had merely smirked and crept closer to the source of the disturbance.

Giving up on seduction, Oliver finally bellowed, "Lucy? Luce! I know you're in here!"

Upon hearing the name "Lucy," Katie had made up her mind. She had a vague idea of what Oliver had planned--perhaps a steamy run-in with his latest girlfriend? Perhaps a bit more than steamy?

Well, no one could really tell, reasoned Katie. Either way, she had thought evilly, she'd give him the scare of his life thus far, and possibly teach him to save his little encounters for a broom closet in a deserted corridor, and not Katie's sanctuary. Who was he to disturb her, Katie Bell, in the midst of her after-practice cleansing? Ha!

Ah, Katie, she groaned at herself. What a mistake.

Snickering to herself, Katie had finally come upon the last shower. Tightening the towel around her middle, she leapt into the small enclosure.

There Oliver had stood, dripping wet from the very top of his drenched brown hair to the bottomest bottom of his glistening feet. Not that his toes or ankles had elicited much of a reaction from Katie. No, she reflected, she had never been much of a fetishist. Though if she had been, she was sure that Oliver's feet would have done it for her. Nice, toned calves, too. And everything else. Yes, it was definitely the rest of him that had sealed her fate.

All plans forgotten, Katie's eyes had bulged somewhat unattractively out of her head. She was positive that a bit of saliva even eeked its way out of her mouth. In summary, she lost any control over herself that she might once have possessed.

Her shocked gaze had unbashfully devoured every single inch of his dripping body. Then something in her brain had finally kicked into gear.

At which point she had emitted some sort of gasping, muffled scream, taken in Oliver's frozen features, somehow managed to produce a sort of alien gargling noise, and then promptly shut her eyes. so tightly that they began tearing up. It was then that she swore never to open her eyes again for as long as she lived. Because the resulting image burned into the back of her eyelids, well...

"Well--g-get a fucking t-towel, you moronic, oversized idiot!" she had stuttered. Brilliant save, Katie, she mused bitterly.

Oliver had mutely scrambled for some scrap of fabric to cover himself. If she had dared to reopen her eyes, Katie would have found that in his panic, Oliver had turned a particularly unlovely shade of eggplant. Though seeing his own mortification might have spared her own, it was not to be.

By this time, the stalled gears in Katie's mind had groaned protestingly back into life, and commenced searching desperately for a different way out of this embarrassment. In her desperation, she had foolishly fumbled at the coattails of her original plan. Or tried to, at least.

"I--I..." was all she the furthest that she managed. Realizing her loss for words, she nervously wrung her hands, forgetting all about the towel that was keeping her decent. And then it slipped.

Bloody, bloody hell, Katie's shell-shocked mind had uttered. She made a wild grab at the fallen towel. And then she had run, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

Something about a dead fish, she now recalled in mounting horror. How would Oliver possibly believe that it was the death of her Great-Grandma Beatrice's pet clownfish that had spurred her to such depths of insanity?

What in HELL' S NAME had she been thinking???????

So here she found herself. Quivering with mortal embarrassment. And the tiniest bit of lust. But mostly just embarrassment.

Bloody sodding Wood.

A/N: Well, what do you think? Remember that it's supposed to be fluffy! I just hope it's not total crap. Let me know, otherwise nothing gets fixed! I thrive on feedback! And remember: any quidditch captain of your choice. I don't care if it ends up being Marcus Flint that you're after--JUST REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway...ta! Next chapter up soon.