a/n: well, what can i say? thanks for the people who have actually taken the time to read and review this. makes me smile.
and thanks forbiddenlight, for adding me to you c2! my very first one ever!
and for spexy, the feeling sorry for herself, patheticness is part of the plot. she's been dreaming about the fabulous life that when reality hits her, everything comes crashing down. and its made her depressed enough to feel sorry for herself. ah?
so enjoy this story and keep reviewing. seriously.
So I was right. This party did turn into some big celebration.
And they've decided to hold it on some big field at the back of their shop.
By the way, I hate big gatherings. It's just another way for me to make myself look or act like a booger.
Although I dreaded to come to this stupid thing, I did have a hard time choosing what to wear. I mean, I have to look nice. Not only is this party Fred and George's big celebration of chain shops, but hey - a girl's gotta look nice, no? So after hours of preparation - I woke up extra early to do this, and it is now a bit past noon - I finally decided on my perfect outfit. A nice brown skirt with a sleeveless red top. Not bad. Classy yet casual. Aren't I the greatest dresser? I look absolutely stunning -
"George, where are ze dreenks?"
I look over to my left. I recognize that voice, even if I hadn't heard itin over however many years. I'm not exactly sure who it belongs to, but it irks a tingling in my brain. Oh, there she is.
Fleur Delacour. What on earth she's doing here, I have no clue. I didn't know the twins knew Fleur personally. Maybe she's one of George's flings. No - wait! They told me once... what is it? Oh yeah - she's married to their brother, Bill. Oh Bill. Always the nice one. And he's married to some ditz.
Did I mention she's wearing something that looks gorgeous on her? But then again, she looks gorgeous in anything. So nevermind, I'm not the greatest dresser in the world. See how everything backfires on me? Exactly.
Plus, the woman is pregnant. Pregnant women have always scared me. They have this look of eternal PMS on their faces. I don't blame them though - they're carrying a boulder in their stomachs. That must be painful. They also have to push something the size of a football through something the size of a dime. I guess I can understand the PMS looks. But they don't need to go bitching around at every person in sight.
But Fleur, on the otherhand, doesn't have the look of PMS on her face. Even if she is pregnant, she still looks beautiful in her stupid sundress. Her bulge just makes her look that much more wholesome. God, I hate pretty girls... piss me off to the moon.
"Oh my goodness, Katie! Is that you?"
Oh my gosh. Someone knows me.
"Over here, Katie! Over here!"
Looking up, I see Angelina Johnston hurrying my way. Great. Just what I need. Now, I love Angelina with all the love I can muster. But sometimes, it just really, really bothers me how everything for her goes the right way.
Look at her. Still tall, regal and beautiful. Even if I consider myself to be tall - I'm 5'7 - I am nothing compaired to her. She's 5'11. I hate that. She's as tall as Fred, who so happens to be her boyfriend. See? Looks, height, smarts, boyfriend - she has everything.
"Hi Angelina! It's so good to finally see you," I say, when she reaches me. I give her a feeble smile, hoping she'll buy it.
And she does. "I can't believe you're here! When have we last seen each other?"
Before she gives me time to answer, I feel myself suffocating. So this is what being tightly hugged feels like. It's not as great as those girls make it out to be, I'll tell you that. My hair is being messed up.
"I think," I squeak, as she tightens her grip, "it was last Christmas."
"That's over half a year! Where are you hiding yourself?"
In my crap cubicle on the seventh floor, on the left hand corner near the end. Oh, that and my apartment.
"Well, Angelina, I'm a working girl," I tell her, keeping my thoughts to myself. "At least I made it today."
"Glad you did!" She gives me a thump on my back, causing me to choke on my own spit. "Boy, have I got some news for you!"
Whatever it is, I know it'll make my self-pity heighten.
"Can you believe it?" she suddenly shrieks, throwing out her right hand.
Something blinding flashes at me. Wow, that really does hurt... Anyway, what is that? I peer closely, leaning down to get a better glimpse. So I was right. It did increase my self-pity. On her stupid middle finger sits a ring. Not just any ring. And engagement ring. With the largest, brightestest, clearest diamond upon it. Even if she won't be married at twenty-three, at least she's engaged. I'm not even close.
"He just proposed last week!" she squeals, giving me the widest grin I've ever seen her bare.
I muster up the biggest I'm-so-happy-for-you-but-really-I'm-not smile to her. "Congratulations! I knew someone was bound to tame him"
"Tame me? Never!"
We both turn to the right, and there is Fred, striding up to us. When he gets to us, he puts an arm around Angelina, with a smile big enough to rival his fiance's.
Happy couples make me sick.
"So, when's it going to be?" I ask. Better not be this summer. We're just a month away from it. And I plan to use it to my full advantage; bynot facing happy couples that make me sick.
"July seventeen!" Fred announces, positively beaming.
It's as if they can read minds. Why is it that it has to be in the summer? If it's in July, I'll be spending the rest of August moping with the lowest of self-esteem.
"So soon?" I ask. Maybe this will change their minds.
"We've been together for five years, Katie," Angelina says, looking at me seriously. "I think that's long enough. Besides, Fred's going to be a bit busy with his new stores. Better early than never."
Odd, isn't the saying 'better late than never'? Why can't they have it late? Ugh.
"Well, Katie, hate to be a prick," Fred says, smirking at me. Stupid prick. "But I've got to show off my lovely wife-to-be to my mother. We'll just leave you here to mingle with guests. There are a few of the old Hogwarts crew around. And there are drinks on the other side. Stay away from the third table from the left. George played around with the delicacies."
And once more, I'm left to myself again. I hate this. I knew I shouldn't have come. Oh well, might as well just... mingle around with the rest of the guests.
Walking around, there are quite a few people I do recognize. There's Harry Potter. With Ginny. Why, yes, of course. They went out for a bit - or so my friend Leanne told me. Funny, I haven't spoken to Leanna since graduation. I wonder where she is? Whatever. Ron Weasley, walking around with Hermione Granger. And she's carrying a baby in her arms. A baby with bushy red hair. Great. Even Hermione and Ron are a step ahead of me. Wait no, they've gotten engaged, married, and now they have a kid. So technically, it's three steps.
There's Alicia Spinnet, her arms linked with some bloke I don't know, having a conversation with another two blokes I don't know. She catches my eye, and gives me a cheery wave and an apologetic look. That's alright. I'm in no mood to be talking to anyone who's in a relationship. Or anyone who has a better job than me. Or anyone who's better than me in every way possible.
I've reached the drinks table. Let's see, one, two three - better stay away from table three. Making my way to table five, I take a small paper cup, filling it with some sort of green liquid. Typical - George's favourite colour is green. So's mine, but only George is weird enough to serve green drinks at a party.
Standing aside, I sip slowly from my cup as someone new reaches the table. He has short, messy brown hair with streaks of gray. His robesare a bit tattered, and he doesn't seem to care that they aren't tied. Well, at least he has a shirt and pants underneath. Wait a bit - I know this man!
"Professor Lupin?"
The man looks up at me, with a startled expression. He raises an eyebrow at me.
"Professor, it's me! Katie Bell?"
He looks at me, still a bit confused, but now it hits him. He cracks a small smile. I always liked Professor Lupin. He was the only teacher that had a bit of humour - besides Dumbledore. He was always nice about everything, like Flitwick. And he let us off easy. Plus, he'd sometimes even let Fred and George go on with their pranks. Not that Lupin hasn't ever pranked us. He set invisble extra-strong glue to our stools once. He's the only professor ever known to pull a stunt.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Bell," he says quietly. He was always too quiet, Lupin. But whatever. He was nice. "You were one of the more successful students of your year. Or so it went around the grapevine."
All I can do is nod at the last bit. Most successful of my year. Yet, I'm still the junior secretary to someone's secretary's secretary. Life really is a bitch.
"So what is it that you do now?" he asks, looking interested. Great.
"Uh, I'm at the Department of Magical Games and Events," I reply, hoping he wouldn't question any more.
And thankfully, he doesn't. He always does get the subtle hints. "That must be... interesting."
"Oh, yes, it really is! I do get a lower price on quidditch tickets."
That's about the only thing good about my position. Cheap quidditch tickets.
"It must be very fun, working for magical games. My friend - "
But he was cut off, as there was suddenclash coming from behind us. He whips around, searching for the noise. And there, in a pile of chairs, sits a young woman of about thirty-something, with vividly bright pink hair. That's cool - an adult with pink hair.
"Excuse me," Lupin says, smiling. "I've er... my wife has gotten caught in a mess of chairs."
I look back at the woman. That's his wife? Wow. My old teacher is married to a younger woman with pink hair.
"It was nice talking with you!" I call out to his back. He turns his head and smiles, then makes his way towards his wife. I can see her face now. She looks gorgeous! My old teacher - who must be forty-something by now - is married to a beautiful, younger woman with pink hair. Whoa - her hair's... violet now. Is she a metamorphmagus? Lupin sure knows how to choose his women. Even my old teacher's married. Am I that pathetic? I think so.
Oh well. Might as well just sit down now. Not in those chairs that have just fallen. What if I sit on them and then I fall too? I'll just sit around those tables. I walk towards the tables, choosing one near the end to my left. Nobody usually notices the people at the end. I might as well just sit here. Besides, there's a nice umbrella to cover up the sun. Bliss.
Munching on a few cookies I had taken from the snacks table, I look curiously around me. Fred and George do have an odd array of guests. I can see Hagrid, with a giant trailing behind him. Mr amd Mrs Weasley, having a talk with Fred and Angelina. Alicia still linked by the arm, in deep conversation with the two other people. A little boy with messy jet black hair, sans glasses, who looks just like Harry. Oh that figures. There's harry, chasing after the little boy. He looks a bit like Ginny too. Two other little boys with light orange hair, hanging onto each of Bill Weasley's legs. Cho chang - howI hate her - with her magnificent black hair spraying in the wind, talking to Cormac McLaggen. Interesting. I didn't the Fred and George liked McLaggen. I mean, I know I didn't. Stupid lousy git in my year who can't play Keeper to save his life -
"Katie Bell?"
And here I thought, no one would notice me.
I look behind me, and there he stands. One of the most famous men in England. The fastest, rising young star. The quidditch player that seems to be talked about in my department like a god. My very first quidditch captain of the Gryffindor House Quidditch Team. Oliver Wood.
"It's me, Oliver Wood. Remember me?"
Now, that has by far got to be the dumbest question I've ever had, asked to me. How can I not remember Oliver Wood? Not only did he yell at me during every practice I could remember, but he's famous. One of the tallest boys to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts - not to mention, one of the most craziest. I remember him sending an owl to my dorm window at night, calling me for practice. I remember how he'd go through all lengths to disable the Slytherins. How he slipped Marcus Flint a sleeping potion during dinner. How he managed to track me down in the corridors between classes to give metips on stealing the quaffle.I remember how hard he thumped me on the back when I had a good practice. And when we won the Quidditch Cup, he kissed us all - all, including the boys.
And did I mention he's famous? As stated previously, he's the fastest rising star. From Puddlemere to the Wimbourne Wasps, Oliver has been the talk of the past year. Now named as the starting Keeper for the team, he's gone internationally famous. And all the office ever talks about is him. Of course, I never mentioned that I knew him. No one would believe that anyway. Not that anyone would even care, seeing as I'm the junior secretary of Ludo Bagman's secretary's secretary.Of course I remember him.
He comes over to my table, taking a seat beside me. Many girls of many ages seem to like Oliver. Not for his skills as a Keeper, but because they think he's good-looking. I'll admit that, I too, find him handsome, but sometimes, one can only bare that much talk of the great Oliver Wood.
"Oh, you don't remember me," he says, looking a bit put out.
A shake my head and smile. "Of course I remember you, Oliver. How can't I? You gave me this scar."
I pull up my shirt a bit to reveal a slightly off-coloured bit of my skin. He had once, back in my third year, grabbed the bat from Fred's hands, in attempt to show him how to beat a bludger. In my opinion, it was a lost cause seeing as Fred and George were the best beaters I've ever witnessed. And Oliver, not looking around the pitch, had whipped the bludger at me, while I was having a warm-up catch game with Alicia and Angelina. Yes, that sent me to the hospital wing.
"Well, I'm sorry for that, Katie," he tells me, flashing a smile. "But you guys had to learn to be tough."
And tough we were. Being on Oliver's team gave us much endurance. How we practiced in storms, blizzards, and every other type of bad weather. How he made us run across the pitch in full padding - why we had to run, I still don't know. And while we did all of our push-ups, there he'd be, yelling in our ears.
"So how have you been?" I ask, grabbing a cookie. That's a stupid question. The whole of England has been up on the life of fab Oliver Wood.
"Strange, haven't you read about me?" he asks cockily, raising and eyebrow. "No, I'm kidding! I've been doing wonderfully."
"Yeah you have. What with dating a Weird Sister and all," I comment, swallowing the cookie.
He chuckles at me, crossing his arms and putting them behind his head. "I'll admit, that was fun."
"She was what - eight years your senior?"
"No, nine actually. But it was good while it lasted."
"I thought you two were still going strong."
"Why, have you not read today's headlines? 'Oliver Wood; Split with Weird Sister Atisa Belogne, after three months'."
"Sorry, Oliver," I say, laughing. "I didn't read anything this morning."
He shakes his head, smiling. "Eh, it's old news anyway. We were done a few weeks ago anyhow. I'm tired of talking about me. You can read up on me on Witch Weekly's Magazine, issue 98165. What about you?"
I laugh inwardly about his last cocky comment about himself. But now, my smile falters. I hate it when people ask about me.
"What about me?" I say, trying to sound light. But as always, I can never pull that tone off.
"What have you been up to?"
"Oh, you know, this and that."
"Well, no, I don't know this and that. Would you care to enlighten me?" he questions, resting his head on his right hand. Great. When people do that, it means they have all the time in the world to listen to you. Now is not one of those time I like to be paid attention with.
"I'm with the Ministry."
His face brightens. "Well, you always were a smart one, Katie. Which department?"
"Magical Games and Events."
And now his head is off his hand. "You work at the Department of Magical Games and Events? I knew you had it in you to keep your quidditch spirit alive!"
He gives me what he thinks is a light push on my left arm. But Oliver was always stronger than he intended. And now that he's a Keeper for the Wasps, his strength has only increased. He pushed me back into my chair.
"Oh gosh - I'm sorry!" he cries, pulling me back into my previous sitting position. "God, I'm such a rude ass! Sorry!"
"It's okay," I reply in a strangled voice. "I'm used to it."
Immediately, his eyes narrow. "You're used to it? What does that mean?"
"Well, you know - "
"Are people harassing you at your job?"
Now how did a 'friendly' push evolve into harassment at work?
"No, I meant that people seem to give me these friendly pushes or thumps that are much rougher than intended," I explain quickly, in case he gets the wrong idea. He was never one to fully listen to explanations. Like how he lost his patience with Harry when Harry stalled on ordering a new broom.
"That's good to hear." He looks genuinely relieved. "So what's your position?"
It amazes me how he can quickly drop a subject and go to another one.
"I'm uh... a secretary of sorts."
"A secretary? That must be fun!"
"It has its moments."
"Maybe I'll drop by to give you a visit."
"That'd be nice - " Wait a tick... What does he mean, he'll drop by and give me a visit?
"I'm always at the Ministry," he clarifies, looking at me. I probably have this contorted, confused face on. "They always invite me for interviews and whatnot. Or I just go and visit Ludo Bagman. He's always inviting me for lunch."
That's weird. Howcome I never knew Oliver Wood was in the Ministry? On my floor!
He seems to have read my thoughts, for he answered, "Ludo keeps it discreet. You know, disguises. Muggle disguises. They work wonders. Muggles are pretty smart!"
"Yes, they are," I mumble, feeling a bit uncomfortable now.
"So I'll give you a visit next time I'm in the building. Where's your office?"
I don't have an office. I can't tell famous Oliver Wood that I don't have an office. He'll just laugh at me. Or he'll think I'm stupid and sad.
"You know, you don't have to come visit me - " I start to tell him, but he cuts me off.
"Nonsense! I haven't seen you in what - seven years? Yeah, that's right. I haven't seen you in seven years. You're part of my team! Of course I'm going to visit you. What kind of friend do you think I am?"
I smile at his comment. After all these years, ge still considers me his friend. "Part of your team?"
"Yes, my team! Team Wood, winners of the Quidditch Cup, year 1993! You are part of my glory."
"Why, that's very generous of you, Oliver."
"What can I say? I'm a generous guy. So are you ever going to tell me where your office is located? I'm running a busy schedule."
I look at him with raised eyebrows. He smiles at me, indicating that even if he is cocky, he just uses it to make jokes. Man, if I had his fame, I would do it too.
"Really Oliver, you don't have come - "
"Fine, fine! I give up. I'll just find my way to you. It can't be that hard."
Wonderful. Just wonderful. Now he's going to look for me. And I will be embarassed. And after that, I'll go home and wallow, once again, in my self-pity.
"Anyway," he says, getting up, looking at his watch. "I wasn't kidding about my schedule. I'm due - ah. Will you look at that. I'm twelve minutes late for tea with my mum. Well, if you'll excuse me now, I must say goodluck and congratulations to Fred and George. It was very nice catching up with you, Katie."
With that, he grabs my hand and shakes it - a bit too hard - and dashes off.
In this party alone, I never thought I'd have three reunions. Complete with three surprises. First with Angelina and her engagement with Fred, then learning about Lupin's wife. And now, what I least expected - it didn't even cross my mind - I've met up again with Oliver Wood. And he's going to visit me during work.
That's insane. Why would Oliver Wood, famous Keeper of the Wimbourne Wasps, want to come visit a lowly junior secretary? He's just kidding. Oliver likes to kid. He's kidded with me many times. Like how he told me that there was quidditch practice at 2 a.m. and I was the only one who showed up at the pitch, fully dressed. See? he can't be serious.
Besides, by the time he leaves, he'll probably have forgotten about me. I'm easily forgettable. He's not going to look every office, cubicle, high and low for me. He just saw me after seven years. I'll give it another seven years for our next reunion.
He's too caught up with his fabulous life to give me another thought anyway.