Ginger and Whipped Cream- An Oliver/Ginny Cookie
***
Wood stood there in amazement. "I'll go and talk to her, Harry," he promised his famous seeker. "I'll make her see reason... A Firebolt... a real Firebolt, on our team... She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do... I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt..." He left the Common Room in a daze, astonished that McGonagall thought Harry's broom could be jinxed. As he walked slowly down the hall, past the suits of armor and the whispering paintings, he thought to himself, A FIREBOLT!!!!!! A grinned played across Wood's lips, and he turned the corner quite quickly, slamming straight into someone quite a bit smaller than his muscular self.
Hearing a very female "Oh!" and a loud crash, Oliver shook himself, mentally and physically, to look down upon a young Gryffindor, sprawled quite inelegantly across the stone floor. Her books were strewn about, some ink had spilled from her bottle onto her clothes, but underneath all the looseleaf papers and liquid, he recognized the fiery hair and pale skin of the youngest and only Weasley girl.
"Er, I'm sorry," Oliver said, not quite remembering her name. She looked up at him with a set big brown doe-eyes, and began scurrying around, picking up her papers.
"What's got you all caught up in a daze, Oliver?" she blurted out, standing up straight and looking him straight in the eye. Then, realizing she had just addressed a Seventh Year as though she knew him personally, she flushed a deep red, her freckles blending in with the deep crimson stains on her cheeks.
Oliver, on the other hand, didn't notice, as he helped her with picking up her books. Rapidly, he told her, "but didn't you hear about Harry's Firebolt? I'm headed to get it back from McGonagall right now- she thinks it might be jinxed- because we need a broom like that on our team, we really do. Imagine how easily we could defeat Slytherin with such a broom, Malfoy would be knocked off that 'high-flying' Nimbus of his, he would..." Oliver trailed off, looking at the girl in front of him, who was shaking her head back and forth. "What?" he asked.
"You've a one-track mind, you do, Oliver Wood," she informed him with an impish grin. He grinned back and took out his wand,and pointed it at her. "W-what're you doing?" she asked apprehensively.
"Got to get that ink off of your face, it's trying to outdo your freckles," he told her, before performing the spell and cleaning her up. She thanked him, and took her books from his hands before saying a polite goodbye and taking her leave.
He watched her go, feeling a sense of interest in that flaming hair, those soft eyes, that pale skin. If only I could remember her name, Oliver thought to himself.
Turning away, Oliver began walking again, trying to focus on the problem at hand- Harry's broom- but finding it near impossible. Those cute freckles on that pale skin were just too sexy, even if she was five years younger than him. Hell, he figured most hot-blooded seventeen year old males had weird fantasies, not just him. But those freckles. They were like specks of ginger on a dollop of whipped cream. Delicious.
Ginger. It brought a spark of memory to him. Ginger... Oliver remembered Fred and George calling her Gin. Short for Ginger? Or something else? He made a mental note to listen to them while they spoke to her, to figure out the little angel's name.
One matter resolved, Oliver stopped in front of McGonagall's door, and tried to focus on Harry's Firebolt. His efforts were in vain. He wanted some whipped cream with a bit of ginger on top.