Disclaimer: Um, yea. I don't think that even J.K Rowling can come up with such a good idea for a fan fic, even though she does own the characters, except for Kevin, and well, everyone else you don't recognize. Ditto for places.

And trust me, if I owned Oliver, I wouldn't need to write about him, if you know what I mean.

Summary: Blind Seeker Kevin Johnson gets signed for Puddlemere United, and not as a reserve Seeker either. And while she seems to be getting more popular by the second, all she wishes to do is find out just what exactly her relationship is with Keeper Oliver Wood. And get away from her obsessive ex, but that can wait. Oliver/OC

Author's Notes: I was just hit by this idea today, at, like three in the morning, so I don't know how good it'll be, since I've only had a while to think about it. But I must say, I rather like it....

Oh, yea, and I kind of lost my book on Quidditch Teams' names, and if anyone could help me with any of them, or could just send me some names and a little info, PLEASE email me at Reader202@aol.com. I would appreciate it so much! Thanxz!

Peace,

Melly Mel-Mel ^_^

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"......And we all know who the keeper for this great team is, the one and only Oliver Wood!" Many loud cheers can be heard, most of which are obviously female voices. "Yes, yes ladies, the one and only. Now, as Chasers, we have Elizabeth Popper, James Andrews, and Katie Bell!" More cheers in the background, although nothing compares to that was directed to Oliver. "As Beaters, we have Nikolas Frome and Robin Rampout!" Still, more cheers are heard. "And, for Puddlemere United, reserve Seeker Alex Stiller!"

There is a pause as the announcer, Lee Jordan, waits for the cheering to die down again. It takes a good couple of minutes, but once the cheering is done, he rattles off the team members for the opposite team. There is another round of applause, even louder than that for Oliver Wood, when Lee says, obvious pride in his voice, "And the Seeker for the Irish National Quidditch Team, Harry Potter!"

There is more cheering as all of the players fly up into the sky, straddling their brooms and whizzing by. Lee Jordan rattles off the name of the referee, Skye Jones, right before he yells, "And, they're off! It's Popper, Bell, Andrews, Bell Popper, and then to Truste, Young, Troung, Bell....

It goes on like this for a while, until, "Now," Jordan says, getting into one of his well known, off-subject speeches. "There is a lot of conflict between these too teams on a personal level. Most of you know that Wood and Potter used to be on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, both on the Gryffindor team. I was there when Wood taught Potter all that he knows....."

I shut off the Wireless, not really interested in Lee's commentary. Don't get me wrong; I love Quidditch just as much as the next person -more, actually-, but Lee's style of delivering the news wasn't your average way, mostly featuring rumors and random facts. It was just easier not listening to it and reading about it in the papers than actually listening to it on the Wireless.

Sighing, I made my way slowly towards my bedroom, walking carefully around my dog, Butch, and any foreign objects that I missed while cleaning. When I first got out of Hogwarts, graduating with almost top marks and leaving with a great history as one of Gryffindor's most celebrated Seekers, I started looking for a good flat to live in in the wizarding community. It took me a long time, especially considering the special accommodations I needed to live, but I finally found one close to Godric's Hollow with a reasonable mortgage.

When I got into my bedroom, my feet touched the plush carpet, and I turned the lights on only by habit. I felt the artificial warmth wash across my face as I made my way over to my tall wooden dresser, and I was once again reminded by how my life was dramatically different than most others. Waving away those not so old feelings, I pulled out a over sized, Muggle T-shirt and some flannel boxers, my everyday pajamas.

I stripped off my daily outfit, a knee length skirt and a T-shirt, noticing that the warmth was hotter right where I was; I was in front of the mirror. Had I not been blind, I knew exactly what I'd see; a short brunette with multiple colored eyes, staring unblinkingly at nothing, a light haze covering my pupils. I would see what everyone else saw, yet I would see it differently than everyone else. I would see, not the powerful woman with the stick strait hair that would give no volume, but rather the persevering blind woman that overcame many things to get to where she was.

But, I was blind, and probably would be for the rest of my life. I would most likely never see what my grown-up features looked like, never know if I still looked like that twelve year old girl that had lost her sight when her life was just picking up. I would never see again what most people took for granted, things that I myself had took for granted before I lost what almost everyone was born with.

I was, and still am, sick of that little girl, sick of her because she didn't know what a gift she had been blessed with. Because I wasn't always blind. No, I led a mostly normal life, save for the monstrous crush I had on my Potions Professor, up until a couple days after my twelfth birthday.

When I look back now on that carefree girl that I was, I realize that I was blind then too. Not in the actual sense, but in the notion that I couldn't really understand the beauty in the simplest of things. That I couldn't see the obvious symptoms that all was not well in my life, or in that of most of the people that I knew.

In a way, I hated her, yet in another, I envied her. I envied her for the obvious reasons, ditto for that of my idiotic hatred. But I was also sad for her. I was sad that she didn't have the ability to understand that her life was about to change for the better, upset that she didn't know the good that her freak accident was about to bestow upon her.

But, even if I did go back in time and tell that scared little girl that loosing her sight would strengthen her other senses, that loosing her ability to see would help her find what would eventually become her life, I doubt she would have believed me. She would have probably just shut the door in my face, or ask sarcastically what that joy was.

And if in the off chance that I could go back and have her ask me that, I would have told her, no hesitation at all, that Quidditch would help her find a life, happiness, and, eventually, love.

But like I said, she would have slammed the door in my face, never looking back at the blind woman with so much insight. In fact, she would have laughed at me, then slam the door in my face. Or perhaps she wouldn't have even answered the door, whichever door that was.

Even now these are painful thoughts that plague me, and I very frequently think them, but they are still there, and I need, somehow, to get them off of my chest. I don't know how I'm going to do it, perhaps I never will Maybe they will stay there, lingering beneath the surface, never showing it's face.

I was thinking these thoughts as I put on clean underwear and my pajamas. I ran a brush through my thin hair, pulling it back in a loose pony-tail. I then proceeded in putting on some chap-stick, not wanting to wake up with chapped lips. When I was done with that, I walked out of my room, switching off my light as I did so.

I felt my "eyes", my Golden Retriever Butch, come patting behind me the minute I walked out, feeling his long hair against my legs. I had had Butch since he was a year old, ever since I was about fifteen, and he was my best friend and companion. He looked out for me when I couldn't look out for myself, and was always there to give me a hug whenever I had a bad day.

He was still at my feet when I sat down on my comfortable couch, a book in brail resting on my lap. Next to Quidditch, reading was my life. I would do that whenever I had the chance, which would be whenever I was on vacation, or whenever the Quidditch season was over. Those two things and Butch were my life, and it didn't occur to me at the time to care.

I didn't even hear the man couch from my fireplace, as I was so deeply immersed in my book, and Butch was asleep, his head on my thigh, so he didn't hear it either. I don't know how many minutes my name was called, but as soon as I was about to turn the page in my novel, I heard, "Miss Johnson!" being called in a loud ringing voice.

It was Robert Till, my manager, and apparently, he was paying me a little visit. From what other people told me about his looks, Bob Till was a short balding man with a brown, handle-bar mustache. He was supposedly squat with a round tummy and a sunny disposition. I knew about the sunny disposition, but as far as the looks go, I had no idea.

As soon as I heard my last name reverberating throughout my house, I jumped, causing Butch to wake up and bark once. From the fireplace, Bob laughed loudly, causing Butch to bark again. It took a while for Bob and Butch to regain themselves, but once they did, I could still hear the smile in Bob's voice.

"So, Kevin," Bob said, a smile in his voice. "How are you? Fine I take it?"

I shrugged, wondering what on Earth he was doing in my fireplace at this time in the night. I mean, don't get me wrong, Bob and I were friends and all that, but we tended to only talk to each other when it was regarding business. But it was 10:00, and there wasn't a lot of Quidditch business going on at that time, except for the Cup, but I wasn't taking part in that, so it didn't really concern me directly.

"Oh, you know. The usual," was my answer to his question. "And you? Everything all right with Aural and the kids?"

"Oh, of course, of course! Everything is perfectly dandy at home. Just wanted to say 'Hi' is all."

"Right," I replied in a disbelieving tone. "Sure."

It was then that Bob's voice took an offensive tone to it. While having a sunny disposition, he was also quick to the defensive. "What? What's so wrong with wanting to say 'Hi' to my favorite little Seeker?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," I hastened to assure him. "It's just that it's the night of the Quidditch Cup, and I would have thought that you would want to be there checking out the action and all that good stuff. You know," I said teasingly. "Maybe wanting to look for another Seeker to represent."

"I could be asking you about the Quidditch thing to, don't you know. Why aren't you at the match?"

"I don't know," I said with another shrug. "Just wasn't in the mood tonight. I had good seats," I added, thinking back to my top-box seats. "But I had a headache this morning and just wanted to lounge around the house."

"I see," Bob said in some far off, mysterious voice, like he knew something I didn't. "You probably just didn't want to see Dustin."

"That is not true!" I exclaimed, disgusted. Dustin Troung and I had just gotten over a nasty break up, but even so, that wasn't going to stop me from having a good time. I told Bob just as much.

"Ok, ok, I believe you," he said, and I rather thought that he would have put his hands up in front of his face had he been able to. "No need to shout."

"I wasn't shouting at you," I said. "I was merely snappish. There's a difference, you know." After hearing Bob's silence, I added, "Sorry, it's just this damn headache. Hasn't gone away all day." And it was true; I had had a headache practically all day, yet instead of getting better, it seemed to be getting progressively worse.

"It's ok. I can see why you would want to stay home today if it was that bad; it's pretty loud over at the game." I heard another pleasant smile in his voice, but it wasn't there when I heard his mutter, "Wish I could have stayed home."

And so, of course, I practically had to ask him why he didn't stay home. The answer he gave wasn't what I had been expecting.

"I was working," he said simply, leaving room for me to ask what he was working on.

"Bob," I said exasperated. "It's the night of the Quidditch Cup, what work could you possibly be doing?" It was times like these that I wondered how on Earth his marriage stayed together all of these years.

"It wasn't for me," he said, the smile back in his voice. "Well, not really anyway. It's for you."

"Me?" I cried, incredulously. "What in Merlin's name could you have been working on about me on this night?"

"Oh, nothing really. Just talked to Puddlemere United's coach. They were wondering if you would mind a lot to switch teams from that one in the States to there. They want to meet with you."

"Me?" I cried again, this time pointing to my chest. "Why would they want to sign me as a reserve Seeker?"

"Well, for one thing, maybe it has something to do with the fact that you are the third ranking Seeker in the entire Quidditch standings, only behind Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter himself. And," he said, probably breaking his face with the smile that I heard in his voice. "They don't want you to be a reserve, they want you to be Seeker. Full time."

I leaned back into the couch, patting Butch's head as my mouth dropped even farther open. This was a lot to take in at the moment. I mean, here I was, the only professional blind Seeker, ever, getting asked to become a full time Seeker for one of the best teams out there. I was actually feeling faint at the idea. So faint, in fact, that Bob was beginning to get worried.

"Kevin! Kevin!" He called, frantic. "Are you alright?"

Was I all right? Was I all right? Of course I was all right, dammit! Puddlemere wanted me to be their Seeker, and I was supposed to be anything but all right? Did Bob actually expect me to be upset or something?

Well, obviously, otherwise he wouldn't still be calling my name.

"Bob!" I yelled, cutting him off. "Will you shut up a moment?" He did, but not before he gave a little huff. After a could minutes of mental planning, I asked him, "Ok. So, they want to meet with me? When?"

Bob must have heard the excitement in my voice, for he said, "I knew you'd like this. They want to meet with you on Monday. You think you can make it?"

"Yes," I said, not bothering to make sure and see if I had any plans that day. "For that, I think I'll be able to make it."

"Good. I'll go tell Coach Anderson the good news." I was so happy, that I wasn't even aware that he hadn't left yet. "Oh, and Kevin?"

"Yea?" I asked, my head snapping up, startling my jumpy dog. "You need something?"

"No, not really. But I was wondering if you could turn on the Wireless for a minute. I just want to hear the standings."

"Yea," I said again, shrugging. I got up off of my comfy couch, Butch once again walking in back of me, his hair brushing against my legs. I got over to the wooden, four post table that held my Wireless Radio and flicked the 'ON' switch. It took not even a second for a report to come filtering over the airwaves.

"And Puddlemere wins the Quidditch Cup!" Lee Jordan's voice yelled. "310-300 for Puddlemere! PUDDLEMERE WINS!

"Oh, and here comes the two teams! Oliver and Harry are shaking hands, and-"

I cut the Wireless off, letting out a little shriek. Puddlemere won! That was wonderful, stupendous, great......

"Well, I guess that means that you're happy?" Bob asked. I only nodded my head in response. "Good, because I doubt that Coach Anderson would be happy to hear that you were rooting for Ireland all along..."

I swear I heard him wink before he left, leaving me with a big goofy smile on my face. But that smile quickly faded as I realized something. I was about to have a meeting with the winners of the Quidditch Cup, the greatest Quidditch players around.

How was I to compete with that?

I over slowly to the couch, covering my face with my hands. Not seconds later, Butch came up and licked my face, and knocked my hands off of my face. Sighing, I pet his big, furry head, wondering what on Earth I had just gotten myself into. I asked Butch a question along those lines, hoping his wisdom would somehow get rubbed off on me.

"Oh, Baby," I said sadly, burying my face in his hair. "What am I going to do?"

He response was to woof and lick my face, all the while panting his bad breath in my face.

So much for wisdom.

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So, what do you think? Is it good, does it suck? Do you not care? DO YOU WANT ME TO STOP WRITING?!?!?!?!?!?

Why don't you just click on that little review button right there and tell me? It doesn't take much to scroll down and click on that little button and say, "Hey! This rocks!", or perhaps, "God, you really suck as a writer!"

Please? Pretty please? Review? For a nice, desperate stranger such as myself?

I'll grovel, I swear to God I'll grovel.

Please review!

Peace

Melly Mel-Mel ^_^