Authors Note: I'm still learning the ropes around Although I've been reading for awhile, submitting sometimes proves difficult because I'm blonde. Disclaimer: I don't own Quidditch, Muggles, Oliver Wood etc etc etc....I own Izzy Bella and most of the rest belonds to the ever brilliant and wonderful JK. Rowlings (Jake for short)
Chapter 1 The Big City
The mammoth buildings made Oliver Wood feel minuscule. Quidditch, magic, and fame seemed so little next to the perpendicular and monstrous buildings Muggle science had built. So this is New York he thought to himself, looking around. The buildings seemed to touch the clouds, and unlike most wizarding villages they were metallic and square. They just went straight up, un-adorned architecture that dwarfed anything he had ever seen. Trailing behind his teammates, he looked around in awe. In his world, Muggles were often considered simplistic, but there was nothing simplistic about the city that surrounded him. Oliver Wood was a young man, a famous Quidditch player already, but he hadn't seen a substantial amount of the world. Henric, Scotland, his hometown, was far separated from the life he was living.
Oliver at 19 was a grateful man, or more actuarially a boy, for everything life had blessed him with. Upon graduating Hogwart's he had joined Puddlemere United Reserve team and within a couple of months he had replaced their ailing keeper. Oliver remembered the whirlwind that had allowed him to live this marvelous life. Richie Mindick was the keeper for Puddlemere, a professional Quidditch team. The aged keeper, though talented, was slowing down. Oliver, however, had been improving, and was the best keeper in the reserve league. One day the owner, Brenten Doyle, had arrived unannounced to a practice. Pulling Oliver aside, he told him, "You're the Puddlemere keeper. Practice is tomorrow. Be there or get fired." In all his dreams of being a professional Quidditch player he never expected his big break to occur like that. Brenten Doyle was a very cold man, so Oliver didn't know why he had expected anything different. Brenten was an older man, with dark stormy violet eyes and a bitter tone to every word. Whenever Oliver was alone with him for too long he couldn't help but feel cold, almost tragic. The man had a sense of both tragedy and evil written all over him. One thing Oliver would never do is look into the stormy eyes. He had made the mistake once, and the hatred and bitterness he had seen had left him apprehensive. He didn't want to be on Mr. Doyle's bad side. Even more than not wanting to be on his bad side though, Oliver didn't want to be inside his mind.
Drifting in his thought's Oliver ran straight into Rance Wilcome, his teams beater and resident comedian. "Whoa there Oliver. For someone so graceful in air, you really are clumsy."
"Sorry, wasn't paying attention," Oliver said apologetically to 27 year old man. To the rest of the team, Oliver was merely a boy-- a talented boy, but still a child. The closest one to him in age was 25. Oliver perused his surroundings, wondering why the team had stopped here. They were standing at a magazine stand ran by two blonde women. Then it hit Oliver they weren't Muggle women; they were witches.
"Oh is this Oliver," tittered an over done blonde witch. "You have to be the cutest Quidditch player ever." Oliver noticed the sour looks of all the men standing around him. The witch was at least 26, probably a bit older, but Oliver was un-intentionally stealing all the attention from his older teammates.
"Thanks," Oliver said blushing. He didn't like the attention; he didn't like the fame. He loved the game, just as he always had. For years Quidditch had been his life.
"Too bad he's merely a child," interjected Rance. Oliver grinned. Leave it to Rance to solve the problem.
Farren Tetec stepped in the conversation, "I think I'm about the right age miss." Farren turned on the charisma, "I didn't catch your name.."
"Julie," she quickly said. She was the younger of the two blonde women, but still much too old for Oliver. He didn't see what was so attractive about the women anyways. They were your average witches, fans of Quidditch, fans of blue-blooded names, just a little ditzier than most witches Oliver associated with. He couldn't help but remember that one of the smartest witches he had known had Muggle parents. As he stood there watching his teammates flirt he wished that there had been girls on their Quidditch team like there had been back at Hogwarts. After Hogwart's Oliver had been in for a reality check. At Hogwart's-well at least in Gryffindor- everyone was on an equal level. Once Oliver had graduated he realized the differences between the more modernized and fair Hogwarts and the "real world". Now Oliver knew why Dumbledore was such an important man. He saw how things should be, and ran his school as his own ideal world. It sure didn't prepare Oliver for the real world, but he guessed it gave him a basis to know the real world was wrong.
The witches at the magazine stand chattered on and on with the rest of the Quidditch team. The women's high incessant giggles and flirting annoyed Oliver. Quidditch wasn't about attention or girls. Desperate for a distraction Oliver picked up a sport's magazine, "Can I read this?"
"Sure sweetie," the witch giggled. "He's so cute." Oliver heard her say as he walked to a bench to sit down and read. All of the Muggle sports were very un- familiar to Oliver. Football? Soccer? Rugby? He didn't know which to read about. Quidditch was the only sport he had ever known. He wondered why wizards had one sport if Muggles had so many. Oliver tried to concentrate on his reading rather than the potent high-pitched giggles of the ditzy witches. No wonder they work at a Muggle magazine stand, Oliver thought to himself.
When Oliver finally looked up he noticed that no one was around. Not Rance, not Farren, not the ditzy witches, no one. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. They had left him in the middle of New York City.
