Authors Note: I'm so lazy about betaing, and I'm truly sorry for that. Sometimes avoiding looking at grammer makes me happy--but this story is completely done and will be completely posted quickly enough. But anywyas, yes this is the typical Quidditch Award chapter which shows up in nearly EVERY Oliver Wood fiction, but in this case it's a necessary plot point for reasons you will soon see. Disclaimer: I'm a poor college student who doesn't own anything remotely Harry Potter related.
Chapter 7: Quidditch Awards
-OoOoO-
Diagon Alley fascinated and disgusted Izzy. Magic ran rampant, but there was something incredibly seductive about it. Wearing a pleated skirt, fishnets and a tank top, Izzy stood out in the crowd. Modestly dressed wizards in robes bustled about in the street. Looking towards Oliver, he immediately read her thoughts. "You're beautiful," Oliver grinned in his cheesy cute boy way. "They'll all be jealous of me."
"Oh shut up!" Izzy regained her composure. This was no time to be developing a "self-conscious" complex. They were different, what else did she expect. "I have no time for your romantic antics. I brought some of my own designs, they better not mind."
"Madame Malkin hasn't seen anything like you," Oliver laughed and forcibly grabbed her hand. Instead of pulling away, Izzy rolled her eyes. Walking hand in hand down the narrow cobblestone street, Izzy stole glanced at the storybook wooden buildings lining the street.
Watching Izzy argue with Madame Malkin proved to be the picture of hilarity. Izzy's New York high fashion sense apparently did not mix with traditional wizard's robe. "I want sheer materials," Izzy declared loudly.
"Sheer is impractical!"
"Sheer hangs beautifully and shows every layer of fabric," Izzy threw back. Madame Malkin huffed at Izzy, but uttered an incantation. Suddenly she held red and black sheer fabrics. "I want the bottom to be jagged," Izzy pointed to her drawing.
"But then it looks destroyed!"
"No, just stylish," Izzy laughed."I'll never understand young muggle-borns and all their high notions about style. Practicality is more important than style any day in my robes."
"She's going to the Awards, Madame," Oliver popped in with calming advice. "It's not quite a practical occasion. Just give her what she wants. I'm paying enough for it." Izzy looked smugly at the elderly woman who merely complied. The mix of a wizard robe and Muggle dress that emerged from the clashing mindsets turned out quite breathtaking. Oliver handed his Galleon's to the shop owner and even offered a tip, for Izzy's attitude.
"So show me around this disgusting alley you love so much," Izzy linked arms with Oliver. She was still basking in her victory over the robe maker.
"It's not disgusting, it's wonderful," Oliver said in childlike wonder. "It still amazes me to this day Izzy."'
"Well it disgusts me. Is there anywhere we can get a decent drink around her?"
"Well yes," Oliver said cautiously thinking of how wonderful butterbeer was compared to Muggle beer, "but it won't be the type of drink you are used to."
"I don't care. I need something in me to be able to handle this place," Izzy kept the farce of an attitude even though she was awestruck with Diagon Alley.
"Right this way then, ma'am," Oliver opened an old wooden door to what sounded like a very shady establishment to Izzy, The Leaky Cauldron. The room was dark and wooden, not anything one would expect from a world famous tavern. Oliver plopped down on a stool at the bar, "Give me two butterbeers Tom."
"Who said you could order for me?" Izzy asked.
"Believe me, for someone who isn't used to wizard liquor you want butterbeer. Come on, trust a guy a little," he smiled. At a much younger age, Oliver had learned his lesson with experimenting with liquor when he'd gotten too drunk too fast off of some firewhiskey; he had a hangover for about a week afterwards.
An elderly wizard came to the counter carrying two mugs filled to the brink with a foamy beverage. "Oliver Wood! I haven't seen you here in ages. I thought you'd gotten to famous for the cauldron," he sat down the cups and shook Oliver's hand, grinning from ear to ear. "Not too often we get a heartthrob in here. And now who is the lovely lady? She's prettier than you Oliver I'd watch out."
"I'm Izzy," she shook his hand. Once he had turned away, Izzy couldn't resist the urge to crack a joke at Oliver's expense, "A heartthrob are you? Funny I didn't notice." On a more serious note she added, "Seems like everyone but me knew you were famous."
"Only the wizards," Oliver shrugged. "Quidditch is big. I hear it's the Muggle equivalent of football. Go ahead, try your butterbeer."
Izzy lifted up the mug and slowly slipped the warm golden liquid. Actually it tasted delicious, but Izzy didn't want to tell Oliver that. "It's definitely different," she sat the cup down with a clunk.
"If different means excellent in America, you're right," he laughed and drank half of his cup in one gulp. Raising the challenge Izzy chugged the rest of the cup. A few drinks later, Izzy and Oliver left Leaky Cauldron to do a little more shopping in Diagon Alley.
Looking around, Izzy feigned a disgusted look once again. Oliver couldn't help but chuckle at her. "What are you laughing about?" She shot at him.
"You may not know this Izzy. But I can completely read you," he said with a kind smile. She instantly knew what he meant; he could tell she was more fascinated than disgusted with Diagon Alley.
"Oh you can completely read me, can you?" Oliver only answered with a knowing shrug and coy smile. "Well, hell, then why pretend," Izzy blurted out and pushed Oliver into a dark alley. The passionate Muggle's kisses felt magical to Oliver. After a the kiss she looked at Oliver and asked, slyly, "Did you expect that."
"No," he replied honestly and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Did you expect that?"
"No," she said honestly leaning against Oliver's chest. While her passionate kiss seemed perfect and fiery, his gentle tender kiss made her knees week. "I didn't expect any of this," she said softly laying her head against Oliver's chest.
-OoOoO-
The Quidditch awards were an interesting occasion in the wizard world. They were completely hidden from Muggle eyes, but at the same time a spectacle the entire Wizarding world watched. It started small; a group of Muggle-borns who remembered awards shows such as the Oscars and Golden Globes had birthed the idea. By some form of luck, the muggle-borns had found a pureblooded supporter and the Quidditch awards had been birthed. In essence it was a charity event for St. Mungos, but the "good-deed" origins seemed forgotten in the glamour and glitz. Regular wizards could buy tables to eat with the award winning Quidditch players and other celebrities who were invited. The stars and their dates walked in down a purple carpet that shone with real moving shooting stars, they sat at elegantly decorated tables, and the food magically appeared on golden platters.
For one night, Oliver had begged Izzy to put aside her hatred and bad comments about magic. When they walked down the purple carpet an announcer, apparently the Dick Clark of the wizarding world, announced their names. "Miss Isabella and Mr. Oliver Wood," echoed around. The crowd murmured curiously as to why the girl had no last name, the answer was simple; Izzy had simply refused to claim her no-good abandoning father's name.Inside, the building gleamed with as much immaculate glitter as the red carpet did. As soon as they walked in the door Oliver's teammates practically swept him away in celebratory hugs and punches. Izzy stood back away from the rambunctious boys and soon found herself left behind on the dance floor. A familiar phenomenon occurred: Izzy rolled her eyes in annoyance. Two seconds later, Oliver came back to collect her and introduce her to the guys, but for two seconds Izzy had been seething with anger. "Izzy this is Rance Wilcome," Oliver introduced her to a jovial man with a kind face and mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"So this is the girl from New York," he asked suggestively. "It's nice to meet you hun'. Thanks for bringing our keeper through the city; we were trying to lose him, but you saved us the trouble of finding him again."
"Well," Izzy gave Oliver a cruel smile. "The boy doesn't know a damn thing about New York and doesn't have sense of direction at all. He was pathetic really. It would've taken a really sadistic person to leave him roaming the streets of New York in confusion."
All the guys around the circle guffawed at Oliver's embarrassment. Oliver merely smiled, "She's just a wee bit touchy. A little mad we left her over here." Oliver continued around the circle and introduced her next to Farren Tetec, who seemed really immature for his age to Izzy, then to Dennis Kilbore until Izzy had successfully forgotten the entire teams name except for Rance.Pointing across the room, Oliver lowered his voice, "That's our manager."
The man he pointed out was wearing the blackest of black robes and his face seemed trapped in a continual scowl. In one hand he had a glass of green wine and the other he hand was hidden suspiciously in his pocket, presumably gripping his magic wand. As Izzy stared at the man a shiver ran down her spine for a reason she couldn't quite place. There was something scary, bad and strangely familiar about that man. Seeing Izzy shudder Oliver took her hand. "He seems to have that effect on everyone, just imagine if you worked for him."
After countless introductions and a few stolen dances with Oliver's friends, Izzy finally got settled down with Oliver for the evening. Eventually she blocked out the world, her anger, the strange cold looks his manager gave her (she didn't know if it was because she was a Muggle or the piercings), and enjoyed Oliver's company. The evening was magical, in the perfectly wonderful non-evil sense of course.
Authors Note: Next chapter has been Beta-read and just needs to be reviewed by me and will be up shortly. Please review to make me happy and maybe it'll encourage me (I'm a college student, I need all the encouragement short of kicking me I can get)
