Disclaimer: I do not own or am endorsed with Harry Potter™ or any of its elements. This plot and its ideas are completely non-profit, original, and owned by me, and unconnected to the actual series. I also do not own the quotes placed at the beginning of each chapter unless stated otherwise. Any lyrics are not owned by me.
Author's Notes: Oliver is twenty-two, and Katie is about to turn nineteen, which means this story theoretically takes place one year after Harry has defeated Voldemort, therefore leaving plenty of time for the Wizarding world to rebuild itself. Hehe. Anywho, as to blood, I'm guessing Oliver is a pureblood (he didn't know what basketball was in book one) and Katie is a Muggle. This is not mentioned in the series, so don't sue me if you think my opinions are off.
Summary: Oliver Wood is twenty-two but very much the same young man who graduated from Hogwarts four years ago, with all the same memories…especially of one girl and a promise. And as he's passing through Diagon Alley, he happens upon her. OliverKatie.
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October Sugar Cones
Chapter 1
"She ran to hug me and she spilled her purse
And the snow turned into rain" —'Another Auld Lang Syne' sung
by Dan Fogelburg
It was Tuesday, and extraordinarily warm for a day in October. The sun seemed to be against the seasons, although Oliver had to admit that the falling scarlet and gold foliage was stunning. Like Gryffindor colors, he thought, and allowed himself a distant smile as his mind wandered aimlessly.
His unusually sensitive musings were quite brusquely interrupted by a stray Bludger.
"OLIVER, YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SLACKER! PAY ATTENTION BEFORE I CALL IN A RESERVE!"
He winced perceptibly, face twisted in a grimace of annoyance and slight pain. Puddlemere United's captain had a voice like a banshee.
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Oliver Wood was twenty-two years old. People said wisdom comes with age, but Oliver couldn't disagree more. He felt just as he had when he left Hogwarts, no different than when he achieved his barely acceptable six O.W.L.s. At least he hadn't failed—although his parents had different, less optimistic opinions. At Hogwarts, he had more important things to think about…such as…possibly…can you say Quidditch?
And Katie.
Yes, Katalyn Bell, who was a fourth year when he graduated. She wasn't his first girlfriend, or even his second, but she was his last. Ever since he had joined Puddlemere United and gained his own fanclub ("Omigod, have you, like, seen the pectorals on the new Keeper!"), he still had never entertained the thought of romance. Dating was now an untouchable area to him. He wouldn't be able to answer truthfully if someone asked him why. Perhaps it was the promise he had made, right before he left. He had been looking into her hazel eyes, when—
"Wood! Watch where you're going, man!" snapped a Chaser. His name was something like Tordinøwsky, and he was rubbing his now-red nose irritably.
After apologizing profusely to the cross Russian, Oliver hurried out, reflections scattered and gym bag swinging like an oversized nylon pendulum. The straps were cutting into in his skin, and he thought he felt the hot rush of blood. Cursing his clumsiness, he delicately shrugged the bag off and examined his shoulder. There was a shallow cut as wide as the straps, and he could have traced the outline if he had wanted to. As it was, his shirt sleeve was stained at the shoulder seam. He fumbled for his wand—hoping to heaven nobody had noticed his idiocy—and managed to hastily mutter out a simple incantation, and instantly he felt the rush of skin mending itself (if inelegantly; it was, after all, a beginner's charm). Grousing under his breath, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, awkwardly conscious that he was the only one in the stream of London pedestrian traffic that could see the dingy yet famous pub.
Still grumpy, he pulled out his wand again and tapped the necessary bricks. Although it was now several years since he had first watched the portal appear, the strong magic still impressed him, degrading him to an awed and naïve boy of five once more. Brushing aside his moronic surprise, he briskly walked through and tried to remember the way to Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor. He reasoned he had a valid excuse if he became lost—most of Diagon Alley's shops had moved around since the terrorizing of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and he hadn't been there for at least two years. Following instinct, he strode down the diagonal pavement and did his best to look like he knew where he was headed.
After ten minutes of searching, he stumbled upon the place. It was smaller than he recalled (more likelier he was the one who had gotten bigger), although it still harbored the friendly appeal that drew in customers. There were perhaps eight tables that seated three people apiece, clustered claustrophobically in a little area under sturdy red and white umbrellas. The actual building itself was very cramped, not much bigger than Muggle ice cream trucks (not that he knew what they were or what they looked like), and had a smoothly sliding window with a neatly scribbled list of flavors next to it in flowing calligraphy. The line was quite short, as October nights inspired hot cocoa rather than ice cream. But Oliver needed an ice cream; as a child he remembered it made him feel better, the sweet sensation of licking the creamy treat and crunching on the cone…
Then came the dilemma of what he should buy. Florean's boasted eighty-nine flavors and seventeen toppings. Almost endless possibilities, and he knew it. A few minutes of fruitless debate later and he decided he would try his old favorite, pumpkin with black licorice sprinkles. However, as he stepped up to order, and opened his mouth and fished around in his pocket for the change, he got quite a shock.
Standing behind the window was Katie Bell.
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"K-Katie?" he stammered, fully losing his train of thought. His heart nearly stopped. He hated to confess it to even himself, but he never believed he would see her again. Even after his promise. Immediately he felt guilty of a heinous crime. Who knew how she would take it? Witches were so unpredictable. He had heard the legends of grudges unforgotten for years, tales he had been told in the locker rooms before he became captain of his House team—
He had to admire her composure.
Her eyes widened slightly, displaying the whites around her irises. "Oliver?" she said softly.
"'Ey, lady, move it along, will ye?" exclaimed a stumpy man with a bulbous nose capped on the side by a very large mole. It was almost like staring at a mini-mountain on its side, one of those features students can gaze off in class at and then mock later. His mousy brown mustache—and mole—were both quivering unpleasantly, and Oliver thought he spotted a drip dangling dangerously off of the very edge of the grossly tomato-sized swollen nose. "T'ain't the place for a reunion, if'n ye want wunna thum, go shut yerself up'n a diner somewheres. We all got 'omes t' be gittin' 'ome to, y'know, so move it a tad faster, eh?"
Katie shot him a razor glare of unadulterated anger, and he seemed to wither before their eyes, although Oliver could feel no pity. Eyes softening, she returned her focus to Oliver, who was sadly disappointed if he expected a lover's welcome. As abruptly as if someone had snapped their fingers and brought her out of a trance, she said coolly, "Sir, you must be mistaking me for someone else. Now, if you'd please place your order?"
Please review, because this is my first story. And this is only a teaser, so I'm sorry it it's on the short side. I'll be glad if you review only to flame, and I'm totally open to suggestions or criticisms. I might not even continue the story if no one likes it…(sighs)
Mave