Oliver Oblivious

Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose.

Chapter Two:

The List

Oliver swirled his coffee with a spoon, staring down intently at the smooth piece of parchment laying on the glossy, kitchen table. Releasing his fingers from the spoon, leaving the imprint of his fingers on the silver handle, he picked up his battered quill off the parchment, dipping it into the inkbottle sitting dangerously near the edge of the table. The quill scratched on the parchment, the faint chirps of birds barely drowning out the scratching sound. The pheasant feather flitted wildly as he scribbled down a long list in his messy scrawl. He finally placed his quill in the pot of ink, staring down at the list he had concocted, his eyes darting around the kitchen as though expecting a large group of people hovering over his shoulder reading the parchment. The smooth, yellowing parchment flaunted the following:

Qualities of the Perfect Girlfriend

1. She must like Quidditch.

2. She must support the Puddlemere United.

3. She must like me as a person, not as a professional Quidditch player.

4. She must have good flying skills.

5. She must have be decently attractive (no hags, thanks).

6. She must be remotely intelligent.

7. She must appreciate a good firewhiskey.

8. She must not be clingy or whiny.

9. She must not be bipolar.

10. She must be the woman I could spend the rest of my life with.

Oliver admitted the list was not the best guideline for the perfect woman, but considering the five minutes he spent pondering over it, he decided it was good enough. Folding the parchment carefully, he slipped it into his trouser pocket. He had planned a grueling practice for today, but he decided to let his team rest (truthfully, it was an excuse for him to put the list in action).

Gulping down his cold coffee, he got to his feet and decided to try his luck in Diagon Alley once again. Placing his aviators on his nose, he strode through the front door and Apparated. The unpleasant pressure on his body quickly faded as a loud chattering greeted his ears. He stared around at the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, glancing up at the towering, marble building known as Gringotts. Goblins flanked the doors outside, bowing to the wizard walking through, his emerald cloak bellowing in the wind.

The crowd began pushing Oliver forward; he quickly followed the flow of the witches and wizards walking past, carrying large bags overflowing with their purchases. He glanced up at the flamboyant store looming ahead, bearing the legend of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He smiled slightly; he had visited the store twice, the Weasley twins greeting him and taunting him as the Quidditch Nazi. He glanced quickly at the new café, Dragon's Breath, a small, shoddy building saddled beside the large joke shop, its rough stone wall stained with something like looked eerily like blood. A wooden sign hung on the wall, portraying a large dragon blowing smoke rings that snaked into the words Dragon's Breath. He noticed the large crowd bustling in and out of its doors and decided to head over to the café. He quickly darted through a loud, chattering group of witches and headed toward the peeling door, placing his hand around the rusty doorknob.

"Yes, that's the new Dragon's Breath café. Rubella tried a cake there and said it was delicious," a wild-looking witch said loudly to her friend as they passed Oliver. "You know, it looks awfully like the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, doesn't it? That Aberforth is awfully grumpy--"

He coughed as the door creaked open. An overwhelming scent of flowers suffocated him as he stepped into the café. The pink wallpaper plastered on the walls was peeling significantly, and a layer of thick dust covered the floorboards. Beaten, wooden tables were scattered about in the room, a large array of hiccupping daffodils blooming from the glass vases placed the tables. Several witches and wizards occupied the tables, sipping large mugs of tea and chatting animatedly to another. A glass counter in the distance displayed an array of mouthwatering cakes and cookies, compensating for the overwhelming reek of flowers and dirty walls.

Oliver's eyes swept over the room, searching for an empty table. Unfortunately, a witch or wizard occupied every table in the café. But his eyes fell on a table in the far corner. A young witch sat alone, sipping her tea and finishing the crumbs of her cake. Her sapphire eyes glittered in the sunlight falling through the small window on the wall near her table, and her golden curls glowed. As he took off his sunglasses, she caught his eye and smiled widely.

He returned the smile and placed his hand in his pocket, feeling the folded list in its depths. He walked purposely toward the woman, his smile widening with each step. As he drew closer, he noticed the discreet freckles scattered on her cheeks and the aristocratic structure of her face, her cheekbones fairly prominent.

"Hello," he said finally reaching her table.

"Hi," she said in a faint voice. He gratefully noted it wasn't too shrill or gruff.

"Can I sit with you?" he asked pointing at the chair across from her. She nodded quietly. He sat down, settling himself on the creaking chair, placing his elbows on the table. He did not notice her wince as he plopped them on the scuffed surface of the table.

"I'm Oliver Wood," he said hesitantly, waiting for her reaction. To his surprise, she merely flashed him a smile.

"I'm Claudia Hollingberry," she offered.

"You looked lonely," Oliver said lamely, breaking the awkward silence settling upon them.

"Oh," Claudia said with a polite smile. "I was just enjoying some of the cake here. It's delicious. You should try it."

"Yeah, I should," he agreed.

"I was also waiting for my friend to come and meet me, but she's running a little late. We were going to go shopping. I needed a new quill," Claudia continued. Oliver nodded, feigning interest. "You see, I've been using the same quill since Hogwarts…and my friend decided I needed to buy a new one."

"Oh, what kind of quill is it?" he asked.

She smiled. "It's a peacock quill. I love it a lot because my grandfather gave it to me and he was killed…by the Death Eaters back in the first war," she said her features darkening considerably.

"Wow, that's awful," he said shaking his head.

"Yeah," Claudia said slowly. "I really missed him…You-Know-Who was an awful man. I'm glad Harry Potter got rid of him. After my grandfather died, I wanted to be an Auror…to track down the Death Eaters that killed him."

"I heard it's hard to pass Auror training," Oliver said relieved that the topic had steered away from quills.

"Yes, I nearly failed," she laughed. He noted her laughter tinkled, delicate and soft. It was also considerably quiet like her own voice. "Stealth is not one of my best features. I tripped during the test. It was horrible." She laughed again.

He laughed, too. "I couldn't imagine you tripping," he said honestly, looking at her petite frame.

"Well…I'm quite clumsy," she said nodding her head seriously. Silence fell between them. This time, she broke it.

"What is it that you do?" she asked cheerily. He noted she was more comfortable with him than before.
Incredulously, he stared at her. "What?"

"Your job?" she offered carefully.

"I know what you meant…it's just a surprise--that you didn't know who I was," Oliver said running a hand through his hair distractedly. He decided it was a good thing that she did not scream his name and demand an autograph, but it definitely took him off-guard.

"Well," he said quickly, noticing her questioning gaze, "I'm a professional Quidditch player for the Puddlemere United. I'm the captain and the Keeper."

"That's nice," Claudia replied with a smile. "I never cared for that game…Quidditch. My brother likes it a lot. He might've liked your team…I'm not quite sure. You're the one with the blue robes, right?"

Oliver stared at her. "You…y-you don't like Quidditch?" he said his voice dangerously low.

Claudia shrugged. "Kind of…mediocre, I suppose. Flying on brooms and tossing balls back and forth…it's just pointless."

"It's not just that!" Oliver cried, his voice raising. "It's the exhilaration as you fly on the broomstick--the adrenaline you get. The excitement from watching the Quaffle go back and forth--who's going to get it and are they going to score? It's an amazing game, Quidditch! It is not mediocre!"

Before he knew it, he was standing on his feet, breathing heavily. The inhabitants of the café stared at him, gaping. Claudia's blue eyes widened in shock and surprise. Inhaling deeply, he stared down at Claudia.

"I liked you up until now," he said shaking his head.

Claudia remained speechless as he turned around and proceeded to walk out the door. "Well, you need to learn some manners, and get your elbows off the table!" she yelled furiously after him.

Breathing heavily, he shook his head in disappointment. She would have been wonderful if she hadn't hated Quidditch and called the sport mediocre. "Mediocre?" he muttered furiously to himself, striding down the path, his face flushed with anger. "Quills are mediocre!" Ignoring the odd looks he earned from his steadily rising voice, he stormed down the path, barely noticing where he was heading.

"Quidditch is not a game where you just toss balls back and forth--"

"Oliver?"

He looked up at a smirking Katie Bell. Her dark waves were pulled into a tousled ponytail, and bright fuchsia robes engulfed her petite body, a Daily Prophet badge pinned on her chest. Her dark eyes twinkled with amusement as they swept over his disheveled state and his flushed face.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver asked rudely.

Katie made no reaction to his brusque tone; she merely grinned and pointed to her chest. "I work for the Daily Prophet," she said obviously, pointing at the large, towering building behind her. "What are you doing here? You look mad."

Mad was an understatement; he was livid. Breathing heavily, he managed to explain the fiasco at the Dragon's Breath. "How can she not like Quidditch?" he burst out finally, anger vibrating in his voice.

Katie's face struggled considerably. He was debating whether she was struggling from anger or tears. Finally, she burst out into gales of laughter. Oliver was slightly alarmed.

"What? Why are you laughing?" he cried. "This is serious!"

"Wood…" She choked on a giggle. "Wood," she managed through a laugh, "um…not everyone--" She burst out into peals of giggles before breathing deeply, her eyes shining and her face flushed. Oliver stared at her with wide eyes. "Not everyone," she repeated, regaining her composure, "likes Quidditch."

A wounded look crossed Oliver's face; he looked as though her words had smacked him across the face, hard.

"W-what are you talking about?" he sputtered. "It's the best sport in the world! It's exhilarating and--" Katie held up a hand and promptly placed it on Oliver's shoulder, staring seriously into his face.

"Oliver," she said soothingly. He noted her usage of his first name. "I know. People are crazy for hating Quidditch, but you've got to know that not everybody likes the sport," she continued with an air of explaining two plus two equals four. "And you have no right to blow up in their face about it…especially if you just met the person…in public…"

"And you know, this is going to be all over the news, right?" Katie added. "Considering you're a famous, professional Quidditch player."

Replacing his incredulous look, horror crossed his face. "Oh, shit," he muttered.

She patted his shoulder kindly. "Look, I should be getting back. I was supposed to run over to Scribbulus Everchanging Inks to get fetch some ink and parchment. We ran out," Katie said quickly. "It's the stationary store down the street," she added as she read the slightly confused look on Oliver's face. "So I have to run…but…" She paused in her quick ramble. "Don't worry, Wood. You'll find a girl who likes Quidditch. If it makes you feel better, I love Quidditch." She gave him a grin and hurried down the street, her fuchsia robes trailing behind her.

Oliver stuck his hand in his pocket and extracted the folded parchment, listening to its crinkling as he unfolded it and smoothed it carefully. "Must like Quidditch," he read. He shook his head disappointed. "That girl is nutters…absolutely raving. Quidditch is not mediocre!"

A/N: Eh, I hope this chapter is good…I was kind of doubtful of this chapter. Oh well, tell me if it's horrible. Oliver is so crazy and desperate; he always seemed crazy in the books anyway. And as many of you said, he is a complete dork for looking for a girlfriend. Snort. He made himself out as a crazy lunatic in this chapter…

Thanks for the reviews! You know, I'm gonna be expecting at least thirteen reviews…as I said before, I'm a complete, utterly greedy review whore. Haha.

Special thanks and lots of love to Ghostwriter626, imakeeper, ice-cold-pepsi, Hey There Delilah, starry-eyes184, MiSs WeStHoFf HeRsElF, lilangelxox, Meshugenah, Sally, Ashley, Tamara, Hayakawa, and Lady Arre (please don't throw a temper tantrum!).