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 Four:
Tingles and Tea
He narrowed his eyes down at the battered, wrinkled page, inhaling the faint, musty odor wafting from its yellowing surface. His head was throbbing painfully, his fingers rubbing his temple gingerly. He struggled to concentrate on the bold words printed across the page fruitlessly, sighing deeply as he shut the green book closed with a snap. The binding on the spine of the book was worn considerably, a few pages dangling out of its green cover, threatening to fall out. He pushed the pages back into the book, staring fondly at it.
Oliver Wood's favorite book was easily Quidditch Throughout the Ages. Instilled with the fanatic love of Quidditch, the book was ideally perfect for him, providing him with the details and history of the sport he had grown to love and made a part of his life. When his mind was muddled with worries and qualms, he soothed his head by retreating into the quiet, serene ambiance of his sitting room, reading his beloved book to clear his mind of his thoughts. Today, however, he found his mind was stubbornly lingering on the diagram of Quidditch tactics and ploys, draped over the glossy, kitchen table. He sighed, placing the book on the end table carefully. A small, fond smile played on his lips as he recalled the first time he read the book.
He arrived at Hogwarts, a scared but excited first year, impatient at the prospect of playing for the House team the next year. Unfortunately, the winding twists and turns of the corridors confused him, and he found himself desperate and lost on his way to his Transfiguration class. He asked a rather large, leering Slytherin for directions; this choice was unwise on a whole because Oliver found himself wandering outside of the library. He walked into the library, breathing in the dusty air, planning on asking the librarian for directions to the Transfiguration classroom. But Madam Pince, in her sinister glory, intimidated him greatly when she suspiciously glowered down at him, her wrinkles drooping on her thin face. Instead of asking for directions, he found himself asking for a Quidditch book. With a nasty glare, Madam Pince bent down underneath her desk, emerging with a rather battered, green book clutched in her long, wrinkled fingers. She leaned across the desk to hand him the book; he took it with his shaking heads, but found it rather difficult as her fingers gripped tightly on the book. She bent her head over, resembling a vulture as she peered at him coldly over her spectacles. Her shrill, rasping voice sent shivers down his spine as she uttered out a dire, furious warning.
"This book has been pawed about and dribbled on by nearly every student in this school. If you should rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, deface, disfigure, smear, smudge, throw, drop, or in any way mistreat this book, the consequences will be as awful as I can make them. And make sure you do not drop in the bath! Marcus Flint's ears will never be quite the same again. I wouldn't want it to happen your lovely ears."
Since that time, he took his time staring at Marcus Flint's ears and peering in the mirror at his own ears, struggling to discern a lovely ear from a not-so-lovely ear. He inquired Gimpsky about the matter once; he replied with a rather cheeky response, informing him that all ears looked the same to him--wrinkled apricots. He broke away from his thoughts when he caught a large, flapping ear bounding toward him.
"Master, Twinky gets the owl for you! Twinky gets the Witch Weekly for you," she squeaked loudly, tugging at his sweater sleeve.
He glanced down at her large, brown eyes, peering up at him reverently, her spindly, long fingers clutching around the glossy, pink magazine, thrusting it up above her head. He gripped his fingers around the magazine, lifting her burden carefully. He smiled widely at the house elf. She sunk down into a low bow, her crooked nose grazing the cold marble, the thin flaps of her toga fluttering.
"Thank you, Twinky," he said kindly. "You can go relax now." The house elf widened her eyes in shock and shook her head wildly, her ears beating her about the face wildly.
"Twinky is not supposed to relax, Master!" she said in scandalized tones, her eyes widening to the size of plates. "No, no, no, Master! Master is too good to Twinky. Master is brave, loyal, and good…" She peered up at Oliver's bemused face with pure admiration. He chuckled slightly at the house elf; he never quite understood the creatures. He shrugged.
"Alright, Twinky," he said grinning slightly. He watched the hem of her tea cozy disappear around the corner as she bounded away from the sitting room to clean the already immaculate house. Though, he told her explicitly that she was not to touch his diagrams and the model of the Quidditch pitch that was piled on the kitchen table in disarray. He made sure she closed the curtains to keep prying eyes of the Magpie spies away from their strategies; Oliver was always paranoid when it concerned Quidditch.
He glanced at the window, faint sunlight pouring through the glass. The sun was beginning to settle over the world from a few hours of slumber. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, its arms reading a quarter until eight. He had been awake since the break of dawn, prodding at the diagram and tweaking it. He had scheduled practice at eight; he flipped hurriedly through the Witch Weekly.
It was not that Oliver Wood liked to read Witch Weekly; he would wither away with embarrassments should anyone other than his devoted house elf discovered him, flicking through the glossy pages, the crème de la crème of pink. Oliver read the magazine to catch up the whirlwind of gossip concerning himself and the Puddlemere United. Twinky also liked to clip recipes from the back. He flipped wildly through the pages, his eyes careening back and forth wildly until--he slammed his hand a page abruptly. With a grim satisfaction, he caught familiar picture of himself, depicting his storming out of the Dragon's Breath. He winced slightly and glanced over the article, graced with pictures of his latest, desperate escapades. He was not surprised because Katie Bell had warned him of the upcoming articles. However, there was one snag she failed to mention: herself.
Oliver liked the gloss over the details of scandalous articles concerning himself; however, he acknowledged the fact that now the wizarding world would know him as the scum who cheated on his girlfriend of two months, Katie Bell, with several other women. The Witch Weekly liked to spice their articles up and suggested that Oliver had an abusive nature as he had shown it in the Dragon's Breath during his outburst. He moaned slightly at the article, his fingers flitting to his temples again, rubbing them carefully as his head began to throb again.
"Wood, honestly, no one cares," Jonathan Gimpsky's voice rang out, interrupting him as he poised his wand over the arrow zooming across the large diagram. The team grumbled in agreement, their heavy eyelids drooping and their shuddering yawns plaguing the locker room. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks as the anger bubbled in him. He glowered nastily at Gimpsky, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He removed his wand from the diagram and stuck it into his robe pocket, his hand shaking in his fury.
"You have to take the Magpies seriously!" he roared, his face flushed. "When they beat us because you're so cocky about it--"
"Wood, don't worry. We're taking the Magpies very seriously," Joscelind Wadcock piped up, untangling her blue robes from Wilda Griffiths. She flicked her muddy, brown ponytail over her shoulder, her eyes staring earnestly up at Oliver. "Besides, we never really follow your tactics anyway so you really don't need to get mad…and it's early in the morning." She clapped a hand over her mouth, a long, shuddering yawn slipping from her lips.
Oliver's glare softened slightly, but he was slightly disappointed. "Alright, well…Gimpsky, Gelson--make sure you aim for Maddock's right leg. It's his bad leg. Got crushed in an accident when he was playing around with Muggle stuff," he said briskly, grabbing his broom off the wall and placing it on his shoulder.
A yelp erupted from Gimpsky as Oliver accidentally smacked him with his broomstick. Truthfully, he did not mind in the least bit, considering the disastrous date with Sarah Jenkins. They marched onto the pitch, his stomach lurching. His heart jumped wildly in his chest; he struggled to contain himself, but he heard the ragged breaths slipping from his mouth. His head was spinning.
"Alright, there?" He stared at Gimpsky who was kneeling on the ground with the chest open at his feet. He glanced at the struggling Bludger, attempting to free itself from its bondage.
"Yeah," Oliver said feeling the disbelief creeping across his face at his answer. He often felt ill the day before a Quidditch match; the fact that his team did not take him seriously made it worse. He swung his leg over his broom, pushing off with more force than intended. He wobbled into the air, the wind whipping through his locks. He tipped his head to examine the sky; the sun blazed down on their shoulders, wispy clouds streaked across the pale blue skies.
Hours later, his voice hoarse from yelling tactics and instructions, he flew down gracelessly on the dewy grass, his body aching and exhausted but his mind clear. The rest of the team mumbled angrily as they dragged their feet across the pitch toward the locker rooms, beads of sweat collecting on their foreheads. He followed, staggering slightly on a clump of grass, the hems of his blue robes wet as they grazed the dew. His broomstick bumped his shoulder as he walked clumsily across the grass, tipping his head up toward the heavens. The wind, with the trace of a winter bite, skinned their faces mercilessly, countering the blazing sun beating down on their shoulders. He guessed it was around noon. It seemed as though they had playing for hours; Gimpsky kept making cheeky comments. Wilda Griffiths had not quite forgiven him as she glowered at him, walking into the locker rooms with her anger mutters filling the air.
Oliver walked toward their usual bench, sitting next to Jonathan with a heavy sigh. He placed his broomstick gingerly on the floor and shrugged off his blue robes carelessly, watching them droop dejectedly into a pile on the floor. He dug into his battered bag, withdrawing a rather lumpy, grey sweater, reindeers stitched on the bottom in a tawdry fashion. Gimpsky snorted underneath the shirt he was pulling on. He flushed slightly, and it was not because of the wind.
"My mum knitted it for me," he said defensively. "It's quite comfortable…" He pulled it on reluctantly, folding his arms over the reindeer resolutely.
"I'm sure," Gimpsky chuckled, his head poking out of the shirt, his hair considerably ruffled and windswept. Oliver suspected his head looked quite similar; he ran a hand through it, his fingers fruitlessly combing his tangled locks. He clicked his tongue in irritation because he wasted his time in the morning to run a comb through his hair and endure the sly comments of his mirror.
"Shut it, git," Oliver snapped, bending over and snatching his forgotten diagram ruefully, rolling it up carefully. "Did you remember that Maddock's right leg is bad?"
"Yes, Oliver," Jonathan said impatiently, stuffing his dirtied robes and his bat into his large, battered bag, blazing the legend of the Puddlemere United with the signature, intertwining bulrushes stitched in gold. He shoved the dangling sleeve of his robes completely in the bag and zipped it loudly, swinging it over his shoulder, eyeing Oliver as he followed suit, balancing his broom carefully over his shoulder.
"Breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron, mate?" Gimpsky asked.
He shrugged. "I think it's lunch now--" he corrected.
"--yeah, because you're a lunatic," Gimpsky murmured underneath his breath.
"And you kept being a smartass," Oliver interjected annoyed as they emerged from the locker room. He saw Wadcock and Griffiths ahead of them, the skirts of their dresses fluttering in the wind.
"I see Wadcock's red knickers!" Gimpsky hollered obnoxiously. Joscelind shot him a withering look over her shoulder, a disgusted scoff escaping her lips as she pressed her skirts down to her legs carefully.
"Gimpsky, I see that bald patch coming in," Wadcock called over her shoulder. Their laughter echoed behind them. "And Wood…nice sweater." Griffiths snorted in an unkempt manner. Oliver glowered at their backs as they walked gracelessly down the sloping hills of the deserted moor.
"I do not," Gimpsky said, placing a hand on his head. "Am I?" He looked quite worried as he glanced at Oliver. He shrugged. "Well, let's get to the Leaky Cauldron." He rubbed his stomach. "I'm hungry, bald or not." From his face, Oliver could tell the comment was still bothering him immensely, but he had coolly shrugged it off for the sake of the rest of his dignity. "See you." He disappeared quickly in a loud crack. Oliver jumped slightly; he had not been expecting it.
He could properly breathe again once the warmth of the pub embraced him and the compressing feeling ensnared around his body ceased. He glanced at the toothless Tom, smiling at them, his shiny head glowing in the light. He noted Gimpsky's eyes landing on the landlord's bald head, his face filled with utmost dread and horror, his hand reaching up to his plentiful head of hair.
Oliver snorted. "Don't seem very happy to see us, mate," Gimpsky said in his ear. He turned his head around, staring at the warlocks huddled around a scuffed table, immersed in Transfiguration Today.
"They're reading," he said shooting Gimpsky an odd look.
"No, not them. The witches in the corner, look," Jonathan nudged Oliver. He turned his head to stare at two witches, their eyes burning holes through him, their lips tugged in a deep frown. He caught a flash of pink underneath a mauve sleeve, dread filling the pits of his stomach.
"They think I'm a cheating piece of scum," he said realization dawning on his face, turning to Gimpsky who furrowed his brows.
"Eh?"
Oliver did not answer until Tom slid a plate of chicken and ham sandwiches across the counter in exchange for a few sticky Sickles he placed in his wrinkled palm. Gimpsky impatiently tugged at his sleeve as they ambled toward their usual table, the rickety chairs squeaking lightly as they lowered themselves into them. Oliver glanced at the table; it was oddly empty, considering the whole team usually sat at the table on Wednesdays to play Exploding Snap.
"Answer me," Jonathan demanded through a mouthful of chicken and ham.
Oliver swallowed the several bites of his sandwich, choking as it stuck in his throat. After his coughing and hacking subsided, he stared at Gimpsky with rather watery eyes.
"Well, the Witch Weekly seems to think that I have a girlfriend and am cheating on her with several women and that I'm quite abusive toward them," Oliver explained tartly. He managed to extract the pink magazine from Tom, handing it over to Gimpsky who read over the article, nearly choking on his sandwich in his laughter.
"Who's Katie Bell? She's quite the looker," Gimpsky admired as he glanced over at the pictures.
An odd noise escaped his lips like a hiss. "Don't talk about my old Chaser like that!" he said angrily. He was not sure why a slight tinge of anger was bubbling through him; Gimpsky, however, smiled in a knowing, smug fashion.
"I didn't know she was yours…"
"Well, she isn't--but I don't--" Oliver sputtered, his cheeks burning. Gimpsky shrugged and folded the magazine, tossing it on the table carelessly next to the empty, plate, crumbs of their ham and chicken sandwiches dotting its porcelain surface. He turned his head to stare at the door creaking open. Oliver followed his gaze, staring at the pretty witch walking in. The sunlight pouring from outside shone brightly in her golden locks, falling in thin sheets around her head. Her large, blue eyes stared at Tom, a smile crossing her lips as she walked over to the bartender.
Gimpsky turned toward Oliver with a grin. "Can I see your list?" Oliver raised a brow. "C'mon, Woody. I'm trying to score you a girlfriend." He sighed, digging into his pocket and handing the worn piece of parchment to Gimpsky. He unfolded it carelessly, smoothing it on the table. He smirked slightly as he raised his eyes to stare at the witch who sauntered toward the table beside theirs, a plate of sandwiches in her hand. Gimpsky kicked Oliver underneath their table.
"Go on, get her to come over," he hissed.
Oliver flushed slightly. "Hey," he said leaning his head over to the witch's table. She stared at him, slightly stunned. Two patches of pink rose to her creamy cheeks, her eyes staring at him in shock. "Want to have a cuppa with me?"
"O-okay," she muttered in a small voice. She got to her feet and sat down in the seat beside him. "Hi," she said quietly to Gimpsky who merely grinned, staring down at the list he had smoothed on his knees.
"What's your name?" Oliver inquired.
"Sophia Flume," she raised her voice an octave, staring him in the eye bravely. He poured her a cup of tea from the red kettle sitting innocently on the table. "And I know who you are…Oliver Wood." As she uttered his name, she became quite breathless, her eyes widening.
"Yeah," he said loudly over Gimpsky's poorly muffled snickers. "So, what are you doing all alone over there?" Gimpsky's sniggers grew louder. He kicked Jonathan underneath the table, shooting him a rather nasty glare.
"Just eating lunch," she said shrugging. "I was going to go shopping later…my father--Ambrosius Flume--he's the owner of Honeydukes so he wanted me to drop by to pick up some boxes of sweets from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."
"Wow, so you get to eat sweets all the time? Doesn't look like it," he said eyeing her rather, thin frame. She giggled.
"Thanks," she said shyly. "What are you doing here? Excited about that match tomorrow?"
"Just got back from a practice," Oliver said. "Nervous, actually. The Magpies are historically the best in the league."
"Oh, but you're ranked first in the league in the Prophet today--it's not a surprise considering the Beaters and Chasers are really good and the Seeker is okay but--" She glanced at Gimpsky admiringly, her eyes furrowing as she peered at the list Gimpsky was staring at intently on his knees. "What's that?" She gestured to the parchment.
"Oh, nothing, some plays," Oliver said hurriedly. "C'mon, Gimpsky--" But before Jonathan could tuck the list away, Sophia snatched it from him sharply, her eyes reading it carefully, her mouth opening slightly.
"What? What's this? Were you--auditioning me as a girlfriend for you?" she asked in disgust, her eyes narrowing at Oliver.
"No! Not auditioning, just seeing if you--"
"--fit that list? You're so desperate!" she said shaking in fury as she got to her feet. "I don't want your tea," she spat at him, throwing the cup into his lap. Oliver yelped, jumping as the cold tea splashed over his jeans. The cup rolled on the floor, the table rattling as Oliver's leg smashed into the table in his hurry to brush the tea off him.
Sophia glowered at him before stalking away, leaving her uneaten sandwiches on the table beside them. Gimpsky was overcome with laughter as Oliver waved his wand over his soaking jeans, muttering a Drying Charm underneath his breath.
"Oh, Merlin!" Gimpsky snorted.
"You git," Oliver snarled, sitting down in his seat, his cheeks flushed as the few warlocks and witches scattered in the pub stared at him. A few hissed in irritation at the commotion. "You idiot! I'm going to wake you up at the break of dawn to--"
"Look, there's your old Chaser…"
"What?" Oliver jerked his head to the back door of the pub. He stared at the dark waves bouncing through the door, her fuchsia robes glowing in the dim light of the pub. She walked over to toothless Tom, placing herself on a stool.
"Bell!"
She laughed, turning her head at Oliver, shaking her head. "Of course," she said as she walked over to the table. "Hey, Wood." She glanced at Gimpsky with a small smile. "And you're Jonathan Gimpsky, right?" He nodded with a large smirk on his face, shaking her hand. She turned to Oliver, shaking her head, her dark eyes sparkling with laughter.
"Merlin, always running into you. I'm starting to get sick of it," she joked.
"Really? Not like I want to see your face all the time either," Oliver snorted. She smacked his arm hard.
"Hey!" He clutched his arm.
"That wasn't hard at all," Katie snorted. "You can't be that abusive to your girlfriend if she can beat you up with one slap." He flushed slightly. "Stupid Witch Weekly. How's the search going, by the way?" She sat herself down in Sophia's vacant seat, crossing her legs, her foot grazing his leg. "Sorry--" He jumped slightly at the touch, his cheeks burning furiously and his heart skipping a beat for some odd reason.
"It's not that great," he said irritably. "A girl threw a cup of tea at me just now!"
Katie laughed loudly, nearly masking the loud rumble from her stomach. She placed a hand on her stomach apologetically. "Starving," she announced. "Tom has my sandwiches--" She turned her head, glancing at the bar. "I can't stay long--my break is almost over and I wasted it talking to Fred and George…so I'm going to go. But I'm gonna be at that Magpies game tomorrow. Good luck!" She patted Oliver's head teasingly and to his surprise, she bent down to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. "One good luck kiss from your girlfriend," she muttered into his ear. She straightened up, waved politely at Gimpsky, whose smirk widened considerably, and walked toward the bar to grab her sandwiches.
As Gimpsky quickly turned to say something, Oliver was too busy to listen, his hand clasped on his face. His cheek was tingling.
A/N: Sorry for the slow update! It took me a while to belt this out…I'm not particularly proud of this chapter. I got stuck on it for a while, deciding in which direction to go with the story. I don't really like the chapter; I tried to make it well written and get as much of Oliver's feelings out as I could, but I'm still not satisfied. I wrote over three prototypes that got trashed until I just wrote out this one so…I hope you like it and sorry for the wait!
Ollie will get the message soon. Very soon, in fact.
Wow, you guys are awesome! I love you!
A lot of thanks to: Ashley, imakeeper, Ghostwriter626, sweetblonde14, lilu05 (oh, he will notice later), Meshugenah (you'll see), TooSweet4Words (yeah, I try to update as fast as I can. But this chapter was hard for me), Lady Arre (haha his sister. Yeah the chapter title was meant to throw you off), croOKed-aura (I feel so special!), MoonShine Fairy (yes, very blind indeed), Celi, Hayakawa, Loopey-Laura, readswim04, amazoness, HamstanatorX, and Kaedwen. Thanks again!