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 Five:

Victories and Losses

"You're the best, ruddy team." He stared at them fiercely, slamming his fist in his palm. His gritted teeth and glint in his eyes gave him a rather manic look to him. His ears perked at the loud cheers and chattering echoing in the stadium outside, the wind, with a trace of winter, slipping into the locker room through the open door. He promptly ignored the blank stares directed at him as to not damper his speech.

"We have the best Chasers--" He stretched out three fingers, gesturing them in the direction of Joscelind Wadcock and Wilda Griffiths, their shoulders slumped against another, sleepy smiles crossing their faces. Basil Bloor gave him a grumpy look, fiddling with the hem of his blue robes, caked permanently with mud.

Undaunted, Oliver plowed on, struggling to maintain the momentum of his speech. "We have the best Beaters…" He turned his head grudgingly toward Gimpsky and glowered; the Beater merely beamed and waved. Busby Gelson grinned, his hands twirling the bat clutched in his fingers.

"Oh, Woody," Gimpsky sighed, pressing his hands to his heart. Oliver rolled his eyes and directed his stare away from Gimpsky.

"We have the best Seeker!" He stared proudly at Eric Johnson. Eric smiled meekly and glanced down at his dirtied trainers with utmost fascination.

"And the best Keeper," he said to himself, boosting his self-esteem considerably. Gimpsky nodded gravely. "We're going to beat the Magpies into the ground because winners like to win--we don't like to lose."

"This is it…the moment we've been waiting for…the moment to show the world that we're the best, ruddy team!" He raised his voice, expecting shrieks and screams from the women and shouts and whoops from the men. He raised his fist into the air, staring at his team, receiving blank and slightly embarrassed stares back. His speech came crashing down on him, his face slightly disappointed at the reaction. A frown deepened on his face.

"Oliver," Joscelind Wadcock said with a pained look on her face. "Put down your hand, and we'll forget this ever happened." Unfortunately, her voice did not drown out Gimpsky's as he leaned over to Gelson with a grin on his face.

"I knew Wood was going mental," he whispered in a loud, carrying voice.

Oliver, flushing deeply, lowered his fist and turned sharply to his broomstick leaning against the wall, taking it in his hand and glancing at the open door, beams of sunlight cast across the floor in thick strips. The distant, echoing voice of Ludo Bagman rang through the stadium, the voices quickly lowering down to hushed whispers and buzzing. "It's time," he said curtly, still irritated at his team's cheeky response to his speech he had been practicing since yesterday.

After they emerged from the locker rooms onto the pitch, the dew on the grass staining their robes, they shot up into the air to loud screams. Bagman feverishly announced their names, cheers echoing in their ears.

"And….Wood!"

Loud cheers, mingled with shouts and jeers, echoed in his ears, a flurry of blue and gold swarming underneath him, faint banners declaring their support fluttering in the wind. Exhilarated, the adrenaline rushed through his veins as he swept gracefully across the pitch, tilting his head up to the endless skies of sapphire, white, wispy clouds floating across the blazing sun. A smile graced his lips; the weather was perfect for a good game of Quidditch. He steered his broom toward the hoops, settling before the center hoop, glaring at their black robes fluttering in the wind. His grip tightened around his broom, and his teeth gritted. He knew the Magpies had the reputation as the most successful team in history, but he liked to think that his team, the Puddlemere United, was the best.

"And they're off!" The loud voice of Ludo Bagman echoed into the stadium. Oliver did not have time to ponder on his goblin and gambling troubles because he had caught the glimmer of the Snitch as the referee released the balls from their bondage. He quickly lowered his broom as a Bludger swooped past him. A crack informed him that one of his Beaters had slammed the Bludger toward the Magpies. He hovered among the hoops, his heart pounding. He and his team had practiced intensely for the last week; he didn't even have time to continue his search for a girlfriend, but he desperately wanted to renounce the plan, considering he was splashed with cold tea yesterday. His hand pressed onto his cheek. He could almost feel the tingle of his skin again.

"Maddock has the Quaffle…he's coming to Wood--who, by the way, has been getting a lot of attention concerning his relationships--" His grip slipped from his broom momentarily, but he managed to dart to the right hoop and snatch the Quaffle by the tips of her fingers. "And Wood barely makes it…but Maddock does not score!" A mingled amount of cheering and booing ensued. "And the Quaffle's off. Wadcock has it…what is she doing? Going upward…McKnight of the Magpies follows--ooh! She drops it to Bloor. A wonderful Porskoff Ploy! And…Bloor scores!"

Oliver grinned at Wadcock who smiled back and darted back toward the Quaffle, tucking it underneath her arm determinedly. A flutter of black robes made its presence as she headed toward the opposite goals. Oliver swore he saw an elbow nudge into Wadcock's side violently. Anger coursed through him. "FOUL!" Bagman yelled with the crowd. "Excessive use of elbows--cobbing--…penalty to Puddlemere…"

"Wadcock takes the shot…and makes it!" Loud roars erupted throughout the stadium. Oliver yelled among them, pumping his fist into the air.

The game began to turn into a rather nasty one, fouls flying everywhere. In retaliation to the elbowing, Griffiths collided purposely into a Magpie Beater, causing him to whack the Bludger in the direction of Maddock who was flying with the Quaffle in his hand. Fortunately, Maddock missed the goal and Oliver's hands managed to make their way around the Quaffle. Maddock furiously attempted a Transylvanian Tackle, but instead managed to actually sink his fist into Gimpsky's nose. An ominous crack echoed in the silent pitch, blood following from Gimpsky's nose. Oliver furiously darted forward on his broom, glaring at Maddock with such fierceness that he floated backward into Wadcock. A few mediwizards rushed to Gimpsky, forcing a potion down his protesting mouth.

Oliver darted back to the hoops, satisfied that Gimpsky's nose had stopped bleeding. He noted that Jonathan's hands gripped tightly around his club, ready to smack Bludgers into the back of Maddock's head, no doubt. Something gold glittered in the corner of his eye; he glanced at the Snitch, but it fluttered away as quickly as it came. He wondered if the Snitch from the 1884 game was still here. The Quidditch game lasted six months in Bodmin Moor because of a Snitch that escaped both Seekers. It was rumored it was still fluttering around in the moor where they were playing their game now.

"And…Maddock scores! Looks like Wood wasn't paying attention!" Oliver started as he stared at the Quaffle that had just whipped past his shoulder blade. Irritated with himself, he gripped his broomstick tightly and hovered above the hoops. A scowl passed Gimpsky's face as he shook his head at Oliver.

"Stop thinking about your imaginary girlfriend," he said obnoxiously as he whipped past Oliver, the tail of his Firebolt 2000 nearly smacking Oliver's face.

"I hope your nose is broken," he called to Gimpsky immaturely. Wadcock rolled her eyes and hovered anxiously on her broom, her dark eyes darting wildly at the Quaffle. Jenkins flew toward Oliver, but was promptly surprised when Bloor grabbed the Quaffle from under his arm and flew toward the other end of the pitch, tossing the red ball to Wadcock who threw it hard into the hoops.

"Wadcock scores--wait…is that the Snitch?" A murmur ran through the crowd and Oliver jerked his head to the Magpie Seeker, Davies. He was hurtling down to the ground in a deep dive. "Or is this just a Wronsky Feint?" But it wasn't; Oliver caught a glimpse of the gold Snitch. He watched Johnson hurtling after Davies, his hand outstretched for the Snitch. Oliver waited anxiously, floating sideways toward his right hoop absentmindedly.

"And…" The crowd held its breath, waiting for the dramatic finish. Oliver's grip tightened around his handle as he watched Johnson's fingers scrape the side of the Snitch wildly. A Bludger zoomed toward Davies, who dodged out of the way hurriedly--"And…JOHNSON CATCHES THE SNITCH! PUDDLEMERE UNITED WINS!"

"That's my boy!" Oliver yelled, darting toward Johnson to join the tangle of blue robes in the middle of the pitch. Arms rained down on his back as they yelled loudly over the echoing cheers in the stadium. Johnson's arm stuck out in the middle of the tangle, his fingers grasped over the Snitch. The grin refused to slip from his face, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. They untangled themselves from another, flying a victory lap around the pitch, listening to the roars of the fans below. The wind whipped through his hair, the adrenaline rushing and the smug smile on his face widening as he watched the black robes of the Magpies dive dejectedly down on the grass.

"And here they are…Wadcock, Bloor, Griffiths, Gimpsky, Gelson, Wood, and Johnson! Johnson with the Snitch…" Bagman wore a deep, weary frown on his face as he flew toward the Top Box; he assumed Bagman had guessed wrong and had gambled away money he did not have. Oliver landed gracefully in the Top Box, staring at the sea of faces cheering for them. He caught the ruddy face of their manager, Philbert Deverill, a large bottle of Odgen's Firewhiskey swinging in his hand. His eye caught something dark flying in the air; he turned his head and saw the bouncing, dark waves. Startled, he slipped off the end of his broom, knocking into Gimpsky.

"Damn it, Wood! What the hell are you doing?" He pushed Oliver back on his feet as he stared at Katie Bell, laughing and raising her hand to give a small, discreet wave. He smiled back at her, his stomach lurching for some odd reason.

"Who're you staring at?" Gimpsky said tugging at his sleeve impatiently. He tore his gaze away from Katie, staring at Gimpsky with a large, smug smile on his face.

"Nobody," he snapped irritably. "It was just--"

Warm breath washed over his face, the strong scent of firewhiskey lingering underneath his nose. He turned his head away from Gimpsky and stared at a grinning Philbert Deverill, grateful for the distraction. His small eyes were slightly bloodshot, Oliver noted as he peered into the man's large, ruddy face.

"Keep this up, Wood, and we're going to win the League Cup!" he said, clapping a large hand on his back. His large, plump face broke out into a broad grin, revealing his yellowing teeth.

"Yeah," Oliver said his spirits rising considerably at the thought. "Only three more matches…"

"You're going to the party tonight, aren't you?" Deverill was referring to his infamous galas he held at his large, generous manor after a winning game; the most important wizards attended the party and usually left horribly drunk and filled with firewhiskey. Oliver grinned widely.

"'Course!" he said. His eye wandered over to Katie's smiling face as she chatted with a wizened witch.

"Are you going with anybody to the party?"

Gimpsky's feet rested on the coffee table, his woolly, maroon socks rubbing against a battered, yellowed Daily Prophet. He wore a lazy grin on his face, his fingers wrapped tightly around a rather dusty bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey. He was the state of dishevel, his hair ruffled and grey sweater rather lumpy on his burly frame. He turned his head to Oliver, his grin still intact and his eyes twinkling.

"As a matter of fact," he began answering in a slightly slurred voice, "I am." He chuckled, his lips curling around the top of the bottle, swinging his head back. He gulped down the firewhiskey, lowering the nearly empty bottle down into his lap.

"Really?" Oliver asked curiously, considerably sober compared to the slightly inebriated Gimpsky. He admitted Jonathan held his alcohol well; he would've been singing Celestina Warbeck at the top of his lungs, clad in only his underwear, if he had drunk a whole bottle of firewhiskey. He smiled wryly at the figures slumped on the sofas, their blue robes wrinkled and their hands clutching bottles of firewhiskey. They were the only two members of the Puddlemere United who had managed to not pass out in Oliver's sitting room. "Who?"

"You'll see," Gimpsky said mysteriously. "Do you?" He snorted in an ungainly fashion. "'Course not…dumped tea…" He mumbled in a string of incoherent words. Oliver glowered, knowing full well what Jonathan met. He smacked him upside the head, earning a particularly nasty look from Gimpsky. "Bloody wanker."

"Stupid prat," Oliver shot back. "Who's the girl?"

"I told you--you'll see," Gimpsky slurred. "What time is it?"

Oliver glanced at the clock, the hands informing him it was around four. "Four…" Gimpsky smiled knowingly and drained the last of the firewhiskey in his bottle.

They whittled away the afternoon, sprawled out on the sofa, talking about nonsensical things, the topic ranging from Quidditch to nifflers. The rest of the Puddlemere United stirred in the middle of their conversation, placing their hands on their pounding heads and listening in on Gimpsky's fascinating stories.

"Yeah, my uncle had this nice watch…about hundred Galleons, I suspect…anyway, nifflers went and ate it off his hand…didn't come out 'till two days. I don't think he wanted to wear it anymore."

"Ugh…" Oliver shuddered, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. His eyes widened in surprise, flitting to the darkening skies outside. "Damn, almost time for Deverill's party."

"Merlin, my head hurts," Wadcock moaned, her muddy brown hair mussed, the tangled tresses hanging out of the elastic she had tied around them firmly. Her fingers rubbed her temples roughly, her eyes screwed shut.

"There's some potion in the kitchen," Oliver said easily.

After they refreshed themselves and managed to lift their lazy buttocks off the warmth of the sofas, they stood outside of Oliver's house, looking as though hours earlier they were not slumped in the sitting room, intoxicated. Oliver stared admiringly at their pressed robes, wondering how Twinky managed to smooth out the unsightly wrinkles on them.

"Where's the girl you're taking?" Oliver asked suddenly, turning to Gimpsky. He gave him a sly smile.

"I'm meeting her there," Gimpsky said simply.

"I can't drink anymore," Wadcock moaned to Griffiths, who patted her shoulder sympathetically. They disappeared with a loud crack; the rest of the team followed suit. Oliver gasped for breath, loud music throbbing in his ears suddenly. He glanced around, staring at the familiar manor, glittering in fairy lights and featuring the musical styling of the Weird Witches. Murmurs ran throughout the room, shrieks of delight mingling with the buzz around them.

"Aha! And the Puddlemere United is here," Deverill said loudly, appearing out of nowhere and slinging a large, fleshly arm around Oliver's shoulders. "Oliver Wood, the captain! He led them into victory!" Polite clapping and cheers filled the room. After Deverill dragged him about the room, introducing him to several, important wizards donned in their elegant dress robes and sleek mustaches, he managed to escape the rowdy, burly man and sat in a chair, drinking a glass of mulled mead.

He moaned quietly as an oddly, familiar witch approached him as soon as he escaped Deverill. He fixed a forced smile on his face, but did not fail to notice that she was rather pretty. Her dark hair was sleekly pulled back into a neat chiffon, revealing her delicate, bony neck and her high, prominent cheekbones. Her large, sapphire eyes sparkled in the light as they settled on him, a smile crossing her face. Clad in a bold, red frock with its flared skirts and its daring sweetheart neckline, she looked distinguishable in the sea of black dress robes. Despite her evident beauty, he steeled himself. His recent encounters with women had taught him to expect the worst.

"Hi, I'm Prudence Wilson," she said audaciously, revealing her white teeth in a small grin. She stuck out a surprisingly calloused hand, which he shook. "Mind if I sit with you?" She gestured at the seat beside his. He shrugged. She sat down and twisted her body toward him eagerly. "You're a good Keeper. I'm on the reserve team." He suddenly realized why she had looked familiar; she chuckled at the realization dawning upon his face.

"Deverill drunk as usual," she said turning her head to the ruddy man, laughing uproariously and spilling firewhiskey down his front as he stumbled across the room.

"Yeah," Oliver said rather stiffly.

He was quite surprised when he was proved wrong. Prudence was considerably normal. Sometimes, he found her rather dull and forced conversation with her. Otherwise, she was quite pleasant and pretty. He noticed that she did not have the sudden urge to throw the butterbeer in her hand at him. Nor did she refer to herself as Prudence Wood. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips at the thought of finally meeting a normal witch. The list drudged itself up from the back of his mind. He noted that she, so far, had qualified for most of the characteristics he was looking for in a girlfriend.

But something was missing. Oliver drove himself nearly insane as he struggled to pinpoint what quality Prudence was missing. As he continued to wonder, he caught a glimpse of dark waves, glowing in the light.

"Bell?"

He found it rather difficult to breathe for a moment. She turned around, her dark eyes sparkling in the light. The chiffon of her dress, decorated with a navy and white floral pattern, fluttered as she whirled around to smile at Oliver. Somehow, she looked more bold and radiant than Prudence in her empire dress, her dark waves pulled in a low ponytail, slung over her delicate shoulder.

"Hey, Wood," she greeted, walking toward them, the points of her flamboyant, red pumps grazing the marble floor. "Hi," she added politely to Prudence, who stared at her with an impassive face.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver managed to choke out, finding his tongue finally and began to breathe again. His heart jumped in his chest, and his stomach lurched. He had no idea why his body was reacting this way. "Prophet?"

"Actually," Katie began, flushing slightly, "I'm here with…" She trailed off, her face turning a deeper red.

"Hey, Kates. This is where you've been." Oliver narrowed his eyes at the familiar, booming voice and glowered up at Gimpsky who wrapped his arm around Katie's shoulders. His hands curled up into fists, and an unexplainable anger bubbled inside him, spreading through his veins and burning in the back of his throat. His hands itched to break Gimpsky's neck. A monster named jealousy roared inside him, although he was not quite aware of it.

"This is your date?" Oliver's voice rang with cold fury.

Gimpsky, who seemed oblivious to his anger, grinned. "Yeah, your old Chaser, eh?" he said beaming. "Quite the looker." Katie's face flushed to a tomato red. "Ah, don't be embarrassed, Kates."

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't mind because I'm your best mate and besides, you haven't seen Kates in a while, have you--"

"Gimpsky!" a considerably drunk Deverill roared, bumping into him. "You--you're amazing." He grinned and dragged Gimpsky off. Oliver's eyes followed Gimpsky, the anger surging through him. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms.

"Oliver?"

He turned back to Prudence, her face slightly irritated. "Oh, right," he said indifferently, unable to focus on her words because of the anger pounding through him.

Suddenly, he realized something.

A/N: And what did little Ollie realize? I have no clue. It could be the obvious, but it could be something else. You don't really know as of yet.

Oh, Oliver. Jealous little bugger, ain't he? I hope this chapter meets up to your standards…I wrote it on two tries and it only took me about three days. The end is near. Like in two more chapters. I'm not really the one to write 50 chapters for a story because frankly, I would run out of ideas so I have no idea how some of you do it.

I hope this is long enough. About 6 pages without author's note, chapter title, summary, etc.

Ah, I love you guys! Sticking with my story and all… You guys make me blush with your compliments and you guys are really sweet. Thank you.

Thanks to all my reviewers:

Ashley - Thanks! Ollie is blind, but he's seeing something now.
MoonShine Fairy - Yup, Oliver is finally seeing the light. Thank you.

Ara7 - Thanks…Took me a while to figure what to do with the Witch Weekly article.

Kaedwen - Thank you very much.

Celi - Yeah, Katie is definitely the more level-headed than Oliver…who's just plain desperate. Thanks.

lilangelxox - Thanks!

PiscesWeb25 - Thanks a lot!

readswim04 - Yep, Katie's the 'girlfriend'…for now, at least. Mwahaha. Thanks.

Meshugenah - You'll see…your suspicions might be right or wrong. Heh. Thanks!

Ghostwriter626 - He is in lurve. Hehe.

imakeeper - Thanks!

sweetblonde14 - Thank you!

Lady Arre - Thank you so much! I'm happy that you think that highly of my story and that particular chapter. Haha. Thanks a bunches.

TooSweet4Words - Thank you very much.

tiedye - Thank you! I'm flattered.