A/N: VERY IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!
Okay, firstly, thank you to everyone that reviewed :) I wish you all would sign in though because I like replying! I was afraid that Model!Katie would not fly, but I guess since it's a minor detail (that I may be planning to have some fun with in the future), it shouldn't matter much.
Second thing – and this is the more important detail – this sequel is gonna follow canon to J.K.'s bonus release of the events that conspire in the '98-'99 season of the Quidditch League. This is something I've never seen across ships, so I'm gonna attempt it. Of course, the story's gonna be peppered with my own twists (Katie, for instance, isn't really supposed to be involved, is she?) so it's really all good. I promise to put on a good show so please stick with me!
CHAPTER 2 – Appointments and Apartments
Katie shifted in her seat, uneasy. Due to her mother's uncanny owl-intercepting skills, she received no notice until she had been thrust into a dress and sent off happily to her "date with darling Oliver". That is to say, Gladys Bell had been able to read Oliver's note before Katie got to it, and was ecstatic over the prospect of her daughter going on a date (and with Oliver, no less).
"It's not a date, mum!" Katie had whined.
"Of course it's not, darling," tittered her mother, "But it never hurts to look presentable! Just like a go-see! You look lovely. Now, go! You're going to be late!"
Knowing that arguing would be useless, Katie unhappily Apparated away. By 6:58, she was sitting in the Swinging Cheshire, waiting for her former Captain to arrive.
At five past 7, Oliver still hadn't showed. Katie wondered what was keeping him – he was always criminally punctual. She lamely toyed with the idea that he'd stood her up, then from over her shoulder the maître d' cleared his throat.
"Mizz… Katie Bell?" he asked snootily.
"Um, yeah," Katie raised her eyebrows.
"Yeur presance is requested in ze VIP room."
"Oh," she said, dazed. His accent was thicker than she expected. "By whom?"
"A premier cliahnt," he murmured coolly, "I am not at liberty to say 'iz name."
"Oh. Uh, okay then, lead the way!" Katie replied with false cheer. Once the maître d' turned his back, she followed him and made faces to his odious spiel.
"We 'ave quite a lot of cliahnts of great importahnce, you know," he bragged.
"We 'aaaave quite eh laat of cliaaaahnts ov neener nanner nah," Katie mocked him internally.
"Only ze most deestinct VIPs are privileged enough to dine in zis secleuded courrgner."
"Blah blah blah," Katie rolled her eyes. Trying hard to mask the disdain in her tone, she replied, "I'm barely important, I know, but –"
"Yeur appointmahnt is 'ere."
Katie frowned at his rudeness, but the lines on her forehead quickly vanished as she turned her head to see who had summoned her to the lounge.
"OLIVER!" Katie ran into the outstretched arms of her former Captain, who sported a smile equally bright as hers.
"Hey Kates," he laughed, clutching her tight. The maître d' sniffed in disapproval in the background. "You look…"
"I know, I know, it was mum's fault." Katie said, rolling her eyes.
"Don't interrupt, I was going to say you looked really pretty." Letting go of Katie, Oliver reached to pull out her chair.
"Why, thank you, Captain!"
"I doubt I'll be your favorite Captain for long," Oliver sighed, handing her a menu. "Congratulations, by the way. I had a feeling you'd be back in Quidditch."
"Nonsense!" Katie laughed, "Not even Gwenog Jones could beat you out for that prized title. And thanks, but don't assume. I like to think of it as a happy accident."
"Good to know," Oliver smiled. "So? Besides celebrating, what did you wanna talk about?"
"Always so straight to the point. How are you? Can't we just catch up for a second?"
"Sure we can, but how about ordering first, hmm?" Oliver waved his hand at a passing waiter, who approached their table. "Training's left me starved."
"I'll have the baked lobster with cheese. Oh, and a chicken parmigiana, please!" cried Katie, startling the waiter. She hadn't even opened the menu.
"Each dish is quite big, Miss, enough for two," he began.
"Yup! And I'll a big glass of iced tea, please."
"Very well, Miss. And the gentleman?"
Oliver laughed. "This one won't be able to finish all of that by herself."
"Oh, yes I can! You order your own food, Wood!" Katie retorted.
"Fine." Looking at the choices, he decided, "Uhh, I'll have a lemonade, and I'll take the steak, please, with chips on the side. Medium well, thanks."
Handing the menus back to the waiter, Oliver teased, "Appetite big as ever, I see."
"Yeah, and your taste has not gotten any more sophisticated. I'd think you'd go the medium rare route by now, famous boy."
"Nope, I'm crude through and through."
"You're cute," laughed Katie. Oliver blushed, sweeping his napkin onto his lap.
"Anyway," she added, "Don't you pros have these crazy health diets you have to stick to year round?"
"Yeah," admitted Oliver. "Still, we get to cheat now and then. You may as well enjoy it while you can. I hear the Harpies go on these crazy Trelawney-inspired diets…"
"Ugh, stop it! Patchouli burgers?" Katie shuddered. "I need my meat!"
"And you'll get it! Just… We gotta arrange some sneak-out sessions, okay, Bell?" Oliver whispered impishly. Katie found the grin on his face irresistible.
"Well look at you!" she teased, "Are you, the Quidditch Nazi himself, suggesting we break the rules?"
The two spent dinner chatting gaily over everything else that had nothing to do with Quidditch: Katie's parents, George's joke shop. Eventually the conversation transitioned to their both having missed out on the weird love triangle between George, Alicia and Angelina.
"It's so weird," Katie frowned. "I mean, we were so used to George and 'Licia just…"
"Snogging on the pitch?" suggested Oliver.
"Helpful. Yeah. Same with Fred and Ange. And now that Fred's gone…"
"Hey, I'm sure we'll understand it soon enough. They're some of our best friends! We could pay them a visit and it'll all be explained."
"Mmm," Katie murmured noncommittally. She scraped up the remainder of her chicken parmigiana. "Ol, do you ever feel like… Like you're alone a lot of the time?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, even back in Hogwarts we were all great friends but… Neither you nor I have someone our age to really call our 'best friend'. And everyone has someone, it seems. And I'd been so busy working that I didn't mind having no one to talk to. Or maybe I don't notice."
"You had me. You always have me, Kates," Oliver offered with a smile.
Katie smiled down at her empty plate. "I know."
"Now what's really bothering you?"
"Can you tell? 'Cause I don't really know. I feel like all the tiny things are suddenly just piling up. Shit's getting serious, know what I mean?"
"Might it have anything to do with your new job?"
"Maybe? I'm so excited, but scared at the same time. I don't know anybody in this industry, save for you and I guess Davies." Oliver frowned at this bit, but perked up when she said, "But he doesn't count. I'm not used to having no one back me up when it comes to Quidditch. Other things, yeah, but not this. How'd you go about your interview and everything anyway?"
Oliver glanced down at his empty plate, trying hard to suppress his grin. "I was the most embarrassing idiot," he admitted, shaking his head.
"Oh, do tell!" Katie visibly perked up.
"For starters," Oliver began, "I barged in there fully expecting to be assigned first string. I had no concept of a training pool, or of team hierarchy. I was so naff and eager! I just went up to the team manager and blabbed on and on about how I loved Quidditch and how I would make the best Keeper on the planet, basically. I made a right ponce of myself."
Katie rocked back and forth in her seat, roaring with laughter. "Captain! I can so imagine you," she gasped, earning some disapproving glances from the older, snootier clients in the lounge.
"It is pretty funny. Even now Phil still makes fun of me for it. He thought I was mad! Cringe-worthy performance, that was and is why I dislike interviews. I never know when I'll say too much," Oliver's eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Phil?" Katie wiped a tear from her eye.
"Philbert. Philbert Deverill. Our team manager."
"Oh. Well, it couldn't have been so bad. You got into the reserves, didn't you?"
"And I was so disappointed, too. Kept banging my head against things until the first day of training when I learned that you really should start out as a reserve! See?" He pointed at his face and clucked. "Moron."
"Silly you," Katie laughed more gently, sipping the last of her iced tea.
"Hey, but you get the special treatment! You get to go straight to first string!"
"What if they don't like me?"
"They wrote you first and gave you details up front. Trust me, they want you. And if the industry accepted an idiot like myself, why wouldn't they take in a great girl like you?"
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks Ollie," Katie smiled, reassured.
"In honor of your joining the likes of a professional such as myself, I shall foot the bill for dinner!"
"What! No, I invited! Hold up –"
"And we are going to my place for a drink!"
Oliver tuned out to Katie's cries of indignation, swiftly signing the tab, pulling Katie out the side door and Apparating them both to the alleyway of what Katie presumed to be his building.
"Wow," Katie marveled. "This is some alleyway."
"What of it?" asked Oliver, as if the alley were no different from any other. "It's our landing pad of sorts, the boys and me."
"It's so clean! And so wide! What neighborhood is this?"
"Oh! It's where the Puddlemere boys and I stay during our downtime. Muggles can't see it any better than they can see Hogwarts, and magic folk need to be authorized. You're with me, so, yeah. And this," Oliver gestured to the immaculate slate gray building, "Is where my flat is located. Welcome to Puddlemere Tower."
"Puddlemere… What!" Katie had very little time to ogle as Oliver quickly ushered her into a lift.
"Gold gilding… That's crazy. And kind of over-the-top. And you live here for free?" she let her eyes roam.
"One of the hidden job perks," he said sheepishly, pressing the button to go up. "They don't advertise this in the job description. Lots of teams have compounds like this, you know, to keep their single players from cavorting around Britain unmonitored. Kind of restrictive, but we choose whether we want to stay here or not. I chose to stay here because it's really the most convenient thing. I get up, train, I go out, come home… The paparazzi can't bother us here. And I don't mind the monitoring much. But sorry, that's why I had to rush you in like that – if any of my teammates or anyone else sees me bringing a girl into the building, that'll be no good for me at practice tomorrow."
"It's cool. But what does that mean? A no-girls policy or something?"
"Not really, it's just that it's crunch time. Usually Isadora, our only girl, goes home to her place two floors above me. Then the boys like to go out, grab a pint and maybe a girl to take home… Not my thing. Just now I shouldn't even be out so late because of dawn practice. Luckily Coach wants us in at 8 tomorrow, instead of 4 a.m."
"You," Katie gasped, "Dreading dawn practice? Unheard of! Is this your floor?" she felt the elevator come to a stop.
"Fourteenth floor. Yup, this is me!"
Katie fully expected to run into the hallway, so she was shocked to discover that the lift opened into an actual flat. In the darkness she could make out worn brown leather couches and warm wooden accents, offset by clean lines and more modern, bachelor-friendly pieces. Even with the lights off there was no mistaking who owned the place.
"Can anyone just… enter here?" Katie stepped inside tentatively.
"No, just me. If others want to come in, they have to ring the doorbell, of course!" Oliver took her coat and flipped a switch on. The flat illuminated instantly.
"Oliver!" Katie clapped, delighted. "Everything is so… you! All eclectic Scotsman in the city and all that. But wait…"
"What's the matter!" he cried.
"Apart from a fire, I'm only looking for the – oh! There they are: the tartan shawl and the buck's head. Why are they hidden behind the couch?"
"I told my mum I had my own place and she barged in to decorate, okay?" Oliver blushed to the tips of his ears. "It reminded me so much of home that I didn't mind it. Well, most of it. Does my pad offend?"
"Awful? Ol, I love it!" Katie snuggled into an overstuffed couch. "Oh, and it smells just like you too. Leathery and warm."
Katie took in her surroundings – years ago she only could have dreamt of visiting Oliver at his place, and hanging out with him alone. Their brief romantic interlude in her fourth and his seventh year at Hogwarts had gone unmentioned until the present, but it was fresh in Katie's mind. She assumed that Oliver had forgotten all about it, so it seemed pointless to bring it up. She didn't want him thinking that she hadn't forgotten.
Oliver waved his wand and a fire lit up by the mantle. "Thanks, I guess," he chuckled, setting himself down next to her. "Okay, time for a toast of sorts!"
He conjured two paper shot glasses, into which he poured copious amounts of Firewhiskey.
"Real classy, Oliver. This is way too much!" Katie gaped at the amount of alcohol in the cup he'd handed her.
"Nonsense! I use paper because I can just throw them afterwards – "
"I meant the contents, not the cups," Katie slapped him lightly. "Does one even take Ogden's in shots?"
"Oh! Well, big events call for big shots! We finish all of it!" he declared.
"Fine," she sighed. "Just a couple."
"To you," said Oliver sincerely, "And to your happy future in Quidditch. May we not regret this in the morning."
"Cheers, Cap'n!"
Somehow Katie and Oliver managed to down several big shots of Firewhiskey each, on account of their toasting to numerous silly things. No more than thirty minutes later, they were both sitting on the floor, separately rolling around like Ron Weasley on love potion.
"Aaaahh! My throat still burns! The world is spinning so fast," Katie gasped, face on the floor.
"This was a bad idea, Bell," Oliver hiccuped. "I have practice at 8 in the morning! I may not wake up if we take more."
"This is so funny! This was your idea. And besides, you can't get drunk. You're much bigger than I am! We should do this every week!"
"No, no thank you, Kates. Much as I love… seeing you, drinking that often is considered a vice in m-most countries. We took those shots too fast, now they've gone… hic! Gone straight to my head. I don't think I can play in this state."
"Maybe," giggled Katie, "We can hang out without the alcohol." She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if she were sharing a scandalous secret.
"Yeah, and not too late either, 'cause we'd both have practice in the morning. Urghhh, this is a bad hit." Oliver turned to lie face down on the floor.
"Well, it's only…" she glanced at the clock, "10 p.m.! Who gets drunk at this time anyway! Plenty of time to recover."
"Shh – shh, shh," managed Oliver, "My teammates live above and – and… hic! Below me, I think?"
"Oooh, what would they think!" Katie laughed flirtatiously. "Oliver Wood, playboy extraordinaire!"
"Hey, hey," he said, seriousness infiltrating his tone of voice. "I don't bring slatternly women around here. I only like the good sort. The decent sort. The kind… the kind – "
"The kind you can take home to your mum?" Katie lay down beside him, staring at his face. It made her dizzier than she already was.
Oliver hesitated a beat, looking back at her. "Yeah," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut.
"So… do I qualify?" she whispered, almost to herself.
"Hmm?" Oliver said.
"Nothing."
"HOOT."
"Hmm?" he repeated.
"Oliver, did you hear that?" Katie propped herself up, puzzled.
"No, I thought for a… second it was you."
"Erm, do you owl an owl? Own an owl?"
"No, I use… Puddlemere Squad Owls…"
Oliver's eyes were closing. He never could hold his liquor well, and this time was no exception. Shortly he would be much worse before he'd get better. Katie sat up, determined to find the owl they'd heard. Looking towards Oliver's broad window, her eyes broadened to find Lara Svityensky's owl perched on the open pane.
"Mercury!" Katie yelled, a little too loud. "Oliver, get up! It's my owl! I mean… the Harpies' owl! For me!"
Oliver struggled to pry his eyes open. At this point, he was having difficulty stringing his words together, his brogue getting thicker exponentially. "What does it want? Treat? Tin can. There."
Mercury shot disapproving glances at the two, which made Katie cringe. She approached with caution, begging the owl, "Please don't tell your owner I was here. Or that I had a little too much to drink…"
"Hoot." The owl ruffled its feathers, making Katie feel discomfited.
Katie took the note from Mercury's leg, unrolled it and read:
From the Desk of Lara Svityensky
General Manager
The Holyhead Harpies
Dear Ms. Katherine Bell,
It's good to hear from you. I apologize for writing this late in the evening, and so informally too – I would like to meet with you as soon as possible. With the Quidditch League beginning soon, the Harpies require a full roster of players to fill our ranks.
How does lunch at noon tomorrow sound? Should you agree, Mercury has a pouch attached to her leg. Inside is a Portkey – a miniature Snitch. It will take you to our grounds.
Please send a note to confirm your attendance.
Best regards,
Lara
To say Katie's world was spinning was quite an understatement – she was reeling from the effects of the Firewhiskey and the letter combined. She got up from the trophy she didn't realize she was sitting on ("Oops!"), whispered "Un minuto, por favor," to a baffled Mercury, and stumbled over to where Oliver had nearly passed out on the floor.
"Quill! Ol, please!" she begged, but the Keeper was planted face first on the white carpet.
Oliver waved his arm vaguely in the direction of a nearby side table. Katie yanked the drawer open, crinkling her nose in disdain upon seeing what was inside.
"Oliver Wood, what in Merlin's name are these awful magazines? Disappointing… 'Quipment Quarterly – Your Extensive Guide to the Season's Best Broom- and Accessory-Cleaning Polishes and Wipes? What sort of grandpa reads THIS? Why does this even qualify as a publication?"
Turning his head sideways to breathe, Oliver snorted, "Sorry, Kates. I take my maintenance very seriously. Lots of equipment to take care of… Gloves and the like…"
"Ridiculous!" Katie shuddered. In the recesses of her inebriated head, she was grateful she hadn't found a copy of Warlock's Quarterly instead. Oliver would never be into the whole men's magazine scene, especially not those with slags plastered on the cover. Even so, she knew it was only because he was obsessed with something else – Quidditch. "Uh. Accio quill! Accio parchment!"
Oliver's writing materials haphazardly flew out from what appeared to be his study. They zoomed past Katie's outstretched arms and clattered against the wall behind her.
"So drunk, can't do this right now," Katie blinked. She couldn't even catch the items she'd summoned. Picking them up, she plopped down on the sofa to write.
"Ink…" she groaned. Spying that Oliver's quill had the tiniest bit of ink remaining inside, she took a gamble and scrawled,
OK
The ink was barely enough. The two letters looked ridiculous on the parchment, which was around twenty inches long. That she had written them smack in the middle of the page didn't help matters either.
"It'll have to do," Katie thought. She messily rolled the parchment up and tied it to the owl's leg. Then she took the pouch containing the Portkey, and stuffed it into her bra. "Thanks, girl. Snack before you go?"
Mercury gave an indignant huff and flew off before Katie could reach for the tin.
"I'm sorry!" Katie called after her.
"Shhhhh," Oliver reminded her. He had managed to prop himself up against his sofa, although he wasn't looking so awake.
"Right. Sorry, Ol. Sorry, sorry, sorry. My interview's tomorrow. At noon. I should go home…"
"Can't. Apparate. Too much Firewhiskey. You too, don't," he panted. "Floo your mum. Stay."
"I'm so dead," Katie drawled.
But Oliver was serious. He grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye – no small feat given how dizzy as he was. Katie felt goosebumps – the good kind – rise up on her arm. "Stay. Please," he implored.
Katie knew better than to argue, or to try and go home by any means, Muggle or magic. Staying really was the safest option. Nodding at Oliver, she hesitantly pulled away and crawled towards his fireplace. Beside it was a bowl of Floo powder. Katie took a handful and tossed it into the flames. They sparked blue, indicating that Oliver's line was a private one. "Fancy. No Flooing away," she supposed, "Just calls."
Gathering every ounce of consciousness she had, she stuck her head in the flames and shouted her parents' address. She crossed her fingers that she hadn't blurted some incoherent phrase, and luckily she hadn't. Opening her eyes, she recognized her parents' living room.
"Mum! Mum! I'm at the fireplace! Floo with me!"
"Oh, heavens! Katie, is that you?" Her mother came rushing in from the next room, half of her hair in rollers. "I was just getting ready for bed. Where are you, darling?"
"Don't kill me, Mum, but I'm at Oliver's." Katie felt Oliver really stirring behind her. He was probably over his groggy phase by now – his numerous drunken mood swings were always short-lived and harmless.
"Oliver's! Young lady you keep your legs together or your father is going to – "
"MUM! Ol's right here!" Katie hissed. "Besides, it's not like that. I, uh, had a bit much to drink, and so did Ollie. We figured it wouldn't be wise to Apparate 'cause we might Splinch ourselves. I can't even Floo home, I think – this line's private."
"Oh, in that case, do say hello. I guess I can't do anything about your situation now. Dear Oliver will keep you safe, I'm sure. But what will I tell your father!"
Katie was astounded at how sensible her mother thought Dear Oliver was.
"Aw, Dad's probably gonna flip. You can think of something! Anyway, I have a lunch meeting tomorrow with the Harpies, so I'll have to be home to get ready. I'll try to make it back as soon as I can, okay?"
"Take care, my darling."
"I will, Mum. Good night, I love you."
"Love you too."
"Love you too, Mrs. Bell!" called Oliver, his arm flailing in a vague hello.
"Oh! Is that Oliver? Tell him I said – "
"Bye, Mum!" Katie hurriedly dropped the connection, pulling her head out of the flames.
She turned and marched towards Oliver, her hands on her hips. He sat on the couch with his palm over his eyes, giggling to himself. "Well, you got your wish. I'm stuck here for the night. And my mother loves you, you flirt."
He laughed some more in response.
"You think that was funny, hmm?" she asked.
"No," he snickered.
"No?" challenged Katie, taking a couple of jabs at his ribs. "How bout now?"
"Stop! Stop it Kates," Oliver guffawed. "I'm ticklish!"
"I know! GRAAAAHH!" Katie jumped over him, reaching for his armpits and ribcage to little success. Oliver easily overpowered her, wrapping his long, sinewed form around her body.
"HA! Oh no you don't!" he cried, digging his fingers into her sides in an all-out attack.
"No!" Katie struggled, "NO! Ha ha hahahaha Oliver please!" She keeled over, trying to protect her vulnerable spots from Oliver's tickle frenzy.
Finally the pair collapsed on the plush carpet, out of breath and woozy.
"Still hit?" Oliver asked after a time. "Because I think all this exercise killed quite a lot of my buzz. I'm in a very good mood, though."
"The news… my mother… the tickling… Yeah I'm good. Still dizzy though, I may still be drunk." They went silent, and stared at one another. Katie took a good look at him – she had almost forgotten just how handsome he really was. The three years had really done him good: in the firelight she could see how his tan skin and light stubble gave a manlier look to his face. Katie knew that his lopsided smile, charming as ever, was more real at that moment than it ever looked in those magazines like Witch Weekly. She grinned to herself. Those other witches were really missing out, because when Oliver genuinely smiled, his eyes and his perfect nose crinkled up just the tiniest bit, and her heart would melt just the tiniest bit.
"Come on." Oliver, oblivious to her thoughts, hoisted her up and led her to the portion of his flat that Katie had still never seen.
"This is my room," he announced, letting Katie peek inside. "You can crash here for the night."
"But… where will you stay?" Katie asked tentatively. She looked about his room: It was a rich shade of Puddlemere blue, decked with wooden shelving for all of Oliver's trophies, Quidditch books and memorabilia. In the center was a California King bed covered with a Gryffindor duvet. It was more than big enough for the both of them. "Are we gonna share the bed? I don't mind."
"You sat on my couch, right? Trust me, I'm good. Most game nights I don't even make it to my room."
"Well, why don't I stay there instead?"
"Nonsense! You're a guest. And guests get special treatment!"
"I feel so special now," Katie kidded. "Gryffindor sheets and everything!"
Oliver winked at her. "Only the best for my Kates," he said.
Katie blushed, and Oliver cleared his throat. "Well then," he finished, "should we call it a night? Big interview's tomorrow."
"Hmm," Katie said, "maybe after dessert?"
A/N: Oh Lord. 13 pages on Word! But how did you all find it? The concept of a Puddlemere compound was really new to me (as opposed to how Oliver usually just has his own standalone flat), so I hope I did it justice. Please do let me know with a review. This is the first story I'm writing that's gonna be this long so every review means so, so much to me.