Meetings and Letters

One

After her graduation, Hermione Granger had been offered a job in Diagon Alley. When asked, she would smile and just mention something about it being a "bookworm thing." In truth, she worked for the Department of Mysteries. She was a reasercher for several Unspeakables.

At this very moment, she was turning a corner, heading towards the nondescript building that she worked in when she ran smack dab into a large, warm shape.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed. She started to gather up her books, and bumped into the very person she had already knocked over.

"I believe that these are yours," said a soft, lilting Scottish accent.

Hermione glanced up. A man, perhaps in his early twenties, with curly dark brown hair, was holding out three dusting volumes that happened to be extremely valuble.

"Oh, dear, oh dear," said Hermione, collecting the volumes from the man. "Thank you for picking these up for me. They're extremely valuble to my research, and without them..."

The man laughed. "Here, I've forgotten to introduce myself. My name's Oliver. Oliver Wood. And you?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oliver Wood? The old Quidditch Captain?"

Oliver nodded. "Yes, I was Captain during my school years. Did I know you?"

Hermione blushed a bit. "Oh, we had a common friend." She shifted some books, and held out her hand. "It's so nice to see you again Oliver. It's me, Hermione Granger, Harry's friend."

Oliver gaped a bit. This sprite couldn't possibly be little Hermione Granger, the girl whose quick thinking had almost won them the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match in his seventh year--could it?

"Hermione? Really? Well, you've certainly changed since we last saw each other, haven't you?"

Hermione grinned. "Growing up does that to people, Oliver. So, how's the job at Puddlemere?"

Oliver grin twisted into a expression of dislike. "Not there anymore. Rotten-" he struggled to remain composed "-people. Kicked me off two years ago."

Hermione looked a bit embaressed at mentioning it. "Oh, Oliver, so sorry," she said. She glanced at her watch. "Oh, bugger. I'm late. Look, Oliver, I've got to drop these books off at my office. Would you terribly mind if I asked you to meet me a the ice cream place in fifteen minutes? My boss won't mind if I take the day off."

Oliver grinned. "And then we shall catch up! See you there," he said, walking in the opposite direction.

Hermione power-walked all the way to her office. She walked into her boss's--who happened to be Arthur Weasley's brother, Alan--and went to his desk.

"Hello, Hermione," said Alan, smiling. "And how are we this morning?"

"Very well, Alan," said Hermione. "I've put the books back into my office, I've gotten all I can out of them." Alan nodded his approval. "And I'm going to take the day off, if that's all right."

"Oh, fine, fine," said Alan. "You've left your notes, I presume?"

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out several large binders full of notes. "Here you go. You'll probably still be reading them tomorrow, too."

Alan Weasley watched Hermione go. In all his years, he had never seen someone who could take so many notes in one weekend! Scratching his head, he went back to work.

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Hermione walked down the busy street to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. She reached the gate into the little area Florean had set up and looked over to where Oliver was sitting under an umbrella looking at his sundae.

"So, what kind of sundae is that?" asked Hermione, as she crept up on Oliver.

Oliver jumped. Ice cream spilling out of his mouth, he turned and glared at Hermione. "Do you have to do that?" he asked, a drop of honey-colored ice cream dripping down his chin.

Hermione grinned. "Yes." She picked up a napkin, and wiped it up. "What kind of sundae?"

Oliver stuck his tongue out and crossed his eye at her, extremely childishly. "Quidditch."

"They make a Quidditch sundae?" said Hermione, amused. "Fascinating. What's in it?"

Oliver leaned back in his chair, and looked at Hermione seated in the porch chair across from him. "Well, you start by taking some Quidditch-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and mishing them together. Basically, you make them into sprinkles. Then, you put a couple scoops of some delicious cinnamon-cream flavoured ice cream into a bowl, pour some hot fudge on them, and put the sprinkles on top. All together, they're so scrumptious, you can't help but eat them."

Hermione laughed. "So, you endorse sundaes, Oliver?"

Oliver shook his head, smiling. "Only in my free time. I've been offered--and have accepted--a job as primary Keeper for England's team. They saw me in the Puddlemere games and figured that I had something that Puddlemere didn't recognise."

"And what is that?" said Hermione, leaning back, her eyebrow sailing into her forehead.

"Lean closer," said Oliver, beckoning her with his finger.

Hermione came closer.

"A special talent for making the team energized," he whispered.

Hermione laughed, returning to her original position. "And you used that during your school years?"

"Oh, yes," said Oliver. "The Slytherin-Gryffindor in your third year? Harry told you how depressed I was?" Hermione nodded. "All an act."

Hermione's eye shot open. "No way," she said, mouth agape. "No way! Harry said that you were so down cast that you probably would have drowned yourself if you hadn't won that game!"

Oliver grinned. "Well, Hermione, no matter how crazy I am about the game, deep down I know that it is just a game!" He chuckled, obviously remembering something. "Ah, good times, good times."

"Oh, my gosh!" exclaimed Hermione. "Wait until I tell Harry and Ron!"

"Whoa!" said Oliver, holding up his hands. "You can't. If they knew, their image of me would be shattered. And when you're in the Quidditch biz, it's almost all about image!"

"Really?" said Hermione, chuckling herself. "Also fascinating."

"So, what do you do?" Oliver inquired, looking into her eyes.

Hermione squirmed. She wished he'd look away! His eye were seemingly holding on to her's, looking past the outside. "Oh, it's a bookworm thing. You wouldn't be interested in it."

Oliver cocked his head. "Try me," he said simply, keeping eye contact.

"I really, well, I really can't tell much," said Hermione, a bit embaressed.

"Well, that's OK. Tell me what you can," said Oliver kindly.

'He's interested in my job,' thought Hermione. 'Ron and Harry never inquired after I blew off their questions.'

"Well," she started, "I work in the Department of Mysteries as a research and development kind of person. Mostly just research, though. Lots of old, dusty tomes filled with obscure facts."

"Really," remarked Oliver. "You know, I could've had one fo those jobs, too, if I'd wanted one."

"Really?" said Hermione, resting her chin of her hand. "Do tell."

"Well," said Oliver, preening, "when you get a 'O' for Outstanding on your N.E.W.T.s, you can usually get whatever job you want, but I decided to try Quidditch until I get to old, or get maimed or something."

"Well," replied Hermione, flicking through her menu, "you are so modest and positive, I can hardly believe it." She stopped at a page. "Do you think that the 'Modiva Dark Chocolate Truffle' ice cream sounds good?"

"Yeah, I've had it before," said Oliver, looking at his menu. "It's way to much chocolate for me, though."

"Ah." Hermione grinned. "But I'm the Queen of Chocolate."

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"I cannot believe you ate all that ice cream and still had room for a huge scoop of cookie dough in a waffle cone!" exclaimed Oliver, walking next to Hermione. They had left Diagon Alley and were heading back to Hermione, Ron, and Harry's place for a spot of tea.

"Told." Hermione took a lick. "You." Another lick. "I could." A huge, gigundo lick followed this. "But did you believe me? No."

"Forgive me," said Oliver, doing a sweeping bow. "I shall never doubt you again, your majesty of Chocolate."

"Oliver, my dear, I always forgive my loyal subjects," said Hermione, patting his shoulder.

Oliver grinned at her. "Ah. So you're one of those kinds of queens," he said, a bit loftily.

Hermione looked at him, a bit amazed, and a bit sarcastically amused. "And what kind of queen is that?" she asked, smiling faintly.

Oliver stood on her porch and smiled. "Soft-hearted," he said smiling.

'Aw,' thought Hermione. 'He think's I'm sweet...'

Grinning at him over her shoulder, she pulled her keys out and opened the door of the townhouse she shared with Harry and Ron, just outside of Notting Hill.

Stepping inside the foyer, Hermione looked back. "Well, come on in."

Oliver followed Hermione into her house. She threw her keys onto a glass plate with little clear pebbles on it.

He noticed her glance down at the plate. "Ah," said Hermione, picking up two other sets of keys, "looks like the cowboys are back at the ranch. Shall we?" She dumped her purse onto a chair that was next to the table.

"So," said Oliver, "are they going to hate me because you bought me home? For tea, I mean."

Hermione laughed. "No, they aren't that bad anymore. Ron used to be horribly jealous of anyone who I went out with, but a brief relationship in seventh year changed that. After that, he would try and set me up with any male human who breathed!" She laughed, and went into the kitchen.

"So, Ol, what kind of tea do you fancy?" asked Hermione, opening a cabinet filled to the brim with tea. "For some reason, people will insist on giving me tea for Christmas. Most annoying. I do wish someone would give me something else for once." She looked at him, and laughed again. "So, what kind of tea?"

Oliver laughed his lovely Scottish lilting laugh, and grinned at Hermione, leaning up against the counter. "Some berry tea, if you've got any. Can't stand Earl Grey or English Breakfast. Have to have some kind of berry tea, if I drink tea at all."

She leaned up against the counter and looked at him, smiling slightly. "Berry tea," Hermione said, musingly. Turning back again, she pulled the tea out of the cupboard and put the metal kettle onto the stove.

"What kind of tea is your fancy?" asked Oliver, rolling his eyes sarcastically behind her back.

"I saw that," said Hermione, putting the tea bags into two large Starbucks collector mugs. "And I like jasmine. I don't know why, but I've always liked jasmine."

Oliver shrugged. "I like the smell of it, it's very peaceful, but the taste drives me nuts. It's just horrid."

Hermione laughed. "Well, I drink it when I need to wake up and I've got some importent work to do."

"Which is just about everything," said a voice from the kitchen door. They turned and saw Ron leaning in the doorway. "So, 'Mione, who's the bloke?"

"Ron!" said Oliver. "It's brilliant to see you! Heard you work for the Chudley Cannons now. Glad I'm out of the national league. Hate to go against a Weasley."

Ron's eyes widened. He poked his head out of the kitchen to yell something. "OI! HARRY! IT'S OLIVER!!!"

A muffled noise came back.

Ron's face contorted. "I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE--WAIT A SEC. DID YOU SAY 'GINNY'?"

"Oh, no," muttered Hermione to Oliver. "Grab him." They got to Ron just before he went after Harry, who was apparently in his room snogging Ginny.

A moment later, Harry and Ginny came downstairs, hair and clothes tousled. Ron gave them a Death Glare.

"You," he said, pointing at Ginny, "are lucky I'm not going to owl Mum about this. And you, Harry," the menacing finger swung over to Harry, "had better treat my sister right, or I will owl Mum."

Harry grinned. "Well, when you're engaged, I really don't think that it matters if you're making out in your finace's room."

"Well, be that as it may--Wait, did you say engaged?" said Ron.

Ginny held out her left hand. A lovely gold ring with a circular diamond was on her ring finger. "Harry proposed! We were at lunch, and he just goes and kneels and pulls out the box and proposed, and of course I said yes!" She paused for breath. "We're going to show Mum now and Hermione who's your friend?" All eyes slid to Oliver, who squirmed a bit.

"Well, Ginny, you may not remember him, but this is Oliver Wood. The old Quidditch captain before Angelina and Harry." Hermione smiled at her friends.

Harry's face split in two. "Whoa, mate, it's been a while!" Then he gave Oliver a guy hug. The one where they slap hands and then give a small hug. "So, I heard you are now the Keeper for England, eh? Great job!"

Oliver cocked an eyebrow at him. "How'd you hear about that? It hasn't even been annouced yet, and I only told Hermione."

Hermione cleared her throat and glared at Harry. "Well, since Harry quit the Aurors, he was offered a job as the head of the Department of Sport and Games. All changes in Quidditch team lineups goes through his office. If you look at you contract carefully, you'll see his name in there somewhere."

Oliver looked at Harry, a bit impressed. "Head of the Department of Sport and Games? Impressive, Potter. Knew your fame could get you anywhere."

Harry laughed. "I actually couldn't stay with the Aurors because I'm famous. Kept getting asked for autographs from suspects. So, I jumped at the chance to be the Head of Sport and Games. Thank God that there aren't to many Wizard sports."

Oliver laughed. "I'm sure you've got your hands full with just the Quidditch league. As they changes players quite often."

A look of exasperation crossed Harry's face. "Yes. I've been up to my eyeballs in requests and announcements for the changing of players. I've had to tell at least fifteen teams that they just can't change their entire lineup for every single game! It's quite annoying." He glanced down at Ginny. "But Ginny's been very supportive, haven't you love?"

Ginny grinned. "Of course. I can't let some other female be supportive of The-Man-Who-Lived. Then he'd probably retract his proposal to me."

Everyone laughed, especially Harry.

"So, Ginny, what do you do now?" asked Oliver, leaning on the counter next to Hermione.

Ginny cleared her throat. "I am the assitant to the Assitant Minister of Magic," she said, in an all-important voice.

Ron smirked. "Basically, she works for Percy," he said snidely.

Everyone but Ginny shuddered at the horrendous thought of having to work for Percy.

"Hey!" exclaimed Ginny. "He's not too bad!" Joint shudder. "Well, not to me," she added, "or Mum'd kill him."

"Very true," said Ron sagely. "I remember when you were four, I told you that if you ate watermelon seeds, that a plant would grow in your stomach. Mum was furious at me, and Dad had to step in to make sure I stayed alive." Ron shuddered. "Sometimes you being the only girl isn't fair to the rest of us."

"Well," said Harry, putting an arm around Ginny's shoulders, "it's all right with me."

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Hermione and Oliver went back to Diagon Alley, as Oliver had a meeting to go to.

"So, they haven't changed a bit, have they?" asked Oliver.

"Not at all," said Hermione happily. "And I'm glad for it. I'm not all together fond of change. So, them not changing is quite refreshing, actually."

"Well," said Oliver, pausing before a large red building, "this is where I leave you."

"Say, Oliver," said Hermione. "Would you like to get together again sometime? Just to talk and stuff? It's been lovely being able to chat with you."

Oliver grinned. "That'd be brilliant! But, the season's staring up soon, and I've got a lot of training." Suddenly, inspiration struck him. "We could owl each other, and would you like to come to some of my games?"

Hermione smiled. "That'd be nice. Here's my address." And she wrote down her address on a piece of parchment in her bag. "Write me whenever. Alan doesn't mind when I take off work, since I bring work home a lot, and overtime is now my new middle name," she said, laughing.

"Well," Oliver said, folding the paper and putting it into his pocket, "I'll write you as soon as I can, and send you tickets whenever you're free."

"That'd be lovely," said Hermione turning. "See you around, Oliver!"

"See you, Hermione!"