From the outside, the pitch looked eerily similar to that of the Hollyhead Harpies that I called home last year. The large stadium had banners hanging from each tower displaying scenes from Puddlemere’s previous games. Players zoomed through the banners, occasionally stopping to wave out to whoever was gazing upon the banner at any given moment.
There was one scene notably missing from the banners. It was probably the most talked about moment in the current quidditch season. It was the reason I had left my public relations job with the Harpies after boosting their public image by 45% in just half a year. I was on the rise and the missing scene played an important role in my next challenge.
I brushed down my navy pencil skirt and adjusted the cream lace top I had chosen for the day. My outfit, along with my long dark hair held back with a bow, screamed that I didn’t belong in this world. Quidditch was a boy’s club, and more than one media source had pointed out that I was too dainty or feminine to be taken seriously in this world, even if I was just a media representative to the teams. My initiative, prowess, and ability to spout stats and records for each team gained their respect in no time.
Honestly, I would never understand why everyone always assumes that if a girl doesn’t play quidditch, that she must hate it. Seriously, I love quidditch, but I can’t fly my way out of a paper bag, so I found the best alternative to my utter lack of sports talent. Instead of making my team look good on the field, I make them look spectacular off the field. Which brings me back around to the reason I am here at Puddlemere’s pitch.
Hollyhead’s legal team made a mistake in my original contract with the Harpies and I found myself with a “free agent” halfway through the season. With a new scandal on their hand every other weekend Puddlemere rushed to sign me to an extensive two-year contract. The catch was that during my first year, I had only one client. Oliver Wood.
Now that we’ve come full circle, I’ll tell you all about what brought me here. Three months ago, Oliver Wood suffered a severe injury after a fall during a training match. No referee had been monitoring the game because it was supposed to be a light skill-building afternoon. The story went on to explain that a bludger had been malfunctioning all day during practice and had escaped the shabbily constructed restraints the team had thrown together. The bludger pelted Wood, knocking him from his broom to the ground and severely injuring both of his shoulders. The healers had repaired the shoulder as best as they could, but they hadn’t been able to fully restore his shoulders for intense pressure situations. This meant he had to be benched from the quidditch team until healers were certain his shoulder could handle the strain.
That is where I come in to the picture. Oliver Wood lives and breathes Quidditch. That is no secret, not even to foreigners like myself. With the news that he was indefinitely benched from the team, Oliver started acting out. He began causing scenes at local pubs and restaurants, picking fights with anyone who even suggested that he would not play again, and just overall embarrassing a team that was trying to gain a respectable image in the quidditch world. He wouldn’t listen to reason, and despite being barred from official team practices, could be found practicing in the pitch after hours, against the healer’s instructions, and had to be escorted out by security multiple times.
Oliver needed to be reigned in, and that is why Puddlemere hired me. I was the best rep for the job and they trusted me to help Oliver turn his bruised reputation around before it was too late. There was just one little thing both the team and my boss had left out.
“WHAT?” I shouted, before pulling myself together and smoothing my hair over my shoulders, “What do you mean I have to LIVE with Oliver Wood?”
“Adelynn, why did you think we rented you a two bedroom flat in the first place?” Anderson Reynolds, corporate executive of the PR firm she worked for explained, “Oliver has been kicked out of the team flats for the time being, and until his image has turned around and his life is back on track, the team manager has requested that you reside with him.”
I stormed out of the office and raced to the stair well leading down to the locker rooms. It was a Saturday, so no one was in the pitch except my boss, the team manager, and Oliver Wood, who was waiting downstairs to be introduced to his new public relations representative. After silently chastising myself, and smoothing my hair down once again (it was my nervous tick, and if there was ever a time to be nervous, it was now,) I made my way to the locker rooms to introduce myself as Oliver Wood’s new keeper to the man himself. I can just see this going so well for me. No seriously, can’t you feel my excitement?
I starting walking up to the slightly open locker room door and had almost convinced myself to go in when I noticed that the lights were off. Deciding to be brave, I pushed the door open and called out in to the black.
“Mr. Wood? Are you in here?”
I flipped the light on and heard someone inhale sharply through gritted teeth and then a shuffling.
“You may as well call me Oliver. I mean, if you’re going to run my life, we may as well skip the formalities.”
A tall, dark haired man emerged from the area where the showers were located and ran one hand through his hair absently. Thankfully he left his other hand at his waist, considering it was holding on to the only piece of fabric covering his glistening body.
I felt my cheeks go red at the sight of the nearly naked man I had grown so accustomed to seeing on the cover of magazines. Now, I may have a strict “no fraternizing” policy when it comes to my clients, but I’m not blind, and I can tell you this for certain…quidditch robes don’t do Oliver Wood justice. At all.
I looked quickly to the ground and I could hear wood chuckling at my embarrassment. One thing you will learn about me is that I’m rather hotheaded when I feel like I’m being laughed at. I snatched up the Puddlemere united shirt and boxers that were below me on the bench and threw them with such force that I barely had time to turn around before Oliver had to drop the towel in order to catch the pile of clothes.
“Ah, so the assistant is feisty. I like that.” Oliver smirked at me and added a wink for emphasis.
“Oh, come off it, you know I’m not the assistant. You said it earlier. My name is Adelynn Lavoie, and until further notice, you live with me. So get your things together and meet me at the top of the stairs in five minutes.”
“You may not be the assistant, but you’re still feisty” Oliver called as I walked out of the room.
Oh this was definitely going to be my hardest assignment to date. At least there was something appealing to look at during the whole thing. I smiled, covering my mouth with a hand as I climbed the staircase.
Author's note: Hey guys, this is my first story on HPFF. I hope you enjoy it, and leave any reviews you feel are necessary. :)
I promise the next chapter will show a lot more of Adelynn's personality, and I hope you stick around for it all. Thanks for reading!
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