Author's Note: My promised Katie/Oliver. Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Company. The plot is all mine.

Tea Time

Katie Bell despised the darkness.

More specifically, Katie Bell despised being alone in the darkness.

It was a problem that plagued her constantly, a problem that she tried very diligently to overcome. But, as she strode out of her flat, she felt her defenses crumble just a little bit.

As it would happen, there was not a star in the sky. The moon had clouded over hours ago, and the air felt hot and sticky – a sure sign that some kind of storm was on the way. She shivered slightly, despite the humid air, at the overwhelming blackness that surrounded her. Darkness like this, darkness that was so complete, reminded her of more unfortunate times. Quite specifically, it reminded her of a particularly nasty incident during her Sixth Year. It was a rather unfortunate debacle, involving both Fred and George Weasley, a prototype of their Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, several bags of Dungbombs, and a very agitated Miss Norris.

She still tended to flinch whenever the lights went out unexpectedly.

But, unfortunately for Katie, the Instant Darkness incident was not the worst of it. She could vaguely remember darker times when she was younger, flashes of green lights, red lights, things she still hated to think about.

Things were better now. Her friends had been determined to cure her of her fear, and for the most part, were able to help. Of course, she had been very interested in any help offered by one Oliver Wood…

She blushed furiously as she thought of him, convinced that everyone could see her feelings for him written all over her face. Katie couldn't understand it. Normally, she was stoic about these things, keeping her cool and keeping her feelings for crushes inside. This time, she noticed, she was failing miserably. As she reasoned it out in her head, she realized that it was probably because she was in denial. There was no way she could like Oliver. She blushed when she thought about him because she was embarrassed to be thinking of her best friend in such a way.

Yes, she thought was she stepped onto the sidewalk. Embarrassed. Not many people go around thinking of their best friends without their clothes on…

She groaned as the thought crossed her mind. This was Oliver. Her Oliver. The Oliver she had been attached to since she was four years old and had thrown a melon at his head, hard as she could, because he had been making fun of her four-year-old lisp. She smirked as the memory flashed through her head. It had been such a heavy melon, too. But he had caught it, right before it broke his nose, he had snatched it out of the air and given Katie the most peculiar look, as if he was seeing her as more then his mother's friend's devil-spawn of a daughter for the first time. He had smiled, grabbed her hand, and ran off to the open field behind her house, grabbing an assortment of produce on the way. Once he got his fruit set up, he tossed them to Katie, instructing her to throw them back at him as hard as she possibly could.

Katie snorted. She had been so excited at a chance to cause permanent damage to Wood's face. She could still remember the look he had given her when he told her that they better be in the same house at Hogwarts, because he had plans for one hell of a Quidditch team.

For once though, things in Katie's life seemed to be working out. Both she and Oliver had been in Gryffindor, and they had certainly had one hell of a Quidditch team.

She jumped as she kept walking, putting her foot down onto thin air; Katie's daydreaming had taken her to the curb, and with a sigh of relief, she turned where she stood, disappearing with a slight pop.

Halfway across town, Oliver Wood was sound asleep. He was snuggled deeply into his sheets, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in a very thick comforter. As he dreamed, a small smile crept onto his face. Having pleasant dreams no doubt, he rolled over, burying himself deeper into his cocoon-like bed; however, all hopes of a full nights' sleep were shattered when a loud crash sounded from the general direction of his sitting room.

Oliver jumped a mile.

"Shit!" The strangled voice rang out across the house.

Eyes still heavy with sleep, Oliver grabbed his wand from his bedside table and stood up, not at all steady on his feet. Quietly, he made his way around his bed and to the door, wrenching it open while simultaneously lighting his wand. As he made his way down the long hall from his bedroom to the sitting room, his mind began to race. Who could have possibly turned up at this hour? An intruder of some sort, obviously, but why? He had many crazed fans, he realized, but honestly. Who would—

His internal monologue was cut off as he reached the arch in the wall leading into the sitting room. He held his wand high, illuminated tip casting strange shadows over his furniture. He started as a figure suddenly leapt up off the floor and fell back onto the couch, not at all gracefully. He raised his wand, ready to cast the first spell that came to mind.

"Oliver! Ollie! Don't! It's only me!"

Lowering his wand slightly, he took a tentative step towards the couch. He was convinced that he had recognized the strained whisper, but was still too clouded to sleep to be certain. After all, it had been nearly three months since he had heard that voice, and even then, it hadn't been during the most pleasant of circumstances.

"Katie?" he asked, squinting. She rolled her eyes, nodding once. "Katie!"

She stood slowly, although she was rooted to the spot, and nodded again.

"Hello, Oliver." She looked around at her surroundings; not much had changed in the last three months. If anything, he had gotten messier since she last saw him. She smiled inwardly; it was not surprising that Oliver currently found himself up to his ears in junk. Serves him right, she thought pointedly, letting the nasty voice inside her head consume her for a moment.

"Hi… Katie." He sounded confused. "Not to be… rude or anything… but… what are you doing in the middle of my apartment at two o'clock in the morning?"

As tired as he sounded, Katie was glad that she had woken him up. She always took a moment to revel in the glow of an uncomfortable Oliver Wood. Most of the time, it was impossible to catch him off guard; Katie was glad that she finally found an opportunity to do so.

"I needed to talk to you," she said simply. "Can you turn the lights on?"

He jumped slightly, as if coming out of a reverie, and nodded, instantly remember Katie's fear of the dark, instantly remembering nearly all of those seven million little facts about her that he had always known and had tried so hard to suppress during the last, miserable three months.

Her favorite color is purple; her favorite food is spaghetti; she has secretly always wanted to play seeker; she actually hates Roger Davies; she's five feet, five inches tall and she fits nearly perfectly…

He shook his head again, nearly imperceptibly this time, and scolded himself for letting six weeks of hard work go to waste.

Katie, meanwhile, grinned; she had seen him shake his head a second time and had a good idea what he was thinking about. Chuckling quietly to herself, she plopped herself down on his couch, kicked her shoes off, and set her sock feet on his coffee table in a surprisingly graceful movement. Katie Bell was not one known for her unattainable grace. Not on the ground, at least, thought Oliver as he watched her in amazement.

"Look," he said suddenly, "Kate. It's not that I'm not glad to see you. It's just that… last time and all… and now you just show up… and I'm kind of not sure what to think. "

Katie blushed slightly. Oliver chalked it up to the fact that she had either not taken into account what had happened at their last meeting, or she was living blissfully in denial and was shocked that her plan to nearly kill herself in his sitting room in the dead of night had not worked and he was not glad to see her.

Oliver decided that it would be best to clarify.

"It's not that I'm not glad to see you… I am. I'm just confused. You always confuse me, Katie."

She started to shrug it off, but she stopped mid-gesture, and Oliver instantly knew that something was wrong. He rubbed his temples and realized that he had not gotten nearly enough sleep to deal with over-emotional Katie. He also realized, with a startling jolt of reality, that this over-emotional Katie could, quite possibly, have something to do with him.

"Ollie," she whispered. He cringed, nearly visibly, at the use of the nickname employed by most of his female fans. It sounded so harsh coming out of their mouths, he reasoned, so grating. He'd completely forgotten what it sounded like when Katie used that name for him. It was a name he only allowed her to use, after all, no matter now grudgingly the habit had come about during her second year.

He had to admit, the name had grown on him. When used during the proper circumstances, of course.

"Ollie. I'm… I'm…" He panicked slightly as her cheeks turned blotchy red. She exhaled in an attempt to calm herself down. Oliver sat down on the couch, next to her but still slightly removed. Their knees barely brushed as he mimicked her position perfectly, stretching himself out and propping his legs up onto his cluttered coffee table. His bare feet landed on a copy of Which Broomstick, but he simply nudged it out of the way with his foot, still glancing sideways at Katie.

"I needed to talk to you." She whispered. It was so quiet that he had almost missed it. Her eyes were determinedly looking anywhere but his face; in fact, she was practically drilling holes into her own thighs with her tough stare. "But… I shouldn't have bothered you. Not after last time. I'm sorry, Oliver. I'm going to go."

She stood to leave, nearly tripping on the Which Broomstick that Oliver had just kicked to the floor. She steadied herself, and her resolve seemed to crumble as she did. He heard her sniffle and he stood quickly and grabbed her elbow.

"Kate," he mumbled. She was practically refusing to look back. "Katie," he said louder. She turned slightly. He caught sight of a red nose and made his decision, any previous anger or confusion at the girl simply melting away. "Let me make you a cup of tea."

She looked at him, confused by this sudden change in attitude. Her eyebrow cocked slightly, but she nodded, slowly, gently, and allowed herself to be led to his kitchen table and given a seat.

Oliver turned the lights on as high as they would go as he busied himself in the moderately sized room. He hummed lightly; it was a habit that he was not exactly sure of the origin. With a tap of his wand, the kettle was boiling on the stove and he added tea leaves, taking a seat across from Katie as the tea prepared itself behind his back. Their eyes caught as he shifted in his seat, and they both looked away from each other, uncomfortable. The silence was awkward, nothing like their previous silences had been. Those had been comfortable, familiar, accepted. This was just downright embarrassing. Two people who had known each other as long as Katie and Oliver did should not be sitting a kitchen at nearly two-fifteen in the morning with nothing to say to each other. Granted, they shouldn't be sitting in a kitchen at nearly two-fifteen in the morning in the first place, but Oliver felt that it was a result of stupid behavior on both of their parts that had led them to his kitchen in the first place.

The kettle whistled, and Oliver jumped up, crossing the room in two strides and preparing two cups with a generous serving of tea, two spoonfuls of sugar, and, as he recalled that Katie enjoyed, a lemon. Crossing back to the table carefully, he sat, placing the cup down in front of her before sitting in his own seat. They sat in silence a few moments more, and he watched as Katie squeezed her lemon with determination, stirring only when she felt that she had gotten it perfect.

"Katie?" His voice was tentative as she took her first sip. She placed her cup down. "You… you said you wanted to talk?" She nodded. He beamed inside; they were making excellent progress. The last time they had been in this position, she had thrown a saucer at his head and Disapparated.

"I do. Want to talk," she said. "I just don't know how to say it."

"Say what?"

"Oliver. I… " He nodded encouragingly. "Oliver I'm sorry about what happened. It got out of control. I got out of control. I just… I just reckon I lost my head for a little while."

He smiled, this time outwardly, a genuine smile. "Kate, it's okay, really…"

"No, it isn't, Oliver. Please, don't just forgive me to humor me."

"I'm… I'm not humoring you. I mean it."

They sank back into silence as each sipped their tea. Katie found herself drifting, her mind wandering back to the last time they had been together.

Oliver bellowed in frustration, stamping his feet as hard as he could on his hardwood floors. Katie followed him, though doing far less stamping and far more yelling then Oliver.

"I just don't understand, Ollie, what it is you see in her. She's miserable!"

"No, she isn't. And this isn't about me!"

"Isn't about you? Oliver, everything is about you, it's always about you. I want to stay at home tonight, I want you to run this errand for me, I want to run off and play Quidditch for the rest of my life, I want to win the bloody Quidditch Cup and I am going to practice my team silly until they can do it for me! Sound familiar, Oliver? Hmm?

Her voice had taken on a hysterical note as she had followed him down the hall. He entered the kitchen, unsure about what exactly he planned on doing, but simply intent to get away from a particularly aggravated Katie. Unfortunately, it wasn't working and she followed him into the room, still carrying on about how selfish he was being. He rounded on her as she finished her monologue.

"Oh yeah? It's all about me, is it? What about you, always running to me for bloody everything? Hmm? Thought about that?"

Her eyes widened as he put on a ridiculous high-pitched voice, and began speaking.

"Ollie, help me with my homework, Ollie, I'm failing potions, Oliver, why can't you get some time off from work to come see me? It's just a game after all."

"I never said that!" she cried, indignant. For all her faults, Katie rarely complained about Oliver and Quidditch.

"Dear Oliver," he said, obviously not finished, "I hate you. You never write me anymore. I write you all the time, do you even read my letters?" He dropped the mocking tone. "Blah blah blah!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! I hate you, Oliver Wood!"

"If you hate me so much, why are you still standing in my kitchen? Why have you been pestering me since you were four years old? Why haven't you just left me, and my girlfriend, and my life, alone?"

"I haven't left you alone because… because…" She gaped, open-mouthed, staring at his red face at a loss for words. It stung, even more then he was intending it to

"Fine," she screamed. It was his turn to widen his eyes; he hadn't expected her to give up so easily. He hadn't expected her to give up at all. In fact, he had been hoping that she wasn't going to give up. It was killing him, not having the balls to come out and admit… "If you don't want me here," She cut into his train of thought. "Then I'm leaving. I'll leave you, and your girlfriend, and your life, alone."

And with that, she let out a final exhale, full of rage, and chucked the tea saucer at his head. An eerie calm seemed to overtake her as it shattered against the wall, having just missed a ducking Oliver, and she disapparated, quite possibly, realized Oliver, out of his life.

"Katie," he said, waving his arm over her head, trying to get her attention.

"Katieeeeee."

"Huh? Oh. Sorry. I was just…" She gestured, trying to encompass all she had been thinking about into a few words, but failing.

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry too."

"Don't…" she said.

"No. I said some pretty terrible things. I'm an ass, after all, and I realized after you left that you were right."

"About which part?" she asked, fairly certain that the answer she was hoping for was not going to be the one she was given.

He shrugged. "Everything. You were right about everything."

She looked at him in shock. "Did you just admit that you were wrong?"

He groaned. "No need to rub it in, Katie." She opened her mouth as if to speak again, but nodded instead.

"You're right. Well, I'm sorry I stayed so long. I didn't mean to impose. I just wanted to apologize. I've been driving Angelina nuts for days. I'll just be leaving now." She stood, pushing her chair in as she started to walk out of the room. Before she could take more then two steps, she felt a hand gripping her elbow for the second time that night.

"Katie, don't go."

"I have to, Oliver. I can't stay here anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because… because I said too many things that I can't take back. I ruined everything. I always ruin everything!"

She threw her hands up in a wild manner and let out a dry sob, unable to control herself any longer. She slid down the cabinets and onto the floor, where her head rested on her knees and she sniffled loudly, completely surprised when she looked up and saw Oliver sliding down the cabinets to sit next to her. When he situated himself, he grabbed her hand off of her knee where it had been resting, and held it, gently. She looked at him, shocked, and instantly felt her face on fire.

Oh god, she thought, here I go, about to ruin it all again. She reached up her hand to wipe away a few more stray tears that had leaked out. He's speaking to me again, well, almost, and here I go and start thinking about him like that. He's my best friend. Not my boyfriend, not my lover, not a bloody good kisser and an amazing flier and certainly not someone I'm supposed to be interested in at all. Best friend, best friend best…

Her thoughts trailed off as he looked at her; she, if possible, felt herself turn even redder at the piercing stare he gave her. Her hand was already prickling from the contact; if he kept this up much longer, she wouldn't be able to stand it.

Best friend, best friend, best friend – nothing more, nothing less.

Another tear must have leaked out of her eye, and without warning, he lifted his free hand from the floor next to him and dragged his thumb gently across her cheek. She felt little bursts of heat on her face where he touched her, and this time she was barely able to keep chanting her mantra through her head.

Best friend, best friend, best friend

"Look at me."

It came out softly; it was neither a demand nor a request, but simply a statement. She turned her head slowly, still determined to look anywhere but his eyes.

"You can stay here as long as you want."

"No," she started quickly, suppressing a hiccough, "I can't."

"Yes." He said simply. "I've forgiven you."

She shook her head, hiccoughing again.

"I was an ass." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I still am an ass. I shouldn't have let you leave. I should have come right after you…"

"No. I was horrible. You didn't do anything wrong; you were right, actually."

"No, I wasn't. I insist. Because Katie, the moment you left…" His voice seemed to catch in his throat.

Best friend, best friend, best friend

She realized that it wasn't working. He wasn't her best friend. Katie had realized that the second after she left his apartment three months ago. He wasn't her best friend.

He was so much more.

She thought back to the argument that she had been having with herself for weeks – she maintained that they were best friends, that she was simply embarrassed to think of Oliver in such a way. Denial, her brain had screamed, denial. You love him. You need him. He's like flying, like oxygen.

He was so much more.

And finally, after months and months and years, practically, of arguing with herself and tormenting herself and not allowing herself to see what was exactly in front of her face already, Katie came to her senses. She came to her senses right there on Oliver's kitchen floor, and she placed a finger gently over his lips. He deserved to hear this, after all. After all of these years, she was about to come clean, utterly, absolutely, unbelievably clean.

"Oliver." He opened his mouth under his finger. "Oliver I have to tell you something. This is what I needed to talk to you about." He closed his mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut tight, as if he was afraid to hear what was going to come out of her mouth next. After their last incident, Katie couldn't exactly blame him. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, his brown eyes popped open and he jumped up, pulling her with him. They stood in the middle of the room, arms suddenly wrapped tightly around each other as if they were afraid to let go. Every nerve in Katie's body exploded at the touch, at the closeness of it all, but she had yet to make her confession. She opened her mouth again, not realizing that Oliver had made to speak at the exact same time. They spoke together.

"I think I love you."

They both pulled back, surprised at what the other had said. Katie rubbed her eyes furiously, as Oliver tapped himself gently on the side of the head.

They spoke again.

"Did you—"

"I think—"

They both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Oliver's eyes bored into Katie, and for the third time that night, she stared anywhere else but directly at him. He took his hand from her waist and found her chin, gently bringing it up to meet his eyes. After a few moments, Katie broke the silence first.

"We are so stupid," she whispered, moving her hand from his waist to his shoulder. Oliver nodded vigorously.

"So… does this mean I can tell you again?" he asked, moving his forehead slightly so that it touched Katie's.

"Yes, " she whispered.

"Katie, I love you. I know I love you. And I am the stupidest man on earth to have not realized it sooner. "

She smiled, bringing her lips to his gently, and staying there barely a second before pulling away.

"I guess… I guess that we're just meant for each other."

He beamed, catching her lips again, before they, still intertwined, made their way to Oliver's couch, lying down as he turned the lights off with a flick of his wand.

"Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you too."