a/n: I thought I'd give a Katie x Oliver fic a go, seeing as they're one of my fav couples... Completely different style to my usual writing and a bit less angsty, so let me know what you think!
It was the thudding noise which had woken me up, I decided, forcing my eyes to open. Someone was knocking on my bedroom door. I glanced over at the clock- 3 a.m. Could no one come at a civilised time these days?
"Ka-tie?" Oliver whined as he stuck his head round the door. I rubbed my eyes, half-hoping and half-fearing that this was indeed the case and not some hallucination coming from my sleep-deprived brain. Nope, definitely not a hallucination...
"What, Oliver? It's 3 a.m. and I'm trying to sleep," I snapped. I was so tired even that didn't have its usual bite.
The big, Quidditch-obsessed oaf stepped into my room, shut the door behind him, and then came and sat on my bed; despite the tone in my voice that told him this would be a bad idea. I glared at him for good measure, although it was wasted in the grey dark and on my oblivious friend.
"Can I please sleep on your floor? Your brother snores."
In order to explain why Oliver was making this request, you have to understand a bit of Bell family history.
My older brother had been Oliver's Quidditch captain when they were both at Hogwarts, before passing the captainship on to Oliver. Oliver then joined Andrew's Quidditch team straight out of school, and the pair became as good friends as Oliver and I ever were.
Andrew was getting married the next day, and Oliver was being his best man, hence the sleepover. As a bridesmaid, I really should have been at the bride's house with the others, but two hours with Penelope Weasley (married to Percy, Matron of Honour) was enough to make me scream- I hated to imagine what a whole night would do.
As for Oliver and I- well, being a Chaser on his Gryffindor Quidditch team hadn't exactly helped us becoming friends. Rather, in spite of it we were quite close, to the extent that he was like a second older brother to me (not that I ever needed more than one!).
I tried to ignore my subconscious yelling Yeah, if you have very inappropriate feelings for your big brother. Just tell him you love him already! I'd been attempting this feat of self-denial since Third Year- it never seemed to get any easier.
Aloud, I went for the slightly less risky, "Yes, Oliver, you can sleep here tonight. Why not in the lounge though?"
He stole some of my duvet in a rather underhanded manoeuvre and shoved his cold feet under it, before replying, "Your Auntie Cynthia. Sofa bed. Can't hack it."
Now that I could understand... She was one mean old lady- and I'm allowed to say that, she's my aunt after all. However, that didn't give him the right to steal my entire duvet...
"Oliver. Floor. I'm trying to sleep here, and you're not helping by prodding me with your freezing cold feet." Or by giving me butterflies because you're in my bed.
He grumbled a bit under his breath but got up and lay down on my rug. I chucked him a blanket and a pillow- the rest I needed for myself. It was December, and I get cold easily... My feet were blue.
Becoming more accustomed to the grey, I could look over at Oliver, and see that he wasn't wearing a shirt- before he pulled the blanket around himself tightly. My nerves started tingled as I tried desperately to look away. Suddenly I didn't feel at all tired...
"So, how're things?" I asked, suddenly, anything to stop me imagining... Greyness overwhelmed us, only a thin chink of moonlight seeping through the crack in the curtains. It made it easier to talk, not really being able to see his face, pretending he wasn't there. Almost like being in Confessional, which my Muggle grandmother insisted on dragging me to every time we visited. No judgement was being passed though, and the darkness made me braver- an invitation to share secrets if I dared...
Not that secret. I'd never tell him how I felt. I doubted I'd ever be brave enough for that.
"I thought you were trying to sleep?" he said, sounding more than a little confused.
"I was. I can't," I told him, hoping he didn't mind. I tried to snuggle further into my blankets- why was it so damn cold? I really hate winter. "So how are things?"
"Good, thanks. We're doing well in the League, and I finally bought my own house," he gloated, more than a hint of pride in his voice. We'd both been desperate to move out and start living our own lives after Hogwarts, but both our parents were dead set against the idea. This despite the fact that Oliver was now 23, and had more than enough money to buy about three houses!
There had to be a catch somewhere. "How come they let you move out?" I asked, trying to sound curious rather than jealous.
"Er, it's a cottage in the middle of nowhere. And I sort of promised that I'd offer you the other room- they seem to think I'm far more likely to survive with someone who can actually cook and will remember things like meal times..." he said sheepishly. "It's a bit of a dump, so don't feel like you're under any pressure-"
I was already leaping up, and ignoring the last sentence, pulled my blanket around me and ran to hug him. "This is bloody brilliant! Thank you so much! I can really move in with you?" I tailed off, blushing, as I realised I was now lying next to Oliver. Stop thinking that thought...
"Yes, our parents have discussed it. It was going to be a surprise for your 21st, but I'm getting kind of lonely. And fed up of beans on toast."
"My 21st isn't for three months! How did they think you could survive until then?" I asked, giggling.
"I think they just didn't want to lose you," Oliver said, suddenly becoming very serious. I got back up and into bed, re-burying myself in my mound of blankets. I heard him mutter something to himself.
"What was that?" I questioned.
I could feel the Oliver Glower even when I couldn't see it. "Did you never hear- curiosity killed the Kate?"
"Oh very funny," I told him, shutting my eyes and rolling over. It was obvious he wasn't going to say any more. "Night, Oliver."
"Night, Katie."
I was having a dream, I had to be. Oliver and I were living together and I still hadn't told him that I got a headrush just looking at him. And then You-Know-Who attacked, and Oliver was killed in front of me—
I woke up kicking around in my bed, thankfully not screaming for once. It had dropped another couple of degrees and I was shivering under my blankets. Once I had my heart rate under control I rolled over and looked around.
Oliver seemed to be having similar problems sleeping. He was shivering, the moonlight reflecting off his open eyes.
"Oliver?"
"Katie?"
"I'm freezing. Do you- that is, aren't you?" I asked, fumbling my words as his eyes locked with my own.
"Yeah. Can I- just that, it's so cold, and- anyway," he said, his accent getting thicker, making some sort of motion with his hands I couldn't quite decipher.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Oliver," I said, trying to suppress another bout of shivering.
"Can I get into bed?" he said, taking a deep breath, sighing softly.
I blushed crimson. Beetroot has nothing on me when I get going. Good thing it was so dark, or that could have been quite embarrassing. "Yes," I answered, hoping there was no tell-tale quiver in my voice.
I watched as he stood up, pulling the blanket round his shoulders like a cloak. He picked up his pillow and put it at the head of the bed, and then quick as a flash whipped off the blanket, and leaped into my bed.
On top of me. Bet you're enjoying this...
"Katie, can you shove over a little?" he pleaded, having moved himself off me. "My arm's hanging out."
Breathing hard, as if that was going to nullify the effects of his closeness (it didn't), I replied "It's a single bed, I haven't got much room myself." I tried pressing myself against the wall even so, but we were still laying shoulder to shoulder, an invisible line between us creating a space I didn't dare enter. Both faces upturned, staring at the ceiling, lying there oh-so-carefully. I was scared in case I touched him, let alone to turn and face him- our faces were only about an inch away from each other.
"Oh, okay," Oliver said, voice well modulated. Only the strength of his accent (you've got to love that Scottish accent) gave any hint as to his emotions.
"Look, just shuffle over a bit, I won't bite." Did I just say that? What was I thinking? Who knew what could happen if—
He moved, and our shoulders were pressed together, the backs of our hands touching. I gulped, and shivered again.
"You're still cold, Katie?" he teased, grinning, the Scottish strengthening.
"No," I told him. Tingles were circling my hand, shooting up my arm. Why didn't I lie?
A pause. "You're still dating Davies?" he asked, changing the subject completely.
"Is that your idea of pillow talk?" I asked, bursting into laughter and losing some of my nerves. It still felt like I was dancing round a flame; who knew when I'd get burned? "Anyway, no. That lasted a month, but he's not- I mean, he's not what I want." Nicely caught there. I'd been about to say 'you'.
I don't know when I started loving Oliver. I certainly had a crush on him in those early years on the Quidditch team, and by the end of Fourth Year I was definitely in love... but when it happened is a mystery. It wouldn't have worked in school anyway- three school years is a big age gap.
"Still dating Eloise?" I asked after a while. Please say no, please say—
"I never dated her. I haven't dated anyone since I left Hogwarts."
"Too busy with Quidditch?" I asked sympathetically but Oliver was shaking his head, taking my hand—
Big shivers, tingles stronger than casting a Patronus—
"I wanted to tell you so many times, but I always chickened out," he was saying, through the fizz of excitement and joy in my head. The head rush multiplied by about a million.
"I did too," I told him, grinning. Our hands clasped fiercely, fingers entwined, thumbs dancing together. I never wanted to let him go.
"I love you, Katie Bell," he said quickly, still sounding a little afraid.
I met his eyes, warm and brown, skipped a breath in the feeling as he buried a hand deep in my blonde hair. "I love you too."
Then I leant in to kiss him. The pure joy in the way his lips caressed my own, he whispered my name, a hand cupping my cheek, stubble scratching my face—
Hands moving lower, breathing faster, kisses deeper—
Collapsing back onto my pillows, his arm around me and my head on his chest.
I woke up to the creak of my door opening, held tightly to Oliver's chest. My mother's blonde head came round the door. The infamous Bell blush was back.
No screaming, shouting. I looked up, and met her eyes.
"About time too," she said.
The sound of the door closing behind her woke Oliver up. His eyes glittered in the sunlight, darker than usual but warm and joyful. "Good morning, gorgeous. Did you need any more enticement to move in with me?"
I laughed, and traced a line down his chest, before nodding vigorously. Oliver looked excited- the wrong kind of excited- was this going to be about—
I rolled my eyes as he spoke. Some things will never change.
"There's a field out the back, big enough for a full size Quidditch pitch!"