Remind Me To Breathe

By Christelle

Author's Note: I've been lingering around the Katie/Oliver community for a while now, and now I've finally started my own. Please, tell me what you think! The story's told from Katie Bell's point of view.

Disclaimer: Once, under the influence of lots and lots of Cherry Coke, I decided that J.K. Rowling's characters and setting were my own. I learned my lesson after staring at the cheaply whitewashed wall of a jail cell for fourteen hours. Learn from my mistakes: please, don't drink and write.

Are you aware of what

You make me feel, baby

Right now I feel invisible to you

Like I'm not real

~Avril Lavigne, "Losing Grip"

Chapter One

"Losing Grip"

Catch. Throw. Wait. Watch. Catch. Fly. Throw.

Going through the motions. Just going through the motions.

"EXCELLENT!" shouted Wood as Angelina, Alicia, and I collaborated to put the Quaffle through the far-left hoop. "Absolutely fantastic, girls! The Cup's ours for sure this year."

Fred and George flew lazily up to the four of us, executing wide, fake yawns. "Yes, yes, very good, Chaser-chicks -- can we go in now?" Fred asked.

George nodded. "Yes, we're tired, Oliver. We'll be no use to you dead, you know," he said.

"What? Oh, yes... I suppose it is getting rather late, isn't it?" Wood said, glancing up at the dark sky. His hair was windswept and his face was flushed from the cold. Breathe, Bell, breathe. Damn you, Oliver Wood.

Wood wheeled his broom and dived sharply toward the ground, pulling up just as the handle was a fraction of an inch from the ground. He waited impatiently while the rest of us settled on the leaf-scattered turf.

"Right. Hit the showers, team."

He spun away and strode toward the locker rooms. I narrowed my eyes at his retreating back. How dare he be so lively after all he'd just put us through? The very nerve...

Angelina's groan interrupted my internal tirade. She moaned piteously again as we all looked at her. "I can't stand this," she muttered. "He's impossible..."

"Is it always like this?" said Harry Potter, the new Seeker. I pity him – fame is all very well, but I'm sure he wearies of hearing the same questions over and over again... people curious about what he does and doesn't remember... I must confess I've been more than a little curious myself. So far I've restrained myself from asking.

"Yes," I said to him now, grinning like a madwoman. "It's always like this. It will never get any better."

And, with a little mad laughter, I tottered off to the lockers and a hot shower, followed lazily by the Weasley twins, Angelina, Alicia, and Harry.

I pushed open the door and nearly ran into Wood. "Oliver?" I said inquiringly.

He seemed to be rather paralyzed. I shoved him unceremoniously and he stumbled forward, looking back at me reproachfully.

"I warned you – oh, my God..." I dodged a firework that whizzed past my head, missing my face by inches. It wasn't alone in its sparkling vividness. Whoever had set this up must have bought out Filibuster's entire stock.

My eyes traveled around the room, taking in the chaos in its extremity. Clothes scattered the floor; lockers swung forward on their hinges, open, the locks twisted masses of molten lead. Weren't there Anti-Jinx spells on those locks? The crate that held the Quidditch balls had been upturned: the Golden Snitch fluttered around the room, released from its cage. It wasn't the only thing with wings in the room. An owl hooted from the top of the lockers. Catching sight of something tied to its leg, I reached up and the owl condescended to step onto my arm.

Wood untied the note and held it up, frowning. "There's nothing on it," he said.

"What?" I snapped, snatching it from him. I'd had quite enough for one night, for God's sake. This was getting ridiculous.

"What's going on?"

The rest of the team had caught up. I moved forward to allow them to enter the room, not really desiring the treatment I myself had granted Wood.

"See? It's blank," he said.

"No... it's not," I answered. I pointed to something in the center of the ragged strip of parchment.

"Blood," gasped Angelina, throwing a hand to her heart.

"Don't be silly," I said, peering at it. "It's just red ink."

"Someone's idea of a bad joke, no doubt," said Alicia.

"What?" said Fred and George simultaneously as all eyes turned to them.

"I don't know – is there a reason we should be looking at you?" questioned Wood. His Scottish accent was even more prominent than usual. Something about the shock of finding his locker room in shambles, I expect. I'm not complaining.

"Who, us?" retorted George, looking hurt.

"There's an old adage about fouling one's own nest," added Fred.

We turned back to the disorder in front of us. Harry snatched the Snitch as it whizzed past Angelina's knee. He pinned its wings to its sides and thrust it back into the crate. George, still carrying a struggling Bludger, strapped it back in as well. He dusted his hands off and looked at Fred.

"Don't you have the other Bludger, mate?" asked George.

"Who, me?" said Fred, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you got them both."

The door crashed open and Professor McGonagall swept in, wearing her tartan dressing gown.

"Professor?" said Wood, retaining as much dignity as possible. McGonagall's eyes widened and her lips tightened as she stared around the room.

"What," she said, her nostrils flaring, "has been happening here, Wood?"

Wood coughed. I felt rather sorry for him.

"Er," pronounced our captain. "Well, that's just the thing, Professor..."

"I suggest," interrupted McGonagall, giving the Weasleys a hard look, "that you clean this... mess... up. Now."

She thrust a Bludger at Wood, who, after the initial surprise, caught it and forced it into the crate and strapped it in.

"You are very lucky indeed," said Professor McGonagall as she swept out again. "If the glass in the windows of my office was not easily repairable by magic, you would be in very deep trouble. I would hate to take playing rights away from my own House."

The door slammed shut again.

"What?" said Harry, staring after her.

"I think that damned Bludger broke her office window," Angelina said in a strangled voice. She pulled a fragment of glass out of a crack in the Bludger's exterior. She glared at Wood. "I just hope you're happy, Captain," she snarled, and she stalked away. Alicia followed. I grinned at Wood's stunned expression.

"She gets cranky when she's tired, Oliver," I said. "Something about the late-night practice, I expect."

I stumbled over to the showers, where Angelina and Alicia were already washing. I struggled out of my clothes and turned on the hot jet, letting the hot water run over my tired body. I closed my eyes. Ah, yes... hot showers must be God's gift to Quidditch players.

Especially to Quidditch players under the captaincy of the Incredibly Handsome Mr. Wood.

"Um... Kate?" called Angie from the other side of the shower. "It's getting rather late. You almost done?"

"Yeah," said Alicia. "We're already dressed. Hurry up."

"You guys go ahead," I said, not willing to leave the comfort of my shower. "I'll catch up. My weary limbs need rejuvenation."

I heard Angelina's empathetic chuckle and Alicia saying, "Okay, Katie. We'll be upstairs."

Then I closed my eyes and fell asleep on my feet. Literally.

*

Darkness. Sweet darkness. And hot water, nice relaxing hot water... heaven. It's the only explanation. I've died and gone to heaven. Mmmmm...

"Bell?"

My eyes snapped open. Not that Oliver Wood wasn't present in his entirety in my version of heaven, but dear Lord. What time was it? Just how long had I been dozing?

"Yes?" I said in a strained voice.

"You've been in there quite a while," he said. I could just see him, with that sexy questioning look on his face... Bell! Breathe, Bell, breathe!

"Yes," I confirmed. "Er – what time is it, Oliver?"

"Ten thirty," he said, after a pause. "Everything okay?"

"Quite," I forced out. "And – what's curfew, again?"

"Ten," Wood said calmly.

"Oh," I said. I think I must have sounded rather freaked out, because he said,

"Calm down, Bell. How do you think I've survived so long in this school?"

"What?" I said brilliantly.

"Here – I'm going back to the lockers. Come out when you're dressed."

I heard his footsteps recede back into the adjoining room. What the hell was he talking about? Quickly I shrugged into my jeans and sweater.

I didn't see him at first when I walked into the locker room, so I went to my locker and shoved my Quidditch robes into it, locking it with a muttered spell. When I turned around he was there.

"What were you going on about?" I demanded. "Shit. I've already got that detention for Snape..."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Calm down," he said again. He pulled out his wand and reached for my hand. He muttered something under his breath and... he – wasn't there anymore. It was as simple as that. I looked at our joined hands and discovered very quickly that I wasn't there either.

"What was that?" I shrieked. "Where are you? Where am I?"

I struggled and he tightened his hold on my hand. He grabbed my other arm to stop my frantic flailing. Whoa. He was stronger than even I'd given him credit for.

"Calm," he said. "Breathe, Bell, breathe."

Okay, that was when I got really wigged out. I mean, he's not supposed to know my private mantra! Especially not the mantra I use when he's affecting me too much! No one's supposed to know that mantra, not even Angelina and Alicia. I suppose it's not a very original private mantra, but still...

But I took a deep breath to show that I'd been listening.

"Good," Wood said. "Right, then... let's go."

"Let me get this straight," I said, as he led me toward the door. "You know how to do a Cloaking Spell? That is N.E.W.T. level magic!"

"Well," said Wood. I could see him blushing, I could see him... Breathe, Bell, breathe...

"Well?" I prodded.

"My brother taught it to me," he said, as if this would remove my inquisition from him. Oh, really, Oliver? Your brother can do a Cloaking Spell? But, but, he's only, what – twenty, twenty-five? Oh, then it's not impressive at all that you can do one. Your ability pales beside that of your brother. He hasn't already taken N.E.W.T.s or anything like that. I mean, he's only five or ten years older and more experienced than you are.

I made an effort and stopped my inner tirade for the second time that night. Whoa, chill out, Bell.

And all I said was, "Ah."

The silence we walked in wasn't uncomfortable; it was necessary. There's a difference. We barely got past Peeves on the second floor corridor ("What? Wot's zis? I knows you're there, ickle kiddies! Peeves should call Mr. Filch, hmmmm?") and I felt sure the Bloody Baron saw right through us. But Wood never let go of my hand. I think I remember reading that contact is necessary for Cloaking Spells, but it still reassured me.

We were just outside the Fat Lady when her portrait swung open from the inside. Wood swore under his breath and spun me around against the wall. The length of his body pressed into me.

Breathe, Bell, breathe. Breathe, dammit...

I barely saw Harry step out of the common room, looking furtively around, but I noticed when he disappeared. The Fat Lady hadn't even closed before Wood led me inside. He released me at the foot of the girls' dormitories and we both reappeared. He looked shaken, and his face was flushed. I doubted it was from the cold this time.

"Did you notice what Potter had?" he said to me.

"What? No," I said. I was too busy noticing you, Mr. Wood.

"That boy's got an Invisibility Cloak," he said. "My God... well, good night, Bell. See you tomorrow."

I fell into bed without even undressing. It had been a very, very long day.

*

I was in bad shape the next morning. My head ached and my throat was sore. Needless to say, I wasn't in a great mood.

"Are you okay, Katie?" Alicia asked me when I overslept.

"I'm just peachy," I croaked crossly. I swung my legs over the bed and clutched my head, moaning.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard Angelina whisper to Alicia.

"I think she's got a headache," Alicia hissed back. Brilliant deduction, Lish.

I glared at them both for good measure and stalked to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would clear my throbbing head.

Shower.

Last night. Shower. Sleeping in the shower. Wood.

Oh, yeah.

My day was looking up.

"Um, Kate?" Angie called from the bedroom.

"Yeah?" I said, pulling myself back to reality.

"We're gonna be late for breakfast. You almost through?"

"Go ahead," I said again. "I'm not really hungry."

"No, we'll wait for you." That was Alicia.

"No, really," I said. "I'm gonna swing by the hospital wing and see if Madam Pomfrey has anything for a headache."

"Okay. See you in Charms, then."

I waited until I heard the door close before turning off the shower. I really, really hoped Pomfrey did have something for a headache. I think the hot water aggravated it rather than improved it.

*

My book-filled bag swung merrily against my derriere as I walked downstairs to the hospital wing. My mood fouled with each step. By the time I reached the infirmary I was ready to kill, and no mistake. I wasn't particularly picky about who to kill, but I was considering either Flitwick, with whom I had my first lesson today, or McGonagall, who'd made Wood captain and therefore responsible for team practices.

I didn't even think about killing Wood, of course. One shouldn't kill the guy one happens to be head over heels in love with. It's not smart. Even if the guy one happens to be in love with is blind to any and all worldly things except Quidditch.

As I entered the hospital wing, I realized that if Madam Pomfrey didn't have a cure for my headache, she'd be the perfect victim. My head seemed to be splitting, and it was doing so in an agonizingly slow fashion. I threaded my way through the beds. Most of them were empty.

I forced a smile at Wood as we passed and he returned it, if in a preoccupied sort of manner. I didn't stop to wonder what the hell he was doing in the hospital wing. My head hurt too much to worry about little things like that.

"My head – it hurts," I whimpered, clutching Madam Pomfrey's sleeve. Without a word, she handed me a sickly green liquid and I downed it. My head cleared at once.

"Ah," I said, returning the glass gratefully. "Thanks."

"You'd better get to class, Miss Bell," said Madam Pomfrey.

I nodded and meandered back around the beds and out through the door. I'd have to run to get to Charms on time – I was already running late. Now would not be a good time to get another detention. Although, detention with Flitwick was undoubtedly heaven next to detention with Snape. That was one thing I was not looking forward to, and unless I was very much mistaken, it was scheduled for tonight. What a wonderful day I was turning out to have.

I blame my rising frustration and my desire not to be late to Charms for what happened next.

"Oi," grunted Wood as I ran headlong into him. I looked up. I come up to his shoulder, so, at close range, I had to look up quite a lot.

"Sorry," I said apologetically. He grinned down at me and I bit the inside of my lip. Breathe, Bell. Breathe.

"Where're you off to in such a hurry, hey?"

Damn that Scottish accent. Oh God.

"Charms," I forced out between tightly gritted teeth. I will be strong. I will not melt. I will...

He adjusted his bag on his arm and I stared fiercely at his face. I am so not looking at your rippling muscles, Wood. I am absolutely not interested. He gave me an odd look.

"You okay, Bell?" he inquired. "You've been acting a bit... strange."

I'm cracking, I thought desperately. I'm finally cracking, that's why...

"I'm fine," was my brainy reply, and I started walking. I couldn't look at him anymore. He caught up and fell into step beside me. What, now he's stalking me? Not that I'd mind, but... well.

"I was going to say, what a coincidence," he said cheerfully. I threw away all hopes of outwalking him. Sometimes those long legs of his actually come in handy, and not just for my personal fantasies.

"What?" I said distractedly.

"That you're off to Charms, I mean," Wood elaborated. "I've got Transfiguration."

Same part of the school. Damn. He'd probably insist on tailing me the whole way there, then. This situation would have been so perfect in other circumstances – but not now, when that blasted headache had weakened my defenses and my resolve was crumbling out of sheer despair.

But I said, "Excellent."

We engaged in idle smalltalk and I pretended not to notice the way the muscles in his arms moved when he shifted his bag, or the way his eyes lit up when he was talking about Quidditch. Or the way his hair curled softly at the nape of his neck and how long-fingered and exquisite his hands were.

Well. I did say I pretended not to notice.

Breathe, Bell, breathe.

Just breathe.

*

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