Disclaimer: Well…unfortunately…I just didn't think this up first…

A/n: PLEASE R&R!

For Amy, The one with the Amazing Spirit

Chapter One: The One with the Wedding Date

I've always been, and most likely, always will be the wrinkle in the tablecloth. What I mean is that I will never live up to my family expectations. You see, I am the oldest of the Bell sisters, and yet my name remains Katie Bell. However, the name my youngest sister, Melanie, receives on her postage is no longer Melanie Bell, but Melanie Reiss. Of course, it wasn't such a sob story when my youngest sister married before I did, we had all known she'd be first. That was who she was. Still, I was expected to marry second, and as you can see, that is not the case. You can call me the screw-up. I almost fulfilled my family expectations once, but you can guess how well that turned out. At the time, it didn't phase me so much.

Of course, I was heartbroken at the sudden halt in my engagement, only two weeks before the wedding. Though, I had still supposed that I would marry before my middle sister, Samantha.

That was two years ago.

I hate to be the bitter sister, but you'll have to understand receiving an invitation to my sisters' wedding by mail from Australia was rather upsetting. Only because my sister was marrying a lifetime friend, Thomas Coones…who was best friends with another lifetime friend, Roger Davies. This may sound ironic, but that's only because it isn't. Roger was once my so-called fiancé, you know, the one I was supposed to be married to. I could just imagine that smug little smirk on his lips when I arrived at the wedding without a date. Single. Lonely.

I glared at the envelope, with all its pretty calligraphy and little embossed silver roses. It was such a beautiful little bit of parchment, I almost felt bad for wishing I could burn it. I made a sound of indignation as I stood up from my couch and stomped into my kitchen, tucking a stray strand of strawberry blonde hair out of my eyes.

My eyes fell upon my reflection. That's another thing I've failed miserably on. Being the pretty sister. I'm not the beautiful sister, I'm not the smart sister. No, I'm Katie. Katie, the average-looking sister who lives in an average-looking house in average-looking suburbia. Samantha was the pretty sister. The little vivacious blonde who always got what she wanted; but then again, she always wanted everything.

Meredith, who I have failed to mention simply because she's my least favorite of my sisters, was the smart sister. Meredith had always been a brain, and a cute girl at that. Cool blue eyes, stock-straight straw-colored hair, not to mention the perfect amount of freckles on her nose. She was a year younger than Samantha, but I never actually count her in the line up. There's a strict family line-up rule. You are nice to Katie and Katie is nice to you.

Now Melanie was the one with all the personality. She was bright as day and optimistic, loud, and crazy. That's what the guys go for though. The psycho. They're all married. Hell, even my brother is married. Blake is older than I am, but I guess I can count him.

I sighed loudly, flipping the mirror over so that I could only see the back of it. Much better. Just hide the boringness. I'm bland. My hair is bland. My eyes are brown. My teeth are pretty, but my siblings' teeth always seem to be just one shade whiter. My nose is a bit too long. I have no personality. What did I get? An undeserved kick in the pants, that's what I think. God has always held something against me.

It's all because I defied tradition. It's because I'm an oddball. Because I hate reading, I hate writing, I hate shopping, I hate make-up. I love Quidditch. I love crude jokes. I love watching people fall. I love food. I love sitting on my bum. That's why God hates me. I'm a disgrace to humanity.

I'm not skinny like everyone else. I'm average. Did I mention Average just about sums me up? I didn't graduate with honors and I don't have any trophies. I have a couple scars on my legs and a dog. What I find utterly hilarious is that Scooter, my dog, gets more attention than I do. Scooter has got it made, if you ask me. He doesn't have to worry about his family forgetting his birthday. He doesn't have anything to be ashamed of. He can pee wherever he wants and all he gets is a little laugh and then sent to take a nap while I clean up his mess.

Not that I'm jealous of my dog. Even if I was, you have no proof. What a silly thing to even assume! Jealous of my dog…yeah…that's me. Katie Bell: Jealous of Scooter the dog.

"Scooter!"

So speak of the devil…

I giggled at my silly little dog as he jumped up and down, licking my legs. Even my voice is off. It's all raspy. I sound like I have a permanent chest-cold. I have the cutest little dog. I found him on the side of the road and, naturally, brought him home. He loves me. He's my back-up plan. If I never get married, I'll still have Scooter. He doesn't treat me different! Scooter loves me no matter what!

"Scoot! Scooter! Come back! Where are you going?" I called out, stomping my foot as Scooter bounded out of the kitchen. So much for loyal companion.

I flinched when I heard something come to a crash in the living room. Dumb dog. I ruffled my hair as I came out of the kitchen. I have no manners, just so you know. When I'm alone, I go all out. Stained tee-shirt and faded flannel pajama pants. Of course, this is usually when someone chooses to come on over.

"Ew! Katie! This place is a sty!"

See what I mean? I blushed, dropping my hand from my hair and grinning at my best friend, Oliver Wood.

"I've been busy! You try cleaning on my schedule!" I replied, sticking my nose up. Oliver rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure. So busy you had time to leave me ten messages on my work phone?"

I stuck my tongue out rudely, because I am so mature. My best friend…what can I tell you about Oliver? Well, he's Scottish and hot. There you go.

"Those messages were very important!"

"Uhuh. Telling me every detail of your bloody dreams must be so important," Oliver scoffed, bending down and picking up a few tossed-aside articles of clothing.

"It was!" I defended. It was important to me! Work is boring and I had nothing else to do!

"Tell me, Katie, where is the importance in a dream you had about pulling your bras out of a dryer?"

"They weren't just my bras, Oliver. They were hooked together and all different colors."

Oliver glanced up at me incredulously. Oh Oliver…you have no idea how hot you are…

"What are you eating before you go to bed? New rule. No food after nine."

"I'm not eating anything! Just a cookie! But that doesn't count!" I said quickly, giggling.

Oliver scrunched up his nose, gagging. It took me a moment to realize he had just put his foot in last night's dinner. Maybe I should stop leaving plates on the floor. I would have cleaned it myself…but I seemed to have misplaced my wand. Grunting, Oliver cleaned off his foot, picking up the plate and walking briskly to the kitchen.

"Katie, this is disgusting! In the time you spend leaving me messages about your magically colored bras, you could have this whole house cleaned! You're a witch, for Merlin's sake!" Oliver pointed out, turning on the hot water tap. I felt my ears turn red. I hadn't seen my wand for almost two weeks.

"Where's your wand?"

"Uh…well…I lost it!" I said as though it was no big deal. Oliver ran a tired hand through his thick chestnut-colored hair, shaking his head.

"You are unbelievable," he murmured, turning off the water.

"Who invited you in?" I demanded, growing rather irritated with my friend. Like I didn't know that already!

"I don't need an invitation. This is like my house," Oliver replied, yawning softly. It was true. He even had his own small little space in my closet.

"Yeah, well, that can change!"

"What? The house? You can't find your wand. I don't know if you should try remodeling without it…"

I made an indignant noise, glaring at Oliver. He glared right back, his pretty green eyes boring into mine.

"Well, who died and made you Merlin?" I demanded, strutting out of the kitchen moodily. Oliver followed.

"Oh…I'm sorry…was that your comeback?"

"Hey! You can't use the word comeback inside of your comeback!" I snapped, jabbing an accusative finger at Oliver's chest. I swear, someday my finger is going to break right off. He's got the best body out of anyone I know.

"Don't hurt yourself trying to think of a comeback, Katie. I completely understand it's a tough thing to do and it requires skills," Oliver chuckled, grinning at the look of aggravation on my face.

"You are just full of it, aren't you?"

"Full of what? Be specific."

"Just help me clean up!" I ordered, punching him playfully in the arm. Honest to God, I think it hurts my hand more than his arm.

Oliver and I then began the grueling task of picking things up around my apartment.

"Hey, Katie! This picture won't hang!" Oliver said sometime later, struggling to hang up a framed photo of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Just get the tack in the hole!" I said, busy scrubbing my table.
"It won't go in!"

"Yeah, you're screwed if you can't get it in the hole," I called back. I'd just hang it up later.

"…But...if you get it in the hole aren't you screwed?"

I paused a moment, my mind chewing thoughtfully on his words. My eyes widened like saucers.

"Oliver!" I gasped, gaping at my friend, who was grinning like we had just won the House Cup all over again. "You little pervert!"

"Little?" Oliver asked curiously, dropping the picture and walking towards me. I shook my head, screaming and dashing towards the couch. Too late. I was trapped. Before I knew it, I was giggling madly as Oliver tickled me.

"You smell like Strawberries," I acknowledged after Oliver had released me. Oliver tilted his head.

"You smell like you need a bath."

I grimaced, rolling my eyes haughtily.

"Bugger off," I snapped, standing up and striding into my bedroom. Oliver followed me, plopping down on my bed. I glanced over my shoulder.

"I'm going to undress. Do you mind?"

"Nope," Oliver yawned, falling back into my sheets and closing his eyes. I smiled faintly, gathering up my bathrobe and walking into my bathroom, shutting the door.

When I came out of my shower several minutes later (after trying vainly to come up with a solution to finding a date for my sister's wedding) Oliver was still lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I gasped quietly, staring at his abdomen which was peaking out from between the waistline of his jeans and the hem of his long-sleeved tee-shirt, which had ridden up a bit. He was so toned! It wasn't fair.

"Thirty four," Oliver said suddenly. I raised an eyebrow.

"Thirty four what?"

"Thirty four tiles on your ceiling."

I blinked, and sure enough, I glanced up and began counting the tiles. Typical me. I still needed a date for the wedding. I couldn't show up alone, I'd die. My dignity was all I had left.

"So Samantha's getting married?"

"Yeah," I said distractedly, still thinking over the problem at hand. Maybe I could hire a date. That's what Oliver does for Puddlemere United parties…

"We should go on vacation, you and I! We're becoming hermits. I have a cousin in Sydney…"

I ignored Oliver. Who could I ask?

"Maybe we could go next week. Wait, when's Sammy's wedding?"

"Next week," I answered automatically.

"Damn, Sydney would've been so nice! I've always wanted to go to Australia," Oliver rambled. I wished he would just shut up a moment. "My cousin got married in Sydney, but I couldn't miss the Quidditch Finals…"

"Ollie, I love you, but could you shut up a minute? I'm trying to figure out what to do here!"

"About what?"

"Sam's wedding!" I answered impatiently. He's so dense sometimes.

"Oh! Is she having it here?"

"No! In Sydney!"

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"What about the wedding can you not figure out? You go, you smile and look pretty."

"I need a da- Oliver!"

"What?" Oliver asked, glancing around curiously.

"You!"

"Yes…me…" Oliver mocked, gasping.

"You can be my date!" I said excitedly. Why hadn't I thought of it before? He was perfect! Roger also hated Oliver with a burning passion. Who better to show that asshole just what he was missing?

"Your date for what?" Oliver said.

"The wedding!"

"What wedding?"

"Sam's!" I bellowed, throwing my hands up. Whoops…dropped the towel. I quickly dived for it, wrapping it around myself again. I didn't really mind. Oliver and I were past the blushing. We'd been friends too long to care.

"You want me to date you? For your sister's wedding? Wait!" Oliver said suspiciously, "Isn't Sam's lover best friends with Roger?"

I shuffled my feet. So what? It wasn't my fault he deserved it!

"He's not her lover, Oliver. He's her fiancée!" I pointed out, changing the subject.

"Same thing. You didn't answer me, Katelyn. Isn't What's-his-face best friend with Roger?"

"Don't call me Katelyn! And yes, okay! Yes! Tom is friends with Roger!" I said exasperatedly, pulling a light blue jumper over my head.

"So how much are you going to pay me to give Roger what's coming to him?" Oliver asked casually, sitting up and folding his arms. I gaped at my so-called best friend.

"I'm not paying you Squat! Your payment is taking me to my sister's wedding, Oliver James Wood," I replied saucily, making careful usage of Oliver's full name.

"Well then, God have mercy on me, No way. I'm not getting all cozy with you without something in it for me!"

"You are a shallow friend, Oliver!"

"Am not. You're shallow! You want me to lie to your whole family and charade like we're going steady or something, just to get back at Roger Davies!" Oliver snapped. He sounded almost as though I had hurt his feelings.

"Oh come on! You hate Roger!"

"So? I hate seafood too, but I'm not going into a Seafood restaurant and eating a hamburger," Oliver said rationally.

"…What's with the analogy?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Oliver, please do this for me!" I begged, kneeling down and folding my hands pathetically. Oliver sighed.

"Alright then. When do we leave?"

I trapped my lifetime best friend in a tight embrace.

"Monday! Thank you so much, Oliver. You have no idea how much this means to me!" I said gratefully, climbing up on his lap and plopping myself down. He sighed.

"Just promise me one thing. Don't fall in love with me, alright?"

I smiled awkwardly. He was such a weird one.

"I promise," I laughed, hugging him again. He frowned.

"Promise me, for real."

"I promise Oliver!" I said again, rolling my eyes.

"Do you pinky promise?"

"You are the biggest weirdo that I know. Yes, I thumb promise if it makes you feel better," I grinned, dragging my friend up by the arm. "We have to get you a nice suit for the rehearsal dinner."

"Kates…you smell like peaches," Oliver grinned, and I giggled as we apparated out of my apartment.