Him and Those Bloody Bludgers.

"Merlin's beard!" I quipped. "If I have to visit you in the hospital one more time I don't know what I'm going to do." He smiled, bandage wrapped around his forehead. "Just keep holding my hand."

I screamed. Loud.

I saw that blasted thing coming from a kilo away, but I was too busy covering mine and Alicia's positions to do anything to help Wood. Yeah, Oliver Wood, my beloved Wood was falling out of the air. It was the third time this season that he had gotten hit with a Bludger. I don't know which ones he seems to attract more – girls or Bludgers to the head.

It was awful the way he was spiraling down, his broom had splintered and he was gripping on tight to the fraction that he had. I stared in utter shock when he crashed, his hand banging the ground with enough force to make a Slytherin proud. Flint smiled cockily from the other side of the pitch since he was the one that hit that Bludger. I was tempted to charge over to him and knock him off his broom the same way he did to Wood. But then I saw the Quaffle coming and I had to deal with that since quite frankly our Keeper was pretty out of it at the moment.

I chased the green and silver player and came from behind them and popped the Quaffle into my arms easily since they didn't put their whole body over it like most players do. I pulled a quick U-turn and I made my way towards the Slytherin goal posts. We were ahead by three and I intended to keep it that way for as long as I could. I felt two Slytherins coming close from behind so I tossed it directly at Angelina's hands. To lose the other players, I did a cork screw over Angelina and the two gaining players were now lagging behind as I came up to a one-vs-one on their keeper. I eyed him quickly and faked to the right before quickly dodging to the left and scoring on the middle post.

Cheers erupted from the crowd and I wiped a sleeve across my forehead, the sweat gathered on it quickly. Angelina high-fived me as I flew towards the defensive end and we turned so we were parallel to the offense that was speeding our way. I went after one of them along the middle who was clearly open for the ball, but my mind was more at looking at the ground for Wood and my mark got the ball and aimed it for the left rim. I made an attempt to knock it from their hand but I faltered a bit and it went shooting that way anyways. A third year made a poor attempt to catch it and it slipped by their fingers easily and into the hoop. I dipped down after the ball, catching it before it was halfway to the ground. I traveled once again up the field but a very intimidating Flint cut me off and I squealed before veering off into the stands, Quaffle in hand. He came after me with a wide snarl and I put on my brave fast and tried to zoom past him... but sometimes walls and Flint are just too thick to try to get through in one move. I faked every which way but he seemed to be anticipating my every move.

I was about to just hand him over the ball when suddenly I heard George ring out, "Katie, FLASH DANCE!"

Without hesitation I grabbed onto the front of my broom and spun right so I did a one-eighty and I was hanging upside down on my trusty ride. Marcus Flint however, was not so fortunate as the Bludger that George had hit in my direction smacked him right in the gut. I pulled right side over and yelled a quick thanks before kicking Flint's broom, causing him to almost teeter off since he was grabbing as his stomach where the Bludger had hit effectively. He groaned and I could hear his loud cursing as I raced towards the goals, hoping to score once again. I got about twenty meters before I was knocked off course and the Quaffle fell out of my hands and into the Slytherin who bumped me.

I panted for a second before chasing after them again. This was hard work and it didn't help that we were short another Chaser as well as a Keeper. The pitch was a large thing to cover and I was doing a pretty standard job. I stopped at least seven goals in twenty minutes and had knocked Flint over a second time, but this time I did it without the help of a Weasley twin. After the whistle blew we ended up winning by ten points and Flint and the rest of the Slytherins were absolutely pissed. They were spitting and cursing up the place. By the time I had walked out of the stadium I was shaking. Angelina came up and gripped me by the shoulders. She flipped her long, black hair over her shoulder and asked in a inquisitive voice, "Katie, do you need help to the station?"

The station was our way of saying the changing room since we had to hurry in and hurry out since if we didn't get dressed within three minutes Wood would barge in and order us to practice in what we have on... I can't express how many times a player (regarding both males and females) have practiced in their solely their undergarments. You would think Dumbledore would just change it to a Lingerie League at this point so it would at least seem semi-normal...

"No, no. I think... I think I'll make it all right," I said with a steady smile that didn't quite connect the way that I hoped that it would.

"I don't care what you think, obviously you need help there," Angelina said just before she called over some of our stronger teammates. I only weighed one-hundred and twenty-eight pounds and yet she thought it was necessary for two of our burliest players to divide my weight between them as they ushered me to the station. They set me down inside on one of the benches and I offered them my thanks. They nodded and smiled and wished me well before they went off to their side of the station. It was segregated since a lot more girls had joined the team over the past few years. I even recruited Angelina and Alicia last year during our third year since we barely had any classes together. Needless to say, our bond had grown stronger and well as our mutual friendships.

I just sat there until Angelina dragged me into the showering place. I helped her get my clothes off as I was too exhausted to physically do anything else. She washed me as quickly and carefully as she could – careful not to invade my space yet get me clean enough to be presentable to the male population... although now that I think about it it would be rather fun to mess with a few Slytherin guys by putting on the flirt full force while having the worst body odor ever... but then again maybe not.

"Move your left boob over so I can wash your arm," Angelina instructed as she began to scrub my shoulder. I placed my right hand awkwardly between my arm and my left breast as a barrier. It went on like this for other ten minutes till I was fully washed and had a towel wrapped around my body. I half walked, half slumped over to my locker where I steadily changed into my school robes. The station was practically vacated by then and me, Angela, and Gracen were the only people left. Gracen was one of the two guys who had carried me in to the station so of course Angela asked him to carry me off to Madame Pomfrey's place so that I could visit Oliver. He shrugged and nodded anyways.

Gracen scooped me up from my knees and I lazily threw my fairly muscular arms around his thick neck. We both might have been fourth years but Gracen had obviously matured before his age. He had a very solid body which made him an ideal beater. He had a thick, tree-trunk neck and ivory skin that was really pretty under certain lighting like that of the library. I often studied potions with him when Oliver wasn't available and he was very handy when it came to charms. I curled into his hard chest and he moved effortlessly through the school with me in hand. He had long, emasculated legs that looked great in his uniform and they were actually framed nicely by most of his robes. Of course to go along with his gorgeous, short brown hair and dazzling blue eyes he had the perfect girlfriend in all the world. She was a dainty Hufflepuff who wasn't into Quidditch in the least, but she came to every game to cheer on Gracen and the rest of the team. Every time I can anticipate seeing Claira chomping on her nails or bouncing up and down with excitement in the third row of the stands. I could envision her black curls bouncing out of place before quickly going back and her small frame glowing with enthusiasm and spirit. I'm absolutely positive they would meet up once he dropped me off.

After crossing the school Gracen entered the hospital quarters and Madame Pomfrey came up to him right away asking and pestering about me. He explained how I'm not really ill but the fact that I'm worn out and I was too stubborn to go to bed without seeing Oliver first. Madame Pomfrey immediately nodded and ushered me over to his space. I've been here every time he had gotten an injury from Quidditch which now amounts to the fifteenth time in four years. Madame Pomfrey and I have been long acquainted as I made it known from my first visit that I would break in in the middle of night no matter what the visiting hours are unless I got to see my faithful teammate. Now he's my captain and best friend and nothing had changed. We have been very close ever since my second year (and his fourth) and he's helped me get through all my classes, and just the days sometimes, while I help him with herbology and girl problems.

I know, it sucks to hear about your best friend who you have a major crush on talk about girls that he loves on a deeper level then you and how far he should go with them on the first date. It especially hurts when you overhear him talking to his guy friends about how he lost his virginity to someone who wasn't you and who he hadn't known even for half as long... It stings for a while. But I have learned how to thicken my skin and have long since buried my feelings for my Oliver, that's just the way it has to be.

Madame Pomfrey brought my chair out of the utility closet and propped it up by Oliver's bedside. It was gold and had red racing down the sides in flares of darker and lighter shades. Gracen set me down and I thanked him kindly. He only nodded and gave me a feeble smile before curtly turning and heading towards his girlfriend who was waiting for him in the doorway. I didn't turn around and look and see them embrace like they always did after a specially strong match, but instead I focused on Oliver Wood like I've been doing since day one. I leaned over the bedside and grabbed the closest hand, which happened to be the right. It was cold against mine and I smiled at him a bit, hoping that would warm him up slightly if he had opened his eyes.

He had a few thick layers of gauze over himself; one encompassing the top of his head, one tightly drawn over his left forearm, and the last two propped his legs together so that he looked like a pure white, snowflake mermaid. I laughed at the thought. My mum was a muggle and she would tell me stories of the sort of mythical creatures that her kind would make up to entertain children. I, almost being an adult, still find mermaids and fairies quite humorous. I giggled a bit and my clasp on his hand loosened slightly as his dark brown eyes began to open a little.

"Merlin's beard!" I quipped. "If I have to visit you in the hospital one more time I don't know what I'm going to do."

He smiled, bandage wrapped around his forehead. "Just keep holding my hand."

I blushed deeply, my cheeks matching the colors along the side of the chair. Comments like these made me smile on a daily basis, but when Oliver gets injured and finally takes the medicine recommended after a few hours of arguing he gets especially sweet on people, even more so girls.

"You know, you shouldn't say things like that," I said in a sweet tone that I always use when I start to scold him.

"Why not? You know I love it when you hold my hand, Katie," Oliver said innocently in his Scottish accent that somehow always managed to find just the right words to make me melt.

"I know you do, Olly. But sometimes people might make the wrong assumptions when you say things like that." Especially me.

"What would people assume off of that?" Oliver asked, his nose scrunched up on his face. "That I like how you make me warm?"

"Well no," I blushed a slight shade deeper. "They might assume that you like me."

"But I do like you Katie," Oliver expressed earnestly, "I even love you."

"Well, I meant romantically," I mumbled, looking down a bit.

"Romantically? Isn't that what I meant too?" Oliver asked, the gauze crinkling on his forehead.

"I don't think so, sweetie. You're obviously a bit loopy from the meds, maybe we'll talk about this more tomorrow when you're a bit more clear in the head," I said gently, patting his arm with my hand that wasn't occupied.

He frowned a bit and his eyes widened. "You aren't leaving me, are you?"

I smiled lightly. "I have to go to bed sometime. So I'll only leave you for a few hours at most."

"Don't go," Oliver pleaded, his voice becoming a whimper almost. "Stay the night with me. I need you here to help me heal faster."

"Oliver, I'll probably squash you in your sleep and make you even more damaged," I said, a sad look on my face so that he would convey the message that me sharing a bed with him is actually incredibly ideal but was unlikely if he planned on getting better in the near future.

"I don't care," he said with a pout. "I want you to stay with me. For the night. For forever."

My heart crumpled and that's when I knew I was staying the night with Oliver Wood in the infirmary because of his utterly sweet and heart-wrenching choice of words.

"Okay Oliver," I said with a sad smile.

"Yay!" He cried happily, his smile infectious as it soon after spread across my face as well. We beamed at each other for a moment. Oliver's sorrel eyes sparkled with something indescribable, but it gave me the urge to reach out for him and embrace him in any way that I could. I held back these sudden, but not really all that sudden, desires and just continue to hold his hand and smile at him with all the positive power I could muster. "Well, what are you waiting for, love? Hop on it."

I smiled and my blush returned as quickly as it began to fade. I let go of his hand for a minute and mine suddenly felt empty without his. I helped him move over more to the left so that I'd be less likely to damage his left arm any further. I made sure his arm wasn't too close to the railing so that it wouldn't rub up against it. I then moved his fin over with a bit more caution and I giggled as I did so. Could you possibly imagine the Gryffindor hunk Oliver Wood as a mermaid? I think not without busting up.

Once he was settled in I climbed up tenderly and nestled in next to him. I inched up to his side and somehow his right arm found it's way to my waist. I snuggled up to his side and laid my head on his chest. He started humming a slow dulcet in an incredulously lulling way, it fade my eyes flutter when all I really wanted to do was look up at his beautiful face and re-live this dream for forever.

-x-

The next morning I woke up with a sudden crick in my neck. I attempted to sit up but it ultimately failed when I realized I was weighed down by a heavy object. Frightened, I tried to wiggle my way out of the grasp, but it only ended up going tighter around my waist. I opened my eyes with a start and soon remembered the night before and the Quidditch scare and how Oliver fell from the sky. I hugged him tighter and yet his breathing remained the same steady pace as before I woke up. I reached up with my left hand and tried to wipe away the drool that somehow pooled on his robes. It only sunk in more and I felt bad that it might leave a dark spot until he washed it. Yuck.

"Belle?" He mumbled softly.

"I'm here Oliver," I whispered up to him.

He stirred a little, loosening up his grip. I took the advantage to stretch and get away from him a bit. I mean, I loved being close to him but I forgot to stretch after the game and I worked my ass off so it would be wise not to pull any muscles. I told Oliver this when he gave me a questioning look along with a groan.

I then went to climb off the bed and he asked in an odd tone, "Where are you going?"

"Uhm, I was going to sit in the chair so you could have more room," I answered in a startled tone, he always made me get out any other time we were here. I don't see why this one was any different...

"Come up here, you're warm and it says in those muggle studies that when you're warmer or run a fever then your immune system works better, faster – you know, more productive," Oliver reasoned.

I raised my eyebrows. "You pay attention in muggle studies?"

He gave me a strained look. "Do I really have to persuade you that much to get in bed with me?"

I giggled, "Probably more so than any of your groupies."

He rolled his eyes and patted the spot next to him on the bed. The thin paper of the bed sheet rippled where his calloused hand made the connection and it was ever so inviting and tempting to sit down on. But it was the smile that did it for me. That wide, beautiful toothy grin that I fell in love with long ago. It told me to trust him, to put my faith in him, to just... love him.

I crawled up on the bed, my dishwater blonde waves plastered against my head in a frizzy mess. It was amazing how he could still smile at me. I probably have horrible morning breath and my clothes that I wore all day yesterday couldn't have been that much better either. I mean, they were wrinkled to the core and I would probably have to use the ironing charm at least twice, if not three times. But either way he let me onto the bed with open arms... or at least an open arm and one severely bandaged one.

I chuckled slightly and let him attempt at giving me a good morning hug. I lightly pulled my arms around his torso – just in case he had done something to his ribs during the free fall. I shook my head at the thought, trying to clear it from my mind; no need to envision him and that perilous fall this early. He wrapped his good arm around my shoulder and kissed me on my temple, putting his lips on my semi-matted hair. I smiled up at him and he smiled back. There was something... different with how he's been acting. He's always nice to me, but he's never been this sweet on me before.

It was then I noticed how his face was progressively getting closer. My eyes grew wide as his nose hooked along side of mine and our lips were mere centimeters away. I looked into his eyes and he looked at ease and yet on edge at the same time. It was understandable because I was feeling the exact same thing as I peered into his simple eyes. I wanted this so bad that I was the one to reach up and touch our lips together. I pressed gingerly at first, making sure that he was still keen on returning the kiss. I kept my lips there, planted on his in an elementary kiss just waiting for him to return it.

I almost cried out in joy when he did.

His lips pursed and came back at mine without another further hesitation. It was fairly obvious that he liked me as he poked his tongue at my lips multiple times, trying to get me to open up to the idea. I had not ever been kissed with tongue before, my dates were rather reserved and didn't do much in front of any of the other students even if they were over two-hundred meters away. So I slowly opened my mouth a bit at a time and let his tongue dip in and out quickly. My head was spinning as he moved his tongue gracefully throughout my mouth and I grabbed onto his arm. He instantly pulled away and cringed.

"Ach, Katie. You got my arm," He said sternly as I pulled away from him.

"Sorry," I said feebly.

He looked down at me with a small, apologetic smile. He was injured, I should have been more watchful as to what I'm grabbing. Then again, I really probably shouldn't be grabbing at him in the first place.

"Hey," he said gently, putting a bandaged finger under my chin, tilting it up towards him, "you're beautiful. You're perfect. You just forgot to watch what you're gripping. I'm going to kiss you again, so try and grab onto my shoulder or just better yet wrap your arms around me."

He then proceeded to meet his lips to my tilted ones and we carried on with what we had been doing previously. His tongue slid easily in my mouth and I glided my tip across his. It was smooth and warm and damp. The feeling of it gave me butterflies inside my stomach. They fluttered and tickled my insides, drawing me closer to Oliver in hopes of it subsiding a little if I did. Obviously it got worse, but I didn't quite pay much attention to it when greater things like his hand cupping my face and my hand running over his short hair were taking place.

We broke apart a moment later in panted breaths. I smiled brilliantly at him and snuggled in closer. We stayed like that for a while – him holding me and I snuggling deeply into his uninjured side. Eventually our breathing turned back into our normal pattern and I could not stop smiling at him, at the end table, at anything just in plain sight.

He buried his face into my hair and inhaled deeply, which made me quite grateful that Angelina had decided to drag me into the shower. He pressed his lips onto my skull and gave me a quick kiss before mumbling something. Once he lifted his head back up I looked at him quizzically and he repeated in a more clear voice, "I'm glad you didn't leave me Belle."

"Of course I wouldn't. I love you, remember?" I said giving him a shy look.

It was his turn to have a deep red color appear on his cheeks, except it soon spread all over his entire face. His eyes held an expression of mortification and plain terror. Before I could mull it over as to what he would be tormented over he spoke in a low voice that sent chills up my spine, "I love you too... More than you could dream possible."

I shuddered a bit and I never broke eye contact with him, even when he cast his head down. So I did what he did to me earlier – picked up his chin with a finger and brought his lips gently to mine. We started kissing again, but at a slower rate and I just couldn't help but think all this time this is what I have been missing. All this time I could have been kissing him. I just guess it just took a shot to the head to make us realize how much he actually loved me (romantically). While we snogged on the bed sheet all I could think about was how grateful I should be towards those bloody things; they gave me the coolest scars, they gave me interesting bruises, and they gave me Oliver. There's nothing more I could ever ask for.