CONSOLATION

By Shrk-Bait

Author's Note

As promised, the next chapter! These next two are more serious, I guess. You know- the drama! Anyway, thank you so much to those who are reading this and especially those who reviewed! I think Oliver/Katie is completely underrated. There are so many directions to take with it, so now that this chapter includes Oliver, I really hope you enjoy my take. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

She looked up at the three hoops raised high above her. The sky was gloomy, but Katie didn't mind. It fit her brooding just fine.

She kept replaying the game in her head, going over each goal scored and each chance missed. They were so close—again. If her hand hadn't slipped during that reverse pass, if Anthony Rickett hadn't intercepted their Porkshoff ploy, if they had perfected the Hawkshead formation at practice like Oliver wanted…

Her mind wandered back to Oliver. She had almost forgotten. She was supposed to find Oliver. He could be anywhere.

The Hogwarts field stretched for over 150 yards and there werefive spectator towers, each with a spiraling staircase that took a significant amount of energy and a solid ten minutes to climb.

"Okay, so let's pretend I'm Oliver Wood," she muttered to herself, scanning the pitch for inspiration. "Now… where would I be?"

Her gaze settled once again on the three Hufflepuff hoops. If they had clung on to the Quaffle for just a little longer or if they had managed to score just a few more goals, they would all be celebrating and Oliver Wood would be parading around the Common Room with his chest puffed out, not moping around the pitch, revisiting the painful circumstances of their loss.

And then, Katie knew. She knew where he would be. The wind began to pick up as she headed straight towards the tower at the other end of the pitch.

Her mind stirred nervously with each step. She had always been tough. She wasn't sympathetic or comforting or even particularly encouraging. They had lost a desperately important match and winning the House Cup was a near impossibility now. Some people could see silver linings in any situation, but Katie was not one of those people. Everything she could think to say ended the same way and not in a way that would help Oliver feel any better. She dreaded having to speak to him and prayed it would end quickly. The steps seemed endless.

When she finally reached the top of the stairs, there he was—sitting on the bench with his body hunched over and his hands fidgeting restlessly. He stared down at the wooden floor, brooding and distraught.

For a moment, she just watched him, unsure how she should interrupt or if she should interrupt at all. She hadn't thought of anything particularly inspiring to say. Perhaps Oliver just needed some time alone. Yes, that was it. He didn't need her to try to cheer him up or risk possibly make things worse.

She took a quiet step back to leave. The step creaked—just her luck. It was too much to hope that he hadn't heard. Oliver looked up instantly.

"Oliver Wood," she stuttered and winced a little. There was no getting out of it now. She had been caught. "Fancy seeing you here."

He gave her a weak smile and she returned it. Neither of them was very convincing. The air at the top of the tower was especially cold, but Katie felt a sudden rush of discomfort that warmed her. Oliver had yet to say something and Katie wanted nothing more than to leave. She loosened the tight grip of the scarf around her neck.

"Did the team send you?" he asked, looking away.

Katie chuckled nervously, "And here I was trying to be all subtle about it."

She looked at Oliver, staring out at the field. Honestly, she was just thankful he wasn't looking at her; his silence made things painful enough. Say something, she begged him silently. Oliver, please say something.

He seemed unaffected by her demands. Oliver always seemed to have something to say—before the match, after the match, across the hallway, at the breakfast table, between classes, in the middle of the night. There was always something. Something about eating properly before matches, getting a decent amount of sleep, practicing broom maintenance, exercising flight drills, incorporating strategies, building team unity. But not this time. This time, he was silent.

It was unlike him, and it was only now that Katie began to worry.

Okay, she told herself. I'll say something. She sifted through her brain, revisiting old memories and conversations. They had been on the same team for years. It's not as if they had never spoken, but at this moment, nothing helpful came to mind.

"So, did you see the latest article on Puddlemere United?" she finally blurted, unable to withstand the unsettling air between them. It did not occur to her until after she spoke that, considering his present woes, he might not want to discuss Quidditch. She cursed herself and prepared for the worst.

"When did it come in? This morning?" he asked, revealing a hint of the Oliver Wood she was much more accustomed to. "My owl must've gotten lost again."

"You can borrow my copy," she offered, tossing him the magazine. He looked grateful and Katie felt slightly relieved.

"I didn't realize you follow them," he said offhandedly as he skimmed through the pages.

"Well, I'm more of a Harpies fan myself," she replied thoughtfully. "But I like Puddlemere well enough. They've hit a rotten losing streak lately, but I'm sure they'll get themselves out of it."

"I think so too. It's good to know someone agrees with me," he said, smiling. "Wilda Griffiths used to be on the Harpies, didn't she?"

"She's actually one of the reasons I started following Puddlemere."

They slipped into an easy calm, as they always did when it came to Quidditch. It was the one solid thing they knew they always had in common. It all started to feel normal again, like Gryffindor hadn't lost the match and they weren't both upset and Oliver wasn't the captain and Katie hadn't been sent to bring him back.

"The Holyhead Harpies, huh? Well, Gwenog Jones is a bit too intense for me," Oliver started to say.

Katie held back a scoff and waived the temptation to comment on the irony of Oliver Wood calling anyone "intense."

He didn't seem to notice and continued on, "But she's a great captain. She knows how to keep morale going. I've got to give her that."

His words carried a sad tone and his mouth moved with a twitch of jealousy. They both fell silent. Oliver went back to staring down at his hands and Katie, not knowing what else to do, went back to staring down at the floor. The brief familiarity between them passed quickly and the air grew stale with their awkwardness.

Katie could see, quite clearly, that he was upset, regardless of how he tried to hide it. At that moment, she wished she had the calm calculation of Angelina or the selfless compassion of Alicia or the disarming charm of Fred and George. They would know what to do. They would know what to say, but Katie was on her own and nothing particularly helpful came to mind.

"Can I ask you a question?" Katie asked suddenly, surprised by her own boldness. "And can we maybe pretend like you're not the team Captain and we're just… I don't know…friends?"

What do you mean?" he asked, confused. "I thought we were."

She didn't know how to respond. Were they? She had never thought of it much.

Even before he took his place as Captain, she had always felt it was a part of him. He was the only one who cared that much, who cared enough. From what she heard, Oliver had staked his claim as future captain since he first made the team. Not only that, but he apparently worked himself to frequent exhaustion just to prove it. Quidditch was a part of him, something assumed and unquestioned.

She hesitated, "Just don't make me fly extra laps or anything."

He laughed, but agreed. Katie Bell took a deep breath and gathered her courage.

"Why do you let it get to you like this? I know you don't handle defeat well and neither do I, but sometimes you shut down. Or you freak out. Or you disappear. Like today, you just storm off without a word and we find you up here and of course we have no idea what you're thinking and Alicia is seriously worried that you might just hop over the railing and splatter yourself all over the pitch."

"Wouldn't that be a mess?" He said with a dark chuckle.

She ignored it and continued, "It's not really my place to say anything and you don't have to explain yourself to me, but it's just a game."

For a while, he said nothing. Katie had always been a strong girl with an outspoken voice, but there was a layer of timidity under her bravado that made him pause. He looked at her softly, but she missed it. She had been staring at the floor, cheeks red from embarrassment and cold. Oliver got up from his seat and stood next to her, leaning against the outer railing and looking out at the stormy clouds.

"Katie, you're a good Chaser—great, even," he admitted. Katie coughed suddenly and gave him a skeptical look. He laughed at her surprise. "What, you think I haven't noticed? We've only been on the same team for years. Don't think I don't know you."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a look. Katie knew him too. She noticed his eyes narrowing into a dark focus and the sides of his jaw stiffening. She knew that this meant he was serious, but she had never really seen him serious about much other than Quidditch and it scared her a bit.

"You don't think it's just a game. You say it, but you don't mean it," he said quietly. "When you were too sick to keep playing that Ravenclaw match last autumn and I had to take you out, you wouldn't talk to me for a week. You always hide your injuries because you think I won't notice and I'll let you play. You complain about practices and you hate me for pushing you so hard, but sometimes you go out and fly on your own time so you'll get better."

She felt her cheeks grow hot. She didn't expect him to have noticed. She rarely caused problems, made few mistakes, and played a solid game. She was a strong player, but nothing spectacular. She blended into the team well—nothing in desperate need of discipline or correction, nothing to constantly rave about or praise. But Oliver was the Captain, and she told herself that he must make it a point to notice everything.

He continued: "I'm willing to bet that you weren't a part of this team mission to cheer me up. They volunteered you. You were probably sitting somewhere all calm and composed, acting like this loss doesn't really affect you. But in your head, I know you're going crazy thinking of strategies we should've used and ways we could've scored more."

She looked right at him, as if staring him down would help figure him out. She didn't understand how Oliver could see through her so easily when she couldn't seem to read him at all.

He matched her unblinking stare and said calmly, "You're telling me it's just a game, but I know you, Katie Bell. You don't mean it."

"Well, but—" she began, but stopped as she realized that he was right. It made her angry. She resented how well he knew her and how easily he picked apart her mood. "So what if I don't? We're not talking about me, are we?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. Look, I don't mean to worry anyone," he assured her. "I know I can be a little… crazy… sometimes, but you understand, right?"

He took a deep breath and looked away.

"It's not just a game to me. It's who I am."

Katie had been listening so intently, she barely noticed it starting to rain. The water splattered on the roof of the observation tower and ran down its slope, pouring over the edge before making the long drop down to the ground below. Katie frowned as she watched the storm gathering intensity.

She had forgotten her umbrella in the common room and, at this rate, it would be hours before the rain let up. She never liked it—water soaking through her clothes and weighing down her body, covering her skin in cold air and goosebumps.

Still, as she stood there, caught in the silence between them, she couldn't help but welcome the sound of rain.

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