a/n: okay everyone. the next chapter has been written.

now, it might not be the best of chapters, but bear with me. the next chapter will be here soon.

so review!

I can't believe I'm here. In Eeylop's Eporium. With feathers sticking on my every inch of clothing. And there's dung everywhere - seriously. Dung on the floor, on the cages, on the counters, almost landing on my head.

Like said, I had arrived in front of Eeylop's - a few minutes late due to my outfit preparations. And Oliver stood there, looking at his watch impatiently. With a quick exchange of greetings, he immediately dragged me into the owl shop.

So here I am. Covered with poo. Or feathers. At the moment, I really don't care. I just want a shower.

"I was thinking of something dark," Oliver started saying, dragging me back into reality. "What do you think?"

"Hmmm?" I mumble unconsciously. "Sorry, did you say something."

"I said, I was thinking of something dark. What do you think?"

"Dark is good."

"Katie, I'm being serious."

"Well, I agree with you! Dark is good!"

He gives me skeptical look, riaising an eyebrow. "And why do you think that?"

Think fast, kid. "Oh, er... you know, it can uh... camouflage itself. You know, so if it goes out at night, it won't be seen... as much?"

"Yeah..." he says, looking suspicious.

We venture further into the shop, where it seems to be getting darker. I don't like Eeylop's. It freaks me out. I know it's the best place to get an owl, since it specializesin owls and whatnot. ButI got mine at that other pet store. What was it called? The Magical Menagerie? I don't know. Something like that. And I much prefer that place - it doesn't smell as much, there are more than one kind of pet, and there isn't poop on every inch of surface.

Besides, walking around in the dark with flaring multi-coloured owl eyes isn't a stroll in the park. It's like they're thinking of attacking me. And why is it suddenly so cold? Urghh it even smells worse here! Look at those freaky pair of eyes, they're -

"Oh my god!" I hear myself shriek. I absent-mindedly slip on something and am about to fall, until a pair of hands grab my flailing ones.

"Wow, Katie," I hear Oliver's voice in the dark, sounding amused. "Never knew you had a fear of the dark."

"I don't!"

Oh, but I do. I really do. I just don't tell anyone. It's sad enough that I'm afraid of the dark, but to let other people know? I'll be a laughing stock.

But that wasn't why I screamed. While we were walking around - in complete darkness - there was a sudden sound.

"Hey, Oliver," I whisper, still hanging onto his arm as we walked around. "What was that weird noise?"

"An owl, flapping its wings."

Wow. That makes me feel better. So I screamed, slipped on whatever it is - I think it's poo - and almost fell, if it were not for Oliver and his supernatural senses. I feel great. Not only am I afraid of the dark, I have now discovered a new fear of falling and owls. Dandy.

I didn't know this stupid place was so long. Long and narrow. And dark. Oh, and smelly. Why am I here? I want out. I don't like it here. I should have never accepted the offer to help him find an owl. I knew something bad was bound to happen. Misfortune lurks behind my every move! I can't stand this place -

SQUEAK!

As I had previously let go of Oliver's arm after he told me about the flapping owl, I make a dash for him again.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," I mutter, breathing heavily. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh - my - god!"

"Calm down. It's just a rat."

'Just a rat?' 'Calm down?' Oh my god!

"I hate rats!" I cry, hanging onto him tighter. "Why am I here? I hate rats, I hate the dark, and I don't appreciate owls taking dumps on me every other second!"

"Come on," I hear him say calmly, patting my arm. "We're at the end anyway. I'll just choose one quickly."

I mumble something under my breath, gripping his arm. I'm not sure if he's lost blood circulation, but at the moment, I could care less for his bloody arm. I am not coming into the place ever again. And how is he suppossed to choose a friggin bird if it's completely dark here? How is he suppossed to see? I'm just depending on sound, smell and guts.

"So I was thinking about getting a Horned Owl," Oliver says, seeming to forget about the fact that I'm deathly afraid of the place. "But then, I figured, do I really want something that reminds me of Percy Weasley?"

Sometimes, Oliver Wood is the strangest person in the world. I know he shared a dorm with Percy for seven years - and of course, I feel really bad for him, having to deal with Percy's smug attitude. But it's been seven years, for Merlin's sake. Why would he still remember Percy?

"Wow, Oliver," I say, with a tone of edginess. "After seven years, after hearing me scream, all you have on your mind is Percy Weasley. How interesting."

"Yes, well, after living with Percy for seven years, he doesn't just erase from your memory," he sniffs, sounding a bit disdained. "I just don't want the owl staring at me and judging me, like stupid Percy Weasley."

"Is there another owl you have on your mind?"

"Uh huh. I was thinking of the Scoop Owl, but they're a bit small, aren't they."

"Knowing you, Oliver, you might mistake it for a snitch."

"I want a Burrowing Owl."

"Then get a one."

"I don't know where it is. I can't see anything."

No kidding.

"Maybe we could go back to the front desk and ask them to bring out all the Burrowing Owls," I suggest, trying hard not to make a run for the light.

"Well, I was thinking - " he starts, but I interrupt him.

"We are going back to the front."

Without needing me to tell him twice, he leads us both back to the front, silently. Well, he remained silent. I just shrieked and squealed and held on.

"May I help you?" asks the woman at the desk. She looks like an owl herself. With big glasses. Or maybe she looks like Professor Trelawny. Either would be fine.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you can," Oliver says, leaning carefully on the counter, avoiding dung. "I'm looking for Burrowing Owls."

"Well!" the woman replies, looking absolutely delighted. "Just your look, young sir and miss! We just got new Burrowing Owls! Only a few months old! They will make perfect pets and messengers. And if you get them at a young age, they're bound to have a better friendship with you. Here, let me go fetch a batch of them for you."

As she goes off into her shop, there are about a million squakings. Owls sure do squak loud...

"Aaaugh!" I scream, backing into Oliver. At the precise moment, a large black rat scatters across on the opposite side, disappearing into a hole.

"Relax, Katie," Oliver laughs, holding onto my shoulders. "They're just rats. Owls eat rats."

"Because that sure makes me feel better."

"You're welcome."

He's about to say something, but little squeaks are heard. The owner comes back into view, holding a basket of... things.

"Well, here they are!" she announces, placing the basket on the counter. Oliver immediately goes over, while I cautiously make my way.

Peering into the basket, I soon find out that not only are they 'things', but baby owls. You know how everyone thinks babies of any kind are all cute? Like puppies and kittens, and calves, and chicks. Or piglets, baby turtles, and even human babies. But not owls. Well, just not these owls. And whenI thought the adults were creepy, these things are... wow.

"What do you think, Katie?" Oliver asks, tearing his eyes away from the basket.

Look at him, Katie. Just look at him. Look at that smile on his face. Look at all the joy he has. Don't ruin it by saying you think those owls are shit ugly.

"They're... they're... well, you know - they're wonderful," I manage to say, mentally kicking myself in the head. Because he'll believe you now.

"Really?" he asks again, looking closely at me.

I don't trust myself to say anything. Don't say nothing. Just nod along. Nodding along always eases situations.

I give him a nod with a false smile.

He motions for me to come closer to the basket. I unwillingly drag my feet over, placing myself closely beside him. Just incase the owls pull the plug and attack me. I know they're babies and everything, but it's usually the younger ones who are the bad ones. Like kids.

"Which one do you like?" the woman asks, looking back and forth between us.

"Oh, ask him," I tell her, nodding at Oliver. "It's his owl."

"But I'd like your opinion," Oliver says, looking at me. "I'm not much of a chooser."

So now I'm suppossed to choose an owl from the litter. How the heck am I suppossed to choose one if I don't even like them?

"Are you two an item?" the woman asks, smiling at us.

"No," Oliver replies offhandedly. He turns to me. "I like that one," he points to the one near the left, who's a very soft, milky-brown with a black spot on its left wing.

"And what a magnificent choice!" the woman exclaims, picking up the bird and handing it to Oliver. "He's my favourite. Nicest of the bunch. No quarreling, no biting, just plain pleasurable!"

Now that's a creepy thought. A pleasurable owl.

"I like him," mumurs Oliver, snuggling the owl to his face. He then holds it out for me. "What do you think?"

Backing quickly, away, I manage to say, "Perfect. Just perfect!"

"Would you like to hold him?"

Do I really need to answer that? "No, it's alright. Really."

"Oh, come on. Just hold him, will you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Hold him!"

"I don't want to!"

And doing the most horrible thing ever, he grabs my hand with his free one, and places the owl on my palm.

I want to scream. I really, really, really want to scream. I knew this day would be bad. I just knew it! Why do I even agree to things when I know the outcome isn't going to be peaches and cream?

Holding the owl at arm's length, I inspect it. Well, there's nothing wrong with it much... and it does seem pretty small.

"How big is is going to get?" I ask the woman, who is now smiling at me.

"Just about the size of your average owl," she tells me, still smiling.

Bringing the owl closer to me, I check to see if everything's alright. Well, the left wing is quite unique... and so is the colour. I've never seen a milky-brown coloured owl. My own owl is dark brown, with a white face. This one's just the same solid colour everywhere - apart from the black spot on the wing, of course. And it does seem nice. It's not pecking at me or anything...

"Alright, Katie," Oliver says, chuckling. "I think I'll take him back now, before you get too attatched to him."

I hand the owl back over to him. He seems to really like it. Now that's a weird thing to see - Oliver Wood, responsible parent. To an owl.

"I'll take him," he says, looking absolutely delighted.

The witch smiles at him, walking over to the casher. "Nine Galleons, four Sickles and eighteen Knuts, if you please."

Without any bargaining, Oliver hands over the money without a word, except cooing his new owl. Picking up the cage and owl treats - which, by the way, came with the owl, so it's a pretty good deal - I stroll out of the shop, with him behind me. Still muttering to the new owl.

When we enter the busier streets, he gives me the owl to hold, so he could put on his sunglasses. It still amazes me how no one notices him. I mean, really, he looks the same!

"So... what's next?" I ask, handing back his owl to him.

"My house," he says, nodding up Diagon Alley. "Not too far..."

"How far?"

"Roughly twenty-odd minutes on foot."

Right. So I'm suppossed to walk 'twenty-odd minutes' to his house. Twenty-odd minutes in the scorching sun, holding my bag, a cage, and owl treats. Just brilliant.

- - - - - - - - - - -

"Just make a right turn here."

I've been counting the minutes. We've been walking.. approximately thirteen now. It's not as bad as it seems... there's still a breeze. A small, crappy breeze. Who am I kidding? I'm tired, I'm hot, I'm thirsty, I have owl shit on me, feathers still flinging away in my hair, and the worst part - I smell!I don't know why Oliver's not complaining.

He hasn't said anything, aside from telling me directions to his house. I'm surprised though. I would've thought his place would be secluded, away from the public eye. But apparantly, since we're still in Diagon Alley, it's in Diagon Alley. Interesting... All he's been doing is playing with his owl - which still creeps me out. Kinda.

"Hey, Katie?"

Turning around, I stop abruptly, which causes Oliver to almost collide with me. But, of course, his super senses stop him just in time, and he does this weird pirouette, shielding his owl. Like I'm going to hurt his owl.

I'm not!

"Yes, Oliver?" I ask, looking expectedly at him.

He looks from his owl to me. "Any name suggestions?"

Is this guy kidding me? First he asks me to pick out the thing, which is bad enough, and now I have to name it? Either way, he's not going to like names from me. I name my pets the most dumbest things. Like my own owl, who's name is Brown. Because he's brown. Or my fish. Its name is Float. Because, for some reason, all he seems to do is float on the surface... Hey, why does he only float on the surface? It's been like after a month or two since I've purchased it. Hmmmm...

"I was thinking of Glaughlit," he says absent-mindedly. "You know, after Glaughlit the Great. From the Goblin Rebellion of 1285."

I stare at him, my mouth agape. "I take you you really liked your Goblin Rebellions."

"Of course!" he replies, looking at me, as if I were the weird one. "They were really interesting. The way Professor Binns talked about them made it sound like a whole entire Goblin Revolution. It was that awesome!"

... Only Oliver would like History of Magic. To be honest, Oliver was the only person I knew personally, who enjoyed History of Magic. With Professor Binns. Can that stupid ghost make the subject any more boring? But no, Oliver loved that class. It was probably his best class. What amazes me is how he was able to stay alive with the constant droning of the teacher. Only Oliver.

"You're serious about naming your owl, Glaughlit?" I ask, eyeing the owl.

"Well, I can't think of anything else. Can you?"

I can honestly say thatI cannot. But I'm not going to let him name his owl 'Glaughlit'. Like, come on! I know I wouldn't want to be named Glaughlit. Would you? I highly doubt it.

"Name him Weatherby," I say, thinking of names. I think Fred and George told me about that name.

"Weatherby?" he questions, looking plain disgusted. "I'm not going to name my owl Weatherby! It's horrible!"

"Yes, because Glaughlit is so much better."

"I'd rather be named Glaughlit than Weatherby."

"Well, whatever floats your boat, Oliver. I just know I wouldn't."

He stares at me intently, with his eyes narrowed. He looks at his owl, and then back to me. "Any other names?"

Wow, does this guy really value my opinion that much?

"You can call him Mortimer," I suggest, thinking of the first name to pop into my head. Fast thinking doesn't always exude the best of things... How many times have I thought fast today, anyway?

"Mortimer," Oliver repeats quietly, peering at his owl. "Mortimer."

"Yes, Oliver. Mortimer."

"Can we call him Mort, too?"

I roll my eyes. Is he serious? "Yes, Oliver.We can call him Mort, too."

"Mortimer it is!" he announces, smiling at me. "Thanks, Katie."

"It's alright."

"I feel really bad for dragging you into my own personal affairs."

"It's alright."

"It's just that I wanted to spend some time with you. You know, get to know you again, like the others."

"That's great Oli - "

What does he mean 'like the others?'

"When you say 'others', what do you mean - " I start to ask, but he cuts me off.

"Well, I've gotten some catch up time with the original Team Wood. It was only you that was missing."

Oh, ouch. So all these years, he's been in contact with everyone, except me. Yeah, that's a good way to boost my confidence. Peachy.

"You're pretty hard to track down, you know that?" he adds, seeing my face turn sour. "I've tried to get in touch with you, but you're very hard to reach."

Right. All he had to do was ask Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, and Alicia. Or even Harry!

"I've asked everyone about your whereabouts, Katie. But everyone kept telling me it was a lost cause. Because you're practically impossible to get together with. What with your Ministry job and all."

Ha! What a lie. I doubt he asked the guys about me. He probably just forgot about me...

But isn't that what I aim for? Not to be remembered? All my life, I've always tried to be the in background. Sure, I was popular back in school and everything - but I was always mellow. You know, savvy. I just don't like people troubling with me. That's all...

"I didn't forget about you, you know."

Holy shit - is this guy psychic? Why is it that he always seems to know what's on my mind? Gosh, just when I thought Eeylop's was eerie...

"I can't forget you," he says, attempting to smile at me. "Don't tell anyone, but you were my favourite on the team."

Psh! Yeah right. I narrow my eyes at him.

He starts to shift uncomfortably, but continues. "Well, you never pranked me or anything, unlike Frd and George. You didn't lose anything for us, unlike Harry - don't tell him I said that. I don't really mind it now, but it still scars."

I give him a stare that clearly indicates; 'dude, you are so troubled.'

"Angelina never really listened to my instructions. Oh, and Alicia always did have a bit of a weak arm," he goes on, shrugging his shoulders. "But you always arrived at every practice, not complaining. Sure, you've fallen asleep countless of times when I'm trying to explain one of my new plays, but then again, so did everyone. At least you took the time to actually learn them. From what I've gathered, Fred and George always played every game improv, Harry just floated along, trying to find the snitch, and Angelina and Alicia, just like the twins, did it impromptu. So I've always respected you more. Just because you listened."

Huh. Who would've thought that Oliver Wood thinks so highly of me? All I did was play quidditch. At least he didn't bash me or anything - oh wiat, he did comment about my sleeping through his play explanations. But let's face it - it was fucking boring, listening to him drone on, and on, and on about the opposing team. He kind of sounded like Binns, now that I think of it.

"Are you ever going to talk?"

He's standing there, with this small pathetic pout on his face. His bottom lip, jutted out and quivering. Just standing there, stroking the head of an even more pathetic baby owl. Great.

"Fine!" I exclaim, heaving a sigh. "It's impossible not to talk to you when you look that pitiful!"

And with that, he drops his stupid pout, to be instantly replaced with his smirk. "I practiced that look, you know? I can get absolutely anything I want from the team!"

I stare at him, cocking up an eyebrow. "You use your pity-look to gain advantages?"

"Yes, well, I only use it when I want something to eat. That helper-girl-person seems to always be willing to fetch me a drink here or there. So I rarely use it."

"Then when do you use it?"

"In situations, such as a few moment ago."

"I'm guessing this is the first time you've use it."

"Actually, no. I used it once before, when my mom threatened to throw away my toy broomstick. You're the second person to be hit with my charm."

Unbelievable. This man is unbelievable.

"Take it as a good thing!" he says, catching up with me. "You're the only one of two people who've seen it."

"And I take it that it's suppossed to be a good thing?" I ask, my voice toneless.

"But of course! You can now go ahead and tell your friends that Oliver Wood made you feel sorry for him."

"I didn't feel sorry for you!"

"It's alright, Katie. You don't have to say it."

"But I didn't!"

"Oh, make a left turn here."

He's ignoring me! That ignorant bastard! I didn't feel sorry for him! I just felt pity! Urgh, he's so pissing me off right now! How can someone be so arrogant? He's like a male bitch! I fucking swear! Oh my god! He's so -

"You can stop ranting sliently about me now, Katie. It wouldn't make much off a difference, really."

That buttmunch.

I scowl at him, which only rewards me with a smirk. I'm getting sick of that smirk.

Alright, so now I''ve come to realisation that I cannot spend even an afternoon with Oliver. He's bound to bug me one way or another.
I'm about to continue walking, until I feel him tugging my elbow.

"What?" I demand, looking up at him.

"Here," he saysm raising an eyebrow. He hands me a piece of paper.

The House of Oliver Wood may be found at 87 Roughfield Cresent, Diagon Alley, London England.

What is this suppossed to be? I look blankly at him.

"Just think about it," he tells me, smiling.

Thinks about it? What am I suppossed to think about? There is nothing here! What - am I suppossed to think about his house? Where is his house anyway? Let's see... The House of Oliver Wood may be found at 87 Roughfield Cresent, Diagon Alley, London England? Okay, I don't get it -

Oh. So there you go. His house is just - bam, in front of me.

And Merlin, is that one... big house.

"It's just a house, Katie," he mutters, pushing me gently on the back. "Not a monument."

He smiles at me, leading me up to the front steps of his porch. Taking out his wand, he sticks it into the hole of the door.

"Welcome to my house. It's not much."

Not much? Just looking at the outside makes me feel like crap. I sunddenly feel poor. Poor and pathetic...

Alright. So here, we go... entering his house.

Entering.