So this chapter is epitomized by the song 'Rescued' written by Jack's Mannequin.

And I'm thinking I'd prefer not to be rescued.

Perfection.

All I could concentrate on was keeping my hands from trembling as I ran them through my hair, staring at the floor of Wood's apartment. He wasn't here; he hadn't been here all night. I should have gone back to my room to think it all out, but I felt too committed to the plan to give up on it now. After all, I'd said the words; for all I know he heard them just as stairs were closing up.

It had been almost an hour, and the Ravenclaw in myself was dying to get back to my room and finish my neglected homework. All the teachers had slowly started what I liked to call the 'NEWT panic' and my homework was slowly starting to take longer than my allotted two hours. But I couldn't move, even if it meant failing my classes. I'm horrified of commitment, but I've committed, and that's that.

As if the continuous mental repetition of my commitment finally got through to him, the stairs opened and Oliver half-stumbled up the first half, freezing when he saw me sitting on his bed. He looked… old. Not old in a just-over-twenty way, old in a battle-worn way. I knew what that look meant. "Aly…"

"You were at a meeting?" I'm crediting Wood with enough intelligence to figure out which meeting I'm talking about.

"Err… yeah. I don't usually go, but he wanted me to see what was going on."

Obviously unsure of what else to do or say, Oliver shuffled the rest of the way up the stairs and walked a straight line to his closet. He muttered a few words and the side of the closet that was usually stuck, or so he'd claimed, opened, and Oliver shoved his black robe unceremoniously into it before sliding it shut again.

"So… have you made your decision?" I sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to look at Oliver; now that he was here, and I'd seen his robe, I was having second thoughts.

"No."

I could've added that I had before he'd gotten there, but now that he was here I was all confused again. Who's to say that my loving Oliver will change him at all? And even if it does, what if that change isn't for the better? What if he takes it as him winning me over to his side? I'm not, I couldn't. I have too strong a sense of right and wrong to go against it.

Oliver's unnecessarily frustrated sigh made it strikingly clear that he was annoyed with me, but really I don't think he has any right to be. I'm the one with the huge decision here; he just has to wait. Then again, it would kind of be bitchy to come over here and not give him an answer.

"Well, God damn it, Aly," Wood cursed, sitting on the side of the bed closest to closet, the side where he sleeps, "Why the hell would you come over here if you didn't know what you wanted? I mean…"

"I knew, Oliver; I just…" I ran my hands into my hair, trying to force myself into the commitment I'd been hell-bent on before Oliver had actually shown up. "I'm… confused again. I… I was going to tell you something, but you weren't here…"

Oliver cursed under his breath, which I was only able to understand because I wanted to know everything Oliver said in hopes of figuring out what he was thinking. I felt his weight shift and slide towards me, his hands tangling naturally with mine, "I'm sorry, Aly; just… just say what you wanted to. You don't have to make a decision."

"But if I say what I want to say then it practically makes my decision for me," I whined, not minding at all talking in the abstract. Oliver, among other things, doesn't need to know what I was going to say. Yet. I might still tell him.

"Just say it; I promise that I won't jump to any conclusions." Slowly, presumably so that I wouldn't feel rushed in any way, Oliver lowered my hands down and buried them in the familiar comforter of his bed.

"I…" It's not him jumping to conclusions I'm worried about… partially. Even after dating Tom for I forget how long, I'd never said I loved him. I never had loved him. I have no idea how it'll affect me once I say it or how it will affect Oliver. It just… it could go so wrong. "I…" I'm gonna have to say it at some point. "I came to say that I love you, Oliver Wood. And I know that you're here to turn me to the dark side and I know that you're a Death Eater but I really hope that you'll reconsider your stance because I've loved you since-"

I was cut off, thankfully. Apparently when I say 'I love you' I can't stop; I have to add qualifying statements, even if I'm pretty sure my love for Oliver is unconditional. I still love him and I know he's a Death Eater; what else could he do?

It's a very important to mention that Oliver cut me off by kissing me. And it wasn't just a short little peck; this was a real kiss, the kind that still managed to induce the tightness in my chest. It's ridiculous that I still feel like there's someone steam-cleaning and vacuuming in my chest when Oliver kisses me, even when I'd been so much closer to him. At the very least I know that either Oliver didn't hear, which is unlikely, or that he isn't scared by my loving him.

This kiss meant so much to me because of that; he isn't scared of me for it. He isn't freaking out and running away, like I would be if he'd said it to me first, and I didn't love him back. If he said he loved me right now, I don't know what I would do.

Oliver pulled away, and for one aching moment I died as he let his breath puff against my lips, "I love you too, Aletta Darling."

Well, now I have to figure out what I do.

…

To be honest, I just feel relieved. He loves me too; I'm not completely alone in the world when it comes to these feelings. It's just… he loves me. I can't even comprehend of the fact that he's lying. He couldn't be; no one would take their job this seriously. No, no, he's not.

At least I know he heard me.

It was the first week of April before I had the nerve to ask Oliver about our… issues. I didn't even really want to bring it up since we were working so well together. We were practically living together, and in almost perfect harmony. Sure, every now and then there were a few bitter comments, glares, and I couldn't forget what Oliver was, where he went every now and then with a robe tucked under his arm.

But on April Fool's Day, which I had luckily spent in my room since Oliver had a late meeting with McGonagall, I found myself being shaken awake at five thirty in the morning to have an emergency meeting and clean-up session because someone had painted the Dark Mark and a few choice, offensive terms under it on the door to the Great Hall.

None of the other students saw it, but I still had to listen to a lecture about it and discuss what could be done to protect the muggle-born students at the school. An earlier curfew was suggested, but then it was pointed out that if someone was going to go on an attacking spree, they wouldn't pay attention to curfews. Instead, all the muggle-borns were taught a spell that would immediately tell me, Tom, and McGonagall where they were via red smoke.

But the solution didn't convince me that the problem had actually been solved; there was still someone who was running around Hogwarts, obviously on what I consider to be the wrong side of the war. And I couldn't help but let it bother me that my boyfriend, my first love, might be involved.

Currently, Oliver was jotting down notes and such on the players so that he could better referee the final match of the year: Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor. Oliver's nearly jumping out of his seat getting ready for this. But I think what I have to say is a little more important; at least, it is to me.

"Hey Oliver," I started, glancing carefully up at him over my book, "Would you happen to know anything about the,,, incident on April Fool's Day?" This is very dangerous territory.

Oliver glanced up at me, also over a few pieces of paper, "You mean the crude comments on the Great Hall door?"

I nodded, "Yeah, that's… that's what I'm talking about. Do you know anything about… it's…" I could get myself into a lot of trouble. "It's creation?"

"You mean did I do it?" Oliver never did appreciate the subtlety of having tact.

"Or do you know who did it?"

"No, Aly, I didn't," he responded, his eyes narrowing just slightly, "I honestly can't believe that you think I did."

"Well, Oliver, it's not like I know of any other Death Eaters who hang around Hogwarts, and you've been going to a lot more meetings lately. And I… I just can't be sure."

"Aly, I love you; do you really think I'd do anything that I know you'd hate me for?"

"I don't know how you are when you're with them," I cried out, hating myself a little for starting this. "And don't you love your father too?"

"Oh, yeah, there's a valid comparison: you and my father." For a second, Oliver and I were both silent, but we both know that Oliver isn't known for his ability to keep his mouth shut, "Look, Aly, I told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that I didn't think we were going to win you over in just a year so he's not bothering me and when I go to meetings I sit in the back and keep my mouth shut."

"Then why do you still go?" I'm just diving headfirst into the heart of the matter. "Why don't you just quit? Give him your two week notice and not go back for those two weeks?"

"Have you ever seen the Dark Lord?" Just the suggestion of quitting made Oliver visibly tense, his eyes widening to an unusual size. "You don't just go up to him and tell him you quit."

"Then we can go to McGonagall, tell her what's happening; she can protect you! The Order can protect you! He who must not be named won't send his entire army just because you don't want to work for him anymore."

"Look, Aly-"

At that moment, a puff of red smoke flared from an invisible source, thankfully ending the argument. A name flashed next to a blinking dot, along with the floor number and a map. I wanted to point at the dot and tell Oliver it was all his fault, but there are more important things at hand. Like a panicking third year named Travis Darter on the fourth floor of the castle by the portrait of the giraffe that changes colors.

"I have to go – Head Girl duties." I hurried out of the room before the argument could be renewed; it was something that needed to be talked about, but I was still uncomfortable with the subject. Oliver just didn't seem like Death Eater material – he was so sweet and caring. At least, he was with me. But then again I can't blame his father for it completely. I just… can't. None of it makes sense, and so I'm mentally rejecting the information.