2nd part finished Sorry I stuck you guys with YET ANOTHER cliffie last chapter (I don't think Aicaias will ever forgive me). What doesn't kill you can only make you stronger…yeah, I know that's like the lamest fob-off ever invented.
Name: Have deleted all unnecessary knowledge in my brain to make way for study learning
Age: Knowledge is power, people
Hair: Eh. I think I put a quill behind my ear at some stage, and now it's completely disappeared into my hair. Sccaarry…
Mood: OhGodwhocareswhowasMinisterofMagicin1961Isweartheywereallsmokingdragondungandno-onereallyrememberswhatactuallyhappened.
Location: Library
So. Yeah. I'm studying. Exciting stuff. Just me and some seventh-year book nerd scribbling ferociously in the far corner. Oh, and Madame Pince is lurking somewhere. Lucky me. I swear, we need to charm a bell on her; she's far too sneaky than she ought to have right to be. I would have made that my pet project for the night, except I supposed to be studying. And definitely not scripting an imaginary conversation with myself and a certain Captain. Because I'm cool, and totally normal, and definitely spontaneous and I don't practise dialogue. Damnit, talking to Oliver was never difficult until stupid Cally came along. In light of all this unforeseen trouble she caused, maybe I did go too easy on her…
In more (arguably) exciting news, I officially worked through my entire supply of sugar quills about 2 hours ago. After that I tried gnawing normal quills in quiet desperation. OWL's anxiety and study pressure will do that to you. Personally, I don't recommend it. Newsflash: even though quills come from birds, they don't taste anything like chicken. But they do have the same affect as sugar quills: they keep me awake, and give me a distinctly upset stomach about half-an-hour down the track.
Anyway, at the moment I was sorta studying for History of Magic. Well, it started as studying. And then I started sketching all those horrible battles and wars they had with the giants and dragons and homicidal bowtruckles, and sort of inserting Professor Binns in the picture somewhere. Usually in front of say, a firing cannon. Clearly, this behaviour was not really conductive to my study.
In the end I was so fed up I 'accidentally' knocked over my ink bottle so I wouldn't have anything to write anymore stupid words with. Because despite my best efforts, I couldn't chew my way through my quill collection. So it was the ink that had to go. Unfortunately my spilt ink had some fallout on a library book. As soon as that bottle was airborne I knew I was in deeeep Mandrake poo.
"DESECRATION! BEFOULMENT! DEFILMENT! MOST UNCLEAN!"
GAH! Right in my freaking ear!
Merlin's rotted tooth, I never knew that woman had such a good arm on her. I bolted out of the library and I totally would have outrun Pince's stupid flying books, if I wasn't still wearing those heels. Stupid kitten heels. I have reason to believe the last name Pince said was an alias of Satan, which was taking things just a teeny bit too far, if you ask me. They're just library books. Not love.
I stumbled out of the library, thankful I wasn't seriously injured by some of those tomes Pince set on me. I think the only reason I escaped without a major concussion is that Hermione still had "Hogwarts: A History" out, and it was by far the thickest book in the library. I knew I should have Charmed that bell on Pince when I had a chance...
Anyway, I was clacking down the corridor back to the Common Room, trying not to attract Snape or Mrs Norris's attention. It was difficult. In hindsight, I should have just ditched the shoes, but they're Ange's favourite. Anyway, I was so busy concentrating on tip-toeing back to the Common Room and looking around for patrolling professors I ran into a wall. D'oh. Wait a minute - I know there's not a wall there. The reason I know there's not a wall there was because I ran into it last time, and it was actually…
"Hi baby. Long time no see," whispered a rancid voice.
Marcus Flint.
"You gotta stop throwing yourself at me, Katie. People will get the wrong idea." Oh gag. The only thing I'll be throwing at him is punches. And possibly my lunch. I pulled away from him and took several steps backward. I debated running even further, eyeing the distance between me and the hidden tapestry, but came to the sad conclusion I probably couldn't cover it without tripping over my heels.
"Why the hell are you lurking, Flint?" Memo to self: put a bell on Flint too. A big, heavy ball-and-chain of a bell, then toss him into the deep end of the Lake. That would probably make the Giant's Squid's day: giving him a melodic, jingling play-toy to devour.
"I'm here to collect my winnings on our deal." I must have looked a little lost at this point. Flint filled me in on all the sordid details, and I realised why I didn't remember: I'd been repressing it.
"You know, the deal where you persuade Wood to change you back to normal, and then we start dating." I think either someone's paraphrasing here, or they're completely deluding themselves, because from the hazy recollection I managed to dredge up, that was not the deal at all. My memory of the deal involved running Flint over with a golf cart. Dammit, where was that golf buggy when you needed it? "Nice of you to dress up for me and everything." Flint added.
"There was no deal, Flint." I finally managed to say, injecting as much cold aloofness and frigidity as possible, while seriously wishing I hadn't let Ange and Leesh make me over. You'd think I'd learn the first time they did that to me, but apparently not.
Flint reached out, trying to pin me to him, but years of Quidditch drills honed my reflexes well. I tried to side-step him. Tried being the operative word. Failed being the implied outcome. You see, when I was practicing these Quidditch drills, at no time was I ever wearing a freaking dress or freaking stupid kitten heels. As I attempted a dodge to the side, my foot slipped and twisted, collapsing onto my ankle. Holly freaking freak, I think I just broke my ankle. I completely lost my balance and ended up bowling into Flint even more. This is so not my day.
"Tired of running, are we?" Flint chuckled. No, not tired of running. Physically unable to run. There's a difference.
Flint caught me in mid-stumble and pressed me against the wall. With one hand still keeping me there, he used his other to shove my head back. I didn't need an OWL in Divination to see where this was heading. I turned my head away, but he just pulled it back. Hard.
"No." I choked out, but it was too late. His mouth was already on mine. I won't subject you to the horror of describing it in detail, but just know; it was disgusting. His kiss was everything his whole self was: invasive and offensive and slimy and his hands were everywhere and oh God I think I'm going to vomit and choke and cry at the same time. I opened my mouth to do one of the three and Flint used it as an excuse to poke his tongue in there. Okay, I decided what I was going to do. I was definitely going to spew.
The impulse to chomp down hard on his tongue was strong, but instead I decided to use the most popular form of defence known to women worldwide: I attempted to knee Flint in the ball-sack. Unfortunately, my dress was a little tight, and I couldn't quite get my knee up high enough. Stupid dress. Instead, I brought my foot back down to the ground. Forcefully. On top of Flint's foot.
Now, here's a little-known, unadvertised secret about high heel shoes – if you stomp on people's feet with them, well, yeah…they tend to sort of get stuck in there. Eww. Sorry Ange, I don't care how cute these shoes are: I'm burning them.
Now, I'm not a cry-baby or anything, but I'm not going to lie; my ankle hurt pretty bad when I slammed it into Flint's foot. But whatever pain I was in, it seemed nothing compared to what Flint was in.
"You-" Flint growled, his face contorting in rage. And let me tell you, Flint face was ugly enough when he was wearing a normal expression. Now he looked downright scary.
He had his hand raised – to hit me or try to kiss me again I have no idea, but I didn't want to find out. I debated head-butting him like I had earlier in the year, but the angle was all wrong. Plus, I almost knocked myself out last time I did that.
I inhaled a breath to try for screaming, but I was still dry heaving from Flint's assault on my mouth, and I wasn't completely sure I was winning my battle not to upchuck the contents of my stomach. I'd run out of options. Left with nothing else, I squeezed my eyes shut and cringed.
new part - yay
And that's when the poor book nerd from the library rocketed down the hallway – pursued by Madame Pince's homicidal library books. The nerd had probably never even dog-eared a book in his entire life, but when Madame Pince sets her books on you, you run. Like hell. And the nerd ran straight into Flint. Poor guy. The fright alone probably killed him. To his credit, the guy managed to make Flint lose his balance - enough for me to slide out from Flint's arms anyway. Score one for me. Of course, seeing as I was in heels and a stuffed ankle, I couldn't really go anywhere, but at least the nerd's death was not totally in vain. Unable to support myself, I leant against the cold stone wall and I slid slowly to the floor. I debated crab-crawling away, but for the moment I was relishing not have Flint's face half an inch from my own.
Meanwhile, the nerd who had slammed into Flint straightened up, panting, his hair falling into his face.
"Sorry." He gasped, and turned on his heel to run again, Madame Pince's books fluttering above his head like parchment-y vampire bats. And then the nerd did a double-take, realising who he had slammed into. His eyes slid to me, sitting on the floor, clutching my ankle. I noticed the guy's robes were Gryffindor. Flint cracked his knuckles, obviously noting the robes as well. Confronted late at night with angry books and an even angrier Slytherin, if the guy was smart – which he should be because he was a nerd - he'd run away. Very fast. If purely for his own sake. He'd escaped death already once tonight. If he was smarter – which I was hoping he was, because he was a library nerd – he'd run away, then go get help for me. Instead, the guy turned back to Flint. Damn it. Obviously he wasn't smart. At all.
One of Madame Pince's hovering books made a dive for his head. Quicker than I would have though possible, he snatched it from the air. Man, with reflexes like his, we could use him on the Quidditch team. And then he did possibly the most awesome thing I have ever seen.
He upper-cutted Flint, using the feebly fluttering book. It caught Flint right under the jaw. And that book was thick. Like, War and Peace thick. Like, Muggle phone book thick. The book fell to the floor, flapping weakly. Flint stayed on his feet but staggered off to one side. The remainder of the flying books hung back, keeping a wary distance.
"That's for Bell." Said the nerd.
Bell? Hang on: I'd know that Scottish brogue anywhere. Wood? Merlin; I didn't recognise him with the flat hair. How ironic – I'd been practising a conversation for when I would finally met Wood, and he'd been in the room the whole time, disguised as the book nerd. I hope I didn't say anything embarrassing aloud…
Flint sagged against the wall, one hand on his chin. Had that been anyone else but Flint, Wood's hit would have been a one-hit knock-out. But Flint recovered faster than I would have thought possible.
"Back for some more Wood?" Flint swept some blood from his face with the back of his hand. "Thought I made it clear last year."
And then they sort of did the circling around each other thing which is so clichéd, but they actually did it. If Flint took another half-step to his left I could totally kick him in the balls from my sitting-down position on the floor. He didn't, so maybe he wasn't as dumb as he looks. I wrangled off a shoe and threw it at him instead. I missed. Oliver shot me a Look that said he couldn't believe I was a Chaser with a throw like that. Well excuse me: it's hard to get the angle right when you're sitting on a floor. And you can't get any wind up because a solid stone wall's behind you.
Just before Flint and Wood went head to head again, something in Wood's robes buzzed. If he was Muggle born I'd swear it was a mobile phone. Dimly, an off-tune version of "Happy Birthday" rang out. Flint backed off, confused, and Oliver fished the strange object out of his pocket. It was a miniature digital clock with the hand's pointing to midnight. The read-out underneath flashed 000:00:00. A countdown timer. Wood's aging counter the Weasely's made him for his birthday.
It began to vibrate, smoking slightly. Wood swore and juggled it from hand-to-hand, looking for somewhere to safely diffuse it. No solid-iron mailing bins were around, so Wood did the next best thing. He pegged it at a very surprised Flint. As soon as it hit him, both the timer and Flint disappeared.
"Where did he go?" I asked, struggling to my feet.
Wood lent me a hand getting up. "Wherever Fred and George would think it's funny to send me at midnight on my 18th birthday."
I considered the scenarios, shuddering. I couldn't quite manage the shuddering and the standing. Wood caught me before I fell, holding me securely against him so it wouldn't happen again. He looked me up and down for injuries.
"What happened to your foot?
""I sort of broke it, trying to break Flints."
Wood gave a half smile. "Nice shoes. So did you?"
"No. I think I put a hole in it though."
Oliver raised an amused eyebrow. It was at that moment that Madame Pince gave a scream that was heard to echo around the castle. Wood and I had completely forgotten about the bespelled library books. They had taken advantage of our distraction and flown back to Madame Pince. Judging by the absence of the injured book Oliver had used to hit Flint with, I'd hazard a guess that the book had managed to crawl its way back to the Library, and Madame Pince had just discovered it. And now she was on the warpath.
"Run." Wood gasped. And promptly let me go.
"Gah!" Off-balanced with no support to lean on, I crashed to the floor. Wood was already several feet away by that stage. He looked behind himself in confusion. I glowered back at him, from my spot on the floor. Smiling to himself, he made his way back over to me.
"Smart move, Wood. Now how am I going to - " I was cut off by Wood literally sweeping me up off the floor and carrying me.
"Um, Oliver, wouldn't it be easier just to heal my foot? Actually, if you let me get my wand, I can fix it myself." Anything so I wouldn't have to be freaking carried.
"How well do you run in heels?" Wood pointed out. Touché.
"About as well as you." I shot back, feeling sort of uncomfortable my face was so close to Woods. Not uncomfortable in a bad way, however.
I honestly expected Wood to dump me on the floor the second we got into the Common Room. Instead, he took one look at the party streamers decked around the room, the food still on the tables and several people passed out on the various chairs. Ange, Leesh, Fred and George were all asleep on the one couch. Awww.
"Girl's staircase still refusing to admit boys?" Wood asked.
"It was last time I checked." Which was all of yesterday, when George tried to chase Ange up the stairs.
"Right. We'll fix you up in my room then." And off he strode. Oliver Wood, man of action.
I sat on the edge of his bed, my eyes screwed up as Wood got his wand and a spell book out.
"Have a little faith." Oliver said, hurt. Yeah, well, I was taking no chances - I'd seen what happened to Harry's broken hand after Lockhart got to it. Wood murmured the incantation and my foot went hot for a brief second, then I could feel it again.
I opened my eyes and looked at my foot. Back to normal. Thank Merlin. I attempted to wrangle my shoe off but had no luck, so I brought out my wand and Charmed it off. Then threw it into Wood's fireplace and watched it burn. Burn, stupid kitten hells, burn in hell. Wood looked on in amusement.
"I am never wearing heels again." I clarified. "You are my witness."
"Those heels were very…spikey."
"All the better to stomp on Flint with."
"Honestly Bell, I didn't know you had that much violence in you. Remind me not to get on your bad side."
I raised an eyebrow at him archly. "And what you did to Flint?
"Yeah, well, he had that coming since last year." Oliver rubbed a faded scar on his chin darkly. "I'm just sorry the Weasely's timer Vanished him before I got a chance to do something serious."
"So am I." I was supposed to sound all threatening and menacing like Wood, but instead I sounded all wobbly. I tried to force the hysteria out of my voice before Oliver noticed.
"What happened?" Oliver demanded. "You're shaking." Nope, he didn't miss a thing.
"Nothing." I choked back a sob. Stupid emotions. I could tell myself this crying and shivering was just a reaction to the adrenaline, but I still felt stupid.
Oliver gently held my chin and directed it so I was facing him.
"What did he do to you?" He asked softly.
I opened my mouth to tell him and suddenly the lunch I had been threatening to throw up on Flint decided it was better late than never to put in an appearance.
"Bathroom." I choked out, and Wood turned my shoulders and directed me towards his ensuite. Nice digs, I thought as I puked my guts out over the toilet bowl. Can't wait until I'm a seventh year.
I splashed water on my face afterwards, enjoying feeling clean again. The water was cool, almost cold, and I remembered that time with Wood earlier in the year in the Gryffindor showers after our spectacular loss to Hufflepuff. That time, it had been me trying to cheer him up. I latched onto that happy memory as I blotted the tears and the water beads off my face, ready to face Wood again. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, tense, not sure what to do, his eyebrows drawn in concern.
"Bell," he started, his Scottish brogue even more pronounced when he was trying to be gentle, "I'm not one to push if it upsets you, but I need to know what he did."
"Why?" I sat down heavily on the bed.
"So I can decide how soon I want to track him down and kill him."
That at least got a small smile from me. I took a deep breath and tried to think happy thoughts.
"Flint kissed me." I admitted. "After I broke my foot so I couldn't move and he got me up against the wall and - " I broke off, not wanting to remember his hot breath against my face, his coarse hands over my skin, bruising my neck. His greasy hair against my cheek. "It wasn't pleasant."
Wood actually couldn't speak for a few seconds. He tried a couple of times, but he didn't get past choked, one syllable noises. They sounded angry though. All the while his face was getting steadily darker with each passing word he couldn't choke out. Eventually he stopped trying to splutter out anything in English, and I think he may have reverted to Gaelic threats.
Which made him look incredibly, scarily angry but sound incredibly, awesomely hot. Objectively speaking, of course. And I didn't say he was hot – I said he sounded hot. Him and the rest of the Gaelic speaking nation. Nothing personal. I could have listened to Wood speak Gaelic all night – even if he was probably using words like 'rip' 'death' and 'gore'. Except my stupid tears had ideas of their own, and they put in another appearance. So Wood was sounding awesome, even if his hair was a bit deflated, and I was sobbing and gulping and wailing like a baby, and my eyes and nose were probably going bright red. Great. Wood saw my tears and shut up immediately, putting his arms around me. They were very warm. And comforting. And nice. And impressive. And the perfect way to stop me crying, would you believe.
"I'm sorry Bell. I should have been there."
"No you shouldn't. It was stupid." I wiped the last of my stubborn tears away. "I should have been able to look after myself." A small tear escaped and slid down my cheek. Oliver wiped it off with his thumb.
"Bell, you are one of the most independent people I know, but Marcus Flint is not someone you want to take on single handed. Last year, he pretty much beat the crap out of me and I wasn't even wearing heels." Wood in heels; funny image.
"Yeah, but you took on the whole Slytherin Quidditch team by yourself. Without a wand."
"No." Oliver smiled. "Only because Flint snapped mine. Took me ages to find a decent replacement too. If it hadn't been for the Weasely's and that map they carry around with them, I probably wouldn't be standing here today."
"Yeah, the Weasely's were the cavalry to the rescue when I ran into Flint one time when I was a five-year-old. But I so could have taken him out." Somehow we had both ended up reclining against the headboard of the bed. Well, Wood was. I was leaning more against Wood. He was stroking his fingers through my hair absent-mindedly.
"I'm sorry I turned you five." Wood blurted out.
"You didn't."
"No, but the point is I thought I did. I thought it was my fault but I didn't try to find a way to reverse the spell."
"Yes, but that's because Cally did her brain-washing Imperius Curse Look on you."
"But I didn't even mind. I should have cared that I was being a bastard and you were five. I should have looked out for you."
"Oliver, I deserved to be five, the way I was acting. If I hadn't been eavesdropping at the door, Cally wouldn't have had a chance to hex me in the first place."
There were several moments of silence where we just listened to the roaring fire before Wood picked up the thread of the conversation again.
"Why were you eavesdropping at the door, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I think I was angry at you."
Wood was intruiged, "Why?"
"Because Ange and Leesh had just dragged me all over the Hogsmeade and spent hours doing something to my hair and face, and you didn't even notice – which is understandable because of Harry's Firebolt issue – but I'd just wasted my whole afternoon when I could have been playing Quidditch and - ." And I forgot what I was saying. I remembered feeling angry at Wood that day – upset even – and I hadn't realised why. But I don't think I told Wood the whole truth just then: I had been mad at him for not noticing. And I wasn't upset because I'd been made-over and missed out on an afternoon of Quidditch – I was upset because I'd been made-over and Wood didn't seem to care.
Wood seemed to be thinking in the silence too. "I did notice you." He finally admitted softly. "It took me a while, because I didn't recognise you."
"How could you not recognise me?" I interrupted, snorting in derision.
"Bell, did you look in the mirror that afternoon?" Wood said. "You looked…You looked gorgeous Bell, I won't downplay it. Much like how you look now. You're gorgeous anyway, there's no doubting that, but the make-up and the clothes and the hair," he teased my own hair at this point, "is just making it painfully obvious how gorgeous you are. And I'll support you if this is how you want to look, but…"
"But you think I look like a tart?" I finished for him.
"What? No. No. You look…beautiful. Too beautiful to be just Bell, my Chaser." He changed tack abruptly. "Do you know why I call you 'Bell'?"
I smile wryly. "Because you've forgotten my real name?"
"No." Oliver gave me his own crooked smile. "Because no-one else calls you that. It's a you-and-me thing, an inside joke. But right now you don't look like my Bell anymore. You look like someone else. A stranger. A beautiful, wonderfully breath-taking stranger, but still a stranger I don't know. Someone who won't play Quidditch, who won't drop and give me 300 stubborn push ups."
"Oliver Wood, you silly Captain. The clothes and the make-up and the hair were for you. Well, Ange and Leesh's depraved idea of cheering you up. I don't want to look like this. I'm glad you don't like it."
Wood smiled into my hair. "I do like it. But I don't think it's you."
"I think the heels proved that point already. I promise, from now on, no more dressing up. Just jeans and t-shirts. And I'd never slack out of push-ups, if it meant proving a point. And I'll always be playing Quidditch, until the day I die." I promised. "Except for the rest of the year. And the rest of my time at Hogwarts, if my mother has her way." Oliver was silent, but he kept on running his hands through my hair, lost in thought.
"Oliver?" I asked after a while.
"Mmm-hmm?"
"Did you speak Scottish before?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Can you teach me?"
There was a slight pause, and I could sense Oliver grinning. "Not those words."
"Different ones then."
"Tomorrow. M' eudail."
"What does that mean?" More grinning.
"I'll tell you tomorrow."
I was just about asleep when I realised something.
"Oliver, what were you doing in the library?"
"Just studying." For his trials no doubt. They were tomorrow after all. Looks like I might not find out what M' eudail means tomorrow after all. But I was already asleep by the time I worked that out, so I didn't really care.
Who thought the nerd in the library was Wood? Hands up, who worked it out? Tricked you all! Wood is pretty damn unrecognisable without his trademarkedly awesome hair.
NB – M'eudail, the internet tells me, is supposed to be a Gaelic term of endearment. Like 'my darling' or 'love' or whatever. Like how French people say 'ma cherie.' So I'm sorry if it turns out I can't recognise a word of Gaelic from gibberish, (my translation was taken from the internet, remember) so if there are any Scottish people or native Gaelic speakers out there reading this and alternating between going 'what the f-- is she on about' and laughing at my complete hopelessness in broadening my cultural and linguistic experience, firstly I apologise sincerely, and secondly, I want to marry into your family. Because Scottish people are awesome.