The new and improved - BECOMING ONE THEM ladies and gentlemen!

Have fun!

BTW - sadly, I don't have the money to afford the very handsome, very rich Oliver or any of his friends. Only the silly Claire.

Can you love me? Will you love me? These are the last fatal words I spoke before slipping into a dark sleep in his arms. Would he help me, or would he hold me tight until I was pulled from his grip. He was my best friend and yet, he never once told me everything. We met and we fell in love. It was a love deeper than marriage, deeper than family. He let me into his world, the world that I would never have found, never have been a part of, if he wasn't there. He tested every limit, but I was the one in pain. And it all started when I moved to England.

I was 15, or close to it. I had the silly dreams and worries of a teenager. All I really cared about was if I could visit London and go shopping. How different would it be from America - this I wanted to find out. My family had bought a little house in the country, near enough to London that I wouldn't miss a thing, but far enough out for my mum to relax. It was late June and rather muggy, as England usually was, but I still made it to the city with a history.

Overwhelmed could not explain the feeling that went through my whole body as I stepped out onto the cobblestone street and took in the blurry scene around me. I saw shops that had been there for at least 200 years. There were more bicyclists zooming down the road than in the Tour de France.

I turned around slowly, making sure that I saw every shop possible, every landmark that I could. With each turn I gained speed, melting everything together in a beautiful swirl. I spread out my arms and laughed like any child would. It was a full laugh, releasing all the guffaws and chuckles into one big howling laugh. But when one is spinning, one can't see things clearly. All of a sudden, I landed on the ground with a terrible thud.

"Are you okay down there?" The words gradually made it to my ears. A hand reached down and helped me to my feet. After the head rush, I was able to see the tall boy that had bumped into me.

"What were you doing, whirlin' around like tha'?" he asked in a Scottish accent.

"I don't know," I answered groggily, "trying to make myself sick?"

"An' you would have succeeded if I hadn't've knocked you over?"

"I suppose." He gave a small grin and introduced himself.

"I'm Oliver Wood," he said, offering his hand.

"Claire D'Etoile," I responded, taking it with the hand that wasn't rubbing the back of my head. He had a strong grip, but it was soft enough that I didn't worry. Looking straight at him, I found he wasn't all that taller than me, only by a head. His smile was gentle, saying don't worry, I've got you.

"Now what is an American doing in London alone? You're not just visiting, are you?" He must have noticed my horrible western drawl.

"I'm visiting London, but I live in the suburbs outside of the city."

"I guess you could say I was visiting. I just got back from school and waiting for my father lets me take time to look around." We talked for another half hour until he asked me what I wanted to hear.

"Listen, do you mind if I bought you a drink? I know this great place down the road."

"Sure, but I need to exchange some money first." I showed him a handful of bills and pointed to the bank across the street.

He turned to look and then nodded his head. "Here, I'll meet you there. Just head down to the end of the street and make a left. You should see me."

I agreed and we set off in our different ways. I was a little miffed that he didn't wait for me, but we didn't know each other and he was probably scared.

I left with my pockets full of jingling coins. Taking the extremely short directions Oliver gave me, I saw him sitting on the wall in front of a bookstore. 'How quaint,' I thought, beaming at him.

"Welcome, my American Beauty," he said bowing me into a grubby little place next to the store. The grin became fixed on my face as I looked around. It was more like an inn where sailors would stay than a coffee shop, but, like my grandmother says, the best places are usually the smallest.

"What do you want? Tom can fix up almost anything."

"Um, just a soda pop, please."

"And a butter beer for me, Tom."

"Butter beer?" I asked skeptically.

"Yeah, it's a, uh, drink, unique to this place." He seemed a bit nervous, so to calm him as much as girl could, I started up a new conversation.

"So where do you go to school?" I tried. It only made him sketchier.

"A small boarding school a few hours away, I take the train there with the others," he finally said. By this time I had the strangest feeling that the bartender was watching us. A shiver ran down my arms making me cringe.

"Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?" Oliver said earnestly offering it to me.

"No, just a little chill that's all," I said, giving a weak smile. He accepted it and changed the subject of our short conversation.

"You said you live outside of London in which town?"

"I think it's called Godric's Hollow. It's really small, but very nice."

"Yes, I know, I live there too!"

"Really? You're not pulling my leg?"

"No!" he said, getting more excited by each word, "I live in the white house on Griffin Street, the one on the corner."

"That one! Oh, I love that house! We would have bought it if it was for sale!"

"I'm glad you didn't!" he laughed, "then we wouldn't have met!"

We sat and talked for an hour buying drink after drink, barely noticing the other people coming in and disappearing into thin air and walking into fireplaces. When I finally looked down at my watch, I was an hour late in meeting my mother to go home.

"Oh, gosh! Oliver, thank you, but I have to go!" I ran away saying a quick goodbye and pulled out my cell to call her.