Remind Me To Breathe
By Christelle
Author's Note: I'm afraid Mr. Wood doesn't appear in this chapter, mon amis. No, just kidding, he comes in near the end and is as beautiful as ever. But he's in Chapter Three almost constantly – I've already written it, but I'm too lazy to revise it at the moment. Anyway, be good and review and I'll try to get Chapter Three up as soon as possible. Capisce?
Jamie: Thanks for your support! Katie's inner monologue continues in greater magnification in this chapter, so you'll have to let me know if it still clicks! Keep reading.
Demetre Ironhilt: Sorry about the long chapters. I'm really very bad about that. *hangs head* Thanks so much.
Emma: Yoohee. Sugar-high, dear? Me, too. It's the chocolate's fault. Thanks for your enthusiasm and I hope you enjoy this chapter…
Sara: Hey, can't say I haven't had a lot of practice in the crush area. I tend to go for unreachable guys, too – Let's see… Orlando Bloom, Sean Biggerstaff… yeah. I've got a problem. Yoohee!
Sarah H.: Why, thank you, darling girl. One question – do I look like the freaking porn channel to you?
Midnight Dove: Thanks for your compliments – and here it is! Let me now what you think.
Robin: I agree wholeheartedly. I mean, how's it going to work? The Quidditch Cup is a huge
part of Book Three, and they can't very well do it without Wood… I can't believe they'd actually cut out the Cup, but they might very well in lieu of elaborating more on the main plot of the book. But anyway, thanks for reviewing and do keep reading!
Sportzjunkie: Yoohee. Thanks a bunch!
Disclaimer: Yesterday, when I was out walking, I came upon J.K. Rowling in a field. She was picking wildflowers. We got to chatting and she told me that if she ever found written evidence that I had stolen her characters, she would sue me to within an inch of my life. She's not sure she's quite rich enough, yet. She explained that British taxes are really quite soul-eating. I started talking about colonial America and frothing at the mouth and she shut up. The point is, none of these characters are mine, and nor is the song by Michelle Branch
Chapter Two
"Everywhere"
'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I catch my breath it's you I breathe
You're in everyone I see
So tell me –
Do you see me?
~Michelle Branch, "Everywhere"
I was a bit late to Charms, but Flitwick didn't notice. I slid into a seat Angelina and Alicia had saved for me and retrieved my book, trying to look as though I'd been there all the while. The class was a double block, with Ravenclaw. Thank God it wasn't with Slytherin. I wasn't looking forward to sitting through Double Charms, but I think I would have slit my wrists right in Flitwick's classroom had it been with Slytherin. Millicent Bulstrode was all I needed right now.
"Where were you?" hissed Alicia as soon as Flitwick's back was turned.
"Hospital wing," I said back.
"How's your head?" asked Angelina. A trifle too loudly, as it turned out.
"It's fine, Miss Johnson, why?" Flitwick said, turning around again.
"Just... politely curious?" tried Angelina hopefully, offering a smile.
"Oh," Flitwick said. "Well, thank you, Miss Johnson. Let's all turn to page 63, now."
Cheering Charms. Oh, good. Something that should come in handy, given my haunting impossible fantasies. I did my best to concentrate on the lesson, but it was hard to forget the way Wood looked at me, sometimes, as if... but of course, that was only when he was talking and thinking and breathing and living off of Quidditch. Even I couldn't bring myself to actually kid myself into believing it was something about me that made him act that way.
"Miss Bell?"
Angelina elbowed me in the ribs.
"Ow," I said, amid laughter from my classmates. I looked up. "I'm sorry, Professor?"
Damn.
"I said, can you tell me the important thing to remember when performing a Cheering Charm?"
"Oh," I said, floundering. "Well – er – they're very... useful."
"I suppose so," said Flitwick, frowning. "But the answer I was looking for, class, is that Cheering Charms are very easily overdone. Overdoing a Cheering Charm can have disastrous effects. Can anyone tell me what we must always remember about Giggling Gertrude?"
The class moved on, and I pushed all thoughts of Wood out of my head.
Well... I pushed them into the back of my mind, at least. It's hard to get a guy like Wood out of your head completely, you know.
*
Charms came and went, albeit slowly. Angelina, Alicia and I trudged down to lunch.
"I've got Arithmancy next," groaned Alicia, and Angelina and I smirked at each other.
"We've got Care of Magical Creatures," I said superciliously.
"So?" said Alicia sulkily.
"So we're gonna be outside in the boo-tee-full sun while you're whiling away the hour doing hard work," Angelina said, a smug grin on her face.
"Shut up."
We sat down at our usual seats and started shoveling food onto the golden plates. The Weasley twins sat down across from us.
"Hello, ladies," said George as he grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes out of my hands.
"Think you've got enough to eat there, Spinnet?" asked Fred. Alicia glared daggers at him.
"No," she snapped, snatching the mashed potatoes from George. "I'm a growing girl. I need sustenance."
Angelina stared sadly at her plate. "Wish the house-elves could make Fizzing Whizbees," she said. "My sweet tooth is being deprived."
Fred bowed. "Your wish is my command, madam," he said, exchanging secretive looks with George. The twins' – call them connections – were legendary.
"Yep," agreed George. "Party, Gryffindor common room, tonight. Nothing fancy, no need to dress up."
Angelina, Alicia and I exchanged victorious glances. It was only as Angie and I were on our way to Care of Magical Creatures that I remembered about my detention with Snape. My face must have fallen, because Angelina said,
"What's wrong? I mean, I know Grubbly-Plank's not the hottest teacher on the block, but it's not Snape or anything."
"It is Snape," I said mournfully. "I've got detention with him tonight, remember?"
The expression on her face said quite plainly that she did.
"Ouch, Katie," she said sympathetically. "We'll tell Fred and George to have the party another night."
"No," I said. "It'll be okay. Save a butterbeer for me, okay?"
"Yeah," said Angelina. "Bien sûr."
I hate having a friend whose grandmother is French. Sometimes she says the strangest things. Through past experience with Angelina, however, I have discovered "bien sûr" to mean, in the much more sensible language of English, "of course". So I gave Angelina a milder glare than I usually do when she employs French in everyday conversation. She promptly ignored it, as per usual.
In Care of Magical Creatures, we learned all about the occamy, a plumed two-legged winged creature with a serpentine body, and took copious notes. The occamy is XXXX by Ministry of Magic classification, and is aggressive to all who approach it particularly in defense of its eggs, whose shells are made of the purest softest silver, I wrote painstakingly, my mind anywhere but on occamies.
I'd only had one other detention with Snape, in my first year. It had been an experience I hadn't been particularly keen to repeat, and I'd managed to hide myself from Snape's roving eyes -- until last week.
Hey, no one can say I wasn't provoked, that's all. Angelina and Alicia were just as angry as I was; the only difference was that they remained in control of their tongues, while mine escaped from me for the first time in quite a while. Anyway, Snape's defilement of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was the last grievance in a long line that finally snapped my resolve.
It was soon after Christmas that Gryffindor pulled a stunning victory over Hufflepuff – right under Snape's nose. Literally. Harry caught the Snitch within inches of Snape's face. The following Monday, Angelina, Alicia and I weren't so naïve as to walk into Potions expecting nothing to be said about the match, but Snape went above and beyond the usual range of his derogatory comments.
I must say, I was impressed when it took him nearly ten whole minutes to say anything at all about the match or the team or Gryffindor in general.
When he did, he motioned regally out of the high window at the gloomy gray skies and said, "I wonder if Gryffindor could win a match in this weather, or if, as I suspect, the light of the sun was a necessary aid for victory. I believe I am not alone in saying I should very much like to see them play amid a few clouds."
It should go without saying that the Slytherins, with whom we have Potions, agreed immediately. There were nods and smirks all around. The fact that five members of the Gryffindor team were present notwithstanding.
Fred and George, of course, smiled and laughed with Slytherin. This freaked out the lot of them, since everyone is quite aware that the Weasley twins are on no account stupid. Later, the twins said, "We were just laughing. If they happened to assume that the fact that we were laughing suggested they were all going to receive a shot of Filibusters' where the sun doesn't shine, that's their problem, isn't it?"
That is, of course, the way Fred and George operate. I'm not quite as clever. I managed to bite my tongue then, but a few minutes later, the snake – oops, I meant Snape – struck again.
"I'm sorry, Professor, is that essence of murtlap on the board or essence of murflap?" asked a Gryffindor girl tremulously.
"Perhaps," snarled Snape, his lip curling, "you require Potter's glasses. They are obviously magical, since he was able to catch the Snitch at all."
This time I could see Angelina clench her jaw. The Weasleys staged a coughing fit in the hopes of irritating Snape.
"But he did," I said suddenly. I couldn't help it; it was too much – he was way out of line and no one was doing anything about it.
"I'm sorry, Bell?" said Snape. I don't think he could quite believe I was talking back to him.
"Harry caught the Snitch," I said, staring up at him belligerently. "He didn't need his glasses or the sun or anything else. That boy could catch the Snitch in a blizzard and I think you know it, Professor."
"Detention, Miss Bell," retorted Snape, smirking self-satisfiedly. He swept up to the front of the room and consulted his desk calendar. "Next week should do. In the evening. And in the future, Bell, keep your adulation of Potter outside of my classroom."
He could hardly believe his luck – he must have been high off the prospect of catching Katie Bell a hard one because he neglected to keep us after the bell and instead dismissed us promptly.
Which left me precisely where I was now. I sighed and slung my bag over my shoulder as the bell rang from the castle. Care of Magical Creatures – mission accomplished. Next assignment – Transfiguration.
*
Transfiguration passed without much incident. I managed to keep my head, unlike in Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. Although I think Professor McGonagall did give me a few odd looks, but I waved these away as oddities that need not be duly thought over.
"Homework," said Professor McGonagall as the bell rang. She stared sternly as we all groaned. "A foot on Animagi, due Wednesday. Class dismissed."
Angelina, Alicia, Fred, George and I started packing up our books. "Bell," called McGonagall. I looked up. "See me when you are finished."
The others looked inquiringly at me, but I shrugged. I slipped Intermediate Transfiguration back amongst its fellows and picked up my bag, waving goodbye to Angelina, Alicia and the twins as I traipsed up to the front of the room.
Professor McGonagall shuffled some papers on her desk before she met my eyes. When she did, she leaned back in her chair and folded her hands on her desk.
"Are you all right, Miss Bell?" she asked. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle and my brow furrowed. She couldn't know. Not about Wood.
"All right?" I repeated stupidly. "Er – yes. Yes, of course."
"You seem rather preoccupied," elaborated McGonagall, fixing me with her trademark steely gaze. "I wondered if something was bothering you. You seem to be only semi-aware of what you are supposed to be learning."
Oh. And I thought I'd done rather well that class. I blamed McGonagall wholeheartedly for being too observant for her own damn good. "I'm fine," I reiterated, trying to incorporate some firmness into my voice. "There's nothing wrong."
"I see," said McGonagall. "Well, if you change your mind, Bell... you'd better run along. You'll be late for class."
I nodded, smiled, and walked out the door. What did she mean, if I change my mind? Change my mind? Change my mind about what? About being fine? Because I am. Fine, that is. There is nothing wrong with me. I have no issues. I am a carefree, laid-back teenaged girl and nothing could possibly improve my life because there is simply nothing in my life that requires to be improved.
Except the rather large file marked "Oliver Wood".
Okay, am I kidding anyone except myself?
*
I didn't bother maintaining my façade in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell was too busy stuttering out the w-ways to r-r-repel v-vampires to worry overly about what his class was doing. I almost fell asleep several times, but Fred and George, kind souls that they are, poked me in the back repeatedly with the butts of their contraband. Fireworks and Dungbombs, of course. Not wanting to think about what would happen if they accidentally (or purposefully) poked too hard with a Dungbomb, I forced myself to stay awake, focusing fuzzily on Quirrell and his purple turban.
When the bell rang, I shot out of my chair as if my butt was on fire and scooped my books into my bag. I wanted to get that Transfiguration homework done before dinner so that I wouldn't have to do it over the weekend, because God knows Wood would have us up as soon as the sun rose. (A/N: Wood would. Get it? Yoohee. I'm high.)
I dashed out of the room, Angelina, Alicia, Fred and George close on my heels.
"Why're we going so fast?" asked Angelina, panting.
"Because we've got that homework for Transfiguration," explained Alicia as we raced along.
"Yeah, 'cause no doubt Wood'll have us all – Katie, watch out--!" Fred said, but the warning came too late.
"Oi," said Wood for the second time that day. I extricated myself from his person.
"Sorry, Oliver," I said again. This was getting repetitive.
"Quite all right," said Wood, trying to get his breath back. He turned to Fred and fixed him with an inquisitive glare. "No doubt I'll have you all...?"
"...up at the crack of dawn," said Fred.
"Playing Quidditch," added George.
Wood pounced on this opportunity. "Exactly!" he shouted, attracting stares from the rest of the corridor. "We must train, team! That Cup is ours, I tell you, ours!"
Fred rolled his eyes. "We'd better go before he starts frothing at the mouth," George said.
"See you at dinner, Oliver," called Fred as we mounted the stairs to the common room two at a time.
"No, you won't," Wood called back. "I've got detention and loads of homework."
George swore. "That makes two of you," he said. Then he shrugged. "Ah, well, we'll save you both a butterbeer."
"Maybe," corrected Fred.
"If we feel like it," said George.
"If, you know, no one really wants them anyway—"
"Oh, shut up, the both of you," I said crossly. Then, trying to be as insouciant as possible, I said, "Wonder why Oliver's got detention."
"Probably," began Angelina, "he started making diagrams of the Wronski Feint while he was supposed to be taking notes, or something."
Alicia stared at the ceiling speculatively. "Yep," she said. "I can see McGonagall or somebody giving him detention for that." She turned to the Fat Lady. "Boggart breath," she intoned, and the Fat Lady swung open.
I almost knocked over a first-year in my mad dash to an unoccupied table, but I didn't even stop to say sorry. Fred and George winked and disappeared, presumably to gather supplies from Hogsmeade via the one-eyed witch's hump. Angelina and Alicia went upstairs to our dorm.
I pulled out my Transfiguration book and a new roll of parchment, and then began a crazy search for a quill. I was just about to upend my bag when something tickled my nose. I sneezed. Someone laughed. I looked up. My quill was directly in front of my nose, and my tickler was the Incredibly Charming Mr. Wood.
"Looking for this?" he said, his eyes dancing with mirth. I snatched the quill.
"Thanks," I said, and I started scribbling a mile a minute, copying down everything I'd ever learned about Animagi whether it was relevant or not. Wood collapsed into a chair and splayed his hands on the table. I was, of course, immersed in my work and therefore didn't notice that his fingertips were going white with the pressure he was exerting on the table. Of course.
I paused when I'd gotten about six inches down to flex my hand, which was quickly cramping, and to tuck my hair behind my ear. I'm going back to ponytails, I swear. This clip does not work.
I picked up my quill and glanced up to find Wood looking at me intently. His eyes flicked down to my half-finished essay and he said, "Transfiguration?" I nodded and he gave me a soulful look. "Me too," he said. He sighed, reached for his books, and started writing languidly.
*
I emitted a crow of triumph two hours later and threw down my quill. Wood glared at me. The common room looked very large with only the two of us sitting hunched over our books; everybody else had already gone down to dinner.
"Don't tell me you're done," he said mournfully. "I've still got two feet for Binns and a half a foot left for McGonagall."
"Have fun, Oliver," I sang, and I made my way to the portrait hole.
"Ach," he said, stretching. "Well, have fun, Bell. See you tomorrow at practice – six o'clock, bright and early, tell the others."
"Six o'clock," I groaned. "Got it."
I climbed out of the portrait hole headfirst and nearly fell down the stairs. What can I say -- I'm naturally clumsy, and it doesn't help when the staircases try to trip me.
