A/N : Well hello again...it seems I am currently running dry when it comes to reviews, so please recommend my story to your friends if you like it! This is only the second fic I'm posting up on ff.net so I'm aiming for at least a hundred reviews – maybe not a big thing to you experienced writers, but it's huge for me! And you guys are the only ones who can help make that happen, so pwetty pwease??? To pokElilpupE (one of my most faithful reviewers, yay you!) : I'm sorry if Orli reminds you of, er, snorkels. Is that a bad thing? I call him that because it gets tiring typing Oliver over and over again. We all need some variety in our life. And I think Orlando Bloom is called Orli by his friends, so maybe that's where I got the idea?? Thank you for reviewing!

Chapter Eight : My Last Meal

Angelina and I were walking back to the changing rooms after another gruelling Quidditch practice when she finally asked me The Question : "So, what's going on with you and Oliver?"

I raised my eyebrows at her. "You're slacking, Angie. I was expecting that question from as early as four days ago."

"Shut up."

"Gladly."

Angelina paused for a second as her mind tried to process what was going on.  "Oh, wait –"

"You asked me to shut up, so I am."

 "But Oliver –"

"I'm sorry, I don't speak English," I said in perfect English.

I rock.

Angelina muttered something inaudible as we pushed through the changing room doors and laid our broomsticks on the bench. Fred heard her, though, and chided, "Oooohhhh...potty mouth."

Oh, yes, I do.

"Look who's talking," Alicia quipped, emerging from one of the shower stalls with a towel wrapped around her head.

George jogged into the changing room, laying his broomstick down next to mine. "Hey, Katesies, isn't Lene getting out of the hospital wing today?" he asked, turning to me and wiping a trickle of sweat away from his flushed forehead.

I ignored Fred and Angelina who immediately began humming a wedding march and responded, "Nope, she's getting out tomorrow – at least I think she is. I'm going to go get her at lunch tomorrow, why don't you come with me?"

"Oooooohhhhhhh...aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh..." Fred and Angelina chorused.

"I'm pretty sure she'd be glad to see you," I offered. George took the time to glare at his antagonizers for a second before accepting my offer.

Just at that second, I saw Oliver entering the changing room out of the corner of my eye and felt the insides of my stomach jump slightly. He seemed to be very preoccupied with something; in fact I was pretty sure he was, because he walked straight into poor Harry with a thud.

Ohmigod the poor boy will never walk again.

"Oh Merlin, my buttocks," Harry groaned, rolling all over the stone floor and rubbing said part of his body.

George made a gagging sound and Fred grinned, "Too much information. Need to refresh. Come with me, Angie?"

We all watched with growing curiosity as the two made their way out of the changing room and back to the school.

"You know, I think something's going on with those two," Oliver commented, getting up from the floor and stepping on Harry's stomach in the process.

I felt deeply sorry for both of them : Harry because Oliver was a fat oaf and Oliver because he was born without a cerebral cortex.

I mean, how could he not have noticed the chemistry between Angelina and Fred before now? Too much Quidditch. That must be it. All that bloody Quidditch flowing out of his ears...but Quidditch's not all that bad. It's good for his ass. Because that boy has a fine ass.

Yummy.

"No duh," Alicia retorted, gathering up her things from her locker. "Fred has liked Angie only for, like, forever."

She gave me an Oliver-is-hopeless look and waved to us, leaving the room.

"Oh, wait," Oliver suddenly said, smacking his forehead, "Damn. I was going to tell Alicia about our next match against Hufflepuff."

I have a theory that Oliver was born without a medulla oblongata either.

I don't understand it – how can he be so thick one second, and then so smartass-y the next? That whole gay comment thing was pretty smart, and sort of logical, I have to admit; but now he's being stupid all over again. Ugh.

"What next match against Hufflepuff?" George asked sharply.

Go George!

"The one that's a day before Christmas; which, by the way, is coming pretty soon if you haven't noticed. I've just found out, as well - I've just been to see Professor McGonagall and she told me. By the way, Katie, she told me to ask you to meet her in her office after dinner tonight. Looks like somebody's in trouble..." Oliver wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at me.

Bleeding son of a witch.

What the heck have I done now?! Usually, I really have done something whenever McGonagall calls me to her office, but I SWEAR I haven't done anything this time. Honestly.

"I'll never play Quidditch again," Harry was now moaning, clutching at his ribs and kicking out wildly into the air. I suspected he was aiming for Oliver.

Oliver must have shared this thought, because he immediately took a few steps away from Harry, and ended up right next to me instead.

"You will play Quidditch in our next match, Potter – at least if I can help it," Oliver winked.

Harry, realizing that his charade would not work any more, immediately jumped up and grabbed his Firebolt along with him, yelling, "Bye," as he left.

Following Harry's cue, George bent down to retrieve his broomstick as well. "I'll see the both of you later, I'm going to visit Lene and bring her a funeral wreath."

I whacked him on the head with the towel I had just retrieved from my locker. "George!"

"Only joking, only joking..."

George's voice trailed off as he walked out as well.

In that second, I had a few revelations.

One : that Oliver and I were now alone in the changing room.

Two : that we were standing very close to each other.

Three : that I hadn't taken a shower and must have completely stank.

I hurriedly hung the towel around my neck and took a step towards the shower stalls when Oliver grabbed hold of my wrist and spun me around to face him.

"Katie..." he began, tightening his hold on my wrist slightly.

In fact, my wrist was beginning to hurt. I tried to remember whether 'Wrist being broken by insane Quidditch captain' was covered by my insurance company.

"Um, yeah?" I replied, trying to look calm. And serene. And peaceful. And yet concerned, and slightly mischievous at the same time. And possibly some lasciviousness in there. But that could be too straightforward, so how about some innocence for good measure?

"I – I said...I told you – that I...er..."

Oliver didn't appear to be able to go on any further, and I was increasingly aware of how much I was beginning to smell like Hippogriff droppings; so I decided to hurry him up.

"Something about being gay and me being a guy, or – not being a guy, or whatever..." I hinted.

His grip on my wrist tightened even further and I winced inwardly.

"Yes, well, about that – I mean, you did understand what I said, didn't you? I mean, you don't think I'm gay any more? Because I'm not. I'm really not. And I wasn't saying you were a – a tomboy or anything, because you're not – well, you can be sometimes, but that's completely beside the point –"

"Yes, Orli," I said gently. Might as well not make him too nervous about this. I am so kind I amaze myself.  "I understood what you said."

Oliver now had a slightly confused look on his face, and didn't seem to realize that he was still maintaining a death grip on my right wrist. Hopefully, my professors would allow me to skip writing anything for the next few days. "But if you understood me, then – why aren't you..."

"Why aren't I what?" I asked, genuinely confused.

Okay.

So he liked me.

So what?

It didn't actually mean that I had to do something about it, did it?

Alright. I have a secret that I generally don't tell anyone other than my closest friends; but you get to hear it. Because I've never had a boyfriend. Never. In all my seventeen years, I have never experienced anything in a romantic sense. Maybe my hormones are slowpokes, I don't know, but all I know is that I've never had a crush on anyone or vice versa. So I really have absolutely no idea what to do when it comes to situations like this one with Oliver – not that I have experienced any situation like this one with Oliver. Sure, there is this sort of stuff in all my romance novels (you know the ones, the ones Angelina calls 'trashy'?) but, I mean, hello? No lifeguard is going to rescue me from a Great White Shark, give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and immediately fall head over heels in love with me in real life. For one thing, there are no Great White Sharks in Ireland.

What I am trying to say is, I may be a genius when it comes to about everything else, but when it comes to lovey dovey romance, all I can say is this : I'm clueless.

"You don't – you don't care?" Oliver blurted out, his eyes widening slightly. "I mean, most girls either giggle madly or blush or kick me in the groin, but you – you're really not going to do anything?"

Oh, shoot.

I think I've done something wrong.

"Is that what – is that what Cordelia used to do to you? Giggle madly, blush and then kick you in the groin?" I stammered, trying to buy time by referring to his ex-girlfriend and Lene's arch enemy.

Oliver shrugged, finally letting go of my wrist; but I noticed his expression darkening slightly. I suddenly remembered Lene telling me the year before about how Oliver and Cordy's break up had been a huge, painful one. Whoops.

This was then followed by an awkward silence to end all awkward silences.

Just as I had made up my mind to continue what I had been trying to do earlier, as in taking a shower, Oliver spoke again.

"Katie...do you have any feelings for me?" he asked quietly. His eyes were looking everywhere except at me.

Ah, nuts.

How could I say what I wanted to say?

No, I didn't.

Or at least I didn't think so, anyway.

Oliver was nice and all, and I did think he was good-looking, but for some reason I just couldn't imagine me ever having any of those sort of feelings towards him. Maybe I had just known him for too long to ever think of him as 'outrageously sexy' or whatnot.

But I would feel kind of bad just telling him outright about my not liking him and all that. Maybe I just don't have enough practice with this whole dumping thing.

Of course, Oliver's always been really nice to me; so maybe I should just tell him yes, grit my teeth and get along with it. No – call me selfish, but I don't intend to suffer through the last year of my schooling life. Lene would totally kill me if she were here with me right now.

ARGH – I'm beginning to sound like Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

Then I remembered : didn't the heroine in my latest romance novel suffer through a crisis like this? Oh, right, she did; that Countess Elephanté Von Something-or-other from The Land Of Milk And Honey (yes, her name really was Something-or-other). There was some sort of international incident when a Viscount from The Kingdom Of Low Fat Milk And Newly Improved Honey proclaimed his love for her, which ended in a very ugly Battle of the Calories.

I suspected that the author of that particular novel was a sad, sad man.

Now what was it that she had told him?

"I'm sorry, young sir, but I cannot accept your lactose, for you are low fat and newly improved, whereas I am pure milk and honey; and therefore we cannot undertake in any relationship ending in holy milkimony."

Oh, dear, that didn't come out right.

"Excuse me?" Oliver said, dumbfounded.

"No, wait, what I meant was –"

"No, Katie. Hold on," Oliver interrupted me. "I think I get the message. I'm not as stupid as you think I am, you know. I can read between the milk - I mean – you know what I mean."

Oliver took a deep breath, and then continued.

"I get it, okay? You don't like me. It's not exactly great; but I can't force you to feel something for me. I – I wouldn't do that to you. Anyway, I couldn't even if I tried, knowing you," Oliver grinned slightly, but his smile vanished pretty darn quick. "I want us to remain friends, Katie – there's nobody else in the world like you. But always remember this – if you ever do have feelings for me...I'll be there. I'm not giving up on you, Katie."

He gave me a last wistful smile, then turned around to leave.

I stood there unmoving for a few minutes after he had left, with an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I should have been happy, right?

I mean, I had gotten what I wanted. We hadn't fought or anything. We could still be friends. And best of all, Oliver wasn't mad at me.

Then why did I feel so bad?

Why did I feel so...guilty?

I reached for another strawberry fruit tart.

"And Katie Leigh Bell prepares herself to consume yet another volume of the Last Meal saga."

I took a bite.

"She bites!" A gasp.

I chewed.

"She chews!"

I swallowed.

"Peristalsis, yet another amazing process of the human body, makes its presence known!"

I opened my mouth for another bite.

"She digests!"

I took my second bite.

"Her last meal is reaching its end!"

"Oh, SHUT UP," I finally said, turning to glare at Fred and George, who gave me these 'who me?' looks that I had seen one time too many.

I shook my head and proceeded to finish off the tart, accompanied by the lovely backing music of Fred and George continuously letting out exclamations and gasping.

"Oh, come on, you two, it's not her fault that Minervie wants to see her," Angelina finally cut in, barely managing to suppress her grin.

Ha. Laugh all you want, funny men.

I reached out for another fruit tart, this time a kiwi one, but was rewarded by a smack on the hand from George. "Last meals aren't supposed to last this long; you're supposed to be dead by now so don't prolong the pain in our hearts any longer. Hurry it up and go die already."

I glared at him and folded my arms indignantly.

"Well, that's nice, you –"

"I'm sure you have lots to say, dear, and I'd love to hear it all some other time, but really, you mustn't keep dear ol' McGonagall waiting now, must we?"

"All out of the goodness of our hearts," Fred chimed in.

My tormentors gave me dazzling smiles.

"Oh, alright, alright," I finally grumbled, getting up from the table.

There's no arguing with those two – unless you want to end up in Saint Mungo's.

And I'm sure it must be nice in the winter and all, but I don't think it'd do very much for me.

I walked all the way to McGonagall's office in silence, pondering over the surely gruesome fate that awaited me.

I finally reached the huge oak door and knocked on it three times.

"Come in," a voice I recognized as Professor McGonagall's immediately called.

I opened the door, half expecting her to be clad in a devil suit, but instead saw her dressed in her normal everyday black robes.

You know, if there's one witch on this planet who needs a makeover, it's her.

"Well, close the door, dear; you're letting a draft in," McGonagall chided.

I mumbled an incoherent apology and walked to her desk. I never have been very good at apologizing. "Sit down, Miss Bell," McGonagall commanded.

I sat immediately.

Hello? The lady can be scaaary.

At this point, McGonagall threw her head back and laughed.

I froze. This was sounding worse and worse by the second.

"Oh, don't look so stiff, Miss Bell! Don't worry, you're not in trouble," McGonagall laughed.

It was an evil laugh.

"I'm not?" I asked, relaxing slightly. Slightly.

"No, no, of course not. That is – unless you have something to be afraid of. You don't have something to be afraid of, do you?" McGonagall asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

I shook my head vigorously.

McGonagall nodded to herself, seemingly satisfied. "I didn't think so. Why I actually called you here, Miss Bell, is to check on your progress with Mr Wood."

I immediately tensed up again. "What? How – how do you know about me and Oliver? We haven't done anything, professor, I swear!"

McGonagall gave me a strange look.

"I believe I am talking about the tutoring sessions, Miss Bell. I also believe you are talking about an entirely different subject."

I blushed scarlet red. "Oh, er – sorry about that, professor. Everything's going fine with Oliver...and the tutoring...and stuff. I mean – yes. Everything's fine. He's making very goo – well, maybe not very good, but he's definitely making some progress. He should be ready for the N.E.W.T.S. by the time I'm done with him."

"That had better be the case, Miss Bell, because your trial N.E.W.T.S. examination will be in January, and the trial after that shall be held in April; if things go according to plan. Please don't get us wrong, we won't lock you up in a dungeon if Mr Wood doesn't do very well – but we all want to see him doing well, don't we?"

It depends on whether you believe in miracles, professor.

"Of course, professor," I said, smiling sweetly.

"And I felt, Miss Bell, that I should let you know about something the Headmaster has notified me about just this morning. If Mr Wood does not perform up to our expectations of all students who will be sitting for their N.E.W.T.S., we will have to stop him from playing Quidditch and withdraw him from the team. I'm sure you understand. He may be playing for my house, but I am very strict where academics are concerned."

No kidding! Oliver would be crushed if he were ever made to pull out of the team. I couldn't let that happen.

Besides, a nagging thought came to me, if he weren't in the team, you wouldn't be able to spend half as much of time with him like you're doing now...

"Oh, stuff your cake hole," I muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" McGonagall asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing," I quickly replied. I will be the death of me, if that even makes sense.

McGonagall gave me another strange look – she must think I'm a total nutcase by now – and finally said, "Alright, Miss Bell. That will be all for now."

I thanked her and stood up, very tempted to bow, and turned to walk out of her office.

"By the way, I will be checking in on you like this from time to time," McGonagall called to me as I closed the door behind me.

She might as well have added, "BEWARE," in an ominous, echo-y voice for all I cared.

Talk about a dramatic ending.

A/N : Yay! Another chapter up! By the way, does any one of you know how to speak Japanese? I'd really like to learn, and would appreciate if you could teach me a couple of handy phrases. If you don't mind, that is. =) I'm already picking up a couple of words here and there; so far of which the most handy has been "Harahetta!" That one is used at least ten times a day by yours truly, and I'm not even exaggerating. It means "I'm hungry". Heh. Alright, I'm done here. Please review and pray for a quick update! =)