A/N: Hey there! Right, sorry, I just have to ask leanah: what the hell is a marmot?! Phew. Thank you, I'm done. Oh, and I just have to credit Flying Snow from FictionAlley Park for this because reading her lovely Lifesavers fic was the main thing that inspired me to GET OFF MY BUTT AND GET TO WORK. So, er, yeah – thanks. And yes – Bewitching Brendas ARE the wizarding world's equivalent of Barbie. Enough said.

Katie's POV

Chapter Seventeen: CONTAGIOUS!!!

You wouldn't think it was possible for a teenage wizard to be able to spout out eight legible words per second and still be able to breathe normally at the end of every sentence.

You wouldn't THINK it was possible.

You really wouldn't.

At least, I never did.

Until Michael Charles Bennington came to visit my house this Christmas.

WellyouknowKatieskydivingisreallynotallthatbadbutIsupposeconsideringyourpastexperiencewithsportsitmaynotbeallthatgreatforyouandyouknowwhattheysayifatfirstyoudonotsucceedskydivingreallyisnotforyoubutthenagainyoudoplayQuidditchsotherecouldbearayoflightforyoutherewouldyoulikemetoSHUT THE HELL UP!!!!!

Well, that's not what I said exactly.

What I said was more along the lines of, "That's very nice of you, Mike." Cue brilliant smile. "Why, that sounds fascinating!" Nod of acknowledgement. "That must have been quite an experience." Look of intense interest. "I never thought that was possible!" Repeat until so sick of smiling that all you want to do is beat that annoying extreme sports freak to a pulp with a very large, very ripe watermelon.

Unfortunately, I can't do anything to Mike because he's an 'old family friend'.

You know.

One of THOSE people.

I never minded him when we were younger. That's because whenever I met him, he was usually very badly injured from some sort of sports accident, ergo could never actually say anything much. All he could do was smile and nod – sometimes not nod, if the injury involved his neck – as I happily showed him my amazing, fantabulous Bewitching Brenda collection. Then as he got older and gradually learned the meaning of "DANGER: DO NOT PULL", the injuries grew less and less, and the talking grew more and more.

Oh, how I long for the days of my Brendas.

This Christmas wasn't any different. I could tell he really was trying to be nice and all – I could also tell that he still hadn't given up on his long-time crush on me – but, I mean, honestly – did he have to prove his love to me by reasoning my chances of success at skydiving to himself out loud, 'loud' being the key word here?

Quick, someone hand me a watermelon.

"Uh – Katie? Hello?" Mike's voice suddenly said, and I suddenly realized that his giant hand was waving to and fro directly in front of my eyes.

"Oh! Er...yes?" I said, jerking upright from the slouch I realized I had unconsciously been in.

Mike frowned slightly. "You know, if you don't want to hear about skydiving, you can just say so…"

Relief flooded through me – an escape route! – and I sighed, about to thank him for his thoughtful consideration, when –

"…but I know how much you love the idea of skydiving, so I've got an even MORE interesting suggestion for you!" he continued eagerly, reminding me very much of an over-excited puppy. "Have you ever considered the prospects skydiving off a plane on a Muggle bicycle would offer you?"

Have you ever considered the prospects shutting the hell up and leaving me alone would offer you?

"Muggles do it all the time and they never get killed, so I think the chances of us wizards getting killed are very slim, aren't they?"

Moan.

From the far side of our living room, Karé looked up from his newspaper with a bemused and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Mike, I don't think my sister is much of the…'extreme sports' type."

"Hello? Just in case you haven't noticed, brother, I play a sport that involves flying around fifty feet in the air, trying to score goals with a big fat heavy red blob and at the same time trying to avoid being creamed by two gigantic constantly PMSing jackasses of balls! If that isn't an extreme sport, then what the hell is?" I snapped, not exactly knowing why I was taking offense to his comment.

He gave me a Look that very much reminded me of a certain Quidditch player who had been occupying most of my thoughts during the past week, and said slowly, "Well, then, I guess you really don't mind Mike's utterly fantastic idea of skydiving on a bike, now do you?"

"Of course she doesn't!" Mike chirped cheerfully, and with a sinking feeling I realized that Karé has gotten me out of Mike's immensely boring talk and I had stepped right into it all over again.

Sort of like when you jump out of a puddle of muddy water only to step into a huge pile of –

"SHIT, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

Karé and I jumped out of our seats, wildly turning to look at Mike who was pointing directly out of our front window into the garden, looking deathly pale.

What is it?

Has the Grim Reaper come for me because I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!!!

"A bird! A giant bird!" Mike cried.

Let's pretend I never said anything.

"A big, big, bigbigbigbig bird!!!" Mike yelled, and backed away from the window so fast he tripped over his own feet, landing sprawled on the floor. He had barely lain there five seconds before there was a knock on the door and he scrambled up with a wild cry, grabbed my right hand and pulled me after him as he ran through the many hallways of my house and finally out the back door. And he didn't stop there. As he continued to run, dragging me along behind him like I was some sort of paper doll, I began to entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe…Mr Extreme Sports Freak had a phobia of birds.

Birds.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

For some reason, I just imagined Mike tottering.

Does that even make sense?

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Okay.

Momentary bout of insanity gone.

I think it was the rushing wind and the fact that Mike was actually making physical contact with me and all. Now, however, we had finally drawn to a stop right outside the local pharmacy, and we both sank to the pavement, gasping for breath – him because he was tired, me because I couldn't stop laughing. Luckily, I don't think he noticed.

When we both had finally gotten out breaths back (birds – BWAHAHA) , Mike turned me to and apologized, "I'm sorry about that, Katie, but I just have this huge fear of birds…"

I turned away, stuffing my fist into my mouth to keep from laughing.

"It's kind of strange, I know, but they're just so feathery and pecky…"

He is making this rather hard for me.

"Look, Mike," I finally managed to say – in my mind he was already transforming into a huge giant, yellow bird right before my very eyes – "let's, uh – let's go get some Paracetamol!"

And it was my turn to drag him into the pharmacy, for no apparent reason at all other than to get some relief for my imaginary aching headache, which was the excuse I had thought up in a grand total of two point three eight four nine seconds, rounded off to two point three eight five seconds whoo-hoo I can do Math!

As I half-heartedly browsed the shelves of the pharmacy for the familiar sight of a box labeled PANADOL, I became uncomfortably aware of the fact that Mike hadn't taken his eyes off of me ever since we had walked into the pharmacy.

Truth be told, he was making me kind of nervous.

Truth be told, I really needed a watermelon.

When I finally couldn't stand it any longer, I turned to him desperately and exclaimed, "Look, I'm sorry you feel your masculinity has been threatened by the fact that you have finally admitted to a mere teenage witch that you are suffering from bird-o-phobia, but I can assure you that I'm really not going to rub it in your face or any other significant place because I was brought up very well and my parents were – are – kind, polite, well-mannered citizens of the grand emerald isle of Ireland!"

His face turned so red that for a second I seriously contemplated the possibility that I had maybe somehow passed my lobster genes onto him – but then I realized I was being stupid, because genes just weren't conjunctive.

Consistent.

Confusion.

Contingent.

Con–

Con–

Ah, forget it.

Mike's voice saying, "Katie, I have to tell you something," brought me back to my senses. My senses told me that both his hands had my shoulders in a death grip. My senses told me that he was sweating more than a teenage wizard should ever be sweating in an air-conditioned pharmacy. My senses told me that his face was only a few inches away from mine.

"…Katie?"

My senses told me that Oliver Wood was staring right at Mike and I as Mike leaned forward and kissed me.

A/N: Oh my God! *stares at sentence she has just written* It's…it's a cliffhanger!! And I didn't even mean to write one! Oh, wunderbar! *hugs nearest watermelon* *watermelon gives her dirty look and slinks off* O_O Okay. I am so so so so so sorry about the late update. I know. Oh God. I am saying this way too much lately. Blame Linkin Park. No, really. I have gotten way more obsessed with them than any healthy person should be. Well, actually, I've just been way too obsessed with the Linkin Park Underground message board. So yeah. o_O Just a note for you guys: my MSN Messenger e-mail address IS vanillayLang@hotmail.com, however if you would like to e-mail me, please do so at cookiesncream@linkinpark.com because that just makes things a whole lot easier for everyone. =) I love you guys. Really. Now go and review before I send the watermelon after you.