Chapter Thirteen: Topless Tiffs with your Fake Boyfriend
She was lying face down on the couch when the knock came. She was only surprised it had taken so long. She didn't move, and the knock happened again. Her left leg twitched but otherwise Katie remained motionless. Maybe, if she kept pretending she was dead, the night would be over, and he would go away.
"Bell," Montague's voice was muffled through the door, but she could still tell it was him, "I know you can hear me. You better answer the door, or I'm going to think you are out two-timing me with that Muggle again."
"I am," Katie said into the couch cushion. It came out like a muffled groan.
"Bell," Montague knocked loudly again, "don't make me show up at that Muggle's flat in a jealous rage."
Katie rolled over, sighing, then dragged herself to the door. Lucky for her, Ange and Alicia were still out, presumably drowning their sorrows at both being eliminated now for the Quidditch league cup.
Katie opened the door unceremoniously as Montague knocked again, and he almost fell in, his hand still on the door.
"Finally," he groused, coming in through the door without an invitation, "I was beginning to think you were tonguing that Muggle again."
"Think about that a lot, do you?" Katie said, "a fantasy of yours?" she tried to use her usual biting tones, but her heart wasn't into it.
She shut the door. Montague was looking around her unusually empty flat, perhaps to see if they were alone, perhaps to find something to insult her with, most likely both. The kitchen table had her nearest bouquet from him on it. The balcony had the potted lemon tree, the kitchen counter a pile of overflowing scrolls. On the floor near the door were three sets of Quidditch boots. The coffee table had a few dirty mugs, the end tables magazines and bags. Katie waited for the insult about the state of disarray, the eclectic furniture that they'd picked up at various used stores that didn't quite match, the twinkling string of lights over the bohemian tapestry on the wall. Alicia had fallen in love with the university dorm aesthetic. His eyes traveled over the row of framed photos from the girl's friends and family hanging on the one wall they had painted magenta one night when drunk. Katie was the only one who had non-moving photos, of course. But the insults didn't come.
"Is this your parents?" Montague said, leaning forward and squinting at one of the non-moving photos. It had been a winter trip to York, to see the Christmas markets and go shopping. Katie was in the middle, her hair in two braids and a knitted cap like she often did when she was sixteen and in the Muggle world, her parents on either side of her, beaming, cups of hot cocoa in their hands.
"Yes," Katie said cautiously.
She'd had yet another roller coaster of a day, something that seemed to happen more and more since she'd met Montague, and she was totally unwilling to listen to him insult her parents in any way. She looked at the photo he was peering at, seeing her very normal Muggle parents through his eyes. Or at least, attempting to. Edgar Montague and Bill Bell, who wore wire rimmed spectacles and a series of dad jeans with blazers on top, looked light years away. Isla Bell and her short hair and sensible shoes were the total opposite of Helena Montague and her perfect makeup and shiny hair studded with jewels.
"So, have you set up a day for me to meet them, yet?" Montague said, his eyes moving to another picture,
"Not yet," Katie said, because that was better than "over my dead and rotting corpse."
"Well, what are you waiting for, Bell? An engraved invitation? I promise I'll bring an expensive bottle of wine and a very nice present for your mum—oh, hang on, is that Ruby and Sandra and Julia?"
"Yes," Katie said, crossing her arms, shifting from one bare foot to another. She just wanted to lie on the couch and slowly die in peace. Was that too much to ask?
"We should hang out again," Montague said, "I had fun with them."
"And have you proposition them for group sex again? "Katie said, "hardly. Are you looking forward to ending the night with a broken rib and slaps to the face?"
Montague's eyes moved to another photo, of her with the Gryffindor Quidditch team in Katie's third year, Harry waving about the cup. His expression changed minutely.
"Well, that lead to me having sex with you instead, didn't it, Bell?" Montague said, finally turning to her with a smirk, "so that was a fun night for me."
"I'll bet," Katie muttered.
"Nice outfit," Montague said, looking down at her baggy Harpy sweatpants and holey grey jumper.
"Oh, shut up," Katie groused, going to the couch and flopping down, all energy leaving her once more. Maybe, just this once, the Earth would do her a favor and swallow her whole? She realized her mistake at once when Montague joined her.
"No really," Montague said, his lips twitching, "all the witches will be jealous when they see you." He plucked at her sweatpants, "what is this fabric, Bell?"
"Cotton," Katie said, voice clipped, "buy some for your mum, why don't you? Then she can be comfortable for once."
She intended to irritate Montague by mentioning his mum, and then maybe he'd leave and she could suffer in peace, but he picked up her legs instead, swinging them over to fall into his lap, and shocked her further by picking up a foot and starting to massage it.
"What are you—"
"You seem tense," Montague said, "all that running away from me again. You know, it took me awhile to realize you'd disappeared? I thought you were off with Weasley. Then I noticed she was back, and you weren't. I couldn't find you anywhere, Bell, and no one else had left."
He moved on to her other foot, and Katie didn't want it to feel good, but God it did.
"You know Bell, I was worried. You were drunk off your ass and looking beautiful as usual and then you disappear alone. Cassius and Adrian were worried as well."
"Oh, I'm sure they were," Katie said sarcastically.
"So, what happened?" Montague asked, ignoring the slight on his mates, "did you want to come home with me again and panic?"
"You insufferable ass," Katie said, exasperated, "is everything always about you thinking I want you? No. That's not why I left."
"Then why?" Montague persisted, "I thought we were getting along, and you left without a word. Terrible manners, you know."
"I had terrible manners?" Katie said, outraged, trying to yank her foot away, but Montague held on and her feet were sore, so she stopped with a sigh of defeat, and certainly not a sigh of pleasure, no way.
"What about your mate calling me trash? And you not stopping him?"
"I told him to shut up," Montague said, frowning at her, "you heard me."
"Yes, and I also heard Warrington say he'd told you for years that I was a bad prospect to date," Katie said, tossing her hair. Ugh. It still smelled like smoke. She needed a shower. "what was that about?"
Montague looked away at once, and pretended he needed to focus on her feet, his hands working out the kinks, going up to her ankles.
"Nothing," he said, "we'd all been drinking. Don't worry about it."
"Well, that terrible answer just made me twice as suspicious," Katie said.
"So alright you don't have bad manners," Montague said, "but I want to know where you went, Bell. You can't just run off when you're drunk, you know. It's dangerous."
"I'm a witch," Katie said, indignant, "I fought in—"
"You weren't drunk in the Battle of Hogwarts," Montague snapped.
"I got accosted by Rita Skeeter," Katie said at last, sighing. Well, if Montague wanted to lie and duck the conversation about Warrington, who was she to press it, when she already knew he was a liar? "Outside. Ginny and I got into an argument and Rita popped up out of some shrubbery to bother me."
"About what?" Montague said, massaging her calf.
"Harder," Katie sighed, "I pulled a muscle there two days ago."
Montague smirked at her.
"Stop making everything sexual," Katie snapped, "and she was harassing me about you, of course. Threatening to tell everyone about our incredibly scandalous relationship."
"Big deal," Montague snorted, "I was pictured in your box. We went to Spinnet's party together. You came to my mother's birthday dinner. Doesn't everyone know already? Except your parents, I suppose, but it's not like they would read The Daily Prophet."
"They do actually," Katie said, nettled. Had she imagined the snide emphasis on "they"? "They like to know what's going on with our world, so they can understand me better."
"That's nice," Montague said, "my father has resisted all attempts to get to know his sons better than as mere extensions of himself."
Katie snorted, Montague smiled a half smile at her, and she gave in, turning round.
"Now my back," she demanded, and Montague dutifully began rubbing her back as she sighed again. When was the last time she'd gotten a massage?
"Bossy," Montague said, his voice sounding like he was hiding a laugh. Katie ignored him. As long as he kept working out the knots in her neck, he could say whatever he wanted. It was his price for constantly lying to her.
"I said the same to Rita," Katie said at last, sighing again, "about everyone already knowing. I mean, that's why we had you sit there, right? Just rip off the plaster?"
"The what?"
"Ask your brother," Katie said, "anyway, she'd…overheard me and Ginny talking about Harry, and was pretending that I was in a weird love triangle with them, and then with you…whatever that would be."
"A love square?" Montague said, "which is repulsive, by the way. I would think I have better taste then Potter and the She Weasley."
"Well Harry's the one we're allegedly fighting over," Katie said, "not you."
"No, of course not," Montague said flatly.
"Oh stop it," Katie said crossly, but then she sighed again when Montague worked a particularly tough knot on her left shoulder, "don't be jealous over something that isn't even true."
"I'm not jealous of Potter," Montague scoffed, "please. Jealous of what?"
"Do you want the novel length answer or the five-paragraph essay to wrap up the biggest points?" Katie asked sweetly.
Montague's hands snuck under her jumper, and she should stop him, but really a massage on bare flesh was so much better.
"I'm not jealous," Montague repeated, "does Potter get to do this to you?"
"Only on Sundays," Katie quipped.
Montague's hands traveled up further.
"Bell, what happened to your wire chest contraption thing?"
"My bra, you mean?" Katie said, "I flung it off to be more comfortable the second I got home."
"Ah," Montague said, "good." His hands worked the knots all over her back as Katie felt herself increasingly relaxing. Her eyes snapped open. No! She had to focus.
"So Rita Skeeter is going to write an article about how I'm fighting with Ginny over Harry and using you on the side," Katie said gloomily, "unless I give her an exclusive interview."
"Don't," Montague said at once, his hands moving to her sides to rub in circular motions, "she'll twist everything you say."
"I know," Katie said, "but maybe it will be worse if I don't."
"It won't," Montague said, "she seems to have it out for you. I'm not sure why, but I'd suggest you not try to tempt her into revealing what she's got against you."
"How did she even find me?" Katie bemoaned, "our celebration spots are always top secret, so we don't get harassed by our fans and Falcons fans who hate us. She came out of nowhere. And while I'm at it—oh!" For Montague, who had been slowly moving his hands forward, then down her stomach, brushed the sides of her uncovered breast.
"Want me to stop?" he asked her, fingers feather light.
"No," Katie said, her voice strained, and then almost like she had to compulsively justify her saucy behavior, "I deserve to relax."
"That you do," Montague said, and then he was touching her bare chest under her jumper. Humiliatingly, Katie felt her nipples harden.
"While I'm at it," Katie said, her voice strained, trying to pretend like things were fine, that being alone in her flat with Montague when her emotions were a mess yet again and he was touching her under her clothes and it felt phenomenal, and yet he'd let his terrible mates insult her and lied to her and none of that was making her stop him, "how did she get that photo of you and Pucey a few weeks ago without anyone seeing her?"
"Oh, that," Montague said, his voice a little weird, as he palmed her breasts and then he leaned forward, kissing the back of her neck, "Skeeter's an unregistered Animagus. She turns into a beetle."
"What?' Katie shouted, lunging forward, Montague giving a disappointed noise when his hands were dislodged from under her jumper.
"Yeah," he said, looking at her with surprise, "you didn't know? I thought you'd know. All the Slytherins knew my sixth year, that's how she was getting those quotes and stories against Potter. Granger didn't tell you?"
"How would Hermione know?" Katie said, straightening her jumper. Now that she was looking him in the face again, the humiliation of his hands on her bare skin was returning.
"Well she trapped her in a jar, for one," Montague said, quirking an eyebrow.
"What?" Katie half yelped. Why hadn't Hermione ever told the rest of them?
"I told you Granger was prone to some interesting nasty stuff," Montague said, "I'm surprised you don't know."
"So am I," Katie said, frowning.
"Oh, now stop that, Bell," Montague said, "let me relax you again."
"No," Katie said, "I'm still mad at you."
Montague sighed, running his hands through his hair.
"What for?" he asked, "what did I do now?"
"You know what you did," Katie said indignantly, "or I should say, what you didn't do."
"I don't control Warrington," he said shortly, "but I won't invite him to your matches again. Happy?"
"No," Katie said, crossing her arms.
"You know what you need, Bell?" Montague said.
"A study on my brain about the poor choices I've been making lately?" she said, but her heart wasn't in it.
Why was it, that the part of her that had always felt relieved when she realized Montague was lying to her, was now feeling disappointment instead, more and more? Surely, she knew better? Surely she wasn't so shallow she had been won over by low effort but expensive presents?
"A release," Montague said, "you haven't gotten a release in…how long have you been teasing me now, Bell? Two months? Three?"
"I'm not teasing you," Katie said sullenly, "I'm trying to regain my dignity."
"You're torturing yourself," Montague corrected, "just enjoy what I can give you."
"And what's that?" Katie said, trying to remain sullen, but her stupid hormones were betraying her once again. Wasn't this sort of weakness supposed to stop once you were in your twenties?
"You don't remember?" Montague said, stroking her hair from her neck, "should I remind you, Bell?"
She should say no. She should tell him to shove his lying bullshit up his lying arse. But instead, Katie melted into his hand, which had started massaging her neck again.
"I am forgetful," she said, "maybe I need a reminder."
The smug smile on Montague's face should've been enough to repulse her, to snap her out of it, but alas, it was not.
His hands worked at the knots in her neck again, then stroked down her jumper and back up under it, kneading all the tenses muscles that was mostly caused by Montague himself. When his hands moved to her breasts again, Katie didn't stop him. She didn't even want to. When she sighed, Montague touched her more firmly and Katie squirmed. God, she hated this arrogant jerk. She could feel his giant "fuck you I'm rich and privileged" ring on her left breast, cold on her bare skin, and she still wanted it. She was exhausted, playing this game. Why couldn't Montague just be her boyfriend, a nice, normal guy who was touching her with no ulterior motives other than the urge to have sex with his girlfriend he supported and loved? Why did he have to be out to win a bet, which he'd probably already won? What had she done to make him so intent on lying to her, to humiliating her in front of his mates? Montague's hands moved down under her jumper, to the edge, and grabbed the frayed jumper, hesitating. When Katie didn't stop him, he pulled upward, yanking the jumper over her head, and she was topless, her back still to him, though he'd moved closer.
"So beautiful," Montague sighed, into her neck from behind, "just relax, Bell. Enjoy yourself for once."
Okay, Katie thought, and she turned to meet Montague's mouth, his hands moving up her naked torso, their tongues meeting with a mutual groan. There was a metallic noise at the door, and before either of them could register through the lust what was happening, Alicia had stumbled through the door, her makeup smeared and her eyes blurry. She spotted them on the couch and dropped her purse with a thunk.
Hilariously, Montague's hands jerked to cover her breasts as Katie sat frozen like a deer, her only thought a fervent prayer that Ange and George weren't about to stumble in next.
"Don't worry Montague," Alicia said at last as they all stared at each other, "I've seen them more than you have."
Katie gave a nervous laugh. Montague's hands twitched, and the stupid ring was so cold she felt her left nipple harden.
"Just don't shag on our couch," Alicia said, her words slurring, "I've already caught Ange and George. We don't want to mix body fluids."
"Ew!" Katie and Montague said in unison.
"Also, use a silencing charm," Alicia said, as she yanked off one heel then the other, flinging them loudly around the room. One hit the end table and slid off with a thunk, the other knocked into a bar stool. "If I have to hear Montague orgasm, I'm going to kill myself."
"Jesus Christ," Katie yelped, batting away Montague's hands, who reluctantly let go. Alicia had seen her tits hundreds of times, just recently in fact, the night of the dinner party of doom.
Alicia was uncorking a bottle of wine, shrugging off a jacket. "Pucey's not going to pop up from somewhere, is he?" she asked Montague as Katie slid her jumper back on and Montague sat tense on the couch, perhaps picturing what body fluids were on it, where, and if they were from Ange or George…or both.
"No," Montague said, "but I can owl him if you want."
"Not when she's this drunk," Katie said hastily. There was no telling what Alicia would do for fun with Pucey in this state.
"He knows that's the only way his mate would come over," Alicia snorted, "he doesn't step foot in a place as poor as our flat."
"Adrian's not a snob," Montague said stiffly.
"Tell that to the Electric Eel," Katie said, "he really loved the ambiance."
"That was Cassius," Montague said, annoyed, "who I never denied being a snob, you'll realize."
Alicia flung off her shirt without warning as she moved about the kitchen. She was only wearing a bra and short skirt now.
"Alicia," Katie hissed, as her roommate chugged from the bottle.
"What?" she asked, "do you want some?" Alicia waved the bottle at them, "I can open another. This one's just for me." She dragged out another bottle of wine.
"You'd think you just won the match," Montague quipped, his eyebrows up in his hairline as Alicia bent over, her arse half out of her skirt.
"Alicia," Katie said, louder.
"Or lost the match," Montague said, as Alicia chugged the wine like she was being paid to do it, "not just been a spectator."
"Yes, thank you for reminding me about my failing Quidditch career, you twat," Alicia said drunkenly, "while I'm trying to both celebrate for one of my friends and mourn with the other."
"Oh, buck up," Montague said, averting his eyes when Alicia faced front again, her rather large bosoms on display, "your career is going far better than mine, you know."
"True," Alicia cackled. She wandered over with both bottles of wine and two glasses, sitting down on the couch next to Montague with a thump. He turned bright red.
"Alicia," Katie said, "a shirt, perhaps?"
"Oh," Alicia said, looking down, as Montague looked determinedly at the ceiling, "right." She didn't move.
"Well, I've got to," Montague said, leaping to his feet, slightly hunched over. Katie's mood worsened when she realized he was attempting to hide an erection. "Bell, I'll see you Thursday night at your parent's house?"
"What?" Katie said, still half-drunk as well, feeling angry at herself that she was jealous that Alicia's superior breasts had gotten Montague hard. "What are you talking about? I haven't asked—"
"I wrote to them," Montague said, still looking about the flat and away from Alicia, who was swigging wine again, "and they—"
"You wrote to my parents?" Katie shouted, lunging to her feet, glad she had a way to vent her anger that was normal and not a pathetic kernel of jealousy at her own best friend for arousing a guy she was fake dating and was supposed to loathe for being a compulsive liar and bigot. "Who the fuck told you you could—"
"They wrote to me first," Montague said, looking at her then hastily away. Katie assumed Alicia's tits were in the viewpoint. "someone had told them I was your boyfriend."
"Yeah?" Katie demanded, "who? You, I wager."
"Hellman, actually," Montague said, "I thought you knew."
"Hellman?" Alicia and Katie chorused together in duel shrieks.
"Yes," Montague said, "apparently she's trying to steal your whole life."
"Am I getting single white femaled?" Katie yelped.
"Er, what?" Montague said.
"It's a mov—never mind," Katie said, "Why is Hellman writing my parents?"
"Dunno," Montague said, "I suggest you ask them. But they wrote me, inviting me to dinner to meet them. I accepted for Thursday. I know Jones usually gives you Thursday nights off, right?"
"Yes," Katie said, "But not to introduce you to my parents! Already!"
"Already?" Montague said, looking at her again and then hastily away.
"Alicia, put on a shirt," Katie snarled, not looking back, "your tits are out."
"Oh, are they?" Alicia said vaguely, but instead of getting dressed Katie heard behind her the unmistakable sound of a bottle swishing and Alicia swallowing.
"Bell, we have been dating for months," Montague said, still staring awkwardly around the room, "and you met my parents. It's not that early."
"They've never met one of her boyfriends," Alicia said helpfully.
"Alicia," Katie hissed, humiliated.
"Really?" Montague said, trying to look at Katie and then away once more, his face redder than Katie's. "Well, it's not like it can go much worse than how my parents treated you, can it?"
"Short of my parents pulling out a gun and shooting you, no," Katie said.
"Pulling out a what?" Montague said, confused.
"Never mind," Katie said, pinching between her eyes. Why was she suddenly feeling sober? The humiliation over Montague getting a boner over Alicia? The bizarre unease she felt over Hellman writing her parents for unknown reasons? The pants wetting terror at the thought of her parents meeting Montague? The incoming doom of everyone knowing that Katie Bell was dating Graham Montague after she'd basically told Rita Skeeter to take her blackmail and shove it up her arse?
"Anyway," Montague said, and when Katie opened her eyes again, she realized with alarm that he was almost at her door, "I'll see you soon, Bell. Congratulations on the game." He smiled at her like a normal boyfriend, and not someone who had let his friends shit on her in public and done nothing about it two hours previously.
"No," Katie said, "don't you—"
But Montague practically lunged out of the flat, the door shutting behind him.
"You're welcome," Alicia cackled behind Katie, "I knew my tits would scare him off."
Katie whirled around, her head throbbing now. "You did that on purpose?" she demanded.
"Of course," Alicia said, "I had a suspicion. I mean, someone like that fucker Warrington would've just ogled me, but Montague, he's got to show you he only likes your tits, yeah?"
"Yeah, that's why he was popping wood the whole time you had them out," Katie said. She could hear the hint of jealousy in her own voice and felt humiliated all over again.
"Katie," Alicia said, "are you joking? That thing was for you, my love." She handed Katie the unopened bottle of wine and chugged from her own.
"No," Katie insisted popping the cork like a zombie, knowing it wouldn't help her anxiety or her headache and doing it anyway, "it was because of—"
"He was sporting that thing before I even got in," Alicia snorted, "you didn't notice? Is that why you're all mad?"
"No," Katie said, half lying, half honestly.
"Oh, Katie, you poor thing," Alicia sighed, "I guess I need to explain these things to you. you've been blue balling him for months, good work, so that rogue dick was all for you. He couldn't even look in my direction without looking nauseous."
"I'm mad," Katie said, drinking straight from the bottle like a lush, "because Hellman is stalking me like a…stalker."
Alicia giggled, then hiccuped.
"I'm mad because Rita Skeeter tried to blackmail me, and it didn't work, so now she's going to write all my business in tomorrow's, paper," Katie said, warming up, "I'm mad my parents are writing Montague behind my back like I'm a child. I'm mad he made plans with them without anyone consulting me, like they control my life. I'm mad Pucey and Warrington are arseholes and I had to spend time with them. I'm mad Montague is a fucking liar who has no spine."
"But hey," Alicia said, shrugging, "you're in the quarterfinals for the Quidditch league cup. And at least your no count lying spineless boyfriend is rich and hot."
It should've been in the papers the next day, or the next, or the day after, but Rita didn't write a thing about Montague. She didn't even write a thing about Katie, except a tiny little byline in a story about the upcoming Battle of Hogwarts reunion in a few weeks' time.
"A necessary memorial to fallen heroes," Rita wrote, "or perhaps, as some say, a way to parade the actions of The-Boy-Who-Lived and his followers in the face of everyone who wasn't able to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts, no matter how good the reason of age or infirmity."
"Or being a spineless sack of tabloid writing shite," Ange had snorted. There had, of course, been a full paragraph dedicated to pretending concern over Angelina's mental health when she would visit the site of her late boyfriend's murder with her current boyfriend who, oh by the way, had Rita mentioned, was his twin brother?
To make matters even weirder, when Katie had cornered Hellman at practice on Tuesday and screamed at her for daring to write her parents, Hellman hadn't even fought back. She hadn't smirked, tossed her hair, or jutted forth her bosoms. Ginny had half-heartedly held Katie's arms as she screamed, and at once point Katie had torn a hand free to slap Hellman in the face. Jones had knocked her out for an hour before the slap could connect then given her a calming drought when she'd woken up.
"Not that she doesn't deserve it," Jones had said briskly when Katie had woken up, drool down her chin in the chair across from Jones in her office, "but I will be damned if we're this close to the cup and I have to bench one of my starting Chasers for a cat fight."
"It wouldn't have been a cat fight," Katie had said sullenly, "It would have been a real fight. I planned on punching."
"Either way," Jones said, her lips twitching, "I can't have one of my starting Chasers punching my best back-up Chaser before our match with the Arrows. Then who would I be stuck with? Collingsworth, who sometimes I wonder if she's ever actually flown a broom before a year ago?"
"Maybe you should recruit better back-ups," Katie had said rudely. There was a limit for everyone, and she was nearing hers, even under the effects of the Calming Draught.
"Great idea, Bell," Jones had said sarcastically, "and we'll pay them with what money? You realize the Harpies are one of the most poorly funded teams in the league, yes?"
"What?" Katie had said, blinking, "how is that possible?"
"We're the only all-female team, in case you haven't noticed," Jones said.
"Yes, and that should help our sponsorships," Katie said, "shouldn't it?"
Jones had sighed. "Bell, you're a sweet girl. Brave I suppose. But terribly naive. Did you know that?"
She'd shoved Katie out of her office with another admonishment to control herself, and Katie, who had still been under the effects of the Calming Draught had complied. It had helped that Hellman had avoided her all practice. If she hadn't been under the influence of a tranquilizing potion, Katie would've tried to figure out why.
As it was, Thursday night arrived and Katie hadn't figured out what the heck Hellman was up to, or why Rita Skeeter was sitting on the knowledge of who Katie was dating when Katie had basically told her to pound sand the weekend before.
Piling on to her misery, Ruby had called her to demand she hang out with the girls the upcoming weekend, and Katie, who had that Saturday night off from a game before her match against the Arrows the week after, had seen no way out of it. At least she had an excuse for avoiding Montague this weekend between the Saturday night with her Muggle mates and brunch with Ange and Alicia.
The cherry on the shite sundae however, was the curt owl her mother had sent back to Katie's desperate attempt to get her to cancel the dinner with Montague on Thursday. Her parents were displeased with her for several reasons, it turned out. Katie hadn't visited in months. She had barely written. She'd last called over a month ago. They hadn't been invited to any of her matches. She hadn't brought home the boy she was engaged to.
"I'm not engaged to him!" Katie had howled alone in her flat like a deranged lunatic, causing Alicia's owl Angler to jump and squawk at her in annoyance. "I'm sorry!" Katie had said to Angler, who blinked his giant round eyes at her, clearly wondering if he had to inform Alicia through owl language that her roommate had gone utterly mad. "But who told them we're engaged?" Katie ranted on, getting up and pacing, the parchment crunched in her hand, "Hellman? Was it bloody Hellman? Why? It couldn't have been Montague!"
Angler hooted with some dignity.
"No, you're right," Katie said, gone fully round the bend now, "it couldn't have been Montague. He knows better."
Her mother was also miffed that Katie had hidden Montague this whole time from them, and above all, she was mad that Katie had the nerve to try to get her to be rude and cancel the dinner. Isla Bell might not be preserving her beauty to the insane degree Helena Montague was, not covered in jewels and snobbery, but she absolutely abhorred bad manners.
"I'm in for it," Katie said mournfully to Angler, who hooted at her again with what sounded like owlish sympathy. "I need back-up."
She had meant Ange and Alicia, but Angler, who had flown off after she said this, presumably to escape Katie's lunacy, returned with a letter from Harry promising the crew would come by to help buck her up before Montague showed up.
"What are you wearing?" Hermione said, sitting on Katie's purple fuzzy armchair on which her totally adult stuffed animal collection rested. For a second, Katie pictured Montague inside her bedroom. There were tiny lights all over her room. Her night table lamp was shaped like a spaceship. There was a wall of pictures of her friends and family. A cliched poster of the Eiffel tower hung on one wall, though it was made from rainbow sequins. Her desk had a pile of dirty laundry on it, and beneath that, other ridiculous things like a pencil holder in the shape of an anatomically correct human heart, complete with valves and veins, and a tiny clock that was a pink cat that swished its tail at the top of every hour. Her bed was covered in mounds of blue and purple and silver pillows in increasingly odd shapes and textures, her window covering had silver feather boas hanging from it.
"I'm a twelve-year-old girl," Katie muttered in wonderment, but dammit, it was her happy place, to be surrounded by kitsch and twee and fun and color. Montague's room, from what she dimly remembered, was black satin and dark wood and had that air of "I was cleaned thrice daily by a house elf."
"You're dressing like a twelve-year old girl?" Ginny, who had gotten over her drunken anger from the Electric Eel said, "is that what you said? Katie, love, that's a little...is Montague really into that?"
"God no!" Katie yelped, appalled, "just…no!"
Alicia was playing with one of Katie's My Little Pony dolls she'd had on a shelf. It looked to be one of the flutterbye ponies, Skydancer judging by the yellow color. Maybe the bedroom of a twelve-year-old girl was being generous.
"I was saying my room is a little immature," Katie sighed, spotting the cat clock and feeling a twist in her guts. Half an hour and Montague would be here, and then they'd floo to her parents from their fireplace, and Katie would perhaps sprint out of her parent's home upon arrival, move to Mozambique, and start a new identity as Katia Bellova, the mysterious Russian woman who spoke not a word of English. The only flaw with this plan was that Katia wouldn't be able to play Quidditch for fear of being found out.
In the living room, she heard the boys shouting as they watched a game of football on the telly. Oliver had unsurprisingly become a convert on sight, and so had Ron and George. Percy, she assumed, was being polite. The shouts of joy further cemented her resentful belief that her friends had started using her pain at the whole Montague situation as a poorly veiled excuse to hang out and party while Katie suffered with the arrogant, egotistical arse that was Graham Montague.
"It's cute," Hermione said unexpectedly, "It's fun, like you."
"Thanks, Hermione," Katie said, touched. Well, maybe the other problem with being Katia was the part where she never saw her friends or family again.
Alicia picked up a random jar of body glitter, squinting at it. "Maybe you should use this?"
"And listen to my father make jokes about me sparkling all night?" Katie said, aghast.
"For the game, then," Alicia said, putting the glitter down, "blind whatshisface on the Arrows and score."
"There's an idea," Ginny said thoughtfully, taking the body glitter from Alicia and examining it.
"Maybe you should wear this?" Ange said from where she was pawing through her crammed closet, holding up one of the dresses they'd bought a while back on that fateful Sunday when her friends had found out Katie had developed the habit of shagging idiots. It was bright blue, lace, tight, and short.
"Absolutely not," Katie said, horrified, "then they're really going to think we're engaged."
"Why did Hellman tell them that?" Hermione frowned , "what's in it for her?"
"Why does Hellman do anything," Ginny said, unscrewing the cap of the body glitter in fascination, "I wish I'd been able to let you clock her the other day, Katie."
"Probably better you didn't," Katie sighed, catching a glimpse of herself fin the mirror. No makeup, limp hair, ratty jeans, a t-shirt, and bright pink hoody. Good enough.
"How about this?" Ange said, holding up a simple white sundress.
"No, that looks like we just eloped! "Katie said, horrified, "I'll just wear this. It's my parents. It's fine."
"You look like you live under a bridge," Alicia said brutally, "with Umbridge. What the hell is that pink, Katie?"
"Oh, so no one is allowed to wear pink anymore because of Umbridge?" Katie said, irritated.
"Correct," Alicia said, and all the other girls nodded.
"Fine," Katie snapped, "I'll change. But I'm still wearing pink. Fuck Umbridge, she can't steal a color." She yanked out of her closet a pale pink baby doll dress and flung off her hoody and shirt in quick motions.
"What the hell is that?" Alicia yelped, covering her eyes as the dress went on, "oh Merlin, no! Ange, tell me when you've torn it off her!"
"That's Montague's job," Hermione said.
Katie unwillingly giggled while the other girls said ew in a three-part chorus.
"I'm wearing this," Katie said stubbornly, seeing herself in the mirror.
"Good test," Ange said, "if Montague still wants to shag you in that we'll know its love."
"Oh shove it," Katie said, but then she couldn't help it and laughed with the rest of the girls again, "I think it's nice."
"It's cute," Hermione agreed, "It's fashionable in the Muggle world, girls!"
Katie dug in a drawer to pull out some fishnet black tights. It wouldn't do to make herself look too sweet, after all. Montague would suspect Polyjuice.
"Where are my boots?" Katie muttered, looking round.
"By the pile at the front door, presumably," Hermione said, her face not betraying how horrified she most likely was at the state of the girls' flat.
"Right," Katie said, yanking on the tights one leg at a time.
"Oh, that looks better," Alicia said, "now let's do your hair and makeup!"
"No," Katie said, digging now in the pile on her dresser for a cross necklace. If she was going to go 1995 grunge, might as well go full hog. Plus, it would please her parents, who were always trying to get her to go to church.
"Do you want your parents to say you look pale and kind of sick?" Ginny said archly, "like my mum would?"
"Yes," Hermione said, "and then ask you what they're feeding you in the wizarding world, like mine do?"
"My mum asked if the Tornadoes have outlawed me sleeping last time I saw her," Alicia said gloomily.
"Funny," Ange said, "all mine want to talk about is my relationship with George."
"My mum won't care,' Katie shrugged, "she's a nurse. She doesn't do her hair or makeup, stuff like that. Dad won't even notice. This will be fancy for them," she gestured at the simple pink dress.
"What if Rita jumps out of a bush with her photographer and snaps a photo of you looking like you haven't slept in a month?" Alicia said, folding her arms.
"Pass the blush," Katie said.
Author's Note: The "single white femaled" line is of course, a "Buffy" homage. Hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a little short but the next one is super long so I had to break them into two. :)
