Disclaimer: It's all Jo's.

Author's Notes: Oliver's sixth year, Katie's third. Hope you enjoy!

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Alisa

The First Day of Classes

((of talking like wind))

Oliver Wood was at his favorite place to be at Hogwarts—on the Quidditch pitch. The clear blue sky was above him, the luscious green grass below him, a pretty young girl beside him—

Oliver did a double-take. Indeed, a pretty young girl was next to him. Large brown eyes stared out at him and her tangle of hair blew out behind her like a blonde flag. Oddly enough, he noticed, his arm was around her waist, but he wasn't bothered enough to move it. He had the strange feeling that he'd met this girl before.

She began talking, and it sounded something beautiful, but he wasn't able to understand what she was saying. It didn't sound like words coming from her mouth; if anything, it sounded like the whistling in his ears when he's flying, and the Quaffle hitting his rough hands, and a Beater's bat making contact with a Bludger. She sounded like Quidditch.

Not understanding her yet understanding her, Oliver stared out at the expanse of empty sky in front of him. He had the most peculiar feeling about him that he just couldn't put his finger on.

Then he realized: he wasn't on a broomstick. He was in the air, but he wasn't on a broomstick. Panicking, Oliver looked around, and he understanding suddenly dawned on him. He was sitting in the middle goal hoop. A bit dangerous, yes, but so was riding a broomstick.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled the girl and her Quidditch voice closer to him by the waist. They were hip to hip and Oliver had never felt more comfortable. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice, the wind in his ears….

"Oliver…"

Her breath tickled his ear.

"Oliver."

The voice grew stronger.

"Oliver."

He wished she wouldn't be so loud.

"Oliver!"

Opening his eyes groggily, Oliver was met with a surprise: a pair of large brown eyes inches from his own. He gave a yelp and jumped.

"Ow!"

"Oh sodding—Oliver!"

Wide awake and blinking eyes that were watering in pain, Oliver saw two Katie Bells dancing in front of him, both sporting bruised foreheads and frowns. Squeezing his eyes shut, shaking his head, and then blinking his eyes open, he met the sight of one Katie Bell, red spot on her forehead and a bemused smirk on her lips.

He dropped back onto his bed with a groan; the mattress sank as she sat next to him. He rubbed tired eyes.

"Katie, what're you doing here?" Oliver asked gruffly.

"Waking you up, of course!" she exclaimed cheerfully, and from the four-poster next to Oliver's same the muffled shout: "Shut yer gob or I'll do it for yeh!"

Katie giggled at that. Oliver just nestled deeper within his blankets.

The springs shifted. Then: "Oliver."

He made a sound of protest in the back of his throat.

"Ollliver."

"No, Katie," he tried to say, but his voice died by the time he got to the second syllable in her name.

"Oliver, get up." That was very near his ear.

"I-I-I'm sleeping."

The mattress squeaked and shifted in protest for a moment, followed by silence. Then in his ear came, "Get up, you lazy bum."

Oliver cracked open one eye, then the other, and found himself staring at Katie's forehead. Lowering his gaze, he met her large brown eyes.

"Will you get up now?" she whispered; she wasn't sure why she had whispered, but it seemed right nonetheless.

"Why?" he murmured, throwing the blankets over her, trainers and all.

"We didn't get to talk last night. I want to talk." She was still whispering.

"We are talking," he muttered, his eyes drifting shut.

Suddenly he felt a prod to his stomach followed by a sharp, "Stay awake."

"I am awake," he said, blinking his eyes hard. But the feeling of her small hand against his waist was what really woke him up.

"How were your" —he paused to yawn— "hols?"

Katie drummed her fingers against his ribs as she thought. "All right, I s'pose. Played Quidditch, watched Quidditch, listened to Quidditch, read about Quidditch…."

"Any other things you did with Quidditch that I should know about?" he teased.

"She pinched his side, but grinned nonetheless. Sighing in what sounded like relief, she said, "I missed you."

Oliver's lips turned up in a faint grin. "Missed you too."

And as his eyes began to drift shut, he couldn't help but notice as an arm snuggled around his waist and a head rested beneath his chin.

Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here! We'll guard the hoops and catch the Snitch for we are Puddlemere!

Oliver woke with a start. He had been giving the strangest dream, in which he sat on the goal hoop with a girl who had a voice like the wind. It was an interesting dream, and he sort of liked it.

It was as his alarm clock was going on the third round of the Puddlemere United team anthem that he pulled his pillow closer to him and realized that it wasn't his pillow. It was Katie.

Katie?

"Aargh!"

Oliver was out of his bed faster than he could have said Quaffle, staring at the half-awake form of the third year girl. She blinked her eyes at him confusedly.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing in my bed?" he demanded.

She yawned before replying, "Good morning to you too." Her arms stretched high above her head.

"Why are you in my bed!" he demanded again, more loudly this time.

There was the rustling of bed curtains, then a hoarse voice shouted, "Shut it, Wood, or I'll shut it for you!"

Glowering, Oliver lowered his face to Katie's and whispered fiercely, "You're in my bed. Why?"

She blinked doe eyes at him, then said, "To wake you up."

He ran a hand through his hair and sat at the end of his bed. "Didn't work out too well though, did it?" he remarked.

"I s'pose not," Katie said, propping herself up on her elbows.

"So," said Oliver, his chin in his hands, "just why were you trying to wake me up?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "I didn't get to talk to you after the feast last night."

"And trying to wake me up in the wee hours of the morning could be a good idea how…?"

"I dunno, it seemed like an all right idea at the time," she muttered, and sank into his bed. "Merlin, this thing is heavenly. I wish my bed was this comfortable."

Oliver shook his head and stood up; Katie buried her face is Oliver's pillow.

"Lord, what kind of shampoo d'you use, 'cos even your pillow smells good!"

"Katie, get out of my bed," said an exasperated Oliver.

"No."

He sighed. "Fine, but you'd better be out after I've taken a shower," he warned.

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," came her muffled reply.

When Oliver came out of the bathroom (fully clothed this time, thank you very much), Katie was sitting on the edge of his made four-poster, her nose buried in Which Broomstick.

"Wow, you made it and everything," he said, impressed.

Katie's eyes appeared over the edge of the magazine. "Percy Weasley kept giving me the oddest looks. I was only smelling your pillow. What?" (For he had given her an odd look himself.) "It smells divine. Does your head smell as good?"

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't know, I've never smelt my own head."

She rolled her eyes. "He kept asking me why I was here and I told him I was waiting for you. He didn't seem too keen on believing me." She shrugged her shoulders and turned a page of her magazine.

"That's because you're a third year girl in the sixth year boys' dormitory. Just a bit out of the ordinary," he said. She didn't look too bothered.

"He kept lurking, so I made beds."

"More than mine?"

She gestured to the six other beds, all of which were abnormally tidy.

"You're an odd one, Katie."

"But that's not all. Then he says, 'What are you, Wood's mother?' And I told him not even your mother would pick out your clothes for you."

"But—you don't pick out clothes for me!" Oliver yelped.

"I know, but that made Percy leave," Katie said with a smirk.

Oliver gave an exasperated sigh and crumpled at the foot of his bed. He heard Katie give an impatient snort above him.

"Get your lazy bum up, Wood, I want to go eat," Katie demanded.

"Everyone's going to think I can't dress myself," was Oliver's muffled reply.

She gave an un-ladylike snort. "Like I give a niffler's snout about your bruised male ego—I just want breakfast before classes."

Reproachful eyes peered over the edge of the bed at her as Oliver said, "I can see just how much I'm loved."

"We all love you, pity party for Oliver—okay, let's go!" she spurted quickly.

"Oh, how very sincere," he shot back sarcastically.

Rolling her eyes, Katie knelt down in front of Oliver and said in a concerned voice, "Now I know that may have hurt you a bit, me telling Percy you couldn't dress yourself, but Wood, this is Percy Weasley we're talking about. He has no contact with anyone other than Penelope Clearwater and the professors. I really don't think you have much to worry about."

She stood up briskly then added, "Up and at 'em, Oliver, eggs and bacon call!"

"Eggs and bacon…," he repeated slowly, contemplating. "All right," he decided.

Oliver accepted Katie's hand and they walked to the Great Hall together, never mind that Percy had just let "slip" to his little brothers Oliver's clothing secret, that odd look still on his face.