I'm very sorry to say, my dear readers, that I won't be updating next week. It's exam week for my end-of-term, and for the first time in my life I'm legit-failing two classes.

"Aly, are you alright?" I shook my head as Oliver stood next to me, his arm wrapped securely around my waist as the other arm gestured towards the stairway that had just descended from his ceiling. I shouldn't be so surprised – Trewlaney's classroom does that. I just never figured Oliver's apartment was above his office. It kind of makes me think of this whole room very differently. Like the first floor of his house.

"Yeah, just, you know." I lack anything to actually say, so instead I'm just going to make a mad dash for the stairs.

As I rose up into Oliver's apartment, the lights faded in and I whistled. One bedroom, but it all looked very grand. It's probably from the deep, richly color wood and all the scarlet and gold decorations, but still very grand-looking. An immense bed, more than big enough for three people, was squished next to a closet with two sliding doors, and I got the sense that Oliver had chosen a bigger bed as opposed to actually having room.

On the other side of the bed, under a moderately-sized window, was a love seat identical to the one in his office, and next to the loveseat was a door leading to what I hope to be the bathroom. For a moment, I stood a few steps from the top, gawking as I looked around at the apartment. So grand, and yet so small.

Taking no notice of me, Oliver walked passed me and turned on his heel to walk in the area behind me – the kitchen and a small café table with two wooden chairs. Counters filled the corner between the back wall and the wall with the bathroom on it. Then there was a stove, and then an extensive, disorganized bookshelf.

If I could whistle, I would have at that moment, "Oliver, your place is… nice."

"Thanks – home away from home, aye." Oliver was obviously preoccupied with digging through his large Frigo-witch, trying to decide what he wanted for dinner. "Do you want something homemade or do you want me to heat something up for you?"

"Anything's fine," I replied quite honestly as I finally made my way up the stairs. "I just don't understand how you get everything to fit in here."

Oliver looked over his shoulder at me, that impish smirk that I've come to adore gracing his features, "Magic, Aly. You go to a school where they teach magic."

I mock-glared at him before wandering over to his bed. Definitely big enough for the two of us to sleep in without any physical contact; looking at the love-seat, which seems to be the only other surface suitable for sleep, I don't think I'm willing to let him sleep on it, so either we're sleeping together or I'm taking the loveseat. Does anyone else get the feeling that Wood's not going to let me use the loveseat?

Across the room, Oliver announced what we were having for dinner, but I didn't care. There was something about his apartment that was just… fascinating. Experimentally, I sat on the edge of the bed, the bunched up comforters providing me with extra bounce. Comfortable enough. The blankets were soft, and they looked homemade.

The loveseat was covered in pillows, the only difference from the loveseat in the office. Interested, I scooted over to it and fell onto it, oofing with the force at which I hit the cushions. It was… comfortable. I wouldn't be able to sleep with these pillows all over me, but pillows are easily used to throw at Oliver.

The thought was striking, and so I wandered back towards my boyfriend. He was hovering over the stove, almost protectively; I decided, therefore, that it would be safer to jump onto the counter next to him rather than do something cute like wrap my arms around him or something. He might attack me like I was trying to steal his young.

"Oliver, I never realized you were such a chef," I commented. Oliver had a pot and a pan on the stove =The pot full of water that looked like it was just on the verge of boiling while the pan was full of raw sausages that were sizzling quietly.

Oliver's brow furrowed for a moment before he looked up at me, smirking in that impish way, like he knew he'd surprised me and was immensely proud of it. The moment our eyes met, I felt my heart start to beat – it had never been so startlingly clear to me that I loved him than it was right now, with him cooking for me, close enough not just to touch, but to feel. The difference was monumental in my mind; almost mind-blowing.

I gulped, the action stopping midway through my throat as I felt each individual organ shut down for a few moments before tingling back with new life, invigorated just by his gaze, which was slowly eating into me. Oliver's mouth dropped open, almost in shock at the sudden intensity of our gaze.

With a rebellious sizzle, a bit of the sausage-fat jumped out into the pan and onto my arm. It broke the moment, and Oliver cursed when he realized that his water was almost boiling over out of the pot. I jumped off the counter and rushed towards the sink to run cool water over the burn, which was starting to tingle in a very different way.

"You alright, Darling," Oliver questioned as he poured some pasta into the pot, and I nodded.

Of course, he didn't see that. "Yeah, yeah, a little burn."

The little burn left a red mark on my arm, and I fingered it carefully as I decided against sitting on the counter again. Instead, I sat at the table, looking around and trying to remember the look of his apartment. He had a few portraits up, in addition to the Quidditch teams and a few news clippings about recent Death Eater activity. The portraits were done mostly of the same view, just at different times of the day. Probably somewhere he'd been that he particularly liked. I'm surprised there aren't any Quidditch hoops in the distance.

"You mind grabbing two plates for me, Aly? They're just in the corner cabinet." Hey, look, a distraction.

I groaned as I arched my back, stretching the aching muscles as I straightened. After dinner, I decided to try and work on some assignments while Oliver caught up on some reading. But since I didn't want to risk going downstairs, where I could use the desk, and getting caught, I had instead took up my research on the rug just in front of Oliver's bed.

"Well, Aly, I've officially never seen someone so disorganized about their school work." Oliver was referring, of course, to the multitude of papers I'd spread around me for easier access.

"I'm honored," I yawned at him, "I'm going to go to the bathroom and then get to bed. You ready for sleeping?"

Oliver sighed, slapping his book shut, "Guess I am now. Some people have early classes tomorrow."

I yawned, "And had early classes today; don't forget I never have a block off."

Oliver smiled as he stood, catching me on my way to the bathroom and kissing me lightly on the lips, "I could never."

I could feel a tint of blush rising to my cheeks – something was supremely different about kissing Oliver when I was standing next to his bed. I was hyper aware of everything, and I couldn't deal with the intense suction in my chest just yet. I can only just barely stand the knowledge that I love him.

I slipped past Oliver, then, into the bathroom, sighing in relief at the ability breathe that accompanied being in a different room.

His bathroom was typical of Hogwarts – white tiles, a shower immediately on the left, a sink lining the opposite wall, and in the corner just passed the shower a toilet. I hurried towards the toilet to dig through my bag of things, quickly changing into my pajamas in an attempt to forget the tightness in my chest. We both specifically said no cooking tonight – I'm seventeen, for Merlin's sake. I have a little bit of control over my emotions and hormones.

I probably shouldn't have worn shorts. Well, I can't do anything about that now. I turned, and it was at that moment that I realized three things – I'd forgotten my toothbrush, there was a door on my left, and despite the fact that I knew I'd forgotten my toothbrush, my toothbrush was sitting on the sink in the cup I used to rinse my mouth.

Guess it's like… the Room of Requirements… for bathrooms. Shrugging it off as one of the many mysteries of the castle, I took my time brushing my teeth, smirking at the tentative knock on the door, "You decent?"

"Yeah." The reply was muffled, but Oliver got the jist of it and opened the door, his own toothbrush in hand. His eyes at first trailed along the floor, but he quickly met the reflection of my gaze, his nose wrinkling, "What're you doing with that toothbrush?"

"It's mine." Again, jumbled. Sighing and spitting out the toothpaste, Oliver attempted to convince me otherwise as I rinsed out my mouth.

"No, it's not – it's the girl who I have to share a bathroom. She'll have a fit if she knows you used it, probably."

Halfway through spitting out the water, I straightened up in surprise, No way. Water dribbled down my chin, soaking through to the collar of my PJ T-shirt, and I looked around the bathroom, Not in a million years is this possible.

I took a few confident strides towards the door I'd noticed and threw it open with more dumb-curiosity than actual confidence or forethought. And sure enough, in the dim firelight that I'd left burning so that Tom wouldn't get suspicious, was my room, all blue and bronze and packed to the brim with different books.

"Aly, no, get out, she's r-"

"Relax, Oliver, it's my room."

To think – all this time when I cursed about the guy in my bathroom, it was actually just Oliver. It's kind of symbolic, if you twist it the right way.

Oliver froze midstride, and I could feel the heat of him through my PJs. I heard him chuckle, as opposed to feeling the vibrations through his chest, and he wrapped an arm around my waist as he pressed himself into me, "Well, would you look at that. You can't get rid of me now, even if you tried."

"Damn," came my automatic response, and I started to giggle at myself.

For a moment, Oliver and I reveled in the moment, and I thought how much easier it would be to sneak into his office from now on. Not to mention it would be really quick to get back here in an emergency without risking getting caught. I'd just look like I was coming from the bathroom.

And after that moment, Oliver and I turned back towards his room, letting the door fall shut behind us. Despite what could have potentially been a very big realization, I felt serene when I came back into Oliver's room; that is, until he dove onto the loveseat. Hold on…

"I'm taking the loveseat."

Oliver snorted attractively at me as he began to throw pillows onto the floor, "Like hell you are, Darling. Like I said, you have early classes tomorrow. I don't have to do anything until eleven, when I have a meeting with McGonagal about… things."

"So? You can't fit on the loveseat – your knees are hanging off it."

"You'd be scrunched up too – don't worry about me. I've slept on worse. I'm not letting you sleep here when there's a perfectly good bed."

"I'm not letting you sleep there when you have a perfectly huge bed."

"Aly," Wood knew all too well where I was going with this, "We said no cook-"

"There won't be any cooking! Maybe a bit of snuggling, but I'm not some sex-crazed teen. So either I'm on the loveseat or the bed - your choice."

Oliver was quiet for a few minutes, using one of the pillows to cover his face. It took me those few minutes to realize that he was trying to fall asleep. Oh no he doesn't. For a few seconds, I pulled at my hair, deliberating what I could do to get him up.

Smiling to myself evilly, I ran forward and leapt on him, landing directly on his chest. He oofed, but I just continued to sit there. "Aly, Aly! I'm not breathing real well."

"You're in the bed, Oliver – it's your bed."

Obviously frustrated, Oliver pushed himself up, and I yelped as he threw me backwards onto his stomach, his growl resulting in an animalistic prey and predator five-second soundtrack. As his momentum halted, Wood and I realized how close we were, and he visibly resigned. I could tell – his shoulders started to sag and he fell away from me onto his palms.

This would be a very inopportune time to bring up cooking, but instead he just watched me for a few minutes, deciding what he wanted to happen. Eventually, his arms shot forward and looped around my legs, and I screamed as he swung his legs and stood, leaving me to scramble onto his chest and wrap my arms around his neck.

Oliver's laugh rang triumphantly over my cry as we fell backwards onto the bed, his body crushing mine before rebounding. "Sleep," he growled at me, rolling off and quickly crawling towards the middle of the bed.

Well, guess that's that, then.