Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I am now going to reply to some reviews. Enjoy the chapter!
Avahin: Oliver isn't comforting Katie. He's just trying to get her to stop crying cause she's destroying his sweater and all. They are both just crying together about the situation. Just like how it was during our junior retreat. Right? Also, darn you! I'll get Sabine to correct my story. She's a nice person!
Cinny75: Thanks for pointing that out! I didn't mean to write "The last year I'd be seeing Oliver". That was a mistake on my part. Its not going to be a sad ending, don't worry! :)
CHAPTER FIVE
From the Entrance Hall, Oliver and I began the long walk towards The Three Broomsticks. It was around six in the evening as we trudged on the skinny pathway towards Hogsmeade. The sun was starting its descent towards the horizon and was already halfway hidden behind the vast mountain ahead of us. There were beautiful orange and pink streaks across the faded blue sky.
The walk was gruelingly silent. Usually, Oliver and I have plenty to talk about; but that night was awkward for the both of us on so many levels. But I secretly hoped that this experience would change things. Perhaps he would see me differently. You know, other than the way he sees me right now. Which is as a permanently sweaty lead chaser on his Quidditch team, who also happens to be a girl.
We were halfway to the local pub when Oliver suddenly said, "You know, after we drink our butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks, maybe we should head over to the Quidditch pi--"
"Do you every think of anything other than Quidditch?" I said, abruptly cutting him off.
His expression told me that I'd caught him off guard. "Well...yes...I do. It's just that --" His mumbling and stuttering made me feel like more and more of a bitch with each passing second. Why did I have to start up another argument? I was trying to seduce Oliver, (sort of), not make him my enemy.
"Look," I said, and he stopped his rambling, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just want to talk about something else right now, that's all. I know Quidditch is your life, and it's really important to me as well, but do you think that just for tonight, we could put the plays and strategies on hold until practice on Monday?"
He stopped walking, turned towards me and whispered, "I had no idea you felt that way." Ever so gently, he took his hand and pushed my wavy brown hair behind my ear. As he did this, his lips formed a tight crooked smile that sent my body into immediate overdrive. My senses went into overdrive. I felt his fingers; how gentle they were, yet it seemed as though they somehow possessed this hidden inner strength. I felt his breath on my cheek. And I could swear I could hear his heart beating in time with mine for just a second. "You look..."
"Yes?" I asked. Pretty? Beautiful? Stunning?
"You look...different," he replied simply.
"Oh." I couldn't help hoping that I sounded disappointed. Apparently, I succeeded, because he stopped playing with my hair, his expression went from starry-eyed to stern as he told me that I looked different in a good way. "I'm not wearing my Quidditch uniform; that's why," I told him, jokingly.
He chuckled. "Yeah. Probably." And so we continued to our destination. The rest of the walk was quiet, but surprisingly not an awkward silence, but rather a comfortable silence between two friends.
We arrived at The Three Broomsticks. Oliver opened the door for me like any proper gentleman would do for any lady on a date. Things were definitely looking up. I spotted an empty table in the crowded pub and pointed to it so Oliver could see where I was headed. I took a few steps towards the only vacant table as he followed. After pushing fiercely through the groups of tightly packed wizards and witches, we settled down in a comfy booth at the back. The huge crowd that overtook the pub a minute before was starting to die down - along with the noise level - as people left. Finally, we could sit and actually relax. Then with a sudden and rather painful start I realized that now was the moment to start talking and acting differently if I wanted us to become anything more than friends.
I sat with my back straight, stomach sucked in and breasts pushed out. I twirled the ends of my hair mindlessly with my fingers. "I like your shirt," I said in the most seductive voice I could conjure up. Automatically, his eyes drifted to his shirt and back up again. He muttered something really fast. It sounded kind of like thankyoumymomboughtit. Then, I pulled the ultimate move. I rested my elbows on the table, leaned forward so he could see some cleavage in my baby blue V-neck tee and whispered, "I love your hair. It looks so soft." I reached up with one hand and tousled and played with his hair. His eyes drifted from my eyes to my chest without any hesitation. After a second, he finally realized where he was looking and looked back up at my eyes. I then gave him the sexiest side smile that he's ever seen.
Well…I tried to.
He cleared his throat, removed my hand from his soft brown hair and looked at me with worried eyes. "Are you okay?"
I felt the heat climbing up from my toes, up to my neck and finally my cheeks. I could bet you anything that my whole face was beet red at that moment. What was I doing? Oliver probably thought I was some kind of freak! I should have known that trying to change my demeanor would only get me into trouble. I had learned my lesson and I wasn't going to do it again, that was for damn sure. I sat back in my chair and said, "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Why?"
"Well, you're acting kind of..." he said with a I'd-rather-be-anywhere-else-but-here look. And at that moment, I really did wish I was anywhere else but there as well I zipped up my jacket, crossed my arms around my chest and stared out the window. Even though I was fully covered up (thanks to my jacket) I suddenly felt very open and exposed. I'd never felt that way before. And let me be the first to tell you that it's not exactly the greatest feeling in the world. Above all, I was just downright embarrassed. My temples throbbed, my vision became blurry and soon my cheeks felt wet and my tongue tasted like tears.
"Different in a bad way?" I finished for him. He didn't answer. He just stared out the window at the people passing by, just like me.
Silently, we both stood up from the table at The Three Broomsticks and walked home. The walk was uneventful, to say the least. Neither of us said a word the whole way. You literally could have taken a knife and cut the thick tension that hung all around us.
I cried almost all the way home. I had no idea my body could produce that many tears. I hardly ever cried. Even though I've faced some of the most brutal quidditch injuries known to mankind. But I would always get through it. But that night, things were different and it actually felt really good to let it all out. I wasn't crying just because of what happened in Hogsmeade, I was actually crying for a lot of reasons.
I cried because school, homework and long Quidditch practices left me exhausted. I cried because I was confused about my love, my life and my love life. Do I even have to mention Oliver? I was a mess.
Late that night, I entered my dorm, and went to bed, hoping to sleep off the pain.
