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CHAPTER SEVEN

"-and you'll be working in partners. As always, your partner will be the person sitting next to you," McGonagall finally said after a long lecture on our final project. She turned to face me. "Katie? Could I speak to you a moment?" McGonagall asked me sternly. I nodded and walked up to her desk. She then steered me to a far corner of the classroom where she was positive we wouldn't be overheard. She said, "Katie I'm sorry, but, it appears that you are currently failing my class."

I flinched slightly. I wasn't surprised of course. It was expected, but it still hurt to hear it.

"However," she began, adjusting her glasses a bit, "I am willing to pass you on the condition that your final project is high quality work and receives a high grade. To make this easier for you, I have found someone in the advanced transfiguration class who is willing to help you with this project. He will be somewhat like a mentor, but think of him as a partner."

I nodded. "Anything to bring up my grade."

"Wait here, I will go fetch him," she responded curtly.

So this new partner was going to be a he. I got the feeling that I would like this new partner very much. A minute later, McGonagall was back with my mystery man. And the person I saw was not whom I was expecting at all. That's because the person that sauntered in the classroom behind McGonagall was Oliver I just kind of stood there trying really hard not to scream. I was acutely aware that McGonagall was asking me if it was okay that Oliver be my partner. But, I was numb all over. So I just nodded lamely. Then, without another word, McGonagall walked away with a smug expression, leaving us alone.

"You're not doing it right," Oliver complained as I practiced the spell we were working on. We'd only been working with each other for one day and the arguing had already begun. I was forever doing things wrong and he was forever blabbing on and on about how he's always fixing my mistakes and how I never learned.

So far, I'd been really good about not letting personal feelings get in the way of the project. Everything was perfectly fine between us. It wasn't awkward at all. Not.

"If you're so smart, then why don't you do the bloody spell?" I yelled in a hushed tone.

"Nice thinking genius. If I do the spell, then how do you expect to pass the class?" he shot back.

I was infuriated. It felt like he slapped me really hard across the face. I was trembling now. "Give me the wand."

The task was to attempt a spell at least five different objects (of our choice) and record our observations. Then we had to write a five page essay on why the five different objects had reacted differently even though they all had been altered with the same exact spell. Boring. Oliver had been no help at all. I had to pick the five objects by myself because he claimed that helping me pick the objects would be "unfair to everyone else". Bullshit. So, in the end, I ended up choosing a dead rat, a comb, a pair of old jeans, an old wand and a wine glass. I tried the spell again and again, but it never seemed to work.

"Would you please just shut up and help me do the damn spell?" I asked through gritted teeth. I don't know if it was my do-what-I-say-or-I'll-kill-you attitude or what, but he actually did shut up and performed the spell just like I asked him to.

Oliver was becoming more and more of a permanent fixture in my life no matter how hard I tried for him to be less and less involved. It was always Oliver this and Oliver that. I just couldn't catch a break.

Practice was actually tolerable that day. I was really looking forward to heading back to the dorms, taking a long hot shower and then doing some homework I had waiting for me. I was the last one off the field. I wanted to practice the new move we'd just learned a few more times just to make sure I had it down. But as I walked to the locker room, I was suddenly interrupted by Oliver.

"Katie? Could you come back here a second?" he asked. I didn't say anything except for a soft groan (which he wasn't meant to hear) and then I walked back to the field to see what he wanted. "What do you want Wood?"

He looked up at me from the equipment case and said, "Whoa. Crabby much?" Let's just say, my temper rose. A lot.

"What. Do. You. Want?" I asked again, sounding out each letter and syllable.

When he noticed that I wasn't changing my attitude, he stood up and walked over to me. He stood in front of me so that his body was so close to mine that they were almost touching and his head was crooked downward, right above mine, in a very intimidating manner. And, was I intimidated? Hell yeah I was. I'm not made of stone. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes were blazing. That was when I realized that...I was actually scared of Oliver. I was scared in every sense of the word. I never thought this day would come.

"What did you just say to me?" he demanded.

My eyes drifted down from his burning eyes to his shoes. His shoes were easier to look at. "What's your problem anyway? Why are you always messing with me?"

He didn't say anything for a while. I could see his fists clenched and his body tighten suddenly. I took a chance and stopped analyzing his shoes and looked up at his baby blues. We gazed into each other's eyes as if we were having a staring contest, neither of us wanting to look away.

And then all of a sudden, his lips were on mine, kissing hungrily like he'd been dying to do it for a long time. One of his arms was around my back and one was in my hair. It was the same for me; one of my arms was around his neck and one was dug deep into his hair.

I was so shocked that I just kept on kissing him. But, seriously, what the hell was I supposed to do? Stop kissing him? Ha. There is no way in hell I was going to do that. After a few moments, things really started to get heated up and out of control. The only reason I knew that things were getting that way was because all of a sudden my back hit the ground and I realized that he was lying on top of me on the ground. In some distant part of my mind I wondered when I should stop kissing him and I also wondered what this make-out session actually meant for the two of us.

Soon enough, he'd stopped kissing me. But then he started kissing my cheek, and then he moved down to my neck from there. Eventually he stopped and he was just laying on top of me, breathing hard. Well, we both were. Breathing hard, I mean. I took advantage of the fact that I had my lips to myself.

"Oliver?"

"Hmm?" he lifted his head from my chest and looked me in the eyes.

"What the hell just happened?"

"No fucking clue."

"Okay. I just wanted to know," I said lamely.