Name: Whatever you want it to be, darlin'
Age: See above
Hair: You can look, but you can't touch
Current Mood: In serious emotional turmoil.
Current location: Katie Bell's bedroom (that got your attention, didn't it? Pervy bastards.)
I promised myself I wouldn't do the work for her. But she looked so overwhelmed. She looked like she was shackled to the desk. If any person was born to fly, it was Bell. I love Quidditch, but I think Bell likes the thrill of the flight more than the dynamics of the game. So I did the Potion's essay for her, but I Charmed it so she'd at least have to read it first before my ink would show up on the paper. I'm no Hermione Granger, but I know a few well-placed spells or two. To be honest, most of spells I know are more along the lines of jinxes and hexes for when I come into contact with Slytherins, but it's something. At least 7 years of education isn't totally wasted.
Bell fell asleep half-way through her essay, the ink smudging her cheek where she rested on the desk. I couldn't leave her in the library. Besides, it was getting cold, and I know Bell can't stand the cold. She has an aversion to it; she rugs up like a marshmallow at the first flake of snow. And I couldn't have my best Chaser catching the chills, right? So I gathered her up and took her up to her room, tucking her in and everything. I knew she wouldn't wake up: she's slept through just about everything I've subjected her to during three years of early-morning practises: the girl sleeps like the dead.
And I was going to walk away. I told myself to walk away as soon as I'd done what I said I was going to do. I placed her on her bed. Job done. But she looked cold. So I shut the window. I could go now. But she still looked cold. So I pulled the heavy doona over her. Mission completed. But I stopped for one moment, just after placing the blankets over her shoulders. I just stopped to savour the moment, I guess. To brush a lock of hair away from her face. So it wouldn't tickle her nose. I mean, if there's one thing I hate, it's an itchy nose. She should be thankful I was such a considerate Captain. Because that's all I was to her, right? That's what she said.
"Oliver." She mumbled, and I froze, thinking I'd woken her up. But she just sighed and burrowed into her pillow further. Okay, she was asleep. I shouldn't read too much into that one. I mean, I've had some weird dreams before, and they've meant absolutely nothing. It is certainly not my dearest wish to fly around on a hippogriff dressed like a pirate, tolling a bell and singing at the top of my voice,
"Tally-ho dearies and candle-wicks, Snape and Flint are massive pricks." Although, maybe there's a disturbingly inordinate amount of truth in that dream than I originally gave it credit for.
Regardless, I went to sleep that night with a grin plastered onto my face, and it stayed there all night and into the next morning. And then Bell wiped it clean off my face.