YAY - The long awaited Quidditch match, where I've promised to ratchet things up a notch with Katie and Oliver. Jeez, I use a lot of sports clichés and mixed metaphors – I should be ashamed.
Apologies for the lateness of this update: long story. Moral is: BACKUP ALL YOUR FILES SACRED AND PRECIOUS TO YOU. In the unlikely yet horribly unthinkable event which involves the alliteration consisting of "computer" "completely" "cooked" and "cactus".

Name: Katie Bell
Age: (sigh) for like, the 20th time, I'm 16, believe it or not. Born early, I was
Hair: Doing its own thing, as always
Current Mood: HOLY HOLY HOLY BEJEEBERS. (Scared $hitless, in case you couldn't tell)
Current Location: Under the grand stands of the Quidditch pitch, just minutes before the first game against Hufflepuff.

I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life. Including all the other games, including the time I fell off my broom in the middle of that snow storm in my first year of playing Quidditch. I don't know why I was so nervous. Maybe it was because it was our last year with Oliver as our Captain, and I didn't want to let him down. I knew Quidditch wasn't the be-all and end-all of Wood's life; but it played a pretty important part. As in, if he had to write a list of life priorities, Quidditch would maybe settle in as second – second only to breathing, and even then it was probably a tie for first. Wood was playing out his life with a level head, keeping his options open, doing well at school and all that, but if he didn't get into a profession that involved flying, he was going to kill himself. And I'm being serious. Quidditch was Oliver's life.

The storm was back. And it was back with a vengeance. As soon as I stepped onto the pitch, a bit of my nervousness seeped away. I couldn't even see Fred and Alicia standing either side of me. No-one would be able to see how we played. No-one would be able to see if we remembered Wood's bloody Hawksbury Hawskhead Formations or whatever.

We were hammered by the weather out there. It was raining, it was hailing, it saw snowing, I swear I got pelted by icicles as well. It was a colossal tribute to our team that we were beating Hufflepuff. All things considered, we were on fire. Well in all this rain, we were sparking, at least. Smouldering even. We were winning, and then the Dementors came. One flew right past me, almost knocking me off my broom. I don't know what the hell was with those things or what their story was, but I knew they were creepy, and they were not interrupting our Quidditch match. I flew right at it, intent on tackling it into submission. But then I flew right through it. It was like flying through a ghost, only fifty times colder. I have ice-frosting all in my hair. Oh yeah, that's right. We learnt that in forth year Defence class that Dementors are insubstantial. Stupid me.

And then in a flash of lightening I saw Harry actually fall off his broom. The fog rolled over again, obscuring Harry from sight. Even if I could track his fall in this storm, there was no way I could catch him in time. But then right before he hit the ground he sort of went in slow motion or something. And then we all raced to the ground and Harry's side. I didn't even the game was over and Hooch had declared Hufflepuff had won until we were in the Hospital Wing.

"Where's Wood?" I asked.
"I think he's trying to drown himself in the showers." Fred offered morosely.

That's how Oliver Wood faces defeat. He hides. Coward. I stormed down to the guy's change-rooms.

"Oliver James Wood!" I screamed, storming into the showers. Then scampered right the hell back out. I could tackle dead, corporeal floating Dementors head-on, but walk in on a naked Oliver: no way.
"I have clothes on." Wood managed a chuckle.
"Right," I said. "I knew that." I marched right back into the showers.
"How's Harry?" He muttered before I could pick up where I left off.
"He's...fine." I was about to yell at him for abandoning his team, when I realised Harry was fine. It was Wood that wasn't. "How are you?"
"Not so fine." He finally offered. He sighed and leant further back against the shower wall, a fine spray of water coating his hair, making it sparkle. Damn, that guy has beautiful hair no matter what you do to it.

"I know I've been pushing you guys, perhaps more than what's fair on you. It's my last year to win this thing, and I've been selfish. I know winning means something to you, but it means a hell of a lot more to me, for very different reasons. It's not just a stupid inter-school competition, it's my future. I'm trialling for Puddlemere United soon, and they're a very old, respected team. I know they trial on talent alone, but it would look so much better for me if I was Captaining a team that has a few trophies behind them. But look what happened; I push my team too far and almost kill my Seeker."

"Oliver, it's not your fault."

"I could have postponed the match, but I trial next week. I wanted a win behind me so bad." He looked like he was about to cry. I didn't know what to say. I leant my head against him, and he automatically raised a hand to stroke my hair. It was just so natural, it was like instinct.

He looked so sad. He looked like a lost boy. I didn't know what to say, and I'm never at loss for words. And then I realised words weren't going to make him feel better. It would take more than words. And I don't know if I'd be the person to offer that.

I raised my hand to trace a bead of water down his face. He softly took my hand, face turned to mine, eyes dark.

BWHAHAHA – Evil, Evil Cliff-hanger! Give me one good reason why I should give you all Oliver's perspective now. Have you been good? Smah: I won't keep you on tender-hooks in case the build-up overshadows the event, and the next chapter is an anti-climax. All I'll say is: I like to tease ;)