Name: Katiezzzzzzz
Age: zzzzzzzzzzzzzsnortsnaffle
Hair: bedhead. Literal bed head.
Current Location: My head is on a bed. A nice, comfy be...
Current Mood: ...zzzzzzzzzz

Bell, rise and shine.

"Shuttup," I groaned.

Bell, I mean it.

Dimly I realised Wood's voice wasn't a figment of my imagination, and he really was here, trying to wake me up. But let's be honest, his voice in the morning was as expected as my rooster-crowing alarm clock. Ergo, it was just as ignored.

"Katie, wake up."

Tentative prod to my arm.

I pulled my blanket over my eyes and pretended he wasn't there.

Sharp shove to my shoulder.

"Hmmpph." I turned over, trying to block him out.

And ran into Oliver Wood.

I frowned. There was an Oliver Wood in my bed. What was Oliver Wood doing in my bed? "What are you doing in my bed?" I asked. I have a reputation for the roundabout, nuanced way I speak my mind.

"Actually," he rumbled, "this is my bed."

Oh, I see. What we have here is a Goldilocks situation. How awkward. I peeked my head out of the blanket.

Wood blinked at me a little blearily, like he was surprised to find this had happened. Then his eyes cleared and he beamed. Then his eyebrows gathered together like a storm rolling over and he frowned. And then a smile tugged at his mouth. It was like his face couldn't decide what emotion he wanted to feel. That's Oliver, fluctuating bi-polar. You know that song 'you take the high road and I'll take the low road' about getting to Scotland? That should be Wood's personal anthem, seeing as he travels between both high and low states constantly.

Finally he settled on a cautious frown, like he was surprised I was here and he was here and we were all here together and he didn't know what:

a) I'd do about it, and

b) What he'd do about it once I'd done whatever I'd decided I was doing about it.

He slowly propped himself up into a sitting position against the headboard, knees up around his shoulders, and drew his sheet up with him so it was up at his neck, almost covering his chin.

"Bell," he rasped in his Scottish brogue, eyes narrowed at me, "did you take advantage of me last night?"

With his rumpled hair making him look vulnerable, and his Scottish brogue hoarser from the early morning, I was beginning to ask myself why I didn't.

In the face of my confusion, Wood seemed to find something incredibly amusing about this whole wrong-bed situation. His brows lifted over eyes that were warm and liquid and a little too close to my own.

I shut my eyes and decided it was too early in the morning to deal with the amount of smug radiating from beside me. And besides, if Wood was happy, it meant I hadn't overslept Quidditch training. And if I hadn't overslept, that meant I could go back to sleep and take another shot at oversleeping Quidditch practice.

I lowered my head back to my – Wood's – whoever's - pillow.

"You're going back to sleep?" Amusement coloured his voice.

"I'm trying to."

Wood, conversely, gave a languid stretch and took up more of the bed, his operating theory being no bed for Bell, no sleep for Bell.

"Shove over," I muttered without opening my eyes.

"Aren't you going to ask what you're doing in my bed?"

"Sleeping, so I hardly need to ask."

Wood made a great show of pillowing his hands behind his head. For a Keeper he's not very good at keeping quiet. "So... since you're in my bed I suppose the only polite thing to do is ask... do you want pancakes or eggs for breakfast, love?"

"I want a serving of shut the hell up." I growled.

I sensed rather than saw Wood reach for the bed post hangings.

"Don't you dare open them."

"Or what?"

Only the 'what' became slightly muffled after the "w-" because I'd flung a hand over his mouth.

Wood seemed incapacitated for a few crucial, blissfully quiet seconds. Then he pulled my hand away. I rolled over so I could replace my stolen hand with my other free one. Only, as it turned out, I'd rolled over onto Oliver's body, not the blanket, as I'd initially thought.

Woah, there hadn't been much space between us at all.

And now that I was lying on top of Wood, my elbows planted on his broad chest, my hand spread over his warm lips and his hand holding up my other wrist, there was suddenly a whole lot less space.

I felt his heart thump steadily under my own, rhythmic and lulling. My heart, on the other hand, felt like a Snitch had fluttered in there and was frantically trying to escape. It buzzed everywhere.

Wood's fingers wrapped around my captured wrist were firm, scorching like a brand. Warmth zinged all over my body, and my dress rode up, air like a crisp blanket cooling my feverish skin.

Well, some sleep-in plan this was turning out to be.

Wood narrowed his eyes and pointed his free hand at my hand covering his lips in a clear, 'remove this offending anatomy from my personal space' warning. Despite this, I felt his lips curve up into a smile under my palm.

"I swear to Merlin, Oliver, if you talk I will smother your face with a pillow. Then I will sleep on it." The just and contented sleep of the vindicated.

Tentatively, I removed my hand.

No sooner had I then he opened his mouth, ready for some smart comment.

I immediately belted him across his gorgeous face with a pillow.

Then, I'll admit, I pressed the pillow down a little bit.

Wood did not take that well.

One second I was enjoying blissful, pillowy, feathery silence, then next second the pillow I'd been putting a fair bit of my weight on was ripped away.

Suddenly unbalanced, I tumbled forward, even further onto Oliver.

I recovered by planting my hands on either side of his head. My reflexes were a little slow, and I stopped only about two millimetres short of Wood's face. That was it. Two millimetres.

All I could see was smirking lips. His skin smelled faintly of broom polish and beeswax.

Wood's chest heaved beneath my ribs. "You're not getting that pillow back," he promised. This admission was punctuated by the thwacking sound of the pillow hitting a distant wall.

Mischievous amber eyes glinted up at me. A faint curve tugged wickedly at the corner of his mouth. I'd tried to cover up that devilish smile before and it hadn't worked. Still, Katie Bell didn't give up easily.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Shut up."

"Nae."

Oh Merlin, he was using the Charming Scottish Voice. I'd made Wood revert to his stronger Scottish accent several times before, but it was usually at Quidditch, and usually more along the lines of, 'Bell, do nae even think of catching a Bludger at the speeds you're doing.' In comparison, Scottish brogue sounded a lot sweeter when he wasn't bellowing it at the top of his lungs. Half of me melted into a gooey puddle, and another part of me ramped up. That was certainly not going to help me get back to sleep, and I refused to abandon my plan.

I dropped my voice lower in a threat. "Cease talking and let me have my sleep-in, Wood."

Wood lowered his to match. "Or what?" He rumbled, and I felt his chest reverberate. That bloody 'or what' challenge again.

I leant in closer to whisper, "Or I will make you let me."

I was so close my lips were almost touching.

So close they almost brushed, especially on every 'm' I said.

So close I felt his warm breath on my cheek.

I stared down at his lips.

I recalled the way they felt moments before, firm and smiling against the palm of my hand. The Snitch in my chest pulsed harder.

He opened his mouth slightly to catch a breath, or begin to form more annoying words.

My eyes locked on the seam of his mouth.

I leant forward, determined to shut him up by whatever means necessary.

"Ah-hem," came a florid cough from the foot of Wood's bed.

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A/N: Busted, Bell! Also, all typos/errors are my own; I don't have betas and I get really weird about re-reading my work once posted. Let me know if something in particular is really bugging you and I'll fix.