Chapter 9

Kiss

A/N: Katie's POV.


I spent much of the next week glued to my textbooks in the library; O.W.L. practice exams were coming up, and I had the misfortune of both a short attention span and waning academic motivation. My saving grace was Leanne, who had taken it upon herself to coach me through my worst subjects - Potions and Charms - in exchange for my Transfiguration expertise.

"Katie," Leanne's hands muffled her voice as she ran them down her face in abject exasperation on Thursday evening, "We learned this potion in second year. How did you manage to get an 'Acceptable' in that class?"

"My charming smile?" I offered. Probably sheer luck, honestly. It was a wonder that I'd passed at all.

Between uninspired study sessions, I was meeting up with Roger. We'd fallen into a routine of bland conversations and mildly fulfilling flirtation in public, and exploratory fumbling in private. It wasn't anything special, and I could tell he began losing interest after I told him I wasn't ready to have sex. Still, it was a welcome distraction.

His sixth year friends would whistle any time Roger acknowledged me in the hallway or kissed me on the cheek at breakfast. It soothed the ache in me - to be desired, even if it was a mostly hormonal and undoubtedly short-lived arrangement.

Wood had backed off at practice. He'd taken to ignoring me, which I came to realize was far worse than his anger. I redoubled my efforts to spend any of my free time with Roger, hoping that his attention would stave off the hunger for Oliver's.

Angelina cornered me in the common room one night with an air of sisterly concern.

"How's it going with Davies?" she probed.

"It's been fine," I shrugged, "He's fit, I'm having a good time."

He exists in corporeal form. I didn't say. He actually wants me.

Angelina scanned my face, "Whatever healing journey this is, I support you. But I know you care about Oliver, and I know the thick-headed git cares about you, whatever he may say or do to persuade you otherwise."

"I quite literally have more important things to worry about," I insisted, attention returning to the Charms textbook in front of me. I'd been gleaning absolutely nothing from the words on the page, but it didn't hurt to pretend.

"Ahhh, Kates," she said softly, wrapping her arms around me, "You don't owe anyone anything. As long as you're happy, yeah?"

I nodded, resting my cheek on her shoulder. I blinked rapidly, clearing my throat to keep the misery I'd shoved down for the last two weeks from bubbling up to the surface.

"Thanks, Ange," I said thickly.

"Let me know what I can do to help, Kates. You're not alone," she squeezed my shoulders reassuringly.

"Want to take my practice Charms exam for me?" I asked as she stood up. I closed my textbook with a snap.

Angelina snorted, "No."

I shrugged. It was worth a shot.


The practice Charms O.W.L. took place on a dreary Tuesday morning the following week. I sat glumly beside Leanne at breakfast, picking at my scrambled eggs.

"It's going to be fine," she reassured me, "It's just a practice exam."

"If I fail, I might as well drop out," I sighed, "Send my exam scores to my mother. It will numb the pain when she's overcome by disappointment."

Leanne rolled her eyes.

I watched Oliver enter the Great Hall with a few seventh years. He looked tired. Infuriatingly gorgeous, of course, but sporting bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept well in a few days.

"I wonder what's up with him," I muttered, spearing a strawberry on my fork.

Leanne pursed her lips, eyes following my gaze, "I don't know, Katie. You could try talking to him."

As if he could hear our conversation, Oliver looked up. Our eyes met, and he looked away.

"Probably should get to Charms," I muttered, tearing my gaze back to the table and shoving a scone in my pocket for later.

"Yeah, alright," Leanne took one last swig of her pumpkin juice before following me out of the Great Hall.

A crowd of anxious fifth years had gathered outside the Charms classroom, their voices humming like a horde of insects. Leanne and I waited at the corridor entrance to avoid their palpably miserable energy.

"Psst, Bell!" a voice whispered. I turned, catching Roger's easy smile as he walked up to us, "Do you have a second?"

I looked at Leanne in question but she just nodded her head warily toward the sixth year Ravenclaw, "Go," she said, "Flitwick won't open the doors for a few minutes."

Roger took my hand, leading me a little ways down the corridor and into an alcove behind a suit of armor. He leaned against the wall casually, trapping me.

"Hi," I said, wondering whether he was trying to soothe my nerves before the exam or he was just looking for a quick snog.

His gaze swept over me, and he bit his lip. His thick hair was messier than usual, as though someone had run their hands through it. My gaze dropped to his tie, which was askew. I realized with a tired sort of dread that his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. Oh.

"So, Bell," he started, running a hand through that mussed hair with a staggering sort of arrogance, "You're really hot, and clever, and fun. You're great."

I nodded, very clear that this was going somewhere I didn't have the emotional capacity for this morning.

"I sure am," I said, as though I wasn't pinching my leg to avoid having a meltdown in an alcove with Roger Davies: Epic Disappointment and Definite Prick.

"Yeah," he carried on, "And I think it's been fun messing around, but I can't really see this going anywhere, you know?"

"Oh, I know," I said lightly, shrugging as if I had come to the same conclusion on a parallel timeline.

"Great," he said, standing up straight and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, "No hard feelings, then, Bell? I'm looking forward to seeing you on the pitch next month."

"Sure. I need to go take my exam," I said stiffly, trying to avoid any bodily contact with him as I squeezed past.

"Right, of course," Roger said, "See you?"

"Yeah," I said, not bothering to turn around.

It's not that I expected more from him, really. I'd never harbored any kind of false pretense that he was a particularly good guy, but I had hoped he wasn't actively shagging anyone on the side while we spent every afternoon for the last two weeks making out by the lake. I'd never been sure that we were exclusive, but thinking and knowing were two different things.

I'd always figured I'd end things with him when I felt a little less fragile. I thought I'd take the attention while it meant something to me and then move along. I thought I'd held the power. Idiot.

And now I had to take this bloody practice exam. I let out a choked laugh as I wandered back to the Charms corridor. Fucking brilliant.

"You alright?" Leanne looked concerned when I got back to the classroom. Students had started filing inside. "What did he do?"

"I'll tell you later," I murmured, feeling more and more categorically angry with men as I followed her inside.


Leanne finished with her exam long before I did.

I was one of the last students out of the classroom; three hours of intensive Charms work had me walking out into the corridor in an especially dour mood.

I'd told Leanne I'd meet her at Gryffindor tower this afternoon, but first I needed a walk.

Was it fair of me to be angry? I felt a sliver of doubt crack through my rage as I wandered aimlessly around the castle.

Maybe it had been petulant of me to run into the arms of the first bloke who looked my way. Maybe I deserved what I got. But was it a crime to want to feel desired after being horrifically, irrevocably crushed by the man I'd first set my sights on four years ago? Oliver had turned me down before I'd even asked him the question. I didn't have words to describe how painful that had been.

The more I stewed, the faster my steps carried me, and the faster my heart beat. I had worked myself into a blind rage when I ran into someone on the fourth floor corridor, one level below the Gryffindor common room.

"Oh, excuse me," I said, stumbling.

The other person caught my arm, steadying me. I blinked up into the face of none other than the last person in the castle I wanted to see at that moment.

Oliver Wood scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, looking at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. He did look exhausted. A little frown line creased his forehead as he took me in.

"Hey, Kates."

What a comically shitty day. I didn't want to stand here and endure the weight of his judgment. The full force of my anger and hurt began to leak out of me like magma from a volcano.

"Don't 'hey, Kates' me," I hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Are you alright?" He asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

I could feel myself getting more and more worked up.

"I'm fine." I said shortly. I hated this, but I couldn't force myself to walk away.

"How are things with Davies?" He ventured, as though this were an innocuous question to ask given everything. I was quickly defensive.

"That's what you want to discuss?" I asked, incredulous, "You haven't spoken to me since - since - and that's what you'd care to know?"

He had the sense to look chastised, "I want to make sure that you're alright, Kates. He's not taking advantage, is he?"

"Taking advantage?!"

"Aye. I just don't trust him, Kates, he's an absolute prick-"

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself! I knew what I was getting myself into. And I deserved a distraction, you prat," I said hotly. My arms crossed over my chest. If he noticed my use of the past tense, he didn't let on.

"You do deserve a distraction," he agreed quietly, eyes roaming my face.

"I deserve to feel wanted!" I pushed on, pressing a finger against his chest. If I were more adept at wandless magic I would have scorched a hole in his jumper where my fingernail met his sternum.

"You do deserve to feel wanted," he said, hand reaching up to meet the accusatory finger against his chest.

"I am not beholden to you," the heat behind my voice faltered somewhat as his large hand encased mine, pulling it against his heart.

"Undoubtedly," he said, nodding.

"Bollocks!" I pushed my other hand against him with enough force to make him step back. "You don't get to stand there and judge me just because you were too scared to do anything. That's not on me, Wood."

"You're right," he said. And it was the most infuriating - the most unfair thing he could say to me. I was horrified to realize that the suddenly intense glaze of the torches in their sconces was, in fact, my eyes welling up with angry tears.

"I cannot believe you, Oliver Wood," I choked out, "I can't fucking believe-"

I didn't get to finish articulating the thought. My mind went completely blank as his mouth descended on mine. One second I was breathing in fiery rage, the next, his hand tilted my chin up, and he was pressing me against the wall. His tongue caressed my lower lip gently, and my traitorous fucking body shuddered, lips parting to let him in. Where had he learned to kiss like that?

I could feel him everywhere - the warmth of his chest against mine, the hand that slid to my lower back and pulled me closer. The heat in my stomach gnawing at me from the inside.

Too soon, he pulled back, breathing heavily. My hands had gone numb, and I struggled to string my thoughts together coherently.

Then, the pieces started falling back into place.

I slapped him.

His head whipped to the side, eyes wide in surprise.

Oliver let loose a tense breath, the side of his face where my palm had connected with his skin was an angry red.

My hands jumped to my mouth, shocked. I took a step back, then two.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Then I turned and ran.