Relating Relations ~ Chapter Eleven: Butterbeer Confessions
"How, how, how could I have been so stupid?" I asked myself for the thousandth time in the last ten minutes. The answer seemed to be getting farther and farther away - banging my head on the shower wall probably wasn't helping. The jubilance of winning couldn't have entirely worn off yet, though, because I did not yet feel the outright despair I felt half an hour later.
Sitting sideways in an armchair I surveyed the scene. Fred and George had of course put on a marvelous spread, including several dozen bottles of Butterbeer. People everywhere were going over and over every play of the match, while a number were dancing to let their excitement out so as not to explode.
"Why so glum, Katie?" A voice behind me made me jump.
"Oh - hey Lee!" I smiled and attempted to sound enthusiastic. "I just can't take it all in yet . . . imagine . . . WE WON! W ACTUALLY WON THE BLOODY CUP!"
I stopped, doubting very much the credibility of my fake smile. However, at that point Lee's head bobbed back into view and I realized he was already way too far gone to notice. The joys of Butterbeer.
He laughed, then whispered seductively in my ear, "Have a drink, Katie." I shivered despite myself. Shameless flirt.
He tossed me a bottle, which I deftly uncapped and chugged. Lee whistled, impressed.
OK, that was stupid . . . I feel sick. I smirked at Lee anyways.
"Well," he said, "'fraid I can't stay around here all night . . . so many girls . . . so little time . . . ." He sighed dramatically and vanished back into the crowd of jumping, dancing people.
People kept handing me Butterbeers, congratulating me on some play or other, and then disappearing back into the crowd. After my sixth bottle, I allowed a blushing fifth year to lead me into the mob of dancers. By the time I'd emptied me ninth, I was feeling much better about it all. I would deal with it all in the morning - or later, anyway. Sure. Sounds good. Drink up, Katie.
Percy once again made the youngsters go to bed, and gradually the common room began to empty, although grumbles and protests could still be heard emanating from the two spiral staircases.
When only fifth, sixth, and seventh years remained, Fred and George dimmed the candles. We lay on the floor in one huge snuggle pile. My head was on Lee's chest while the rest of me was lost in the warm tangle of bodies.
Lee was attempting to pour the remains of his most recent Butterbeer down my throat - with little success. Not that I cared - I was giggling insanely. I nuzzled into Lee's chest, making him forget about other things and consequently empty Butterbeer all over my shirt.
"Lee!" I tried to be mad, but it wasn't working. "Ah t' hell wid it . . . " I murmured, then burst into giggles.
"Shorry, darlin'. . ." Lee slurred, sounding decidedly unrepentant.
"No problem . . . no problem at all . . . jusht let me up sho'sh I can . . . um . . . uh . . . change, that'sh it. . ." I struggled out of the stupourous pile, stumbling as I tried to stand up.
As quickly as I could, I stripped off my shirt, flinging it somewhere into the darkness. I heard a couple of murmurs from the pile; then Lee yelled, "Gonna strip for us, Katie? Or just gonna stand like that all night?"
Well, I mean, I was fine like this, right? I mean I was wearing a bra and all . . . Strip? Me? Hey- why not?
I grinned. "Get me another Butterbeer, then."
I kicked off my shoes and someone handed me another bottle as music suddenly filled the room. I'm sure you know the song. I took a sip and began to move to the beat, swaying as I began to undo the top button of my jeans.
Then I felt someone behind me and a blanket was wrapped around me.
"Sorry boys, show's over!" A Scottish accent proclaimed.
I heard Lee protest, "Ah, c'moffit, Oliver . . ."
I struggled against my captor, but he just leaned down and whispered in my ear, "C'mon, Kat - we're going for a walk."
"Oliver . . . ," I whined. "But I want to stay here . . . I'm not finished yet." I giggled.
"C'mon Kat." He pulled me towards the door. When I resisted, he scooped me up and carried me, muttering under his breath.
"What?" I asked him when he set me down outside the portrait hole. "Why will I thank you in the morning?"
I was confused. He'd just spoiled my fun. I pouted. "Now what?"
"Now," Oliver spoke slowly and sternly, "We are going to take a walk in the nice, cool air."
Why was he talking to me like a small child? There's a word for that. . . starts with a "p" . . . Then again, who really cared? I was sneaking around a darkened castle with Oliver! I giggled and tried to take a step, but stumbled and tripped over the blanket.
Oliver caught me, sighed, and picked me up again. I snuggled into him, sighing contentedly.
.~*~.
Outside, Oliver carried me down to the Quidditch pitch. Climbing into the stands, he gently set me down.
"Are you okay?" He was so sweet, so concerned.
I nodded happily. "Shure-why wouldn't I be?"
He smiled, a little sadly perhaps. "Well," he said, "I'm not okay. I miss you."
He looked away. "I miss you SO much. I just want you back, Kat."
He turned back to me. "I love you." He drew me into a hug - a brotherly hug, but a reassuring, loving hug nonetheless. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and made the effort not to slur my words.
"But Oliver - my letter . . . " I whispered, hardly daring to break the moment.
He held me at arm's length. "Kat, that letter was total rot - we both know that. That's what hurts so much . . . why did you have to make up something to escape me? Am I really that horrible?" He gave a hollow little laugh.
"No, Oliver, you're not," I reassured him. "In fact, you're the bes-" I stopped. Deep breath, Katie. "But I told you I didn't love you. Do you not believe me? I can tell you again, if need be." Through the alcohol- induced fog in my brain, I strengthened my resolve to rebuff him again.
"Kat," he whispered, suddenly seductive.
"Yes?" I asked nervously. Uh-oh . . .
"This . . ." Oliver cupped my face with one hand and quickly joined our lips. I fought to remain passive, but it's just not possible when Oliver's kissing you. I wrapped my arms around his neck, not caring that the blanket had slipped from my shoulders.
At last, Oliver broke the kiss. He was flushed and triumphant.
"So you don't love me, huh, Kat? Not at all? Don't tell me that was all just lust . . . ."
I blushed and giggled, a little embarassed. "Fine. I love you. There. Happy?" I sighed. "It doesn't change anything." I hate my grandmother! I hate her, I hate her, I hate her!
"Come again?"
"It doesn't change anything - we still can't get back together," I muttered miserably, and pulled the blanket back up around my shoulders.
"Why the hell not?" Oliver shouted. I hate it when he's like this . . . I would have to tell him. Tell him the truth. If he hated me, so much the better.
Gradually, haltingly, I spilled out my story - my grandmother, my power, Malfoy, the dreams, EVERYTHING. Throughout, Oliver showed no sign of emotion but simply listened.
"So you see," I sniffled, wiping my eyes with a corner of the blanket, "I can't be associated with you - I could ruin your career, or worse! I'm dangerous. I have a Dark witch's blood in my veins . . . Don't you see? I love you too much to endanger you." I angrily brushed my tears away. I stood up "I'll go now. I understand you won't want to talk to me now that you don't have to for Quidditch and such. Goodbye, Oliver." I turned to go.
"Kat!" Oliver rasped, grabbing my arm and pulling me down into his lap. "Do you really think I could ever hate you? I love you, remember?" He stroked my cheek. "I wouldn't care if Grindelwald himself was your blessed grandfather. I care about *you*. Do you really think I would place my Quidditch career ahead of you? I know that most people think that Quidditch is my number one priority, but you of all people should know that isn't true. I'll always be there for you, all right, Kat? I'll always love you."
It was all too much. Tears bubbled up inside me and I sobbed into Oliver's chest while he stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth. When my sobs had subsided into sniffles and then into hiccoughs, I turned my face up to his.
"I love you, Oliver Wood, - just don't let it go to your head!"
He grinned, obviously relieved I was a little more my old self. He leant down, kissing the tears off my cheeks. I shuddered.
"You're shivering - here, have my shirt." Oliver quickly stripped off his shirt and handed it to me.
Which left me staring at his oh-so-close bare chest. I closed my eyes and swallowed. I heard him chuckle.
"That irresistible, am I?"
"Don't flatter yourself!" I grabbed the shirt and whacked him with it. Suddenly there was a breeze on my back and I looked down to find that only my bra protected me from the night air. Damn blanket.
I glanced up at Oliver. His eyes were dark, seeming to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it.
I raised my eyebrows.
"That irresistible, huh?"
Oliver didn't need to answer me. He kissed me forcefully, drawing me tight up against him. I melted into his kiss, and felt his fingers fiddle with my bra clasp.
.- ~*~ -.
A/N: Well, we'll just leave it there, don't you think? Sorry about all the sappy bits, but I'm not really sure how to avoid them so sometimes they just have to be there. Hope you enjoyed all the fun bits.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
I hope Santa/St. Nick/Father Christmas/the fat old guy in the red suit is good to you all!
Toodles. .--MadMadamMim--.
"How, how, how could I have been so stupid?" I asked myself for the thousandth time in the last ten minutes. The answer seemed to be getting farther and farther away - banging my head on the shower wall probably wasn't helping. The jubilance of winning couldn't have entirely worn off yet, though, because I did not yet feel the outright despair I felt half an hour later.
Sitting sideways in an armchair I surveyed the scene. Fred and George had of course put on a marvelous spread, including several dozen bottles of Butterbeer. People everywhere were going over and over every play of the match, while a number were dancing to let their excitement out so as not to explode.
"Why so glum, Katie?" A voice behind me made me jump.
"Oh - hey Lee!" I smiled and attempted to sound enthusiastic. "I just can't take it all in yet . . . imagine . . . WE WON! W ACTUALLY WON THE BLOODY CUP!"
I stopped, doubting very much the credibility of my fake smile. However, at that point Lee's head bobbed back into view and I realized he was already way too far gone to notice. The joys of Butterbeer.
He laughed, then whispered seductively in my ear, "Have a drink, Katie." I shivered despite myself. Shameless flirt.
He tossed me a bottle, which I deftly uncapped and chugged. Lee whistled, impressed.
OK, that was stupid . . . I feel sick. I smirked at Lee anyways.
"Well," he said, "'fraid I can't stay around here all night . . . so many girls . . . so little time . . . ." He sighed dramatically and vanished back into the crowd of jumping, dancing people.
People kept handing me Butterbeers, congratulating me on some play or other, and then disappearing back into the crowd. After my sixth bottle, I allowed a blushing fifth year to lead me into the mob of dancers. By the time I'd emptied me ninth, I was feeling much better about it all. I would deal with it all in the morning - or later, anyway. Sure. Sounds good. Drink up, Katie.
Percy once again made the youngsters go to bed, and gradually the common room began to empty, although grumbles and protests could still be heard emanating from the two spiral staircases.
When only fifth, sixth, and seventh years remained, Fred and George dimmed the candles. We lay on the floor in one huge snuggle pile. My head was on Lee's chest while the rest of me was lost in the warm tangle of bodies.
Lee was attempting to pour the remains of his most recent Butterbeer down my throat - with little success. Not that I cared - I was giggling insanely. I nuzzled into Lee's chest, making him forget about other things and consequently empty Butterbeer all over my shirt.
"Lee!" I tried to be mad, but it wasn't working. "Ah t' hell wid it . . . " I murmured, then burst into giggles.
"Shorry, darlin'. . ." Lee slurred, sounding decidedly unrepentant.
"No problem . . . no problem at all . . . jusht let me up sho'sh I can . . . um . . . uh . . . change, that'sh it. . ." I struggled out of the stupourous pile, stumbling as I tried to stand up.
As quickly as I could, I stripped off my shirt, flinging it somewhere into the darkness. I heard a couple of murmurs from the pile; then Lee yelled, "Gonna strip for us, Katie? Or just gonna stand like that all night?"
Well, I mean, I was fine like this, right? I mean I was wearing a bra and all . . . Strip? Me? Hey- why not?
I grinned. "Get me another Butterbeer, then."
I kicked off my shoes and someone handed me another bottle as music suddenly filled the room. I'm sure you know the song. I took a sip and began to move to the beat, swaying as I began to undo the top button of my jeans.
Then I felt someone behind me and a blanket was wrapped around me.
"Sorry boys, show's over!" A Scottish accent proclaimed.
I heard Lee protest, "Ah, c'moffit, Oliver . . ."
I struggled against my captor, but he just leaned down and whispered in my ear, "C'mon, Kat - we're going for a walk."
"Oliver . . . ," I whined. "But I want to stay here . . . I'm not finished yet." I giggled.
"C'mon Kat." He pulled me towards the door. When I resisted, he scooped me up and carried me, muttering under his breath.
"What?" I asked him when he set me down outside the portrait hole. "Why will I thank you in the morning?"
I was confused. He'd just spoiled my fun. I pouted. "Now what?"
"Now," Oliver spoke slowly and sternly, "We are going to take a walk in the nice, cool air."
Why was he talking to me like a small child? There's a word for that. . . starts with a "p" . . . Then again, who really cared? I was sneaking around a darkened castle with Oliver! I giggled and tried to take a step, but stumbled and tripped over the blanket.
Oliver caught me, sighed, and picked me up again. I snuggled into him, sighing contentedly.
.~*~.
Outside, Oliver carried me down to the Quidditch pitch. Climbing into the stands, he gently set me down.
"Are you okay?" He was so sweet, so concerned.
I nodded happily. "Shure-why wouldn't I be?"
He smiled, a little sadly perhaps. "Well," he said, "I'm not okay. I miss you."
He looked away. "I miss you SO much. I just want you back, Kat."
He turned back to me. "I love you." He drew me into a hug - a brotherly hug, but a reassuring, loving hug nonetheless. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and made the effort not to slur my words.
"But Oliver - my letter . . . " I whispered, hardly daring to break the moment.
He held me at arm's length. "Kat, that letter was total rot - we both know that. That's what hurts so much . . . why did you have to make up something to escape me? Am I really that horrible?" He gave a hollow little laugh.
"No, Oliver, you're not," I reassured him. "In fact, you're the bes-" I stopped. Deep breath, Katie. "But I told you I didn't love you. Do you not believe me? I can tell you again, if need be." Through the alcohol- induced fog in my brain, I strengthened my resolve to rebuff him again.
"Kat," he whispered, suddenly seductive.
"Yes?" I asked nervously. Uh-oh . . .
"This . . ." Oliver cupped my face with one hand and quickly joined our lips. I fought to remain passive, but it's just not possible when Oliver's kissing you. I wrapped my arms around his neck, not caring that the blanket had slipped from my shoulders.
At last, Oliver broke the kiss. He was flushed and triumphant.
"So you don't love me, huh, Kat? Not at all? Don't tell me that was all just lust . . . ."
I blushed and giggled, a little embarassed. "Fine. I love you. There. Happy?" I sighed. "It doesn't change anything." I hate my grandmother! I hate her, I hate her, I hate her!
"Come again?"
"It doesn't change anything - we still can't get back together," I muttered miserably, and pulled the blanket back up around my shoulders.
"Why the hell not?" Oliver shouted. I hate it when he's like this . . . I would have to tell him. Tell him the truth. If he hated me, so much the better.
Gradually, haltingly, I spilled out my story - my grandmother, my power, Malfoy, the dreams, EVERYTHING. Throughout, Oliver showed no sign of emotion but simply listened.
"So you see," I sniffled, wiping my eyes with a corner of the blanket, "I can't be associated with you - I could ruin your career, or worse! I'm dangerous. I have a Dark witch's blood in my veins . . . Don't you see? I love you too much to endanger you." I angrily brushed my tears away. I stood up "I'll go now. I understand you won't want to talk to me now that you don't have to for Quidditch and such. Goodbye, Oliver." I turned to go.
"Kat!" Oliver rasped, grabbing my arm and pulling me down into his lap. "Do you really think I could ever hate you? I love you, remember?" He stroked my cheek. "I wouldn't care if Grindelwald himself was your blessed grandfather. I care about *you*. Do you really think I would place my Quidditch career ahead of you? I know that most people think that Quidditch is my number one priority, but you of all people should know that isn't true. I'll always be there for you, all right, Kat? I'll always love you."
It was all too much. Tears bubbled up inside me and I sobbed into Oliver's chest while he stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth. When my sobs had subsided into sniffles and then into hiccoughs, I turned my face up to his.
"I love you, Oliver Wood, - just don't let it go to your head!"
He grinned, obviously relieved I was a little more my old self. He leant down, kissing the tears off my cheeks. I shuddered.
"You're shivering - here, have my shirt." Oliver quickly stripped off his shirt and handed it to me.
Which left me staring at his oh-so-close bare chest. I closed my eyes and swallowed. I heard him chuckle.
"That irresistible, am I?"
"Don't flatter yourself!" I grabbed the shirt and whacked him with it. Suddenly there was a breeze on my back and I looked down to find that only my bra protected me from the night air. Damn blanket.
I glanced up at Oliver. His eyes were dark, seeming to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it.
I raised my eyebrows.
"That irresistible, huh?"
Oliver didn't need to answer me. He kissed me forcefully, drawing me tight up against him. I melted into his kiss, and felt his fingers fiddle with my bra clasp.
.- ~*~ -.
A/N: Well, we'll just leave it there, don't you think? Sorry about all the sappy bits, but I'm not really sure how to avoid them so sometimes they just have to be there. Hope you enjoyed all the fun bits.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
I hope Santa/St. Nick/Father Christmas/the fat old guy in the red suit is good to you all!
Toodles. .--MadMadamMim--.