I know you guys are like, "OMG THE LAST CHAPTER? How sudden!" and I thought the same thing, but I realized that this was a good time to just end it all. Because they've already made out and I told you I wanted to end it after they get together because the whole being boyfriend/girlfriend thing doesn't interest me enough to write about it. And there's only so much making out they can do before it leads to bigger and better things, you know? The whole 'kiss-ignore-fight-makeup-kiss-ignore-fight-makeup' thing is getting old. And I'm too lame to think of something new for this story. Hardy har har.

I think the quality of writing in this chapter is sucky because I'm... not rushing, per-se, just really excited about writing it and getting it posted, but the content is good. I think, at least. :)

As I sat drinking my hot chocolate and looking at the cover of Witch Weekly, I couldn't help from smiling at the picture of Calvin and Claudette snogging each other after we had won. Apparently the two had been dating (or trying to date, in my case) Oliver and I to make each other jealous. And it had worked.

Oliver hadn't left his room in three days for anything other than to go to the bathroom.

I sat the magazine back down on the kitchen table and opened the sliding doors that led to the balcony. The morning air was warm, but not hot, and a constant breeze tousled my hair. I yawned and stretched, watching the early birds out on the street go about their business.

Once back inside, I made some toast and put it on a plate for Oliver. I knocked on his bedroom door, but when there was no answer, I opened it a crack and peeked inside. He was lying across his bed sideways, with his feet hanging off of one end and his head the other. His sheets were all tangled up around his middle, and he was still wearing the same t-shirt and shorts he had put on three days ago.

I sat the plate of toast on his dresser and opened the curtains, letting the sun brighten up the room. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and groaned, rubbing his hands over his scruffy face.

"Oliver! Get up, Ol!" I cried, slapping his cheeks a little. He swatted my hands away and rolled over. I started pounding on his back and every part of him I could reach until he finally sat up and yawned.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm tired of you being cooped up in this room. And you're so dirty you're starting to smell up the whole house. Today you're coming with me, and we're going to the twins' shop, and then we're going to go have lunch with Ange, Alicia and Daphne, and then we're going to go do something by ourselves that doesn't involve thinking about Claudette."

When I mentioned her name, he sighed and looked out the window. There was a pain in my chest as the crack that had formed in my heart three days ago widened itself.

I had thought that after his little comment in the locker room before the game, things would have changed, and not in the way that they did. I had been so excited; finally after all this time, things were working out for me, and my little fairy tale would end happily ever after. I had been amazing during that game, scoring almost all the points, just because I was happy and so sure that when it was over, Oliver and I would run off into the horizon, hand in hand.

But what really happened was nowhere near how I had hoped. When Oliver saw Claudette locking lips with Calvin, he ripped his wrist guards off and threw them to the ground, then stomped off towards the locker rooms. He had already left by the time the rest of the team came to take their showers, and that night, he came home shitfaced. He was obviously heartbroken. That was when he put on the clothes he had been wearing.

"If it's any consolation," I said softly, "I don't think she was any good for you."

I placed the plate of toast next to his hand on his bed, and turned to leave.

"You think I'm upset over that?" he asked, throwing me off guard.

"Are you not?"

"Fuck no! I'm embarrassed as hell! I got dumped by that evil bitch in front of tens of thousands of people! Wouldn't you be just a little embarrassed?"

"Er– well, maybe, but I wouldn't sulk for three days in my room because of it."

"Well then you're a whole hell of a lot braver than I am."

I thought about what he had said for a moment, and asked him another question. "Why did you date her if you thought she was an evil bitch?"

"It's complicated."

I decided not to press the issue. "Eat that toast and then go get in the shower. You're filthy."

"Yes, mum."

I returned to the livingroom and flopped down on the couch, turning the tv on to an infomercial. Oliver finally left his room, the plate of toast empty and a half a piece hanging from his mouth. I listened to him as he rummaged around in the kitchen. After a few minutes he came back into the livingroom, the Witch Weekly in hand, and asked, "Have you seen the pictures of you in here?"

"No, I haven't opened it. I just looked at the front."

"They're nice, you should check them out. I'm heading off to the shower."

He threw the magazine at me and made his way to the bathroom, where he shut and locked the door.

I waited until the infomercial I had been watching ended. After they showed that knife cutting through an aluminum can like it was melted ice cream, I mentally added it to my Christmas list.

I propped my head up with a few pillows and opened the magazine, flipping through for pictures of me sweaty and tired at the quidditch game. I found the few pages where a story called, "Puddlemere's Fight to the Top" started, and right under the title was a picture of Oliver. He was nearly falling off of his broom trying to keep a quaffle from going through the hoops, and with his arms stretched so high above his head, his shirt had ridden up, giving the photographer a good shot of his stomach. The caption underneath said something cutesy about his "six-pack abs."

I didn't read the story; instead I just looked at all the pictures of the team. There was one of Finch and Farrenhurst high fiving each other after they both had sent the two bludgers hurtling in the direction of the Cannons' seeker when he had seen the snitch before McNeely. And then there was one of Travis with his hand outstretched, his fingers grazing the flitting, golden wings of the snitch right as he caught it.

When I turned the page, I was surprised to find a full-page picture of Claudette on the left side, and a full-page picture of me on the right. We were both hovering in the air, glaring at the woman on the other page. Every now and then, Claudette would flick her hair back over her shoulder, only to have the wind blow it right back to where it was. I would be looking at Claudette, and then, as if someone called my name, my head would jerk towards the camera, and I'd smile self-consciously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. It must have been early on in the game, because I had yet to become sweaty and I didn't seem to be breathing too hard.

When I turned to the next page, a piece of parchment that had been tucked loosely between the pages fell out onto my lap. I picked it up, examining it, and my eyes widened as I realized it was the note Oliver hadn't wanted me to see when Ange and Alicia were over. I glanced towards the bathroom, making sure the door was still closed, and slowly, I unfolded it.

At first, my shoulders slumped as I saw very clearly the various 'x's, 'o's, and arrows that Oliver used every time he was drawing up a new quidditch play. I almost discarded the parchment to the floor, until I saw the few paragraphs at the bottom.

It was addressed to me.

Katie,

You're only in the next room, probably asleep, and here I am, too much of a coward to tell you to your face, writing on this stupid play. I hope to one day build up the courage to just tell you, but in case that day never comes, I guess I'll keep this handy.

I love you, Katie Bell. I love you so much, and I always have. Even when you were the bratty little girl next door, before Hogwarts, there was always something about you that attracted me to you. I don't want to sound like some psycho, but I knew we were meant to be together.

I know that if you're reading this, I've probably made a fool of myself in some way, or slept with lots of women (I'm not helping my case much, am I?), but I want you to know they were nothing compared to you. Their smiles didn't light up my day like yours does. They don't know how to make me laugh the way you do, even when you don't mean to. And they can't melt my heart like you do when I'm trying my hardest to stay mad at you for being stubborn. I love everything about you; your hair, your eyes, your mouth, that crooked middle finger on your left hand, your pinkie toes, and especially things you wouldn't want me to list because you'll think I'm a pervert. I love you Katie. I will never be able to say it enough. I love you.

Forever yours, even if you're not mine,

Oliver

I sat staring at that letter for the longest time. My heart was pounding so hard that I could see the front of my shirt jumping with each beat.

When I trusted my legs enough to stand up, I did, and left the magazine and the letter lying on the coffee table. I started towards my room, and just as I was passing by the bathroom door, it opened, and Oliver stood there in only his boxers, his eyes wide.

I froze. I stared up at his warm brown eyes, not knowing what to do, or what to say. He spoke first.

"So, I'm assuming you read it."

I nodded.

"Well... am I crazy?"

I nodded again, without thinking. His shoulders slumped.

"O... kay... well, I guess we better get a move on then if you still want to make it to the joke shop before lunchtime." His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and I could tell he was about to cry. He turned to go to his room, but I held out a hand to stop him, letting my fingers feel the smooth skin of his chest.

When he faced me again, there were unshed tears in his eyes, and he was doing everything he could to keep from looking directly at me. His bottom lip started quivering and he let out a choked sob as the tears started flowing.

I pulled him to me in a hug, standing on my tippy toes so that I could rest my chin on his shoulder. "Shh... Oliver, I-"

"I didn't think it would hurt this much," he said. "I thought that if you didn't feel the same way, then I'd just get over it, but I-"

I pressed my mouth firmly on his, letting his tears run down my cheeks as well. When I pulled back, he was looking at me, surprised.

"I said you were crazy," I whispered. "I never said I didn't feel the same way." I smiled up at him, and I could see the gears in his brain working overtime to understand what I meant.

"Well you could have said something instead of letting me stand here making a pussy of myself, then," he chided, wiping the tears away from his cheeks. I leaned up and kissed him again, only this time it was a lot longer, a lot more passionate, and I didn't feel guilty afterwards.

"We're going to be late," he murmured against my lips.

"We can reschedule our lunch date for tomorrow, then," I said, and led him to my bedroom.

THE END

Before someone asks, no, that does NOT mean they went and had sex. Unless you want it to, haha. It's whatever your little hearts desire! (Although I was thinking more along the lines of a good make out session on Katie's bed.) That's why I ended it there.

Woopdeeeeeeedoooo! Whenever I write, I have to like, sit here and imagine I'm every character, and say their parts and make the same faces I'd imagine them making, and so when Oliver started crying, I did too. Because I'm retarded. But I just imagine this sad little guy... I mean just pretend you told the person you love... that you love them. They're the only person you want to be with in the whole world, and they say something that makes you think they don't like you like that. Like... how horrible! (I say like a lot...) Your world is basically over and you should just go kill yourself because what's the point in living, huh?

And I know you guys are gonna hate me... but there aren't any pictures for this chapter, and I'm really sorry, because I know there are a bajillion perfect opportunities in here for a little visualization, but I am so SO crazy about posting this chapter up that I don't want to worry about drawing right now. So if you ever see me online, just cuss me out, or send me a horrible email or PM or something, I won't be mad and I'll completely understand.

Don't worry about not seeing me around anymore, though! I'm planning on writing another story real soon. It'll be from Oliver's POV, and while the gang's still at Hogwarts. But it won't have ANYTHING to do with this story. It'll be a COMPLETELY new one.