DISCLAIMER: JK ROWLING INVENTED ALL CHARACTERS & SETTINGS YOU RECOGNISE
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It was her turn. She sighed as she realised the date, she'd crossed off the days on her calendar. Oliver Wood would be arriving in about twenty five minutes, three days before the rest of the team, bar Potter, who had to stay at home (strange boy, but nice just the same). It was her birthday as well. That's why she was dreading her Oliver turning up.

Her family wouldn't stop nudging her when he hugged her hello on platform 9 and ¾. What would they be like now he was sharing her room?

Weekend Together

-Katie-

I know, sharing my room. Ooh… the things we could do… I laugh to myself as I think about it. Oli couldn't do that. He'd be thinking of me in Quidditch robes. Chasing Fred or George on a broomstick. Because I am that. A chaser. A friend who occasionally bails him out of severe situations. A very good friend who, more often than not, would wake him up the morning after a match and tell him kindly that he hadn't done his homework. But I had. It always seemed to be three inches off, though. Although that was probably because I had a dodgy ruler. So he signed the bottom in really big letters. And it seemed to get him through.

Then, I was the only person who could drag him out of a funk as well. After… well, we called it PuffGate between the two teams; the loss against Hufflepuff that had stopped him eating, shaving (although he didn't really need to do it that often anyway), thinking, working, generally functioning and all that, I had been the only one who could bridge the gap. The Month after it was hell for me, and Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Fred & George knew they couldn't do anything about it.

Until I'd hit him. He'd just been so infuriatingly depressed and wasn't responding to me. So I slapped him. He had woken up from that with fresh resolve. And a fuming, blazing row where McGonagall had got involved. I'd been chucked off the team for a week, until Oliver had gone to their Head of House and physically got on his knees to get me back. Well, that's what Ange had told me, but she was a complete romantic. The conversation had gone, apparently as follows;

McG: What on Earth are you doing in here, Wood? I've spoken to Katie; she won't be back for a while.

Wood: Oh, Professor, I thought I could talk to you about that. I need her.

McG: Your personal life can be fixed among yourselves, Mr. Wood, I'm sure.

Wood: I know, but I need her on the team, too (I'm sure this was the bit that Ange made up)

McG: Wood, you know I can't allow that. She physically attacked you, I can't allow things like that to go o-

Wood: Professor, please, I mean this sincerely, I- That is to say We The team, need her back with us. We're not performing. Katie was our… IS our top player. Please professor (He got on his knees here) Give her a probationary chance, if she doesn't hit me again in a week, let her back on the team. Please professor (And I expect this was embellished as well) I can't live without her.

McG: (Small smile) I suppose I could give her another chance.

And I was back, on condition from Oliver that we never mentioned the incident, I cleaned everyone's goggles and boots for the next month's practises and our summer fortnight of practise was at my house this year. So, I had to do it. And believe me, in a house with two parents, three brothers, four extended family members, two more young women in Ange and Alicia, twins in Fred and George and my captain, this fortnight wasn't exactly going to be fun. Well, it was, but it was going to be cramped fun. Possibly the worst kind of fun. Unless you're having sex… oh god, I'm rambling. Dear God, stop me rambling, otherwise this will make you want to DIE.

Our rooms had been the worst thing ever. Working out somewhere to live for 15 people in a fortnight was quite a fantastic experience. It took me seven letters to work it out. Can you sleep in the same room as… or would you prefer…or what about … and this … or that arrangement? Oh, but the best one was the last letter, to Oliver. It was the most painful, and humiliating. I kept a photocopy as well, for humility, and because I'm a complete pillock and I'm totally shit at things like this.

Dear Oliver,

Would you mind terribly if we shared a room over the fortnight you stayed? It's just that there are fifteen people in the house that weekend, and I have a double room. I refuse to share with Fred or George, and have given them a twin; Ange and Lici have their own room as well, so it's just you and me. And I have space for two in my room. It means you'll have to share a bed with me, because we've literally got people staying over and sleeping on the floor and two in a tent.

I'm really sorry, and I promise I won't hit you. I've learnt my lesson…

Please reply soon,

I'm sorry again,

Love Always, Katie. Xx

I really should have crossed out the always, and I don't think I crossed out that second last bit out enough. I left my phone number though, so he could ring me if he needed to. But. But, she says proudly, he didn't mention it in the letter back, not that it was much of a letter, but still, he said this:

Kates,

It's no problem. Remember I snore. Don't pull anything Joking

Love Oliver.

Lovely. Really, really lovely. Remember I snore. How could I forget? Last summer, Fred and George's house. Tent sharing. Ange and Lici had a tent, Potter and Ron were sharing. Fred and George had their rooms. So I get stiffed with Oliver. He woke up halfway through the night and leaned over me for some water, semi-naked, woke me up, I screamed. It was funny, actually. Pathetic, but funny… not at the time, of course, but in hindsight.

Eloquent though. Typical man.

Three days ago, he phoned me as well. He wasn't shouting down the line, so I think he got one of his parents to help him, but still, he phoned me. Which I think is pretty good for a Scot from a magical family, not that Scots are thick, just that this is Oliver we're talking about.

"Katie, Oliver Wood for you." I stopped; dread filling every bone in my body. Then I recovered and picked up the phone.

"Oliver! Hey. What can I do for you?" subconsciously, I wondered if he realised I was being falsely cheerful.

"Is it OK, mum and Dad have booked the holiday three days before I'm due to come over to yours… and I have nowhere to go." He was pleading, I could tell.

"One minute, Oliver," I shout down the predicament to mum, who says it's fine, but can he get here himself? I relay the reply.

"Yeah, yeah, I can. Ummm… so you're sure it's OK?"

"Yes, Oliver, It's fine." I hate it when people panic like that, "I'll see you on Friday, then. Oh, and… um on Friday night, we're having a party for my birthday, so would you be lovely and bring something smart to wear? Not formal, but smart. Muggle if you want. I'll see you Friday, yeah?" I say it all very fast, trying to finish the conversation as fast as possible.

"Yeah," I go to hang up, but hear his voice on the other end of the line, "Kates," he adds slightly, "we'll still be sharing a bed, wont we?" There's a slight hint of hope there. Strange boy.

"Yes, Oliver. You'll live,"

"I know." we hang up, and I collapse back onto my bed, then realise I need to clear it up. Thankfully, we live in a mainly magical area, and as a seventh year, I can pull these stunts now. I levitate most of the crap in my room into the attic, making sure my Quidditch kit and my diary are around.

The morning he's due to arrive, I lump some new covers on, change my bed, have a last clear up and sit down, music blaring from my stereo in the background.

Mum retrieves me at midday, thinking I've only just got up, but is surprised to find me in black jeans and a white T-Shirt. She hugs me happy birthday and my brothers sing it to me in a stupid chorus. I've got new school books from my dad, a new ton of muggle clothes from my mother, CDs and other junk, like pens and pencils and sketchbooks and everything from my dear brothers, and money, both muggle and magic from my extended family. Hermione has sent me a new book of beauty charms, because she's lovely, and Ange and Lici have sent me a singing card. They happily tell me inside that their real present will be with them. Cool. Fred and George have sent me some lovely stuff from their slowly developing range, and I put the perfume on immediately. It's sweet and slightly fruity, and I've read the label. Not stupid. Not me. It could so easily have been a love potion. I don't need love.

I have Oliver Wood.

No, oh, don't get me wrong, I do love him, and I wish he would sweep me off my feet like Cinderella, but, and I stress this; Oliver Wood wouldn't look twice at me, because I am a chaser. I am his chaser. And that's it. Simple. I am nothing more than a team-mate-slash-best-mate. And it breaks my heart. But. I did have Roger Davies for a month, which made my life a little better.

Then I saw him kissing Cho Chang and I had a bit of a fit, and Oli saw me at my worst, and hugged me, and held me, and said it was all going to be OK. And I realised as long as he was there, it would be, because I loved him, but even though he would never love me, I could love him and I would be happy.

There was a knock at my door.

"Katie, get the door."

"Robbie, Stuff it."

"Katie, go."

"Daniel, Naff off."

"Kates, it's me!" Oliver's voice breaks through the family argument, I bound to the door, throw it open and realise he's come prepared for my birthday. "Hi."

"Hi." We stand together for about a minute. "Oh, uh… Come in." I stand sideways and take his bag.

"I love your house." He says genuinely, "It's like, wow!" He's right, it's cool, but it's standard, y'know?

"Well, thanks, Oli, uhh… let me take your bags up to my room, I'll show you where you're sleeping, and I'll get you a drink, yeah?"

"Yeah, um OK." He's as awkward as I am. I show him around and then get him a coke, he sits down and meets my mother, who gives me the look and then my brothers, who nudge and loudly mutter "When's the wedding?" and I look at Oliver sideways, and we blush at each other. Wolf whistles. Great. I hate my family.

"Oh, Oliver, um…" My mother pauses and looks away, out the window, "You know the field where you'll be playing, right?" Thank you, a distraction, he shakes his head dumbly, "Katie will show you." Bugger.

"Come on, Oli." I walk out into our five-acre field and sort of show him with a wide gesture. "Well, this is it." we smile at each other, "it's a field. It's green, has grass and weeds… That's about it."

We sit down and chat about our summers anyway, enjoying the sun on our faces, the gentle breeze. Mum shouts for us at about three, and we grudgingly return to the house.

"You'll be needing to get changed for your party. I'm going to start fixing up the field now."

"OK, mum." I motion for Oliver to follow me and we walk up to my room in dreading silence. Me especially. Oliver was ill for the Yule Ball. He missed me in my dress. He's never seen me out of trousers.

I pull my shirt off without thinking, Oliver and I were facing away from each other, and then I pull the summer dress over my head. It rests around my knees and I hear a low whistle as I pull the heels on and the necklace.

"Kates… I never knew you cleaned up so good." Oliver mutters, as I turn to face him. "You look like a dream."

"Thanks," I say awkwardly. He's wearing a Black silk shirt; open at the neck, and proper trousers. "You look gritty pud… I mean, pretty good too." I blush. He takes my hand and we stand together, looking at each other in the mirror.

We make a good couple.

"You look hot." He says into the silence of the room. "In a good way," He adds hurriedly.

"Thanks…"

"We'd make a good couple."

"Wow, you think so?" He's reading my mind. Dear God. He's reading my mind.

"Kates, do you think we could talk?" I look up at him in the mirror. We're standing into each other, as if we're already together. "I wanted to say that I-"

"Guys?" Mum, damn her, interrupts and tells us it's time to come downstairs. Damn. That was quality Oliver time I was enjoying there. Damn.

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A/N - Hope you enjoyed!?
This is just the start of the madness...

Please R&R

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