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Keep Away by Mistress
Chapter 17 : Hogwarts is a Masked Ball
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 43

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I didn’t mean to butt-in on Oliver’s personal life. Honestly, he was the last person I wanted to see fighting with someone else—even if it was prat-Libby. He looked so angry and empty. So hateful.

That’s why I avoided the common room for the first two days of the Easter Holidays. I took to the library to research a few things for my Transfiguration essay, only to find I was the only one holing myself up and the scratching of my quill was starting to echo off of the bookcases. It was a lonely feeling.

“Jane, you’ve got to stop this,” said Katie, drying her hair with a towel on Sunday morning. “I know you don’t want to see Oliver, but I won’t let you ruin your week off.”

“What do you suggest I do with it?” I asked, staring at the ceiling from a comfy spot on the floor. “Go mingle with Lee Jordan or something?”

Angelina rolled her eyes. “Just don’t mope. It makes me depressed.”

I sat up. “I’m not moping—I just don’t have anything else to do.”

“Get breakfast.”

Groaning, I grabbed my robes and retreated downstairs without saying anything else to my friends. They were rubbish. I knew they were right—I needed to stop holing myself up in the library—but I was afraid.

Pfft. I shouldn’t be afraid.

But there was one part of me, however, that was terrified Oliver would find me outside of a classroom and chew me out for what I did. Even though it was unintentional.

The Great Hall was deserted despite it being Sunday breakfast. I found my way over to George, who was putting strawberry jam on his toast. He nodded to me lightly.

“Found your way out of the library then?”

I rolled my eyes. “Not you too!”

George smirked. “I thought about coming in after you but then thought better of it considering being in the same room with that many books would probably burn me or something. Fred said the same thing.”

“Glad to know you have priorities,” I said, grabbing a scoop of eggs bitterly.

“You wouldn’t want this pretty face to burn would you?” he said, batting his eyelashes. “You’d feel bad. And you’d have to tell Katie. Think of how that would go.”

I groaned. “Okay, I get it.”

“She’d go off on you—put glue on your pillow or sommat. And I’d be fine with that because I’d have burn marks instead of freckles—Oh, Katie! It’s all my fault! I burned your boyfriend—Janey, how could you?—oh, Katie! I’m so sorry—You’ll have to hike up your skirt and show the twins some more leg from now on—”

I punched him hard. “Oh, that’s just rich of you!” I said, turning away. “You’re ridiculous.” I picked up a stray piece of toast and marched away from the Gryffindor table. George Weasley was a whole pot of rubbish.

At least I smirked while walking.

Just before I pushed open the doors to the Entrance Hall, a loud laugh caught my attention and I swung around, my eyes directed at the far end of the Ravenclaw table.

Mandy Brocklehurst was there, giggling up a storm with a few girls in her year. It looked as if one of the little blond ones was acting out an event that had happened in the common room. Just before I decided I didn’t care in the slightest, my eyes slid down a few seats.

Roger had his head pressed against the empty china plate in front of him. Even from the doors I could see the bags under his eyes and the way his hair just fell all over the place.

I jumped, hoping his eyes wouldn’t meet mine, but I hoped in vain. He was staring directly at me. I couldn’t pull my eyes away—I was genuinely worried about him. Was it something serious? Family? Grades? Mandy’s hygiene?

“Jane!” Angelina pulled me out the door and smiled warmly. “You got breakfast—good! You look good, you know that.”

“Stop it,” I said roughly, grabbing my arm from her grip. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. Just find out what’s wrong with him.” I pushed past her and made my way up the marble staircase.

Part of me didn’t want to care. He broke up with me. We were done. I was done caring about him. But the other part of me—the part that walked up to the Astronomy Tower even though I hated Oliver Wood—wanted to know what was wrong and if there was anything I could do to help him.

“Blimey, out of all the people that could be walking around in the morning…”

I wheeled around, nearly swearing out loud. “Wood, what are you doing outside of the Charms classroom?” I folded my arms.

“Trying to avoid the Gryffindor common room and thus avoid yelling at you,” he replied. He was looking extra snarky that day with a green sweater pulled tight against his torso.

“Oh please!” I couldn’t help it. I threw my arms in the air and stomped toward him. “That’s so pompous of you—I didn’t do anything! I just happened to hear you and I didn’t want you to know that I had already heard you so I HID.”

Oliver looked slightly taken aback. “You always do something, Perry.”

“I just wanted to come back and make fun of Alicia while she was gone!” I shouted. My voice echoed off the walls. “I didn’t want to hear about your love life and snogging and—”

“Why don’t you go tell a few more people that haven’t heard?” he snapped.

I narrowed my eyes. “I can’t stand you.”

“That makes two of us.” He turned and started to walk away back toward the Charms classroom.

“Fine!” I cried. “Run away! Run away like you always do with your problems!”

I stared at his back and then at a middle finger high in the air. What a jerk. Part of me wanted to hex him, but I thought better of magic in the halls when there were so few students to blame. As if I needed anything else to get pissed about.

Instead, I turned and marched my way back toward the Gryffindor Common Room to sulk in peace while pretending to read a Potions book. Who cared about Oliver Wood anyway? He wasn’t good for anything except Quidditch.

Still, though, my mind kept floating back to mistletoe.

“I don’t know, Jane. Where would you have put it?” Katie was tapping her toes at me impatiently.

We were supposed to have left for the library ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t find my Charms book anywhere. I scoured my desk, momentarily pausing at two copies of the same Quidditch Weekly that I promised to kill Alicia for throwing on my desk, and then threw a few used makeup tissues into the garbage bin. I even dared the adventure of looking under my bed (ignoring the contents), but did not find a Charms book.

“Did anyone borrow it?” asked Angelina.

I shrugged. “Why would anyone borrow it? We all have the same books!” I leaned back against the side of my bed, defeated. “Rubbish. No one in their right mind would want a silly Charms book.”

“Is this it?”

I looked over the side of my book and spotted my tattered Charms book in Katie’s hands. “Yeah—where was it?”

“Alicia’s bed.”

Rolling my eyes, I stood up. “Leave it to Alicia. Now I’m glad you signed her up for Keeper.” I bitterly stuffed it into my bag and grabbed a spare quill from my bedside table.

I was nearly out the door when suddenly there was a large floral arrangement in my face and several daisies up my nose. “What in the—what’s this?”

A second year girl poked her head out from behind the vase. “Jane Perry?” she said, readjusting her grip on the glass.

I nodded.

“I’m supposed to leave these for you.”

I stared at her. “Who sent them?”

“I don’t know—someone gave them to me to leave up here for you. I didn’t know you’d be here.” She was looking nervous.

I frowned. “Who? A boy?”

“Yeah—it was a while ago though and the boy told me that someone else told him that another person needed you to get them so I don’t know who they are from. Is there a card?” She bit her lip.

I groaned and stared at the various roses and daisies and lilies inside of the vase. There was no card. Frustrated, I set the flowers on my desk.

They were truly beautiful and obviously ordered from somewhere expensive because it was a crystal vase they were in—but who? Who would take so much care to order specific flowers? I leaned in and sniffed only to emerge with a massive grin on my face.

“No card or anything?” said Angelina, raising her brow. “This is fishy, Jane.”

“Fishy? It’s lovely!” said Katie, putting her face in a daisy. “You’ve got a secret admirer!”

Angelina snorted. “Bet it’s Ellis.”

“Sod off.” I threw one of the Quidditch magazines at her. “I wonder who they’re from, though.” Immediately, my mind returned to the mistletoe.

But Oliver hated me after I overheard his fight.

Why would he give me flowers anyway?

They were nice all the same.

Maybe it was to show me that I’m a better Seeker than Ellis.

Or that I was cuter than Ellis. Which I was. Seriously cuter.

I folded my arms. “We should get to the library.”

Katie giggled and took one more whiff of the flowers before following me out the door and down the spiral staircase.

I paused for a moment near the fireplace, adjusting my belt because Katie was taking forever explaining to Lee that I had gotten flowers from a secret admirer. I groaned because once Fred and George found out, I’d be done for. The entire school would know. Everyone. My stomach dropped at the thought.

“Perry.” It wasn’t a question. It was harsh.

I spun around and stared at Oliver, who was leaning back on a chair with his feet propped up on a homework table. Not knowing what to do, I sighed and waited for him to say something else.

“I wanted to know if you got what I left on your desk.”

I nearly choked right then and there. “You—you left it?”

Oliver shrugged. “Yeah. Thought you’d like it.” His eyes were directed at the ground.

“Oh,” I said slowly, my heart racing. What was this about? He really did send me the flowers. Oliver pompous Wood gave me a bouquet of flowers—well-thought-out flowers to boot. Slowly, I backed away. “Well, thanks,” I said almost stupidly. “I’ve got to go to the library now.”

“And miss dinner?” Oliver cocked his head to one side. He was very intimidating for some reason and my stomach was getting tighter and tighter.

“Well, dinner sounds nice,” I said quickly, running my words together. “I think I’ll go have some eat—have dinner. Yeah, that sounds spectacular. Dinner.” Reaching over to the other side of the nearest sofa, I grabbed Angelina by the arm. “Dinner time!” I cried and yanked her from the room.

Once on the other side of the portrait, I collapsed against a wall, breathing heavily.

“Jane, what is it? Fred was just telling me about how George did a dive bomb out of bed this morning,” she said as Katie walked out of the portrait hole.

“It was Wood.”

“What was?” said Katie.

“He gave me the flowers. He just said so now.” I couldn’t get my pulse to settle down. This wasn’t what I expected—I had him in mind first, obviously, but I didn’t realistically think he’d sent me a bouquet of beautiful flowers.

“Are you sure?” said Angelina.

“He just told me!”

“This is serious,” said Katie, grabbing my arm and forcing me down a few flights of stairs toward the Great Hall. “Did he give you a reason?”

“Said he thought I’d like them,” I muttered. “Nothing other than that.”

“They could be one of two things—forgiveness flowers or…”

I looked up. “Or?”

“Or Oliver fancies you,” Angelina finished quickly.

“That’s rubbish.”

Angelina made a face. “Then we’ll go with forgiveness flowers?” She pulled open the door to the Great Hall and steered me toward the Gryffindor table. I could tell she wanted to talk about the conversation more, but just as she opened her mouth, Oliver plopped down in a seat directly across from us.

“Get an owl from Alicia yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” said Katie slowly.

“I’m sure it takes an owl a long time to get from Brazil,” he said with a shrug, helping himself to a piece of chicken.

I was having a hard time breathing. This was all too sudden—flowers? Really? Why? Why was he looking so nonchalant as he took an enormous bite out of the chicken? This was all too much.

“Something wrong?” asked Oliver, balancing his chin on his palm. “I would have thought you’d be excited about that article in Quidditch Weekly about that new Seeker they’re training.”

“What article?” I said, trying to take the spotlight off of my probably beet-red face.

He raised a brow and chuckled. “Forget that fast? The Seeker for the Brazilian team just got injured so they had to call up this bloke from the minors—he’s dead popular with the ladies and he’s got his face plastered all over Rio de Janeiro.”

“So what?” I said. “Maybe Alicia will take a fancy to him or something.”

“Didn’t you read the article?” Oliver asked. “That's why I asked Libby to run up and give it to you—the Quidditch Weekly.”

“There’s already a Quidditch Weekly in there because of Alicia,” said Angelina slowly.

He shrugged. “Sorry about that—didn’t realize you already had one lying around. You seemed to know what I was talking about upstairs, though, when I asked you about the magazine.”

I nearly died right there. Of course Oliver Wood was talking about the bloody magazine. Why wouldn’t he have given me an extra copy of Quidditch Weekly instead of a bouquet of amazing daisies?

I felt humiliated even though Oliver had no idea what I was thinking. Angelina did. Katie did. They were both staring at me like they thought I might cry over dinner. Instead, I scooped up a spoonful of potatoes and shoved them into my mouth. I nodded, pretending like my mouth was simply too full to recognize the question.

Eventually when I was trying to chew as low-key as possible, Oliver chuckled and turned toward Fred to ask him a question about the date of the Ravenclaw match.

“Jane?” Katie put her hand on my shoulder.

I shook my head, now completely perplexed, and shoved some more food in my face.

That night I stared at everyone around the common room. I checked their appearance for pollen. I looked at their eyes. Lee looked sane. He was laughing with Fred and George, neither of whom I suspected. I glared at Henrik. Then I looked over at Oliver. Jerk. Why couldn’t he have just given me the flowers instead of a silly magazine so then I wouldn’t have to waste my life trying to hunt down the giver?

Or maybe I wanted the flowers to be from him.

But probably not. Since he was a huge stupid prat.

My eyes slid down to Ellis who was working on an essay near the staircase. Could it be Seeker love? I nearly choked on an éclair. That was very unlikely. So unlikely the very thought made me want to vomit. Still, he looked sort of fishy.

“Give it up,” said Angelina, chucking her notes at me. “They’re probably from Libby or something.”

I groaned. “That would be my luck.”

Fred gave me a signature Weasley Twin Smirk at breakfast the following morning. He was standing over me with his arms crossed in an arrogant sort of way with George at his side. I didn’t like it one bit.

Apparently, as a last-minute idea to make the Easter Holidays more than just a few days of silly homework, the twins decided that they needed to throw a small shin-dig while Alicia was away. (“Who wants her to have all the fun? I don’t,” said George) This time (thank Merlin) we didn’t have jobs that required making up with people we were furious with, but I still promised to help clear the common room of youngsters that evening. I didn’t see Oliver anywhere (or Libby), but everyone else seemed thrilled about the idea of procrastinating their homework for another night.

It was strange for me, staring up at the twins as they explained how the drinks would be served. My mind kept wandering back to their previous parties—the Halloween bash out at their random lakehouse when I had that ridiculous costume. The party where Roger came and got a little too drunk for his own good. I smiled warmly, remembering. It was so fun, helping Roger back to the Ravenclaw common room so a Prefect didn’t catch him out of bed and completely intoxicated. He swayed against the walls and “accidentally” (or so he claimed) grabbed my tush before giggling beside a suit of armor. He was quite the character.

“So since Janey’s off in la la land, she’s going to help serve drinks,” said Fred and I glanced up.

“You know Perry’s rubbish with drinks, Weasley.”

I glared behind me. Oliver smirked in an I-hate-you-but-look-how-hot-I-am sort of way. I grimaced. “Maybe if someone would have shown me the ropes instead of mocking me, I might have learned.”

“Pity.” He shrugged and made his way toward the other end of the Gryffindor table.

“I loathe him,” I muttered, watching Libby walk by in a huff to sit beside him.

George shrugged. “Anyway, we’ll figure it out. Be in the common room to set up at eight.” He raised a brow at me and then took at seat to chow down on some scrambled eggs that were getting cold on his plate.

It was eight and I wasn’t in the common room. Part of me just didn’t want to be involved with this whole shin-dig that the twins were planning. Not that I didn’t love and adore my best friends, I just felt that under my large comforter I was safer from something—anything. Maybe I was hiding from life. I wasn’t admitting that to myself, though.

I was fine under my blankets. They were warm. And friendly.



I tipped my head up to see Angelina in the doorway. “Hmm?”

“Are you sick?”

I wanted to lie. “No,” I said slowly.

“Then what in blazes are you doing up here in bed? It’s eight.”

Trying to think fast and failing, I said, “Being warm and cozy and safe.”

“From what? Do you think there are a clique of Death Eaters downstairs ready to off us when you walk down the spiral staircase?” She raised a brow and sat at the edge of my bed. “Why are you really up here?”

“Not in much of a party mood,” I remarked. That was pretty true. I sounded like a nitwit though. “I’m in a lay-under-the-covers-and-snuggle mood.”

“Snuggling’s better with two people,” she replied.

I don’t have that luxury,” I said rather forcefully.

She shrugged. “Come downstairs. At least for the drinks. The boys got a bit of everything, even some wine for Katie. Oh, and whiskey for Henrik. Alicia will be sad she missed that.”

I groaned. “Must I?”

“Oliver has been avoiding Libby like the plague.”

“Why should I care? He hates me.”

“If anything it’s really funny that he takes off every time she tries to talk about her new dress or the dreadful eyeliner she’s wearing.”

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I sighed. I grabbed a nice shirt and pants and straightened my bed-hair in the mirror. “This better be worth it, Ang.”

“We’ll have stories Alicia doesn’t know about.”

I raised a brow and opened the door. “They’d better be novel-worthy stories.”

Plenty of people were already there and the set up was finished by the time I arrived downstairs. Fred had hired the same student from the last party to fill drinks at this one and I hoped nothing would happen this time like the last party’s Fred and Angelina debate. I helped myself to a drink and found myself suddenly alone by the window.

George and Katie were dancing in the center of the dance floor. Fred and Angelina were arguing over the music. Lee was trying to yell something at Ellis over the loud song. Oliver was talking to Libby in a very quiet voice near the fire. Alicia wasn’t here. Rubbish.

When the song ended, Fred grabbed a mic and stood up on one of the poofy chairs. “Fellow Gryffindors! Welcome to my Easter Holiday Alicia is Not Invited party!” he cried and cheers bounced off the walls. Lee raised a brow. “There are eggs filled with candy all over the room if you’d like to look and if not—there will be music playing all nigh—”

“You—go sleep with your sodding Seeker if that’s how you’re going to be with me!”

Everyone’s heads turned. I suddenly had a dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach as I knew what was happening.

“My Seeker is Ellis.”

“Gay! Gay! Oliver Wood, you’re gay!”

I groaned. Did I have to be here to witness their unhappiness again?

“Okay, Libby. This is getting ridiculous,” Oliver said impatiently. “This is a party. Can’t we talk about this somewhere else?”

“We never talk about it anywhere else! You just change the stupid subject and I’m getting really sodding sick of you, Oliver!”

He sighed dramatically.

The music still hadn’t restarted as Fred was standing with the mic inches from his mouth in stupid awe.

“You—you’re—you’re a fucking coward, Oliver Wood!” Libby apparently had a thing with Oliver’s full name. It was rather pleasant-sounding, but she really seemed to have a fascination with it. “You’re just like your stupid, drunk father! You never care about anyone but yourself!”

Oliver, who was clearly about to make a retort, stopped dead. His mouth was still hanging open as he stared at Libby in disbelief.

She didn’t notice and continued. “You’re completely self-serving. Pfft—like you even care about your Quidditch team. You just want to get picked up by a stupid scout. You don’t care how well they do. You just want to win. For you. You didn’t want me as your girlfriend—you wanted me for convenience. To show me off because I’m obviously the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts—” A few snorts sounded throughout the room. “—No. It was all for you. And you think you want to win for your father? Your stupid drunk father that probably beat you when you were an ickle baby? Bloody jump in the LAKE, Oliver Wood! Drown yourself! I bloody HATE you. HATE. Bloody. HATE.” She was screaming now and it was hard to make out the individual words of revulsion.

I was nearly at the point of covering my ears since Libby’s voice was reaching the pitch of a dog whistle. I was staring directly at Oliver. If it was a bloke saying it (any bloke really, Oliver was never particular), he would have punched him right in the face. In the nose to be exact. There would have been a serious amount of blood.

But now he had gone pale. His hands were in fists at his sides and he was now biting his lower lip so hard that I thought I saw a tiny trickle of blood. This was as angry as I had ever seen Oliver Wood. Nothing before this had merited the anger—not even some of the awful rows we had been in. No. She had hit below the belt. And metaphorically speaking, he was crouching in the fetal position.

“We are now broken up!” Libby cried and flipped her long hair. She turned on her heel and marched off out the portrait hole, slamming it behind her.

Oliver still stood, rooted to the spot, and stared at the same place she had just vacated. I didn’t think he was going to move.

And so, I took drastic action in a situation that did not involve me and that I had already been shunned for overseeing the first time. Just as whispers broke out, I rushed over to the fifth year at the refreshments table, dove over several bottles of yummy looking liquors, and grabbed the lonely bottle of unopened red wine behind a half-empty bottle of vanilla vodka. Taking it, I hurried to Oliver’s side even though I wanted to sock him for dating Libby in the first place, grabbed him by the arm, and forced him toward the boys’ dormitories and into his own.

It was dark inside, so after steering him to his bed, I lit a few candles and sat down beside him.

Oliver wasn’t moving. He was staring up at the ceiling with blank eyes and his lips were parted slightly.

I didn’t know what to do so I uncorked the red wine and took a deep swig. This was an example of an awkward situation I didn’t want to be in. Me. In Oliver Wood’s dormitory with some wine after a particularly horrible breakup. He still wasn’t moving. I watched for a while. He didn’t even blink.

“Okay, Wood,” I said after a while and he didn’t acknowledge I was talking. “Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m glad I’m rid of her, vile woman.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, Wood. What she said was uncalled for. I could slap her around a bit if you want.” I raised an amused brow and was surprised to see a tiny smile appear on his lips (there was a drop of dried blood on the left side). “Here.” I handed him the wine.

He smirked. “Red wine.” Oliver grabbed the bottle and took a deep gulp. “Sorry I was being such a prick before, Perry.”

I shrugged. “It happens. I was sort of nosy.”

He took another deep swig and I raised a brow. “Well, now that I’m away from that stupid sodding woman, I’m single again. Thank Merlin. She was more of a burden than a help anyway.”

I remained uncomfortably silent, watching him drink once more.

“She was always nagging me and whatnot. Always…always being a smarmy git.” He paused for a moment for another drink. “Still though…it was nice for a while.”

“You did like her,” I said, more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah. I did. I wanted to give her a chance, you know?”

“That was nice of you,” I said, nearly through gritted teeth (I was picturing the bunny costume from Halloween).

“I try to be as open-minded as possible,” he replied. Another drinking pause. “And I’m not into any of the Chasers—gakk—No, Libby seemed fine. At the time. Eugh. Someone should have told me that would have ended bad. Sort of like I told you with Roger.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for bringing that up again.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean it.” He took another drink and I realized that the loud swishing meant nearly half of that bottle was gone already. “Roger’s just a dung-head, is all.”

“That’s very big of you,” I muttered.

“And so is sodding LIBBY!” he cried, crashing back onto the pillows and spilling a bit of wine on his shirt. “Dung! Dung-head! Thinks she can insult Oliver Wood like that—I’m the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain! I’m single, attractive Oliver Wood! She can’t talk to me like that!”

I patted him awkwardly on the shin. “Of course not.”

He sat back up, completely unaware of the wet spots on his blue collared shirt. “Talking about my father...what a…what a…I don’t even know what to call her! Help me, here!”

I winkled my nose. “Git?”

“Sure. Git. Libby’s a ruddy GIT.” Oliver took another long swig and swallowed several times.

At that point I tried to take the bottle. Nearly all of it was gone now and it had hardly been ten minutes. He wouldn’t let it go. “Wood, come on. You’ve had quite enough—people will think you’re drinking away your problems.”

He paused, grip still tight around the bottle. “Do you think I’m drinking them away, Jane?”

“Well, no. I know you better than that—but other people just heard what—”

“I don’t care what they think.” He yanked the bottle away from me and took another drink. “They’re all gits. The whole lot of them.”

I tried again, managing to get a bit of a grip on the top. “They’re not all gits out there—you like Fred and George.”

“They planned this stupid party. These parties aren’t ever fun.”

“The Halloween party was fun.”

He snorted. “You’re joking.”

I shrugged. “Okay, it was all right though. The party that Roger was at was fun.”

“But you danced with me.” He was now giving me that drunken Oliver look. I recognized it from the kitchens.

I nodded. “I did indeed—gimme the wine, Oliver.” I pulled it a little harder.

He pulled back. A lot harder. So hard that I flew onto the bed and landed on top of him, my face hitting his chest forcefully. The wine flew out of both of our grips and onto the wood floor, spilling what little was left of it.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done!” he whined. His left hand was on my waist. His right hand was on the top of my thigh.

I froze. I didn’t know what to do. The logical part of me was about to get up quickly, rush over to the wine bottle, and dump the rest out the window. But the emotional part of me (the part of me that should be locked in the loony bin, I mean) accidentally glanced down at his eyes. Then he smirked and I was done for. I was a big puddle of sodding goop.


“Hmm?” I said. Was I breathing? I couldn’t feel anything. I could barely hear myself wondering if I was breathing because my heart was beating so fast.

He didn’t ask me a question. Instead, his right hand slid up to my neck and he pulled me in for a kiss.

I didn’t know it until it was too late. Blimey! I was snogging Oliver Wood. Oliver sodding Wood. I reminded myself quickly that I hated him, but the way he tasted was so good—it sounded cliché but it was like a mixture of red wine and some weird mint flavor. He pulled me closer and my hands found their way to his tuft of dark hair. This was completely different from the mistletoe. To get me to shut up. I hadn’t even said anything this time.

He opened his mouth slightly, gripping my waist and forcing my chest against his own. I couldn’t stop it. Oliver was drunk.


Oliver Wood was shit faced.

This was the same as shutting me up.

But it was…I didn’t want to stop…

Suddenly, Oliver’s shoulders tensed up and his eyes squeezed tightly. He quickly threw me off of him and onto the other side of the bed. I hit my head on one of the posts and groaned. Then he flew onto his stomach, leaned over the side of the bed, and threw up.

A/N: First of all, I wanted to say WHOA for having 100+ favorites on this story. Thank you everyone so much! This chapter was originally very long when it was planned so I split it in the next chapter is the second half. I have now planned Keep Away through the end (did that when I should have been paying attention in Poetry class-that's what I think of Roethke) so I now know where exactly everything is going.

Poor drunk Oliver drank too much :)

Reviews? Favorite quotes? Thank you everyone for being WONDERFUL and so supportive!

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