Either/Or

Chapter 5: "Running. Running. Hot and Cold."

Sometime during the trip, Arienne and Oliver had both fallen asleep and Percy and Penelope had left to do their Head Boy and Head Girl duties. It was only when the train came to a complete stop did the two jolt awake.

Groggy from their nap, they slowly moved to the door and upon opening it, were greeted by another chaotic stream of students.

"We have to make it quick," Oliver told Arienne who was still rubbing her eyes. "You know about the portkeys, don't you?"

Arienne gave a ready nod. Because of the international magic summit the various Ministries of Magic had agreed to use portkeys instead of the floo systems. The reason was quite simple. Safety. Portkeys were easier to guard compared to the random floo systems. Portkeys are used to get to Altenaia and the floo systems are used to leave Altenaia. Easy enough, except that the port keys were to be deactivated at six thirty p.m. sharp that night and would be reactivated the day after Christmas...

"Where did the twins say they put our stuff again?" Arienne covered her mouth as she gave a small yawn. "I forget."

Oliver hadn't counted on that. He had been caught up with trying to prove to Arienne that she had, indeed, been flirting with Jon Stratford, that everything else just seemed to blow pass him.

"I don't know either..." He ran his right hand through his short brown hair. "What do you think we should do? Try to look for the trunks or look for the twins who know where are trunks are?"

Arienne's face scrunched up. Talk about the lesser of two evils...

"Why don't we just keep on the look out for both?" Oliver suggested, as if having read her mind.

However, after a half hour of walking up and down the narrow walkways of the Hogwarts Express and making their way through the ever so slowly diminishing chaos, and still no sign of the redheaded troublemakers or their trunks.

Oliver was about to open a door to another compartment when he felt Arienne tug at him. He turned and took in her unsmiling face.

Uh oh.

"We can't just stop looking," he pointed out before she could even say anything. "We can't afford to be late. I don't even want to imagine what would happen if we were late."

She stood there staring at him, her expression unchanging, her being, immovable.

"I know... why don't you just sit down somewhere and I'll get our stuff?"

Silence.

Arienne sighed. Oliver was obviously forgetting something. "And while you're at it, why don't you just slip these handcuffs off as well." Her stomach gave a silent growl which made Arienne cringe in reaction. She was starving. That, and it wasn't easy walking in her shoes, and quite literally so. Some people had taken a liking to stepping on her feet. "Sorry if I sounded like a bitch, but can we please take a short break?"

Oliver took pity on Arienne (although he would never tell her that), but they couldn't afford to waste any time. He glanced at his watch. Five thirty, it read.

Just an hour to get to Diagon Alley! Can they do it?

"I need to go, Oliver," she said suddenly, interrupting Oliver's mental commentary of what could happen in the next hour.

"I know we need to go. Now let's-"

Oliver was cut short by the second exasperated stare he had received from her in a span of a couple of minutes.

"I have to go." Faced with Oliver's blank expression, Arienne found that she had to reiterate a little further. "You know, as in pee?"

"Oh."

Obviously, this was something that he hadn't anticipated. "I... uh..."

Arienne didn't have the time or the patience to wait for Oliver to decide whether or not she could "go" because she was "going" no matter what. Even if it meant that she was going to have to "go" right there on the floor. She literally had to drag him to the comfort room, while muttering a silent prayer of thanks that it was nearby.

By this time, Oliver had begun to perceive that other people were slowly taking notice of Arienne and him. And the handcuffs. The boys were grinning like idiots, some even had the gall to give a thumbs-up in blatant approval. There were two girls who were giggling at him and pointing. And as if that weren't enough, they had started to whisper. Giggling, pointing and whispering. It was like they were catering a buffet of his pet peeves.

He recognized one of them. Antoinette Anderson. She was a sixth year Hufflepuff. A flirt. A gossip. And if he remembered correctly... she also happened to be one of his past flings. Oliver knew that it was only a matter of time before the entire school knew about Arienne and him. And the handcuffs.

Kind of kinky now that he thought about it.

Beside him, Arienne shook her head. They were standing in front of the comfort room door. "You're going to have to go inside with me, Oliver."

Eh?

Arienne shoved him inside, but not before caught the shocked and envious looks on the faces of his fellow males. Fortunately, Arienne appeared to unaware of what was happening.

To her utter and complete embarrassment, Arienne had to cross her legs. But she wasn't going to move around like a penguin. Under no conditions or circumstances will anyone ever see her do the dreaded pee-pee dance.

"Turn around!" She snapped, leaving Oliver no other choice but to turn around, his face almost squashed against the now locked bathroom door.

Without thinking she brought her right hand to the button of her trousers.

"Ow!" Oliver yelped. "I need my arm, you know. You just can't wrench it out of its socket!"

Arienne gritted her teeth. "I need two hands to undo the buttons!" She yelled back. "You can do whatever you want with your hand!"

"Just watch it."

Arienne rolled her eyes and ever so gently, undid the button and unzipped her jeans. She realized that her problem had just grown bigger, but she didn't care. She closed her eyes.

Oliver was in a very uncomfortable position. He was up against the door and his left arm was being constantly tugged at from the back. He gave a grunt of displeasure but suddenly stopped short as he felt something very human against his semi-dying left hand.

Hmm...

"Ow!" He shouted again when Arienne pulled at his arm once again, faster and stronger this time. "Remember what I told you?"

"I have no time to be gentle, Oliver! Now shut up before I get this stuff all over the floor," She retorted before giving a sigh of relief. She had her underwear down around her legs now and she was positioning herself.

Oliver couldn't help but grin when he heard... well, that trickling sound. It took about a split second before the smile was wiped from his face.

Now, he needed to go.

Arienne heaved another sigh of relief. She didn't take her chances anymore. She used her left hand this time, though. She wasn't going to risk having his hand brush against her thigh again.

"Finished?" Oliver asked when he heard the zipping sound coming from behind him.

For the first time in the last half hour, Arienne was able to truly smile. "Yup! I'll just-" She left off as Oliver mumbled something unintelligible.

"What?"

"It's my turn!" His voice was louder than he had intended, he knew. But when you have to go...

Arienne didn't have time to put her two sickles in what with Oliver already squeezing his way through.

"Now you turn around!"

Arienne moved to do so, but Oliver insisted on keeping his hand to side. She gave up trying. "I can't," she informed him. "I don't want to break my arm off."

"No, we wouldn't want that," Oliver replied sarcastically as he moved his hands to the opening of his trousers. "But it's perfectly fine when it's my arm, right?"

Arienne blushed. Then when she realized where her hand was going, she automatically snatched her hand back.

"Dammit, Arienne!" Oliver yelled as he yanked his hand back. "Can't you just keep still for just a few moments?" He let out a huge sigh. "Listen, just put your hand on my waist. That'll give us both what we want. I get to use my hand... and you get to touch me."

He smiled when he felt her small hand on his hip. He also felt her deep pinch on his hip. She wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of screaming out, though. Nope, not him.... Oliver swallowed hard. Somehow, the pressure seemed to increase ten-fold.

Merlin, was she a fighter.

He heard her gave a small snicker, but Oliver knew that he'd have the last laugh. And he would have... if only he had turned around to see the look on her face when he dropped his trousers.

Arienne let out a huge gasp as she stumbled backwards, against the door that gave a resounding thud.

Arienne forced herself to close her eyes and drew in a ragged breath. So it was still the cotton boxers for Oliver Wood. The tiny white cotton ones... Damn. Damn him! Damn you Oliver Wood! Damn you Mister and Missus Wood for making him! Damn her bladder for needing to go to the loo!

"I need my hand?" Oliver was trying his best not to laugh. Shocking Arienne silent was something he hadn't been able to do in a very long time. He was starting to feel nostalgic now.

"Don't push me or I'll cut off both your hands so that your little Oliver never has a friend again! Ever."

He let out a silent chuckle. "Now keep your eyes closed," he warned her, the laughter evident in his voice. "But I would understand if you would want to keep them open..."

Arienne clamped her eyes tighter when she heard the sound of rustling cloth.

It took a while but the door finally opened.

For a moment, Arienne thought that she was in a different place. No longer could she hear the shouted conversation, the stamping or shuffling feet, the various pitched laughter... just silence.

Silence and stares to be exact.

Oliver quickly replayed all the things they had shouted at each other that everyone out in the walkways had obviously heard and they had come to the obvious conclusion. He had the feeling that "Dammit, Arienne! Can't you just keep still for just a few moments?" had pretty much shoed the horse. That, among other things...

He knew that Arienne was thinking the exact same thing when her face turned red. An all-the-way-up-to-her-ears-and-covering-her-entire-forehead kind of red to be exact.

"We should go find our things now."

"Yeah," Arienne agreed immediately. "You're right."

And with as much dignity as they could muster, which Oliver soberly admitted, wasn't very much, they walked away.

Arienne heaved a sigh when Oliver stopped the compartment they had been standing in front of just a few minutes ago. Suddenly, she was reminded of how hungry she was feeling and how painful her feet were.

"I'm tired."

Oliver tried not to roll his eyes. He knew that Arienne had little patience for, well, anything. But he knew her well enough to know how to handle it.

"Listen," he said turning to face her. "What are you planning to bet that our things are in here?"

Arienne's eyes lit up. A bet? No matter how much she tried to deny it, she was addicted to making bets. Not the kind that required money, she didn't care for that. She wanted the kind that elicited some sort of adrenaline rush. There was something excitable in winning... granted that she didn't always win. But that was beside the point.

"Nothing," she replied, feigning an air of nonchalance. "I doubt that our things are inside."

Oliver tossed her a smug look. "I bet that they are. I bet you a month's worth of a class's assignments that they are."

"Herbology?" She asked immediately. They shared only three classes together that year. History of Magic, Herbology and Potions. She would have asked for Potions, but Oliver was no good at the subject either. No one was, it often seemed.

Oliver nodded. "What do I get?"

"For a month's worth of Herbology assignments?" Arienne looked startled. What she wouldn't give for that... and she knew, like she knew the dimensions of her wand that their things wouldn't be there. She was so sure. "I would love you forever!" She blurted out. She felt stupid as soon as the words left her mouth. She gave a tiny laugh, to make sure that Oliver understood that she was only kidding. He smiled back.

"Seems fair."

Try as she might, her jaw all but dropped to the floor. She wasn't pleased. Her love in return for some homework was fair? "Of... all the..." she sputtered.

But she couldn't continue.

The door was now open. And they had finally found their things.

*****

Arienne fought back the tears. No matter how bleak everything seemed or how unfair everything turned out to be, she was not going to cry.

Oliver turned to his companion and his eyes widened. "Are you crying?"

"No," Arienne replied morosely, wiping at the tears that had slipped onto her cheeks. "Okay, I'm crying." It was pointless to lie - especially when faced with hard evidence. Or in this case, when the evidence was on her face. "What are we going to do?" She hated the pathetic way she sounded, but what else was she supposed to feel aside from deep, dark despair?

"Do you have any money?" Oliver asked, thinking quickly to change the situation. Years of having dealt with women still hadn't taught him to be comfortable with a crying female.

Arienne nodded her head. "Yeah, I have a bit of money. It's in my trunk..." she barely managed to say before she gave a small sniff.

"All right. If we pull our resources together, we might be able to get some rooms in the Leaky Cauldron."

Rooms?

"You forgot about this," Arienne said raising her right, handcuffed hand. "Unless you want to spend half of the night in one room and the other half in another room, we're going to have to get just one room."

Arienne was amazed at how she felt absolutely nothing. No delight and no dread. Nothing. Perhaps it was a mistake that she had avoided him in Hogwarts. It hadn't helped her get over him. It just prolonged the process. But now that they were together...

Together? Sharing a bed kind of together? It wasn't as if they hadn't done so before. So what if the last time they had was when they were ten? No reason why they wouldn't be able to do so now. Actually there were approximately nine hundred and thirty reasons why, but she didn't want to think about it.

"We'll get one room, then. Tomorrow morning we're going to have to get some money from Gringott's, though." Oliver let out a sigh. "Let's go. We're both tired. This day was packed with more action than the last quidditch world cup."

Quidditch again? Arienne bit her tongue. She was too tired to put up a fight.

They walked in silence and though Arienne seemed oblivious to everything, he noticed the Diagon Alley shoppers were eyeing them with a mixture of curiosity and caution. He couldn't blame them. In the last five minutes, they had seen two teenage wizards running up and down the streets, half of the time screaming at each other and the other half trying to carry each other and trying to strangle each other in between, in addition to them looking at each other with the eyes of death. They must have been a sight.

And they were going to have to go to Gringott's. He hated that most of all. He hated this whole entire day, and was beginning to brace himself for the worse. It seemed a nice enough day that morning. Talking to Arienne again, meeting new people... The handcuffs really hadn't bothered him at the start. He couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was because if he had to pick someone to be handcuffed with, he really would have chosen Arienne. She was the one person he truly felt comfortable with. Besides, they seemed harmless enough.

He felt all sorts of stupid. How could he ever think that for one single second, the Weasley twins could actually be harmless? Even their breath killed.

He grimaced. They had been a whole hour late in getting to Diagon Alley for little did they know that the handcuffs and the missing friends and trunks were just the tip of the iceberg.

Somehow, things had gotten worse.

He shouldn't have told his parents that he was going to be fine going to Altenaia alone. The muggle world was no place for a teenage wizard. Especially if the teenage wizard just happened to be handcuffed to a teenage witch.

They had left King's Cross without scars and with somewhat easy smiles, thinking that all was well and good. However, all was not well and good when they finally realized that they had to get to Diagon Alley. And commuting the muggle way was something neither had done alone before.

It was a common misconception of most magic folk. The "If muggles can do it, surely I can do it, too."

They had both been sent some muggle money to help them find the way about muggle London. But the money looked all different... Arienne had been given all sorts of coins that they didn't know what to do. They had numbers on them, which was strange. Did muggles constantly forget how much each coin was that they had to be reminded all the time? Unfortunately, Oliver's looked much weirder. His money, if one could call it that, was paper! What was even more peculiar was that the paper money seemed more valuable then the coins! He doubted he would ever understand muggles...

They had been standing outside the station for what seemed like centuries watching as muggles waved to moving machines that stopped to carry them off, when Arienne became impatient enough to wave one over herself. One immediately stopped in front of them, but as soon as the muggle saw the handcuffs he was gone in the blink of an eye.

And so did the next ten that Arienne waved to.

With only thirty minutes left to get to Diagon Alley, both were rapidly losing all hope of ever getting to Diagon Alley. That was until the eleventh skidded to a dangerously close stop in front of them.

They instantly flashed their handcuffs. Oliver had suggested that they keep them instead, but Arienne insisted that they do the opposite. There was no point in trying to hide them, since they won't be able to avoid having to use their hands, she had pointed out.

Lo and behold, the contraption didn't budge.

The second they were inside the muggle man who was in front of the ridiculous and strange smelling contraption turned to them. He was the oddest person Oliver had ever seen in his entire life. It took him a second to figure out that the unusual odor was coming off the man who was missing three of his teeth (and there were bits of food stuck between a couple others). He also had on, what Oliver could only surmise to be layers upon layers of clothing that looked like they had never seen soap nor water, as did his hair. Or his fake hair, for it was obvious that the muggle was wearing a wig. He asked where they were headed, but were met with a blank stare when they told him. For just a minute. Before he assured them that he had been there a couple of times, driving some "pretty weird folks, if you ask me..."

All was going well. Too well. Then everything went wrong. For some bloody reason everything just stopped. Well, not everything. Just all the infuriating muggle conveyances. They did begin to move again, however they were moving so slowly that they a turtle would have gotten farther than they would. Granted, it was easier to just walk... if only they knew how to get there by themselves. Neither one, in their seventeen years of living, had thought to explore the muggle world. Much to their utter regret.

But somehow, they arrived. And intact, at that.

They quickly got a hold of their things and were about to make a mad dash for the Leaky Cauldron when the muggle who had brought them there shouted out loud, "You didn't pay for your fare!"

Fare?

Must be what the money was for...

Arienne was too frazzled to think. She grabbed at the coin pouch that her mother had given her and tossed them at the muggle.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" the muggle replied, evidently annoyed about something. "Buy myself a lollie?"

Of course neither Arienne nor Oliver knew what that was exactly, but from the aghast expression on the man's face, there was definitely something amiss.

"Listen," Arienne said in the softest and most lilting voice she could manage. She could be charming when she wanted to, Oliver noted. And this was definitely a good time to be charming. "We're running late maybe I can just owl--I meant, send--you a couple bags of galleons?"

The look on the muggle's face suggested that Arienne's own face had turned blue with yellow spots and green horns had grown out of her head. "Galleons?" He repeated in disbelief. "You're going to send me a couple bags of galleons? Ships? Like in the Spanish armada?"

Oh. Right...

Oliver took over the reins this time. He dug into his trouser pocket for some of the paper money that he had stashed away in there earlier. It was obvious that the muggle wanted more money. Needed, might be the right word. Yes, definitely. To buy some soap. And shampoo. Or perhaps a new wig.

"I hope that's enough," Oliver said as he thrust the paper at him. The muggle looked as if God had come down from the heavens open upon him and granted him the treasures of the world. Which would seem amounted to around three hundred and twenty pounds...

Clearly, it was enough. Arienne and Oliver left the muggle who was still staring at the paper in his hands.

With a sigh of relief for each, they ventured into the Leaky Cauldron. Yes, taking their own sweet time, in fact. That is until the clock struck seven.

Oliver didn't think...

No way. He glanced at his watch. He had only checked it a while ago and it had read six fifteen. It couldn't be... Oliver grimaced. Apparently, his watch had gotten stuck somewhere in the time-space continuum for it still read six fifteen.

Arienne had begun to take huge gulping breaths to keep herself from hyperventilating. "I... we're..."

Oliver couldn't speak a single word. This had to be a joke. Yes, that's right. Any moment now, the Weasley twins were going to jump up from behind the bar and say, 'Early April Fools!'

But there were no Weasley twins jumping out of nowhere and the entire Leaky Cauldron population was staring at them. Apparently, teenagers who were handcuffed together was also an uncommon sight in the magic world as well.

"Maybe there's still a chance," Oliver said suddenly. "Maybe the portkey's still there..."

Arienne had barely glanced at Oliver when they both made a run for it, dragging their things behind them, ignoring the scandalized looks of the Cauldron patrons. It was just their luck, and only rightfully so since Lady Luck hadn't been smiling down on them recently, that an elderly wizard couple had just opened the entrance to Diagon Alley. Hurriedly, they rushed past them and ran for the place the Ministry of Magic was said to have set up the port key.

Thankfully the alleys weren't as packed as they would normally have been. They dragged their trunks behind them, and Oliver practically had to drag Arienne for she had begun to lag behind.

Without stopping to think he, he tossed her over his shoulder.

"What the..." Arienne sputtered. "Let me down, you... you..." She couldn't continue for she was preoccupied with taking gasping breaths.

"You want to get to Altenaia, don't you?" Oliver smiled as he struggled under the added weight. He had never known of anyone who could form a coherent thought while upside down. Then he struggled some more. This was not working. "You've put on weight, Arienne."

People could call her short, they could call her mean and perhaps even evil, they could even say that she was too full of herself to know that there were other people in the world, but what Oliver had said pushed the button to her hand-to-cheek reflex. Or in this instance, foot-to-groin reflex... which got the desired results anyhow.

Oliver staggered back a little from the impact against his little Oliver, letting Arienne slip down until her feet reached the floor. "What the fuck are you trying to do?" he gasped through the horrendous pain. The worst pain known to man, wizard or not. "I'm too young, handsome and unfulfilled to be a eunuch, woman!"

For a bare minute, Arienne thought that Oliver hadn't really taken offense. He was making jokes, right? Nope, not by the death looks he was giving her, he was.

"You said that I was large..." Arienne uncertainly defended herself. Truly Oliver had to know that rule number two in dealing with women. Never bring up the weight factor. Ever. Even when asked, just ignore, for even women knew that there was no right answer.

Oliver stared at her, very much like the muggle awhile ago had. Yes, quite indentical, indeed. "It was a joke," Oliver spat out. "You aren't bloody fat, you moron. You, Arienne Jocelyn Davies loosely resemble a bag of bones."

Oohhh...

"Rule number three: Never call a woman any sort of demeaning name, you stupid prat! Rule number two: never bring up her weight, pig-headed, muscle-bound freak! And rule number one... Never say or even imply that she's intellectually lacking, you utterly pathetic excuse for an imbecile!"

And in a perfect imitation of a fish, Oliver opened and closed his mouth several times. Either he was letting the air in slowly, or he couldn't think of anything to say. Arienne preferred to think that it was both. Yes, getting the upper hand was always sweeter than any chocolate.

Oliver tried to think of something cutting or something witty to say. But he couldn't. He wasn't quite used to this. Normally girls would have just slapped him to get everything over with, but Arienne used words - which in truth reminded him why he steered clear of most Ravenclaws. Slytherins may kick while you're down, but in his opinion, the Ravenclaws are the reason why you're there in the first place.

Oliver watched as Arienne's eyes narrowed and it finally dawned on him that he had in fact spoken his last thought out loud.

Yes! One for Oliver Wood.

Yes, one for Oliver Wood who was now sprawled on the cold ground of Diagon Alley underneath a girl who had her hands all over him. This could have been one of Oliver's many fantasies if only the girl's gaze was passion-induced and not murder-induced and that her hands were wrapped around, uh, other parts of his anatomy rather than around his jugular. Times like these made him miss being slapped.

He expelled an embarrassing gurgling sound and his assailant finally let go. But not without a few parting words while she stood up and offered him a hand, which he ignored. "Rule number three, darling. Always remember the rules. Learn it, love it, live it..."

Compared to her, Snape was the model teacher of the century. Of course Oliver, having already learned his lesson, kept his mouth shut so tightly one could say he was guarding the secrets to the universe. That and he knew that the premise to all the three rules was to shut up. He was a quick learner when he had to be. Or threatened to be, depending on how one chose to see it.

"Excuse me."

Arienne and Oliver turned to the voice behind them. "Ow!" They exclaimed in unison when their heads banged against each other.

"Well," the detached voice with black shoes said (for that was the only thing that Oliver could concentrate on while rubbing his sore head. There was a feeling of dread that came over him at that precise moment. Arienne was going to be death of him.

"Ahem."

It was only until they were both looking into the clear eyes of Mister Ollivander did he begin speaking again.

"Ms. Davies and Mr. Wood, how nice to see you again," Mister Ollivander said in that pleasant voice of his. It was always full of sincerity whenever he spoke. "I haven't seen you in a while. But that's to be expected. No wizard is ever in need of two wands..." he waited for the two combatants to smile at his little fib, and the two teenagers did so, obligingly. "I heard you talking about the portkey to Altenaia."

"Yup... I mean, yes... sir," Oliver answered haltingly, the word "sir" coming in only after receiving a nudge to his ribcage from his Amazon friend. "Both Arienne and I are to meet our families there."

They watched as the elderly gentleman shook his head. "I'm afraid you've missed it, young ones. It vanished more than half an hour ago."

Both teenagers were silent at this pronouncement for they knew that long before they even set out running that it would be useless. Denial... a bitter, bitter thing indeed.

And now they were walking dejectedly towards the Leaky Cauldron. There was nothing else they could do. And although Oliver could have been in a panic, worrying about what would happen... he wasn't. Perhaps it was the fact he had never looked forward to going to Altenaia, or that he was so easily resigned to the fact that he was now prone to bad luck as Marcus Flint was to dental problems, or that Arienne was now looking ultimately forlorn, or the fact that the take-charge quidditch captain in him was now shining through. Or jumble of all three...

"It's my fault," Arienne muttered, giving a last wipe at her eyes. "I was so slow. We wouldn't have been late if I hadn't been so bitchy."

Oliver shook his head. "No, you weren't. Besides, I'm the one who should've been keeping track of the time and I didn't even notice that my watch stopped."

Arienne looked over at Oliver and considered him for a while. Other men would have bust a gut agreeing with her, saying that she was indeed a bitch and it was in fact her fault that they were late, but here was Oliver Wood, defending her with his kindness and even blaming himself. It took her a moment to realize it, but Oliver evidently had his quidditch captain mode switched on. She had seen it in her brother sometimes, that caring for other people and cheering you on... and it was nice to be the recipient of such attention. But coming from Oliver...

Dear God, why are you making this so hard?

Oliver felt Arienne staring at him and turned to her. "Arienne?"

Testing, testing, one, two, three...

"It's my fucking fault, Oliver Wood. If I hadn't had the appalling propensity for losing my things, then maybe, I would have worn a watch, maybe then I would have been able to tell the time..." Her hands were now waving high in the sky and she blasted him with the last of vexation. "It was my fault, so don't be going all gallant and tell that it isn't."

Oliver reached out his handcuffed hand and held hers. "It's no one's fault," he told her simply. "Come on. It's dark already."

Arienne felt another onslaught of tears coming and averted her gaze. She was just being overly emotional, because she was stressed and tired and hungry and couple of other excuses that she couldn't think of at that moment. Oliver Wood was going to be the death of her.

Oliver and Arienne welcomed the warmth that the Leaky Cauldron's immense fireplace had to offer. They immediately sat down in the table directly in front of the dancing flames when Tom, the innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron, approached them with evident apprehension.

"Miss Davies and Mister Wood, would you young wizards like something to eat?" He inquired pleasantly as he clasped his hands together.

Before Arienne could speak up, Oliver pointed at the handcuffs. "Weasley twins."

Tom looked startled for a moment, then finally understanding dawned. "Weasley twins," he announced to the rest of the people who, apparently, have been waiting for some sort of explanation.

A collective "Ah..." almost shook the rafters.

Evidently, the Weasley twins were quite famous.

After a large dinner of steak and potatoes the two miserable teenagers rambled their way up the stairs and to their rented room for the night. Fortunately, Tom had been kind enough to send the receipts directly to their parents so as to save Arienne and Oliver the hassle and even offered to owl their parents of their current situation.

They should've been formulating a plan, discussing how exactly to go about the situation. They should been doing about a dozen things, but both were too tired to do anything aside from taking turns brushing their teeth and falling into the vast oak bed in the middle of the room.

Arienne closed her eyes, which she immediately opened again She rolled over onto her side and regarded Oliver who looked to be drifting off into sleep.

She took a deep breath. Then she took another one. She had always been talented at wit-gathering, but then again, today wasn't like any other day.

"What is it?" Oliver suddenly asked without opening his eyes, successfully startling Arienne in the process.

After collecting what little wit she had been able to gather, Arienne took another deep breath.

It was now or never...

"Remember when..." Arienne sighed in a moment of hesitation. Now! Now! Now! "Remember when we... when we... we did it? What happened... you know... afterwards?"

There she finally asked him the question she had been asking herself for the last four years and the relief that she felt was unbelievable.

On the other hand, Oliver stiffened. Perhaps if he could just pretend that he had already fallen asleep, however, he knew that Arienne would never fall for that. Or would she? Instead, he decided to tell her the truth.

"I don't know."

Arienne's eyes narrowed, thankfully in thought. "What do you mean you don't know?" she asked softly. She didn't like the sound of that...

Oliver rolled onto his own side and faced her, although he was finding it difficult to be able to look into her eyes. "I can't really say. After we... after we... you know..." Oliver scratched his head for a moment. "Well, afterwards... I didn't see you for the rest of the summer and when I saw you at Hogwarts." Oliver paused, as he reached into the little memory box inside his mind. "It just felt weird..."

"Awkward," Arienne volunteered silently. Yes, she knew exactly what he meant now.

"Yeah, awkward," Oliver echoed. "And maybe I thought... maybe I thought that you hated me." He looked directly into her eyes when he said it.

She bestowed him with a soft smile in return. "I could never hate you."

Ever, she thought somewhat desolately. Even if you break my heart into an irreparable mess, lock in a closet with a boggart and feed me to a Common Welsh Green Dragon, I'll never hate you. Because I'll never give you the chance to do so.

She was so absorbed with her own thoughts that she didn't see it coming, didn't notice him slowly raising his hand. She froze the second she felt his fingertips caress her cheek. He was gazing at her with an expression on his face that she didn't dare define.

This is wrong. This is wrong. The thought echoed in her mind.

This is wrong.

She saw him lean in towards her and she closed her eyes.

This is wrong.

His lips touched hers and the soft contact was enough to create a ripple of sensation that sent waves of feeling throughout her body, making her shiver in reaction.

And Oliver moaned, as if he felt it as well. He leaned down again.

This is wrong.

A second kiss. Oliver was on top of her now, his hips pressed against hers, his kisses more urgent and more impassioned. Her lips parted from the insistent pressure of his mouth and the erotic foreplay of tongue against tongue made her groan from the pits of her soul.

She wrapped her left arm about his shoulder, her hand pressing firmly against his nape, urging him on.

This is wrong.

Oliver gasped against her mouth as she fitted herself to him. Perfectly. "You taste like..."

"Steak and potatoes?" She offered helpfully between kisses.

Oliver smiled when she made a sexy sound in the back of her throat. His right hand was gently massaging her breast. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'April showers and May flowers,'" he whispered as he began kissing her neck.

"Good," she whispered back, arching against his questing fingers. "For a moment there, I thought you were going to say that I tasted like Worcestershire sauce."

This is wrong.

Arienne moved her hand down the length of his back, truly marveling how much Oliver had grown, his firm muscles flexing underneath her fingers.

There is no right...

One button off... Oliver kissed the newly exposed flesh. And another button.

There is no wrong...

Arienne slipped her hand underneath his shirt, her hand traveling along his heated chest, his flat stomach, gently tracing the top of his trousers.

There is only what you do...

And another button...

Arienne gasped as Oliver's tongue traced a line along her the edge of her brassiere.

And what you don't do...

"No!" Arienne pushed against Oliver's chest. "I just... I can't..." She closed her eyes shook her head, unable to put into words what she was feeling.

Oliver ran his hand through her hair. Then a thought struck him. "There isn't anyone else is there? You aren't dating anyone, are you?" There was a vehemence behind his voice that he couldn't quite control.

He looked straight into her eyes, and saw a vulnerability there that reached inside of him and turned him inside out. Oliver watched as her rosy lips formed a silent "no" and he felt such relief, though didn't stop to ask himself why.

"I'm sleepy..."

Arienne turned her head away and closed her eyes, hoping against hope that the tears wouldn't escape.

Oliver laid down beside her, averting his own gaze. He gave a long and frustrated sigh. They were in for a long night.

And what he would've given for a cold bath...