Either/Or

Chapter 6: Turning tables

Arienne almost screamed. Anyone would if a body were suddenly flung on top of his or her own. She felt her ribcage compress as much as it would dare allow under Oliver's immense weight. Sweet Lord, when she thought that he would be the death of her, she hadn't thought it to be so soon.

She sucked in air between her gritted teeth and pushed against him. He didn't budge. So she pushed again.

"Damn," she muttered as well as a few incoherent Italian obscenities her cousin had taught her. She didn't know what any of them meant, but they seemed fit for the occasion. Arienne had never been under a full-body bind before (though her mother admitted to having attempted to when she was four), but Arienne was sure that she would have preferred that to the discomfort she was under at the moment.

She took another gasping breath and tried to ignore the fact that she was pinioned to the mattress by a male twice her size. In addition to ignoring his head, as one side of his face was pressed firmly against her left breast, his other hand lay in alarming closeness to her other one, his groin was evident against her right thigh and to top it all off his warm breath was tingling her neck.

She would rather enter the Slytherin common room as bare as the day she was born than this!

Well, maybe not...

Arienne stifled a groan and rolled her eyes; partially in irritation and the other part was just to make sure that they haven't popped out of her head. She wished that she could go back to sleep, but she couldn't and now thoughts of what happened earlier that night filled her already tortured head. Perhaps she should have lied to Oliver and told him that she was seeing someone else. It made her wonder how he would have reacted. It made her wonder if it would have mattered to him...

Oh great, yeah that's right, she thought. Go and have second thoughts now.

Arienne let out an agonized sigh before deciding to try again. She moved her left hand to his shoulder and with a heave-ho, pushed with all her might. She almost squealed out in blissful relief when, along with the help of a wonderful thing called gravity, Oliver rolled over to his side of the bed, with Arienne on top of him.

Finally.

Go, Arienne! Go, Arienne! She began to chant softly in her head.

Ever so carefully, so as not to wake the infuriating and still slumbering form beneath her, she raised herself onto her elbows. She was about to flop down onto her back when his right arm suddenly wrapped around her waist, as unrelenting as the handcuffs that bound them together.

Naughty, naughty Oliver...

"Oliver?" Arienne hissed.

This was no time for games. And although she would normally enjoy games, she didn't like this one. Especially since her competitor didn't seem to even know that he was playing.

And he was winning, too.

"Oliver." Arienne repeated again, a little louder this time.

Sweet Merlin, even the statue of David was more alive than this lump. She reached out and poked his shoulder. "Oliver?"

"Oliver!" Her voice reverberated throughout the cavernous room.

Nothing. Not even a flinch. Not A snort. Not A flutter of the eyelids...

Arienne panicked. She leaned in, her face positioned right above his.

Good, he was still breathing. The stupid prat hadn't died on her after all.

Arienne raised an eyebrow.

Naughty, naughty Oliver...

If she was going to have to spend the rest of the night this way, she might as well be comfortable. She laid her cheek against the base of his neck and closed her eyes, completely missing the small movement made by her roommate.

Oliver peeked through his slightly opened right eye and almost smiled. He could feel her deep, even breaths on the crook of his neck and her left arm tossed lazily over his chest and that odd feeling of contentment washed over him for the second time that day. But neither could he deny the fact that he felt like a bastard for what he almost did. She was the closest he had to a sister, for Merlin's sake!

But he was happy nonetheless.

Ecstatic.

He had his best friend back.

Oliver's eyes flickered down upon the slumbering girl and a memory flashed before his eyes. It was a memory that hadn't been forgotten, just a tad neglected. He was seven again in the Davies' home. It was the first time that he was going to sleep over and Arienne's mother had directed him to Roger's room where an extra bed had appeared.

But Oliver couldn't stand it.

Roger had started his loud snoring at quite an early age.

As the grandfather clock in the hallway struck twelve, Oliver climbed into Arienne's bed and they slept in each other's arms.

Memory boxes were the best.

And with that thought Oliver closed his eyes, a small smile touching his lips. Unconsciously, his hold around the girl in his arms tightened.

*****

Oliver woke up to an incessant poking on his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly to find Arienne kneeling beside him, her smiling face inches from his own. Another change in attitude like the one last night? Then Oliver reminded himself that she was a girl. Yes, that seemed enough an explanation for any feminine peculiarities.

"Good morning!" Arienne announced cheerfully. She leaned down and pressed a motherly peck on his left eyebrow.

Arienne immediately caught the questioning gaze in his eyes and leaned back on her heels. There was an unmistakable sheepish look on her face before she spoke.

"About last night..."

Oliver raised his hand before to prevent her from uttering another word.

This was it! She was finally going to know how he felt and if things could ever change between them.

"I know, I know. It was a mistake... should have never happened." He paused for a moment, as if only just considering what he had said, then gave a low chuckle. "I mean, what were we thinking?"

He sat up, oblivious to the fact that Arienne had turned into a veritable statue with her mouth unattractively agape, and a vivid mental image of her beating him into a bloody pulp.

A mistake.

Next thing, he'll probably say that she was the closest he had to a sister. That thought made Arienne shiver. And blanche.

But a mistake?

He wanted her. Or at least it had felt that way. Was it a mistake for him to need her in so carnal a manner? There was a need in their touches last night and try as she might, Arienne couldn't deny it. She wanted him. She wanted him so much that it hurt even having to look at him. She wouldn't show it though. Emotions weren't for display... at least not her emotions.

Fine, it probably was a mistake. But how could he dismiss it so easily? Had they felt so impertinent and unsatisfactory that he didn't bother to... to... to... Arienne fumed. Oliver Wood had just made her mind stutter. Ugh. The first signs of brain erosion... now a babbling idiot, next, death.

"I'm hungry," Oliver said to no one in particular, as he sat up.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made a move to stand up. In a show of defiance, Arienne stayed where she was, which was sheer stupidity on her part (that she would later claim to be Oliver's plan to do her in), for Oliver's lack of female irritation awareness had caused him to stand up anyway and take the few steps towards his shoes.

Blag!

The sound didn't faze Oliver one bit. It was the strain on his left arm that made him turn around. "What are you doing on the floor?" Oliver asked, somewhat perturbed. For some reason unknown to him, Arienne was glaring, her eyes flashing like the... wraths of hell.

Definitely 'that time of the month.' Oliver smiled inwardly. This 'keeping your mouth shut' business wasn't so bad... he was still alive, after all.

Little did he know that he had yet to master its application.

Oliver sighed and reached down to grasp Arienne's elbow. She noticed this at once and stood up before he could make another attempt to help her. She was about to cross her arms in front of her chest, momentarily forgetting her lack of a free right hand (which she also blamed Oliver for) and ended up settling for just placing her left hand on her hip.

The glare was back on her face, though. Yes, Oliver was quick to note that. There were several words that ran through his mind while they stood in front of each other, engaged in a stare off.

Female. Mutiny. Long nails. Morning Breath. Prozac.

Oliver was never one for the powers of deduction.

And he was hungry!

There was a grumbling in his tummy that told him that he didn't have time for this. He was about to consider tossing her over his shoulder again (the end justified the means, after all), but decided against this. Oliver was a man. And there were certain ways known to very few men on how to get a woman to give them what they wanted. However, he wasn't one of those men. They had gone out with the dodo... but not without the help of a few women (scorned, that they were). He was just going to have to play it by ear, though in all honest, he didn't know what to do. Yes, he knew that he was supposed to be a 'woman's man,' but Merlin help him, he didn't know what that entailed. Because titles are given without being asked...

"Umm..." Oliver hated the sound of uncertainty in his voice. It made him sound like a schoolboy. Oh, wait. He was a schoolboy. Obviously the hunger was making him insane. Yeah, that's right. The hunger...

"Listen, I'm hungry," he said, finally resorting to honesty. "Maybe we can discuss what's bothering you over breakfast?"

Arienne opened her mouth, ready to let loose a tirade of crushing insults, which she immediately closed again. She was hungry, too.

"Fine," she gave a mock sigh of exasperation, trying to play the generous benefactress by 'letting him off this time.'

Oliver smiled inwardly. He was about to reach for his shoes when Arienne's voice arrested him in place.

"How do I look?"

Oliver felt his left eye begin to twitch as he eyed the disheveled hair, the crumpled and un-tucked shirt, the glazed-over look in her eyes (like that of a person who had one too many shots of tequila and promptly got rid of it in the loo) and pale lips... This was a joke, right?

He was about to say something to the effect of "I'm sure that no one will notice" when Arienne raised her hand. She could read his face and that look of male uncertainty made her regret even asking the question. She didn't want to fight anymore. She was hungry.

Oliver, immensely thankful for the reprieve once again made a reach for his shoes. He almost had it in his hand, just a couple more inches and he would have had them. But Arienne spoke up again.

"I need to go to the loo..."

*****

Oliver leaned back in his chair, his eyes wide in awe. He had forgotten all about this. It was probably all the other girls he had been with. They weren't like this. Those girls were the embodiment of breeding and sophistication. They were poised. Their hair in perfect order, their clothes the result of money and a close study of the color chart. Not in a million years could he imagine anyone of them sitting in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron form of clothing in abject disarray, hair a crumpled mess, delightfully barefoot as one foot was hitched under the other leg, one hand imprisoned in a handcuff and another hand holding on to a piece of toast that flew crazily through the air as she gestured wildly while talking. And she did all that with the utmost elegance. Which, sad to say, wasn't very pleasing to the eye... but was charming nonetheless.

Or perhaps it was just him... He didn't want to think about that.

"Are you eating this?" Arienne asked pointing her fork at the breakfast sausage on his plate.

Oliver shook his head and watched as she pierced the meat and lifted it onto her plate, which contained three other sausages.

"It's a sin to waste food, you know," she stated in her know-it-all voice. "I mean, think of all the starving children who can't get a decent meal and you can't even finish the food on your plate."

Oliver wasn't the least bit offended. "Gluttony is a sin too, you know," he pointed out, trying his best not to smile. Merlin, she looked too serious.

"I'm not a glutton, Oliver. I'm hungry. There's a difference."

"Of course."

Arienne raised an eyebrow. Intimidation was one of her stronger features. "Care to explain?" The question had obvious "and you better say what I want you to say or else" undertones.

"I meant that, of course you're hungry. It's natural," Oliver amended quickly. "It's a normal bodily function. As humans, we are in constant motion. I know that after a good, long quidditch practice..."

Aahhh! Quidditch... blech...

Arienne almost sighed in relief when Tom suddenly appeared beside her left elbow a bright smile on his face.

"You will be pleased to know that your parents have sent owls to you. I had them brought up to your room," the gentle old man announced jovially.

Oliver could have sworn that she was the one who carried him this time.

They reached the room panting, faces flushed from the exertion and knees weak with anticipation. Then, they froze.

A letter from parents could only mean one of two things: good news on their parents' part or reaction to bad news on their part. It didn't take a divination's teacher to guess what were probably the contents of the letters.

Then again... they were letters from their parents, for crying out loud!

Both owls were encased in identical white hotel envelopes and were sitting on the writing desk in their room, each one bearing a name.

Oliver immediately recognized his father's neat and scholarly handwriting and snatched it up quickly tearing it at the side.

"Read out aloud," Arienne requested her eyes flashing with delight. She knew they were acting and looking pathetic. But hey, she missed her mother and... it wasn't like they were out in public.

Oliver complied, his strong voice reverberating in the room.

Dear Son,

We have just read the owl regarding your well-being. Your mother and I were worried when you had not yet appeared when the portkey had vanished. We are glad to know that you are in good hands in the Leaky Cauldron as I am sure, as is your mother, that Tom is taking good care of you and Arienne Davies, who apparently is also in the same situation as you. Lucky that you should have a friend with you, is it not?

Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond our control, your mother and I will not be able to come to you. The summit has encountered some problems and the ministry is relying on our utmost attention.

I know that you understand. You always do, son.

We will owl you again. Until then, Happy Holidays!

Love,

Father and Mother

P.S.

We sent word to Gringotts that you be allowed to withdraw as much money as you deem necessary.

It was almost at the tip of Oliver's tongue to say "can't say I didn't expect that" for the ministry was always in need of his parents' help and no matter how much he denied it, he was used to it.

A silence hung in the air with a wary amount of disappointment that Arienne was sorry that she had asked Oliver to read his letter out loud. His parents weren't horrible. They were quite spectacular really. And she was able to have some remarkable conversations with them whenever she saw them... which wasn't very often. Unfortunately, she was sure that Oliver could say the same.

"Your turn," Oliver spoke softly.

Arienne looked at the letter in her hand. She carefully opened the letter and slipped out the folded piece of paper. With much hesitation, she began to read it out loud.

Dearest Arienne,

How are you? I cannot tell you how utterly worried I was when the portkey vanished and you were nowhere in sight. I am ashamed to say this, but I almost ripped out the hair of the man in charge of the portkey. It wouldn't have done much damage seeing as how it was merely a toupee, but I fear the man's ego and the blush in my cheeks will never go away.

But how are you, really? I was faint with happiness and relief when I received the owl from Tom. (Dear man, that Tom, I shall send him a gift for Christmas!) And he told me that you were with Oliver Wood. Personally, I'm not quite sure if I should be relieved or not about that fact... but I'm your mother. I'm supposed to think like that. And stop blushing! I know that you are!

Why do mothers have to know everything? A shared thought by two blushing teenagers.

I'm sorry to have to say this, but I'm afraid we won't be able to see each other for Christmas. I'm watching Nancy pace along the floor as I am writing this. She's been keeping an eye on me, thinking that I might bolt any second and make my way to you... and I would, too. But I can't. Alionna is too far away for me to reach and make a successful get away. I am currently rethinking my decision of hiring her as my publicist. A little too...disciplined... for my taste.

I miss you so much, honey! I really wish that I could be there with you... Unfortunately life has other ideas.

You have your key don't you?

I'll send your gift to Hogwarts! Merry Christmas, darling!

Love and hugs and kisses,

Mum

P.S.

Tell Oliver to have a Merry Christmas, too!

P.P.S.

Though you better not have a too merry a Christmas!

P.P.P.S.

I thought I told you to stop blushing.

Arienne let out a tense breath. With studied care she slid the letter back into its envelope, which she cautiously placed it back on the desk. Then she noticeably looked everywhere except the living being who was standing beside her and literally connected to her. This made Oliver smile. Only a small number of people knew of his sensitivity towards the topic of his parents and Arienne was obviously trying to her best to ignore the subject.

"Key?" Oliver decided to ask, in order to avert the conversation before it even began.

Arienne nodded hastily, obviously relieved that Oliver had chosen to avert the topic. She gave a small smile as she moved to stand beside her trunk that sat atop a small wooden table nearby. She flipped open the heavy leather case revealing her tidy, albeit somewhat crammed in, belongings.

Something distinctively small, blue and lacy caught his eye. Oliver was about to reach for the garment when Arienne slapped his hand away.

"Ow!" He yelped as rubbed his hand of the sting. "No need for violence, you know."

Arienne stuck out her tongue at him. "No need for violence," she repeated mockingly in the girliest voice she could manage. She dug her hand into the side of the trunk and seemed to be feeling around for something.

For awhile, Oliver was almost sure that whatever it was that Arienne was trying to find was actually long gone... well, given her tendency to lose things. However, after a few moments and a smile on her face, Arienne proudly brandished a small box painted in blue. Ever so slowly, as if afraid that speed might shatter the sturdy-looking box, Arienne lifted the lid.

There were precisely three items inside. An ornate gold ring in an elaborate emerald setting which, in Oliver's amateur opinion, cost more than... than... he was never good at analogies either. Then Oliver saw the key that Arienne's mother had been talking about. It was a small key that had been tied to a string of leather, fashioning it as a necklace. Oliver had to smile at that. Mrs. Davies always took the necessary precautions towards Arienne's frustrating habit. Underneath the two objects was an old photo he couldn't see it very well and already had a hand reached out when Arienne quickly grabbed the key and snapped the lid back in it's place.

"What was that?"

"A key to a safe in Gringotts," Arienne replied, intentionally misunderstanding.

"I meant the picture."

Arienne shook her head, obviously trying to avoid having the look at him in the eye... yet again. "Nothing," she replied, the word sounding oddly clipped. "It isn't anything."

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. If she didn't want to talk about it, he wasn't going to ask. He was just going to have to sneak into her things another time.

"Shall we get going?" He asked, his eyebrows raised.

Ten minutes later, they were walking along the streets of Diagon Alley where it seemed that their small "episode" yesterday had been long forgotten. That or they were being politely ignored. Oliver was desperate to accept any which one, seeing as how he was going to have to come back there. And with his parents even...

They were walking intently towards Gringotts when he felt Arienne stop behind him. He turned around to find her staring into one of the shop windows. Oliver immediately recognized the store. His mother had visited often enough. It was the famous Madame Fiona's Femme Fashions... the prices of which were fabulously fantastical.

"See something you like?" he inquired pleasantly.

There were five dresses on display but only one caught his eye. It was a vivid blue, almost the intensity of the deepest part of the ocean (although, he would rather it were red). The tight-fitting corset with the barely there lacy straps together with the enormous ball skirt, looked like such a challenge to pull off that it made him stare in awe.

Of course to a man, to "pull it off" was thought in the literal sense.

Arienne smiled at Oliver's expression. "See something you like?" she teased, throwing back his own question.

Oliver found that he had to clear his throat before answering. "That... umm... is an interesting looking dress..."

"Gown," Arienne quickly clarified. "There's a difference."

"Of course."

Arienne rolled her eyes. There was no way she was going to get pulled into that conversation again. Not when Oliver had the infuriating knack of twisting any conversation to one of quidditch.

Quidditch. Blech...

"So you like the blue gow...erm... one?" Arienne tried to appear disinterested in the whole conversation, but failed.

Oliver readily nodded. He couldn't help it, but in the back of his mind, he was secretly wondering how to get a girl out of the complicated body covering. "Why? Are you thinking of buying it and you're looking for a man's perspective?"

Arienne shrugged shrug and a knowing smile touched her lips. She had already taken a step towards the magnificent building that was Gringotts, but Oliver tugged on her hand a bit too insistently.

There was a distinct impish gleam in Oliver's eyes. "You already bought it, didn't you?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it is grammatically wrong to end sentences with questions?" There was a slight hesitation in Arienne's voice that implied that she didn't know what she was talking about.

"Arienne..." At this point, he didn't really care that about the whining tone he heard in his voice. "I saw the look on your face... the 'I know something you don't know look.' You know I don't like seeing that look." But he wasn't going to admit that he had seen more often than he was comfortable with.

"Yes, I did. Happy?"

"Not just yet... How about a little fashion show?" Oliver was grinning broadly now.

Arienne flashed him a bright smile. Actually, it was overly bright and it made Oliver flinch before the words had even left her mouth. "Sure."

"Yeth?" Oliver asked excitedly, unconscious that the small speech impediment from his childhood had somehow returned.

Arienne nodded coyly. "Knock yourself out," she purred in a low and positively seductive voice. "But you better have it washed after you wear it, though..."

Ouch...

Oliver knew that he had lost that one, but a few minutes later he had the pleasure of the acquaintance with the upper hand. He had successfully steered her into Quality Quidditch Supplies, where he spent a good half hour staring at the Firebolt that was on display in the window.

"Why don't you just buy the goddamn thing so you can ogle it and touch it at the same time?"

Hmm... bad suggestion.

Oliver was obviously of the same opinion since he cringed at the very idea. The entire thing was exasperating really. He had been saving up for a Nimbus Two Thousand for what seemed like forever... and he almost had the money, too. Then came the Nimbus Two Thousand One. So he systematically resumed his saving up again. Then, as if just to spite him, the Firebolt came out.

'Tis is a vicious cycle, that.

But he refused to regal Arienne with any of these details. Especially since he knew her reaction to be either of two things. She could say that he should get his parents to buy it for him or offer to give him some money in order to help him out. He didn't know which was worse. His having to admit that he had asked his parents and received only an extensive lecture on how "nothing says I've learned the value of money through having to save it."

That or be the recipient of her pity. Now that he thought about it, he would pretty much be the on the receiving end of her pity either way.

And with that thought, he dragged her back out into the streets of Diagon Alley.

Arienne shot him a questioning look. Then immediately wiped the look from her face. There were out of the store. She didn't want to push her luck. "Gringotts then?"

This time there were no pit stops on the way to intimidating structure and they carried around silence as their only other companion. Each one too afraid to say something wrong... a desperate avoidance of misjudging or being misjudged...

Yes, silence hung upon them like a dark cloud filled with rain and misery. How surreal for them, it seemed. To be thrown into - not a rut in conversation, for that could easily be remedied with a simple smile - general and fully acknowledged quiet. Odd and certainly uncharacteristic of the two... and that fact somehow made them want to keep the maintained void even more.

They had arrived at Gringotts and left Gringotts with only sparse and exasperatingly monotonous one-word sentences said between the two of them.

It was when they were standing in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor that Oliver suddenly turned to his companion, his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"Just say it," Oliver muttered, his voice taut with words that finally broke the silence.

Arienne lifted her eyes slowly to his, bewilderment plastered all over her face. "Say what?" she asked her voice shaky with uncertainty. Had she missed something? Did he say something that she didn't hear, but expected her to answer anyway?

Oliver, only belatedly realizing what he was doing dropped his hands to his sides. "I'm sorry... I was just... It just made me think..."

"Oliver is there something wrong?" Arienne mentally kicked herself. Right... and is You-Know-Who evil?

She watched as he shook his head slowly and as he ran his free hand through his short hair. They were the same in this respect. Never wanting to involve anyone in the their problems. It was simpler that way... no unnecessary attachments involved.

But then of course there was that one time... or two...

Arienne shook her head. She didn't want to remember them any longer. They were long ago buried in the past. No need to bring up things that should be left forgotten.

Unthinkingly, she lifted her hand to his cheek, involuntarily startling Oliver into immobility. It took her a few moments for her mind to register what her body had unwittingly done. After only seconds of having decided to forget about every intimacy that they had ever share - which in truth wasn't all too much, yet felt like everything - she was resurrecting old hopes, dreams and whatnot.

In the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver about to raise his hand as well. Before contact could be made, Arienne quickly removed her hand from its comfortable spot and turned away from him. She raised her to point awkwardly to the ice cream parlor as if she were a four-year-old on her first trip to Diagon Alley and ice cream was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Come on!" Arienne exclaimed in a perky voice that made her insides squirm with disgust. She and perky didn't mix very well...

Oliver raised an eyebrow. He wanted to call this by some word... like "emotional blackmail." And although it sounded like the perfect description, he had to admit that he didn't know what the hell it meant. It sounded smart enough, though.

"Okay..."

*****

Arienne swirled the warm liquid in her pewter mug. "And then..."

Oliver smiled engagingly, waiting for her to deliver the punchline to the story that she was telling.

"He was so scared," Arienne whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "He wasn't even talking much less moving! So I look at him and I see it... Merlin, Roger wet his pants!"

Hysterical laughter ensued and Oliver momentarily wondered what Roger had to say about his sister telling embarrassing childhood stories of him. Not that it really mattered, because, Lord, they were hilarious.

Arienne took a large gulp of the butterbeer and wiped her wet lips on the sleeve of her jacket. She had to admit that she was starting to smell a bit rank. Oliver had suggested that she could just tear off her clothes to put on fresh ones then she could just use the mending spell... and he would, of course, not look. But she insisted that leather, once torn, could never be perfectly mended. Oliver wasn't too sure about that. Besides, the thought of torn leather did have its appeal.

"So..."Arienne said softly. She closed her eyes, allowing the beverage to run a warm path through her system giving her a tingling sensation all over. "Who were you going to bring to the Yule Ball?"

Her eyes snapped open. Did she just ask that? Oh, foul, foul, unthinking mouth!

Oliver smiled sheepishly. "No one, actually."

Well, maybe not so foul and unthinking after all...

"Really?" she replied, trying to control the impending giddiness in her voice. "Um, how come?" This was proving too good to be true. Oliver Wood hadn't asked anyone to the Ball? How wonderful! How surreal! How annoyingly peculiar...

Oliver shrugged his shoulders and downed another gulp of the warm drink in his hand. "Just didn't have anyone to ask," he replied simply.

"Please," Arienne scoffed at the very idea. Intense displeasure spilled into her... apparently she ranked beneath chopped liver. She unintentionally slammed her mug down hard upon the heavy wooden table, causing Oliver and a few Leaky Cauldron patrons to look over at her in wonder.

She flashed an apologetic smile and muttered something like "freak gravity."

Oliver gazed at his companion for a while longer just to make sure that she was fine. This wasn't typical Arienne behavior. Not that there was anything typical about her... His eyes wandered down to her hand that lay in front of him on their table for two.

For some reason, it held him. He was transfixed. He stared at the lithe extremity as an artist would his model. Somehow it seemed perfect... and his own hand itched to hold it. To trace each line with his finger, feeling her life, her softness.

Before he knew it, he was there. His palm against hers and a sudden, yet indiscernible jolt hit his chest. He breathed deeply, and his brown eyes lifted to those of blue. How odd. To feel so connected with someone with just a simple touch.

Oliver found himself studying her. Her hair suddenly seemed more lustrous and her eyes bluer than before or more than he cared to ever notice.

He couldn't breathe.

As if he had been scalded on a hot cauldron, he quickly removed his hand. It was too much. A pretty, handcuffed (and to him at that) girl, an accessible and extremely conveniently placed bed upstairs and a few... ahem... necessities in the secret compartment in his trunk.

Too many temptations... too many fantasies begging to come true...

He gazed at Arienne who was staring at her hands now demurely folded on her lap.

And too much to lose.

He couldn't do this again. The last time they made a decision regarding their relationship, they had been wrong. Because of that one mistake things had changed so completely between them, as if they had never known each other. He didn't want that to happen again. He liked the way the way things were with Arienne for they shared things he could never share with another person... if only he could learn to keep his hands off her.

Right.

And quidditch isn't the greatest sport in the universe.

Oliver mentally slapped his forehead. What the hell was wrong with him? No, he rationalized hastily. There wasn't anything wrong with him. This was a normal hot-blooded, fountain o' hormones teenage boy reaction. He should be worried if he wasn't feeling anything along those lines... but, no...

No more mistakes.

Mistakes?

He had to be honest with himself now. It had been so easy for him to call it that, but it was quite another thing to completely dismiss it from his mind. He had tried to forget everything and over the years he had. But last night... last night sent a wave of recollections through his mind. After all these years, after having grown up... she still fit to him with stunning perfection. The shudder that rippled through his being with her slightest touch... the softest sigh...

They didn't quite seem like mistakes now... So why did he call them that in the first place?

Then it hit him like a bludger to the head much like his first quidditch game.

Ooohhhhh...

Denial.

How he wished it were just a river in Egypt.

What was happening to him?