The Last of the Mhyrriad

CHAPTER THE FIFTH

Hidden Emotions

Originally planning to correct papers, Oliver gave up around eleven o' clock that night. Leaning back in his armchair, he relaxed his mind and let his thoughts drift. The first thing that came to mind was Cerise. His lips twitched into a smile as he thought her green eyes, full mouth, curving body...

He sat upright and grabbed an issue of "Quidditch Today". He couldn't keep thinking these thoughts. But the magazine smelled of orchids, of Cerise. She had borrowed it. Why was he so confused? Just because she had crossed the line between friendship and something else, the line she's been testing since that first feast when she sat unusually close to him, casually but purposefully brushing her hand against his arm to send chills up his spine. But he'd never thought of her like that - except it seemed that his friendship with Cerise was nothing like those between other girls who were just friends. Alicia, Angelina, Katie, he had never felt so awkward and foolish with them, even when he'd had a brief crush on Alicia back in third year. They were still a group of girls with whom he could keep his head, drink a butterbeer with, then go play a game of Quidditch. He doubted that a thirteen-year-old Oliver would have dared to pull Cerise's piggytails as he had pulled Alicia's. But even when playing Quidditch the day before, he had noticed how well robes defined Cerise's breasts, and how, even as she was aiming the Quaffle at his ear (he had the bruise to prove it), he had found himself longing to kiss those two perfectly glossed red lips. The more he thought about it, the more apparent it became that yes, he had been... in love? With Cerise since he met her. Well not love, he didn't know what love was quite, and it was certainly too soon to tell, or was it. But once Oliver Wood set his mind to something, he would get it. And he would have Cerise.

Cerise woke up the next day to a ray of sunshine beaming through her open window. Next to her bed she noticed a red rose lying on top of a piece of parchment. On this was scrawled

Cerise,

We need I'd like to talk to you. Meet me at lunch in my office, the one next to the classroom. This is kind of important.

Love 'Ollie'

At this she raised an eyebrow and laughed gaily. Love? Ollie? He hated her calling him that. She knew exactly what this was all about. And anyone telling her to meet him - well only he could get away with it. As she woke up and stretched, she noticed a low-necked pink cashmere sweater, brown tweed pants with a matching open fronted robe draped across her dressing table chair. Along with another rose. So he's gone as far as to pick out her clothes! Normally she would have been infuriated, but today she just dressed, kissing the roses as she lay them in water. He'd have his meeting alright.

"Homework: research illness inducing curses and their counters. One parchment scroll, due Thursday." Eleven fifty-five. Five minutes until lunch. Oliver had let out his class early to give him time to race to his office. Not that location was an issue, he had relocated to the tiny room across the hall for convenience - but it was messy beyond imagine. He wanted to perform a tidying charm before she got there. As soon as Fred and George left foot of the classroom (he didn't trust them alone for a minute) he ran across the hall to his paper strewn broom closet to find Cerise, patiently sitting on the leather office chair. She stood up, drawing to her full five foot, two inch height. Even though she was over a foot shorter than he, she was much more intimidating than a dozen bludgers. Why oh why had he chosen the outfit, he thought, gulping. Ash she was looking at him expectantly and amused, he started.

"Euh... Cerise" I wanted... talk...you... and..." he squeaked. Her eyebrow raised and her mouth formed a smirk.

"Why don't you start again?" she purred, taking a step closer.

Taking a deep breath and gathering all the resolve he had, Oliver cupped her chin with steady hands and lowered his lips to hers.

He found himself lost in her. The smell of ginger flowers and orchids surrounded him, and nothing existed but himself and the girl he was kissing. Growing bolder, he freed his right hand from her cheek and snaked his wrapped it around her waist. To his relief, her arms snaked around his neck in response. Her fingers entangled in his hair emboldened him, and he ran his tongue along her lower lip, asking for an invitation to enter. Her lips parted, and Oliver was raised into a higher state of delirium.

The kiss seemed to last forever, until Cerise had to move her mouth for a breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Oliver staring at her, wide eyed as a deer in headlights.

"Oliver?"

At those words, he pivoted and fled the room, leaving Cerise standing there.

Oliver had no idea where he was running, all he knew was that he had to run - somewhere - fast. He soon found himself gasping for breath in the Gryffindor Locker Room. Funny that the familiar place of triumph and defeat gave forth so much comfort. Why had he done that? He hadn't meant to.

"The plan was to tell her how you felt, you big prat, not to just go and snog her out of nowhere." Great, now he was talking to himself. What had made him do something so stupid? Hell, why was he so stupid? If he hadn't been nervous, he wouldn't have been so stupid, but why the bloody hell was he nervous? Aside from Quidditch, Oliver prided himself on being fearless about everything. Quidditch was another story, but girls - Oliver remembered his first kiss at the age of fourteen. He was in his third year, she in her fifth. Her name was Isabella Mulch, a Slytherin prefect. She had been infuriated with him after kissing her, but he had the nerve to try again. Oliver had spent the next weekend in the hospital wing after she'd hexed him so that he had to be carried to Madam Pomfrey - and couldn't walk for a week. He'd had no qualms about asking Angelina out in his seventh year, and even less in kissing her when she had declined outright, disgusted. No, Oliver had never had any fear in wooing the opposite sex.

But no other girls were anything like Cerise. None had her cool composure, or could best him in Quidditch like she could. She had a way of commanding the attention of an entire room, just by entering it. No others he'd met had the presence. But none were so forward either - he wasn't used to having a girl leading him around on strings, hanging onto her every word. Oliver sat against the lockers for some time, steeping in his emotions that he couldn't untangle, then quietly stood up. He had to save face and pretend that nothing had happened, no matter what. Now he had a class to teach.

Things hadn't gone bad at all, thought Oliver as he soaked in the bath. He'd been avoiding Cerise, but subtly enough that no one would question him. He just couldn't stand facing her. He would just keep reliving the day nearly three weeks ago, and couldn't forgive himself for it. He could keep this up for a while - it was November Eighteenth, in a month and a half, it would be Christmas break. Dumbledore had offered a new room in the New Year, and Oliver felt that he would take up on the offer. He avoided the offices in front of the chambers now and sat on the opposite side of the staff table. She didn't seem to mind. For some reason she was preoccupied with Dumbledore and sat next to him at every meal. Oliver had caught her eye but once, and they both ignored it. Oh well. He did miss her, but probably, it was meant for the best. He couldn't be with her, he turned into a bag of nerves, and he didn't like not having control over anything, least of all himself. As the bath water became tepid, he pulled the rubber stopper, abandoning his thoughts.

Swirls of amber glitter rotated around the cauldron as Cerise absentmindedly stirred with her wand. How dared he? She was fuming at Oliver's ignoring of her. Why the hell was he being a stupid mindless git? She couldn't remember being so angry since...

In rage, she threw a crystal orb across the room. It neatly broke into two pieces, releasing an opaline gas.

"Damn". She muttered and shot a beam of light out of her left hand, which restored the orb to its normal condition, bringing it back to its place on the window sill. She picked up a bottle of mulberry bark and tipped its contents into the swirling mix. It swirled faster and gradually turned green. No matter what, her temper would not get the better of her. Never again. Last time, it had been disastrous...

Sighing, she left the potion to simmer and held the white orb, a moonstone, against her forehead. Instantly, her wrath was gone, replaced by a cool serenity and determination. That boy wasn't getting away with this any longer.

Oliver was lying in bed when a gold ball of light appeared in the far corner of his room. Slowly, it illuminated the area around it to reveal...

"Cerise!" Oliver sat straight up in bed. The ball of light was suspended in the air, dancing between two hands. Its light revealed its holder to be Cerise, clad only in a black, lacy negligée.

"Cerise, what are you... How did you...? Why..."

"I don't think I'm the one who should be giving explanations here." She walked over to the unoccupied side of his bed, and with a wave of her left hand, the light extinguished. From a cold draft he realized that she was getting under the covers with him.

"Cerise!"

"What?"

"I'm not wearing anything!" She let out a breath of frustration.

"You think I care? Fine, if it makes you feel better..." A thin garment fell on his face. For a few moments, Oliver just sat there open mouthed, but then

"Well?" Apparently she had spoken while he had been in shock.

"Well... what?"

"Why have you been acting like this? Ignoring me? Full explanation now, please." He gulped.

"I, er... I... um OK. That... that day..." She made an impatient clicking noise. " Well, I didn't mean to... to..."

"To kiss me?" Thank Merlin it was dark; he could feel his face going pink.

"So you didn't mean to kiss me. Well what in Cliodna's name did you mean to do?"

"Erm... well... I... Do you feel that way?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything. Tell me?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because".

"Because why?"

"Because... Oliver, think with the right head! What do you think?'

"Er... yes?"

"And why would that be?"

"You're in bed with me and you're not wearing anything."

"Hmm. Didn't think of that one. So?" He let out a deep sigh.

"Cerise, do I have to spell it out?" If it wasn't pitch-blackness, he could have sworn he saw a smirk.

"Yes."

"Cerise... I love you." Did he just say that? It had just slipped out. He had never said that to a girl before... but now that he'd said it, yes, he was very in love with her. Why hadn't he seen it? After a very pregnant pause, she said,

"Well, then, in that case, I accept your apology." She moved over and kissed his lips gently.

"And for the record, I love you too." And with that, she curled up in the crook of his arm and immediately fell asleep, her yards of hair across his shoulder. After a few moments, Oliver slid his had to the small of her back and soon fell asleep as well.