Disclaimer: Not mine.

From Quidditch to Katie

I broke my leg.

I know what you're thinking: "no big deal," right? Any decent player can overcome a broken leg. Minor setback. But apparently, Dumbledore doesn't think I'm up to playing. In fact, he doesn't even seem to think I'm capable of walking, as he's assigned me an "assistant."

"Just to help you out," Dumbledore had said, "get you to your classes, keep your mind off of things. Katie Bell has agreed to be your assistant."

Katie Bell. Marvelous Chaser. Picked her up in just her second year. Scored forty points last match, not bad at all. Although I keep telling her, her left hand passes could use a little work...

"Oliver!" says a voice. A female voice. In the boy's dormitories..

I shriek as the real, living, breathing, life-size Katie Bell stands before me.

"Wha—what are you doing in here?" I sputter, as I pull my bed covers over my bare chest.

"Dumbledore sent me to help you get dressed," she informed me cheerfully.

"Help me get dressed'? I'm injured, yes, but I'm not a three year-old!

"Oh," I say, "well, that's nice of you, Bell"—her face seems to fall slightly as I use her surname... girls – "but I think I can manage."

"All right, I'll just wait outside, then," said Bell, her cheery smile returning as she exited, closing the door behind her.

THUMP.

I am lying on the floor. Apparently, Pomfrey's casts aren't designed to fit into your everyday pair of jeans.

"Need some help?"

Bell's head appears in the doorway, much to my embarrassment and annoyance. I am the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, and goddamnit, I can put on my own pants!

"No!" I growl, and Bell disappears from view, a wide grin on her face.

I sit still for a moment, taking in my options.

I sigh. "Fine," I agree reluctantly.

Bell comes in, an eager smile on her face. She offers me a hand, which I take, standing up and holding onto my bed post for support. "What can I do?" she asks.

"Well, Bell—" she wrinkles her nose. "What?" I ask.

"Can't you just call me Katie?"

"Um—all right, Bell—Katie. Katie," I repeat, the name flowing somewhat easily off my tongue, despite the fact that I don't think I've ever said it before.

"So what do you need help with?"

"Oh, right," I say, feeling my face turning a shade of pink usually reserved for a cold day at the Quidditch Pitch. "Well, you see—I—"

She looks at me, holding back a smile. "…Go on."

Oh, damn it all.

"Ineedhelpputtingmypantson," I say in a rush.

"Sorry?" she says bemusedly, leaning closer to me.

I sigh, looking into her eyes. "I—'

I stop abruptly, focusing on—Katie's—eyes. They're brown, like mine, but if you look closely, you can see these golden rings around the outside edges. They're like a snitch, glittering in the sunlight, only—better. My eyes take in her face, her dark brown hair, and my face is burning as I realize that I'm standing in my boxers and asking an extremely pretty girl to help me put my pants on.

Oh gods.

I'm suddenly having this overwhelming feeling to kiss—kiss—Katie.

No.

I don't have time for girls; it'll distract me from Quidditch. Quidditch, Oliver, Quidditch. That's all you think about. Quidditch.

But her eyes are so pretty, and her face is so close…

"Oliver?" says Katie softly, breaking me out of my stupor. "What was it you needed help with?"

"My pants don't fit," I mutter, dropping her soft gaze.

"I can fix that," she says, picking up my pants and casting an engorgement charm on them.

(WHY THE HELL DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT?!)

"There," she says, "that should work."

She offers me my jeans. Looking from the jeans to my hands, which are currently clutching my bedpost for support, the idea of me putting on my pants seems nothing more than a fantasy.

"Er," I say, blushing for what seems like the millionth time. I swear I wasn't a blusher until today.

Glancing quickly at Katie (if I stare too long, I'll never be able to look away), I find that her face seems to be a matching crimson.

"Um," she starts uncertainly, "I guess I'll—hold you, shall I? While you—put your pants on?"

"Perfect," I say, relieved her plan involves me putting on my own pants. I flash Katie a smile, which, oddly enough, seems to deepen the tomato colour on her cheeks.

I take my pants, and she holds her hands out uncertainly, evidently unsure of where to put them. Eventually, she places them cautiously on my waist.

I feel like such a woman.

Shouldn't my hands be on her waist?

As I lean down and put my broken leg in my pants, I find my face very close to Katie's, and the swooping urge to kiss her returns.

I pull my face back abruptly, leaving Katie looking slightly hurt at the action.

I grimace as I transfer all my weight to my broken leg, and before I know it, Katie's shrieking, I'm swearing, and we're toppling to the ground.

Dear gods… my hearts beating faster than in even the most stressful Quidditch match. I'm lying on top of her

"Sorry!" I gasp, rolling off so as not to suffocate her.

My face is redder than humanly possible, as I sit up and lean against the wall, helping Katie to do the same.

"Sorry," I say again, and she has the courage to giggle.

We sit in silence before a question arises in my mind. "How did you get the job as my assistant?" I ask curiously.

"I volunteered," she says somewhat meekly.

I feel a rush of gratitude and happiness. "I'm glad," I say quietly, turning to look into her eyes.

"Really?" she says softly.

"Yeah," I whisper, nervousness creeping throughout my entire body as I think of what I'm about to do, "because otherwise I might not have worked up the courage to do this."

I press my lips gently to hers, and I feel her smile as she kisses me back. An exhilarating feeling that even flying couldn't accomplish rushes through me as her fingers sift through my hair. I place one hand on her cheek and use the other to gently lift her onto my lap.

And for once, I'm not thinking about Quidditch.

A/N: review, yeah?