Disclaimer: Any Recogniseable Character, Setting or Item is J.K. Rowling's.

Please excuse the random chapter endings and beginnings, the story was written without breaks and I forgot where they were meant to be...

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Flatmates... or... Coping With Fame


I throw the towel down from the top window and shout at him to not forget it next time.

"Or you're going to training without it."

"Cow!" He shouts up from the street.

"It'll teach you to use my toothbrush, won't it?" Why am I yelling out of the window? Why do I not just tell him to come the fuck back up the stairs and get his own fucking towel because I have to get back to work in fifteen minutes? Why oh why oh why?

"I said I was sorry!" He apparates up to the front room again, and I turn to face him as he steps towards me. "I won't do it again."

"I know you won't, because I'm going to label all of my stuff and all of your stuff-"

"Or I could just buy another toothbrush?"

"Yeah, that could be a better idea." Then I realise he's in the flat again, step towards him and pull on his ear, "But, may I ask, if you're off to the gym and it's 'easier for you to throw the towel down rather than for me to apparate up' then why are you suddenly standing in the living room?"

"Sorry. I'm an under worked overpaid lazy Quidditch keeper for Puddlemere United and should respect the fact that you are an overworked, underpaid healer for St. Mungo's and you have a job to get to, rather than the gym until two and then the match at six." He says it all very quickly, the practised words tumbling from his lips, eager to please.

"Thank you." My anger abates slightly as I realised he's never said that before, and it is a lovely thing to say, but I can tell he's been holding out on it for an argument such as this.

"You're coming tonight, aren't you?" He pouts.

"What else am I going to do? Watch movies with George, Ange, Alicia, Potter and the other Weasleys? Nobody's around tonight. They've all got a match to go to apparently…" I roll my eyes. "I'll be there at half five, scarf, shirt, shoes and all."

"Shoes? When did they start marketing shoe-" He realises I was being sarcastic. "Oh… Right." He hugs me and wraps the towel around his shoulders. "See you later!" And he's gone, apparated into nothingness.


"So," Chris asks me as soon as I've pulled my jacket off, "How's it going with the Quidditch maestro?"

"He's been using my stuff again." I complain, irritated. "And he just won't lis-" She grins and shakes her head at me.

"No, Katie, I mean how's the relationship-"

"There is no relationship, Christina." I say indignantly, she hates it when I use her full name. "Bloody Hell, when will you all realise me and Oliver are just two friends who live together?"

"When you realise you were meant for each other." I adjust my glasses and make a face at her, then look at the time. I forgot to put my contacts in with the whole Oliver-Towel saga.

I'm working the A&E shift for the next three hours and then for two hours after that am doing my rounds. It's half past midday and I've had lunch - that's where I was when Oliver left home without his towel, so I'm set until tonight. I'll have time to get home and grab my scarf etc. and apparate to the ground.

Coping with Bowtruckle and Pixie bites first priority though. I sweep around the room and look down at my list.

"Ravi Freshmoore." A young boy gets up, scratches all over his face. This is going to be a long day.


I manage to extricate myself from large creature attack wounds just in time. At 17:09 by the clock in our kitchen, I've managed to change, contacts in, grab my ticket and my bag, and am ready to apparate.

"Alright," I look in my bag. DA galleon? Check. I slide it into my jeans pocket so I'll feel it if it burns. I've never managed to let go of Dumbledore's army. I've never really wanted to. It's like a medal of honour, a badge of being the best. I pick up my mobile phone - it keeps me in touch with the muggle world, and disappear into the uncomfortable nothingness of apparition.

Oliver finds me about fifteen minutes before the match is about to start.

"Kates!! Kates, come on," And he physically drags me to the Pavilion, where Alicia, Ange, George and Harry are standing there, looking bemused. We share a look of WTF is going on? as we look around at Oliver.

"What're we doing here?" I ask for the rest of the group.

"I've upgraded your seats." We look at him, not exactly impressed. He's never done this before, and he's starting now? Ange gives me a look that says 'Did you get him to do this?' I pull the bemused face and shake my head; Oliver grabs Alicia and George's hand and drags us along.

"What is going on?" Potter asks in my ear as Oliver leaves us sitting in prime seats that would make the Malfoys jealous. "He said you'd had an argument this morning."

"Yeah, over a toothbrush. It was more of an indignant statement." I say back, George grins and shakes his head. "What're you smiling at?"

"Young Love." He says jovially, and it's all I can do not to punch him.

"I do not fancy Oliver."

"That's not to say you don't love him." He says sagely. "Or that he doesn't love you."

"Just shut up," I groan as they start on the 'when's the wedding?' vein of conversation. Just as the match was about to start as well.

Oliver swoops past us as the team leads out, and takes his place at the pavilion end goalposts, providing all in the box with a sweet view of his rear end. I'd be enthralled, I would, but I've seen it poking from a cupboard too many times for it to be interesting anymore. I must admit, though, I do love watching Puddlemere play, they're beyond excellent, and watching them hammer the Chudley Cannons is beyond hysterical. Look at me there, being all like teenage and stuff 17 goals later, and Puddlemere have just thought to take a slight timeout for some drinks. I really don't know why I don't come more often, really, but… Healer's salary, 1200 Galleons a month is really not enough to live on, especially when Oliver makes around 4000 Galleons and I have the slight irritation that he makes me pay the rent and currently owes me about 10 payments. Which is one month's salary to him. OK, so he gets food, and everything… and I'm mourning my underpaidness. Oh my god, I'm mourning my lack of money. Tears burn at my eyes and I feel like I'm going to be sick.

I get up and sidle along the row until I'm out of there. And I run from the pavilion and go and get a shot of Firewhiskey. And another. And a third. When I'm on my fifth, I stop.

'I'm not drunk, I promise.' I murmur to myself as I walk towards the gate and apparate into the alley by our flat. Why we didn't get one that wasn't in an expensive, built up area of Tufnell Park, I do not know, but it's close to King's cross, and not too far from Diagon Alley. I didn't want to see the stinking game anyway. Yes. Of course I did. I'd never miss a game of Quidditch.

I send Oliver a text, which he will find in his bag eventually, "SORI. HAD TO GO. FELT ILL" Which he won't buy, but still.

I've sent it. Someone slaps the phone out of my hand. I stumble to get it, and they push me up against the wall. My knee rockets into their groin, I can smell the alcohol on their breath. I think about apparating, but can't because as they've grabbed me, they'd follow me. So I scream.

For a second, they back off, but they hit me across the side of the head, and for a second, just two seconds, I black out. It's long enough for them to hold me down. Long enough for them to grab my bag and run… I black out again.


A/N: Hope you enjoyed?!

Excuse the weird salary part... I just needed an excuse for Katie to get out of the stadium. The weird attack at the end will make sense later too

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