Heart Skipped a Beat

[Oliver Trask]

December 1st

One of the upsides of having Charms and Herbology back-to-back in the mornings, in spite of the long, chilly hike out to the greenhouses, was that it allowed two hours of Gwyneth's company. The only thing that could top it was those increasingly more common days where the pair of them would head to the library afterwards to study together. Miss Cadwallader was exceedingly bright, in Oliver's opinion, and hardly needed his help like some of his friends often did, but her presence made the drudgery of bookwork somehow less soul-sucking.

It was hardly unusual, then, for the two Hufflepuffs to find themselves in a corner of the library, taking full advantage of the morning quiet to get some work done, occasionally leaving the table to seek out a reference book to aid in their studies. When Gwyneth hadn't returned for several minutes, however, Oliver decided that he wouldn't make any more progress until he had made sure she was all right. He found her in the stacks a few shelves down from their table.

"Can't find it?" he asked, keeping his voice low for the sake of anyone else who happened to be working nearby. "I'll check down here --"

His feet were glued to the floor, leaving him stuck in his position next to Gwyneth.

"What on earth..." he muttered, bemused, glancing down at the note that lay on the ground between the two.

@Gwyneth Cadwallader

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

Gwyneth thought it had been at least five minutes since she had left her seat to seek out a book, but it felt rather more like a hundred. And her feet were still stubbornly stuck. She was rather glad of the privacy the book shelves afforded her; if she had been in plain sight, she would have caused quite a commotion attempting to walk, to hop, to jump out of this curiously sticky spot! But Gwyneth had quickly realised that it was all for naught and what she needed was a magical fix. But so far nothing had worked, and Gwyneth, who had never been anything but utterly optimistic, was beginning to think nothing would.

Until Oliver found her. If anybody could rescue her from her curious predicament, it was Oliver Trask and Gwyneth beamed as he joined her, thanking whatever deity was watching over her, until her companion's movement abruptly ceased and Mr. Trask found himself just as immobile as she had been for several frustrating minutes.

"We seem to be stuck," Gwyneth offered, feeling rather silly for pointing out the obvious. "I've tried everything I can think of to escape!"

  

[Oliver Trask]

"So it seems." His brow furrowed, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach in favor of puzzling a way out of this bizarre predicament. They were standing awfully close together, and Oliver was silently praying that some nosy gossipmonger didn't find them before they had found a counterspell! He paced, hopped, even tried sprinting, but to no avail. He even pulled out his wand and tried a few incantations, but those were just as useless. Whoever had done this had chosen a powerful charm indeed to stick them, and it was certainly beyond Oliver's talent to dispel it.

"Was this note here before?" he asked finally, kneeling down to pick up the piece of parchment on the ground between them. "Perhaps it's a clue." His eyes traveled quickly over the words scrawled there -- too quickly! Certainly he had misread it, for what kind of sadistic madman would inflict this punishment across the school? He read it again, more slowly this time, but his mouth gaped as he realized that yes, the key to escaping was...

Oliver looked up to find a piece of mistletoe hanging down from the rafters, directly above the pair of Hufflepuffs.

"Ah... It seems Peeves has gotten into the holiday spirit," he said weakly, handing the parchment over to Gwyneth and trying to smile, but he feared it only came out as a terrified grimace. This was bad. Or was it good? The heat that had risen to his cheeks was far too distracting for him to decide.

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

The holiday spirit? How terribly cryptic! Gwyneth’s brows knitted curiously as the statement and she reached out to take the proffered piece of parchment, unfolding it with an increasing sense of unease. Whatever it said had left Oliver quite perturbed and she had never seen her fellow Hufflepuff anything but perfectly (perfectly, indeed!) composed.

And then she read the words, and it all made perfect, awful sense.

“Surely this is a joke?” she breathed, feeling her cheeks burning even more by the second. “Well, obviously it’s a joke, but surely we don’t have to do this!”

Merlin, this was inconvenient. Gwyneth would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about this, but not like this!

  

[Oliver Trask]

If Oliver knew a spell to make the floor open up and swallow him whole, he would have cast it without hesitation as Gwyneth read the note. Peeves had certainly outdone himself this time in his quest for maximum chaos. Besides the obvious impropriety of it all, the addition of the chastity cuffs could only make it more mortifying. What if he accidentally made Gwyneth's activate? Would she lose her badge? He would never forgive himself, never mind if she would or not!

"S-surely Peeves isn't trying to force total anarchy," he stammered, unconvinced. Knowing the poltergeist as they all did, that was probably exactly his aim. "Maybe... maybe just a small one will do... ? On the cheek?" He took a step closer to Gwyneth, trying in vain to steady his trembling hand as he moved to rest it gently on her shoulder.

It was never supposed to happen. Not like this.

"May I...?" he asked softly. If their friendship had any hope of surviving this, he couldn't take a single liberty.

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

The cheek. Alright. Perhaps she could handle a kiss on the cheek. A kiss on the cheek was unlikely to land them both in detention, or worse — lose her her badge. A kiss on the cheek was platonic, which was precisely what she and Oliver were! Never mind that Oliver's suggestion was, with the alternative being her lips, poignantly disappointing because that was obviously the sheer insanity of their situation talking. A kiss on the lips would trigger her cuff and then she would be ruined, and—

Oh, his hand was on her shoulder. Gwyneth thought that she would have preferred (which would have been a blatant lie) for Oliver to simply dart in and get it over with but his consideration, the care he took resting his hand on her shoulder, and the softness of his voice... If she hadn't been painfully aware of the cuff at her wrist Gwyneth might have just kissed him anyway.

Instead, she drew in a shaky breath, granting Oliver permission with the faintest of nods.

  

[Oliver Trask]

Oh Merlin, she said yes. Oliver supposed his heart shouldn't have leaped as high as it did in his chest, considering the circumstances, but it had become quite clear that any control he might have had over the situation had been wrested away by that damned poltergeist's antics. It was only a kiss on the cheek. Just one. Nothing even worth commenting on, even if they were seen, which seemed quite unlikely given the silence of the library.

Before he could lose his nerve, Oliver leaned in and brushed his lips against the soft skin of her cheek. It was only for a second, but it felt like an eternity -- had his lungs forgotten how to breathe? He drew back quickly, stuffing both his hands in the pockets of his robe as he bit his lip. His eyes drifted down to the cuff on her arm, which hadn't activated just yet. Good.

He cleared his throat nervously, to break the silence as much as anything. "Well... did it work?"

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

Her cuff hadn't activated. Good. In other news, Oliver Trask had kissed her. On the cheek of course, as he had promised (he was as much as gentleman as men like her brother and nobody could tell her otherwise), but it was more than enough to make her breathless. Whether or not it had worked was irrelevant, but Gwyneth supposed that was the very point of the kiss and she attempted to move her feet somewhat halfheartedly, trying desperately to ignore the sudden flash of hope that his lips on her cheek had not been enough. That more would be necessary for their very freedom!

And it hadn't. They were still as rooted to the spot as they had ever been and Gwyneth's cheeks flushed crimson. "I'm afraid not," she said, smiling weakly. "Should we... should we call for help?" Merlin, she hoped he said no. The last thing they needed were witnesses to her humiliation!

[Oliver Trask]

"I think in most cases we generally are the help," Oliver teased his fellow prefect lightly. There was Madam Aesalon, he supposed, but he was never eager to tangle with her, and certainly the commotion they would have to cause to get anyone's attention in the stacks would only embarrass them more. "Besides, can you imagine if Zelda or Jack saw us?" he joked, chuckling nervously.

Of course, if they weren't going to call for help, that only left one option.

"Unless you think we should...? Call for help, I mean." Oh Merlin's beard. He wasn't sure which would be worse: if she said no, then he would have to try to kiss her on the mouth without setting off that cuff or otherwise making a buffoon out of himself; if she said yes, then he would likely never live down the teasing once word spread around the school. Not to mention that it would probably wound his pride, or at least what little pride the Hufflepuff had, if she would rather endure that than a kiss from him.

Damn that Peeves. Damn him to hell.

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

Merlin, things had been awkward enough without the addition of Zelda or Jack, who would no doubt tell all of their friends before the day was through. Gwyneth thought that Madam McKinnon would be the ideal helper—the matron would scarcely, mercifully, bat an eye—but she was no doubt in the common room which left her and Oliver with a choice between fellow students, Mrs. Aesalon, or fixing this themselves.

She wasn't entirely sure which option was the least terrifying but Gwyneth knew if they had any hope of salvaging their dignity it was best to do this as privately as possible. Which meant the third option.

She swallowed heavily. "I don't think there is anything that anyone can do," she replied with all the bravado she could muster. "Not if Peeves has done this and... well, I don't think we have very much longer before someone comes looking for us."

  

[Oliver Trask]

Oliver swallowed hard and did his very best to smother that not-so-tiny part of him that was entirely too pleased with this development.

"Right," he replied, nodding in agreement. "You're right, of course." He fought the urge to stick his hands in his pockets and fidget about nervously. It was only a kiss. No one was here to see. She wasn't screaming in indignation. Everything would be just fine. "Here goes nothing, then," he added lightly.

Oliver placed his hand where it had been before, on her shoulder, and gently pressed his lips to hers. The sensation was new -- and utterly overwhelming. They had never stood this close together before -- Oliver had never realized that she had her own scent, like sunshine and fresh flowers and petrichor. His left hand, until now hiding away in his pocket, drifted up of its own accord and brushed his thumb against her cheek as he lightly cupped her jaw.

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

Oh. Whatever girlish imaginings Gwyneth had had about this precise moment—well, when she had thought about it it had never been forced upon them by Peeves—had not come close to preparing her for the reality of Oliver’s lips against hers and her eyes fluttered shut, her breath coming short as she responded in kind. Because Peeves would want a proper kiss, wouldn’t he? He would hardly release them if she simply stood still in shock. They had to make it look good.

And they were certainly doing that. Gwyneth was quite sure she could remain like this all day but a dull thud behind a nearby stack reminded them that they were anything but alone. It was likely only a book falling against the floor but it was enough of a warning to bring her hurtling back to earth and she jerked back as if she had been stung, cheeks hot against Oliver’s thumb.

“Uh,” her voice emerged as little more than a breathless squeak. “Do you think it worked?”

  

[Oliver Trask]

The thud from the next stack was remarkably effective at bringing Oliver down from cloud nine. Remembering where he was and what would be at stake if they were found all at once, he stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and stared down at the floor, quite certain that his head was going to explode if he tried to look Gwyneth in the eye after they had --

It was around that time that he realized that she had kissed him back.

"Um." He risked a quick glance at Gwyneth's face, which looked as flustered as he felt, to be honest. With a tentative step to the side, he found that their performance had apparently been convincing enough to spare them further humiliation and confusion. "Seems like it," he replied with a nervous smile. "Did the cuff...?"

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

If the book hadn’t done it then the mention of her cuff brought her abruptly back down to earth and Gwyneth checked it, relief flooding through her to see that it appeared to be undisturbed. She supposed it couldn’t have been; they had barely kissed after all, but even the briefest of moments of Oliver’s lips against hers had felt like a lifetime to her.

“No,” Gwyneth replied, head shaking quickly, a nervous smile crossing her lips. “No, it’s fine. No harm done. Are you... are you alright?” The words sounded painfully awkward to her and she could feel her cheeks heat up anew.

  

[Oliver Trask]

"Oh! Yes, of course, I'm fine," Oliver assured her quickly, his blush deepening as he did his best to ignore the fact that he was, in fact, far more than all right. An awkward silence hung in the air as he scrambled for something, anything to say...

"I, ah, probably need to get going," he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "Transfiguration starts soon..."

  

[Gwyneth Cadwallader]

"Of course!" Gwyneth blurted in agreement, almost stumbling in her haste to put even more distance between them and giving Oliver the very worst imitation of a grin she had ever attempted. "And I have Alchemy—I mustn't keep Professor Flamel waiting!" She contemplated a breezy laugh but wasn't sure she would be able to muster it.

She fled instead. Like an utter coward.