Yeah, its me. I know, it's been a long long time since I last logged in and stuff. Apologies to all.

So I was thinking I wanted to write a story. Something really simple and sweet. Not neccessarily simple in terms of plot ( though this story is), but more of a simple style and easy read. Something like Over Tea Leaves and Coffee, but for KBOW. It's been quite a long while since I read a nice simple uncomplicated story. I miss that. I thought I should really write something like that. I particularly enjoyed writing it.

This chapter is dedicated to all my generous and loyal readers. Thank you so much for waiting.

Enjoy.

For no good reason at all, Oliver Wood, at ten fifty in the morning, decided to walk into Three Broomsticks.

He just had a particularly gruelling practice—five hours long, beaters weren't cooperating (they never were), lost the new play he had drawn up last night. Admittedly it was his fault—as his team mate Abshire eloquently put it, "No one bloody wakes up at five in the morning to play Quidditch, Wood."

He supposed though, it was because it was on a Wednesday. He didn't like Wednesdays.

It was only, therefore, ten by the time practice had ended. All of his team members had happily trudged home to bed, feeling that they had earned a well-deserved break. But not Oliver. He didn't feel tired at all— as a matter of fact he thought that they had a rather relaxed schedule actually. He didn't feel exactly like returning to his flat either though; it was after all, empty.

A growl in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't consumed any food since last evening. Breakfast at Hogsmeade sounded like a good option, given his dismal cooking abilities. Upon Apparating, however, he found himself unexpectedly landing conveniently right in front of Three Broomsticks. A place, I might add, that he hadn't been to quite recently. Shrugging his shoulders, more in the lines of why not than why here, Oliver Wood stepped into the Three Broomsticks for the first time in three years.

The place wasn't much changed. The creaky wooden floor, the cosy cushioned booths and the half torn portrait of a shrieking Celestina Warbeck were still there, completely the same as when he had last stepped in. Even the elegant shopkeeper Rosmerta was still behind the counter, gossiping with the other patrons as usual. Everything looked as if it had been left untouched since three years ago. Taking a seat at the nearest booth from his seat and motioning the clueless, bored-looking waiter over, he ordered ham and eggs and toast, a cup of coffee by the side, and began his solitary breakfast.

All that had really entered his mind the whole time was that the porcelain plates must be clean. He was rather particular about that. It was a habit that he had unfortunately picked up from his room mate Percy years ago. Finally satisfied that his knives, forks and plates were spick and span enough, he dug in to his meal heartily, realising he was hungrier that he had thought.

All this while he had missed the little tinkling of the bell as the door opened, too absorbed in his task of inspecting his tableware. He had therefore, missed the entrance of a young lady in emerald green robes, who waved cheerfully to Madame Rosmerta and gave her a wink. He had not caught the surprise look on her flushed face as she registered his presence, three booths in front of her. Oliver was also oblivious of the smirk that graced her features as she saw his familiar idiosyncrasy, shrewdly eyeing his obsession with cleaning his spoon. Or that her grin widen when she watch him shove food into his mouth hungrily. All these, in conclusion, he was blissfully unaware of, something that, however, he would regret a few moments later, as the witch strolled up to him.

"Wood."

He had heard his name. Slightly annoyed at someone interrupting his breakfast, he looked up irritatedly at the caller, hoping it was not an over-zealous fan. The irascible look however, was changed to one of complete shock as he realised, suddenly, that Katie Bell was now standing in front of him, tall and sprightly and smiling.

It was a complete surprise. It might have even occurred to Oliver Wood that it was a pleasant surprise, if he didn't remember the piece of half-chewed ham hanging in his mouth. He turned very red at that sudden thought, and quickly swallowed its remains and wiped his mouth.

"You would think," the lady laughed gaily as she slid into the seat opposite him,"That seven years of Hogwarts education would at least teach you how to say a simple hello." A silence ensued, before she continued. "You do remember me, do you?"

"Katie," He greeted cheerfully.

Of course he would never forget. The girl in front of him kidnapped his broomstick for three days in exchange for a week of no practice. This was the girl who made his days in school much much more enjoyable, but also much much more painful. This was also the woman who, unfortunately, was very good friends with the Weasley twins.

No, he would never forget.

"Do you think," he laughed at her, "That I would really forget that time you lock me in the Quidditch closet?"

"Did I?" Katie asked, an innocent smile on her face. "I don't remember."

"It was below five degrees, Bell."

"I'm glad you finally know that. You realise that you made us practice Quidditch in that weather all the time?" She countered playfully.

"I'm well aware of that, thanks. It won us the cup, didn't it?" He replied proudly, no longer caring about his breakfast. There was a wide grin on his face now, as he fondly recalled that precious memory in his last year at Hogwarts.

"We would have won anyway, without the dawn-to-dusk drills."

At that moment they were interrupted by the bored-looking waiter, who slammed down a glass in front of Katie before stalking away. Oliver caught a whiff of strong spice and alcohol as she took a tiny sip of her liquor.

"Firewhiskey in the morning, Bell?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Too early?" Katie said, arching an eyebrow as well.

"For most people, I would say." The spicy smell made Oliver tempted to order a glass. It smelt really good.

"Not for me. Keeps me going for the rest of the day." She answered, fingering the cup. Her companion eyed the cup good-humouredly.

"I should think most people become inebriated after a shot or two." Oliver said wryly, crossing his arms to keep his hands from grabbing the seductive alcohol.

"Everything works backwards for me, doesn't it?" Katie laughed. Unable to resist throwing Oliver a teasing look, she added, "Firewhiskey does that. You, of all people, should know that all too well."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," He denied, grinning. So she remembered.

"During the year-end party? When everybody got drunk except us. Why, I believe that it has precisely the same effect on you." She said with a twisted smile.

With that, she turned her head to the window on her left, taking a moment to enjoy the scenery.

Oliver took this chance to observe her as Katie took another dainty sip from her drink. Obviously she had grown. She was tall now, compared to the tiny, petite chaser he used to see in school, the one who at one point had been towered by the height of her broom. Oliver chuckled. That had been ages ago, when she had been no more than a mite.

She looked very pretty now though, with long dark curls and those really bright green eyes. But then Oliver had to admit she had always been good-looking; he remembered how enamoured Davies and Diggory were with her. But that twisted smile was still there, as were the mischievous looks. But Oliver thought they still suited her well.

"What have you been up to?" He asked her curiously. He hadn't seen her for three years. Not since the last time in Hogwarts.

"Not much. Work, sleep, work and Firewhiskey," the brunette told him. He rolled his eyes. This was Katie Bell all right—vague questions, vague answers.

"What are you working as now?" He persisted, downing his coffee. The caffeine-laced beverage soothed his nerves.

"Guess."

"Quidditch." .

"Nope."

"Ministry?" he guessed. He noticed she was slightly pale, or at least, as fair as ever.

"Hell no."

"The Weasleys."

The withering, are-you-out-of-your-mind look she shot him was sufficient enough an answer.

"I give up," He conceded, throwing his hands in the air. "So tell me."

"I'm a reporter for the Quibbler," She told him truthfully, smiling slightly. "Remember Luna Lovegood? From Ravenclaw?"

He recalled a blur memory of a blond, dreamy girl—the one with the Butterbeer necklace?

"I think so."

"Her father's the editor. She's my colleague."

"Ask me what I'm doing." He changed the topic.

"Co-captain of Puddlemere United. I do work in the media, you know." She stated with an eye roll, playing with the sugar sachets on the table. Katie had a habit of toying with food items.

"I always thought you would go to Quidditch as well," he remarked, slightly amused as he watch her tip the packet into his empty cup of coffee. It was true. He always imagined that she would join some Quidditch Team after her schooling. She would have gone far, too.

"And give up my sleep?" She scoffed before he could protest. "No thanks. I do volunteer as healer at the Stadium though," She offered.

"Which one?" Oliver immediately asked.

"Near Warwick."

"King's?"

"Yes."

"My team plays there frequently," he accused suspiciously. "I never see you."

"You better hope you don't see me," Katie replied with a grin. "It means that you broke your arm or something."

"I imagine the day will come sooner or later."

Katie laughed, throwing her dark brown curls back. "You will catch me one of these days. Or the other way round." Oliver shot her a look.

"I sincerely hope that was well meant, Katie."

"It is what you think it means." She said mischievously.

"How about the rest of the team?" Oliver suddenly asked, inspired by her presence. "How are they doing?"

"Please tell me that you do keep up with them, Wood." Katie said, deadpanned. "You didn't neglect the rest of them."

"We meet up sometimes," He said weakly. "Like, once a year."

Katie rolled her eyes.

"Angelina is in with the Ministry. Fred is dating her whenever he remembers to stop jinxing her hair purple."

"I am not surprised." He wasn't.

"Alicia is some sort of secretary for a Wizarding enterprise," she continued. "George is dating every woman in show business, which is why he has unlimited access to many concerts."

"You know quite a bit," he observed. "For someone who has been gone for three years."

"There's this wonderful invention called owl post, you know." Katie stated, lifting an eyebrow.

"Ah." He pretended to ponder about it. "Good invention."

"Now tell me, Wood," Katie said, leaning in," Is there a reason why you are staring at my robes?"

"I am admiring how good you look in it." He said brazenly.

"Thank you."

"I am also wondering why of all the colours on the colour wheel, you have to pick Slytherin colours for your attire."

"The whole house colours squabble is getting a little old. Anyway, that is rich coming from you." She mused, folding her arms.

"Implying?"

"Pray tell, what is the colour of Puddlemere's robes?"

"Blue," he admitted. "So?"

"So I am a traitor for wearing green. And you can wear Ravenclaw colours."

"Slytherin's the enemy, not Ravenclaw." He said after a pause. "Besides," He added defensively, "Puddlemere's dark blue, whereas Ravenclaw's colour is a brighter, lighter shade."

"I don't get your logic, Wood." Katie said, shaking her head.

"Good. No one else does." He grinned.

"Of course, I must keep in mind that this is coming from someone who never passed Potions."

"Hey!" Oliver scowled, banging the table, "I was second in class for Transfigurations."

"That's only because McGonagall was afraid you would lead some kind of personal vendetta using the house team."

"So it wasn't my devilish good looks? Darn."

"You know," his companion eyed him shrewdly, "I think you have been hanging out with Fred more than I thought. You sound like him."

"There's a lot more to me than you know about, Katie." Oliver chuckled, shifting closer.

"I'm not sure I plan to find out."

"Oh?"

"Horror flicks are not my thing, Wood." Her comment earned her a light whack on her head. Katie winced. "Ouch. Ouch."

Satisfied, he sat back in a complacent manner, adding casually, "I hope that answer of yours doesn't have a double meaning."

"Which answer? I gave many this morning."

"The one about you not being sure you plan to find out more about me. Or anybody, for that matter."

"Depends what you think it means," she smiled, looking at Oliver. He noticed the wicked smile back on her face.

"Just for the record," He told her smugly. "Going off for three years again won't work."

"Why won't it?" She asked.

"Because I will catch you," Oliver said confidently, looking at her straight in the eye. It wasn't arrogance in his voice—more like certainty. Katie was aware of it.

"Perhaps." She smiled, looking out of the window again.

"Definitely. Even if Alicia and Ange can't."

"Is that why you are staring at my office ID on my chest again?"

"Who says I am staring at that?" Oliver said wickedly, giving her a meaningful look.

"You better," She said coyly. "You won't be seeing it much longer."

"And why not?" He asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Because I am going off to work now," She said, sighing. "I hate Wednesdays."

"Wednesdays blues?" He said sympathetically. He understood.

"Wednesday." She agreed, pausing.

"I think both you and I will come to love it some day," Oliver said thoughtfully.

"Not today," Katie said, the corner of her mouth twitching. "I have to find someone famous to interview."

"You have one in front of you."

"I thought you didn't like doing this kind of publicity."

"I don't. But you are an exception."

"I will try to fit you in my schedule." She replied dismissively.

"You know, most reporters would beg me to give them an interview. I'm surprised you didn't." He told her, watching Katie finish the last of her Firewhiskey. He was surprised and glad—but somewhat disappointed at the same time. He wondered if it was possible to feel such ambivalent emotions.

"I don't have to beg. It's an obligation." She said assuredly.

"An obligation?"

"You are my friend, Wood. I can write you in whenever I want."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then I will make up a few facts of you out of desperation, and wait till you read the article," Katie laughed, amusement in her voice. "But we will save that for later."

"You are going to walk off like that." It was more of an observation than a huffy statement."

"Yes I am."

"Maybe I should try that one day. You make it seem so easy."

"Ah, but I am particularly talented at it. Don't roll your eyes. Goodbye Oliver."

She rose from her seat and left, flashing another wicked grin in his direction as she headed to the door, her dark ringlets bouncing out of sight. Oliver watched as her silhouette disappeared down the street, wondering what on earth possessed him to walk to Three Broomsticks that morning. And thanking it silently.

His coffee was long gone, but Oliver didn't feel like getting up from his seat. Instead, he motioned for the waiter to get him another glass of Firewhiskey, clamouring for the spicy smell. He missed the fiery taste. As the waiter took off to dutifully bring his order Oliver leaned back in his seat once more and smiled to himself, privately enjoying a secret that no one else knew. And he intended to keep it— but not for long. Just for a little while.

It was a Wednesday morning and he had a Firewhiskey in his hand. He looked up at the sky from the window contentedly. The day was beautiful. Life is beautiful.

I hope you enjoyed this. It came off rougher and less vague than I planned though. This is unfortunately going to be a 5 to 6 chapter story, because I did say that it would be short and sweet. Haha I would really appreciate it if you guys can review.

I know I mention like months ago that the third chapter of Maple Syrup will be out soon and truthfully, it was done long ago. Let's blame the world of technologies for killing my laptop and therefore forcing me to transfer all my documents to some random computer. I promise once I get it back I will upload i ASAP.

Review!!

Review!