ok, is there a crazy amount of space above this writing? cause is doing something funky to me here and i DONT LIKE IT. but i shall try my best to make things work. and since oliver is officially back from fiji i figured its time for a dedication...
oh the mystery...its glorious
Newly turned 20 year old Katie Bell not-so-gracefully slipped into her seat behind her desk at the Quibbler that Wednesday morning. Staring at the vast amount of papers stacking in front of her, glancing at those stuffed in the shelf next to her, catching the ones strewn on the ground around her, she let out a ferocious sigh. Pulling her wand out of the robe she draped over the back of her chair, she gave it a quick flick and smiled lightly as all and any paper material flew, soared, or floated into organized piles in front of her. She let out an even bigger smile as little labels floated on top of each, reading either 'publish sometime soon', 'save for a blank edition', and 'chuck 'em honey'. The whole process made being editor in chief that much easier. However it wasn't flawless. So kicking off her medium high heels, pulling a leg underneath her (and silently thanking Godirc for letting her to remembering to wear a loose skirt that day so such actions were possible) and pushing up the sleeves of her white blouse, she took up the top article nestling on the first pile.
By noon she was ready to cry. She had always hated Wednesdays simply because the Quibbler sent out its heaviest editions on Thursday. Why you may ask? Luna always told her it was because the stories wouldn't be dry and old by the time the weekend came around so you could still read them over a Sunday breakfast. Katie rolled her eyes as she remembered the usual retort as she always tried to persuade the slightly younger witch to get the new one out on Sunday so she could work from the comfort of her small flat. However she pressed on.
Now, you may be thinking the position of Editor in Chief of the Quibbler was a rather ludicrous occupation. That a respectable job would be that of The Daily Prophet. However since the war started nearly two years ago the Prophet lost all respect from the wizarding public, seeing as it denied the imminent return of the darkest of all wizards. The only other publication to turn to was the Quibbler. However over the past two years it had become a reliable source, Katie made sure of it from the second she was given her position. A position of which she was very fortunate to come upon despite the unfortunate circumstances. Luna Lovegood's father-the previous owner and editor in chief- was one of the first on the casualty list of the Order's and Luna tuned to the newly graduated Griffindor. Luna had dropped out of Hogwarts, as many others had done, figuring she would end up as the owner of the Quibbler even had she completed her schooling. However the day dreamer had been convinced she could never put together editions all that well, and she somehow found out Katie Bell's secret love of writing and hired her practically on the spot.
It was from that spot that Katie wouldn't accept anything other than top-mark journalism to make its way onto her pages. It seemed to be a rather large responsibility, keeping the public informed to her greatest knowledge. However, she would always leave Luna her own column in both the paper.
But it was always the weekly paper that got to Katie. Despite the vast amount of material her team had to write about, there were only so many journalists and so many pages to fill. There was Mary Anne Marley who would write about lighter stuff -the daily things that keep people sane those, like the best restaurant in town for example- but preferred to write about the war that surrounded the population as did Teddy Gold and John King. Then there was Luna who would write about her usual fiction pieces, Ben McKinley writing what struck is whim at the moment and Katie herself would usually throw in an article or two-light or heavy. Yet it was still tricky business, every Order story had to be triple checked by the highest of members and everyone had an alias.
Katie remembered the day she took pages of obituaries and brought them to the Order safe house, laid them out on the kitchen table, and told everyone to pick a new name for the papers. Her team had to write under different names as well, who knew what kind of hands a Quibbler could find its way into? A Death Eater couldn't find someone who was already dead.
"Oooooh Miss Shannon O'Shea?"
Katie looked up as Ben slide into her office, cooing her alias' name in a sing song voice. "What's up Mr. Luke Rochenson? Got me an article to run yet?"
He ran a had through his dark curly hair as his near-black eyes scanned the peeling ceiling of her office. "Not exactly…" he trailed off as he looked back to his few-years younger boss, "But I've caught wind of a nice sinker for you."
Katie slumped her shoulders, "You're piling me with more work instead of getting me an article yourself?"
"Well we all know about your tendencies and figured you'd like to go catch a Quidditch game before next week's printing," he smiled goofily at her.
"You're kidding," she looked at him almost sideways, "there hasn't been a game in months," she stated, the League's decision to hold secret games now and again coming to mind. They had decided taking Quidditch away from the wizarding world would be a blow to the public but running it as usual left to much room for danger. So instead they held hidden matches and let the stats and recaps leaked to the public. It was small but it helped keep some kind of normalcy tugging at the backs of everyone's mind. "Who's playing?"
"Puddlemere and Kenmare."
Katie glanced at the piles still on her desk, she needed a small break from all the paper shuffling after tomorrows print out and she hadn't been near a pitch in years. And she hadn't written a good piece in a month. And she always had a soft spot for Puddlemere. "You've got me a pass I'm hoping?"
"Only for you, my dear," he gave her a friendly wink as he handed her the lanyard. "And have fun, ok? Godric knows the last time you lead a life."
She laughed lightly as he walked out, closing the door behind him, "When was the last time any of us has?" she asked aloud, fingering the pass in her hands before focusing back to the impending deadline.
Friday after work Katie nearly sprinted out of the Quibbler's new home in muggle London. Dressed inconspicuously in dark wash jeans, black kitten heels, a cream colored sweater, she pulled her knee length pea coat around her closer as the November wind whipped around her. Making her way through the busy London streets she ducked her head and hunched her shoulders to avoid a greater chill and the faces of those around her, all the while fingering the pass in her pocket as it rested next to her wand.
Slipping into a busy corner coffee house, she made her way to the back, slipped into the bathroom, gave herself one quick look over and apparated. A smile catching her eye in the mirror.
She watched the game at eye level half way up the stands near the Puddlemere end. Looking around she saw only a sparse amount of spectators and guessed that most were family members, some other reports, and other privileged friends of the league. As she watched one beater pelt one in her direction, she realized that there was no commentator. Her brows furrowed at a moment at this before smoothing out with a new smile, the relative quiet reminded her of Hogwart days with her old team. When the only real sound was the twins' jokes cracking through the empty pitch, her and the other girls laughing at such jokes and the vibrant color of red that would ascend their dear captains face as he yelled at them constantly. Her smile broke into a laugh at old memories and good friends.
As the Puddlemere keeper saved yet another goal, Katie held back from cheering. She wanted to desperately; she hadn't seen Oliver Wood in ages but decided to keep the sacred near-silence of the game. Letting the sound of the Quaffle smacking against leather gloved hands after a few words between chasers, the sound of wood cracking against an angry bludger with a grunt from the beater, and the sound of wind whistling through robes be the only noise vibrating through the stadium.
Yet this didn't stop the keeper from spotting at her. She almost thought the stolid Scotsman passed her a smile before turning his attention back to the field in front of him.
From down the hall, Katie watched as her old captain shuffled his way out of the locker room, his head ducked as he pushed something into the sports bag in his hand.
"Wanna do a favor for an old friend?"
He looked up, startled to hear her voice ringing through the small hall, "Katie Bell?" he asked with a knowing smile, one of which she returned. "So now you only come and see me when you need a story?"
She shrugged her shoulders as she made her way over, digging into the bag slung over her shoulder, "You mind a quick quill?"
"Well hello to you to," he quirked an eyebrow down at her.
She let out a small sigh with a light laugh, "Hey'a capt'n. How's life been treating you lately? Wife and kids good? Got time to hang around for a pass or two for old times sake or do you just wanna sign my chest now?"
"It's been alright-you know I'm not married-maybe and not if that's it," he smirked.
"Oh touché," she smiled crookedly as she let the quick quill and pad float out of her bag. "So, let's start off easy, ok?" she asked only to start again before he answered, "How you think the game went despite the loss? And ignore the quill Oliver," she said easily as his eyes watched it dart across the page.
"Well," he ran a hand through his perpetually messy brown hair before leaving it at the nape of his neck, "A loss is never easy to carry but Kenmare was more on top of their game this time."
"Speaking of being on top of things..." she smiled coyly and he threw her a pointed look, "how's the wizarding world's most eligible bachelor love life going these days?"
"Bell…" he trailed off, affectionately using her last name.
"What?" she asked, "Don't get shy on me now."
"I thought you said we'd start off easy," he deflected.
"Well we're gonna get rough now," The words barely got out of her mouth before she mentally mauled herself as Oliver stammered something flabbergasted.
"Katie-…-wha…?-Bell….," he sighed in defeat, "What is that thing writing?" he pointed to the quick quill as it continued to dash across the page.
"I told you to just ignore it Ol'-"
"No, look," he insisted.
With a sigh and a slight roll of the eyes she grabbed the pad out of the air.
Hotsman Scotsman Oliver Wood provocatively groans our dear reporters last name as mentions of his love life comes up before proceeding to stumble and stammer as the subject is pushed farther. No doubt thinking of past escapades with his previous chaser-
"That was only ONCE!" Katie shrieked at the quill which just swayed in front of her. "Cross it out and this time write what's said." With a sigh she let the pad float out of her hands again to see her ex-captain giving her one of those looks. "Ok," she said, tugging at sleeve of her jacket before resettling it on her shoulders, "Where were we?"
"I do believe you were about to clarify about that 'once'," he supplied, thumbing his jaw line conspiratorially. "When was that again?"
"My fifth year, your seventh-and scratch that too," she instructed the quill. "But once again-How's the Mrs.?"
"Katie…." he sighed.
"I didn't say it was yours."
"Touché."
She gave him a smile before checking the pad again.
It seems the smile cast between former teammates leaves a spark previously neglected for the past five years a chance to rise again. A sigh of names and it rises into a mighty flame-
"Will you stop that!" she nearly shrieked, stomping her foot on the cold ground, leaving a sound to echo around them.
"What?"
-our dear reporter, embarrassed by the lust and love living so strong within her attractive 5'7" frame, denies that either even exist for the devilishly handsome Oliver Wood of whom she had a terrific snog back in school.
"I never said that!"
"So it was terrific?" Oliver asked, peering over her shoulder, no doubt a smirk firmly in place.
-as if he didn't know. However what he never knew was that Katie-dearest had a crush on him ever since her second year-despite the denials to Angelina and Alicia-and still stays strong even into her 20's. With old pictures tacked and taped up in her office she has a chance to relive the wonderful days where she could grab her Hotsman Scotsman of a captain and drag him into any broom cupboard and have her racy way with him. Oh if only the daydreams were true-
"AHEE!" she shrieked at the last few lines, making a desperate grab for the floating pad. "I took those down last week you little-" she didn't finish as she made another grab for it as it escaped her fingers once again. "GET BACK HERE!" she screamed as it fluttered near the ceiling.
"Losing you're touch Bell-?"
"What does THAT mean?" she asked, spinning on her kitten heels to glare up at her former captain. Quite disheveled with her hair askew, her jacket just clinging to the rim of her shoulders and her eyes wide with a large mix of emotions-one of which easily identifiable as terrified embarrassment
"What happened to those chaser reflects of yours?" he quirked an eyebrow at her.
"I guess they disappeared in the absence of you throwing random objects at me as I try to go about my day," she said somewhat shyly, still throwing dirty looks at the pad and quill, the later of which was still writing feverently. "Wanna do a favor for an old friend?" she asked sweetly enough.
"If I recall correctly," he mused jocularly, "your wand is fully functional. Or are you just trying to find some long-dead chivalry for that quill of yours to scribble about?"
Katie pulled her wand out of her pocket, turned sideways and flicked the piece of oak towards the promiscuous objects, "No need to be so mocking about it," she said casually as they landed back in her bag, of which she closed soundly. "You know," she mused in mock fashion as he had so recently done, "I'm sure I have enough to get a column through." She smiled curtly at him, "See you around Wood."
And with that she made her way down the hall, spinning on her kitten heels once again. She followed the flights of stairs downwards and once again found herself outside in cold November weather. Tightening her grip around her jacket, she didn't remember it being that cold when she walked into the stadium. She didn't recognize that her quick quill and pad had once again found it's way out of her bag.
"Hope of what?" she questioned aloudisn't it obvious? Old love once lost now found
"Oh please," she laughed, "That's ludicrous."
well than love might as well be ludicrous
"Love is ludicrous," she pointed out, "More than half the time it lets you down and falls apart. Then where are you left? With less than what you started with because now you've lost hope and confidence."
just because it's happened once doesn't mean it's going to happen again
"Old habits die hard."
well incase you didn't notice, my dear reporter, one of your earthly, old habits is a continuos desire for that Scotsman. Another of which would be stubborness which has only prolonged the previous to absurd lengths.
"I'm not getting into this with you," she reprimanded as she drew closer and closer to the apparation point. "It's ridiculous to think that anything of the likes would possibly happen. So if you could please get back in here that's be great," she nearly spit as she held open the lips of her messenger bag. She thought she caught an almost-sigh out of her quill before floating back in, grateful however that it decided to listen to her. So with long strides she continued on."Hey Bell!"
Looking over her shoulder she caught the rare sight of Oliver Wood racing towards her.
"Well," she smiled coyly, crossing her arms in front of her, "so you know I'm quite certain chivalry is dead, no need to see me off."
He gave her an impish smile, "Wanna do a favor for an old friend?"
"Hmm," she shrugged her shoulders in relative indifference. "What exactly does it entail?"
"Well, for starts I was thinking some mozzarella sticks and perhaps some spaghetti afterwards," he pondered, "Spaghetti's still your favorite right?"
"Naturally," she answered, "Though I'm not sure I follow my dear captain."
"Come to dinner with me this Saturday night and I promise to give you that favor you previously asked for," he smiled down at her.
"And exactly which favor was that?" she queried.
"The one about completing daydreams."
Her head snapped back up to him. "I never tried to cash in on that one?"
"Perhaps," he shrugged, his hand finding hers, "but I do think that quick quill might've mentioned it."
Wow, I feel the need to dedicate this to several people at once mainly because they rock my world majorly. But I got to stick to the line up, you guys can't be double dipping you know. Hahaha. So this is for formerlyknownasone. The girl is freaking amazing and a joy to swap emails and work with. Totally as much as an awesome friend as she is a writer. So here ya go girl.
Lots o love!
OH! And PS. Apparently fred and george now have their own filters (I know, who knew?) so yeah, apparently all of the KBFW stories are hiding under the george's filter so I'm's thinking this needs to be either reversed or notified. I myself am going to go back and put freddy where he so deserves. haha haha. Just a heads up I guess.