Katie Bell was never prone to running away from things. She wasn't known for backing down or bailing out. She wasn't known for batting a blind eye or letting things fall on deaf ears. It might've been the fact that her stubborn nature failed her which unsettled her the most as she stepped into her small flat, securing all four locks on her door and muttering several charms before strolling towards the old kitchen. She ran a hand through her hair, trying not to notice the way it trembled slightly or the way her breath ran slightly ragged. It wasn't like her.

As she never walked away she never let another either until the problem had been completely faced. So her certain predicament naturally left her at the very least befuddled. How could she have let him walk off like that? She loved him deeply, no doubt, and had he not admitted the same silently? Granted, she knew that was no testimony of faith, but she knew the red headed man and therefore didn't need a declaration. She simply knew. And yet she let him run off to some far away land.

She leaned against the counter, flicking her wand, hardly watching as the kettle settled itself on the stove. The 19 year old sighed again, wondering when he would return home. Wondering when she could once again make things clear, enshrouded and finally faced. Call it teenage ideals, but she figured that, even despite the raging war, things could still turn out for the best. Despite the past hour….

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"Baby Bell," he sighed, looking anywhere but at her as he coaxed her white knuckled hands to let go of his robes which she was clasping so ferverently. "You know I'm no use here, I've got to go."

"Please don't," she said softly, knowing she had not an inkling of the next time he would come back. Ages maybe, "Charlie, please."

He gave her the type of smile she knew he saved just for her. It wasn't more than a slight tug at the corners of his mouth. It wasn't a blaze of white teeth or a cascade of laughs. It was warm and endearing. He's deep brown eyes shimmered at her, with what she couldn't quite place. He cocked his head a bit to the right, sending locks of wavy red hair fall in front of his face. She loved that. She loved the way he saved such a thing for her, loved the way he always glanced at her through the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn't looking, loved the pink that would tinge his cheeks underneath the countless number of freckles residing there when he realized she was. Loved just about everything except for the fact that he was leaving once again for Romania.

"Stay with me," she pleaded, now gripping his hands. And realizing her slight folly continued "Stay with the Order, here."

"I would if only I could," he smile fell upon her once again but she could not smile back as she would've at any other time. He leaned down towards her, his hair falling in with her golden locks. "You know this dank place isn't for me."

She didn't have to look around Number 12, Grimwald Place to know the honest truth of his statement. But as they stood in the entrance way, he on the brink of vanishing for who knew how long, she was rather desperately tempted to hold him hostage there with her otherwise. "Hardly for me either. What will I do without you?"

"So should I take you with me?" he said lightly and jocularly, and even as, her heart fluttered for a moment. "How would you run the Quibbler from there."

"I hardly care about it."

"And how much do you truly care for me?"

It was at that time she should've screamed to the roof tops how much she loved him. And not in the way he suspected, not as the older brother he had transformed into for her. Yet for once her quick mouth failed her. She couldn't usher up any words to otherwise convince him or explain to him the reason her heart beat so much harder when she caught him glancing at her. When he sent her that smile. When he turned up a game of chess with Ron so he could maybe help her in the kitchen with the newest edition of the Quibbler-due to go to printing in less than an hour. How she thought the essential organ could burst from joy, from ecstasy, from a mere sight of his red hair or deep freckles or anything that remind her of him.

She couldn't voice a word. Instead she just stared up at him, hoping somehow she was conveying something.

"I'll be back Baby Bell, I promise" using her nickname once again, at which she normally would've rebutted. "Sooner than you realize."

And with that he re-shouldered the bag next to him on the floor, and apparated back to a place she was not allowed to know.

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Pouring a mug of tea, she padded over to the couch in the small den, curling up in a ball. She caught sight of the snow floating downwards in the late November night, hoping, somehow, he would be back for Christmas. A false hope she surely knew.

She downed her tea in exactly five gulps.

She didn't feel the burning sensation slip down her throat. Instead she focused her attention to the half-finished Quibbler in front of her.

She had come to be the Editor in Chief for the previously-scowled-upon-now-undeniably-reliable publication nearly immediately after her graduation from Hogwarts. Luna had given her the job after her fathers passing from a Death Eater attack. The lighter blonde was convinced her calling was fictional pieces, of which Katie left a place for in every printing, rather than organizing the actual newspaper. Katherine Ann Bell, under the alias of Shannon O'Shea, was responsible for turning it into the more than adequate replacement of the Daily Prophet, the later publication having been discarded after the Ministry's foul up on the war was revealed to the wizarding public.

Yet that was hardly the end of her work.. Albeit she would inform the public about the Order as much as she was allowed (as delegated by the head members) she kept everyone involved safe, allowing each to pick an alias name from the obituaries. Morbid, perhaps, but sensible. And still there was more. For members across the globe, Katie infused specific articles with codes, encrypted instructions from the Order. She was convinced this value was the only reason they allowed her into the Order at the young age of 17 and two months.

It wasn't until near midnight that the newest edition was completed, everything set in place, aliases, codes, the works. However this slight satisfaction of completion was over shadowed by what was clearly not. So she stayed up the next hour or so, fuddling with the codes once again until she found a spot in Luna's as-always-promised fictional piece to imprint the few words I love you

This hardly sedated her, but it helped. Because of that small gain she was able to slip into bed a little more soundly, knowing that she would impress the same message in every article.

well this was total crap. yeah, im having major writers block and i cant seem to get around it. so leave me a lil something and make it easier to get around. please?

lots o love!