"Katie? Is that you?"
The hesitant voice made her spin around on her bar stool, keeping close hold of her tumbler of firewhiskey. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the stocky man in front of her, still dressed in slightly muddy Quidditch robes.
"Oliver?" she whispered in disbelief, her firewhiskey nearly slipping from her hands before he took the glass from her and set it on the counter.
"Yeah," he smiled, a rogue-ish quirk of her lips that still never failed to make her heart beat just a little bit faster. "Been forever, hasn't it?"
He sat down next to her, ordered the same, and turned back to her. Around her, conversations rose and fell, going on as if nothing had happened. As if one of the best Keepers Puddlemere United had ever seen hadn't just walked into a dingy London pub.
"How've you been?" she asked, taking another gulp of firewhiskey. It burned as always, slaking her throat with liquid fire.
"All right, I suppose," he said, tracing the rim of his glass with his finger. "Busy. And you?"
"Oh, this and that," Katie laughed, her voice just the slightest bit too brittle, the glitter in her eyes too bright to be anything but tears.
"Katie?" Oliver's gaze sharpened. "What's wrong?"
Perceptive as always, Katie thought bitterly as she fortified herself with another sip.
"Nothing," she said, trying to sound breezy, but only sounding fake. Story of her life.
"Something obviously is," Oliver said gently.
"Oh, you know," Katie shrugged. "What's a girl to do when she's out of a job, she'll be homeless at the end of the week, and there's no chance of her getting another job in her field because her knee's too bloody out of commission to ever play Quidditch again?" Tears prickled the backs of her eyes as she recalled the doctor's somber pronouncement.
I'm sorry, Miss Bell. I'm afraid the damage is permanent.
"What?" Oliver exclaimed in shock. "Oh, Katie." To her surprise, he enfolded her in his arms, pressing her so tightly against himself, she nearly over-balanced on her stool.
"Does anyone know?" he asked, brown eyes burning into hers. She shook her head.
"I can't-I can't tell people," she whispered. "I can't stand the pity and the looks and the-no, no one else knows."
"But I do," Oliver pointed out.
"I don't mind if you do," Katie said, and realised it was true.
