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The light streaming in from the windows woke me early. I cursed the cloudlessness outside. Oliver, however, didn’t notice and snored on. At least until I poked him with the end of my finger.

We were on the cot, his arms wrapped around me. I was mostly on top of him, my head resting on his chest, arm and foot draped over his body lazily. We had been too exhausted to do anything other than fall asleep the previous night.

“What?” Oliver mumbled in his gruff morning voice, pulling his arms tight around me as he stretched his muscles. “I’m sleeping.”

“I can tell.” I nuzzled into his chest sleepily, trying to block out the light. Unfortunately, since it was a lighthouse, that was impossible. Or nearly impossible, since I pushed my hair around my face and kissed Oliver’s bare chest lightly. He was a little sweaty, probably from having a naked girl draped over him half the damn night.

“Shh. Sleeping.”

I snickered, fingers moving down his sides lightly. “We going to just stay here all day then?” I mused. “Skip breakfast and lunch?”

“We talked yesterday,” he said, not opening his eyes or moving. “Today is lounge around while we have no clothes on day.”

“How long have you been planning this day?”

His hands moved up my back. “Too long.”

I laughed, tilting my head up so my chin could rest on his chest. My eyes found the groggy eyes of Oliver Wood. He was smirking arrogantly. A very familiar smirk by now. “I’m pretty sure Dad is expecting me home today,” I said. “That isn’t to say we have to rush off or anything.”

“Good.” Oliver’s hands moved to my hips, pulling me up so I could straddle him. His lips found mine almost too quickly. Not that I minded. My breath caught in my throat, hair spilling onto his chest and shoulders. “I love you,” he mumbled into my lips.

“You’re only saying that because I’m naked,” I said, biting down on his bottom lip gently and pulling it away with my teeth.

He let out a very uncharacteristic groan. “Half because you’re naked,” he said, her brown eyes full of fire. “Half because I do. And another half because I want you.”

“Too many halves,” I said, my lips moving to his jaw-line as I placed a small line of kisses to his neck. His grip tightened on my hips.

“We’re never leaving.” He shoved my arms out from under me, which I was using to hold myself up, and grabbed me, kissing me hard. My stomach squirmed with nerves, rational thought gone.

At least this time I didn’t have to shed the clothes that only seemed to be in the way.


We didn’t make it home until the early afternoon and I was careful to prepare my hair ahead of time. Oliver poked fun of my post-sex hair for forty-five minutes after we had already dressed. Dad was on the couch with a Quidditch Weekly and the television on mute. He glanced up when we walked through the door.

“Hey, Dad,” I said with a smile, leaning over the couch to kiss his cheek. “Anything good?” I motioned to the magazine.

“Your Harpies are a favorite for the playoffs,” he said with a shrug. “And Oliver, Puddlemere is a favorite too. Higher than the Harpies. I think it’s because your picture is in there.” He laughed.

“It’s this pretty face.” Oliver ruffled my hair and vanished into the kitchen.

“You have a good time?” Dad’s brows rose.

I smiled. “I did,” I replied. “We talked. It was good.”

He stared at me for a while. Like he was staring right through me.

Did he know?

Oh Godric, did he know Oliver and I were sleeping together?

Was he going to kill me? Or less worse, Oliver?

“Good,” Dad replied at last, going back to his magazine. “I was afraid you’d go on another cleaning spree and make me eat off the counters or something. Or make eggs. Jane, they just weren’t very good.”

Oh, he knew. I saw the brief flush on his cheeks and the subject change and the way he was looking at the page but not actually reading it.


It was my hair. It had to be my hair.

I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed Oliver by the collar, pulling him away from the fridge. “He knows,” I hissed, biting my bottom lip nervously.

“About what? The Harpies? Jane, it was one wardrobe malfunction, I doubt he’ll tell you to stop being a fan—“

“No,” I said impatiently. “He knows we’re sleeping together.”

“It was your hair.”

I gaped at him. “I fixed it!” I said.

“Jane?” Dad called from the other room. “Get me a water? There’s lemon in there too.”

Oliver leaned down. “You think he knows?”

“I know he does.” I grabbed a glass and poured the water. “He does. I’m so screwed.”

Oliver snickered.

“Not the time.” I kicked him and tossed a slice of lemon in, retreating back to the living room. Oliver didn’t follow. Probably because he was afraid of getting A-K’ed by my father.

“Thanks, Pumpkin.” He smiled up at me. “You ready for that game then?”

“Harpies?” I sank down next to him, careful to flatten my hair beforehand. He nodded. “You going to wear one of my shirts?”

“Fat chance.” Dad dog-eared his page in the magazine and tossed it onto the coffee table. “But those seats your friends got us don’t sound so bad, do they?”

“I’m excited.” I grinned. Nervously.

Oliver shuffled out, his eyes nowhere near my father. His cheeks were red, somewhat of a rare occurrence for Oliver Wood. Then again, Libby’s dad probably never found out when he and Libby were shagging. Okay, they weren’t, but all the same.

“I’m going to get going then,” Oliver said with a heavy nod. “I have a team meeting tonight to go over the new drill set we have starting next week.” He cleared his throat. “Pleasure, Mr. Perry.”

Dad shook his hand. Then raised a skeptical brow.

“Jane—good talk.” He kissed me on the cheek and left. Fast.

I groaned.

Dad nudged me with his foot. “You using protection?”

The whine that left my lips was very mature. Seriously. So mature it sounded like it came from an of-age wizard. “I do not want to talk about this.”

“You’re not getting up or going to a Harpies match until you answer me.” He didn’t look mad, but he did look serious. “Are you using protection?”

“Yes,” I grumbled, face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“And he’s not pressuring you into anything?”

“No, he’s not,” I said in the same grumble, eyes directed at the carpeting.

“Does he love you?”


“He does?”


Dad let out a long sigh. “I hate that I can’t even lecture you since I met your Mum at Hogwarts. Unacceptable. I need more parenting leverage.” He leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Jane, I want you to make smart choices. Though I still think you’re too young, I can’t do much to stop you. I just need you to use protection, be smart, and only do this if you’re ready. Because even though it seems like fun without clothes, it carries a lot of weight and responsibility and can change the relationship two people have forever.”

Dad rarely gave me talks like this. Usually they were laced with humor or smirks or one of us tickling the other. But this was very serious. Very NEWT level.

“I know,” I said, finally bringing my eyes to meet his. “I’m being responsible. And careful. And…all that stuff.” My fingers were shaky. He noticed and grabbed my hand.

“I trust you, Jane,” Dad said quietly, squeezing my hand. “It’s nice to know I won’t be having any mini-Jane’s running around the house. I only just started to catch up with you. I don’t need to go buy that book I saw the other day about spoiling grandkids. Too soon.”

I laughed. “So Harpies, huh?”

“You’re lucky I love you so much. They aren’t even that good.”

I rolled my eyes. “You just wait until your entire Christmas present is Harpies shit.” I grinned at him and stood up. “Thanks for not being mad and lecturing me about the proper use of the charm and other awkward things.”

“You live with three other girls,” Dad said, shrugging. “I’m sure you have gossiped about sex long enough. I’m not far off, though am I? You haven’t been sexually active for like three years, have you?”

“No,” I said, laughing and flushing. “No, you’re very close.” I shot him a smile and disappeared to find my Harpies shirt.


The game was wild, as any Quidditch game is. The crowd tried and failed many attempts at the wave, before finally getting it all the way around. Which was forgotten when the Harpies scored. They were playing the Falcons, a team known for heavy-hitting and ruthlessness. They didn’t disappoint. Following an in-unison crowd cringe, a reserve was called in to play Chaser.

Dad and I stood through the game, me in my Harpies shirt and him in his Tornadoes shirt even though the Tornadoes weren’t playing. It was just because he was a git. Quidditch seemed to bring him back to his element as he cheered, shouting obscenities at the refs which made quite a few girls around us giggle. Gag. Stop making eyes at my father.

We finally fell into our seats when a timeout was called and I grabbed the candy we had long-abandoned in favor of shouting. I offered him a licorice.

“Good game,” I said with a nod.

“Better if the Harpies weren’t playing,” he teased. I nudged him.

I bit into the candy, letting it stick out of my mouth like a floppy cigar. We were silent, but it was my father and me. We could only stay silent for so long. And it wasn’t very long. “So you seen Lou?”

He frowned. “Once,” he replied, not meeting my eyes. He went for another candy. “We passed in the street. She didn’t look at me.”

Memory charm, I thought. Very well-done memory charm if I do say so myself.

“I think it’s time for you to move on.”

“It’s been--it hasn’t even been that long,” Dad said. He stole the bag.

“It’s been long enough.” I stretched my back, hearing a pop and paused while a few people shuffled past us back to their seats with large red and white popcorn containers. “You just have to move on. I know she made you happy, but you’re you and you could have any girl in the world.”

He arched a brow.

“Not anyone at this game,” I said with a laugh, noticing the stares he was getting. Was my father attractive? Gross. Alicia started this damn mess.

Dad laughed, munching on the candy. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I suppose I’ve been watching one too many game reruns, hmm?”

“You watched the 1984 Cup Final six times,” I insisted. “You’re cut off. I’m not saying you need to go on dates or find someone else because, let’s face it, you’re fine on your own, but I am saying you need to move past this and go on with your life. Start focusing on yourself again. Or focusing on me. I need to be spoiled.”

“You know,” Dad said with a laugh, “That’s exactly what your mother told me once.”

“What, to focus on me? When?”

“No, no. It was right after we left Hogwarts,” he said, glancing out at the pitch. The teams were huddled in two circles. “She wanted to break up so she could go travel. And she didn’t want to string me along just in case. So we broke up for a couple weeks and she came home to visit after a short trip to Italy studying and she told me to focus on myself.” He chuckled.

“When did you guys get back together?”

“She didn’t last another month,” he said. There was a twinkle in his eyes he always got when he talked about Mum. “Came back crying one day saying some bloke was mean to her. The poor thing. I slammed the door in her face and told her to focus on herself.” He smirked. “Then I opened it and grabbed her and kissed her like I’d never kissed anyone.”

As much as I didn’t want to imagine my parents snogging, it was a comforting thought. Love. A real love. I just wished I’d really known her. She sounded amazing.

“Well, great minds think alike,” I said with a small smile.

“Alike, but not the same.” He rested his hand on mine, glancing over. “You’re you, Jane. And that’s the most important thing to remember. You have some of her qualities. Your adoration for me being the best of those.” He squeezed my hand. “But you have your own personality, your own views, and your own serious stubbornness I have to deal with on a daily basis.”

I didn’t exactly know how to reply, so I didn’t.

“You’re going to do amazing things,” he continued. “Because you’re my daughter and I raised you to know you are capable of anything. And everything.”

I met his eyes for a moment. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Except this Harpies fan nonsense. You need to grow out of that right away.”

I laughed just as the players took to the sky again and we leapt to our feet, hands never drifting apart.



“So he knows we’re having sex?”


“And he doesn’t want to kill me?”


“And you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Oliver let out a long sigh. We were in his apartment, both standing over the stove cooking. Well, I was watching and stirring with my wand when he told me to. He had practice that morning so his evening was free and we decided to do dinner. Home-cooked dinner. We were so domestic.

He adjusted the heating on the burner and wrapped his arm around my middle. “You said you got letters this morning,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Who were they from?”

I nodded and leaned against his body, doing my part by swirling my wand over the soup. “Ang wrote me actually,” she said. “She still hasn’t told Fred. She keeps thinking about it and then freaking out. She thinks he’ll freak out. But she said she did bring up the charm though. And he’s using it.” I leaned down and smelled the soup. Amazing. “And I got one from Valerie too. She wants me to go to your next match and write a tiny blurb. Apparently she wants it to be funny.”

“Funny?” he said. “Jane Perry, you don’t have a funny bone in your body.”

I elbowed him.

“Stubborn, arrogant, and snarky, yes. Funny? Not at all.”

“Shut up. You love me.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Oliver teased, breaking my soup-concentration to kiss me. “When do you think she’ll tell Fred?”

“Hopefully when I’m there so I can see his reaction.”

“You think he’ll run?”

“Of course not.” I shrugged. “But I think the wince will be comical.” I rested my head against his shoulder for a moment. The flat was warm, mostly because the stove had been on for a while. “When are we seeing them again?”

“When do you want to see them?” he asked.

“Every day.”

Oliver put the lid on the soup and steered me away, grabbing my legs and hoisting me up onto the counter. He stood between my legs and put his arms around me. “Soon then? School starts up soon. You’ll see them so often you’ll get sick of them. Spend time with me first.”

“I am,” I said with a grin. “Right now.” I wrapped my legs around his torso and pulled him tighter against me, resting my head against his chest.

“Not enough time.” I felt him kiss the top of my head as he held me there.

That was, until the soup boiled over, he lept back, and I laughed at his yelp. I made my way into the living room as he mopped things up and arched a brow. “Another letter,” I said, moving to the window to let the owl in. “You expecting something?”

“Not unless it’s my mother giving me a wardrobe list for this weekend.”

“What’s this weekend?”

“Dinner.” I could hear the groan in his voice. “You coming with me?”

“Would have been nice to know about,” I said, laughing as I gave the owl a little pat on the head and took the envelope. “Do they still think I poisoned you?”

“No. Well, I’m sure they want you to have.”

I scoffed, tearing open the letter. “Not from your mother,” I called.



“Bloody Dodger?” Oliver cried. “No way. Send it back.”


I miss you. Terribly. I feel like the spa was ages ago and I hope you haven’t told too many people because I can’t have people knowing a reserve Magpies player went to a spa. Don’t tell anyone about that facial either. My skin has been rather fresh lately. Come over and give me a facial. I won’t tell Wood. Green tea, please.

Madeline and I have been seeing a little more of each other lately. The problem is, she gets awkward in public. She’s bright and charming and confident, but I think she feels like people are staring at her and she hates silence in conversation. I don’t mind it. Gives me time to admire her.

So I have a favor to ask you.

Would you and Wood (eugh) go on a double-date with us? I know that sounds insufferable and silly, especially considering you’ve been my girlfriend (twice), but it would really help me out. I would ask one of the other girls, but let me point out that would go horrible. Alicia would call me “dodger” repeatedly, Fred would ask Madeline to pull his finger, and George and Katie are still being awkward enough for themselves. I don’t need that to leak out onto Madeline.

Would you do that?

I know Wood will probably make a loud, disgruntled noise. Give him time to let that out. And then write back as soon as possible.

You’re the best,


I reread the letter twice before padding back into the kitchen. Oliver had the soup cleaned up and it was cooking at a low temperature on the stove. He had bread in the toaster as well.

“Roger wants to go on a date.” I smirked.

“What?” he snapped. “I know that good-for-nothing-son-of-a-bitch-”

“With you.”

He choked. “What?”

I laughed loudly, leaning on my toes to give him a brief kiss. “He wants to go on a double date, calm down.” I kissed him again, mostly because I enjoyed kissing him.

“Absolutely not,” Oliver said, pulling away before pecking me again. He turned back to the stove, wiping his hands on the hems of his jeans. “He’s still in love with you.”

“Oliver, Roger was never in love with me. We dated twice. He was my boyfriend. Love was never involved.” I placed the letter on the counter and leaned against it. “Now quit being a jealous twit and tell me what color dress I should wear. I’m thinking a neutral. Beige or something.”

“You should wear a show-stopper.” His lips curled into a smirk as he wiped his hands again. This time nervously.

“You just want everyone to gawk at me,” I replied. “And I’m fairly certain Madeline could wear torn jeans and a beret and still look better than every girl in the room.”

He dipped his finger into the soup and tasted it, nodding before turning the flame off. “Untrue. You’re always the most beautiful girl in the room.” Oliver moved the pan to a cold burner and grabbed two bowls from the cabinet. “You just have no idea. Which I think is far more attractive than the girls who know and flaunt it.”

“You’d think warts were attractive on me.” Eye roll.

“You have them? Let me see. I bet they’re hot.”

“Just serve the soup, Wood. I have to figure out what I’m wearing to your parents’ for dinner. What color says I-didn’t-poison-your-son-please-love-me the best?”

Oliver ladled the soup into each bowl. “Blue. Blue is definitely a I’m-not-riffraff color.”


I picked blue. A nice, cool shade of navy blue. The dress was cut high and went just below my knees, paired with shoes in a similar shade. Oliver insisted I wear my hair down. He said it made me look less threatening.

Yes, because I threatened people while I had my hair up all the time. Maybe it was a Quidditch thing. Or a he-just-wanted-to-gawk-at-me thing. Leave it to Oliver Wood.

The days leading up to the dinner had remained uneventful. I exchanged letters with Roger confirming an upcoming date for the double-date, looked up a bunch of information on Madeline so I had something to talk about, and wrote back and forth with Angelina about how I insisted on being there to see Fred’s reaction. I was told to sod off several times.

Alicia and Lee were doing fine. He was on another trip with his family for a few days, but since Alicia and her uncle usually spent a week fixing up the house before she went back to school, it didn’t phase her. She was the commander and chief of roof renovations. Her mother hadn’t been in contact. She didn’t seem to mind, but I knew she did.

According to Katie, her and George had gone on a few dates, but still weren’t together. They didn’t want to rush back into something too fast. But they were hanging out often (much to Fred’s dislike, as he apparently walked in on them snogging more than once) and things were going well.

I had the chance to write all three girls letters on my time with Oliver. How we went to the lighthouse and what we talked about. The short version. I might have also detailed his stomach muscles and the way he stretched when he yawned. It wasn’t my fault it was so attractive. I finally had something to brag about. I was going to take advantage of it. And I did.

Fred also wrote me a letter asking about the recipe for pancakes my dad used to make us years ago. It was a well-thought-out letter. Obviously.

When the maid answered the door, I stepped back. Oliver grabbed my hand.

“Your parents are in the sitting room,” she said, taking my bag and Oliver’s suit jacket. I wished she wouldn’t take my bag. I needed something to fiddle with.

Must force self not to peel off nail polish.

Mrs. Wood was on one of the sofas with a martini in her hand, swirling it. She had on a tight gold dress with shiny gold jewelry which probably clanged when she walked. “Oliver,” she said, smiling, but not getting up. “How are you, dear? Did you get my letter?”

“I did.” Oliver let go of my hand and leaned down, giving his mother a kiss on each cheek. “Thank you for suggesting friendship circles for me to try out.”

What a woman.

“I’m only concerned for your safety and well-being.” She took a large sip of her drink and set it on the coffee table. “Jane. How are you?”

“Fine. Thank you.” I twirled strands of hair around my index finger.

“Good.” Mrs. Wood turned back to Oliver and started asking him about his practice schedule.

I came to the conclusion I needed to meet that fangirl and push her off something tall. Right before Libby, Mandy, and Bridget. It had been within my grasp, the long-awaited approval of Mrs. Wood for me to be with her son. But of course then he had to go and get poisoned by a chocolate that came from the tips of my fingers and all was lost. She hated me again and I was stuck feeling like my stomach would explode at the sight of her Godzilla-esque wedding ring. Made George’s ring look like a piece of New Years glitter.

Mr. Wood walked in moments later. He was just as tall and intimidating as I remembrred, buttoned into a black suit and tie. Without glancing over, he made his way to the bar and poured a large brandy. Then took a sip. I tried to imagine him as a Quidditch player once upon a time, but the only thing he struck me as was a menacing insurance agent or a food critic who hated everything. I couldn’t picture the smile Quidditch so often brought Oliver’s lips.

“Atticus,” Mrs. Wood said, still beaming, “Oliver is here. Doesn’t he look handsome?”

“I’m glad he wore something suitable.” Mr. Wood tipped back his glass and then disappeared into the dining room without giving me a glance.

If Fred had been there, he would have made a joke about Oliver being in a suit. Suitable.

My mouth was already dry and my ring finger’s nail polish had chipped. They’d never like me. At least I could enjoy the food. If it wasn’t dry and tasteless.

Like the level of humor in the room.


The salad was too salty, but I ate it. The pork too tough, but I ate it. The vegetables just as terrible as they had been at the start of the summer, but I ate those as well. I finished everything on my plate. Neither of Oliver’s parents glanced in my direction during dinner. Mrs. Wood focused on Oliver’s handsome attire and how it brought out his eyes and how any girl would be lucky to have him. Seemed her tune had changed since the event.

Mr. Wood grunted in response, ate his food (which I noticed looked a lot less dry and tough than mine), and focused on a pile of papers at his left. Eventually as we started in on the sorbet, he straightened the pile, cleared his throat, and looked at Oliver. This instantly worried me.

Maybe he’d announce his decision to sell insurance.

“I’m proud of you,” Mr. Wood said after a moment. Oliver’s brows raised. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself on a nameless team and you’ve attracted a lot of media attention. And the team has been winning. Of course, this streak can only last so long, but as long as it does, I support you.”

“And when the streak ends?” Oliver’s fingers tightened on the tablecloth.

“Then we’ll see. As long as you keep striving to reach your potential.”

“Can you tell me why every time we have a dinner or sit in the same room together all you focus on is my potential, how I haven’t reached it, and how I’m still a bloody failure?”

Mrs. Wood cleared her throat. “Now, boys,” she said, “Let’s not get into this now, hmm?”

Instead, how about riffraff?

“Because you’re on Puddlemere United!” Mr. Wood said in his boomy voice. “You can only be so good playing for them!”

“We beat the Magpies!” Oliver snapped back. “We’ve been beating teams left and right!”

“You’ve played three real games. Don’t give me that.”

Oliver set his napkin on the table.

“Oliver.” I grabbed his hand, giving him a look that suggested he not lose his temper.

“Oh, stay out of this,” Mrs. Wood said, rolling her eyes. “Boys. I’m serious.”

Oliver’s chair almost fell over when he stood. “Do not tell Jane what to do,” he said. “I thought after this whole summer--after everything I’ve done--you’d actually be happy for me. But I was wrong. It was clearly a mistake coming here.” He took a drink of his wine, slamming it back on the table. Some spilled onto the cloth. “Have a good evening wallowing in your disappointment for your only son.”

“Do not walk out that door,” Mr. Wood snapped.

“Why not? Because you’ll be disappointed that I don’t think for myself?” Oliver rolled his eyes and tugged me to my feet. Of course he had to bail during the sorbet, the first delicious thing of the evening. “We’re leaving. Don’t bother owling.” He looked at his mother. “And all of those people in that letter are complete jackasses. I wouldn’t be caught dead socializing with them, especially for me well-being.” He turned and marched out of the room, me following since he had a hold of me.

The maid was startled when we showed up in the foyer, stuffing a pack of cigarettes back into her pocket.

“We’ll get them,” Oliver said, opening the closet. He tossed me my bag and shrugged his jacket on.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, standing on my toes to kiss his cheek.

“Where’re you going? We’re leaving.”

“I just--I’m going to use the loo.” I shot Oliver a charming smile and turned, walking back into the dining room. Mrs. Wood had poured herself another martini, her eyes downcast. Mr. Wood was shuffling through the papers so fast it was amazing to know he wasn’t bleeding from paper cuts.

They looked up in unison. And blinked.

“Look,” I said breathlessly. I was standing before them in a cocktail dress, waves of curls around my shoulder. Fists balled at my sides. Face flushed. “You have no right to speak to Oliver the way you do.”

Mr. Wood snorted. “Who are you to--”

“Nope,” I interrupted. “I’m talking. It’s time someone stood up to you because clearly Oliver is the only one and you dismiss him like he’s four years old.” I took a breath, looking between both of them because looking them in the eyes would send me into a fluttery mess. “Oliver has done so much over the years. He has captained Quidditch teams to the Cup over and over again. He has dictated those teams into not only being able to play well, but also becoming a machine to win no matter what. He molded those teams into people who could not only play well, but could showcase their talents if they wanted to play professionally, as his dream had always been. And why was that his dream? Because his bloody father pressured him into it so much!” Another breath. Mr. Wood’s face was flushed with anger. “Because his father failed at it and thrust it upon Oliver to live vicariously through him! That’s not Oliver’s damn fault! It’s not and it never will be! And you know what? He shouldn’t give two shits what you think since you’re so horrible for him and want some life for him that you never got! But he does. He gives a shit--Godric knows why--and all you do is cut him down. Don’t you see what he’s done? Hogwarts students don’t just get signed right out of school. He was eighteen and had only played against three other Houses. Yet he is a professional. He has been in various spreads of Quidditch magazines. He has jerseys with his last name on the back. He’s winning and Puddlemere is being called the upset team of the year. I was tidying up and saw a request for a full two page interview in Quidditch-effing-Weekly! Don’t you get it? Oliver did this his own way. He’s making a name for himself his own way and he loves it. So you’d better stop talking to him like he’s worthless because not only are you going to throw him off the game he does have, but you’re going to ruin everything for him AND you!” I took one last, deep breath. “And I know you bloody hate me but I couldn’t give two shits at this point because Oliver is much more welcome in my home with my family than in his own home. You can wish me away all you want, but I’m not going anywhere, Oliver is not going to stop playing for Puddlemere, and at this rate you won’t even see your son with the Cup!”

At that point, I turned, face flushed, and rushed out of the dining room before they had a chance to hex me, overturn a table, or kill me off. Poison would probably be too slow. Oliver stared at me, confused, in the foyer. The maid was on the doorstep smoking. I didn’t blame her.

“Fall in?”

“Not funny.” I smirked, taking his hand. Part of me wanted to ask the maid for a cigarette I was so shaken up. “Let’s go hang out with my dad. He can give you advice on how to like Roger.”

“Don’t tell me he likes Dodger too?”

“Everyone does,” I teased, heart still racing. “Don’t worry. He’ll grow on you.”

“Maybe. Unless you start giving him facials.” He put on a high voice as we neared the gate. “Green tea, please.”

I shoved him into the bushes.


A/N: Oh, Jane. Just have to get the last word, don't you? Of course you do ;) Anyway, I typed my little heart out to get this into the queue on time so I hope everyone enjoyed it! I am currently in my office at work munching on a hashbrown and making sure this gets up for all of you lovelies. Who I adore & appreciate & wanna snuggle. 

So anyway, any thoughts on the double-date? On Oliver and Jane? On if Mr. Perry is going to move on and get over Lou? 

I'd put an "up next" but I don't have my notes on me. I'm pretty sure the double-date is in the next chap...hopefully an appearance by the rest of the crew...

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