You had imagined the moment a hundred times on the way there: the two of you landing outside Oliver’s home, him grinning like a lovesick idiot, you laughing against the summer breeze, the warmth of his hand always finding yours.

And honestly? It started exactly like that.

You and Oliver flew side-by-side the whole way, racing part of the route, him pretending to throw you off balance just to hear you squeal, then apologizing with kisses to your cheek.

Both of you carried a sack for the summer trip—yours hanging over your shoulder, his slung around his neck and arm, another gripped in his hand. Before entering his house, he dropped both sacks just long enough to pull you closer and press a warm kiss to your lips.

“Ready?” he murmured. “Should I be?” He grinned. “You’re with me. Of course.”

Then he grabbed the sacks again, wrapped his free arm tightly around your waist, and pushed the door open—

—and both of you froze.

Because standing in the kitchen… Cooking together… Laughing…

Were your mother and Oliver’s father.

You blinked. Oliver blinked. Your mom dropped the wooden spoon. His dad almost set the towel on fire.

“...Mum?” you whispered. “...Dad?” Oliver croaked.

Your mother stepped back from the counter, cheeks red, looking like she’d just been caught kissing someone behind the Hogwarts greenhouse. “This—oh Merlin—this isn’t what it looks like—well, actually—” Oliver’s father stepped forward, voice cracking. “Ollie, son—why are you—when did you—wah—WHAT is happening?”

Your mom clutched her chest. “What are YOU doing here?” “MOM, THIS IS HIS HOUSE.”

Oliver’s arm slipped from your waist. The sacks fell to the floor with a thud. “Dad,” he said slowly, “why is my girlfriend’s mum in our kitchen?”

Your mom spun toward you. “GIRLFRIEND? OLIVER WOOD? THAT OLIVER?”

“Yes! We’ve been dating for nine months!” you yelped.

There was a long, painful pause. Your mother pressed a hand over her eyes. Oliver’s father did the same. Then they exchanged a mortified glance.

Your mom whispered, “You didn’t tell me you had a son.” Oliver’s father whispered back, “You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.”

“Oh this is bad,” Oliver said softly. “This is very, VERY bad.” You elbowed him. “Don’t say it like that, we’re not siblings.” “NOT HELPING,” he hissed, though he looked seconds away from laughing in horror

Oliver dragged his hand down his face. “Dad… why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone? Or that you and Mom separated?” His father’s expression softened, guilt flickering across his features. “I wanted to tell you, Ollie. I just… didn’t want to distract you from school, or Quidditch, or—” “Dad, you divorced Mum!” “Technically… separated,” he muttered.

Your mom looked at you helplessly. “I didn’t want to worry you either. I know you were busy studying—and with Oliver, apparently.”

This whole time, Oliver kept glancing between you, your mom, and his dad like he was trying to figure out if he should laugh, cry, or Disapparate