Coming Home, Now

Coming Home, Now

Oliver Wood walked through his front door for the first time in a week. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon in March and the house was quiet. He flung his satchel and the sack full of presents in the front hallway. “Hey Lucy, I’m home!” he sang out.

He had always hated traveling for work; now that he was a father, it was even more difficult to leave for any period of time. Once the kids started arriving he had relinquished most of the managerial and ownership duties of the Montrose Magpies to his partner (and sister-in-law of sorts) Angelina and became for all intents and purposes a stay-at-home dad. That made the annual Global Quidditch Organization meeting (this year in Auckland of all places) even more wrenching, though he wasn’t sure if it was worse for the kids or for him.

“Daddy!” A red-haired blur came speeding toward him, the force of her momentum nearly knocking him from his feet. He scooped his eight-year old daughter up in his arms and gave her a big kiss. “I’m so glad you’re home! Did you bring me a present?”

“Anne, have I ever gone away and not gotten you a present?” Oliver asked.

Anne shook her head vigorously. “Do you know what happened while you were gone?” She asked.

Oliver shook his head, playing along with his daughter’s game. “You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

Anne leaned her head closer to Oliver’s and whispered in his ear, “Jack was sick.”

Oliver leaned back. “I’m sure he wasn’t very sick.”

Anne nodded her head. “Papa kept him out of school for two days!” She announced.

Oliver scowled slightly. He was sure that we would have gotten notice if Jack were truly ill but it was like his husband to want to handle everything by himself. He set Anne down. “Well, I should go visit Jack, shouldn’t I?”

Anne nodded again. “Can I open my present now?”

Oliver, who had started to walk down the hall, stopped and turned toward his daughter. “What is the rule, Anne?”

Anne’s lower lip pushed out in a pout and she put her hands on her hips. “I have to wait for my brothers,” she answered in a small voice, staring at the floor.

Oliver nodded, smiling to himself. “Can I trust you until I get back or do I have to take you upstairs with me?”

Anne looked up at her father. “No Dad, you can trust me.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He winked at his daughter, then went to the end of the entry hall and up the stairs.

He found a six-year-old boy with light brown hair sitting on the stairs, reading a children’s book on the founders of Hogwarts. “Why are you sitting here, Jason? The light isn’t very good for reading.” He sat down on the step next to his son.

Jason looked up, sliding his glasses up his nose with a finger. “Well, Jack is sick so I can’t be in my room and the living room is awful empty, ‘cause you were gone and Papa was always in with Jack.”

Oliver put his arm around Jason’s shoulders. “There are other rooms in the house, you know. You could have sat in my study or Papa’s library.”

Jason looked a little startled. “I did sit in your study while you were gone but when I heard you come in I thought I’d better find someplace else, ‘cause I didn’t really ask you first. I didn’t want to bother Papa, ‘cause he was up with Jack. I’m sorry.”

Oliver kissed the boy’s forehead. Jason was so much like his father, Oliver thought. He took everything very seriously and felt things so deeply. “You can read in my study anytime you want to, as long as you don’t disturb anything. Okay?”

Jason smiled and the smile transformed his normally somber face, just as it did with his father. “Thanks, Dad! Can I go back there now?”

Oliver chuckled. “Of course you can but come out when we call you. Your sister is impatient for her present.”

Jason was already down the stairs. “I will, Dad!” He called out over his shoulder.

Oliver stood and continued up the stairs, pausing at the door of his eldest son’s room. “Gilbert? Could you pry yourself away from that game long enough to greet your old man?”

“One second, Dad! I almost have the snitch!” Gilbert had gotten a hand-held Quidditch game for his tenth birthday from his Uncle Harry a month ago and had paid attention to little else since.

Oliver walked into the room, taking care to step over the piles of toys, books and clothing scattered all over the floor. He sat next to Gilbert on the bed and looked over his shoulder at the game screen. The small seeker figure was honing in on a tiny gold dot but just as he got close to it, it zoomed out of range.

“Blast!” shouted Gilbert. He put the game on pause and turned to look at his father. “How was the trip?”

Oliver shrugged. “It was okay.” He leaned closer to Gilbert. “Between you and me, it was dead boring.”

Gilbert snickered. The coolest thing about Dad was that he told Gil stuff that he probably wasn’t supposed to. “It wasn’t boring here. Jack was sick.”

“Annie told me.”

“At first we all thought he was faking to get out of school. ‘Cept Jason, he always said Jack was really sick. So Papa stayed home with him. When we got home from school Dr. Finn was here but he said Jack would be fine in a couple of days and just needed some sleep.”

Oliver scowled. If it had been serious enough to call Seamus, why hadn’t Percy told him? “Where is Papa?”

“He’s napping in the library. I told all the kids to keep quiet. Papa hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep this week.”

Always the oldest, Oliver thought. He gave Gil a quick squeeze around the shoulders—that was as much of a hug as he could get away with, these days. “Why the library?”

Gil looked up at Oliver, surprised. “Papa always sleeps in the library when you’re away. He doesn’t like to sleep in your room by himself. I thought you knew that.”

Oliver shook his head. Clearly, many things went on while he was away. Oliver got up from the bed. “I should check on your brother. If you see your father, let him know where I am.”

Gil nodded. “Okay, Dad.” His head was already buried in the restarted the Quidditch game.

Oliver walked into the twins’ room. Jack was laying on his side in the bed, flipping through a comic book about the First Voldemort War. His face was just a little paler than usual but the real tip off that he was sick was how still he was laying. Jack was as full of energy and high spirits as his twin was serious. He looked up as his father sat in the chair next to the bed. “Hi Dad,” he said in a small, tired voice.

Oliver pushed back Jack’s hair to feel his forehead. “How are you feeling, Jacky?”

Jack sighed. “Tired but a lot better than before. I’m glad you’re home, Dad.”

“Me too. So, Dr. Finn was here?”

Jack nodded. “My head hurt, so he gave me some potion to drink and said it was affection in my ears and it would go away.”

“An infection, Jack,” Oliver corrected.

“That’s what I said.” Jack sat up, his back against the pillows that rested on the headboard. “I wish we didn’t have to be sick for him to come over. I like Dr. Finn.”

Oliver nodded. “So do I. I’m sure your Papa took good care of you.”

Jack closed his comic book and put it aside. “At first I think he was a little scared but he was hiding it. But after Dr. Finn was here, Papa cheered me up and he was always here when I woke up, even if it was the middle of the night. That was nice. This morning I told him I felt better and he should take a nap.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Jack.”

Jack shrugged. “Papa tries very hard, doesn’t he?”

Oliver was surprised. Jack wasn’t usually this insightful. “Yes, he does. He always tries very hard.”

“I like it. It makes you feel important.” Jack smiled. “Did you bring us presents?”

That was more like Jack—thoughts like quicksilver, scattered all over the place. “Yes, and if you feel up to it, I’ll bring them all in here so everyone can open them.”

“Please!” Jack grinned.

Oliver stood and walked out of the room, to see Percy standing just outside the door. “Hello! How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” Percy answered, moving into his husband’s arms for a quick kiss. “How long have you been home?”

“Mmm, not long enough,” Oliver answered. He leaned back a bit and asked, “Hey, were you—”

“Hey, Dad! When can we open presents?” A familiar small voice wailed.

Oliver looked down to see a rather impatient Anne, arms crossed, looking up at him. He chuckled. “Ask your older brother to help you bring them into the twin’s room.”

Anne’s scowl disappeared as she ran into Gilbert’s room. “Gil! Presents! Come on Gil!” Moments later, she emerged, pulling Gilbert by the arm downstairs.

“Don’t forget Jason! He’s in the study!” Oliver shouted after them.

“Right, Dad,” grumbled Gilbert.

Once the kids were out of sight, Oliver turned Percy and marched him into their bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

“That desperate for it, are you?” Percy grinned.

“Later,” Oliver answered. He leaned against the closed door, his hands on his hips. “When were you planning on telling me about Jack?”

“Well, when you came home, if I had been awake.” Percy bit his lip nervously. “I would have contacted you immediately if Seamus had been the least bit concerned. You know that.”

Oliver nodded but he was not appeased. “I could have helped you out. Four kids are difficult enough to wrangle without one being sick and you’re not—”

“Up to the task?” Percy interrupted sharply. “Was that what you were going to say?”

“No!” Oliver sighed. The conversation had taken a wrong turn someplace and he wasn’t sure how to bring it back without stepping on another land mine. He decided on an appeal to reason. “Look, we’re both tired. Maybe we should discuss this later.”

“No. Now.” Percy crossed his arms. “What—”

Percy was interrupted by a small, insistent knock at the door. “Dad! Papa! Presents!” Anne shouted.

Oliver looked up at Percy. “Later!” he whispered angrily.

Percy nodded his head, scowling. The two men emerged from the room, doing their best to be all smiles for the children and let Anne pull them by the hands into the twin’s room.

Present opening was the usual chaos; Percy was always amazed that four children could create nearly as much disorder as seven. Afterward, the parents shooed the other three children out of the room so Jack could get a little more rest before dinner. Jack was playing quietly with his new Moutohora Macaws action figures but Oliver could see his eyes beginning to droop as he closed the bedroom door.

Oliver went back to the entryway to bring his bag upstairs and unpack, while Percy headed into the kitchen to start dinner. Gilbert watched them head downstairs, then pulled Anne and Jason into his room. He leaned against the closed door, his hands on his hips. “All right, who did it?” He demanded.

Anne rolled her eyes. Just because he was oldest didn’t mean he was the boss of her. “Did what, Gil?”

“Whatever’s got them so angry, loser,” he replied. “Didn’t you notice they weren’t even touching while we were opening our presents?”

Anne nodded. Dad and Papa were always touching; it was sort of gross. Parents shouldn’t be like people in films. As much as she disliked it, when they weren’t touching it made her nervous.

Jason clutched his new books to his chest. “I didn’t do anything! Dad said it was okay to read in his study!”

Anne sighed, crossing her arms. “Gil, you’re scaring Jason. Anyway, it isn’t us. It’s Jack. Papa never told Dad that Jack was sick. I told him, when he came home.”

Gil shook his head. “Fine. But everyone on their best behavior until they stop fighting.”

“Durr, Gil! You don’t have to tell us that!” Anne snapped. “Are you going to let us out of the room, then?”

Gil opened his door and stepped aside, and Jason darted out the door and down the stairs to the study to read his new books. Anne scowled at Gil before leaving the room. Gil shrugged in response. He made it a point never to let his sister get to him. He was the only one of his siblings who could remember a time when they didn’t live here with Dad and Papa, so he did what he could to keep the peace. He walked back into his room and placed his present on a shelf.

Gilbert had started to play chess with his Uncle Ron when he was about five, showing remarkable natural ability. Since then, his bafflingly large extended family had bought him a chess piece whenever their travels took them abroad. His queen was a Queen Victoria that his Grandpa Arthur had given him; it had been part of a mostly destroyed set that Grandpa’s own grandfather had owned. It was that piece that had given Uncle Ron the idea of the mismatched chess set in the first place. He had said that getting pieces from all over the world to work together would be a real challenge. Gilbert had a regular chess set, of course but the international set was his prized possession.

Nearly all of the pawns were from his Aunt Ginny, a travel writer, who had sent him traditional warrior figures from all over the world. Gilbert also had chessmen from four of his father’s previous Quidditch conventions, plus pieces from his uncles Bill, Charlie and George. With the Maori warrior pawn Dad had just given him, all Gilbert needed was a king. Uncle Ron had reserved the purchase of the king for himself, refusing to reveal it to his nephew until the set was complete. Gilbert had seen a set in a shop that had his own Uncle Harry as the king but playing chess with someone he knew as a piece was a little weird. He stared at his chessmen, counting off nationalities in his head and wondering where the king Uncle Ron had purchased would be from.

Anne, meanwhile, had stomped across the hall to her room to listen to the pop music her Dad had given her and forget about dumb old bossy Gilbert. She looked around the room, trying to decide where to put her other present, an autographed poster of her latest crush. Zak Parker was a completely dreamy Kiwi singer whose songs were played constantly on WWN. In the poster Zak shook his hips back and forth before winking and pointing to the viewer; the magical autograph meant that instead of saying, “Hey, girl!” he said, “Hey, Anne!” She was glad that her fathers were the sort that understood about cute boys.

She decided to put it behind her bed, next to her beloved vintage Quidditch poster. The framed Oliver Wood poster was from before the war, when he was just twenty. She looked from the picture of Zak Parker to the one of her father. Even though he was her Dad she had to admit he had been sort of hunky in his day. Maybe after they were done fighting she’d cut Papa some slack for wanting to touch him all the time. Of course, Zak Parker was much more her style. She turned up the music and danced around her room, singing along with Zak into her hairbrush.

Downstairs in the study, Jason could hear Anne thumping above him. Sighing, he opened one of his new books, Magical Beasts of the Antipodes. Between Dad being gone and Jack being sick, and now Dad and Papa fighting, Jason felt a little anxious. He didn’t like it when things strayed from their usual order. Nothing ever seemed to faze Jack and not having Jack around to reassure him was unsettling for Jason. He had never been very good at comforting himself. Grandpa Arthur teased that Jack and Jason were just like their Uncle Fred and Uncle George, “joined at the hip” but that wasn’t exactly true. Their uncles were very similar in temperament, whereas Jack and Jason were like night and day. Dad had said that Jason kept Jack from flying off in every direction at once and Jack kept Jason from burrowing into the ground. That sounded about right to Jason.

Magical Beasts reminded him too much of Jack so he abandoned it in favor of his other present, The Kiwi Wizard Picture Book. The cover was a picture of the wizarding academy in New Zealand, The Conservatory at Te Awamatu. Jack had been out of school most of the week and it had been rough on Jason. He wondered what would happen if they didn’t both go to Hogwarts School. Neither Jason nor his brother were squibs but these were the sorts of things that made a lad worry. He sighed and set down his book, instead staring out the window of the study at the budding trees in the back yard.

Percy popped his head in the door. “Jason? Something wrong?”

Jason turned to look at his father. “I was just thinking about how rotten it would be to go to Hogwarts without Jack.”

“Jason, you and your brother are both down for Hogwarts. You have been for years.” Percy sat down on the window seat next to Jason and pulled the boy into his arms.

“But what if we’re in different houses! What if I don’t make Gryffindor and end up in Ravenclaw?” Jason looked down at his shoes. “I’m not very brave.”

Percy kissed the top of Jason’s head. “Ravenclaw is a perfectly nice house and you will both make new friends.” He released Jason and stood up. “Come on, time to get washed up for dinner.”

Jason stood as well, but he wasn’t quite reassured yet. “Papa? Did you make lots of friends at Hogwarts?”

Percy thought for a moment, then said, “I didn’t make lots of friends but I made important ones, like your father and your Aunt Penny. Who was in Ravenclaw herself, you know.”

Jason nodded. He had forgotten about Aunt Penny, whom he liked a lot. She was very smart and more patient with him than most of his Weasley aunts and uncles, Gryffindors all. Maybe Ravenclaw wouldn’t be so bad. “Thanks, Papa.”

Jason ran out of the room and saw his Dad standing just outside the door. Oliver put a finger to his lips and moved back toward the staircase out of sight before Percy emerged. What he had overheard had gotten him thinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was unusually quiet. Jack felt well enough after his nap to join the others at the dinner table and the children ate silently, looking from Oliver to Percy. Finally Oliver said, “Are we playing Quaker meeting?”

Gil tried to look unconcerned. “No Dad, we’re just hungry.” He looked across the table at Anne, telegraphing “Help me out here!” with his eyes.

Jack hadn’t been in on the secret. “What, Gil? What is it?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Nothing,” he said, and ate another forkful of peas.

“Ow! Don’t kick me!” Jack yelled at his sister.

“Anne, no kicking at the table, please,” Oliver said.

Anne scowled at Jack and kept eating.

Frustrated, Jack demanded, “What is going on?”

“Jack! Dad and Papa are fighting and we’re supposed to behave!” Jason whispered very loudly across the table.

Anne groaned and leaned forward, putting her head in her hands. Gilbert shoved Jason’s shoulder lightly and said, “Way to go, prat!”

Percy looked down to the other end of the table, meeting Oliver’s eyes for the first time since their argument. Oliver had pulled his lips in over his teeth in that way he did when trying not to laugh and Percy couldn’t help but smile. He was still angry and he still planned on having it out with Oliver later, but he realized they had been foolish to think they could keep anything from the kids for long.

“First,” Percy began, “your father and I are not fighting. We are having an argument. People who love each other argue. It’s nothing to be worried about. Right?”

Percy looked from Jason, sitting at his left to Gilbert, to Anne, to Jack and they each nodded.

Percy nodded back, satisfied. “Right. Second, when we do argue, you needn’t walk on eggshells around us. We might be angry with each other but that doesn’t mean we’re angry with any of you.”

Gilbert said, “We were just trying to help, Papa.”

“We appreciate that, sport,” said Oliver, “but we’ll work it out in private. In the meantime, let’s have things back to normal around here, please. I just spent a week in a hotel room by myself and what I missed most was all the noise you lot make.”

“Well, Anne made plenty of noise today!” Gilbert teased. He started singing in a falsetto voice: “Ooh, girl, I love you girl, be my girl, la la la.” The younger boys laughed with him.

“Shut it, Gil!” Anne retorted. “Like anyone would care to hear that Muggle music you listen to!”

“Hey!” Gil objected. “Punk rock beats that pop crap any old day!”

Percy cleared his throat. “If we’re to have a debate about music, we will do it respectfully, please.”

Gilbert and Anne nodded, then went on for the rest of dinner about singers and bands, with the twins chiming in occasionally. Oliver looked up at Percy, knowing that they could work out their conflict. He sat back in his chair with his wine and surveyed his brood, feeling very much the satisfied paterfamilias. It was good to be home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, Oliver stood in the master bedroom, changing into his pajamas after putting his older children to bed. He’d had to pry the Quidditch game from Gilbert’s hands and had no doubt that the boy was playing with it again now, under the covers. Anne had announced, looking at the old Puddlemere United poster of Oliver, that her father had been “sort of cute back then” which made Oliver feel rather old, though he was but thirty-one.

He stood in front of the full length mirror in the master bath in his pajama bottoms and tried to look at himself dispassionately. No more washboard abs (they took far too much work) but his stomach was flat and his physique still more muscular than not. Two or three lines were emerging at the corners of his eyes but that was to be expected. His hair wasn’t going anywhere but silver was beginning to show at his temples. He reckoned the children were aging him more than the war had, at least externally. He heard Percy opening the door and ducked back into the bedroom. “How is Jack?” he asked.

“He’s better but still weak,” Percy replied, shutting the door behind him. He had already changed for bed and was wearing a dressing gown and pajama bottoms. “I think we should keep him home again tomorrow.”

Oliver nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

Percy raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you trust me now?” he asked sarcastically.

Oliver, scowling, grabbed his wand and activated the one-way silencing charm on their bedroom, then turned to face Percy. “That’s not fair!” he hissed. He leaned against the wardrobe, his hands on his hips.

“Isn’t it?” Percy retorted, eyes flashing. “Isn’t that what you meant to say this afternoon?” He sounded angry but also hurt.

“I was wrong,” Oliver admitted quietly, looking at the floor. There was a silence, then he raised his head and pointed at his husband. “But you should have told me, Perce.”

Percy had moved away from Oliver to the foot of the bed. He turned back to him, throwing his arms out in frustration. “What could you have done, Oliver?” he shouted. “You were half way around the world. It didn’t seem serious at first and by the time I realized it was, Seamus had been and gone and he wasn’t concerned at all.” Percy paused, staring down at the floor and running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to worry,” he said, calmer now. “Everything was under control.” He looked back at Oliver, his eyes pleading for understanding.

Oliver sighed. “You should have told me and let me make my own decision,” he said quietly but firmly.

Percy sat down on the bed, his head in his hands, suddenly weary. “You’re right, I should have told you,” he replied, acquiescing. He looked Oliver in the eyes. “I’m sorry, really I am, but admit it. You would have rushed home—“

“Because I would have been worried!” Oliver interrupted.

Percy pointed at the door, toward the twins’ room. “Worried about Jack? Or worried that I wouldn’t have been able to handle it without you here?” He moved his hand to point at Oliver, angered anew at Oliver’s seeming lack of trust in him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Oliver muttered through clenched teeth, frustrated.

Percy shook his head and his voice dripped with sarcasm. “What did you mean then? I am very interested to hear.” Percy folded his arms and looked at Oliver, challenging him to defend himself.

Oliver bent his knees, his back sliding down the front of the wardrobe until he was sitting on the floor. He put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands and took a moment to calm down and think. Then, in a low and even voice, not much above a whisper, he began. “It wasn’t that long ago that my whole life was Quidditch. All I ever wanted to do was play the game.” He looked up at Percy. “Then you came along and that was enough. Being with you and playing the game.”

Percy had unfolded his arms and was clutching the bed with his hands. This was not what he had expected, and Oliver’s change in tone took the edge of Percy’s anger. He nodded at Oliver to continue, his face blank.

Oliver leaned his head against the wardrobe and closed his eyes. “Then war came. We had to grow up really fast, think about bigger things than ourselves and we were apart so much. All that time, all I could think of was being with you again,” he opened his eyes, looking directly at Percy, “and having things go back to normal. Which meant Quidditch.”

He leaned his head forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I bought the Magpies, and Angie and Harry helped me to rebuild the team and the league. Once everything was running smoothly, I realized that the game wasn’t enough anymore. Then we adopted Gilbert and Anne, and I decided to quit playing and stay home with them. That was the best decision of my life, aside from being with you.” He looked back up to Percy, a small smile on his lips.

Percy leaned forward on the bed. “Oliver, I—“

“No, Percy, hear me out. Please. I . . . this is important, I think.”

Percy leaned back and nodded.

Oliver stretched his legs out to the sides and placed his hands on the floor between them, fixing his eyes on Percy’s lower legs, opposite him. “These last seven years of being home with the kids have been wonderful and I wouldn’t change them for anything. Being a Dad is what I do now. Sure, I still have a hand in the team but Angie’s really running things. So when I came back from Auckland to find everything was fine without me . . . well, I was confused. I wanted to think that you couldn’t handle it on your own because if you can, then what I am I contributing, really?” He looked back up, his eyes shiny with unshed tears.

Percy got up from the bed and knelt in front of Oliver. He brought his left hand down to stroke the other man’s hair and Oliver leaned into the caress. “Silly man,” Percy whispered. “Don’t you know? Haven’t I told you? Haven’t the kids shown you?” Percy kissed him on the forehead then sat down on the floor, his legs straddling Oliver and his feet resting against the wardrobe. He took Oliver’s hands in his own and waited for him to regain eye contact. “Did you look around this house? Does it look to you like we were fine without you?”

“Well—“ Oliver began.

“Have you seen the state of Gilbert’s room?” Percy asked gently. “He’s spent the week looking after his siblings and he’s only ten. Anne has been bouncing off the walls. I have no idea if any homework has been finished or to what degree. Jason has been down since Jack got sick but it wasn’t until today that I had time to talk to him. But a good nanny could do those things and you are not a nanny.

“We don’t miss you because of the things that you do. We miss you . Gilbert missed his partner in crime, Anne her adoring Daddy, Jason his champion, Jack his best listener.” Percy pulled Oliver’s hands up to his lips. “I missed you, too. I’m sorry I don’t tell you that more often. I wished you were here, every minute.” He leaned forward and kissed Oliver gently, then pulled away.

Oliver smiled slightly. “I missed you, too.”

Percy took a breath, becoming more serious. “Remember what Penny said, that we’re both obsessive control freaks?”

Oliver chuckled, nodding.

“We worked it out at first by dividing the tasks. I’ll admit, when we first got the kids, I was more than happy to let you take over.” He looked down at their hands, sad and a little embarrassed. “I was never good around kids, even when I was a kid.”

“Percy, that’s not so!” Oliver said, annoyed.

Percy raised one eyebrow. “Ol, I acted like I was forty when I was fourteen.”

Oliver smiled. “A cute forty-year-old, though.”

“Okay, a cute forty-year-old.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I was afraid at first. Then they got older and I felt more comfortable. I’ll admit it, part of the reason I didn’t tell you about Jack was that I wanted to prove to you and to myself that I could handle it.” Percy sighed slightly. “Which was selfish of me.”

Oliver shook his head. “I knew you could handle it.” He pulled their clasped hands to his lips. “But you’re right; the kids aren’t just my job. You should be more involved and I need to get out of the house more. The kids are in school all day and soon they’ll be gone entirely.” He paused, smirking. “Listen to me! I sound like a fifties housewife. Perhaps I should ask Molly to teach me how to knit?” He asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Percy didn’t find it funny. “Perish the thought! You are not becoming my mother!” But he had to smile, watching Oliver laugh. “All right? I mean, are we all right?” he asked.

Oliver nodded. “We’re more than all right,” he replied, kissing Percy the way he had wanted to since he had walked through his front door that afternoon. “You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked.

“This is an awkward position for two no-longer-young men to be making out in?” Percy wisecracked as he rolled backwards.

Oliver rolled his eyes, pulling himself and Percy from the floor. “No. It means we not only get welcome-home sex,” he replied, pulling off Percy’s dressing gown and maneuvering him backwards. “We also get making-up sex.” He grinned, pushing Percy back onto the bed.

Percy raised one eyebrow. “That sounds like a great deal of shagging, Ol,” he said.

Oliver crawled on top of him. “Something tells me you aren’t going to work tomorrow.” He gave Percy another scorching kiss, before sliding his mouth down along the jaw toward the ear and neck.

“But what will I tell them at the ministry?” Percy wondered aloud, staring up at the ceiling. “They know you’re home now, so I can’t use Jack as an excuse.” Percy’s voice hitched. “Ol, you know I can’t think when you do that.”

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” said a not very contrite Oliver, releasing the nipple from his mouth and moving lower.

“I could say that I got the bug Jack had,” Percy considered, lifting his hips to allow Oliver to strip him of his pajama bottoms. “But adults don’t get ear infections, do they? Ah!” Percy breathed in sharply through his teeth. “Sod it, I’ll think of something in the morning.” He heard muffled chuckling.

“Oliver, don’t laugh with that in your mouth, please. You’ll choke.”