Mari, the problematic thing is...
[Friday, 2:15 p.m., Stellar bar and cafe, Diagon Alley]
Oliver arrived 15 minutes earlier than scheduled. He wanted to make sure that they were seated in a quiet spot in a corner of the tea shop so they can discuss matters without interruption. Or that in the event that a furious Marietta screamed at him like a banshee, they wouldn’t attract as much attention.
His coffee arrived a minute later, the heat from creamy brown liquid spiraling into the air. He allowed it to cool for a moment, stirring it absent mindedly as he looked out the streets of the busy Diagon Alley.
However utterly terrified and scared and anxious he was, his heart swelled with satisfaction when he saw Marietta enter the glass doors. He wasn’t used to seeing her in casual civvies as she was always wearing her uniform whenever they met up. But he found the light blue cap sleeve top that she matched with stonewashed jeans and black boots much to his liking.
Quite understandably, Mari looked even whiter and paler than ever. Perhaps she was feeling the same emotions as he was. But with the way she carried herself-the graceful walk, the quiet confidence-it seemed like she was unaffected by the cacophony of the present. Oliver smiled slightly, watching as Mari unconsciously tucked a strand of her long, blonde hair behind her ear when she spotted him and made her way over to the booth where he sat. She sat across from him and placed her things on her lap.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver began, wasting no time. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting that night. It’s just that, you caught me off-guard.”
“It’s OK, love. I understand. I mean, it was just a thought. I didn’t mean to throw you off,” she explained, placing her hand on top of his.
“Well,” he smiled sheepishly, squeezing her hand. “I really am sorry.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”
“So how are you?” he asked, reaching for a couple of sugar cubes and dropping them in his coffee.
“Ministry work is just tiring. I haven’t had proper sleep in days. This week I’ve had a couple of classes, refresher courses more like, so I have an idea of the daily goings-on in the office. ”
“It all sounds very ermm… exciting?” he grinned.
She laughed, taking no offense from his teasing. “I didn’t expect it to be all very action-packed and glamourous, unlike some other people’s jobs.” She smirked.
“It hasn’t always been glamourous, mind. You do remember how awful it was when I was a bottom-feeder. I was literally in the underside of the Quidditch food chain,” he said in defense.
“I know, darling. And I’m glad you got in the semis.”
“Quarters, actually,” he corrected her. “We haven’t qualified for the semis yet.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m not familiar with sports lingo. Shouldn’t you be just happy that I’m happy that you got in the quarters.”
“Well, I am. And you should watch more games when you’re not busy filing papers for the ministry,” he said sarcastically.
“Keep taunting my job and I will hex your arse back to Glasgow,” she whipped her wand from her pocket and pointed it at him, struggling to keep a straight face.
He smiled. She smiled. And everything was pleasant again.
For several more minutes, they caught up on each other’s lives, like old friends seemingly, forgetting for a brief span of time that they were in fact more than that, and that there was an important matter that needed to be discussed.
“So have you thought about it?” Marietta asked.
He nodded. “I have.”
“Well?” she asked, her voice a bit softer now.
“The problematic thing is I’m quite an old-fashioned bloke. But it’s not that I’m being sexist or anything, because I am all for women empowerment. Whoo!” He threw a fist exaggeratedly in the air.
Marietta laughed nervously.
“But if you don’t mind, I’d like to the asking next time.”
“Oh,” Marietta said, visibly disappointed. “I mean, sure. Whenever you’re ready, I suppose that’s the time. And I rea…”
“Mari?” he said, interrupting her while fishing something from his jean pocket.
“What?” she asked, watching him intently.
“Do you fancy moving in with me?” he asked, placing a spare key of his flat on the center of the wooden table.
Oliver held his breath as she looked at the silver key, dumb-founded, then at him. It was his turn to catch her off-guard. She launched herself out of her seat, reaching out across the table to hug him. “Yes, Oliver. Yes!”
Oliver arrived 15 minutes earlier than scheduled. He wanted to make sure that they were seated in a quiet spot in a corner of the tea shop so they can discuss matters without interruption. Or that in the event that a furious Marietta screamed at him like a banshee, they wouldn’t attract as much attention.
His coffee arrived a minute later, the heat from creamy brown liquid spiraling into the air. He allowed it to cool for a moment, stirring it absent mindedly as he looked out the streets of the busy Diagon Alley.
However utterly terrified and scared and anxious he was, his heart swelled with satisfaction when he saw Marietta enter the glass doors. He wasn’t used to seeing her in casual civvies as she was always wearing her uniform whenever they met up. But he found the light blue cap sleeve top that she matched with stonewashed jeans and black boots much to his liking.
Quite understandably, Mari looked even whiter and paler than ever. Perhaps she was feeling the same emotions as he was. But with the way she carried herself-the graceful walk, the quiet confidence-it seemed like she was unaffected by the cacophony of the present. Oliver smiled slightly, watching as Mari unconsciously tucked a strand of her long, blonde hair behind her ear when she spotted him and made her way over to the booth where he sat. She sat across from him and placed her things on her lap.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver began, wasting no time. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting that night. It’s just that, you caught me off-guard.”
“It’s OK, love. I understand. I mean, it was just a thought. I didn’t mean to throw you off,” she explained, placing her hand on top of his.
“Well,” he smiled sheepishly, squeezing her hand. “I really am sorry.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”
“So how are you?” he asked, reaching for a couple of sugar cubes and dropping them in his coffee.
“Ministry work is just tiring. I haven’t had proper sleep in days. This week I’ve had a couple of classes, refresher courses more like, so I have an idea of the daily goings-on in the office. ”
“It all sounds very ermm… exciting?” he grinned.
She laughed, taking no offense from his teasing. “I didn’t expect it to be all very action-packed and glamourous, unlike some other people’s jobs.” She smirked.
“It hasn’t always been glamourous, mind. You do remember how awful it was when I was a bottom-feeder. I was literally in the underside of the Quidditch food chain,” he said in defense.
“I know, darling. And I’m glad you got in the semis.”
“Quarters, actually,” he corrected her. “We haven’t qualified for the semis yet.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m not familiar with sports lingo. Shouldn’t you be just happy that I’m happy that you got in the quarters.”
“Well, I am. And you should watch more games when you’re not busy filing papers for the ministry,” he said sarcastically.
“Keep taunting my job and I will hex your arse back to Glasgow,” she whipped her wand from her pocket and pointed it at him, struggling to keep a straight face.
He smiled. She smiled. And everything was pleasant again.
For several more minutes, they caught up on each other’s lives, like old friends seemingly, forgetting for a brief span of time that they were in fact more than that, and that there was an important matter that needed to be discussed.
“So have you thought about it?” Marietta asked.
He nodded. “I have.”
“Well?” she asked, her voice a bit softer now.
“The problematic thing is I’m quite an old-fashioned bloke. But it’s not that I’m being sexist or anything, because I am all for women empowerment. Whoo!” He threw a fist exaggeratedly in the air.
Marietta laughed nervously.
“But if you don’t mind, I’d like to the asking next time.”
“Oh,” Marietta said, visibly disappointed. “I mean, sure. Whenever you’re ready, I suppose that’s the time. And I rea…”
“Mari?” he said, interrupting her while fishing something from his jean pocket.
“What?” she asked, watching him intently.
“Do you fancy moving in with me?” he asked, placing a spare key of his flat on the center of the wooden table.
Oliver held his breath as she looked at the silver key, dumb-founded, then at him. It was his turn to catch her off-guard. She launched herself out of her seat, reaching out across the table to hug him. “Yes, Oliver. Yes!”