Work Text:
"What the bloody hell were you thinking, Mione. There is enough pressure on us without adding this."
"What do you mean, 'What was I thinking?' It takes to to make this happen."
“I cannot do this right now, Mione. I cannot stay. I need air.”
“No, you cannot do this!” Hermione yelled at the door as it slammed on Oliver’s back. “You cannot walk out like this. We have things to talk about.”
She sank onto the couch as her shout reverberated in the almost empty flat. She had not expected Oliver to react to her news this way. She had expected him to be happy and excited as she was.
But then again, this week has not been good. He’s had to endure a loss on the pitch, a reporter asking questions no one had the answers to, and a trip to the Healers that could change everything again.
Hermione knew he had let his temper get the better of him, and he did not mean half of what he had said, but it still hurt. She had been sitting in their flat waiting for him to come home for hours. They needed to figure this out. She needed him to come home
Oliver watched the pub lights reflect off the firewhisky in his glass. He knew he needed to go home, but he wasn't sure of the reception he would receive. He had said some things to Hermione that had cut a little too deep because he had let his temper run through his tongue.
“Last call, Oliver.” Marcus tapped the bar wood in front of Oliver and pointed at his half-empty glass. “Do you want a refill or advice? The firewhisky is good, the advice, not always so much.”
“Best not have a refill.” Oliver shrugged and downed the last of the firewhisky in his glass. “I need to head back to the flat. I can’t avoid her forever.”
“Avoid Hermione? What did you do?” Marcus raised an eyebrow as he continued to wipe down the bar. “You two have been together a while, and she usually puts up with you.”
“I didn’t react to some news in the best way.” Oliver shrugged again as he twirled the empty glass in his hand. “I may have let a week of bad news and my temper get the better of my mouth. I can’t imagine her letting me back in the flat after some of the things I said.”
“Well, the only way to defeat a dragon is to face her.” Marcus grinned and clasped Oliver on the shoulder. “Just don’t call her a dragon and come with a sincere apology… And gifts.”
Oliver raised his hand to knock on the door to their flat and then lowered it. He opened the bag in his other hand and looked at the contents, hoping this was a good enough apology. He wasn’t sure if his knees would hold up if he had to grovel too much.
“You might as well come in.” Oliver startled at Hermione’s voice. “I had a charm set to let me know if anyone came close to the door,” she said. “We need to talk.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Oliver ducked his head and felt heat creep into his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I let my temper run away with my tongue. But, I know that ‘I’m sorry’ may not be enough.”
“We have both had a difficult week, and I am tired.” Hermione gestured for Oliver to enter their flat. “At least come in and talk to me. I’m tired and have to get up again in a few hours.”
“I got this for you.” Oliver held out a small plastic bag. “I am sorry I took out a week of bad news on you when your surprise was not what I expected. I am happy about your news. But, what the Healers told me and what they told you scares me.”
Hermione was quiet as she sat on the sofa and started to pull items out of the bag Oliver had handed her. She extracted a whistle, a small box of chocolates, a ginger beer, and a tiny shirt. He could see the confusion in her eyes as she laid each item out on the table.
“The chocolates are for you because you like them. The ginger beer is for your stomach,” Oliver whispered as he pointed to each item. “Mum always said it helped settle her stomach with each baby. The whistle is for the next step for me, not quite completely off the Quidditch pitch.”
“And the shirt says,” said Hermione reaching up to wipe a tear from Oliver's cheek. She held the tiny shirt against her chest. “My Da loves me.”