Moments from the lives of Oliver and Katie Wood.

Author's Note: If you've read my stories before, you know that I have a tender spot for Katie and Oliver. Sometimes, I'm attacked by KBOW plot bunnies that just beg to be written down even if they don't fit into a story. This collection is a depository for one-shots and drabbles in need of a home. I can't promise they'll all be fluffy, but I do hope you'll enjoy.

Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to JK Rowling.

Oliver's Retirement

On feet charmed to be silent, Oliver crept into his bedroom. It was dark, like the rest of his home, but his eyes had already adjusted. Besides, after two decades he could probably navigate this room blind. Setting his duffle bag next to the laundry to be sorted later, Oliver undressed quietly. He summoned a pair of pajama bottoms from the bureau, then headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth. The click of the door sounded like a potions explosion, and Oliver winced, but there was no sound from the bedroom. Finally, after spitting into the sink and rinsing, Oliver stretched and rubbed his weary eyes.

Back to back exhibition matches in Italy. Ten days on the road. Every muscle in Oliver's body ached. He missed his bed. He missed his wife. When he first joined Puddlemere United—which was a bloody good number of years ago now—playing on the Continent was a rare occurrence. The teams of the British and Irish Quidditch League were content to play amongst themselves—leave the globetrotting to the National sides. Merlin, he'd done that with Scotland for too many years. Now, Puddlemere trooped off to the far corners of Europe four times a year. It was tiring.

Placing a charm on the mattress to keep it from shifting, Oliver slipped under the blankets and groaned. He sounded like an old man, but he couldn't help it. The softness of his own bed under his weary body was a rare comfort after more than a week of hotels. He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes.

"Oliver?"

"Sorry, lass, didn't mean to wake ye."

Katie scooted across the bed and pressed herself against his back. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"I begged an early Portkey. Seniority has to count for something."

"Mm." Her arm looped around his ribcage. "You smell good."

"I made good use of the hotel shower before leaving." He blew out a long breath. The shower in his hotel room had been the best part of the whole damned trip. "I think it's time to retire. "

Nimble fingers played across his chest and down his stomach. "Can we talk about it in the morning?" Her hand slipped under the waistband of his trousers.

"Such wifely sympathy." Oliver rolled onto his back, smirking. "I think you just want me for my body."

"Well, you do make a lot of noise about retirement after every away match."

Her fingers were tangled in the hair of his lower abdomen, and Oliver was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his train of thought. "I've been playing professional Quidditch since I was eighteen."

Katie's hand stilled on his stomach. She propped herself up on her elbow so that she could look at him in the dark. "You're serious?"

"Aye." He took her distracting hand and kissed her knuckles. "It takes a week to recover from a match. The last time we had one last more than seven hours I ended up on the Disabled List for two weeks."

And nearly lost his position to the reserve Keeper, Matt Higgins. Oliver had to work damn hard to get back on first team, pushing his body and his ability to their limits. The truth was, not many players his age consistently played at this level, either due to injuries or they'd just grown slow. Oliver was rapidly falling into the second category. He'd missed three Quaffles during the second game in Italy—three Quaffles he would have saved five years ago. In the end, Higgins deserved Oliver's spot on the team, or at least a shot at it. The kid had paid his dues, and he was a bloody good Keeper. Meanwhile, Oliver was a shadow of himself.

"I have three grown lads," Oliver continued. "One of them plays reserve for my team. Hell, in a few years my baby girl will be playing, too."

"You were chuffed when Puddlemere signed Rory," Katie reminded him, as wives were wont to do.

"Lass, I've spent most of my career watching teammates take groupies up to their rooms. I shrugged my shoulders, rolled my eyes, and took the piss the next day at training. The other night, I spotted Rory with some giggling slag and it was all I could do not to tell him off."

Groaning, Katie buried her face in Oliver's shoulder. Their youngest son was impetuous to a fault. Rory'd been recruited to Puddlemere at eighteen, just like Oliver, only as a Chaser. The lad nearly bollocksed the whole thing his first season by having an affair with a teammate. They'd raised three lads, Oliver and Katie. Those boys had blown the door off the house, set nasty hexes on each other, pummeled themselves black and blue, and in one memorable instance, nearly burnt down the bloody barn. Oliver couldn't think of another time he was as angry with any of his sons as he was with Rory when that affair hit the tabloids. Since then, Rory had worked hard to rebuild what little reputation he had. When the coaches wanted him to switch from Chaser to Beater, Rory did it without complaint, throwing his mind and body into learning a new skill set. There hadn't been any women in more than a year as far as Oliver knew. Seeing his son wander off with some blonde—knowing what was likely to happen—had worried Oliver, and not just because Rory was only beginning to gain back the trust of the team.

"I reacted like a father, not his teammate, and that's not fair to him," Oliver went on. "It's time to hang up the boots. Besides—"

Oliver trailed off. He still loved Quidditch—every bloody minute of it. All the things that came with Quidditch—the traveling, the endorsements, the media—well, he'd leave that. The passion was there, even if the body was less so. Yet, that still wasn't at the heart the of decision. Hell, he hadn't even realized this was a decision he'd made until a few minutes ago.

"What?" Katie murmured, stroking his chest.

"Rory's a bloody good Beater. He has the size, he's gaining the skill, and he has the insight of a Chaser. He should be first team." Oliver sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "He's in my shadow. I'm not sure Puddlemere will ever give him a real shot while I'm there."

"He has to earn that, you can't clear his path."

"I know, lass, but he has. He's toed the line. He's done everything they've asked of him. You've not seen him work in this position, not really—he's good. Then there's Belle."

"She won't change her mind about Puddlemere just because you've retired."

Their youngest, their lassie, was one of the most skilled Chasers Oliver had ever seen. She was sixteen with two more years at Hogwarts before she graduated. Over the summer holiday, she made it very plain that she would not join her dad's team. She understood, probably better than her brother, that joining Puddlemere meant living in her old man's shadow, even if they didn't play in the same position. Oliver reckoned that it was Belle who planted this seed in his brain. It propagated like a weed.

Oliver shrugged. "I know. She's right, though, they'll never get a real chance with me around."

"Oh, Ollie." Katie fitted her body closer to his. "I'm so glad I had children with you."

"Were there other options?"

"Well, I was pretty fit in those days."

Oliver's hand worked down Katie's back so he could grope her arse. "Still are."

"Love." Her tone grew serious. "You don't think that's one sacrifice too many, even for our kids?"

"Lass, even if this wasn't the best thing to do for the kids, my body is done. I'm slower, weaker, and…" he groaned. "Everything hurts."

For a moment, the two of them lie in silence as the full gravity of Oliver's decision settled in. He thought of the eighteen-year-old kid he was, the one who signed with Puddlemere United. That kid never once thought the dream would come to an end. All he could see were years and years of Quaffles and broomsticks ahead of him. It turned out to be decades, but now Oliver was standing on the other side wondering what was next.

Katie propped herself up on her elbow again. "Tomorrow we'll talk about this more, put together a plan. Puddlemere will want to make a big deal about this, won't they. That means talking to the press."

Oliver snorted. "Bring it on."

"So. Retirement?"

"Aye. I reckon."

"What will you do with yourself, Wood?"

"Don't know. Maybe I'll help 'round the farm."

Katie snorted this time. "I'll be sure to warn Cam that you're planning to be underfoot."

Oliver rolled towards Katie, nuzzling her neck and behind her ear. "We could have another baby, Mrs. Wood," he murmured.

"Bloody hell!" Katie sat up, her elbows poked out. "Did you take a Quaffle to the head, Wood?"

"I'll do all the work this time around." He smirked up at her.

"Oh? You'll carry him for nine months, too?"

Oliver chuckled. "Alright, lass, you've got me there. I'll do all the work after he's born."

"Except the nursing."

"Aye." He squeezed her thigh. "Not the right equipment."

Katie folded her arms. "You've gone completely nutters. Utterly barking. We should be fitting you for a nice bed in the Janus Thickey Ward instead of talking about your retirement."

"So. You're not keen on the idea."

"We have adult children!"

"No baby then." Oliver chuckled, and Katie jabbed him in the shoulder with her finger. "Reckon I'll have to look into coaching."

"I approve of Plan B," she said tartly. "I also approve of you not puttering around the house. You'd drive me mad within a week." She flopped back onto her pillows, still grumbling. "Baby, indeed."

Oliver crawled over his wife, fitting his hips between her thighs and kissing her collarbone up her neck to find that spot behind her ear again. "I think we started this conversation on a much more delightful note…."

Katie giggled, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and the other one reaching for the bedside table. "I thought everything hurt."

"I'm making a miraculous recovery." He flexed his hips, rubbing himself against her.

Humming, she drew her legs up to cradle him against her body.

"Hand me my wand. I've taken my chances with you before, Wood, and look where it's got me! Married to a pensioner."

"Oi!" Oliver goosed her arse. "I'm not ancient."

Katie giggled again, pulling him closer for a kiss. "Prove it."