Today's line: "I just had sex in a cardigan. Made me feel old. Smarter somehow, but old." From this picture (I think): 25 dot media dot tumblr dot com slash cb9c882bf9a4972b47c06d22124f %20efaf/tumblr_mf45c3BoEG1rmhux7o1

Oliver returns home that night to the little flat he took up with a girl from the Ludicrous Patents Office at the Ministry after she set him up with someone she'd gone to Hogwarts with who had turned out to be Adonis with a serious Quidditch-player infatuation. When the relationship had fallen through, he'd chosen not to hold it against her and there they were instead, maintaining a healthy friendship in a flat off Fine Alley in Hogsmeade.

She's not there when he walks in, so he collapses over the sofa, running his fingers over lips that still taste faintly of ginger and grinning like the biggest idiot in wizarding England; naturally that's when she walks in, curly hair pushing a blue beret off her head, coat askew and stumbling on the carpet in her heels.

"I just had sex in a cardigan," she announces loudly. Oliver spares a thought for the landlady downstairs, an elderly witch who has complained before about Isabel's somewhat lewd lifestyle in a maternal sort of way. "Made me feel old. Smarter somehow, but old."

Oliver gets up and pours her two fingers of Firewhisky, which she knocks back without looking. "Thanks," she says, patting him on the arm. Then she narrows piercing blue eyes at him. "You look like you've just been slapped in the face by Cupid," she says suspiciously. "Who is he?"

"Cupid?" Oliver asks, teasing her. He regrets the decision when she slaps him lightly across the face.

"The guy you've been with who's put that silly grin on your face," she reiterates. Just thinking about Aidan makes Oliver's cheeks burn, and Isabel crows in delight. "There is someone! Pray tell."

She grabs the sleeve of his white shirt and drags him back to the sofa. "Jenny dressed you, didn't she," she says, picking at his sleeves.

Oliver rolls his eyes. "I told her I had a date," he says dully. "She wouldn't let me go over there in shorts and a singlet."

"Quite right, too," she insists. "You look good."

He doesn't mention the fact that Aidan had been wearing shorts and a singlet for fear of sounding ungrateful. "He's on the Donegal Dragons," he explains instead. "We got talking after the match."

Isabel's blue eyes light up. "Congratulations on that, by the way," she says. "So which player was he?"

Oliver holds his breath, waiting for the squeal. "Aidan Lynch?" he ventures tentatively.

Sure enough, Isabel makes a high-pitched shout of delight and throws herself on him in a wild hug. "The Irish National Seeker? Oliver! Why didn't you tell me! I had no idea he was gay!"

"Neither did I," Oliver shrugs. "I guess he is, though. It didn't really come up in conversation."

She laughs. "So what did he do to make you look like Romeo on drugs?"

Oliver waves her away airily, feeling his face flushed. "We just kissed. Honestly, the first time we even spoke to each other was last night. Now go away, you're ruining the buzz."

Obligingly, Isabel giggles as she gets up, shucking her jacket to reveal a likely much-loved cardigan. Oliver shudders slightly.

Something taps on the kitchen window; he lets Isabel find it and is rewarded by her delighted laugh. "There's an owl here making funny faces through the window," she calls back. "Its head is sort of swimming. Recognise it?"

"Her name is Flottie," he tells her. "Let her in, she's Aidan's – but don't touch her, she bites."

The owl hoots shrilly as the window slides open and then lands on Oliver's head, dropping the tiny letter so that it bounces off his nose. He unfurls it, trying to thank her but wincing as her claws rake over his scalp.

I'll be in Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks at three if you like. A

Oliver smiles. "I won't be here tomorrow afternoon," he calls out to Isabel. "I've got a date."