Today's line: "Say something witty and amusing."
"Darling!"
Mrs Lynch stands with her arms outstretched towards her son, her blond hair neatly coiffed and her fingernails hot-pink. Oliver bites his lip to stop from laughing as Aidan succumbs to the embrace, shooting a wry grin his way from her shoulder. "Mum, this is Oliver," he says when he pulls away from her.
She gives him a brisk, grinning once-over. "Hi," Oliver says nervously.
"Hello, sweetie. We were thrilled when Aidan sent his owl. It's so nice to see him happy." The Seeker shrugs minutely behind her back, still grinning. Abruptly, Mrs Lynch turns and marches back indoors. "Come in, dear, come in."
Aidan takes his hand as they follow her inside. "Yeah. My mother's a bit intimidating. Dad's all right – say something witty and amusing, and he'll like you."
Say something witty and amusing. Oliver swallows. "So no pressure," he says brightly. Aidan grins.
Compared to his wife, Mr Lynch is a diminutive man, balding and with small round spectacles. He smiles up at Oliver as they enter the living room and his eyes are Aidan's, almost-blue and almost-grey and quick and sharp and brimming with humour. "You must be Oliver," he says brightly. "Pleased to meet you."
"And you," Oliver replies, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it. "Sorry for the short notice, and all."
Mr Lynch's eyebrows hitch minutely upwards. "Oh, you're Scottish," he says, tilting his head to one side.
"Yeah," Oliver replies. "Sorry."
The shorter man snorts out a laugh and claps him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit, eh?" he trumpets. "Shall we go over for dinner?"
Oliver catches Aidan's eye over his shoulder: the former Slytherin is grinning, a warm glint in his blue-grey eyes, as they settle down at the homely dining table laid carefully in a fancy tablecloth and roast chicken. Aidan sits carefully next to Oliver, subtly shifts his chair closer, and lays a hand on Oliver's knee. He sends a half-grin sideways.
Aidan's parents are sweet, idyllic people that Oliver likes, but is glad to be rid of when they finally step out into the garden, the blond succumbing to one last cloying hug on the way out. Mrs Lynch's nasal, overly-fond voice follows them down the front path; Aidan smiles apologetically at him as they leave.
"They're, um, a bit of a handful. Sorry."
Oliver chuckles. "They're like something out of a picture-book. With parents like those, how did you end up a gay Quidditch player? Weren't they painstakingly bringing you up to work in the financial sector for the Ministry?"
The Seeker elbows him in mock-affront. "My uncle," he admits after a moment. "Mum's brother. Got me on a broom for the first time, and taught me that it didn't matter who you loved as long as you loved them well. So he's responsible for every aspect of my deviancy."
They laugh briefly together. "Stay with me tonight," Oliver pleads. "I have things to do in the morning, but I want you with me for tonight, at least."
Aidan gives another of his devastatingly genuine smiles. "All right," he agrees, sliding his fingers in between Oliver's. "I'll stay."