Today's line: "It's been quite fun. I've rather enjoyed it." My sentiments exactly - this has been a fascinating challenge and I'll be sad to say goodbye to these two.

Ten years later

"So, I heard Aidan's retiring from Quidditch," the young woman says brightly as Oliver wanders sheepishly into the meeting room. "That must be quite a shift for you two."

His hands are in his pockets and he's biting his lip because he doesn't know what to say. Emma is a lovely woman and a brilliant manager and he feels like he's letting her down. She looks up when he doesn't reply; her face falls at the expression on his. "Oh," she says quietly. "Quite the shift, then."

Oliver grimaces. "Yeah," he says softly. "I'm really sorry, Emma. We talked about it for ages, it was not an easy decision. But… I know my game's been slipping. There are people out there better than I am, I know it, you know it."

Emma smiles tightly. "There are always going to be better people than you out there. It's the nature of sport. But if you've made up your mind, Oliver, I respect that."

A surge of affection twists his hands into awkward shapes in front of him. "Thanks, Emma." After a few more moments of fiddling, he hands over the tightly-bound scroll of parchment he'd been twiddling between his fingers. "My formal notice," he explains.

She nods and takes the paper. "Any plans for the future?" she asks.

Oliver smiles at the thought. "We're going to travel," he says enthusiastically. "Take a break for a bit, you know, go 'round Europe and stuff. Have our fifth wedding anniversary in Italy someplace, I think. And then when we come back… we'll find work somewhere. We haven't really thought about where."

Emma nods. "Well, come and see me when you get back and I'll see if there's anything I can do," she says kindly.

"Thanks," he replies. "Um. I should probably…"

She smiles at him as he fidgets towards the door. "Good luck, Oliver," she tells him. "And congratulations – tell Aidan the same."

He grins. "Thanks for everything," he tells her, and then walks out of professional Quidditch for good.

Aidan's waiting for him outside; Oliver watches him leaning against the wall of the narrow Ministry corridor, inspecting his fingernails. He's breathtakingly beautiful, a man in his prime by now, laugh lines beginning to make themselves known around the edges of his blue-grey eyes. Each time he sees them they make Oliver smile; he's the one who put them there.

He looks up as Oliver comes closer and smiles, his eyes soft. "Not easy, is it," he says quietly.

Oliver takes the hand that is offered to him for comfort. "I've dedicated so much of my life to them – all those offers I had from other teams, and I stayed with Puddlemere. It seems wrong to just be walking away now." Aidan's thumb strokes over the side of his hand, strong and warm. "But," Oliver maintains, "this time I had an offer I really couldn't refuse.

Aidan chuckles. "Thanks, darling." Gently, he pushes off the wall, insinuates his legs between Oliver's so that he has to lean on the shorter man to stay upright and then folds him into his arms. "I promise," he whispers, "this is the right thing to do."

"Oh, I know," Oliver assures his husband, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "What have you been doing all morning, then?"

The newly-retired Seeker lets go of Oliver, takes his hand and sets off towards the door. "Absolutely nothing," he says with some apparent satisfaction. "There's nothing I have to do."

"Dear Merlin," Oliver says softly, chuckling at the thought of Aidan sitting on the sofa in the house they bought seven years ago and staring into space.

Aidan hums in agreement. "It's been quite fun, actually. I've rather enjoyed myself."

Oliver snorts. "We've got to get you out of that house," he comments. The Seeker nods desperately as Oliver opens the front door of the Puddlemere Quidditch Office to let him out. "Come on," he coaxes, patting his husband on his blond head. "Next stop, Vienna."

Outside, the sun is shining and the sky is blue and everything is so perfect Oliver feels like he could explode from the contentment. Aidan drops his hand in favour of slinging an arm around his waist and yanking him closer. "Next stop, the rest of our lives," he corrects.

The End