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Cheesy fries and a chili cheese dog were his top choices tonight. He wondered if Echo would be opposed to a double order of chips, and then nearly knocked himself in the head as he realized what a daft thought that was. The day Echo turned down food of any sort was the day You-Know-Who wore a frilly pink tutu and danced in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. Double cheesy fries, then. He wouldn’t even bother asking. Ollie liked it when her eyes lit up over food or something sweet he’d done – which generally involved food, not because she was a gremlin who ate all the time but because it was easy to predict what she’d like in that arena and Ollie was notoriously lousy when it came to the fairer sex. Wooing them, at least. He had loads of girls who were friends, but only a handful of girlfriends and none he liked as much as he liked Echo. She was real, and fun, and loud. He liked all of that. He especially liked when she made him feel important, as if finding a dingy diner like this was some spectacular fete. Ollie shrugged confidently, then leaned in as if he were about to let on a great secret to his mystical food-finding powers. “You’ve gotta eavesdrop better in the locker rooms, love. After a match, win or lose, the lads are always on about how they want to recharge. That’s when you hear about these little hole in the wall places.” He leaned back and gave her a charming grin. “Then you invite your older, snobbier brother out for lunch and watch in horror as he attempts to clean the silverware without his wand.” Ollie chuckled, remembering Kit’s face as he tried to maintain a polite expression while he practically rubbed the silver off his fork with a paper napkin. Kit wasn’t really a snob, not to anyone who knew him, but he was a bit uptight. It was amazing how well the brothers got on, considering how opposite they were.

Without warning, but not wholly unexpectedly, Echo pounced. She leapt onto his back and wrapped her legs around his middle and ordered him toward food. He toppled slightly but recovered quickly enough, his vampire-like agility affording him more than enough coordination to keep himself and the blonde upright. “Guess I have to slap my own ass, now? Sheesh, it’s like you’ve never ridden a horse before.” He shook his head dramatically to ensure she could see his disapproval without view of his face, smacked his right bum cheek with his open palm, then began a gallop down the corridor toward the front door. He whinnied as his pace slowed, pulling the door open with one hand and reached his free hand behind him to support Echo. He had not intended to cop a feel of her bum, but really, if he had to make sure she stayed up, there wasn’t any more appropriate – nor enticing – place to support.

“I know a place you’ll like,” Ollie said with a more natural volume to his voice now that they were outside. He doubted Dora was still conscious upstairs, and if she were awake enough to look out the window, she’d be met with a dark drive and a nearly moonless night. Ollie could see through the darkness perfectly and waited until they’d reached the end of the cobbled walk before setting Echo to her feet. “You mind?” he asked, slipping his hand around her waist without waiting for permission. He pulled her close to his frame and gave her a huge, toothy grin before turning on the spot. They both vanished with a crack.

Sounds of the city trailed down into the alley where Ollie and Echo appeared, a busy street just before them. It was late, but the neon lights of the still opened shoppes and diners reflected off the thin layer of snow, giving the whole scene a more romantic air than ought to have been possible in a dirty alleyway. Ollie suddenly realized he’d left his own coat at Dora’s house as the wind nipped at the back of his neck. He’d fetch it later. No doubt he’d be minding Pansy again within a fortnight and he had others at home he could use until he saw Dora again. “This place,” Ollie gently tugged at Echo’s hand in the direction of the busy street, turning onto the main road and appearing before a run-down old diner with only half the letters of the sign lit properly. Ollie brought his fingers up in a closed point, kissing at them like a stereotypical Italian gesture to emphasize how delicious the food here was.

Ollie stood awkwardly as Dora flirted halfheartedly with him in that innocent way she always did. He knew it meant nothing on her end, nor on his, but Echo was just in the other room and the witches needed no other reasons to dislike each other. Thankfully, Dora’s attention turned to her fantasies of his brother – gross – and she headed upstairs without even attempting to see him out. That was all for the better. Ollie waited a moment until he heard her bedroom door shut, then the sounds of her stumbling toward her bed, before heading back into the lounge. “I could go for some chilli cheese fries right about now,” he said to the blonde. He laughed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Babies put me in the mood for something messy. No idea why.” His words were elongated with sarcasm, as much of the whole night had been a mess. Pansy spit up her dinner. She splashed soap everywhere during her bath. She spit up again for good measure which required a quick bath in the kitchen sink. Then had a back end explosion that required yet another bath.

The sting on his chest and stomach was hardly noticeable after a moment but the red speckles that had spread over his olive skin were shining bright through the water as Ollie’s head surfaced. He grinned proudly as he looked over to London, a big, toothy smile on his face. He’d been holding back from running full speed, despite having been obviously faster than Lo. Had he let loose and let his half-vampire speed show, there might have been no water left in the pool at all. As it were, he’d managed to only mildly assault the nearby witches with a tidal wave. He was thankful for that at least. “Please, I am perfectly fine,” he answered with false arrogance before looking down at his reddened skin. “Just, you know, ignore this bit.” He covered his chest with his hands in the same fashion as a woman might attempt to regain her modesty. Chuckling, Ollie dropped his hands and swiped them through the water, splashing playfully at London.

“No man eaters, thank ya very much. I’ve a hard enough time with you two, I don’t think I would survive a witch like that.” He chuckled, wondering how much Leo’s sister had in common with Dora and whether Lola was questioning the same thing at that very moment. Talk turned to London’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend? Pseudo-boyfriend was probably the best way to categorize it, and Ollie instantly felt red in the face for having forgotten about Will. He hadn’t forgotten about him, per se, but in his mild panic to pull the attention away from himself he had managed to sort of throw Will under the bus and suggest Lola find a sugar daddy. What on this good earth was he even thinking?! Ollie stayed quiet as they made their way to the pool, thankful that talk again turned toward Dora’s baby through no guidance of his own. He was more than ready to jump into the pool and forget his faux pas. Kicking his shoes off and tugging at the back of his collar, Ollie pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the same lounger that Lo had thrown her dress. He didn’t look in her direction but heard her shout about the first one in. "You're on!" He sprinted effortlessly toward the pool, surpassing London with ease and flinging himself into the air, limbs stretched out wide. The perfect belly flop pose. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ollie felt his stomach hit the water first, the rest of his body quickly pulled into the pool sending a tidal wave of water to the group sitting on the far end of the pool; a pregnant witch with the burnt burger, that Auror bloke Dora was on about earlier, and a pretty witch who had just arrived. Ollie didn’t even want to turn around for fear of seeing Dora drenched with pool water still standing on the patio.

Drinks? Check. Friends? Check. Posh attire to fit in with the rest of this lot? No check there, but what the hell. He was going to work it, anyway. “Definitely,” Ollie chimed in when London suggested they venture outside. He was ready for some of this relaxing Spring air and even all the way from inside the house, Ollie could smell the delicious scents of the BBQ. His keen nose noticed the meat was a little burnt, even without witnessing the spectacle being made outside, but he was fine with burnt burgers or hot dogs or whatever it was they were having. He half expected someone with a home this fancy to be grilling whole lobsters for every party goer, with a side of caviar and whatever else fancy rich people ate. He had been expecting hot dogs and potato salad in a modest backyard but he didn’t mind eating some rich bloke’s lobster by an Olympic sized pool.

Flirty as ever, Dora looped her arm around Ollie’s as the trio headed outside. They were passed by some bloke that Ollie only recognized from visiting London at work when he’d tripped over a curb trying to talk to a pretty blonde and ended up knocking her to the ground and giving her a concussion. Oliver paid the man no mind as he headed into the home with a gift bag in hand. He had London and Dora to worry about and the raven haired mummy-to-be had just mentioned pairing him up with a witch at the party. Ollie’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! You two are my dates today, there will be no match making on my watch, Miss Parkinson!” He wagged a finger at her playfully. “Unless you want to direct your attention to Lola,” he suggested teasingly, the sun shining bright enough that he squinted and shaded his eyes. “Dor could set you up with a sugar daddy,” he informed her. “One of these old geezers would take a run at you, I’m sure.” A crash sounded from behind them, inside the house and Ollie whipped his head around, temporarily distracted from the idea of London hooking up with one of these middle aged wizards for their galleons. For a moment it seemed everyone at the party turned toward the sound and Ollie hoped no one was injured because Merlin, that would be embarrassing in front of a group of trained healers and their mates.

Tessa’s backup support was seriously lacking, but Ollie couldn’t fault her for it. She was fun and always playful, no matter who it was with. He liked her a lot, but not in any inappropriate way. She wasn’t his type at all. She was older, not by much but enough that he knew not to talk about it to or in front of the woman, and she had a kid. Ollie loved little Hannah. She was squishy and adorable and it was really rather gross the stuff that came out of either end but in between that she was a blast to play and had the cutest little baby giggle. Ollie wanted kids of his own one day, waaaay in the future, but he was happy to sit for Hannah now when Tessa needed an extra hand, and Dora had already informed him he’d be doing the same for her little one when the time came. He was fine with that, so long as the brunette didn’t take advantage too often. He had a social life to be getting on with, not to mention his career.

Tessa poured them each a glass of firewhiskey and said they were on the house because he and Echo ‘excited’ her. What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean?! “Night,” he said with a little wave as Tessa left them and headed upstairs, then Ollie turned to Echo as she asked about his relationship with the barkeep. “Tess? I dunno, just met her here a while back. Put my foot in my mouth, she laughed, the usual Oliver Devereaux experience.” Ollie did have a spectacular habit of making an arse of himself but he claimed it was all part of his charm, and it really was. He was never really embarrassed for long and most things just seemed to roll right off him like water on a duck. “Her kid’s quite the cutie. Hannah. I like to watch her sometimes to give Tessa a mummy break. Works out well for me, too, because then I get a few free drinks here and there and you know, that comes in handy.” Ollie raised his glass, ready to get to the drinking portion of the evening but very much open to continuing this line of conversation if it meant avoiding anymore talk of his ‘cute blonde’ comment. “To shit reporters,” he said, clinking his glass against hers. “May they go screw themselves.”