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Owen describing Ainsley to someone.

Owen’s chest hurt as he sat in his childhood home, his father rummaging through the cabinets, and his own fingers tapping restlessly on the table he ate countless breakfast, lunch, and dinners at.

He thought momentarily of a story Eddie told him once, when they were at their first quidditch match and a nine-year-old Owen was staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the players zipped by; a story about a boy who was so dumbfounded by what was transpiring on the field, his mouth agape, that he barely had time to register it before the snitch flew right into his mouth and down into his belly, which promptly made Owen clamp his mouth shut as he burrowed himself back into his seat, as far from the action as he could get.

He thought that this is what it must feel like, having that speedy, whizzing blur of a thing clamoring around his stomach and chest, wreaking havoc on his nerves and inducing wave after wave of nausea with no real way of telling it to slow down— to just stop.

"I met someone," he blurted out, his father’s head quickly turning to look at him, brows rising in curiosity.

"You met someone," Wynn repeated, closing the cabinet door slowly, as if a sudden movement might scare or discourage Owen from continuing.

"Yeah, sort of? I mean—" Owen took a deep breath, curling his hands into fists to stop his fingers from tap, tap, tapping. "I— ah, I already knew her, so I didn’t actually just… meet her, but I thought that was the sort of thing you’re supposed to say, you know? That you met someone.”

Wynn nodded patiently, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back against the counter.

"What’s her name?"

"Um, Ainsley. You probably know her? I think she took art one year but I’m not completely certain, but— she’s in my year. Uh. She’s a Hufflepuff, too," he said, all in one breath. He felt a warm flush creep its way up his neck, tinging his ears a shade of pink, but his dad just nodded again in that quiet manner, waiting for Owen to continue, waiting for him to say more. "I think she might be my girlfriend."

Wynn let out a small, quiet laugh at that, his eyes crinkling as he pushed himself off the counter to walk over to the table.

"Not entirely certain?" He asked, situating himself in the chair across from his son.

"No— uh, not really, no," Owen huffed a laugh, rapping his knuckles against the table before pulling back entirely, leaning back in his chair and dropping his hands to his lap. "She’s smart."

Wynn furrowed his brows.

"And you’re… not? Is that what you think?"

"Um. Yes and no, I guess? She’s just— smart-smart. Like, she could’ve been a Ravenclaw kind of smart, but she’s got issues with Arithmancy and she mucks up numbers and stuff, so there’s that, but she’s top in all our other classes,” Owen paused, rubbing his hands over his knees. “And she’s… uh, she’s fit. Um. Pretty, I mean.”

"I don’t see how any of that could cause any sort of uncertainty about whether or not she’s your girlfriend, you know," Wynn said, smiling.

Owen felt a twinge in his chest at that, a small kick to his gut, because things were never that simple. Things were hard and difficult to figure out; they took ages to pick apart and put back together, to understand. And he knew his dad felt the same way sometimes. He knew that they both often felt like decisions were hard and answers were difficult and things were uncertain. And this couldn’t be an exception to that rule, because it never worked that way. It was another thing he’d have to figure out, another slow-solved puzzle, and another twisting knot to be undone. And it’d take time and an exorbitant amount of energy, he knew that. It wasn’t easy. It was—

"You’re overthinking," his father cut into his thoughts. "I can see it and, you know, I do the same thing. You’re getting caught in your head. It’s good to be thoughtful, Owen. It’s good to be contemplative and introspective, but sometimes you can get lost in it. You need to pull back sometimes. Things aren’t as complicated as we make them seem."

Owen took another deep breath and nodded, shifting his jaw as he tried to shift his thoughts from confusion and uncertainty to big, brown eyes and soft hands; the quiet of the library and the way he could feel Ainsley’s soft laugh against his cheek.

"I…" Owen paused, collecting his words. "She’s my girlfriend, I’m about seventy-five percent certain."

"Okay," Wynn smiled, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms. "Tell me more about her, then."

Owen grinned.

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