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"Whose idea was it to come to Paris in August?"
Severus rolled his eyes. "Yours. You said there would be fewer tourists, if I recall."
"I said that?" Harry looked at the line coming out of the Louvre and grimaced. "Imagine what it's like the rest of the year then."
"Not as hot and fewer Americans. They are the only people fool enough to travel anywhere but the seaside in August."
Harry pulled a copy of Le Monde from his rucksack and surreptitiously tapped it with his wand, translating the newspaper into English.
"It says here the temperature is twenty-two in London today."
Severus grasped Harry's arm and they walked toward an alcove, Disapparating as soon as they slipped into shadow.
Reappearing in their bedroom, Harry flopped down on the bed. "Maybe we should go in April? There is a song...." Severus paused as he was pulling off his robes and fixed Harry with a glare. "Yeah, all right, maybe not."