Work Text:
"I suppose it was inevitable," Harry says when the Daily Prophet arrives.
"Sod the Prophet," retorts Hermione. "What will the Quibbler say?"
Ron snorts. "You really think Luna would print that?"
"You really think she wouldn't?" Harry says.
"Yeah, but it'd be…I dunno, how the Tangle-Furred Zaxhat of Tasmania mate in groups of three, and so should humans."
Hermione raises her eyebrows. "Are you saying they shouldn't?"
"Blimey, no." He settles an arm around Harry, gathers Hermione into his lap, and Summons the paper over to the bed. "It's only when you have more than three that it's too many."