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“Their first date was not at Madam Puddifoots,” Harry scoffs. “It was a picnic by the lake.”
“Oh, that doesn’t count,” Ginny says dismissively. “Those two were always off walking by the lake. Those were moments leading up to the date.”
“Which was where?”
A pause.
“The Museum, wasn’t it?”
“No, that was their third. I remember because Hermione came round mine asking if she should try to kiss him or if that was too forward.”
“Merlin, Harry,” Hermione exclaims as she rounds the corner to find the pair of them sitting with Ron who is holding a magazine and looking faintly green. “Can’t you keep anything private?”
“Never mind that,” Ron interjects. “Did you two really shag at my wedding reception?”
“I beg your pardon.”
He waves a thick magazine. She catches a glimpse of herself and Severus somewhere in Diagon Alley on the cover before Ron opens it and flips back to the article inside. He snaps his fingers and points to the open chair.
“Sit, sit. It’s time to play fact or fiction.”
“You think they posted anything factual in that rag?”
“They know about your matching tattoos,” Ginny says.
“You have matching tattoos!”
“Let me see that,” Hermione demands, reaching for the magazine. “I want to look at their sources.”
“None listed. Now sit.”
She relents with a huff. Then she pulls down the collar of her jumper to reveal the tattoo, a small raven in flight, on her collarbone. “Severus has an otter over his Dark Mark.”
“Blimey, how’s he hiding that?”
Hermione arches a brow. “Have you ever seen him in anything other than long sleeves?”
“… Fair enough. When did you get them?”
“The day he proposed,” she says, blushing slightly. “He said he got his first tattoo to mark the worst decision of his life, so it was only fitting to get his second to commemorate the best choice of his life.”
Ginny smacks Harry’s chest with the back of her hand. “Why can’t you be that romantic?”
“I may not be as romantic but at least, I’ve never…” He leans closer to Ron to peer at the article. His eyes widen. “He didn’t really leave you stranded in Knockturn Alley, did he?”
Hermione winces. “I wasn’t stranded—”
“But he left you there. Why?” Despite the friendship he’s formed with Severus, Harry looks ready to storm Hogwarts on her behalf.
“He came back five minutes later.”
Silence.
“It was early on in our relationship,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We were on a date when Severus mentioned needing some ingredients. He planned to go the next day, I said I didn’t mind going with him that evening… When he told me it was in Knockturn, I should have backed out but I’m a stubborn idiot so I didn’t and then I said something I shouldn’t have and a bit too sharply at that because I was so tense and, of course, he’s him so that didn’t go over well and then he just apparated away.” She takes a breath. “He came back, like I said, apparated me back to his house and asked for another five minutes to collect himself.”
“What the devil did you say to him?”
“I—”
“It is irrelevant,” Severus says from the doorway. “No matter what she said or how I felt, I should have never walked away from her.”
“I think we’ve come a long way in our conflict resolution,” Hermione says, smiling up at her husband. He softens slightly then arches a brow at the seating arrangements.
“Have you been accused of a crime?”
“They’re reading a gossip rag and asking what it’s got right.”
Severus scoffs. “You mean to tell me that your best friends since you were twelve and your maid of honor can’t discern the truth for themselves? Color me shocked.”
“Oi, whether or not you’ve got a sex dungeon is not something that comes up in casual conversation!”
“A sex dungeon,” Hermione repeats incredulously.
“I prefer to call it our play place.”
“Play place,” Ginny repeats in horrified awe. Ron and Harry retch while Hermione groans, putting her head in her hands.
“There is no sex dungeon. Or a play place!”
“She does however like when I—”
“Sev-er-us,” she growls.
“I’m sorry; they’re just too easy to wind up.”
“I’ve heard enough about that,” Ron agrees. “Except—not at my wedding, right? Right?”
Severus says nothing. Hermione’s hands don’t leave her face.
“I hate you. I hate you both so much.”
“It’s your own fault for having the centerpieces spritzed with amortentia,” Ginny says with obvious relish. “Now back to the original question: Where was your first date?”
“I consider ice skating to be the first,” Hermione says, lifting her face to smirk at her husband. “Severus considers it to be the museum because, until that point, he didn’t know I fancied him.”
“Ha! So, I was right. Technically.”
“All those walks by the lake and you never cottoned on to how she felt until the museum,” Harry says, looking at Severus incredulously.
“The nuance between her nervous chatter and her informative rambling is so very subtle that it was impossible to be sure,” Severus defends easily. “Now six years seeing my handwriting on the chalkboard and never piecing together that I was the half-blood Prince? None of you,” he adds pointedly looking at Hermione who blushes. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I didn’t spend a lot of time analyzing it,” she says defensively.
“Whatever you say, Duck.”
“Oh, that’s another one,” Ginny exclaims.
“What’s another one?”
“Why does he call you ‘duck’? Is it ...” She trails off while she peers over her brother’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkles. “It’s not really because you think a duck would be a better suited patronus, is it?”
Severus snorts. “An animal associated with the idea of ‘going with the flow’? Hardly.”
“What is that supposed to mean,” Hermione asks indignantly.
“You, my incredible, brilliant, lovely wife are many, many things. ‘Go with the flow’ is not one of them. It’s why we work,” he says soothingly. “If I married a woman who regularly came home with spontaneous plans, I’d probably have to place a confundus on the doorway so I didn’t go mad.”
Ginny clears her throat and shifts closer to Harry. Severus smirks. Hermione looks mildly appeased. She turns to Ginny.
“It’s a term of endearment where he grew up,” she says with a soft smile. “It just slipped out one day and stuck.”
“Well, it’s no Won-Won, but to each their own.”
“She doesn’t call me that anymore.”
“And dad doesn’t call mom ‘mollywobbles.’”
Harry groans. “Oh, c’mon I hated hearing that the first time!”
“Next question,” Ron yells before Ginny can say anything more about their parents. He flips through the magazine.
“Just how big is this article,” Hermione asks in surprise.
“Oh, it’s a whole expose.”
“Why on Earth…?”
Ron arches a brow, looking from the magazine to Hermione’s evident baby bump. “Bat of the Dungeon knocks up Golden Girl. Duh.”
“Is that really the title,” she asks indignantly, jumping to her feet and snatching the magazine. She looks at the cover. Reads it twice. “That is… unbearably cheesy.”
“That’s why I made it fun,” Ron grumbles. Hermione glares at him.
“What is the title,” Severus asks as he comes to stand behind his wife.
“The Dark Knight and the Golden Girl,” she reads with dramatic embellishment. “He was her sin. She was his salvation. Everything in between was their fairytale.”
He scowls. “It doesn’t imply that this began when you were a student, does it?”
“Well, if you believe page two, Hermione used Viktor as a placeholder for you.”
“At the same time she was using him to give Harry the run around,” he clucks his tongue. “I expected better of you.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Page seven suggests that Hermione is just filling the void left by my mum.”
Hermione wrinkles her nose. “Who the devil is writing this rubbish? They can’t seem to decide if we’re soulmates or degenerates.”
“Why do we have to choose,” Severus asks, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.
“If we promise to stop reading the magazine, will you stop doing that in my sitting room,” Harry asks.
“Certainly.” Severus trails his nose along her neck, planting a soft kiss behind her earlobe before straightening. He leads Hermione back into the hallway and then projects his voice. “I prefer the couches in the library anyway.”
He shuts and wards the library door just as Harry reaches the landing. They can faintly hear him cursing on the other side.
“I am not shagging you in their library.”
“He doesn’t need to know that,” he says, smirking as he offers her a book.
“You’re terrible.”
“You’re the one meant to be saving me,” he says with a shrug. “I noticed you didn’t correct Ron about the wedding rumor either.”
“It’s not my fault you’re better at corrupting me,” she sighs as she settles beside him, placing her head in his lap. “Even so, I’d say we still managed to make something of a fairytale, wouldn’t you?”
“No,” he says softly, stroking the hair back from her forehead with one hand while he moves the other to her bump. “By some miracle this beautiful life we share is real.”