In the new flat

[clumsy_auror]

*The door swings open, and Nymphadora feels herself being pulled forward, Bernard's hands clasped tightly around hers. She's grinning from ear to ear.*

Can I open 'em yet?

Comments

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*After a moment, he nods.*

I dread the day when I can't stop her from doing something stupid by picking her up by the scruff of the neck.

*Leaning his head sideways against the door, he smiles back at her, eyes full of all the love in the world.*

She'll be a handful, you know.

[clumsy_auror]

*She laughs, standing up and joining him at the door, her hand wrapping around his.*

That's what Summoning Spells are for.

And yeah. She will be.

*a gentle poke in the ribs*

'Specially with you and I around to influence her.

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

I don't know what you mean. I'm perfectly sedate. Practically boring.

[clumsy_auror]

*Snorting, she walks across the hall to the study, not even dignifying that with a response.*

Ohhhh, I like the colour.

*The walls are a mossy green, and the fireplace mirrors the one in the living room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stand along one wall.*

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*He strolls in and passes a hand over a walnut shelf.*

We need to fill these. I've collected a few books since I got here, but most of my books are back in Walla Walla still.

*He focuses on the shelves and the walls, trying to hide the way his eyes narrow and his face pales just a little.*

[clumsy_auror]

*Nymphadora sees, and she walks over, placing a hand at the small of his back, her tone light.*

Aziraphael's going to help us out there, I have a feeling.

And heaven knows I've got enough from Hogwarts and the Academy to fill a few shelves. History of Magic alone...

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*His face lights*

Got any potions textbooks?

[clumsy_auror]

Oh, sure. All except third year. That one met a rather violent end, I'm afraid.

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*He's unreasonably excited.*

Maybe some Saturday we can mess around with potions ingredients...

[clumsy_auror]

*She looks askance at him; it's a distinct 'it's your funeral' sort of a look.*

Um. Sure! We can...give it a shot.

*A mournful look back in the direction of the shiny new kitchen. It was pretty while it lasted.*

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*He grins and kisses her. If he were any more excited, he'd be bouncing.*

I love you. We won't burn the house down, I promise.

[clumsy_auror]

You say that now, but next thing you know the cauldron's melted and you've lost more points than Hufflepuff ever earned and it takes a week for you to regrow your eyebrows, which is pretty sadly impressive for a Metamorphmagus...

*Trailing off, she coughs, and gives him a winning smile.*

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

...Were there pictures?

[clumsy_auror]

*Her cheeks darkening to a lovely shade of magenta, Nymphadora turns on her heel and walks back out into the hallway, her voice drifting back to him.*

I think we should check out the bathroom. I'm sure it's just lovely.

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*Bernard cackles to himself and follows.*

Yeah, it turned out really nice.

*A grin*

Big bath.

[clumsy_auror]

*Raising an eyebrow at him, she nods, a sly smile on her face.*

So I see.

And a very pretty apple-y green colour.

*She runs a hand over the chrome faucet and bright white sink.*

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

I thought so.

*He runs a hand through his hair.*

Got some in my hair. Looked like a fractured Christmas decoration.

[clumsy_auror]

*She looks up at his hair, a few silver strands here and there glinting in the light. A sort of pang twinges in her stomach, but she smiles, and her voice is slightly teasing.*

Good thing you're not vain, at all.

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*He gives her a suspicious look, flushing a little.*

Yeah, good thing.

[clumsy_auror]

*She slips past him on her way back into the hall, her hands resting at his ribs for a brief moment, and her lips pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.*

And the last room, of course...

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*Bernard follows her, a slow, wide, uncontrollable grin on his lips.

He doesn't say anything; he just waits.*

[clumsy_auror]

*The warm, golden-yellow walls of their bedroom catch the sunlight and gleam, throwing light onto the cedar trim and mantle. It smells of the new wood, sharp and exotic, and she knows it'll fade in time, change to a familiar, homey scent that will come back to her whenever she thinks of them.

She fumbles for his hand at her side.*

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*He laces their fingers together tightly, his eyes once again riveted on her, always on her, and it occurs to him that this is the room they'll spend their lives in; the place that, more than any other room in the entire multiverse, he'll associate with the taste of her skin and the smell of her hair and the way she sometimes ends up all curled up in the corner of the bed, nose scrunched, as the morning sun makes her hair glitter like onyx, and they'll wake up in this room every morning for the rest of their lives, and he takes a long, silent breath, his chest tight, and just looks at her and thinks all of this while she marvels on obliviously.*

[clumsy_auror]

*Turning her head to look out the porch door to the lake beyond, she catches his gaze and holds it, her smile growing soft. Her free hand comes to rest at his hip, pulling him closer, and her lips find his in a slow kiss.

It occurs to her that he might never ask -- though she knows, somehow, that he will -- but that it doesn't matter, really, because the real asking had been done when they weren't entirely paying attention, and the answering had been just as quiet, but just as present.

Two months and eighteen days, she thinks, and wonders not for the first time how she can be sure, so soon.

And, not for the first time, she asks herself if the how really matters, after all.*

[the-woodpecker.livejournal.com]

*He leans more fully against the doorjamb of their bedroom hands running through her hair slowly and it's amazing because all this is theirs and right now it's like they have all the time in the world. All the anxiety and the urgency that he associates with their old room is almost nothing in the face of the surety, the stability, the sheer permanence of this home he built for them with his own hands.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he has to almost physically retrain himself from going down on his knee in front of her, and part of him scoffs, What are you waiting for? and another part of him answers, When it's perfect.

Except it is perfect.

And he's still waiting.*