clumsy_auror | (no subject)

(no subject)

'Dora's starting to idly wonder why Aziraphael invited Sunny and Anthony to the bookshop for the day. They'd been having fun, she feels, though she had forgotten to give Sunny her bath last night.

The thought is starting to worry her, a tiny bit. More than a tiny bit, even.

But she's still quite enjoying the lengthy spate of kissing she's engaged in with her husband on the sofa.

Thoughtfully, against Bernard's cheek, "...Have you thought of anything we can bribe Bar with, yet?"

Stupid Bar. Cutting off their chocolate.

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"You are. It's all about you. Even when it comes to me the past couple days, it's about how I make you feel."

Nymphadora sounds more weary than mad, by now.

Bernard is completely stunned.

"I--"

He panics.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! But if you don't say anything how can I know?!"

She levels a flat look at him.

"Why don't you count the number of times we've fought in the last few days? I'd reckon that's saying something."

"How is that all my fault?" he replies, sulking.

"Baby, it's not all mine."

He explodes. "I never said it was!" He looks tired, suddenly. Crabby.

'Dora lets out a long sigh.

Silence.

"Feel kinda funny. Kinda sleepy, too."

Bernard rubs one eye.

"Feel pretty bad. You wanna, um." He gestures towards the bed.

"Depends," she replies, even as she's kicking off her shoes. "You gonna be an arse?"

"You gonna rub my face in it forever?" he counters, pulling his sweater off.

"Maybe."

The witch crawls under the covers, yawning, and pulls them back for Bernard in a fit of generosity.

Bernard flops in after her, wrapping himself around her, feeling unaccountably... wibbly.

"Haven't been black all weekend."

Blinking, 'Dora stills and thinks about that for a moment.

"...Hm. Guess I haven't."

He clings.

"Miss it. Your face."

Nymphadora bites her lip, and then relents, because there's really no reason not to.

In fact, she suddenly finds she wants to.

So she does.

Bernard lets out a breath he feels like he's been holding for days.

He smiles, and slides up to kiss her softly. Not like he's kissed her all weekend, at all.

"I love you."

He hasn't said that in a while, either.

"Yeah. Love you, too."

The blush that graces her cheeks is somehow different than the one that's been staining them for the past few days. More assured, somehow.

He smiles again, then yawns, pulling her closer.

"Baby. Whaddaya want for dinner?"

"Hmm. Maybe that green bean casserole with the crunchy onions--"

Suddenly she freezes, and her eyes go wide.

"Oh sweet Merlin the kids."

"What?"

He's still pretty out of it.

"They're with the angel."

"Yes, Bernard, they've been with the angel for about a day and a half, now, oh sod a sodding dog--"

Suddenly she's leaping out of bed again, pulling on her shoes, scrambling for her wand.

Bernard sits up, blinking rapidly.

Calculating.

Calculating.

Wheeeeeeels turning.

"Well. We can't get a nap in first?"

'Dora's half out the door when she turns back and hauls him out of bed by the collar.

"FUCK I'm coming! Jesus fuck!"

He's sprawled on the floor, and pulling his boots on. "God."

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Nymphadora and Bernard stumble out the bar door into London.

They don't look like much, with their red eyes and drawn expressions.

But they do look like parents.

Thank God.

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