Me And My Girl
The clock in the corner showed that everyone else was out and about – thankfully nobody near death at the moment – and it was just the two of them there. It was rare that they should be alone together in The Burrow. He was making tea in the kitchen, while Molly's bespelled pots cleaned themselves beside him. She was curled into one of the overstuffed armchairs, her red hair contrasting sharply with the forest green velour of the cushions. She had a book open across her lap, and was peering intently at it. He supposed it was some romance novel. Her fingers, long and pale, twitched across the top of the page, then turned it. A small sigh escaped her.
He was almost overcome by the sudden rush of tenderness that that tiny sound evoked in him. She was so beautiful. And she was his.
"What's that you're reading, my love?"
He handed her a mug of tea. She turned it around before drinking, to avoid the chip in the rim.
"Some awful romance novel I borrowed from a friend. Its extremely silly."
He smiled at her through the steam from his tea. "Love isn't silly. Have I told you how I met your mother?"
She groaned. "Not again, dad! Please not again!"