Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but I just can't answer that."
"Why not, Ron?" Harry James Potter was getting annoyed. Ronald Bilius Weasley was not giving him the information that he wanted, and Harry Potter did not appreciate not getting the information that he wanted.
"Well, it's sort of a personal thing." Ron shrugged and dipped his quill into an inkwell sitting on his desk. His messy handwriting was all over a report on how he and Harry had recently rounded up a supporter of Voldemort who seemed to have been under a rock for several years.
"It's been five years. You are getting married in five days. Last week, my wife - your sister, by the way - walked in on you and Hermione shagging. What could have possibly happened down there that would still be a shock to anyone?" Harry could no longer keep the irritation out of his own voice.
"I think that she'd be mad if I told you," Ron said, finally putting down the quill and blowing on the ink to make sure that it was dry.
Finally losing his cool, Harry grabbed his faithful holly wand off of his desk and jabbed the tip into Ron's chest. "If you don't tell me what you and Hermione did on the evening of the second of May, 1997, I'll hex you."
"I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't do it."
"You have ten seconds to give me a valid reason why you can't, or I take a page out of Ginny's book and give you a Bat-Bogey hex like you've never experienced before!"
"Because what happens in the Chamber of Secrets stays in the Chamber of Secrets!"
"…And that, dear boys, is why we refer to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's bedroom the Chamber," our favorite one-eared man finished grandly, smiling at faces of the two teenage boys beside him.
"That was a great story, Uncle George," Albus said, trying not to sound disappointed that his uncle hadn't chosen to recount the tale of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup (he was quite as much of a Quidditch freak as Oliver Wood, according to any member of the Potter-Weasley family). Besides, any reference to any member of his family shagging anybody made him feel a little ill.
"Yeah, good one, Dad," Fred chimed, grinning ear to ear. "Now, can you tell us why Mum calls you Master Pudding Cup? I've been dying to know for ages."
George's ear turned crimson.