They sat together at the foot of the bed, heads studiously bent over several brochures. Wild, coffee-colored curls crowding out a pate topped with lank, black hair.
"They have this thing called the Mall of America. Filled with more shops than the eye can see! And I really like the idea of visiting the MIA. That sculpture garden is amazing," she commented excitedly and shoved a brochure at his large beak of a nose; he had to cross his eyes to see it properly. "Just think: The World's Biggest Ball of Twine! And these bitty balls of deliciousness called mini donuts at the State Fair!"
"You just adore cherries. And donuts," he snorted in his silky baritone. He swiped the paper from her and shuffled a few more brochures around to find one that might possibly be less offensive.
Her brown eyes sparkled as she stuck out her tongue at him. "Well Minerva and Flitwick swear by the Minnesota State Fair. Lots of things on sticks to try." She caught his eye and grinned.
The man, her companion of more than a decade muttered, "Mmm... I should try sticks up their arses for giving you this idea. You know I bloody well hate going on holiday. I leave all my research. "
"Did you know..." she drew out as she searched for another color brochure to present to his nose,"Aha! The Spam Museum is in Austen, Minnesota? Did you know that Hawaii is the number one consumer of Spam, but it's actu..." She sighed at his complete lack of enthusiasm, deciding to offer another destination.
"Well, there's always New York, Broadway," she began.
"We've already been there. Horrid Times Square. Stunk worse than a Blast-End Skrewt married up with a durian fruit. Blargh!" he interrupted with a shudder.
"Orlando, Florida? They have a fabulous place called Universal Studios. A replica dedicated to Diagon Alley, Harry and the Wizarding," She was stopped again by him rolling his eyes.
"Too hot, too humid, and why the bloody hell would I want to go to a shrine for that boy when I see him nearly every Sunday for dinner? His brats will be coming to Hogwarts soon enough," he sneered.
"California? Sandy beaches and heat without humidity?" she threw out in desperation, ignoring the barb about her friends. He really did have an affection, a mild one, for Harry and Ron and their families. Well, more a tolerance, she decided.
Black eyes bore into brown. "Three words," he ticked them off on his long pale fingers. "Sand. In. Bum."
Hermione stood from the bed, frustrated. She began to pace, her arms folded across her ample chest.
"Severus, I am nearly out of patience with you! You try to get out of going on holiday every year. I don't care if you nearly died from snakes, and then that year we went to the caravan park, well that's not really true because of course I do, but you need to regain that sense of adventure you had once upon a time. Until you get your head out of your arse, you're not getting a leg over on this!" At that pronouncement, Hermione Granger, recipient of the Order of Merlin First Class for her part in defeating Voldemort, slapped her ass, stormed out of her lover's bedroom with her fuzzy brown curls trailing behind her.
A moment later, he heard her yell through the door, "Sand in bum! That's what magic is for, you dunderhead!"