"I don't know why you had to throw a party."

"It wasn't a party. It was just a few dozen friends coming over for dinner and cake and a banner reading 'Congratulations, Neville.'"

"Harry, that's a party by definition."

"Well, OK. But is it really wrong for me to be proud of my boyfriend when he gets a promotion?"

"I suppose it's worthwhile pride."

"You're the assistant to the department head of Improper Use of Magic. You bet your fine, fine ass it's worthwhile."

"I didn't throw a party for you when you finished your Auror training."

"No, but you did suck me off every night for a week. I have to think that's better somehow."

"Better even than cake?"

"Yes, even that."

(Prolonged silence, interrupted by laughter.)

"Oh, hi, Hermione, Ron. Didn't realize you were still here."

"We could tell."

"We thought you might need help cleaning up."

"Clean up Grimmauld Place? What's the point?"

"Oh, shut it. You know it's going to look gorgeous by the end of the summer."

"I hope so. It helps that this one's richer than rich. How many vaults do you have in Gringotts again, Harry?"

"Sod off. You're cute, but that doesn't mean I can't get mad at you."

"You never have so far."

"Off the point. Sure, you guys can help. I can't promise I won't kiss him, though."

"You saw our first kiss, mate. There's no shame here. Just, no further than that, OK? You're my friends. I don't want to see it."

"But Ron, Nev is so cute."

"So's Hermione, and you don't see me snogging her all over the place."

"We don't?"

"I echo my wife's sentiments in saying this: shut it. You need help finishing that cake?"

"Have at. So, Hermione. When's that baby coming?"

(Gasp, followed by conversation muffled by hugs.)

"How could you tell, Neville?"

"Had a hunch."

"Well, we've been married for three months, so I'd say ... six months, you think?"

"A honeymoon baby. How cute."

"Was that sarcasm, Harry?"

"No! It actually is cute! God, I can't wait. I always wanted a baby I could dote on without actually accepting any responsibility."

"Well, now's your chance. Between you and my mum, this kid's going to be spoiled beyond belief."

"And she'll be adorable."

"Yes, he will."

"I take it you're not finding out the gender, then?"

"No. Oh, shit, morning sickness is coming early. We should go before I get this room even dirtier."

"Well, congratulations. Again."

(The sound of Apparition.)

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Kids."

"I know."

"Think that one'll be in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor?"

"Harry, it's still a fetus."

"Just conjecturing. Does it ever make you think maybe we're falling a bit behind? I mean, Hermione and Ron are already married. Now, they're having a baby. And we're just dating."

"Ron and Hermione have been at least half in love since they were 12. I don't think we need to catch up just yet."

"So what you're saying is in three years, we start thinking about becoming adults."

"Sounds about right."

"And for now we'll only go halfway, with jobs and a house and, I don't know, maybe a pet sometime."

"And a garden and a greenhouse and a makeshift Quidditch pitch in the backyard."

"Yeah, all of those, too."

"It really is convenient, all that money you have."

"I know. It can go toward that sex dungeon I've been saving up for since my first erection. Hey, what's that horrified look for? I'm just joking!"

"What exactly goes into a sex dungeon, anyway?"

"Not sure, really. A swing. A leather suit."

"So no moats and no dragons."

"You're thinking of Muggle fairy tale dungeons. There's a difference, I think."

"Too bad. I always fancied the idea of having a dragon."

"I bested one of those once, you know. Twice, actually."

"I know. I was there, and I heard that story at least eight times in the month after you came back, courtesy of Ron."

"He really likes that story."

"And poor me, all I have to say is 'I got whipped a few times!'"

"That's way sexier, though. Oh, whips. I bet you have those in a sex dungeon."

"You should quit talking about this before I start taking you seriously."

"You know me, Nev. You know I like my perfectly normal, non-kinky shags and post-shag cuddles."

"I know. I like those, too."

"Speaking of which..."

"Sometimes it seems like you think about nothing but my cock, all day, ever day."

"Not true. Sometimes I think about your eyes, and the way they go wide when I—"

"Oi! Don't say it out loud. I know what you mean, and I'd rather you show me so you can see them again."

"Shall we race?"

"I think we shall."

(Laughter and noises of stomping up the stairs, followed by a loud creak.)

"This bed's so old. We need to replace it."

"Mmm, maybe when we get married. For now, it serves its purposes."

"And what are those?"

"Hey, you're supposed to show me that, not me show you."

"Fine. I can do that."

(Prolonged silence and general moans of satisfaction.)

"I could never get sick of this."

"I know."

"Nev, you're supposed to say 'Neither could I.'"

"Oh. Well. Neither could I, then."

"You're supposed to mean it."

"I do!"

"And you're supposed to say you love me for everything I am and that you've never been so turned on by anything as much as my scar."

"Prat. You know all that already. Except it's not the scar that gets me, really. It's the eyes. And the hips, and the collarbones, and the mouth."

"Mmm. Your turn to show me."

"Gladly."