It was with a light heart and a quickly abating headache that Harry approached Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. It wasn't a journey he found himself taking very often in recent times, even with Kingsley being his direct superior.

Despite the seven years that had passed since the fall of Voldemort, the Ministry had not yet run out of fires for Harry to put out. Whether it was by providing support to the new egalitarian legislation put forward by the DMLE, or going out and 'reassuring the people' as Hermione had called it. He had even been called upon to represent Britain at the ICW at one time or another, to demonstrate that the country was truly taking their commitment to long-lasting peace seriously.

These commitments, however, would mean that on most weeks, he had no time at all to work as an Auror. He hadn't worked a case in what felt like years and, on the brief occasions he did manage to make it into the office, he only ever had time to help in training the recruits. He loved doing so too, but he couldn't help but feel that he'd joined the Aurors for more than just that.

So, when the retrial of Augustus Rookwood, against whom Harry had been called to testify, came to a close a week faster than Harry himself had expected, he made a veritable beeline to Hermione's office in the DMLE, informing her that his public services were unavailable for the next few weeks. She'd acquiesced quickly, with a reminder that he was invited for a meal at her and Ron's flat that evening.

And, by some grace, that very afternoon Kingsley had requested his presence. His, and Tonks'.

She was already waiting by Kingsley's door by the time Harry arrived, her shoulder leaning against the wall beside his office, looking bored out of her mind. Her hair mimicked the beige of that very wall, fading into it, yet as she spotted Harry, her locks spun themselves into a shade of purple he'd only ever seen in her hair. It was, by far, the colour he most associated with her.

"Took you long enough," Tonks said, pushing up off the wall to stand as upright as her ennui would allow. "I've been waiting ages."

"We got the message ten minutes ago," Harry said, an immediate look of amusement falling upon his face. "Unless you've gotten yourself a time-turner for the express purpose of being dramatic, I don't think you've been waiting 'ages'."

Her face shifted into an aristocratic frown; one she was borrowing from Andromeda, no doubt. "I could've. You don't know me." She could not keep up the appearance for any great length, however, and she was soon grinning. "Okay, so maybe not ages, per se, but you were way too long and after the day I've had, I didn't deserve to be kept waiting."

Harry leaned his back against the wall, settling in. "That bad?"

"Just the worst," Tonks said, shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes shifting colours from blue to green to brown and then back again. "Despite my supposed seniority, I couldn't get out of doing fucking paperwork all day, and it's not even my paperwork." She sighed deeply. "Some dickhead you went to school with, Jeffers I think, didn't realise that you're not supposed to cast a charm through your partner just to stop a suspect from getting away, and especially if that suspect ends up innocent. We're lucky Hendricks thought it was 'cool', and not, y'know, grounds for legal action."

She let out an even deeper sigh, her eyes losing the furious irritation they had before been illuminated with. "We're surrounded by morons, Harry. Morons," she said. "I-" She pointed at herself, "-I shouldn't be saying that. I should be one of the idiots. My life wasn't supposed to be this."

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder sympathetically. Tonks quirked the corners of her mouth upward.

"Was it even cool?" Harry asked.

Tonks shook her head, her nose scrunching as she did. "All Jeffers did was cast a sleeping charm, so Hendricks just fell asleep in the middle of Horizont Alley. The suspect wasn't even running away from them, either. They were just running to meet up with a friend." She shook her head. "Morons, every last one."

"Sounds like a complete shit-show."

She nodded. "And one I, as their superior,have to account for," Tonks grumbled. "I bet Mad-Eye didn't have to do paperwork like this. He was just insane, and everyone let him be."

Harry smiled. "A thought for the future."

Tonks smiled back. "How was your trial?"

"I barely did anything. Rookwood just confessed. I think after escaping Azkaban twice, he probably backs himself to escape again. Shame he did confess too; trial was finished before he could give us anything on the Death Eaters still out there," Harry explained.

After the war, and with the dementors expelled from Britain for good, there had been a great reform of the imprisonment system in the country. The use of the Veil, or any other form of the death penalty, was strictly forbidden, and so their punishment was a life in Azkaban. And it would be life too, with the enchantments that'd been placed upon the island.

"His accounts are already seized for the reparations fund, too," Harry continued.

That had been Ron's idea, in the aftermath of the war. Neither Harry nor Hermione had truly understood the depths of generational wealth that the oldest purebloods held; wealth that would otherwise disappear as its owner too faded away. Yet now there were hospitals built and repaired, war-ravaged business replenished, and, for the first time in Wizarding history, there were nationalised primary schools for every magical child in the United Kingdom.

More impressive still was that the goblins of Gringotts had agreed to cooperate, with only one condition. That Harry, Ron, and Hermione were to never set foot inside Gringotts bank again, for as long as they lived.

Kingsley's door opened, revealing the tall form of the man himself. He gave both of them a nod of recognition as he met their eyes.

"Harry, Tonks," he said, his hand beckoning them into his office.

"King," Harry and Tonks chorused, sharing a grin as they did. Kingsley could only shake his head.

He hated the nickname, and so it was the only one they ever used.

"I'd say sorry for the wait, but I already regret inviting you," Kingsley said, his voice even and devoid of inflection.

Harry and Tonks both laughed, taking a seat at the Head Auror's desk beside one another. Harry found there was a great sense of nostalgia about the entire room.

In his first year as an Auror, his life had been nothing but work, patching the holes that Voldemort's reign had left in the country's foundations. With the shortage of Aurors, Harry had quickly been fast-tracked; within six months, he oversaw half the office alongside Tonks under Kingsley's watchful jurisdiction. They ended nearly every evening sitting as they were then, in that office. Planning, writing, occasionally drinking, and, unfortunately, commiserating.

Life had since settled for the three of them, thank Merlin, and Harry knew that they would not be in their current positions for very much longer. Kingsley's destiny was pointed upward, toward the Minister's office. Tonks, Harry knew, would one day be sitting at the other side of the desk they then crowded. And Harry, well, he did not know, though if his current life was any indication, his time was apparently better suited elsewhere, too.

"This a social visit then, King?" Tonks asked. She reclined in her chair so that she could rest her boots on the desk, though she very nearly tipped herself back and onto the ground. She would've done so too, were it not for Harry's hand holding the chair steady. "Missed your two favouritest Aurors in the whole wide world?"

"I'll be missing them a little while longer talking to you," Kingsley replied, his eyes fixated on the soles of Tonks' Doc Martens as if the sheer power of his stare would cause them to shift away from his beloved desk. "And no, there's a case."

Kingsley swiped his wand from its holster and directed it toward a filing cabinet, sending two folders flying toward Harry and Tonks.

"Have you read about that armed assault on Stephen Sumner?" Kingsley asked. Tonks' boots swung down to the ground as she listened. Sumner was the muggle Minister for Education, and one tipped for more, Harry knew. "It's been all across their news this past week. Their side thinks a member of the Tory party ordered it. Mr Sumner has made several comments in the media recently about his opposition that had apparently gone down like a lead balloon, and they think some had taken it personally."

According to the report, there had been no signs of anyone breaking into the home. No broken glass, no fingerprints, the door still in perfect condition. The police had even gone so far as to check the chimney, though even that was untouched. By appearances, it was as if nothing had happened.

Except, of course, for the unconscious MP at St Thomas Hospital.

"He's been in a coma for a week?" Harry wondered, reading the words from the parchment in his hands.

"Had been," Kingsley corrected. "After Scotland Yard couldn't find anything, I sent a team there early yesterday morning. They found evidence of magical transportation and spell usage; spells that correlated directly to the injuries Mr Sumner sustained." He paused to drink his coffee. "They brought him to St Mungo's soon after for treatment. He woke up this morning."

"Anything?" Tonks asked.

Kingsley shook his head. "Whoever assaulted him had erased his memory too," he said, before quickly adding, "but, I kept him talking, hoping to work through the memory charm. I never did, but Mr Sumner did keep talking about his son Hugh's upcoming wedding. To Sally-Anne Perks."

Harry's eyes went wide.

"She's alive?" he blurted. "I haven't seen her since we were twelve."

Kingsley nodded. "Apparently she went to university with Mr Sumner's son." He leaned forward in his chair. "As a muggle-born, I imagine she'd seen enough mess with her one year at Hogwarts with you for a lifetime. She likely just wanted a normal life."

Harry couldn't blame her.

"It's my understanding that this attack was not, in fact, intended for Mr Sumner, but for Miss Perks," Kingsley said. "As an untrained muggle-born witch, she'd make a prime target for any of the remnants of Voldemort's followers.

"From similar, prior attacks, we know the culprit will be looking to cause the greatest damage possible, with the intention of making the Statue of Secrecy impossible to uphold."

"You think they're going to target this wedding," Tonks stated.

Kingsley nodded. "I do," he said. "And we need to stop that from happening." He sighed. "Due to the sensitive nature of this assignment, however, I need two Aurors at that wedding to ensure that nothing happens. Capable enough to put out fires before they even start, and aware enough of the muggle world to blend in without notice." He looked first to Tonks, and then to Harry. "You two are the only ones capable of fulfilling that criteria."

Harry and Tonks shared a look. Harry shrugged, and Tonks then nodded.

It was settled.

"Have you noticed how King only compliments us when he wants something?" Tonks thought aloud. Harry laughed.

"The wedding guests arrive at The Lansbury Hotel in three days' time," Kingsley continued, entirely ignoring Tonks' comment. "You'll get there a day early to scout out the premises, and you'll be expected to attend proceedings, including the wedding ceremony. You are not expected to act as guests in the truest sense, however, as you will be there in mostly an observatory capacity."

"And our alibi?" Harry asked.

Kingsley met his eyes. "You were childhood friends with the bride. You're the same age and you grew up in the same town, Waybridge, but you left for boarding school when you were eleven. You don't see each other as often as you would like, but Miss Perks holds…personal attachment to you," he said, his voice toneless. And, in a rush, he added. "And Tonks is your date."

"Pardon?" Tonks asked. The beginnings of a blinding grin was upon her face, her hair flashing between lily-white and lilac. She looked entirely too pleased for Harry's liking. "Could you repeat that?"

"You're his date," Kingsley added. "His girlfriend."

Tonks slipped down in her chair, her eyes morphed big and doe-like, her mouth sighing dreamily. "Oh, how I've dreamed this day would come!" she cried, taking his hand in hers and swooning, nearly falling off of her chair in the process. "Finally, it's true!" She laughed. "Think of how jealous all those Witch Weekly readers are going to be when I sell them the story."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Yeah?" he asked. "I can't believe all this time, you've wanted to ruin our friendship with your urges."

"Just you wait until I get you into that hotel room, beloved," Tonks teased, giving Harry a filthy grin. "I'll show you urges you've never seen before."

Harry frowned. "Beloved?"

"Are you not fond of 'beloved', beloved?"

Harry shook his head. "Indifferent."

She shrugged. "This gig sounds like it's going to be full of posh pricks; we'd best fit in," she explained. "So for pet names, it's either 'beloved' or 'darling' and I don't think I'm capable of saying darling without wanting to punch myself in the throat."

"Who says we have to have pet names?"

"Which couples do you know that don't have pet names, Harry?" Tonks wondered. "I bet Ron and Hermione are a 'sweetheart' couple; maybe 'baby' at a push. Fleur and Bill are like, 'mon ami'—"

"—amour," Harry said gently.

"And that too," Tonks added, her gaze only warming as Harry shook his head in the mildest of exasperations. "If we want this to be believable, we've gotta do it properly." She patted her own legs to emphasise her point. "So, pet names."

"Beloved's fine," Harry said. "What do you want to be called, Dora?"

The tempest that was Tonks stilled, her hair turning a dull brown. "Absolutely not that."

"Babe?" Harry wondered. "Baby?"

Tonks shook her head, colour shaking along the locks as she did. Black and blonde twisting through the short hair, until lilac began to flow like cherry blossoms upon an autumnal river. "It's too…normal. Baby is something that I would actually want my partner to say, making it completely unsuitable."

"Sweetheart? Sweetie?" Harry wondered, both words feeling foreign on his tongue.

"You'd never say that," said Tonks. "Your whole face scrunches when you say it. Look." In an instant, her face was then his. It was not the first time she'd done it, not by a long way, but the transition was as horrifying as ever. "Sweetie."

She was right, too. Annoyingly.

"Please never do that again," Harry said, without a single shred of hope of his desire ever coming true. He watched on as, mercifully, the soft, heart-shaped curves of Tonks' face filled out from the worryingly angular edges of his own; her smiling cheeks misplacing his grimace. "I'll never call you that ever again, I promise."

"Thank you," said Tonks, placing her hand momentarily over her own heart. "Unfortunately, that does leave you a little bit stranded on the pet names front."

"I'm still definitely not calling you beloved," Harry said. "I'm not Mr Darcy."

"If only," Tonks muttered.

"How about love?" Harry asked, ignoring her comment entirely. To his satisfaction, the word settled itself in his mouth without any pain.

Tonks smiled, nodding her agreement. "I like it," she said. "You've gotta say it slowly, though. You can't rush through it, or it's dismissive. It has to be 'love' rather than 'luv', you know?"

Head Auror Shacklebolt cleared his throat just as Harry nodded his own agreement. The noise served to bring their attention back to Kingsley, though it mostly reminded Harry and Tonks that he was still there.

"In any case," Kingsley said. "Now that you've got that no doubt essential aspect of your job out of the way, is there anything else you wish to know?"

There was silence in the room for a moment, then.

"How've you been, King?" Harry asked. "Feels like it's been ages since we've all talked."

"Less stressed, I bet," Tonks added.

Kingsley nodded his agreement, though he allowed himself a moment's contemplation before he spoke.

"Quiet," he said. "Feels like every day Britain becomes less and less of a war-zone. I'm more of a detective than a general these days."

"The election's coming up soon. Robards is stepping down," Tonks stated. "You think this one's yours?"

Another beat of silence passed through the room.

"I'm not sure," Kingsley said, pushing his hand against his furrowed brow. "I haven't had a day off in years. I feel like it's starting to catch up to me. And I don't think being the Minister is going to help that."

"Do you think you'll be happy there?" Harry asked. "Do you think it'll be satisfying?"

Kingsley shook his head immediately. "It's not something I ever set out to do," he said. "I started out like you two. I just wanted to put away bad guys. Time just has a habit of giving me more responsibility than I ask for."

Tonks hummed, her chin held in the palm of her hand thoughtfully. "It might not even be about you in the end though, King," she said. "It's all about the other names on the ballot, and how much better you'd be than them."

Harry nodded. "We've all gone through one Cornelius Fudge," he said. "We don't need another."

"Can you not be tempted, Minister Potter?" Kingsley asked. "It does have a nice ring to it."

Harry stood from his chair. "I'd sooner run naked through the streets of London," he said. "Besides, I'm too busy with this case here to worry about falling upward." He pulled Tonks from her chair too, ensuring that he balanced her feet as he did. "Isn't that right, love?"

Tonks batted her eyelashes, her head tipped back to swoon. "Oh, beloved," she crooned. "I'm yours, forever and ever."

Seeing his childhood best friends as adults (and real adults at that, not the fake kind that he was ), engaged and expecting and everything, had never ceased being profoundly odd. Even as Harry opened the door to Ron and Hermione's apartment in North London, using the key they'd bought for him, he couldn't help but see their childhood likenesses briefly stitched over their true faces.

The first Friday of every month had been their night for as long as they'd all been adults. It was a tradition that even their three hectic schedules could not hinder. Even if Harry was seconds removed from an Auror raid or hours removed from a hospital bed, he would always make time.

It was usually a fairly quiet affair, though pleasantly so. Familiar. Domestic.

That night, it seemed, would be no different, as a six-month pregnant Hermione welcomed him in.

"You're early," she said, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Harry returned the embrace, mindful of the bump between them. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry assured.

Ron then lifted his head from the pot upon the stove; their year on the run had made it more than clear that he was the only one to be trusted anywhere near a kitchen. "Alright, mate," he said, his head nodding upward. Harry nodded back. "How're the Aurors?"

"Missing you still," Harry told him, as he always did. It was true, too. Competence in stressful circumstances was a skill Ron had in spades; and one everyone else, it seemed, lacked completely. It had been years since Ron left in favour of working with his brother George at Weasley's Wheezes, but Harry still often found himself wishing for Ron's help in carrying the load.

"I'm sure you're managing without me," Ron said, before turning to Hermione. "Sweetheart, please sit down. I'll set the table."

"I can do it myself, thank you," Hermione told him.

"You can, yes, but you worked today and I didn't," Ron reasoned. Hermione chewed her lip. She only ever did that when Ron was winning an argument. "Let me."

"You're not just offering because I'm pregnant, are you?"

"Not just, no."

Harry poured himself a glass of wine and settled into his chair in their living room, and settled into the routine of his Friday evening, allowing his mind to unspool after the day. He read the quidditch section of The Daily Prophet, he listened to the faint music playing lightly on the radio, and he heard the familiar rhythms of a spirited 'Ron and Hermione discussion', as they referred to them in recent times.

It was only after he'd finished his glass that they addressed him at all.

"So, what did Kingsley want?" Hermione asked.

"An undercover job," Harry said. "With Tonks."

"Aren't you a little conspicuous, mate?" Ron asked.

"It's in the muggle world. And it's better than delivering speeches."

Hermione sighed. "And you're with Tonks?" she asked. "That will make your job much easier."

"Less boring too," said Ron. "Need something to bring a bit of spice to it."

"And that's what Tonks is to you, Ron?" Hermione asked. "Spice?"

"Her company is better than anyone else's in the Aurors, is all I mean," Ron said, his voice even. He turned to Harry. "No offence, mate."

"None taken," said Harry. There was little offence to be found in the truth. Or rather, that particular truth. "Haven't spent time with her in ages, anyway. It'll be nice to catch up."

"You haven't?" asked Ron, his eyes squinting with the query. "Didn't you all used to go out in Hogsmeade together? You and her and Kingsley?"

"Used to, yeah."

"And your desks are next to each other," Hermione added.

"Only matters if I spend any time sat there." Harry stood up from his chair. "Anyway, I'll be gone for a week or so, and it'll be my entire life then, so can we talk about something else?"

Harry could feel the look his best friends shared after he spoke; he ignored it in favour of pouring himself another glass of wine and sitting down at the dinner table. He took his usual place across the table from Ron and Hermione, who preferred to sit side by side.

He didn't drink much anywhere else in recent times, save for the occasional night out, and so he savoured the indulgence.

"Did you hear about Neville and Hannah getting engaged?" Ron asked, breaking the silence. His hands found busy work amongst the pots and pans on the stovetop. "Just last weekend, apparently."

Harry smiled. "I didn't realise they'd been going out that long," he said, pushing his hair from his eyes.

"Five years, I think," Hermione supplied.

"Has it really been five years?" Harry asked. "I swear it wasn't that long ago that Neville was dating Ginny."

Hermione laughed. "That was six years ago. For about three months."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Seriously, the ministry building makes you lose track of the days. Weeks, even."

"It's your hours." She crossed her arms. "Have you even been sleeping?"

"Yeah," Harry told her. Not for many hours, and never very many in a row, but he did sleep.

Hermione frowned. "Maybe this assignment will do you some good then. It'll force you to get away from it all."

Harry laughed, resigned. "I just wish there were more hours in the day, is all," he said. "Time enough to do everything the Ministry needs me to do, as well as my actual job."

Ron's head raised from a pan once more.

"Maybe it's time to ask if you really need to work for the Aurors at all," Ron said. "Sure, you're probably a better wand than almost anyone, but that isn't a skill they're in massive need of these days."

"It's not that."

"What is it then?"

"It's that me, Tonks, and Kingsley rebuilt that office from the ground up. I don't want to turn away from it until I know it doesn't need me. And at the minute, it does," Harry explained, though he knew Ron didn't truly get it. Ron had left the force too soon to truly understand Harry's perspective. He turned to Hermione. "If I'm going to give anything up, it's all the other stuff you insist I need to do. The visits, the parties. All of that."

"You mean the only reason Britain was re-invited to the ICW?" Hermione questioned, her eyebrows knitting together as she spoke. "Or basically the only reason we have a society at all, after the mess we were left in?"

"Surely now Britain can begin to take care of itself, though," Harry said. "And I'm sure Diagon Alley won't sink into the Thames if I'm not there for every grand unveiling or re-opening. Surely this country is bigger than just us three."

"What doyou want, then?" Hermione asked. "For goodness sake, you're in the Aurors because you're obligated to see the project through. You're the face of the bloody country because you feel this obligation to me." Her jaw clenched tight. "What do you want?"

"I don't know!"

With exquisite timing, dinner chose that very moment to announce that it was ready, and soon the oppressively tense aura that filled the dinner table was replaced by the warmth of a cooked meal wafting through the room. It was roast pork, a Ron Weasley speciality, and a finer example of what was already a fine meal.

The three of them sat in silence then, enjoying their food. Chewing served to work out the tension from Harry's jaw and with that the stiffness in his spine.

"So," Ron did eventually break the silence by saying, "been on any dates recently?"

Harry shook his head.

Ron grinned. "Good," he said, "because there's this girl that works in Flourish & Botts who I think you'll really like."

"I'm not interested," Harry said.

"You haven't even met her. How could you know?" Ron asked. "She could be perfect for you."

"Could be," Harry offered. "Still, not interested."

"Well, maybe, just maybe, she's exactly what you need." Ron grinned, undeterred. "She could be the thing that makes it all make sense, you know?"

"Not really," Harry said, his eyes not leaving his dinner. "We don't all get lucky like you two."

"Ron has a point," said Hermione. "It might not be perfect, but maybe you just need a little more work-life balance." She paused, her voice lowering. "I know that what happened with Daphne was terrible, bu—"

"—I really don't want to talk about that," Harry said, his spine stiff once more. "Can we not just have dinner without a forensic examination of all my numerous failings?" His fork clattered loudly against his plate. "Please?" He drew a deep breath, pushing his hand against his tired eyes. "Sorry, I know you're trying to help and I'm being ungrateful, but can we do this— can we just do this another time?"

Harry's gaze fell to his plate, but he could still feel the look that Ron and Hermione shared.

"Sure," Ron said, and after a moment's pause, added. "This girl is pretty great though."

Harry laughed before he even realised. "You're an arsehole."

"I'm just trying to help you out here!" Ron exclaimed. "Merlin knows you need something to work all this—" He gestured along the full length of Harry with a hand that held a glass of wine, nearly spilling some onto his plate, though not quite, "—melodrama out of your system."

"You're calling me melodramatic?"

"I'm not calling you anything." Ron shook his head. "No, you are melodramatic."

Harry met Hermione's eyes. "I regret letting you teach him new words."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow upward. "You're not aiding your case here, Harry," she said.

"Alright," Harry said, begrudgingly. "Who is she?"

"Demelza Robins," Ron said, "and before you start, she's changed a lot since school."

"I'd hope so, given it's been, what, nine years since I last saw her?" Harry guessed, his mind cast back to his sixth year at Hogwarts; her fourth.

"Exactly," Ron agreed. "So, what about her?"

"Definitely not," Harry said. "She's way too young."

"This isn't school anymore!" Hermione told him. "She's twenty-three."

"And agedidn't seem like an issue when you were dating Gabrielle," Ron said.

"I didn't really date Gabi," Harry said.

It'd happened the summer he turned twenty-two, and Gabrielle at nineteen was fresh from gaining her mastery in Magizoology. She'd just begun turning up at Grimmauld Place one afternoon and just continued to do so from the beginning of July to the end of August. Last Harry saw her, her picture was in the paper, announcing her engagement to the son of the French Minister for Magic.

"I saw enough of you that summer to know otherwise," Ron said. It was no accident that by the autumn of that year, Ron had moved in with Hermione. "And I just don't believe you, anyway. You dated my sister."

"For a month," Harry added. "It didn't end very well."

It hadn't been explosive, either, as Harry might well have imagined it would be between the two of them. It had just fizzled. They hadn't clashed; they'd just quickly ran out of things to say to one another until they said nothing at all.

The air between them held too much already. Too much shared grief to ever find comfort in one another. Neither of them as teenagers, children as they were then, were at all equipped to understand all that had happened.

To handle it, or not handle it. To be okay, or not okay.

Because the weight of loss was all too much for that.

Of Fred.

Of Luna.

Life as friends had proved more fruitful, in any case.

"None of them do," Hermione said, pushing her plate into the middle of the table, finished as it was. "That doesn't mean you should give up entirely."

"I'm not giving up on the idea entirely," Harry said, pushing his plate forward just as Hermione had. "I do want to find someone, I do. I want to have it like you have it — like my parents had it — but I don't think Demelza is the one for me. Sorry."

"She's really sweet," Hermione said. "I think you should give her a chance."

Ron stood up, taking their three plates to the sink and setting the cleaning charms to work. He preferred to cook by hand, Harry knew, as he trusted his hands more than his wand for things that truly mattered, though he found no satisfaction in cleaning.

Harry was the complete opposite in that regard.

As the water grew boiling hot and steam slowly filtered into the room, Ron turned back to look at Harry.

"Is it because she didn't fight in the war?" he asked.

"No," Harry said, very quickly. "Well, it doesn't help, but no. She was only a fifth year."

"You'd faced Voldemort twice by then," Hermione reasoned.

"Just because I went through something terrible, that doesn't mean that everyone else needs to, too," Harry said. "If it did, then my entire life's work would be pointless."

The niggling thought did rear its head that, if she were at the battle, then more people would still be here with them too, though it was one he knew absolutely to be irrational.

That didn't make it disappear, though.

"If I say I'll think about talking to her, will you stop asking?" Harry asked. He leaned back in his chair. "Why don't we talk about your wedding instead?" He paused to drink the last of his glass of wine. "You know how much you love doing that."

Harry smiled at their immediate, long-suffering sighs.

They'd been engaged for five years, and had, at no point, ever truly begun planning their wedding day. Not a venue, nor a theme, nor a date.

Nothing.

It drove Mrs Weasley half-mad.

Ron smiled. "Sure," he said, with a forced laugh. "It'll definitely not be for another year, yet."

"How come?" Harry asked.

"I want my daughter to be able to remember it," Hermione said, her hands passing over her bump as she spoke. "If we do it so soon, it'll just be a day where she's away from her parents and surrounded by adults being too loud."

"Don't children only start remembering stuff at like, four years old?" Harry queried. "Are you waiting another four years?"

Hermione shook her head forcefully. "According to an article I'd read, they don't remember specific details until they're either three or four, but they do remember positive emotions much earlier," she explained. "At around two or so."

Harry looked at Ron. "Another two years?"

Ron shrugged. "We're married enough for me already," he said. Hermione gave him a pointed glare. "We are. And a day of dress robes and distant cousins isn't going to change anything." He took Hermione's hand in his. "All I want with this is to make you happy because I'm already so happy every day with you. So, whatever makes you happy with this wedding, makes me happy too."

Her eyes softened. "I'm happy every day I spend with you, too," she said, before sighing. "We should've just eloped in Australia."

Harry's eyes widened.

"What?" he asked. "You were going to elope?"

It took the two of them a moment to realise he was even there.

"Not seriously," Hermione told him. "Well, not unseriously, but no, not really. It was just an idea we had when he went to visit my parents a few years ago."

Harry laughed, relieved. "While I do like the idea, mostly because it gets me out of writing a best man speech," he said, "Mrs Weasley would hate it."

"I think at twenty-five I'm a little removed from doing stuff only to appease my mum," Ron said.

Hermione laughed. Ron looked at her, and she soon stopped.

"Think of it this way, sweetheart," she said. "What would you rather have: an elopement or Christmas, and Christmas dinner, at the Burrow for the next ten years?" Hermione steepled her hands on her baby bump. "Because, I assure you, you will only get one or the other. Not both."

Ron hummed, thoughtful. "We could have Christmas with your parents."

Hermione shook her head. "Australia in December is far too hot," she said. "The last time we went it was June and both of us came back looking like lobsters."

Ron frowned at the memory. "A wedding it is."