Hello my darlings!

I know I posted yesterday, but I somehow managed to get a lot written yesterday, so I thought I'd try my best to post this chapter today and not tomorrow.

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.

Monday, March 1st, 1976

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Ronald Weasley's Future Birthday

Hermione Potter and Remus Lupin's One Year Anniversary

"We need to get up, Moony. We'll be late for class at this rate," Hermione mumbled into the crook of Remus's neck. The werewolf mumbled something incoherently in response, tightening his hold on her and snuggling into her further, his nose brushing across her cheek as he made himself comfortable.

Hermione had snuck Remus into her bed last night, and she suspected their nightly activities were to blame for their current exhaustion.

"Remus?" Hermione murmured, shoving an errant curl that had fallen across her face out of the way: she waited a moment, nothing.

"Remus?"

Again, nothing. Ah well, she thought.

Hermione sighed happily as one of her hands dove into his hair and she began to massage his scalp—earning a low moan from the boy's mouth.

Remus raised his head, half-lidded amber and gold eyes stared at her as a lazy smile spread across his face, "mm, that feels good."

"Morning, Moony," Hermione said, returning his smile, but she rolled her eyes as his head dropped down once more and he shifted just enough to pull the navy blue blankets more securely over them. At some point before they fell asleep entangled in each other's arms they'd managed to pull back on some of their clothes so thankfully there was that, but it was so warm and she found that she really didn't want to get out of bed.

Hermione shook her head slightly as she leaned up to press a swift kiss to Remus's lips—who had already slipped back asleep.

She was enveloped in Remus's warm embrace, and it randomly occurred to her that it was their one year anniversary. The thought tugged the corner of her lips upwards.

"Happy Anniversary, my sweet Moon," Hermione said.

She let out another soft, content sigh before she was dragged downwards: falling through thick and fluffy clouds into a dreamless sleep—the nightmares normally stayed away whenever Remus was there, and she heavily suspected it was because she always felt safe with him.

The two lions were very late for class that day, giggling as they tried to sneak—hand in hand—into the back of Minerva's Transfiguration class. McGonagall had paused long enough in her lecture to glare at them and give them a couple evening's detention.

Hermione sent Remus her own playful glare as they settled into their seats. It was his fault. That's what she told herself at least as she took out her textbook, a dreamy and dazed look plastered on her face for the rest of the day.

Wednesday, March 3rd, 1976

Potter Manor

Pitter patter, the rain sang as it danced across the window panes: the rain had been constant and unrelenting for the last few days and for the most part the Potter Patriarch didn't mind, with the exception that he hadn't tended to his garden in just as long—he felt cooped up and antsy. The fact that the last few days at the Ministry had been rough and unforgiving only seemed to add insult to injury.

At least he had taken today off, he'd earned a break after the nasty little incident yesterday. He grimaced when he recalled the maniacal laughter, and how he'd been the one to put a halt to it.

The smell of daffodils and spring sprang into the room, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as a faint smile brushed across his lips. Charlus glanced to his left and laid eyes on the witch who had just entered the Sun Room—a small pile of envelopes clasped in one hand (the top one had already been pried open) and a piece of parchment reverently held in the other.

"The children wrote?"

"Three of them, perhaps I should send a Howler to the other two to find out why they've been neglecting us," Dorea said playfully, a twinkle in her eye as she strolled over to her husband.

Charlus grinned crookedly before hooking an arm around her waist and tugging her down onto his lap—the witch in question stuck her tongue out at him before returning to her reading.

Whilst Charlus was curious about what the children had to say, a bigger part of him was in a particularly mischievous mood: he leaned back against the plush white loveseat, the cushion swallowing him greedily as he sank into it and casually threw out, "I got a tub of double chocolate caramel ice-cream from Florean's."

"That's your favourite, dear," Dorea laughed gaily, ripping her eyes away from her letter to glance at him knowingly.

Charlus raised an eyebrow and moved his right hand so it was resting on her bare thigh—she was still wearing her emerald night robes, the ones he liked with the large slit up the side—Dorea followed the motion and she grinned toothily, "you play dirty."

"I play dirty?" Charlus asked innocently, squeezing her supple flesh gently before his expression grew quite serious and he asked cavalierly, "what do the children have to say for themselves?"

Dorea's head tilted to the side, and with no forewarning she changed the topic completely, "are we going to talk about yesterday?"

Charlus pursed his lips thoughtfully, that certainly put a damper on his mood—his fingers tapped an uneven beat against her skin. Dorea shot him a look brimming with a sea of unspoken things that he instantly understood.

Charlus's head fell back and he removed his hands from his witch, lacing them together and pushing his hair backwards and away from his forehead. "We found the leak. There's now one less Unspeakable," Charlus answered, a dark curtain swooping into place and shrouding his features.

Dorea's brow knitted together—stitching itself full of concern—and she blew out a frustrated sigh, "I hate how uneasy and vulnerable I feel."

Charlus didn't have anything to say, it wasn't like there was a right thing to say anyway. He wished he could take away all her worry, vanish it out of existence—instead he settled for pulling her down against him and wrapped her tightly in his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know, dear. I feel the exact same way."

All that was left was the rain, the grey tumultuous clouds, the briefly abandoned letters filled with joy and gaiety clutched in a Mother's hand, and a couple's silence.