A/N - I'm sorry, this was not intended. The comment by albus potter-greengrass sparked some ideas that wouldn't leave my head, so I had to get them down. And though this probably isn't exactly what was requested or suggested, this is where crazy ideas that make me laugh go to die…

Extra Epilogue - (Not Extra Epinephrine)

She'd just got her three-week-old infant down for a nap —which was a task in and unto itself— and Daphne walked down to the basement of Grimmauld to find her mother lifting a kettlebell over her head, dropping the weight, squatting and lifting the weight once more. This series continued a few more times before Raquel set the bell down and took some deep recovery breaths.

'Mum, what are you doing?' Daphne asked as she tried unsuccessfully to withhold her laughter.

'Those exercises you told me about,' Raquel replied casually.

'I don't remember telling you to exercise.'

'Yeah, I didn't know what you meant at first either, but after doing some research, I realized you meant kettlebell exercises. I'll tell ya, they are quite the workout, I'm gonna lose this baby fat in no time.'

Daphne doubled over in laughter and it took some time before she could regain her composure. 'Mum, I didn't say kettle exercises. . . I said kegel exercises.'

'Oh, well I'm still doing my kettlebells. How do I do those kegel things?'

'I'm not telling you. It was actually Harry that told me about them. But you can read about how to do them in this magazine. You'll thank me later,' Daphne said with a smile as she tossed a magazine at her mother's feet.

Raquel's eyes widened as she saw some of the article descriptions. 'Remember, you're supposed to wait six weeks to put some of these things into action.'

'Mum, you know better than I do that witches heal faster than muggles.'

'Well don't tell your father that. This baby has zapped my libido, unfortunately.'

'That's a shame. And I won't tell him but I can't guarantee Harry won't say something. . . Or what should I do if he catches us?'

'Lie,' Raquel said with conviction.

'Nah, I'll just throw you under the bus. Well, not you. . . just your age. You can claim it's not the same for older witches.'

Raquel just grunted. She had already started turning the pages and was skimming an article. Daphne approached and caught a portion of the title before her mum shut the magazine, How to Help Him Find Your—

'Oh, isn't this a turn about? Look who can't handle a little sex education,' Daphne said with a smirk as she left with a satisfied smile.

Raquel's cheeks went a light pink. Since when could Daphne get one over on her? She was definitely slipping.

~10 Years Later

Ever since Harry discovered his and Daphne's room was directly under Sirius' he'd begun to throw a ball against the ceiling.

Every.

Single.

Night.

He knew he could've charmed something to create the same rhythmic beat but he liked the act of doing it himself. He'd heard through the grapevine that Sirius had tried every method imaginable to silence the floor but nothing was successful.

Daphne suspected Walburga had something to do with it, just based on her grandmother's reactions every once in a while when the topic would come up. They just couldn't figure if it was through Kreacher or if her portrait was somehow tied to the house's magic. Either way, it made them admire Walburga's magic just a bit more.

This particular night he had just sat on the bed and grabbed the ball but before he was able to lie down and begin throwing, Daphne entered the room with a knowing smile. He liked that smile.

'You're not gonna need that ball tonight,' she said with a seductive grin.

So, while Daphne went into the attached washroom to brush her teeth and change into her nightwear, Harry grabbed his ball and flopped onto the bed with a joyous bounce. He threw the ball against the ceiling while he was waiting for his wife. Even if they would be making their own noise, he had to remain consistent.

Daphne returned to a beaming Harry. She rolled her eyes. 'You can pretend like there is a little suspense.'

'Sorry. I hate you just as much as the first time we shared a room together. If that makes you feel better.'

'And still every bit the idiot,' she retorted while turning out the lights.

Harry knew better than to keep talking.

The next noise, in the form of words, that was heard, was a loud, 'Oh, Harry, I hate you!' moaned by Daphne.

As their children got older, they had saved the "I hate you" phrase for the bedroom. When your two-year-old repeats the phrase to her grandmother, one realizes it would be in their best interest to not completely confuse the next generation. It had the added benefit of giving them a sense of secrecy, a language that was only used during their special time together.

On this night though, the phrase didn't lead to heightening the mood like normal. Well, it did for the moment, as their continued moans and grunts indicated. But it was also quickly followed by a pitter-patter of little feet retreating from the room and down the hallway.

This put an immediate and frightening freeze on their current activities.

Thank all the stars in the sky that they'd remained under the covers this evening.

Harry poked his head out and sure enough, the door was open. 'I thought you said you always lock the door,' he hissed.

'I did,' Daphne declared. 'And I do. I always lock the door.'

'Well—'

'Daddy, why are you hurting Mummy?' The young five-year-old, Timmy, asked innocently, interrupting their whispers argument.

'Er. . .'

'Daddy is not hurting Mummy!' Daphne stated as she quickly popped her head out, saving Harry from trying to come up with an excuse or fabrication. 'Let me out,' she whispered to Harry.

She summoned a robe and wrapped it around herself before getting out of bed.

'Everything is ok, Timmy. Why are you out of bed?' she asked in attempt to change the subject.

'I had a bad dream,' he whimpered.

'Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. How did you get here?'

'Celeste brought me.'

'Oh,' she said as she looked to Harry with wide eyes. Those were the footsteps we heard. 'But how did you get in our room?'

Timmy held up a small penknife. 'Grandpa gave me this. Said I could get in if the door was locked.'

'Did he now?' Daphne asked rhetorically.

'What a scoundrel,' Harry muttered.

'No harm done, Harry,' Daphne said soothingly. 'I'll take that, Timmy,' she added while taking the penknife from her son's hand. 'And I'll make sure it gets back to Grandpa.'

The next morning as Daphne was sitting in the kitchen, she heard a soft sob come from the hallway. She crept to the door and pushed it open only slightly enough to hear what was going on outside, around the corner.

The sobbing continued for another minute.

'Celeste, dear, what has you so out of sorts?' Walburga asked. To say the portrait had a soft spot for her great-grandchildren would be like saying mermaids had an affinity to water. She was like a different being with them.

'It's my parents,' Celeste choked out.

Daphne held her breath and had to stop herself from putting an end to this conversation right there as her instinct told her to do.

'What about your parents?' Walburga prodded. 'Surely it can't be that bad.'

'They are going to get a divorce.'

Daphne's eyebrows disappeared. That was news to her.

'Why would you say such a thing?'

'I heard them fighting. Mummy said she hates Daddy.'

'Oh, my! Celeste, dear. Can you tell me how you heard this? Did they know you were listening?'

'No,' Celeste said with a sniffle, and Daphne pictured her wiping her nose or cheek with her sleeve. 'They were in their room, fighting under the covers. Daddy was hurting Mummy and she screamed at him, like really screamed at him that she hates him.'

Walburga doesn't snort, but she does almost spastically jerk her head when she is restraining what she deems is unladylike laughter. Daphne knew she was doing that at this moment.

'It sounds like my granddaughter needs to learn a Locking Charm. But I believe a small chat with your mother will have this whole situation sorted out. I do not believe your parents are on the verge of separation.'

Walburga had done an admirable job of talking Celeste off the cliff. But now it was time for Daphne to intervene.

'Celeste, would you like to have some tea with me?' Daphne said as she emerged from around the corner.

'Oh,' Celeste said in surprise. 'Yes, Mum, that would be nice.' She wiped her nose again but there was no hiding the redness in her eyes.

Daphne just indicated for her to go into the kitchen. She would save commenting about her daughter's distraught state for after some calming tea.

'I know how to lock the door,' Daphne said softly yet defensively to Walburga.

The portrait only raised her eyebrows in question.

Daphne pulled out the penknife that was still in her robe's pocket and displayed it to Walburga.

A knowing smile developed on Walburga's face. 'That boy just never wants to grow up, does he?'

'None of us do,' Daphne countered playfully.

Walburga nodded. Her eyes checked to see that the child had left the area before another smile grew.

'What?' Daphne asked. She knew that face all too well.

'I'm pleased to hear the passion is still there.'

'Thanks, Grandma,' Daphne replied with an eye roll as she left to have a consoling and potentially eye-opening conversation with her eldest daughter. The truth might be her only valid explanation.

She took a deep breath of concentration — some courage would be helpful too.