word count: 656
The Three Broomsticks is surprisingly slow when Kingsley pops in around lunch. Since that terrible final battle two months ago, he can't remember seeing any of the pubs empty. They had been crowded with so many people desperate for some sort of comfort after going through hell and losing so much.
Rosmerta doesn't see him right away. That's fine. It isn't like Kingsley wants to rush her. These days, so many people see him and feel like they have to drop everything because the Minister of Magic is there. He hopes Rosmerta never does that, that they will always have the light, easiness he loves about their relationship.
He takes a seat at the bar, pulling a bag of sweets from his pocket. He'd made sure to stop by Honeydukes beforehand to pick up some of his love's favorite little sweet treats. It's a small gesture, but he thinks she'll appreciate it.
"Well, well, well… If it isn't the Minister of Magic," Rosmerta says in a sing-song voice as she leans against the counter, a smile on her lips.
Not for the first time, Kingsley is almost overwhelmed by how beautiful she is. All he can do is stare for several moments. Rosmerta's smile twitches in amusement.
"Did you come here for anything, or are you just going to drool over me, love?" she teases.
"I brought you something," he says, handing her the bag.
Rosmerta grins and peeks inside. "Ooh! Jelly Slugs, Ice Mice, Chocolate Frogs." A soft pink rises in her cheeks, lending her a glow that only makes her look more beautiful. "You shouldn't have."
"Oh? I shouldn't? In that case, I'll take them back at once."
"Don't you dare get cheeky with me, mister," she warns, holding the bag a little closer to her chest. A second passes, and she softens once again. "Did you want anything, or were you just visiting?"
It's tempting to have a drink. Since the end of the war, things have been hectic. Kingsley has been to too many damn funerals and sat in on so many trials. There has been an obscene amount of paperwork to do, laws to pass, so much work. He never asked for this position, but he sees the way the world is looking at him, like he somehow has all the answers, and he knows he doesn't have a choice but to try his best.
But, truthfully, it's so bloody stressful. He doesn't know how some are coping without turning to alcohol. He doesn't get drunk, but he definitely drinks more now because it takes some of the edge off.
"Tempting, tempting. I'm afraid I'm still at work," he says. "What sort of minister drinks on the job?"
Rosmerta snorts, eyes rolling. "You might be surprised," she says.
He supposes she would know very well. Kingsley is certain Cornelius would frequent the little pub regularly, both on and off the clock. Be that as it may, Kingsley doesn't want to be that type.
"I did want to ask if you'd like to have dinner with me tonight," he adds. "I can fix that chicken dish you like. Have a glass or two of wine. Curl up on the couch and talk about our day."
There's that smile again. Kingsley loves to see it. Even when everything around him feels dark and hopeless, her smile is enough to make him reconsider.
"I'm looking forward to it," she says, and she leans in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
"I should get going." He climbs to his feet, offering her one last quick smile. "I'll see you tonight."
"It's a date."
With that, he turns to leave, positively bouncing with each step he takes. The world is still in shambles, and there's still so many wounds that need healing. But, for one blissful moment, he feels like everything will be okay, and the world can be beautiful again simply because Rosmerta smiled.
