Word Count: 310
Neville enters the bedroom he and Hannah share above the Leaky Cauldron, brows raising in amusement. "Is that my jumper?"
He knows it is. There's no mistaking the oversized, lopsided blue and tan striped attempt at knitting, a birthday gift from Hermione.
Hannah looks up from her cup of tea and shrugs. "I think I might run away and become a recluse," she tells him, slumping forward. "I'm just so exhausted."
She doesn't have to tell him. He has seen the care she takes in running the pub below. Sometimes he wonders how she manages it because she does it so well.
"A man told me it was bad karma to serve him an even number of chips," she says dryly. "Karma! Over the number of chips. So, I offered to give him an extra one, but no! I need to make the whole bloody thing over again."
Neville crosses the room, kissing her gently on the cheek before sitting beside her. "Are you hungry?" he asks. He suspects she hasn't eaten all day. Ever the Hufflepuff, she has undoubtedly spent the day focusing on everyone but herself. "I can fix you a quick snack before getting dinner started."
"You don't have to do that."
He shrugs. "No. But I want to."
He can't imagine a marriage without equality, where one is stuck with all the domestic work. It has never been like that between them. That's the way it should be. Just caring for one another and building together.
"Maybe not a recluse," Hannah muses. "Can't make it without my adoring husband."
"We could be recluses together," he suggests, fetching the bread from the pantry and looking over at her.
Hannah beams, nodding her approval. "Together sounds good," she says with a soft giggle. "Blanket fort instead of a cave. Fish and chips instead of twigs and berries?"
"Perfect."