His fingers brushed against the four small dots in the center of her palm, entranced, as always, by the slight roughness he always felt but never bothered to examine. Her pulse was fast against his thumb. It had pounded for days now. The wheels of the chair he sat upon squeaked when he shifted his weight. He looked up as she looked down to watch his index finger sweep again over her palm. He quirked an eyebrow and felt her pulse slow slightly to match the ticking of the clock behind them. The thin paper crinkled beneath her as she shifted, leaning into him.
"This one is all your fault. A few days after my birthday seventh year, do you remember? We were having breakfast in the Hall, and then I let out that yelp and left. You were having baked apples and making an utter mess of them. They were covered in raisins and honey, I believe, and then so were you. I was sitting at the table, watching you, as had become my habit, when you brought your thumb up to your lips. I was transfixed; your tongue slid out to lap the honey away, and when the pad of your thumb disappeared between your lips, I could feel my cheeks burn, and I think I actually groaned. I could see your eyes twinkle from a dozen yards off as Professor Bones shook her napkin at you."
His hand lay full against hers, the tips of his fingers only grazing the skin. Her pulse was quick yet again, and the clock struck the hour.
"I was, apparently, caught up enough, and flushed enough, to draw Ro's attention. She gave me a jab in the ribs with her elbow. I had a bruise the next morning. Well, I wasn't prepared and jumped. The palm of my hand slammed down on my fork, puncturing the skin. I was too embarrassed to go to the Hospital Wing, hence the scar. Ro teased me for weeks, and even Poppy wouldn't stop smirking every time she looked at me. So, it's utterly your fault. If you had been a bit neater, or a little less delicious to look at, I could have avoided the mortification and assault on my dignity."
Albus grasped her chin and ran tongue along his bottom lip. He leaned in, paper crinkling under his supporting hand, when the door hinges creaked. The door swung open and he pulled back, two sets of eyes turning toward the interruption. With a single wave of a wand, information began to scroll through the air.
"Congratulations, professors! I would say you're due the third week of March."