Three weeks into their marriage Harry decided that he was quite enjoying himself. His days were filled with a variety of activities, from throwing things at the cat for him to chase while sat on the roof, to sitting in the Auror office and having people make him frequent cups of tea.

He went for lunch with friends, spent afternoons with Molly or Hagrid and cooked nearly every evening for dinner.

Sometimes he brought out one of Hermione's books. But that was quite rare.

This new life had its drawbacks, same as this new body. Something strange was happening though, where he was starting to accept that things might not change. He might not be able to walk again. He might not ever go back to work as an Auror. And somehow, that was starting to be okay.

One morning there was a letter that arrived with Lady as he and Charlie sat down for breakfast of coffee and toast.

"Mm," Harry hummed, licking his buttery fingers. "There's an Order meeting tonight. Wanna go?"

"What time?"

"Seven. At your mum's."

Charlie shrugged. "We've got plenty of time to get there. Don't see why not."

After Summoning a quill, Harry signed their acceptance on the reverse of the note, fed Lady a crust of toast and sent her back off with their reply.

Unfortunately, Charlie's words came back to haunt them and various circumstances, none of which were Harry's fault meant that they arrived at The Burrow at about three minutes past seven.

"Sorry, sorry," Charlie muttered as they found seats in the cramped living room. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Since the end of the war the Order met far less frequently than they had previously. It was, admittedly, more of a social occasion than anything else, but all members had been in agreement that there was good they could do outside of being in a life or death situation. There was no structure to when the meetings were scheduled, or the topics that were discussed in the hour or so that they lounged around in one member or another's living room. And it always seemed, to Harry, at least, that the really interesting stuff was discussed after the meeting had officially come to an end.

"Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a smile as she cornered him in the kitchen. "I have something of a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Harry said and leaned back against the table. He had a fresh mug of tea in his hands and although he was starting to use the splints more and more without the crutches, he wasn't yet confident enough to stand for any period of time without anything to rest against.

"There seems to be a teaching position which has opened up in the school-"

"No," Harry interrupted her, knowing full well about the recent opening and hoping to halt his former head of house before she got into full swing.

"As you might know," Professor McGonagall continued, regardless of his interruption, "our dear Professor Grey is taking maternity leave from the Defence Against the Dark Arts job as of the end of the month, and we're having a terrible time trying to replace her."

"No, Professor," Harry said, amused now.

"You won't even hear me out?" she asked, matching his tone of voice. "Professor Flitwick and I have a Galleon or two riding on your response."

"I have no interest in teaching," Harry said firmly. He hoped. "None at all."

"I find that hard to believe. You are a most well qualified candidate for the job."

"I'm no candidate at all."

"You have teaching experience..."

"If you are referring to an illegal underground student organisation I was part of during my fifth year, I hardly think that counts..."

"And coaching experience in the Auror office..."

"Mentoring," he corrected. "I imparted no knowledge whatsoever."

"Not to mention all of the front line, first hand experience you have in fighting the Dark Arts."

"Professor - "he said and she leaned in closer as he lowered his voice. Harry plastered a serious expression on his face. "I hate children."

The older witch broke out in a peal of laughter, clapping her hands a few times. "Oh, my dear Mr Potter, do you think that stops any of the current faculty from doing their job?"

Harry snorted. "I'm sorry, Professor, I'm not interested."

"I took the liberty of contacting your current employer," Professor McGonagall continued blithely, "they would be happy to grant you a secondment from your current position in order to cover for us. That would mean you wouldn't take any pay cut. In fact, we may be able to offer you a little bit of a pay rise."

Holding back his smirk, Harry folded his arms over his chest. "No."

"You would have your own office."

"No."

"And we'd let you set your own curriculum. Within Ministry guidelines, of course."

"No."

Professor McGonagall huffed a sigh. "Well. At very least, I think you should discuss it with your family." She stared pointedly at the ring he wore on his finger.

"Oh shit," Harry muttered. "Am I supposed to do that now?"

She nodded sagely. "It is generally wise to discuss these types of things with one's spouse."

"Bollocks."

"Indeed."

"I really don't want to be a teacher."

"Can I tell you something, Harry?"

He rolled his eyes in the manner of the teenager he always felt like around the Headmistress. "Go on then."

"Neither did Severus."

Harry blinked. "Then why did he?"

"I'm not sure we'll ever know. He certainly wasn't ever fond of children. Or teaching. Or even Potions, really. But he was still one of the best Potions Masters that the school has ever seen."

"This is emotional blackmail."

McGonagall patted his arm. "Of course it is, dear. I'll look out for your owl."

xXx

They got home, showered, and climbed into bed before Harry brought up the conversation with his husband.

"McGonagall wants me to take the Defence job."

"I know. Me and Hermione were listening from the stairs."

Harry laughed and rolled onto his back, bringing Charlie with him and finding a new, comfortable position with a head on his shoulder and an arm and leg thrown over his body. He always felt safe like this.

"What do you think?"

"Many things," Charlie said mysteriously and rubbed his hand over Harry's stomach. "But I've been told to give you a message from Hermione."

"Must you?"

"Yes. She said - if you don't take it I'll hex your balls off, you fucking idiot."

"Classy."

Charlie laughed and closed his mouth over Harry's warm, slightly damp skin.

"I don't know what she's on about, anyway. What have I got to teach children?" Harry demanded, desperate to pace fitfully like he used to, these legs not allowing that frustrated luxury.

"Lots of things, Harry," Charlie said gently. "McGonagall wouldn't have asked you if you didn't."

"Don't cast Diffindo on your boxers, no matter how much of a rush you might be in to get out of them," Harry said, ticking one point off on his fingers. "You can cast a semi-permanent Muffilato on the curtains around your bed in the dorms to hide the sounds you make when you're wanking. Never, ever enter into a bet with a Weasley."

Charlie smiled and reached for Harry's hand. "Okay, no bets."

"But marriages are fine," Harry said, finding Charlie's lips with his own. "Marriages are good."

"They are so far. I think you should take the job."

"I disagree."

"Harry, you're a role model to these kids. A hero to some of them. You've been fighting since you were eleven years old. Fighting a war then never giving up on chasing down the bad guys when you joined the Aurors. Stop fighting, if only for a little while."

Harry's eyebrows raised so far they threatened to join his hairline. "Are you suggesting that I take a teaching job for a rest? Are you mad?"

"Not a rest, no. More like a... career break."

"I thought that's what I'm doing now." With his fingers threaded through Charlie's hair Harry heaved a contented sigh.

"No, what you're doing now is fucking about and living a life of luxury."

"I like my life of luxury."

"A little too much, maybe."

There was no menace in his voice when he said, "Oh, fuck off, Weasley."

From there, Charlie dropped the subject entirely and barely even mentioned the word Hogwarts around his partner. He had a funny feeling that Harry would come to an inevitable conclusion on his own, given just a little bit of time to let the idea settle.

And if he didn't, well, Charlie was willing to nudge him in the right direction.

A/N: I don't reply to reviews. I'm sorry. I know I should, and I mean to with all the good intentions in the world, but it just doesn't happen.
You should all know though that I love each and every one though, and thank you so much to the people who take time to do it.
And to those people who don't, thank you for reading too.
Because, as I've said before, a writer isn't much without someone reading their work.
Love you all.