The morning sun, refusing to be hidden by London's almost ever-present fall, clouds bloomed against my eyelids. I inhaled sharply and grumbled. Sleeping in is a luxury I allow myself on these sacred weekends. A time I didn't have to be Harry Potter, Auror Captain, and instead indulge in beautiful bouts of lazy indulgence.

I reached out, seeking the familiar warmth of my wife, who took her weekend slothfulness even more seriously than I did. Cold sheets greeted me. Such a surprising sensation brought me to full wakefulness. My eyes creaked open, squinting against shafts of sunlight wafting freely into the room, unhindered by dark drapes I swore I closed before falling asleep.

Even blurry, I knew my bedroom well after over twelve years inhabiting it. My wife often complained it was too plain, but she never changed it. I secretly believe she liked what it represented. We'd shared many hours locked away in here during the earliest stages of our relationship. Spent quite a few hours here even after ten years of marriage.

I reached out blindly, picking up my glasses and wand from the battered end table, pressed against the pale gray wall.

"Tempus," I said, voice rough from sleep. A quarter past eight, the charm read. Certainly not early, but I could have done with another hour easily enough after last night.

With a groan, I left the warm covers, fighting a mighty yawn, and stretched. As my brain escaped the fog of lethargy, I noticed something. A mouth-watering smell, accompanied by the clatter of cupboard doors and crashing pans. Seems I'd found my erstwhile wife.

The hallway outside the master bedroom is long, with wood panels stretched from the floor halfway up the wall, the rest covered in forest green paint. Magical gas lamps lit the space with a comfortable yellow glow. I shivered, goosebumps rippling across my bare torso. Another wave of my wand and a soft sweatshirt zoomed into my hand. Slipping it on, I walked downstairs.

I enjoy the first floor far more. Unlike the second floor, I'd updated everything before my work began consuming so much time. It felt less museum-like and more like an actual home. And the kitchen made up the very heart of the house, crammed with every modern appliance known to mankind. It's there I found my wife, Nymphodora Potter nee Tonks.

Leaning casually against the entrance to the kitchen, I observed with a contented grin playing on my lips. There she stood, an image of concentration, her tongue peeking mischievously from the corner of her mouth. She still wore her pajamas, an oversized quidditch jersey emblazoned with the name POTTER across the back. Her hair, a vibrant shade of emerald, twirled about as she wielded her wand with the finesse of a seasoned conductor.

The air was charged with the subtle hum of mystical energy. In that moment, time stood still, capturing the essence of her intent gaze and the enchantment she was weaving with her magic. Utensils zipped and zagged, flipping pancakes cooked a perfect golden brown, while other stirred scrambled eggs and yet more drizzled amber honey into a large clear teapot.

Naturally, the smell I detected in my bedroom became overpowering, making my mouth water and stomach rumble.

In fact, my stomach rumbled loud enough to draw Tonks' eyes to me.

"Good morning, love," Tonks said, her voice bright and happy. "Bout time your lazy arse woke up, I thought I'd have to eat all this myself." She gave her wand a final flick, and two plates zoomed around, piling themselves high, before settling in the breakfast nook.

I laughed, walking over, my hands finding her hips. "As if that would have been an imposition. I swear you ate twice as much as me last night."

Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me down into a gentle, chaste kiss. Our morning ritual. Even after so many years, this simple kiss sent a happy shiver down my spine.

"A perk of being a metamorph, enormous appetite, with no chance of getting fat."

"Is that why Hermione was glaring at you?" I asked teasingly, leading her over to the table.

She snickered as we sat down to eat, the dark red cushions enveloping us.

"Poor girl's having a helluva time getting rid of that baby weight, but I say she looks fine after spitting out three Weasley sprogs."

Indeed, Ron and Hermione hadn't wasted time. They'd dated for six months after we vanquished Voldemort before getting married. Their first being born a year later. Tonks and I, in contrast, spent almost three years dating before tying the knot. Through one of those years, we barely saw each other. And perhaps Ron and Hermione had been dating since they were fifteen without actually realizing it.

I swallowed the last of my breakfast, sitting back with a happy sigh. Tonks watched, looking smug, daintily sipping her tea.

"Love, be honest. Did I just rock your world?" She asked, making her emerald eyebrows dance.

"Hmm, almost as much as I rocked yours last night." I countered, fighting a smile. The words came easily, with Tonks they always did.

Her eyes darkened, becoming sultry, her bare foot ran up my leg. "You've certainly improved. Not a two-pump chump anymore, are you, sweetie?"

"Low blow, my beloved, low blow."

"I call it like I see it. You were pants at sex."

"I was seventeen, and you were my first time. Of course I was pants! Who wouldn't be with such a beautiful girlfriend? You should take it as a compliment — besides," I leaned forward, pitching my voice low, my words becoming a sibilant hiss. "I remember making up for that, with interest."

Tonks's cheeks pinked. I sat back, feeling satisfied. "Stupid parseltongue," she grumbled.

"You love it."

"Well, of course I do!"

Our playful banter continued for a time with Tonks migrating over to my side of the nook, and leaning comfortably against my shoulder. We quieted down and just sat, enjoying one another's company.

I kissed the crown of her head and said, "I'm not complaining, but why were you cooking so early?"

"Because we, dear husband, are in a rut."

"A rut?"

"Yes, as in a habit or pattern of behavior that has become dull and unproductive."

I snorted, squeezing her closer. "There's no way you knew that definition off the top of your head."

Tonks wiggled free and stood, hands on her hips. Not the most austere look, given her attire, but when she shifted her features to look far more aristocratic, it worked all right. "Regardless, Mr. Potter, my point remains. We've fallen into a rut. We go to work, kill ourselves keeping the citizenry safe, then come home and loaf around the house for two days before doing it all again."

"Hey! We hung out with Ron and Hermione yesterday," I said, but we both knew it was a token resistance, something Tonks jumped upon.

"Yeah, same as every week…" She paused, head cocked. "I don't think we've even bothered changing up pubs since Myrridin's closed."

Hadn't we? I thought back…No, I suppose she's right. Rubbing my chin, feeling rough stubble, I couldn't really deny anything Tonks said. With everything going on, long hours, spikes in criminal activity, promotions, and general laziness, we'd fallen into a routine. It's comfortable and familiar…but I could certainly agree things felt stale. "Alright, fair enough, we're in a rut. What's your plan?"

Tonks shook her head, features shifting to their usual blend of pixie impishness before saying, "Well, first you and I are going to shower, where you shall plow me."

I sat up straighter, liking the sound of things. "And after that?"

Tonks smiled. "One thing at a time, love. Now come on." She grabbed my hand. "We're burning daylight."

"How about this one?" Tonks asked, twirling, showing off the pale blue sundress covering her figure.

I looked her up and down, bemused. The dress looked great, beautiful even. Still, I rolled my eyes. "You hate dresses."

Tonks tried looking offended but gave the act up within a heartbeat. "Yeah, these things are just too flimsy, you know?"

"No, but I know I prefer those skinny jeans you were wearing."

"Ever the arse man."

Unbidden, I drifted back to our morning shower where I spent an inordinate amount of time soaping Tonks' tight tush.

"I'm not apologizing."

Tonks giggled and turned to walk back into the dressing room, giving her hips an extra wiggle before closing the door.

An older gent sitting a few chairs away from me chuckled. He was bald, sixties, dressed in well-pressed chinos and an oxford. Classic Englishman.

"How long have you been married, young man?" He asked me, his blue eyes bright.

"Ten years, last month."

His eyebrows jumped, casting deep wrinkles across his forehead. He's surprised. It's a common reaction amongst muggles. Neither Tonks nor I looked our age — magical beings age slower than muggles by nature.

"How about yourself?" I asked him for distractions to avoid the usual disbelieving questions. It worked, and his surprise melted away.

"Thirty-five years, and wouldn't change it for anything." He thumped his chair for emphasis before chortling.

An impressive amount of time, for sure, I felt. Boredom encouraged me to continue the conversation. "Well, can I convince you to share your secrets?"

He leaned forward while also waving I should do the same. I humored him, assuming his own boredom led to this game of showmanship.

"A side piece," he whispered, winking.

I jolted back, lips pulling down in sheer shock at the unexpected revelation. I'd been expecting communications, or regular dates, or regular installments of chocolate and flowers. Sappy bullshit, basically.

"Oh, Richard." A voice sang out, interrupting my thoughts and making the old gent perk up.

A dressing room door opened, revealing cascading blonde curls and legs that stretched for days. "What do you think, Richard?" The woman posed, pushing her, almost certainly artificial, chest up.

"You look gorgeous, my dear! Give us a twirl."

The woman did as bid, giggling, arms raised.

Richard stood and gave the woman's buttock a swat. A playful sound rang out. "Richard!"

"I couldn't help myself, beautiful. Shaking that thing around."

Oh dear Merlin, what kind of store did my wife bring me to? My eyes darted around, uncomfortable and feeling a desperate need to flee. Hurry the hell up, love!

"Ok, I think I'm going to get—"

I snatched everything from Tonks' arms and began hurrying her along. "Everything is fantastic, love, and you deserve it all. Let's go, let's go." I said, ushering her along, never giving her a chance to think. A dangerous decision, given her eternal problems with balance, but one I'm willing to risk.

"Oi! Wait, at least put the dress back!"

Tonks giggled into her ice cream for the seventeenth time since we sat down.

I ignored it. My trauma will not be made fun of!

"I can't believe he outright told you the secret to a joyful marriage is affairs," Tonks said. She kept chortling.

We'd adjourned to Hogsmeade after our shopping trip and tucked ourselves in the corner of my favorite creamery. It's a simple store. A handful of wooden tables, each beaten and scattered about without order. The counter was manned by a bored-looking woman who flipped through a large tome. Studying for a mastery, I suspect.

I licked my treacle tart-flavored sphere of deliciousness, watching with vindictive pleasure as Tonks dripped mint chocolate chip on her favorite Weird Sisters t-shirt.

Victory is mine!

"Well," I said. "Since we're on the subject, what do you think the secret is to a long, happy marriage?"

"Good sex?"

I rolled my eyes. "Bloody hell, woman, good sex is a given. I'm talking the complicated stuff."

"Hey, sex can be complicated! That position we tried last month left me limping for days." The server choked behind the counter. I ignored her. This happened on the regular with Tonks. I think the filter between her brain and mouth is defective. "It was fun, though," Tonks said. "What happened to that book, anyway?"

"It's on your nightstand. Now quick deflecting."

Tonks huffed, another droplet of ice cream falling onto her shirt. She fell silent for a while and thought about my question. Of course, being her, silent, meant a plethora of mumbles, huffs, snorts, whispers, and grumbles.

Everyone worked through their thoughts differently. Tonks' method always struck me as cute, but I didn't interrupt her, content to watch, smiling, enjoying my treat.

After five minutes, Tonks snapped her fingers, the universal sign for 'Eureka!' before she said, "You can't just love your spouse. You've gotta like them."

I stared at her. "Very grade school, love."

"Hey, the simplest answer is often the right answer, and think about it. Loving someone is one half of an equation. You can love someone but not like them, and vice versa. It's fine, natural even. But marriage is different..." Tonks licked her dripping ice cream off her fingers. "... Marriage needs both like and love in equal measure. Otherwise, you don't have a proper partner. You've got a friend or lover, sure, but nothing deeper."

Wisdom delivered, Tonks began trying to salvage the last of her minty goodness.

I crunched down on the last of my cone, contemplating. The more I thought, the more I came around to Tonks' way of thinking. Simplistic it may be, something about it echoed in my chest.

"Love," I said, looking at her, fingers, face, and shirt covered in ice cream. The child. "I like you."

She grinned. "I like you too. But I'd like you more if you'd conjure me a wet wipe. Kinda made a mess over here."

I reached for my wand. "Would you like a fresh shirt, too?"

"What do you...?" She looked down. "Morgana's saggy tits!"

I laughed. "They're not saggy in the least, love."

"Damn straight they're not! Now conjure the bloody wipe!"

We made a quick stop, dropping off Tonks' new purchases and allowing her to change, before making our way back into London. Now well into the afternoon hour, she led me to an open market packed with soccer moms all carrying those canvas bags stuffed with fresh something-or-others.

Music played from somewhere in the bowels of the market, too twanging for my liking, but served well enough as background noise.

"Remind me to take that shirt to Mum's," Tonks said, as they drifted with no actual plan.

"I told you I'd take care of it," I said because asking one's mother-in-law for laundry help seemed embarrassing in one's thirties.

Tonks paused at a stand of little mason jars. "You're worse than me with those charms, and I like that shirt." Well, I couldn't deny that. Instead of arguing, I opted to look more closely at the table Tonks stopped at.

Each jar appeared to be filled with various and sundry. By that, I mean I couldn't readily identify anything.

"What a cute young couple." The older lady manning the store said. And a bit stereotypically, her hair almost glowed neon blue. "I adore your hair, young lady, such a lovely shade of green."

Tonks preened. She's a sucker for hair complements. "Thank you! I changed it to match his eyes," She said, reaching over and hugging my arm.

The lady leaned in, peering at me through her own pair of spectacles.

I sighed. If it wasn't my fame encouraging people to gawk at me, my rugged good looks were to blame. Woe is me.

"So, pretty!"

Pretty! What about rugged, handsome, striking, or debonair? Hell, I would have taken enchanting! Would have fit the theme if nothing else.

"I know right, not many blokes pull off pretty but my hubby makes it work," Tonks said, resting her head against my shoulder, sending those emerald locks cascading over my arm.

Traitor! I could sense Tonk's invisible smirk. If that's how we're playing things…

I stood there in stoic silence as Tonks and the unnamed granny slowly whittled away at my manliness. Hero and feared officer of the law reduced to arm candy. Well! I'm not going down without a fight.

With Tonks propped up against me, her body became my ultimate shield. Without hesitation, I boldly seized a handful of that bouncy spring-loaded goodness and delivered a playful pinch to Tonks' rear.

Tonks' eyes rocketed open, and she leaped into the air with a yelp that could rival a startled cat. Now that's what I call a pinch-worthy reaction!

"Oh, dear, are alright?" The old lady asked, looking alarmed.

Tonk's cheeks pinked, and she glared at me, her eyes flashing red. I grinned back, a gormless smile, and to add insult to injury, began whistling a pleasant tune.

Tonks always hated it when I one-upped her. Of course, I knew her vengeance would come, otherwise it wouldn't be any fun.

"Fine, my phone buzzed, caught me off guard," Tonks said, coming up with a swift lie, while still glaring daggers.

"Ahh, I understand. Damn things. I can't stand mine, telemarketers as such."

"The worst." Tonks agreed, before shifting her weight and taking half a step. "Well, it was nice talking with you."

"You too dear. Please come back anytime and I'll give you some care tips," The lady said, pointing to her locks. "Enjoy your Saturday!"

We blended into the crowd and I stopped holding back my snickering. My shoulders shook and people gave me funny looks, but I didn't care. Victory thy name is Potter.

"You are so, cooking dinner tonight," Tonks said, her frown grumpy, but her eyes told a different story. I could see that mischievous sparkle I so adored.

"Thank you, Nym," I said, more serious than I meant to be.

Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion, no doubt surprised by my tone. "Ok, my cooking isn't that bad, arse. You enjoyed breakfast plenty."

I grabbed her hand, entertaining our fingers. "No, not that. Thank you for putting this day together. Sorry, I never noticed how…plain everything got between us." I was sorry. I'd gotten so ensconced in the humdrum, never thinking about anything beyond it. How long would I have to look back to remember having this much fun with Tonks?

Tonks squeezed my hand, looking up at me, her eyes the color of honey. "There's nothing to be sorry about, love. Neither of us noticed, and I don't think either of us has been unhappy. It's just... I missed these special moments, like when we were dating. Just the two of us, smiling, laughing, and acting like fools embarrassing one another."

Honestly, we're surrounded by people in an open-air market, but still with Tonks felt so easy to get lost in our own world. How I love this woman.

"Well, love," I said. "We've still got some daylight. Let's get some dinner fixings. I'll make something special, and we'll chat about what we're doing next weekend."

She smiled, big and beaming. "It better be something fun. I want to make some real wonderful memories."

My smile bloomed just as big. "Oh, I think we can come up with something."

And we would, after all, I couldn't let us fall back into that rut, now could I?

Got stuck with a vexing case of writer's block, so I decided to write something completely different from my usual stuff to work through it. This idea felt fun, and relaxed, and gives me a chance to write something with no real plot. Let me know what you think!

I've working on Chapters for my other three main stories again, and will hopefully have some published in the next three weeks.