Dirty Deeds II

29 February 2004

Mercifully the report from my parents - well Mumsy actually, received mid-week after Severus had gone back to Hogwarts – was favourable. Severus made a good impression, and was described as being rather charming if slightly old-fashioned.

Severus is in fact the perfect pattern of New Man, once you take into account that he’s a wizard. Obviously he leaves his clothes and dirty dishes lying around all over the place because he’s used to having House Elves to pick up after him. Once he realised that this wasn’t going to happen – it did take falling over the breakfast plates a couple of times before the message sank in, but he’s quite bright for a bloke – he was willing to wave a wand to do the housework.

As far as Severus is concerned housework cuts into valuable time that could be better spent shagging, or arguing, or reading, and should therefore be done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Once we are married, and living together at Hogwarts, I have every expectation that children will be given detention to take up any domestic chores that the house elves will not or cannot do.

I haven’t told him that the parents tentatively approve of him, as it seems to me that this kind of ego-stroking should be saved up for a special occasion. Such as Gryffindor being particularly trying on a Friday afternoon; when I want him to be in a good mood, for whatever reason; or just before we go and see my parents the next time, to soothe his nerves.

I can’t keep having wild sex with him just to put him in a good mood. In the first place, he’s seen through that tactic. And in the second place, we shall soon (well soon-ish) be a happily married couple and therefore be giving up sex.

Only joking.

Well I hope so anyway. I mean, you hear all these stories about married couples, and the arguing and the headaches and the lack of decent sex, but hopefully it’s just, you know, other people, and won’t be happening to us.

And I’m not asking Mumsy whether these rumours are true. We all know that parents don’t have sex. Oooh, I wonder if that’s where the rumours come from – the absolute inability of children to imagine their parents shagging. Makes sense. Well that’s a load off my mind. You don’t go to all the effort of acquiring a Severus to waste time with headaches.

I know for a fact that I was found under a gooseberry bush in the back garden and that my parents have never, never, ever, ever, had S-E-X. They’ve been Abelard and Heloise, and we all know that nothing ever happened there, for obvious reasons.

It’s been a busy week all things told.

Monday was my first day at my new job. Everything seems to be going fine. The minions were respectful, due in no small part to being taught by Severus at some point, and having a fairly good idea of what would happen to them if they were in any way disrespectful.

Is it wrong of me to be entirely prepared to take advantage of this?

(That was a rhetorical question by the way. I imagine it is wrong, but I don’t care. I was a good girl for most of my time at Hogwarts, and it didn’t get me Head Girl and at that point I pretty much decided that I wasn’t going to be taken advantage of ever again.)

Still this newfound respect for me, as I like to think of it, makes for a pleasant working environment. They do as they are told, when they are told, how they are told and so far there have been no nasty little accidents. The four walls and the roof are still attached to the Test Shed – it has the much more glamorous name of Trial and Experimental Facility in reality – which is apparently something of a record.

I suspect one of the workers – who has that shifty look favoured by the Weasley Twins – is keen to have things return to normal. He looks like the type to enjoy a big bang and a melting cauldron – doubtless compensating for poor performance elsewhere, you will note that Severus has never felt the need to create pyrotechnics anywhere other than the bedroom, wall, floor, well, you know what I mean – and I shall be keeping an eye on him.

Severus came down to the flat on Friday evening, just in time for drinks with my co-workers. He agreed with my assessment of the Weasley-alike and gave him an extra glare for good measure. Having reinforced his alpha-male status on all my Minions, to the evident amusement of my new boss, who does seem the decent type, we left as soon as we possibly could.

Severus was by then in a very good mood. He’d worked off his Gryffindors-being-dunderheads-for-double-potions-on-a-Friday-bad-mood on my colleagues, and was therefore almost chirpy.

As befitted our newly affianced status we actually ate, talked, and had a nice bottle of wine rather than simply leaping straight into bed. Sometimes it’s fun to be civilised. Instead of the instant conflagration there was the slow build up. The feel of his thigh pressed against mine. His hand touching the back of my hand, stroking a thumb along my wrist, my hand on his knee, a subtle squeeze of his thigh: a hundred oh-so-casual touches that said any-minute-now-but-not-just-yet.

And then it was any minute now and we didn’t make it as far as the bed the first time, though we did for the second time, and the one after that.

I must confess that we didn’t bother getting out of bed much that weekend. Things haven’t changed that much.

Thank god.

Lunch at Malfoy Manor next weekend, to put Operation Wedding into effect.

Now that is going to be fun.