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At least it's not a poison pen letter
Sunday, March 18th ~ Late Afternoon

The barn owl managed to only get lost once before it delivered the red envelope to the distraught-looking house-elf. The elf then carefully carried the envelope to the master of the house, apologizing the entire way.

Harry James Potter! Imagine my surprise when Laurentia Fletwock told me that Agatha Timms had told her that she had heard that you had gotten married! MARRIED! And not a word to Arthur or I!

All these years, we've thought of you as one of our own, and I had to hear about your marriage from that Fletwock woman! In the market!

I'm sure you had your reasons, whatever they may be, for not telling us before hand - from what I understand the entire thing was a hurried and intimate affair, although I'm sure it was just lovely. But it's been days and not even a single owl to let us know! I would have baked you a cake!

We want to throw you and Daphne - It is Daphne, isn't it? Laurentia Fletwock tried to tell me it was someone named Doris, but the only Doris I know is Doris Crockford, and she seems a bit... I'll just assume it's the Daphne you've been seeing.

We want to welcome Daphne to the family by throwing you a nice reception at the Three Broomsticks.


Congratulations, and all our best.

As the howler chewed itself up, Harry risked a glance over at Daphne.

"I think that means you've got at least an honorary mother-in-law after all."

He brightened suddenly.

"And since the wife usually takes cares of social engagements, that means I get to leave it all in your capable hands, right?"
One eyebrow popped up in a fair imitation of something she'd seen Snape do on more than one occasion.

"Is that how that's supposed to work? Because I can suddenly envision lots of social engagements we could be going to. My mother has a bridge club, I bet they would love to meet my infamous husband up close and personal. Not to mention that I bet Molly Weasley probably has lots of suggestions for other gatherings we could be part of."

She tilted her head, all smiles. "And I was just getting used to living out here with hardly any random visitors and all this privacy."
Harry stuck his tongue out at her and leaned back on the couch.

"You're mean," he stated simply.

"I'll - send her an owl later. How soon do we have to do the blasted - I mean when do you think would be a good time for you, dear?"
She cuddled back against the cushions again, and grinned. "I'm pretty sure we're supposed to get a week's grace period after the wedding, before people can force us out to socialize - some kind of unwritten rule or something?"

Daphne shifted so that she could put her bare feet in Harry's lap. "Before then everyone assumes we're shagging like bunnies."
Starting to massage her feet, Harry stopped and cast a suspicous eye over at his wife.

"Does that mean we don't get to shag like bunnies after a week?"
Laughter filled her voice when she answered, "No, silly. After a week I think people start expecting us to come out of the house to socialize and go to work once in awhile - in addition to all the shagging."

Her toes wiggled to remind Harry of what he was doing before. "Speaking of work, I should probably do some next week. Plus, you have the Phoenix to get back to. What about next weekend for this party thing?"
Somewhat reassured that the shagging wouldn't be put on a back burner of any kind, Harry resumed the slow manipulation of the feet in his lap.

"Since this is an unwritten rule, why can't we stretch it to two weeks. I'd like to take you a few places. You know. Honeymooner spots - if there are such things. Show off my beautiful wife and make the other new husbands wish they'd seen you first. Buy some totally unnecessary trinkets to bring back to appease Molly, things like that."

He sent her a wink and a waggle of an eyebrow.

"Maybe somewhere warm enough to get you in a bikini."

That bikini part? Wasn't going to happen. At least not in public. But the rest of it had a nice ring to it.

"I like this idea, and would like to hear more." She also liked what he was doing to her feet. "I could probably work things out at the restaurant on Monday to get some more time off."
Hollering for Dobby to bring him a calender, Harry thanked the elf and opened the small booklet. He flipped pages until he got the to month of March, one hand still rubbing her feet and started to open his mouth. His eyes blinked once, twice and then looked over at Daphne with a bit of a horrified look.

"Daphne? We got married on the 13th."
"Yes, Harry. We did."

Either he just felt like stating the fact out loud for the fun of it, or he had a point that she wasn't following. "It was just a few days ago, I don't think it's been long enough to have forgotten, yet."
The horrified look turned to one of disbelief.

"I know you've had to hear of the bad luck associated with the number thirteen and when you combine it with Fridays," Harry said while hurriedly flipping to the back of the book to see future years. "Oh, fuck. March the 13th is on a Friday in 2009. We're not going anywhere for our anniversary that year! We'll barricade ourselves in the house and threaten to hex anyone who comes near."
Oh, good grief, I've gone and married a nutter.

She was tempted to draw her feet back and set up straight, then realized that would require effort.

Instead, Daphne chose to humor him. "All right, love, we'll stay in for our second anniversary. We can even make a long weekend of it, and have Dobby bring us food on trays so we don't even have to leave the bedroom. Would that be okay?"


She wouldn't.

Yeah, she would.

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" Harry asked slowly turning his head in her direction while an evil little smile started to lift the corner of his mouth.
Uh oh.

"Maybe? Just a little?"
One finger ran up and then down the soles of the feet on Harry's lap.

"I've always wondered just how ticklish you are, Daph. And you know how much an unanswered questions bother me."

The wicked little grin finished forming on Harry's face.

"I'll give you until the count of ten to try and find a safe hiding place. One. Oh, and Daph? There'll be no ollie ollie oxen free."

A pause and then, "Two," while the action was repeated on the soles of her feet and up the sides of her ankles.
He wouldn't dare.

Her feet twitched with each pass of his finger, and Daphne realized that he would, in fact, dare.

"No fair!"

She pulled her legs up and rolled off the couch, barely missing the table in front of it, and giggled as she ran off.