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Worries and conversations

I often wonder, now that they've returned to England, what the Golden Trio is doing on the nights I black out.  Thursday night, for example.  The last thing I remember is having a lovely dinner with a reporter from the Prophet.  The next thing I recall is this morning and having to dispose of her body.

Untidy.

When I told Parvati about it, she was intrigued.  I'm not sure what's going on in her head, but she'll tell me eventually.  And, if she doesn't, I'll find out one way or another.

"Your wife is looking for you."  I look up at Slytherin's portrait.  I doubted it was possible, but he's become even more surly than before.  One thousand years doesn't change him but ten around me does.

I give the portrait a slow smile.  "Is she now."

Slytherin crosses his arms and glares down at me.  "Are you going to shag her in front of me again?"

"I might if you don't behave."

He reaches for his wand before remembering he wasn't painted with one.  Glaring more fiercely than before, he mutters about not knowing the group I invited in were Muggles and the least I could do is to have a portrait of a female in my flat that he could visit.

Parvati enters my office, looks between me and the portrait I'm smirking at, and smiles.  Deliberately, I back her against the wall next to the door, pin her hands above her head and kiss her boneless.

"You've made your point, you bastard," Slytherin spits.

I don't respond.  Breaking the kiss, I take Parvati's hand and allow her to lead me into London.

I wonder if she'd allow me to stop into the Weasley's shop and ask about their sister.