(Untitled)

[clumsy_auror]

It's late; far later than the lights are generally on in the living room. But on they are, even though the fireplace has died down to its embers. There are some files on the coffee table, and a half-finished grocery list. One pile of neatly folded clothes occupies the armchair, while basketful of unfolded laundry sits on the floor beside it

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[the_woodpecker]

Bernard is half on top of his wife, wrapped around her tightly, his face burrowed into her neck, one arm around her.

The hand of that arm is firmly on top of 'Dora's left breast.

It's kind of like a security blanket that way.

[clumsy_auror]

Nymphadora actually shows no signs whatsoever of waking.

But there may, in fact, be some movement at the end of the couch.

Beside Bernard's feet.

[the_woodpecker]

A slow, soft snore emerges from 'Dora's neck, and ends in a snort.

"Wussadoin," Bernard murmurs, wiggling his toes.

[clumsy_auror]

Toes are such funny things. Particularly wiggly ones.

Hiss is enthralled.