He had known, from the moment she had called him ‘leetle boy’ that she was trouble. He had known the first time they kissed, surrounded by the ruins of the castle, his body exhausted, that he was in over his head. He knew she was elegance taken shape, and he was just Harry, so it would be an uphill battle.
What he hadn’t known was that their relationship would contain so many questions.
Impossible questions.
Trick questions. . . She had emerged from her closet one evening as they were getting ready for yet another Ministry event, the bigger closet of the two, naturally, a dress in each hand.
“Which should I wear, ‘Arry? Red or blue?”
He cocked his head to the side.
“You always look good in the red one,” he replied, returning to the mirror to try and tame his hair. Twenty minutes later she re-emerged…wearing the blue dress. He raised an eyebrow.
“The red would have clashed with your robes. Honestly, ‘Arry, you must learn to match with your date. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”
He didn’t understand, shrugging his shoulders as they left. She looked amazing in either, and the blue brought out her eyes.
So why had she asked him? . . “What do you want to eat, “Arry?” she’d asked, peering up at him as they walked through the park.
“What are you in the mood for?”
She shrugged.
“Whatever you want,” she replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“How about a burger?”
She shook her head.
“No, too heavy.”
“Fish and chips?”
“Oh no, not that fried monstrosity.”
“Fancy steak?”
“I do not eat red meat, ‘Arry.”
“Chinese?”
“We will just be hungry again soon.”
He sighed and looked up at the sky, asking Merlin to give him strength.
“There’s a French place right outside the park,” he said with resignation. Her eyes lit up.
“Oh, that sounds lovely, they do have the very best dessert.”
Why didn’t she just tell him where she wanted to go? . . “Does this make me look fat, ‘Arry?”
He’d looked up from his place on the bed, lowering his book as he watched her examine herself in the full-length mirror. To him, she looked just as amazingly beautiful as she did on their wedding day, the bump in her stomach only increasing her radiance.
So why ask such a silly question?
“No,” he said flatly, returning to his book. She looked back at him.
“Oh? So you think I look fat other times and this is slimming?”
He lifted his head and his eyes widened. What?
“Uh, no?”
“So this does make me look fat?”
“....what?”
She threw up her hands and began to storm out.
“Vous êtes impossible!” . . As he laid there, a small tuft of blonde hair nestled on his chest, he reflected on how lucky he was, surviving the minefield that was his wife’s regular stream of impossible questions, wondering if this was what normal was like. Wondering if his life would always be this exciting or if one day he’d have the right answers to all the impossible questions.
“‘Arry,” he heard from behind, “Am I still pretty?”
He opened his eyes wide as his ears began to heat up.
Oh boy.