Outskirts Of Appleby, North Lincolnshire

"Thank God I'm not the only one of us that was thinking that," Nicolas murmured, stretching out as well.

"So... how's work going?" she asked casually, trying to make conversation. "How's Eric? We need to invite him over sometime for dinner."

"Lots of riots have been going on lately," Nicolas murmured, massaging his temples. "It's really stressful. Eric injured his shoulder a little while back... hey, if we invite him over, d'you think we should invite his girlfriend, too? To be nice?"

"Oh, of course that's fine!" said Rachel cheerfully, but she still looked concerned. "But, what kind of riots are you talking about?"

"Nothing really new... most of it's just against people of certain heritage, like anti-Purebloods or anti-Mudbloods." He tensed up a bit when he said 'Mudbloods.' God, how he hated those damned rallies against Mudbloods. There was enough protesting back when he was in seventh-year.

Rachel sighed in frustration, and she scooted behind Nick, and began to massage his shoulders and neck. "They just need to give up." she said darkly. "Protesting isn't going to make You-Know-Who come back to life."

"I know that, you know that--lots of people know that, but the idiots that need to be put in insane asylums don't quite understand that. Those people start the rallies."

"Why don't they then?!" Rachel was beginning to get angry, and the way she dug into Nick's skin reflected that. "The Ministry is just a bunch of corrupt idiots who can't figure anything out!"

"Mmmh, that's right," Nicolas mumbled contentedly. Ahh, what a nice massage. "It's not quite as corrupt, you know... not like it was back in the day."

"I know I know... the Minister is excellent now, but... I guess it's still recovering from what has happened." She then reached over, and began to rub his temples.

"Yeah, it still has. It's only been a few years, I doubt it'll recover for a few more." His eyes drooped. It was very warm in the house, and very cozy, and he was starting to get tired.

"Hmm... I suppose you're right... but what do I know? I've never liked politics." And she kept massaging him in silence for a few minutes, until she was sure that he was drowsy. She then reached over and pinched his nose with a giggle.

Rachel jumped from the couch, and popped open a bottle of cheap wine for the two of them.

He really was pretty drowsy. By the time she got back from getting the wine, he had passed out on the couch.

"...Oh you." And she sat down beside his feet, and drunk both glasses of wine.

Rachel a few minutes later got up and went over the Nick's briefcase. He always had problems organizing it by himself, so she decided to take it upon herself to clean it out and organize it so there wouldn't be so many lose papers around the house.

A few minutes later, however...

"NIIIICK!!" she screeched. "WHY DO YOU HAVE PORN IN YOUR BRIEFCASE?!"

"HUH?!" Nicolas shot up from the couch, and went into the kitchen where he'd left his briefcase. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"THIS," Rachel held up the Amish Babes magazine with the tips of her two fingers, as if it was some poisonous dead bug. "Is what I'm referring too! God Nick... how could you?!"

"The fuck is that?" Nicolas stared at it, then at Rachel, then at the Amish Babes magazine. "I swear, Rachel, I have no idea what that is..."

"That's what they all say, but Nick." She flipped up to a page, where an Amish woman who had lifted her skirt about five inches above her knee and showed it to him. "What kind of sick joke this?"

"Why, that woman must be ashamed of herself!" Nicolas said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He tried to hold back a laugh when he looked at the Amish woman smiling as if to say 'oh ho ho, I feel so dirty but it feels so good.' "Good God, Rachel, maybe some people at work thought it would be funny!"

"Some joke!" And she threw it aside her feet, planning to burn it later outside. "But, seriously. What are they saying about us?! Do they think we're Amish or something?!"

"They don't say anything to my face!" Nicolas yelled, his face turning red. "This is insulting! I can't BELIEVE those--" and he picked up the magazine, swearing loudly. He took the magazine outside, lit it on fire with his wand, and went back inside, parading about the house with no real intention except to get ready for bed, swearing like there was no tomorrow. Sometimes he even mixed in phrases like "thinking we're Amish" and "do they know how much trouble that could get me in with my wife." No, he didn't pay any mind to his impressionable children, why do you ask?

About twenty minutes later, Rachel climbed timidly into bed, trying not to make a sound. She laid there silently, but a few minutes later, she couldn't resist asking him this particular question that she had:

"...Um, Nick, darling dear, are you man-PMSing, by any chance?" she asked, trying to sound polite and sweet.

Nicolas, who was already in bed and had (for the most part) calmed down, smiled. "No. It just pisses me off. We aren't Amish."

"Yes, I know..." Rachel sighed. "But you overreacted. I'm sure the children overheard. I wouldn't be surprised if James came up to me tomorrow morning at breakfast and says "Bullshit! I don't want this oatmeal!"