Leap of Faith

Finally, we reach the day of the reception, but before we get there Charlie has some other plans... For this one instalment, I've gone back to the clickable thumbnails because I just couldn't resist all the pretties. It seemed a shame to have them all really small, but at the same time I couldn't bring myself to cut the numbers down too much, so thumbnails... Those who aren't interested can just skim over them and not bother. Those who want to can check out the slightly bigger versions. (I told Photobucket to resize them all to 800px on the longest side, so they - as in the 650 we took the last time we were there, not just the ones I've picked out to give you an idea of what Charlie and Hermione might have seen on their route - would all fit in a free account. If there are any true masochists amongst you, you can find that account here.)

For those of you who know Prague, I'm working from memory as to which buildings are where and my memory isn't my strong point. When in doubt, I've tended to leave out the ones I'm not sure of, but if I've moved anything to the wrong area of town, feel free to tell me. I've also blatantly ignored some areas of the castle grounds which were closed last time we were there. Again, apologies for the February snow, instead of September sun. Photography by Mr Tales.

It was the sensation of being watched that brought Hermione to wakefulness, but whereas once it would have caused alarm, she now allowed herself the luxury of acclimating more gradually to the morning light and the gaze of her husband.

"What?" she asked. "Have I got bed head again?"

"Dearest, if I have my way, you'll wake up every morning of the rest of your life with just-been-fucked hair," Charlie answered with a knee-trembling smile.

"Then what are you looking at?" Hermione asked.

"Everything that matters," Charlie replied. He leaned in for a slow, tender kiss. "The dream I thought was impossible." He wrapped an arm around her and rolled them both so that she lay on her back and he could look down at her as he supported himself in a push-up position. "A snarl-haired pixie who holds my heart in her tiny little hands." He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her tattoo which floated blissfully on its back just to one side of her belly-button.

"If I'm a pixie, what does that make you?" Hermione asked, her fingers twining into his hair. "A leprechaun?"

For an answer he crawled his way down the bed as far as her grip would allow, pausing every few inches to bestow another kiss and then made his way back up again with equal slowness. "A satyr?" he suggested.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as she and Charlie neared the Natural History Museum from behind and, skirting around it, made their way down Wenceslas Square toward the older part of town.

"I was thinking we might want to head back home for a nap this afternoon so that we're well rested for the party."

"Yeah, right!" Hermione nudged Charlie with her shoulder.

"What?" he asked disingenuously. "You don't think you'll be able to sleep?"

"I'm sure you could make me very sleepy. I just think that sleep is more a side-effect of what you have in mind than the end goal."

"Let us say that I have plans for this afternoon. That ruled out the Strahol and the guided tours at the Municipal Hall, but I thought we could walk down through the Old Town Square and across Charles Bridge and then catch a tram up to the back door of the castle complex and see what there is to see up there. Then, we could cut through the wizarding quarter, and maybe have a look in Madam Kadlec's on the way back down the hill. Bethan said there's a good Tex-Mex bar near the square where we catch the tram. I thought we might try it out for lunch, and then if your feet don't hate you by that point, we could do St. Nicholas's before we head for home."

"Madam Kadlec's is a clothes shop. I don't suppose you had any particular reason in mind for going there?" Hermione suggested.

"Well, I could have sworn you told me that you asked my beloved sister for a quiet, casual party with a few close friends and relatives, but that wasn't the vibe I got from the letter that came this morning."

Hermione smirked. "I thought that Ginny sending you a letter telling you not to wear jeans would have the opposite effect to the one she intended."

Charlie shot his wife a sidelong look from under his lashes. "Oh, I'm going to wear exactly what I always intended to wear, and if Ginny doesn't like it that's her problem."

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. "So why Madam Kadlec? Ginny said that I could get away with wearing the dress I wore to Harry's birthday."

"Because this isn't going to be a casual party for family and a few close friends... and, even if that had been how Ginny planned it, your friend Creevey is helping you to turn it into a media event. Now, Ginny might tell you that it's okay to wear what you wore to Harry's birthday party, but if the fact we share a joint account didn't make such a thing redundant, I'd be willing to bet you five hundred Galleons that she wouldn't be seen dead in anything but a brand new outfit."

Hermione snorted. "No bet. Charlie, are you really okay about this? I mean Creevey and everything. I know you just wanted a quiet night with some friends."

"Whose idea was it in the first place?" Charlie asked. "And if Ginny's managed to get even half the people I used to play... sports with, then the night will be anything but quiet."

"But—"

"Hermione, when in all the years that I've known you have you not been championing one cause or another?"

"Well... never."

"So how dumb would I have to be not to realise that I'd have to play the role of first lady, if I talked you into being my wife?"

"Dumber than you are?" Hermione answered hesitantly, "but this is our wedding."

"Last weekend was our wedding. That was what counted. This is just an excuse to get all the friends we haven't seen for ages in one room, drink as much as we can get away with without making fools of ourselves, and hope we get some nice pressies."

"Charlie!"

"Oh, it's true. It just depends how much you like people whether it's about having them in the room. When it comes to Auntie Muriel, it's all about the pressie."

"Charlie!"

"Okay, a bit because she took in Mum and Dad and Fred and George, but it's definitely not about the pleasure of her company."

"Still—"

"Hermione, one way or another, The Prophet will get hold of pictures from that party. Far better we give them the pictures we want them to have, with you as the radiant bride. If your friend Dennis sticks to his word, he'll be a lot less trouble than Boleslav Černý.

"Don't you get it, Madam Weasley? Whatever you do from here on out, I've got your back... even when that means pointing you at a dress shop and praying we still have a bank balance when you come out. At least have a look. If you don't see anything you like, then you can still go with whatever Ginny deemed appropriate."

Hermione screwed her face up slightly. "No, you're right. Don't worry. I'm not even going to try to match Ginny, but it wouldn't make the best impression if I turned up at my own wedding reception wearing something The Prophet already has photographs of me wearing. If Madam Kadlec doesn't have anything, I'm going to have to try the Muggle shops."

"Or you could just make a few subtle changes to whatever Ginny suggested... different colour, change the fabric? A minute or two of wand work rather than hours of trailing around."

Hermione squeezed the arm that was linked through hers. "You make everything easy."

Charlie brushed his lips to Hermione's temple without breaking step. "I try. It's what a politician's wife is meant to do."

They cut along Havelska with its small shops on either side of the pedestrian street, and its array of market stalls, selling everything from Mucha inspired trinket boxes to jewellery of haematite and amethyst or other semi-precious stones to put in them. Marionette images of ancient hags hung next to Pinocchio. There were even black-robed figures, some on broomsticks. Hermione patted self consciously at her bushy ponytail as she peered at a female puppet with a claret and gold tie.

Charlie leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Ever get the feeling that the Statute of Secrecy isn't quite so secret over here?"

"That and there are probably quite a few Muggle-born exiles living incognito among the general population... I don't really look like that, do I?" she whispered.

"You know you don't. Of course, I can't vouch for what you looked like when you were at Hogwarts..." He grinned as Hermione did her best to frown at him. "But it could be worse. Have you seen those glasses?"

Hermione gave a snort of agreement. "If we took back one of those for James, Harry would be booking in for laser surgery before the end of the week."

"We better pick them up on the way back, then," Charlie replied. "A Harry and a Hermione each for Victoire and James and Teddy."

"No Rons?" Hermione asked, though there seemed to be far fewer redheaded puppets. She had a feeling this was because Ron was less popular than his counterparts, rather than the suppliers being unable to keep up with demand.

"Best not to tempt me," Charlie answered. "I might stick pins in it if he doesn't behave himself tonight."

Hermione sighed as she moved on to the next stall. "He'll behave... or I'll put him in a body bind this time."

"If Mum doesn't beat you to it," Charlie added.

"Or Ginny, or Bill or any one of the others who he's managed to..."

"Piss off?" Charlie suggested. He watched as Hermione examined a pendant crafted from the fossil of a trilobite, before she was drawn by the deep purple of a roughly tumbled amethyst.

"I was trying to think of something less derogatory," she said. "Only irritate didn't quite seem derogatory enough."

"Antagonise?" Charlie suggested as he dug in his pocket and brought out a couple of notes, which he passed to the stall keeper.

The stall keeper produced a thin wire, doubled back to form a hook at either end and threaded it through the loop of the amethyst.

When Charlie refused a bag, the vendor held the necklace out to him, and Charlie wrapped it around his wife's neck and hooked the two ends together. Then, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her on toward the Old Town Square.

They approached from the south coming out almost directly opposite the famous astrological clock.

"A little taste of home," Charlie remarked, commenting on the similarities between the famous landmark and the clock at their former school. "Have I ever said thank you properly for packing up your life and moving all the way here?"

"It isn't exactly a hardship," Hermione argued. "Look around us. It's beautiful."

"It is," Charlie conceded. "It's also half a world away from your friends and your family, in a country where neither of us speak the language."

"Yet," Hermione added. "We'll learn, and our families aren't so very far away." She held his arm so that he was forced to stop and turn to her. She waited until his eyes met hers. "Even if they were, I would make the trade. If it means waking up in your arms, if it means coming home to your smile, if it means calling this city home, I would make the same choice over and over."

"That's because you're exceptional," Charlie insisted, resting his hand under her chin and tilting her head back for his kiss. "I just wanted you to know that I understand it hasn't been easy and I don't take your sacrifices for granted."

"It doesn't feel like a sacrifice," Hermione assured him. "It feels more like an indefinite honeymoon."

Charlie laughed. "Three weeks isn't all that long, but I'll remind you that you said that when you've been here six months and you're craving fish and chips or a decent roghan josh."

Hermione smiled and started walking again, cutting along the west side of the square and then taking a left onto the street where Viktor and Magda lived. "I'm sure there must be a good Indian take-away or restaurant somewhere in Prague. We just have to find it. Failing that, I can always swing by my favourite Soho curry house before I come home."

"Like I said, lots of things won't be as simple for you, but you didn't even hesitate. You're exceptional."

"The way I see it, I would have been a fool not to grab my chance with an exceptional man like you."

"You know there will be people who will use the fact you're living over here as an excuse not to put you forward for certain committees?" Charlie asked almost timidly.

"And there are those I work with every day in London who would tell them what they can do with that idea," Hermione added.

"Like they told them when they nominated a glorified secretary, who completely screwed up in his first position and then cosied up with the wrong side in the recent conflict? I don't deny Percy has done well as Shacklebolt's assistant, but there's only one reason I can see why he would be put forward when you haven't been. Because bloodlines still mean more than merit."

"Charlie!"

"Tell me I'm wrong!" He lowered his voice, even if he poked the button for the pedestrian crossing with rather more force than was needed. "And tell me that when they want to cover up their prejudice, they won't use you living here as an excuse."

"Percy's in a prominent position," Hermione argued. "And you have to remember, Unspeakables don't exactly broadcast their triumphs." The lights changed and Hermione hooked her arm through Charlie's and half-towed him across the road and onto the cobbled slope up to the tower on the Old Town side of Charles Bridge. "He's older than I am, and he's been married for some time and he's not going to get himself pregnant any time in the next decade."

Charlie's anger dissipated in a snort of laughter, but his indignation on Hermione's behalf remained. "Like that's a more legitimate reason for excluding you?"

"No," Hermione agreed, as they walked under the high arch and onto the main part of the bridge. "You're right. It isn't, but it's just as likely as your theory. When they nominate Harry, then I'll start tilting at windmills."

"Have you actually asked Harry whether he was approached?" Charlie countered.

"He wasn't on the list," Hermione reminded her husband.

"Yes, but is that because the existing members ruled him out, or because he ruled himself out?"

Hermione stopped dead. She wanted to insist that Harry would have told her if someone had sounded him out, but wasn't entirely sure he would. She sighed and made her way to the parapet of the bridge, out of the path of its many users. "I don't know." She narrowed her eyes and squinted against the reflected sunlight to make out the figures on the wooden structure designed to prevent the ancient bridge being damaged by large blocks of ice that might occasionally find their way downriver. "Shag?" she asked.

"Cormorants, I think," Charlie replied with a shrug.

Hermione reached up and took his face in her hands. "It must be bothering you if you let a line like that pass you by."

"Am I so predictable?"

"You're a man," Hermione answered, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to her husband's lips. "Now, why's this annoying you so much?"

"Let's see," Charlie began. "Because Percy's all brains and no common sense, whereas you have your head screwed on. Because Percy wants to be important, whereas you want to achieve important things. Because you're everything they should be looking for when they choose their members, and they're too hidebound to realise it. Because it took a war to shake their complacency and they haven't learned a thing. Because you were hunting Horcruxes while Percy was collaborating with the Death Eaters. Mostly, because you damn well deserve it."

Hermione melted into his arms, soothing his frustration with the warmth of her embrace. She rested her cheek against his collarbone, and instinctively he wrapped one arm around her waist and reached up to stroke her hair with his other hand. "You're biased," Hermione said softly.

"I would have said the exact same before you came to Bucharest," Charlie assured her.

"You were biased then, too," Hermione answered. "I could ask you why you don't think you should be getting called up."

Charlie shook his head. "Guys like me don't serve on that committee. I'm not high profile. I've never worked in public service. Hell, there are probably still people who think I'm a traitor to my country for choosing to go to Romania instead of playing games."

"Really?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't tell anyone except Bill, but I got my share of hate mail," Charlie answered. "There are a lot of people who take games far too seriously."

"And they would still hold a grudge?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Let's say they'd probably question my patriotism, but I never had those sorts of ambitions in any case," Charlie pointed out. "Political ones, I mean."

"Yes, but you're an idealist. You're very respected in your field and—"

"It's a very small field, dearest," Charlie added.

"You're a good man, from a respected family. You're well-educated and you have principles. So much so that, even though you wouldn't aspire to the position, if they asked you to serve, then you would."

"Out of sight, out of mind. I haven't lived or worked in England since I left Hogwarts," Charlie reminded her. "And that respected family almost guarantees I won't be asked. Dad already has a place. You say Percy is in line. It would be a miracle if they put me or even Bill forward. It would give too much influence to one family. And, yes, that's another reason I'm annoyed that Percy's been given the nod because it probably means they're more likely to say no when your name does come up, but at least with you there isn't this perception of three or four very similar looking redheads all sitting together and voting alike."

"You wouldn't block vote," Hermione argued.

"No, we'd vote according to our principles, except Percy who'll probably vote according to Kingsley's principles as long as he's in power. But I think my principles and Dad's principles would be too close for the comfort of some people."

"You're every bit as worthy as I am, Charles Fabian Gideon Weasley," Hermione insisted.

"You're biased."

"Well, that makes two of us," Hermione concluded. "And I can't make them nominate you, and you can't make them nominate me, so how about we forget about it for now and do the sight-seeing thing?"

"One condition," Charlie answered, taking a step back so that he could look into her eyes.

"Is this the same condition you were going to impose before you were going to allow me to watch DVDs tomorrow?"

Charlie burst out laughing. "That you do it naked? I don't think so."

"What then?" Hermione asked.

"If our living arrangements do get in the way of what you want to achieve, you have to tell me. I can't guarantee that I would be able to find a job I'm qualified for in Britain, but if there comes a point where there's a decision to be made, I don't want you to— Look, I love my job, but with the exception of those people who work under me, it doesn't change anyone's life. If that committee ever did start saying, well, we would offer you a place if you lived in Britain, I don't want you to turn them down, not unless the two of us go through every single possible option together and can't find a way to do it... and then we'd talk to George and see if he could think of a way to do it."

"Did you just say that I'm more important to you than dragons?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not entirely sure. What I meant to say is that you shouldn't assume that I wouldn't be prepared to move or change jobs or both, if anyone would employ me."

Hermione grinned. "You love me more than you love Norberta," she chanted in a sing-song voice.

"I love spattergroit more than I love Norberta." He pulled Hermione into a bear hug and spun her around. "I love you more than chocolate." He lowered his head far enough for their lips to meet and Hermione wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him lower still, kissing him until they were both breathless.

"What about curry?" she demanded as she felt in her handbag for the guidebooks she had packed that morning. "Do you love me more than curry?"

Charlie paused as if he needed to give the question a proper amount of thought. "Nope, but it's only been three weeks. We need to leave ourselves some room for improvement."

Hermione pulled her Rough Guide out and swatted Charlie across the rump. "Evil man. How can you love curry more than me?"

Charlie's eyes gleamed with amusement as he wrestled the book from her and kissed her again. "Oh, alright, I lied... I love you more than curry." All the laughter and teasing left his tone. "I love you so much it scares me half to death."

"Me too," Hermione admitted, hugging her husband one last time before she pulled out the DK Guidebook and found the right sections. "Apparently, that stretch of buildings back there has lots of dance clubs and bars," she pointed out. "And that green cupola ahead of us, and the bell tower, that's St. Nicholas's and when we get near the other side, there's a mill race, with a restored mill wheel and it's called the Devil's Stream."

They ambled their way across the famous bridge, pausing for at least a brief look at each of the statues which lined its sides and made their way under its other tower and out into The Little Quarter.

They cut through a wider street, this one large enough for more than one lane of traffic and arrived in the Little Quarter Square.

"I think this is where we catch the tram," Charlie suggested. "We better pick up the tickets at the newsagent's. If you pay on the tram you have to have the exact fare. And then I just need to find out the numbers and check which side of the road we should be waiting."

"We could just have walked up there," Hermione suggested.

"We could, but not with you in those shoes," Charlie answered. "Wait here, and see if you can get your camera to work while I get the tickets."

They waited less than ten minutes for a suitable tram, and Charlie managed to fend away other commuters from a single window seat until Hermione could claim it. Then he validated their tickets and returned to stand next to her, as the tram headed away from the older part of town, taking a route that made the climb to the castle merely steep instead of precipitous.

The tram ride took less than five minutes and they soon got off, following a crowd of tourists led by someone carrying a huge golf umbrella despite the summer sun. They filed past the sentries who stood on guard, as resolute and motionless as the ones Hermione was used to seeing at Buckingham Palace, even if their uniforms were slightly less colourful. Passing through the arch, they were confronted by the facade of St. Vitus's cathedral, its towering spires dwarfing the other palace buildings.

By unspoken consent they headed in the direction of the nearest queue, which turned out to be for The Royal Palace. The signposted route sent them through the vaulted Gothic hall where the Habsburgs had once ruled and on through All Saints' Chapel before they left by the Riders' Staircase.

They circled around the rear of the cathedral and into Golden Lane, a series of small cottages built into the arches of the castle walls.

"Can you imagine how cramped it must have been living in there?" Hermione asked.

Charlie smiled. "I don't think you'd get all your books in one of those, never mind have anywhere to live."

"The blue one is where Kafka stayed with his sister," Hermione pointed out excitedly. "Number twenty-two."

"Who's Kafka?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I guess that's something else to add to the reading list after Redwall."

When they climbed the stairs of number twenty-four they found that several of the houses had been connected to form a museum of sorts, known as The Defence Corridor. Charlie paused by a replica privy, complete with cobwebs. "Now that brings back even more memories of Hogwarts."

Hermione tried to read his face, and he maintained his serious mien just long enough to make her wonder if perhaps the female occupants of the castle hadn't got the best of the facilities, even with Myrtle's company, before the laugh lines around his eyes gave him away.

"You're terrible. I have this feeling that you and Bill are probably every bit as bad as Fred and George ever were," she complained as they wandered their way through cases of armour and weapons, both authentic and replicas made for the film industry.

"Well," Charlie remarked as they arrived at the obligatory souvenir shop, "I could always buy you a nice sword, in case you decide you want a quickie divorce."

Hermione looked at the prices, which started at around twenty Galleons for something rather plain but functional, and went right on up the more refined the finished product became. "You don't get away that easily... Besides, they're very pretty, but you're saving your money for that dress you promised me."

"Oh, I am, am I?" Charlie asked.

Hermione nodded emphatically. "And maybe even some matching shoes. Which way's west?"

"Back the way we came in," Charlie supplied, after a moment's thought.

Hermione gave a snort of discontent.

"Why?"

"It says here that Rudolf II imprisoned the English alchemist Edward Kelley in the White Tower at the west end of the row because he failed to discover the secret of The Philosophers' Stone. And that was more than three hundred years after the statute. Of course, Flamel would have been around two hundred by then."

"Yes, well, maybe that just goes to show that you should be more discreet with that wand of yours. They still celebrate Walpurgisnacht round here you know."

When the exited the buildings, they found themselves near a small courtyard with a bronze statue. There was no plaque or marker to explain the disquieting piece, but Hermione shivered as she looked at it, glad when Charlie took her hand and led her down the steps into the Dalibor Tower, where there was very little to see, except a hole in the floor, which was covered over with Perspex and metal bands.

"It says here that Dalibor was a knight who was imprisoned for harbouring some outlawed serfs, and that he reputedly learned to play the violin while he was in prison and people would come to listen to him and lower food down into his cell, whereas many prisoners were left to starve to death."

"Wouldn't that make him an improbably quick student?" Charlie asked. "I would have thought it would take longer to learn to play than it would to starve to death."

"I'm just repeating what it says in the guide book," Hermione argued. "The reputedly was mine, though. I didn't think it seemed very believable either. How many prisons does one castle need, anyway? Getting locked up seems to be a bit of a theme with this place, or is it still being locked up if they lower you down a hole and take away the rope rather than actually using a lock?"

"Imprisoned, I'd say. You're probably a bit too late to start campaigning for him to be set free," Charlie pointed out.

"Just a little," Hermione admitted as they climbed back up into the courtyard. "He was executed. Apparently someone called Smetana wrote an opera about it."

They followed the courtyard back around until they reached the main door of the cathedral again, finally, going in. The first thing Hermione did was to search for the stained-glass window by Alfons Mucha toward the rear left side of the church. Charlie joined her as she stood in the aisle, wrapping his arms around her waist as she tried to drink in the vastness of the window and its wealth of detail.

"It seems strange, doesn't it?" Charlie remarked. "Something so modern in a building this old?"

"Strange, but right," Hermione agreed. "As if it's still alive, rather than some museum."

They lingered by the window for quite some time before they explored the rest of the building.

Hermione clung tightly to Charlie's arm as they made their way down the steep cobbled streets of The Little Quarter.

"What are you wearing tonight?" Hermione tried asking again.

"Black," Charlie answered.

"Would you care to be more specific?" she probed.

"Norwegian Ridgeback on the bottom, my new favourite shirt on the top."

"Ginny isn't going to approve," Hermione opined.

"That's good, because my little sister shouldn't be looking at my arse, anyway."

"She will if you wear those pants," Hermione replied with a chuckle.

"Even better. I get to see the horrified look on her face when she works out who she's ogling."

"You're evil," Hermione whined. "I'm going to spend the whole evening ignoring everyone I'm meant to be talking to and drooling over your arse."

"Promises, promises," Charlie agreed far too cheerfully, as he held open the door of Madam Kadlec's. "You'll just have to see if there's something in here that I'll find equally distracting."

"I don't know if we should do another cathedral today," Hermione sighed, as she looked at the building's baroque frontage. "It's just not going to be able to compete."

"We could go back home and leave it for another day," Charlie suggested.

"We're standing on the steps now," Hermione argued. "We might have forever, but it's not like we can spend every weekend sightseeing."

"Your choice, Pixie."

"The guide says that Mozart played the organ," Hermione said.

"Who could pass on seeing Mozart's organ?"

"Not me," Hermione answered, though she moved with less than her normal enthusiasm.

"Sore feet?" Charlie asked.

"That and too many nachos. That was not a starter for two. More like a main course for four, but I think I can make it round one more church."

"Okay, if you're sure." Charlie half-towed his wife up the steps and paid for tickets receiving a pair of postcards in return.

All Hermione's fatigue disappeared in the instant she stepped inside. "Charlie! It's the ballroom!"

Charlie gave her a puzzled look. "I'm pretty sure it's a cathedral. Look... Pews and everything."

"Yes, but movable pews..." Hermione walked down the central aisle, spinning as she went to take in the wealth of murals and marble that surrounded her. "And the floor must have been CG because it looked perfect and this is all worn, but it's the ballroom, balcony and everything."

"Would you care to translate that into English at some point?" Charlie asked.

"Van Helsing? The film. Hugh Jackman?" Hermione asked. "You must have seen Van Helsing," she insisted. "It came out last summer."

"Did you see it in our VHS collection at the reserve?" Charlie asked.

"I don't remember seeing anything newer than Highlander in that collection," Hermione managed to almost keep the derision from her voice.

"Then I haven't seen it," Charlie said with a laugh. "Do I get the impression this Jackman guy is my competition?"

"Maybe," Hermione answered with her siren smile. "Tomorrow... you, me, a DVD, Hugh Jackman and Kate Beckinsale."

Charlie leaned in to whisper in his wife's ear. "Naked?"

She gave a low laugh. "Naked," she agreed.