Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I just use them for nefarious purposes.

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"Writing is like potion brewing: a delicate art that takes care and finesse to put words together in a variety of ways to suit your purpose. It cannot be rushed; for like all good things--"

"Do you think 'heaving breasts' or 'heaving bosom' sounds better?"

"First one. As I was saying, it takes time to--"

"Curly caramel locks or blonde flowing tresses?"

"I prefer brunettes myself. As I was saying--"

"Which sounds less declassé: sculpted chest or chiseled abdominals?"

"Frankly, both are terrible. Now, where was I? Oh--what? What are you writing, woman? Let me see that." He shoved the rolling chair away so that she wheeled across the room into the wall.

"'Héléne tumbled back onto the bed with the force of Rogier's dominance. He stood back to admire her heaving breasts pushing over the top of her low cut bodice. Her curling caramel locks flowed over the expanse of the satin pillow and sheets, as white as the virginal snow: a fitting metaphor for her innocence which she is on the cusp of losing--'" he read aloud in disbelief.

"You can't be serious!" he said, staring at her. "You expect a publisher to take this rubbish seriously?"

She lifted her chin stubbornly and wheeled back in front of the computer. Her fingers clicked rapidly over the keyboard. He started poking around and she started shrieking.

"How do I use this damned piece of Muggle crap?" he growled angrily.

"Stop doing that!" she cried. "You're going to delete something!"

"That's my intention!" He yanked the keyboard away from her and started prodding the buttons some more.

She pulled it back. "It's not rubbish! We agreed to write a romance novel--"

"--which has turned into a 19th century riddled smut fest--"

"--with memorable characters and a compelling plot! Now give me that keyboard!" She yanked, hard, and with a smirk, he let go so that she tumbled off the chair and subsequently got tangled up in all of the modem's wires. They watched as the computer went black.

"Noooooooooooo!" she howled. "I'll never get it back!" She pounded her fist angrily on the floor, and the vibrations caused the pile of papers teetering on the desk to tumble onto Severus' head.

"Fuck," he swore as he was showered with lavender and pale pink sticky notes. "This wouldn't have happened, you know, if we did this by hand, like I wanted to. But no, you impertinent woman, you insisted on cramming this--this--what is it again?"

"Technology?" she supplied helpfully.

"Yes, yes, this nonsense." He waved his hand. "Now look at this. If you think I'm going to do this the Muggle way again, then you are sorely mistaken." He Summoned a sheaf of parchment and quills, then with distaste, peeled the various USB cords and wires from around their bodies.

"But I liked what I wrote! It was poignant!" she said indignantly, plunking her fists on her hips.

Ah, she was too adorable for her own good when she was angry. A smile quirked the edges of his mouth.

"Let me propose an idea. How about we get some practical experience first..." He grinned at her salaciously. "...and come back to writing later."

"We have to get this done!"

"Hermione, shut up," he said, as he kissed her thoroughly and threw her over his shoulder, abandoning the mess in lieu of their bedroom.

"Besides, you know every good author needs to do some background research first, wouldn't you agree?"