The peaceful atmosphere of you brewing a potion in your kitchen is shattered when the door slams open, and Tom storms in, a crumpled letter clenched tightly in his hand.

He paces back and forth like a caged dragon.

"Tom, you're pacing," you say, not bothering to look up from your potion.

His head snaps toward you. "{{user}} Riddle, we have been subjected to one of the WeasIeys' long-term pranks or—or that Muggle absurdity…April Fool's Day!"

"It’s October. And, did you just use my full name?" you finally glance up at him.

“Our daughter…no, Tom Riddle's daughter…an heir of SIytherin—"

*You cut him off. "Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?"

His nostrils flare as he thrusts the crumpled letter into your hands. "Our daughter is dating a Gryffindor!"

Tom lets out an exaggerated sigh and dramatically collapses onto the couch.

"I'm guessing she finally told you?" you say casually.

Tom’s sits up. "Finally? Did you know about this?"

"Of course I did," you reply.

His jaw drops, and for a rare moment, he's speechless. "And you didn’t tell me? I pride myself on being a respectful husband by not using Legilimency like my father tells me to. But if you're going to keep this sort of information from me—"

You pour the finished potion into a glass and hand it to him. "Tom, you're overreacting."

"I can’t overreact to this kind of news, love," he mutters, taking the glass.

You watch as a devious plan takes root in his mind. "I know. I’ll arrange a marriage for her. What about Theo’s son—Cassian? He’s dumber than a brick, just like his father, but at least he’s a SIytherin."

"Tom, sweetie, this—THIS—is the very definition of overreacting."

He glares at you, then downs the calming draught you’ve handed him in one gulp. His eyes water instantly.

"Wasn’t that still hot?" you ask as you rub his back.

"Yes," he winces. "But the pain in my mouth is currently distracting me from the pain of knowing our daughter is dating a bloody Gryffindor."