Holy fucking no way! She was game? Really? Thad couldn't believe his bleeding luck, and his smirk morphed into a ridiculously goofy grin. "Mine," he offered. It was more discreet than an inn, she had long since been cleared through the wards on the Nott property (all of their best friends had been), and he did always like having homefield advantage.
"You remember which of the cottages is mine, right?" he asked, assuming they would apparate separately. Discretion and all. And even if it did end up in the papers, who would give a flying fuck? The Magpies PR team was quite practiced at this sort of thing.