"Robbed? No." Laughing, he takes her hands in his. "Packed. We're going back to London. I've got myself reassigned to the bank for the foreseeable future so you don't need to Apparate about quite so much, or travel by Portkey. Neither are good for you or for the babies at this stage." Her hair, long and silvery and flowing like silk, beckons: he reaches up and strokes it in a practised, comfortable move before letting his hand settle on her stomach. His voice is little more than a soft murmur. "And we're closer to friends and family and to our Healer and if I know you, you won't be content sitting still. You'll end up modeling maternity clothes and earn far too many Galleons and I can be the one to sit back idly and grow fat."

Bill nods to one of the trunks on the table. "And your shoes are safe inside the centre trunk. At the moment, however, they're very small."