The Morning After

[Sirius Black]

Sirius watched the scene unfolding before him, but in a different way. Lily had walked in, serving up a healthy breakfast to himself and James. Beside them sat Harry in a highchair, nearly a year old. He’d made a home among Lily and James for years; though he’d moved out after their marriage, he still visited often, always enjoying a homemade meal from Lily. Now, nearly twenty years later, he sat in a kitchen, eating breakfast served by a girl who loved his best friend, that little boy, Harry, his godson. And by him sat not one little bundle of joy, but two. And instead of a boy, there was a little baby girl also. He’d mistaken Harry for James for some time; they looked so similar. And yet now, he found himself mistaking Hermione for Lily, despite the fact that they looked fairly different. Hermione had bushy, brown hair; Lily’s was long, red, and straight, very sleek. Still, the similarities between the two’s relations and personalities was striking. He inwardly chastised himself, noting that he would have to be careful about speaking, lest he should call the two by Harry’s parents - and now his children’s - names. Lily and James. Lily Minerva and James Albus . . . What? Potter? Or Granger? The thought pained him. Here sat before him two gorgeous twins, named after Harry's own parents, keeping their namesake alive, and yet, they weren't Potters. Technically, because Harry and Hermione weren't married, the kids were Lily Minerva and James Albus Granger, not Potter. How was that fair? He tried to shake off the thought, knowing that eventually, the kids would have the last name Potter. . .even if it wasn't today.

He heard but didn’t really pay extreme attention to much of the conversation passing between the two. It was as though he’d drawn out of the world for a moment, allowing them to have a private conversation. He caught about as much of the conversation as James and Lily surely had, though some things peaked his interest. First off, Hermione had agreed to live there. That was good news, especially for Harry. Sirius cracked a smile as she said that it was the least she could do after stealing time from them and the children, but he refused to let it sink in. He’d had so much time stolen from him, yet he was still young. Her absence gave him time to spend with Harry; now that she was back, he would get time with the children. What more could he ask for?

Before he knew it, she was cracking a joke about his table. “Hey, I happen to like this table very much. You might not know it, but this place is built for a party. This table is only the first step,” he smiled, wondering if, how that Harry had perked up and Hermione had returned, they would have parties here, lighten things up. But before he could lighten entirely, Harry shot him a look between thankfulness and anger. He seemed to have missed the first comment and was momentarily lost until he figured out that it was the room they were talking about. He looked down at his food so that Harry would be unable to see the grin that had spread stupidly across his face. He’d told Hermione more than Harry probably would’ve liked him too.

He didn’t have to avoid them for long though, because Harry had started laughing when the conversation switched track back to money. So Hermione insisted that she hadn’t come back for a free ride. That much he knew - he had only been kidding. The girl was far too stubborn to just accept a bunch of gifts openly. The only reason she wouldn’t return the other gifts, he assumed, was that they were special to her, had deep meaning, and would kill Harry to have returned to him. They were too thoughtful to pass up. Then she said something so ridiculous that Sirius gave a bark of laughter before cracking up even further as Harry did the same. Did she really think Harry would take the money back? Sensing that she would try to argue, Sirius attempted to stop laughing long enough to get out a few sentences.

“Hermione, before you say anything back, you need to know something about the Potter family. Petunia had something right - James never worked a day in his life. His parents were wealthy, Hermione. Took me in off the streets, took good care of me, they did. They’re entire fortune went to James, their only son. Do you know what James did with all that money, besides not work? He used it to care for himself. And Lily. And Harry. His family. But do you know what else he did? He spent his money caring for me and Lupin, who couldn’t get - much less hold - a job because he was a werewolf. Lily didn’t like the fact that James spent his money on her while she didn’t work, but James did it anyway because he had the money, he loved her, and he couldn’t use it all. I understand that you don’t want to just sit around, do nothing, and be pampered. But don’t think that Harry doesn’t want to spend some of his money on you. He’s like his father. And, like his mother, Lily, you don’t want to just take it. But Lily, she learned that it made James happy to see her well-cared for. She eventually consented. I’d suggest you do the same. It’ll save you some arguing, and me some nights in the living room, all right?” he said, serious for most of it but finally joking at the end. He remembered everything well, how James had plenty of money, how he cared for them all because he could never use it all. How he missed the man.


Sirius seemed to catch Harry’s unspoken question and nodded. James and his parents had taken him in like a son and cared for him. The least he could do in repayment was care for their son and his . . Hermione. He didn’t know if they were dating still or what, but he saw the love in their eyes. Before commenting, he heard himself being called an old man and grinned. “Excuse me, Mr. Potter, but I am not old. Now Dumbledore and McGonagall, they’re old. Me? Absolutely not. The kids will call me uncle, not grandpa. You both will be alright with that, won’t you?”[/color] He looked back at Harry playing with the children. He knew exactly what he intended to buy James as a present - the same thing he’d bought Harry, a toy broomstick. Lily? Well, that would take a tad more thought.

Then he turned back to where Hermione had been sitting before leaping up to care for Kreacher. Despite the fact that the creature had been much kinder and more useful that Harry had moved in, Sirius still wasn't all too fond of him. “Hermione, you are too kind to him. I don’t quite understand. Oh, and me today? Well, Buckbeak’s due back any time today, so I need to make sure he gets settled in well. And after that, I’m thinking of taking a trip to Hogmeade, get a few things. I’ll meet you back here by dinner time, kids. Don’t worry about the old man, I still remember where I am and where I’m going. I don’t need to be carted off to St. Mungo’s just yet!”[/color] he grinned, laughing.

However, as he mentioned the wizard hospital, he became curious because Hermione had mentioned work but not what kind. Surely she could get a job anywhere, but. . ."Speaking of St. Mungo's. . . What kind of work are you looking at going into Hermione? Some things will take a bit of training, and I'm sure you'd be able to get a job anywhere, but what do you actually want to do? And please, don't let your options be limited by the children. I'll gladly babysit the little tykes whenever you both need," he grinned, patting down a stray piece of James' already-messy hair.

[Hermione Granger]

It was a blessing that Hermione didn’t catch the look Harry gave Sirius. She’d been too absorbed in everything else to notice this slight glance. The eye-rolling, however, she did catch. Her mouth full with a bite of pancake, she found it best not to respond but rather to raise an eyebrow good-naturedly. She wasn’t going to pick a fight when he was in such a good mood about it. . .Besides, she wanted an answer, sooner rather than later, if she could get it. “Of course it is…--er--what exactly did Sirius--uh--well, tell you?” If she were to be honest, Sirius told her almost everything, and she assumed now by his nervousness that it was true – that he had made a room for her and kept it pristine the entire time she had been hone. Still, she didn’t want Sirius to be in trouble, nor did she was to cause a ruckus so soon. Glad that her view of him was obscured by food for the moment, she composed herself before saying, “Well, he told me that when he bought the house and told you to pick out a room, you asked for two – one for you, and one for me to stay in whenever I came over. You know, like how the Weasleys always had room for us whenever we stayed over breaks?”[/color] She said this as nonchalantly as possible, keeping an even tone and seeming completely normal about it so as not to rise Harry’s suspicions. It was true, in a sense – he had made her a room, just as Ginny and Ron had prepared room for them when they came over to stay. Granted, the Weasleys didn’t keep everything completely pristine for two years of absence, but. . . that was beside the point. Having passed over the awkwardness, she smiled up at Harry. So he actually made a room for me. It’s real. This. . .This is all real. Really real. The thought that everything was happening now, so perfectly, was a welcome thought; she happily downed more food.

She reached over to clean off Lily’s chin before turning around to Harry’s laughing. Her cheeks flushed red with a mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and a twinge of anger, but before she could respond, he’d apologized for laughing and continued speaking. “Sorry ‘Mione, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything; but I gave you that money. It’s yours, not mine.” Before she could respond, Sirius tried to calm himself before speaking to her, effectively silencing her for the moment. So Harry was unknowingly acting just as his father had, caring for Lily Evans – er, Potter. Judging by Sirius’ tone and Harry’s words, she couldn’t argue. She wasn’t one to take undeservingly, but she also wasn’t rude enough to refuse or return a gift. She looked up at them both, from Harry to Sirius, then back again. Knowing that words could not express her feelings – mixed, but definitely grateful – she sighed and nodded. She did appreciate the gifts, but she felt like she needed to work for them, not just accept them blindly. However, she found it best not to speak such feelings – Harry would probably tell her that she’d done plenty, helped save his life and defeat Voldemort, and that she deserved everything he’d given her. She knew that logic was against her this once, so she settled down quietly and continued to eat.

Hermione was lost in thought as she watched James with the little broomstick. She was reminded again of the picture and letter that Lily had written to Sirius about Harry’s first broom. Yes, James would likely follow in his father and his namesake’s footsteps of becoming Seeker for Gryffindor, if they had their way. And naturally, Sirius and Harry would probably ensure that the little boy had a broomstick and proper training and even a Snitch before he reached schooling age. She smiled widely as Sirius called Dumbledore old, remembering an old joke once between herself, Harry, and Ron about Dumbledore’s age. Then Sirius said he wanted to be called an uncle, not a grandfather. “I’m glad you mentioned that,”[/color], she said softly; “I was going to ask you about it anyways. Uncle Sirius has a better ring to it than ‘grandpa,’ don’t you think?”

Then she turned her attention back to the children. She knew that they loved her chocolate chip pancakes, and it showed. Lily had a chocolate smudge on her nose, and James had a chocolate mustache from where he’d missed his mouth in joy over his broomstick. She sighed contentedly, picking up another napkin and leaning over to clean them both off. Then Sirius was talking again, about Kreacher this time. She knew what he thought of the house-elf. As a youth, Sirius had taken the worst of Kreacher, and the enmity seemed to swell over time. But after Harry and Hermione had given him some attention, Kreacher seemed better off. Even now, he was better than before. Before she had time to respond, Sirius had continued his words, so she contented herself to dealing with the issue of Kreacher later.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see Buckbeak! I’ll have to visit with him when we get home though, after going to see my parents. How is he doing?” She smiled, chuckling lightly at his joke of being carted off to St. Mungo’s. For the time, she kept her mind off of Neville’s parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, the aurors who were there because of Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman she had killed.

And then, the question came that she had dreaded. She had pondered for two years what she would do if she ever returned to the wizarding world. Would she return to school? She didn’t really need to, but she could. Would she become a healer? No, she didn’t care for it all too much, not after everything else. She considered fighting for the rights of house-elves, but over the years, she came to respect their desires to serve. She would, however, be getting in touch with someone about ensuring their proper treatment and possibly the collection of wages and some off days for the workers. She had even considered working in law enforcement despite a prior comment to Scrimgeor, only to ensure that laws favoring purebloods were eradicated and so that muggle-borns would have equal rights. Still, that thought was only fleeting. One job had controlled her thinking; she knew some wouldn’t approve. In fact, she more than expected Harry to object when she said the statement she’d thought of for so long.

“Sirius, I’m glad you mention that. Well, I might need your help in watching the kids. The job I’m thinking of will require a fair bit of training, if I can even be accepted into the program. I. . . well, I want to become an auror.”[/color]

[Harry Potter]

Harry smiled at the witch in front of him; for a second, he forgot what he was worried about; Hermione just seemed so…Hermione. At the eyebrow raise she gave him, Harry grinned, raising his own eyebrow in retaliation. When she began to speak, however, his worries seem to come back and hit him in the head…as usual. Harry smiled, at both Hermione and Sirius; though his eyes held a knowing look when he glanced at Sirius; who seemed to believe his breakfast was more interesting than the conversation. Then when his gaze moved back to Hermione, his eyes softened; of course she would look out for his feelings; he’d made his worry horribly obvious. “Oh--well---that’s good then.” and being the idiot he is; he just left the topic of the room like that. He was sure Hermione would’ve loved to hear all about it; but he wanted to surprise her. If Sirius told her as much as he think he did, then she’ll probably know what to expect. Still; he wanted her to see it, no descriptions about it or anything; just a visual when he showed it to her. He could only imagine her face.

He saw how Hermione took care of the twins; and he felt a twinge of pain, happiness and love, all at once. Pain, from the fact that this was what she had done without them; alone, acting as a single mother before she came back. Happiness because that was a perfect example of a family---his family. He felt love, because he loved both those witches---as he was sure Lily wouldn’t turn out a Squib, James neither---with all his heart. Lily, he already loved, as much as her mother. She was his flesh and blood; how could he not? Plus, look at her; she was adorable. When Hermione flushed with embarrassment and he was almost positively sure, anger, he smiled. It reminded him of all the times she’d do that during their school years; when she was either arguing with Ron, or just embarrassed about one thing or another. ‘Just like the old times’ With a group as close as his friends; someone was bound to get teased and embarrassed; it happened plenty of times to everyone; especially when they were caught in one of the twins’ pranks. Shaking his head from the memories, he continued to eat his breakfast; enjoying it as much as Lily and James were.

When Sirius spoke, comparing him and Hermione to his parents; Harry stopped eating, choosing to poke at his food instead. He was sad, yes; but he avenged them: he got rid of the wizard that killed them; he had children named after him, albeit the fact he didn’t know until last night; and he continued to live a life full of love and laughter, like they would’ve wanted. Still, he wished, as he did almost everyday at some point or another, that they were with him, looking at their grandchildren with love, offering help and advice when he or Hermione needed it. Still, hearing about them was enough; especially if it was from Sirius or Remus. His eyes saddened for a moment, as Sirius began to talk about how his parents helped Remus as well; perhaps they are together now, watching Tonk, Teddy, Sirius, himself, their twin grandchildren; and even Hermione. Perhaps they were proud; perhaps they still loved the twins with all their hearts, seeing the beautiful bundles from where they are. Perhaps…just perhaps.

When Sirius retaliated at his ‘old man’ joke, Harry grinned. Of course Sirius wouldn’t be called Grandfather; that was just too…old for someone like Sirius. Uncle definitely fit Sirius better; he was sure, even if they were his grandchildren, Sirius wouldn’t let them call him Grandpa, or grandfather, or anything that indicated he was old---‘though he kinda was’ Harry thought with a grin. When Hermione agreed, his grin just got bigger. “I don’t know about you, ‘Mione, but hearing grandpa Sirius kinda freaks me out a little. I mean; that’d be like a Dumbledore old Sirius…imagine all that white hair!” he laughed as he motioned towards Sirius’ full head of black hair. He was picturing it know; a head of white hair; and perhaps even the ‘Dumbledore beard’; that set him off, causing him to laugh too hard to try and get another bite of his pancakes. “S-s-Sirius…with a ‘Dumbledore beard’…haha---” he tried as an explanation, before the two could even question his mental stability.

Once he calmed down enough; with a chuckle now and then as he glanced at Sirius; Harry watched Hermione interact with her---his---their children. Should that mean they were Potters? Or Grangers? A sudden jolt of sadness hit him like the bludger in second year. His children, his, wouldn’t carry on his name. They’d be Grangers until Hermione married; his gaze on the witch suddenly became intense as he thought about it. If Hermione married him then they’d all be Potters. A dream come true, really; no matter how girly or sappy that sounded, that was what it was. He dreamed, from the day of the Final Battle, that he would have a family and be able to raise his children without the threat of Voldemort looming over them. He succeeded in vanquishing Voldemort; now about his family. The family under his name; the Potters. Glancing at Sirius, he figured his godfather was as much a Potter as he was; in all but blood.

Hearing Sirius’ comment about Kreacher, thought, snapped Harry out of his reverie. He just chuckled and rolled his eyes good naturedly. Sirius and Kreacher still didn’t get along; but being around both so much, Harry was used to the comments between the two; the mutterings Kreacher would sometimes say about Sirius, insulting him; though not about how his Mistress hated him, just about how Sirius was. Sirius, in return, would just stay the same way towards Kreacher. It was a hate-hate relationship that was too damaged during the time of Voldemort and when Sirius was a kid. Perhaps they’d never make peace; but if there was one thing he was sure of about the mutual hate between the two, was that Hermione would end up bringing it to the light and try to get the two to like each other…or at least be civil.

When Sirius asked about Hermione’s future plans, Harry perked up; head snapping up from his breakfast and his gaze locked on Hermione. He thought of all the possibilities she could’ve chosen. There was the professor track, since she loved learning and all; but there were no open positions, otherwise he was sure Dumbledore would’ve contacted one of them. So a Hogwarts Professor was out. He then thought of a healer; she was always wanting to help, what better way than heal? That took some extensive training as well; so that was a possibility. He then thought of her working in the Ministry; he could see it. She would be fighting for the rights of the creatures the wizards deemed below them or dangerous for centuries; he was sure house-elves and werewolves were the first on her list. When she answered, however, he was shocked.

An auror…she wanted to be an auror. Those were his first comprehensive thoughts. He should’ve guessed it; with her by his side during the battle; during everything, an auror job was something she was used to doing already. However, he didn’t want her to be an auror; sure, they could’ve made a great team should they have been placed together; but it was dangerous. He didn’t want Hermione to be in anymore danger than necessary…but since when was danger necessary? Never! So he didn’t want Hermione to ever be in danger; not anymore. Not after he just got her back. Not after he made sure she survived the Final Battle. Not after everything they’ve been through; not after learning about his children. He didn’t want her in danger because she could get hurt; and he didn’t want her hurt. Many aurors died while on missions; if it was dangerous enough, but then again, why else would it need aurors? He didn’t want to risk the chance of losing Hermione. Never; not after the whole Voldemort, horcrux hunting fiasco. Not after all that.

“No.” the word came out before he could stop it. It was a mechanism, as soon as he heard her want such a dangerous, life-threatening job, he knew he was going to say it. He just never thought it’d be so…so…harsh. His own eyes widened at the harshness of his voice; it was authoritative. He knew he couldn’t tell Hermione what to do; she was old enough to take care of herself; but he couldn’t help it. His worry just overcame his sense. “I know you want support on this ‘Mione, I’m sorry. I---I just---I can’t lose you to a job like this. It’s dangerous, ‘Mione; there are still some Death Eaters out there. If they ever had the chance to---” he couldn’t finish. He wouldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, he looked almost pleadingly at both Hermione and Sirius; Hermione to listen to him, and Sirius to back him up. He wasn’t sure what Sirius would do anymore though; his Godfather seemed to have matured over night or something. He was wiser, so if he supported it, Harry knew he would have to relent. “Look, I really am sorry ‘Mione…but…I just can’t deal with anymore loss…please understand where I’m coming from.” he glanced at the children. Sure, he was going to be an auror; but that was because he had to get rid of anything that would threaten his family, his surrogate family; his friends and their families. He had to make sure it was a safe world for them. He understood this was probably what Hermione thought as well; but he couldn’t risk it. She would know what to do should anything go wrong in the wizard world. She could take care of them enough without him. He wouldn’t be able to function correctly without her. In the end, it was all about how the future would look without one of them…and it looked far better if Hermione were the one still around.

[Hermione Granger]

It didn’t take long for things to go back to normal for Hermione. It really happened quite often; one moment, she was very out of character; the next, she was her usual self. Many times during her years at Hogwarts this had occurred, much to the shock and often confusion of those around or closest to her. She recalled one particular time, back when she had a crush on Ron, when she’d sent a flock of canaries to attack him. Anyone who knew her at all knew that she would do anything to protect both Harry and Ron; yet she had sent a flock of birds after him. One year, she’d nearly broken down at the thought of Harry facing danger, despite the fact that they’d been during that very thing all year. One time, she even found pleasure in breaking the rules in creating Dumbledore’s Army; years prior, she felt that the worst thing that could ever happen to her was to be expelled from Hogwarts. It wasn’t that she was moody or temperamental; rather, extreme stress tended to cause her to act oddly. After some time or someone calming her down, she would bounce back to her usual self rather quickly. Today was no exception. Though she felt ready for the day, she was surprised she wasn’t exhausted. Her emotions had done so many flips that she was surprised she didn’t want to take a nap before visiting her parents, but she pushed the thought away. She was happy, the kids were fine, and the only scary thing looming on the horizon was the sure disappointment her parents would express at her leaving, especially when her father had just been stricken with cancer. Careful not to let this fear rise to her eyes, she pushed the thoughts away once more, determined not to let Sirius or Harry know how truly terrified she was of the meeting that was soon to occur. Harry seemed nervous about it enough; he didn’t need to worry about Hermione’s worries in addition. She needed to act normally so that he could be himself so that her parents could see how true and good of a man he could be - he was so that they could understand and grant her their blessing. She sighed wistfully.

Lucky for her, the sigh was timed perfectly as Harry finished talking about the room and something being good, presumably that Sirius had mentioned it but not said much. Her mind swarmed with too many thoughts to pursue the issue, so she let it drop for the time. Patience, Hermione. You’ll see it soon enough, all things willing. Patience wasn’t always Hermione’s strong point - in fact, whenever she wanted to know something, she typically stood up immediately and announced that she was going to her second home at Hogwarts - the library. Here, however, she knew that the library would hold no answers. The only ones who knew about this room was Sirius, who seemed too chastised by Harry’s glance to even speak of it again; Harry, who seemed determined not to speak of it any further until showing it to her; and Kreacher, who she wasn’t willing to put in the middle of things to satisfy her curiosity. Dropping the topic seemed the only logical response, for the time at least.

When Sirius began to speak of Harry’s parents, Hermione noted how Harry stopped eating. Even then, she knew that he would be affected by their death and that he would never truly forget them - especially not since he now had two children named after them. For a moment, she regretted taking such liberty without any sort of permission. Should she had given them his parents names? Should she have waited? Well, she certainly couldn’t have waited until now to name the children, but the thought that she had, perhaps, stolen the joy of naming them from Harry and that she’d given the children names that would forever remind him of the parents that he had lost pained her. She tried to hide it by eating more but wasn’t sure if anyone else had caught the glint of wetness that had attempted to form a tear reach her eye before she blinked it away. Again she was reminded how lucky she was to have had her parents live to see her turn twenty; again she was reminded that her father could be closer to death than she wanted to realize, and that he was threatened by a very real killer.

She wasn’t given long to linger, though; Harry was speaking again, and his voice drew her out of her thoughts and back to the breakfast table. For this small distraction, she was happy. “I don’t know about you, ‘Mione, but hearing grandpa Sirius kinda freaks me out a little. I mean; that’d be like a Dumbledore old Sirius…imagine all that white hair!” He began laughing and pointed to Sirius’ jet black hair. Even the terrible thoughts of death couldn’t daunt her laughing at the idea. Dumbledore was so old that she feared even he didn’t know his own age. Sirius was a far more manageable forty-one year old. Plus, she’s always known him with his black hair that never seemed to grey. The idea of him with a full head of white hair like Dumbledore’s was a bit much. . .She burst out laughing, glad that her mouth had held no food. She noticed Sirius with a peculiar sort of look on his face, a mixture of happiness and disappointment that they would even think of him so old. Such a face was in clear contrast to Harry’s, which was lit up with laughter. He was laughing so hard, in fact, that he barely managed to explain the though passing through his mind, though Hermione thought she understood. Ha! Sirius, with Dumbledore’s beard! I’ll make sure to keep him clean-shaven before that happens! She told herself, laughing even louder now that she was envisioning the same thing Harry had.

Minutes passed before she resumed eating; she didn’t quite trust herself not to burst out in laughter any sooner, so she waited, tending to the children before finally calming down completely enough to continue with her breakfast. The only thing that disturbed her, now that the children were cared for and she was eating again, was that Harry’s gaze seemed to be piercing her. She glanced up and caught him staring, but she didn’t feel as though it were a good stare. He didn’t seem angry, but . . But what? She couldn’t place the look; the emotion seemed foreign to her, but his look had been so intense. She tilted her head to the side, questioning him with her eyes. She was at a loss, for sure. He didn’t seem angry. No, he had been staring at the children, smiling at them, and then an expression had overcome his face as he’d turned to look at her. Did he think she hadn’t been watching him? That he could stare - or glare - at her without her noticing? Well, she certainly had caught his look; the intensity of the stare had seemed to pierce her subconscious. But what bothered her most was that she didn’t understand its meaning. If he was angry with her, she could understand; if he was regretting inviting her to stay with them, she would be devastated, but she would understand. Was he angry with the children? Certainly not; Harry had always been good with children from what she knew, and he acted so lovingly towards Lily and James; certainly he wasn’t angry with them. Perhaps he was regretting becoming a father? Or maybe, just maybe, it was the issue of their names, cropping up in her mind once more. Again, she forced it down, trying to think past that small hiccup that she didn’t really know if it existed or not.

Finally, Harry lightened. She still didn’t understand what had happened; she hoped desperately she would give him some clue, but then he was chuckling. It must’ve been about something Sirius had said; was it something about Kreacher? Probably; Hermione thought that the poor creature just needed some decent care. Harry was at least neutral toward him; Sirius, on the other hand, probably still was at odds with the house-elf. That would be something she would attempt to resolve as soon as possible, and without causing anyone any discomfort, if she could manage it. Before, at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, she felt comfortable telling the much-older Sirius to be nicer to Kreacher. She hadn’t been quite at much at his mercy - or anyone else’s - back then. Now, however, she was much more at his and Harry’s mercy than before; she would have to tread lightly so as to not offend anyone when she was already asking - and taking - so much from them both. But she also wasn’t one to keep her mouth shut and her eyes closed for long about something important to her; she would find a way to bring up the idea casually.

The stare was back; Sirius had asked about her future plans, and now Harry was staring at her intently again. This time, however, it was a look of interest and contemplation. She knew it well. She had received it many times, most notably when he or Ron had asked a question that they expected her to be able to answer. They’d stare at her intently, waiting for an explanation while grappling with their own theories which she would promptly put to rest with fact. This time, however, there were no theories, no facts; only a goal she wished to attain yet knew he wouldn’t approve of.

She’d thought long and hard about it and had come to the conclusion that an auror would be a position to fit her best. Healing, though admirable, was just not her field. She didn’t think she could handle all of the blood, all of the death, all of the pain of families and friends. She’d seen far too much of that. A ministry position in creatures or law enforcement was still not out of the question; it would be a good back-up plan, maybe something to consider as she grew older, less fit and able to fight. But an auror. . . it had filled her thoughts for some time. She knew the dangers; and, in a way, they scared her. But she’d seen death; she’d fought plenty of times, risked her life several of those times. She had been cruciod by the queen of torture herself, Bellatrix Lestrange. Not only did she live, but she managed to kill the same woman who had killed so many others. Wasn’t that what aurors did? Not kill them, of course, but capture them. Make the world safe? Risk their lives to duel, to protect, just as she had done for her seven years of schooling - well, six, plus the year hunting Horcruxes? She was built for the job, made for it; in fact, she was already well-trained for it! Sure, she needed to brush up on things, learn from more, but there was no doubt that she could do it. Still, she didn’t expect Harry to take it well.

The first word she heard was a very mechanic yet forceful, resounding “no”, as though his mind were already made up about the issue before hearing more. She knew he wasn’t going to like this. In fact, she expected that if she came back and he still loved her, that they would fight about this very issue. Still, she shied back for a moment at his word. Yes, he still had an effect, an impact on her and her decisions, but this. . .

He sounded like a father, telling a daughter what she could and couldn’t do; this was clearly a couldn’t. She couldn’t help but be a little impressed with his firmness, imagining for a moment his putting a foot down with Lily, but the thought was shaking by her irritation at his reaction. She let him finish speaking; it was only polite. But by then, she had a retort, and though it caused her eyes to fill with wetness, she had to say it. “Had the chance to what, Harry? To kill me?” Her voice had come out too loudly, too harsh; it was worse than she meant. Her gaze softened, and her tone lightened. “Harry, I’ve faced the evil. I’ve faced the worst there is - Voldemort and Bellatrix. I know what Death Eaters can do - I’ve fought them. I want this world safe for my children. Death Eaters wouldn’t think twice about hurting them. I’d like to make sure they do - and that they are never even given the chance to get within sight of my children.”[/color] She reached out a hand to stroke his but then pulled back slightly, not sure if he’d welcome the touch or push it off in anger.

She sighed, knowing that the conversation was not over but needing it to be, at least until they visited her parents. Her gaze settled on Sirius, and her tone was commanding enough to deter him from commenting until later. “Look, Harry, can we talk about this later? We will talk about it - civilly. But right now, we need to get ready if we’re going to meet my parents. You still want to do this, right? Or has my decision about training to be an auror turned you off to the idea of my living here with the children completely?” Her tone wasn’t threatening, not in the least; yet it held an air of control that only she could have at the moment. All she wanted was for the conversation to end. She needed them to be their best, their cutest, their closest as possible under the circumstances when meeting her parents. The last thing she wanted to do was argue before getting there. She hoped her words - and look - to both Harry as well as Sirius would end such a conversation until a later time.

[Harry Potter]

Finally, things were going right. Finally, Harry felt as if all things negative couldn’t touch him, Hermione, Sirius, the twins; as if all the negativity in the world finally disappeared. He was sure it wouldn’t last; after all, there always had to be balance of good and bad; like he was the balance to Voldemort. The dark times lasted too long, thus the reason he won the war; at least, he sees it that way. The threat and fear of Voldemort lasted far too long for his liking; and besides, he had something worth fighting for. He already knew that by the end of his fifth year; and with that knowledge, he knew he could win. His belief in winning the war faltered, however, during the next two years. Sure, he had something to fight for, but for how long? What about Voldemort, how could they win when he was gaining power? In the end, it was Hermione that helped him out of his funk really. When he realized how she stuck to his side no matter what happened, or how bad it seemed. When she fought by him, went with him on the Horcrux hunt. It was through all those actions that Hermione was able to, unknowingly and indirectly bring Harry back.

He was scared though, even after his restored belief in winning the war, he was scared. What happens when something goes wrong? What happens when the Order begins to fall? What would he do, when he saw his friends in trouble? Those thoughts were filling every part of his mind, similar to the worry he was having right now, at that very moment. He wasn’t worried about the war or anything like that; to him, it seemed much worse. He was scared of meeting her parents. Hermione’s parents; Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Sweet Salazar, he could fight and defeat the darkest wizard in history, but he was afraid of facing his children’s mother’s parents? Good Godric, he still couldn’t think of anything scarier!

Shaking his head of the fears that crept up on him, Harry heard Hermione’s sigh. It was right after they were talking about her room. So he was right; she had wanted to see it. Right now, though, he was torn, unsure of whether or not he should take her to see the room at that moment, or wait until after they--he gulped--visited her parents. He felt somewhat awful, because he was keeping something from her; though she already knew of it, she never saw it. Knowing that she wanted to see it, and knowing he was right but decided to not show her, made it even worse. He didn’t want to keep her waiting; he knew she could be impatient at times. However, he thought it’d be better if he showed her after the meeting; after all, should anything go wrong during the meeting--which he was praying wouldn’t happen--then the room might be enough to quell the anger or sadness Hermione would probably feel afterwards. It wasn’t as if he was trying to look after himself; though it would be beneficial to him as she knew many hexes and curses--wasn’t the smartest witch of her age for nothing--but he decided it would be for her. Hermione had already gone through so many emotions he couldn’t understand, but he knew she would need a nice break after the meeting. The room would provide that.

He glanced at Hermione, whose gaze was on him as he poked at his food. For a moment he saw regret flash in her eyes, before she turned her attention back to her food. There! Perhaps it was a trick of light, but Harry doubted it; Hermione had tears in her eyes, but she managed to blink them away. Had he not been watching her, he wouldn’t have noticed. Did she regret naming their children? Did she think he didn’t like their names? He shuddered at the next thought, did she regret coming back to him and talking about this? The next thought, however, he felt was worse; worse than any other thought he’s had so far. Did she not want to marry him? Seeing as Sirius was comparing him and Hermione to his parents; whom were married, Harry couldn’t think of anything else Hermione could possibly regret. He didn’t want to say anything; he wouldn’t, at least not yet. Perhaps until later on, after everything was done and over with; after visiting the Weasley’s, her parents, and naming Lily and James’ godparents; after all that, he would talk to her about it. Hopefully, though, that time wouldn’t come soon.

As soon as he heard her laugh, though, his thoughts vanished and his eyes twinkled with happiness. He smiled at Sirius, almost mischievously. He didn’t mean to hurt Sirius’ feelings or anything like that; but the thought of it was just too irresistible, he was sure Sirius would’ve done the same thing when he was younger. “So, Sirius; if you do get as old as Dumbledore, you think you’ll be wearing the beard?”[/color] he chuckled once more; it was an interesting thought anyways. He didn’t think he could wear the beard, but then again…eh, he wasn’t sure about it.

He saw the question in her eyes, though; as he kept his gaze on her. He blinked, almost forgetting as to why he was staring at her so intently, almost being the key word there. Giving her a slight smile, Harry realized that she could’ve interpreted it in a different way than he meant. Perhaps she didn’t want to get married, she wasn’t ready to. Maybe, there was still that slight chance, that she didn’t want to marry him. The fear crept back into his mind, before he quickly shook the thought out of his head. He knew it was going to bother him until she let him know, until he knew for sure, what she thought on the idea of marriage. Sure, it was going a little fast-paced, but hey; they loved each other. That was all that counted, right? He thought about Fleur and Bill; they rushed into a relationship as well, and now they were happily married and with a child either on their way, or already born. He hadn’t kept up as much as he would’ve liked the past few years.

He made a mental note to go and visit them sometime, see how they were doing. Maybe ask Bill about advice; seeing as the eldest Weasley was afraid Fleur would leave him after Greyback’s attack. Yes, Bill would be a good guy to go to for advice on marriage and all; after all, he was the only guy Harry was close enough with to talk with that was married. The thought of Remus quickly flittered across his mind, and for a moment he felt a pang of grief. He was close to Remus as well, and Remus was married, to Tonks in fact; they had a child, Teddy. He was the Godfather. He would’ve gone to Remus without a second thought on advice on marriage; but now he almost forgot about going to him for advice. How could he? What kind of friend was he? A horrible one, that’s what. He almost forgot about Remus; and his father! His father, and probably mother, should’ve been the first ones to cross his mind for advice; but instead, it skipped to Bill. Not to say he didn’t like Bill or anything, but he shouldn’t have been first. His parents should’ve been first, then Remus, maybe Sirius, but he wasn‘t married, and then Bill. Disgust seemed to build inside of him, until he was able to push it away. He didn’t need to think about that right now, not now. Not when he had other things to deal with.

He noticed how Hermione began to think when Sirius talked about Kreacher. Once again, he was right, he noted with a chuckle. Hermione was trying to find some way she could get the two to get along. He was pretty sure that she wouldn’t try anything that involved him and his relation with Kreacher, though he could never be sure with Hermione. One of the things he loved about her. She was predictable, yet unpredictable at the same time. Back to the topic at hand; Hermione was definitely trying to figure out some way she could get the two to get along; or perhaps just get Sirius to be nicer to Kreacher, if just a little bit. Knowing Hermione, he figured she would work something out later and she’d keep trying until something worked. He thought it was kind of like a potion; you keep changing an ingredient until you get what you want.

When he looked at her, when Sirius asked her about her future plans, Harry was almost positive she knew what he would think. He was almost positive she knew that she could d-d-die, he shuddered at the mere thought of it. He figured she planned to be an auror; she learned about the training, she knew about the work; he could’ve bet his whole inheritance that Hermione knew what she was getting into once she told them she wanted to be an auror. She knew, but she still wanted to do it. Anger at her obliviousness surged through him; and it only got worse as she tried to defend herself on her position. He saw the tears in her eyes when she spoke of what the Death Eaters would do without a second thought once they saw her. Yes, they would kill her without a second thought.

He couldn’t have that happen, he wouldn’t. He held his tongue, literally biting it as Hermione continued. If she let him finish before she argued, then he would do the same, no matter how much he wanted to say something. He was almost sure that any longer, and there would be a whole in his tongue; but he still held it nonetheless. He’d hear her side; though he had a feeling he already knew what it was going to be, before he argued back. As soon as she finished, Harry let his tongue loose, and spoke out, standing up, causing the chair to slide back harshly; almost tipping over, but able to remain upright.

“Yes, ‘Mione! To Kill you!” he hadn’t intended for it to come out as a yell, but it had; and he couldn’t bring himself to lower his voice enough to a conversational volume. He only managed to make it into a soft yell. “I know you want the world to be safe for James and Lily, ‘Mione. I do too. But you have to think about what would happen to them if something ever happened to you. I can’t lose you to them, ‘Mione. Merlin knows I’ve lost enough to them. I won’t let my children lose anyone to them. Never. They need you, Merlin, I need you! You just can’t go around putting your life in danger when we need you here!” his eyes flashed with unspoken anger. There was still so much he wanted to say; so much he needed to say about it.

However, her words on saving it for later broke through his anger. Yes, first impressions were important; and showing up with their daughter angry at him, and him at her, was not the impression he was looking for. “Fine, we’ll save this conversation for later.”[/color] When she spoke about her decision making him change his mind, he froze. Would she do that? Did she not care about the future that much? Did she not realize how--? Harry shook his head, refusing to look at her. “No, ‘Mione. I still want you and the children here…“[/color] he paused, his gaze soft as he looked at the twins. Even they had sensed something was wrong, hadn’t they? “I’m going to go get ready.” his quickly moved around his chair, refusing to look at anyone in the room; keeping his stony gaze in front of him. He hadn’t even finished his plate, but he needed to leave; before something went wrong. Like it always did. Something always went wrong in the past, but this time, he was sure he was going to prevent it.

Somehow, it didn’t seem like it, he felt as he made his way to his room. Only pausing and glancing back when he was sure no one was watching; his eyes softened as they landed on James and Lily, who had seemed unnaturally quiet. Now he was sure that even they knew that something bad was happening; they didn’t understand what, but they knew. He knew it too…he just wished it wasn’t so. As always, however; it was so, because something always had to go wrong. He wasn’t sure what this something was; but he hoped it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He prayed it could be fixed. Tears filled his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He hadn’t meant to leave it like that. He hadn’t meant to leave her--them like that, but it was too much. He didn’t want his children to grow up like he had, without knowing their parents. If only he were to be lost in an Auror assignment, Hermione would still be there, and Sirius would gladly help out. He was sure Ron and Luna, as well as Ginny and Neville, would be able to help her. If Hermione was the one lost, however, the twins would’ve grown up much like he had; but in a much more caring environment. Not knowing their mother; always seeing the pain in their father’s eyes. He couldn’t put them through that; he couldn’t let Hermione die like everyone else in the war, by their hands. He wouldn’t let it; no matter what…even if it meant that something was going wrong.

As he reached his room, however, Harry closed the door; and slowly, one by one, he let his tears fall. He wouldn’t let her know it affected him so much; he wouldn’t let her see him cry again. He wouldn’t let Sirius know he cried again. He wouldn’t cry in front of his children. Taking a deep breath, Harry wiped away any remains of his tears and used magic to cover up any signs that he had shed any tears. He was going to remain strong; on the situation and for his family, because he didn’t know what else he could do that could help. After all, he was getting that feeling…the feeling that it was about to get worse.

[Hermione Granger]

Happiness had been an elusive emotion for Hermione for some time. Being an intelligent girl, she knew the different between the words people used to describe emotions; therefore, she understood the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness was based off of present circumstances; joy was more of an underlying thought, an emotion that just emanated, didn’t change very often. Over the years, she had grown to respect the subtle difference between the two. Happiness was the elation she had felt on multiple occasions that happened quickly: the night of the Yule ball, for instance, or getting her cat, Crookshanks. Joy, however, was more permanent, such as having passed her OWLs, or, well, living. Living was something that the golden trio had to be thankful for, entirely joyous about. They had risked their lives far too many times to take it for granted, though it seemed an easy habit to fall into. After so many times of being saved at the last moment from death, she was surprised that she, Harry, and Ron had ever even feared for their own lives. She was shocked that they hadn’t gotten into the habit of simply assuming that they would save the day and everyone would live. It was not until their fourth year that they had even experienced death; even then, only Harry had seen it. Fifth year brought more, and the death count increased until what would have been their seventh year. The Battle of Hogwarts, the one in which Bellatrix and Voldemort died, had seen more deaths than most of them had probably ever seen put together. Still, the three of them had lived; and, despite all of the deaths, most of the wizarding world was joyous, if only because the worst evil they had ever known had been destroyed and still many had escaped with their own lives intact. True, relatives and friends had been killed; and yes, there was much mourning and grieving; but still, those alive had lived, and that was something to appreciate.

Sitting in the kitchen, Hermione felt both emotions: happiness and joy. Joy because she was alive and because Harry was alive and because her children were alive and because so many others she knew were alive and well. More joy, because she knew that Harry loved his children and that that fact would never change; Harry’s emotions towards people didn’t tend to change often, and his love for his own flesh and blood wasn’t likely to be in any danger any time soon. Still more joy, because she had a home now; though there were complications, she could tell that Harry still loved her and Sirius still respected her. All of that meant that, though things would be complicated and were bound to be difficult, she could have a forever home, a relationship, and friends. So many things were variables, but with the grounding that they had, some of that had to turn out well. Ron would warm up to her eventually; in fact, since he was dating Luna, he might not even be mad that she had left. Ginny, who did not usually grow angry easily, might feel put off that Hermione had left with no warning, but would likely welcome her back all the same. Luna, well, was Luna, and would probably act as though nothing had happened at all. Neville, sweet as he was, probably would not so much as force the issue, only being kind as always. Things were turning around nicely from the past two years she had lived with only her parents in Australia. She had met a few people but grown close to none of them, fearing the day she would be uprooted from them also. Her parents had worried for her, as she had withdrawn herself so completely from the outside world, but they accepted that she still read often and cared well for the children.

Happiness was another emotion that filled her, though it was a more variable one. She was happy at the moment because he had good food, because the children were content with their breakfast and their gifts, because Kreacher did not seem to be in too bad of shape, because Harry was smiling, because. . . because of a hundred small things that could change at any moment. And change they would . . . eventually. They always did. That was the key for people, especially people like Hermione. They had to realize the difference between happiness and joy and choose to dwell on that joy, not the fleeting happiness that could change so drastically so quickly. If one chose to focus only on happiness, depression was likely to plague them, and Hermione knew the feeling all too well because of the awful creatures known as dementors. However, choosing to dwell on joy led to a better, more pleasant life, one not so entirely burdened by everything gone wrong.

This time, this one time of many, Hermione chose to dwell on both the joy and the happiness. Things had turned brighter than they had in two years, except for the time when her children were born healthy. She knew that something was bound to go wrong; it always did. But she also knew that the right could outweigh the wrong, the good outweigh the bad. Though she had run, she had been accepted back. Though many had died, more had lived. Though Harry had been scarred, Voldemort had been defeated. The good always won. Sometimes it took heart and sweat and blood and tears, but the good always triumphed. It was a compelling statement that continued to prove true.

Still, the lingering thought that her father was sick and dying plagued her. She grimaced for a moment, thinking of how disappointed he would be that his daughter was seemingly deserted him when he needed her and the grandchildren most. Yet, her dad had a sense of humor, and her parents had married fairly young. Would he see the way Harry looked at her and understand? Would her mother, scared though she probably would be, accept that her daughter had a place that she truly belonged, and it wasn’t the muggle world? Would her parents accept that their daughter needed to leave, not merely for her sake, but for those of the children? Deep down, she felt that they would, but the worry still hung over her and dabbled out part of her happiness. She tried to drown the thought of their disapproval, but it seemed intent on cropping up without warning. She looked back up at Harry and finally squelched the worry, if only for a moment more.

He seemed intent on not allowing her to see the room just yet, and she obliged the idea. She wanted to be happy, completely worry-free, when she saw it. She didn’t want to see it, then go visit her parents and feel bad about leaving, and then come to see it. Or, worse still, she didn’t want to see it, then visit her parents, be forced to stay with her parents, and not be allowed to return to live in that room. She said nothing aloud, gave no indication of her thought, but was inwardly content with Harry’s decision. It really was for the best that the room remain some sort of unopened mystery. If things went well at her parents, then the room would be appreciated even more because it meant a home. If things went poorly, it would be a happy thought at the end of a bad day. If things didn’t go at all, it would remain a mystery, which was better than a sad, terrible thought that would only bring her longing. She sighed again, but this time, it was a contented one, not an impatient or annoyed one. It seemed as though Harry knew best this time, as he usually did. In fact, he had probably thought the entire scenario out with each possibility and weighed the benefits and disadvantages of either choice, something that she would have done – that she did do. He knew her better than she thought, she had to admit. The thought only made her yearn more to leave, to visit her parents, and to receive an answer she wasn’t sure she could accurately predict.

Harry was poking his food again. It didn’t annoy her, really; more, it bothered her. He wasn’t eating for fear of bursting out laughing, as she had previously done. Something was keeping him from eating, and she had a feeling that it was nothing good. She tried to focus on her own food, but her eyes kept glancing up at him surreptitiously before looking down again. She couldn’t help it. When something about someone truly bothered her, she could not just let it go easily. Letting things go had never been one of her strong points, and now was no different. He seemed deep in thought; had he caught the look in her eyes? She hoped not, oh she certainly hoped not! She hadn’t meant for him to see that, really. But now he was consumed in thought, probably not paying attention to the fake smile she’d forced on her face. The children’s names bothered her also, as she felt that she had stolen them, done something she should not have. Did Harry want children with his parents’ names? She had never asked, never known. Why had she never asked? Because I didn’t think we’d have children so soon, if at all. . . The thought lingered in her head for a moment before she turned back to Harry. Something was bothering him. He’d shuddered. She distinctly caught him shuddering at something. She tilted her head to the side again, begging him to look up and explain his sudden movement but doubting that he would.

She had lost track of the conversation again. For some reason, when her eyes caught something, she seemed to go deaf. She had no idea where they had left off in speaking. She desperately wished she still had a time turner so that she could go back and figure out if Harry’s actions had anything to do with the conversation, but she could not. Lily and James had come up. . . was he shuddering because he knew they were dead? Or perhaps because his children now shared their names? There it was, that thought again. She pushed it down once more. No, something else was bothering Harry – it simply had to be something else.

Forcing herself back into the conversation, she laughed, now intent to watch Sirius and picture him with a Dumbledore beard. It wasn’t quite as funny as it had first been, mostly because now her thoughts were burdened more than they had been before. She heard Harry speak. “So, Sirius; if you do get as old as Dumbledore, you think you’ll be wearing the beard?” Her face twisted into a light smile, though she said nothing. It was Sirius’ question, not hers; and she wasn’t sure if she could force many words out at the moment. Instead, she took another bite out of a pancake, the perfect excuse to smile and say nothing.

Harry was still staring at her, yet he seemed intent not to answer her questioning gaze. He blinked, but that put Hermione no closer to finding an answer than his stare had. Then he was smiling, and her questioning eyes softened. There was something about a smiling Harry Potter that put away most of her worries, her fears, and her anger. It was as though his smile made the bad things in the world seem a bit better, and it quelled her fears better than any tonic. She nearly choked on her bite in haste to smile back, but she managed to get down her food and then give him a weak smile. Then she noticed that he had delved back into his own thoughts, and she managed to do the same. His thoughts were his own; she knew and respected that much, at least for the time. He had often been very open with both her and Ron about his thoughts, so if it was something important or something she needed to know, he would tell her in due time. Sometimes, yes, it took coaxing, but it was always obvious if he was hiding something, and she had always been successful in getting it out of him. This would be no different.

What would be different was the conversation she had been dreading, the conversation about her future plans. She didn’t expect it to go well. In fact, she had planned on it going poorly. However, she never would have expected to go as poorly as it was going. She watched Harry as she spoke, and it pained her. She knew he was angry. She knew that he was probably hurt and confused and didn’t want to accept what she had said. If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought that he was literally biting his tongue as she spoke, but she knew she had to get through her words. Finally, she did. Honestly, that thought scared her, because she knew that once she had finished, it would be his turn to speak. And to be completely honest, the prospect of his anger and disappointment scared her a little more than going to see her parents did, at least at the moment. That might have been due to the fact that he was here, in the present, and her parents were a vague entity to be faced in the future, but she thought that, given the choice to face either in the present moment, her parents would have been the easier, safer, less painful option.

She knew immediately as she finished speaking that she was right: facing her parents would have been far easier than facing Harry in this state, on this issue. He stood up so fast that his chair slid back and tipped dangerously before righting itself. She cringed fearfully, drawing away from him. She had seem him angry before; she had heard him yell. Yet every time, it was never directed at her. He had yelled because he had been left out of the loop, left in the dark, the summer before their fifth year; yet he wasn’t really angry at her or Ron, but at the situation. He had only been angry at her for a few things, and he had never yelled then. She had ensured that his firebolt, a gift from the man they thought was a killer at the time, confiscated to be checked. He had been angry then, but he had gotten over it eventually. Then, he had been angry when the spell she had used to save them from Voldemort’s snake broke his wand, but even, he had merely taken hers and set out to keep watch. He hadn’t yelled; rather, he’d told her that it wasn’t her fault before stalking off angrily. Eventually, he had cooled down and completely forgiven her, admitting that it was never really her fault, as he was the one who had suggested they go, and it was she who had saved them from certain death that night.

This time, however, was different. She hadn’t done anything heroic. She wasn’t trying to save him from himself or from someone or something else. This time, she was, in a sense, being herself, but also being selfish. And this time, his anger was not at the situation, but at her, and it hit her painfully. He was angry, utterly, undoubtedly, unavoidably, angry. And that anger was toward her and no one and nothing else. The weight of it bore down on her, and she gasped for breath. He was yelling. The children didn’t like it. They knew something was wrong, and Hermione wanted to comfort them, but she was rooted to the spot. Her eyes were focused on Harry but she pointedly avoided his eyes. She couldn’t face them – the pure, untempered anger that surely lurked within their depths.

His voice filled the kitchen and seemed to bounce off the walls and back into her ears. She shuddered; it bothered her more than he could realize. His yelling, his loud voice; it didn’t suit him, and it hurt her ears as well as her heart. Then he had quieted – not much, but slightly, enough that she could hear it without cringing completely. He hadn’t accepted her hand; she had held it out to him; she had tried to calm him with her touch; but he had rejected it. The pain of that alone overwhelmed her. He had rarely, if ever, pushed her away or rejected any sort of an advance, any sort of a touch. Now he had, and the reality of it dawned on her. Tears began to well in her eyes at the thought, but she wasn’t crying; no, she wasn’t crying just yet. She had to keep her eyes dry, had to retain some semblance of normality, at least for the children. Her eyes, not yet spilling the wetness but clearly fighting back tears, were alight with two emotions: fear and sadness. She was afraid, for Harry had never seemed so angry at one of his friends - at her - ever before, save for perhaps the time Ron had left them on the Horcrux hunt. And she was sad, upset with herself, because she knew that she could have avoided all of this and because, ultimately, it was all her fault. That one fact hurt her more than the others. Still, she couldn’t give it her full attention, not yet; she needed to hear what Harry was saying; it was a sort of sick desperation, as if seeing him and hearing so angry would hurt her enough to punish her for all that she had done wrong.

Yet even in his anger, he was caring. True, his behavior didn’t show it all too well, but his words did. He was only reacting to the fear that he would lose her. His nobility was not lost on her. He wasn’t yelling because he was angry that she wanted to work or hold a job; he was angry because the job meant risking her life. He was angry because he was afraid of the possibilities. His words still stung; she didn’t know how much longer she could keep in the tears. Finally, his statements caused the well of tears to break, rushing from her eyes. But you have to think about what would happen to them if something ever happened to you. The images flooded her mind. What would happen to the children if she were to be killed? They would grow up without a mother. They would have no mother to make their meals, no mother to celebrate birthdays, no mothers to kiss wounds or stay by their bedside when they fell ill. They would have a father, yes; but he would be a broken man, a father who was so burdened by the pain of loss that he would be unable to act as he should. In effect, if she died, the children would lose not one parent, but both, for Harry would never really be his full self. Her two children would have half of a parent. They would grow up confused and hurt; they would go to Hogwarts and skirt around awkward questions about their parents. The thoughts caused her tears to flow like a torrent from her eyes. Why did Harry have to make her think about that? Why was he causing her this pain? He said he never wanted to hurt her, but that’s all he was doing - that’s what he seemed intent on doing! But yet, though this started to make her angry, she could not truly be so, because his motive was to keep her and the children safe and whole. Could she blame him, after all he had lost? No. But did she have to consent to it, be happy about it? No, not really. . . The tears flowed harder as he told her that he had lost enough to them. Yes, Harry had lost a lot. His parents, his friends; people who were supposed to protect him and love him had died. Could he take another loss? Would he make it if something happened to her? Or would her death be his also? She tried to push the terrible thought away, but Harry pushed onward, making it impossible for her to let go of the painful images of her body, broken and bruised; her children, weeping and confused. She wanted to speak, to say something, but when she tried, she found her throat so constricted that not even then tiniest sound could escape. To avoid looking all too ridiculous, she closed her mouth. This had gone past the point of words.

She finally braved a look at his eyes and it confirmed the worst. Harry was angry; angrier that she had seen him in some time, and it didn’t seem about to break any time soon. In fact, though he had stopped speaking, he seemed intent on picking up again where he had left off. She braced herself, ready for the worst, but the worst didn’t come. She opened her eyes and looking up, the fact that she had closed them for a few moments barely dawning on her. She glanced back to his eyes to see the anger slightly quelled. Had he seen the logic in her idea to save the fight for later? She dreaded what would come, but she was glad that it could be put off, if only for a few hours. She hated the idea of leaving the fight half-done, yet welcomed a break from his anger all the same. He had consented to saving the conversation - it wasn’t really one, it was a fight, an argument - until later. She sighed, though it was really more a gasp for breath through her pain, sadness, and tears.

Wishing to see some consolation, some pity, some care, in his eyes, she forced herself to look up. Everything was blurred through her tears, but it was easy to see that he would not look at her. Did he hate her that much? Was her flaw so large that he could not love her for it? No, he said he still wanted her and the children here, but. . .Was he just saying that? Or did he just want the chance to grow close to the children and was therefore forced to keep the mother along to be, what, kind? Proper? Or perhaps he was simply obligated to accept her if he had even a prayer of seeing his children? Was that all that kept him from coming after her, hurting her even worse, if that was possible? She prayed that it was not, but how could she be sure? Well, she had seen the love in his eyes, but was all of this just a reaction to her words about being an auror? Could all of this anger spawn from that one idea, or was he harboring more pain than she knew, the pain she imagined he had? She shivered at the thought before realizing that he had spoken again. He had frozen, though she could barely see it through the tears that now streaked her face. He’d shaken his head but still refused to look at her. Was she really that disgusting to him? Had her words been the highest form of treachery? She had only meant it to make him think, to make him figure out what he loved more - her, or the thought of her; the children living there, or her sheltered; yet it had backfired terribly. She had said it earlier, when she did things like this, they went badly. Why did all things like this have to go badly for her?

Before she could respond, before she could react, he was moving, and it wasn’t towards her. He said he was going to get ready; she gasped a sigh of relief that he still intended on going to visit her parents. After his outburst, she wasn’t sure, wasn’t confident that he was ready to move forward with their plans, but he had made it clear that the plan was still moving forward. There was food still on his plate, but he was gone. She saw which way he had turned but felt unable to follow, at least for the moment. Besides, she had duties, responsibilities to fulfill first.

Lily had let out a squeak of seeming discomfort. That was not even to mention the fact that she was squeezing her stuffed teddy bear more tightly than she usually held on to Hermione. Lily was the first priority, so Hermione stood up quiet as a ghost - well, quite as most ghosts - and moved to Lily’s side. Lily patted Hermione’s wet face and smiled when Hermione tickled her softly. She set the stuffed animal aside to play with Hermione for a few moments before Hermione turned to tend to James, leaving Lily content to play with her bear.

James was a harder case to crack. Rather than cleave to his gift from Harry, James seemed more acutely aware of the situation from Lily. His stuffed broomstick lay on the table, and James refused to look at it, as though it were diseased. Did he associate the broom with Harry as well as his mother’s tears? He always seemed to know when Hermione was upset, but surely he wasn’t forming a grudge against his father already. Hermione tickled him also and attempted to get him to accept the broom once more; it took him longer to accept it than it had for Lily to loosen her grip, but Hermione finally managed. The kids settled, she glanced back to Sirius, who moved to the seat next to James to occupy the children.

Meanwhile, Hermione picked up both her and Harry’s plates. Both still had food on them, but she knew that neither would likely be eating more. She scraped the extra, partially-eaten food into a trash can before placing the plates in the sink so she could wash them. Before she could, Kreacher entered the kitchen softly, barely noticed by the occupied Hermione. It wasn’t until he had tugged lighting on the hem of her jeans that she turned to face him. “Mistress should let Kreacher clean up, since Mistress has made breakfast. Master would want this, and Kreacher would be most pleased.” Hermione hesitated, but finally gave in. She didn’t want to offend Kreacher, especially not when he seemed to be in such a good mood. Still not daring to speak, she braved a silent nod and moved aside to allow him to finish the dished. She didn’t really want to let him do the work - she figured that since she made breakfast, she should clean up, but she had no energy to argue with him.

Turning away from Kreacher, she sniffed and tried to dry her eyes enough so that she could see where she was going. She had only seen Harry until he’d turned a corner, and she felt bad walking around a house that wasn’t hers. She hadn’t really been invited to explore, but her worry was quelled as she told herself that she wasn’t exploring but looking to find Harry. She walked down to where a hallway was exposed; this was where he had turned, she was sure. Walking down the hallway, she saw several doors, some open, some closed. She assumed he would be behind a closed door, so she made her way down the hall slowly, listening for any signs of life behind the doors. She passed the first and heard nothing, but at the next, she thought she heard the distinct sound of a man crying.

The thought of Harry - her Harry - crying alone bothered her as much now as it had during all of their school years. She hated to see him cry; even worse, she hated knowing that he was crying yet be unable to help him, to calm him, to do anything to help him. She placed her hand on the door softly, wanting to open it, to do something; but she knew that it might make him angrier if she stormed into his room unasked, uninvited. She didn’t want to make things worse, but she desperately wanted to make things better, to be with him. Even her fears that he would be angry with her paled to her desire to be with him and calm him.

Unable to gather the strength to walk into his room, she sighed lightly and withdrew her hand from the door slowly. She didn’t want to; no, she really did not want to. But her options were so limited that she could only think of one thing to do. Tears were welling in her eyes once more, so she moved softly to the side of his door and leaned against the wall there. It was rough and hard, not nearly as comforting as his soft touch and embrace had been, but it was strong, and it held her weight easily. She leaned against it, knowing it would never push back, never be real or animated, but would at least hold her. The strength holding back her tears broke, and they began to fall slowly from her eyes. She sank down the wall until her bottom hit the floor. She’d done this before, once; she had fallen into such a complete mess of tears because of something Ron had done until Harry had comforted her, cheered her up, made her feel whole again.

Now Harry was the reason for her tears. She pulled her legs to her chest, locking her hands around her ankles. She laid her head gently on her knees, her hair falling around her face so that no one could see. But beneath the veil of brown hair, she cried.

[Harry Potter]

Things changed too quickly for him, but it wasn’t a bad change, not really. So, Harry was fine with the way things were going so far; even if everyone seemed in their own separate world, and no one was speaking at the moment, Harry was happy. The silence, occasionally broken by one or both of the twins, wasn’t a bad type of silence, it was a comfortable one. One that they could have everyday and not be tired of, one that gave them time to just…think. If it were an awkward silence, then Harry would’ve felt differently, but it was a…happy silence, if anything. Silence, though, was always broken; just like happiness.

Hermione was worried, about what, he couldn’t tell, he didn’t know. It’s been so long, he couldn’t read her like an open book anymore; not that he could’ve back then; but back then he knew her well enough. More than almost anyone else except herself. Sure, he got some things wrong, but he was a teenager, he didn’t know how to deal with a girl like Hermione yet. Sure, he knew how to deal with Hermione, his best friend. But he didn’t know how to deal with Hermione, the girl. It was…complicated for him; but he eventually got past that obstacle. Now though, it seemed as if he backtracked, and had to get past it again. This time, it was much more difficult, that was sure. Another thing that was for sure, though, was that he wasn’t going to give up; he was going to try even harder, with all he had to get past the obstacle. It was something he had to do on his own. He had to figure out Hermione on his own, and he had to fill in the gap created by three years. He wasn’t sure how long that would take though, but he knew it was going to be worth it. All the sweat, blood, and tears would be worth it; it all would.

Was it because of her parents? Was she worried he would mess up? That she would mess up? He snorted that the thought; Hermione wouldn’t mess up on something important, she rarely ever did. One thing was definite; she was worried about something big…important to her. If it was important to her, then it was probably important to him as well. His own worry for her subsided, as she glanced up at him, the worry gone from her eyes. He smiled softly at her; caring, loving. His thoughts went to the room; he always felt as if she’d love it. He only imagined the smile it would bring to her face, the light it would bring to her eyes; the loving look she’d give her books; which she cherished. He even had a copy of a limited edition of Hogwarts: A History; he bought it just for her, right before she left. He knew she read it plenty of times; and the first few weeks she was gone, he read it too. Just for her. Just to be able to have a conversation about it with her; just a conversation they could have. Perhaps he’d start one up after he showed her the room. After all, he never really showed any interest in reading it. Maybe it would add to the surprise.

He poked at his food, unknowingly, as he thought about all that could happen. Hermione would probably be surprised, probably happy as well. Sure, they’ve had some intelligent conversations, but it mainly revolved around the upcoming war or the threat of Voldemort. They never had an intelligent conversation just because. It would be a good change for once; knowing Hermione, she would probably appreciate it. After all, he read it just for her; so they could have a leisure, intelligent conversation. Just the two of them. His worries about Hermione and marriage seemed to come back as he thought of the future; where he and Hermione would be just having a conversation about the “good ol’ days” at Hogwarts as their children boarded the Hogwarts’ Express for the first time. If she didn’t want to marry him, then it would be a bittersweet farewell to his children. He’d be there, of course, for their first year; but he’d see them saying good bye to their stepdad. The very thought pained him. The thought of his children loving someone else as their father, calling someone else “dad”; the thought of Hermione, his Hermione, loving someone else seemed to tear his heart apart.

Blinking, he saw Hermione glancing at him, as she tried focusing on her food; was something wrong? Had he said something unintentionally? Unknowingly? He hoped not, otherwise, he wasn’t sure if he could look her in the eye anymore. The smile she had on…it seemed forced. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say fake; but she’d never do that to him…would she? Hermione wouldn’t try and hide something from him by trying to act happy, she couldn’t…right? Did she have something to hide? More worries than before seemed to plague his thoughts; what if she already found someone else? What if she was just there to give his children a chance to know their biological father? Would she end up leaving? Did she plan to? He took a deep breath, and just stared at the food in front of him. Something was wrong; he knew it, but what? Why would she try and show him a smile? Because she knew that’s what he wanted to see? No, he only wanted the truth, and nothing but. Yes, he wanted her to smile, but genuinely, not forced…he never liked her forced smiles, it always looked wrong to him.

Then, she looked up at him; silently asking him what was wrong. He blinked, unsure of how to answer. He couldn’t let her know his worries; not yet. Not until he was sure she would stay…not until he knew how she truly felt, what she was hiding. He zoned out, back into his thoughts as he continued to wonder what she could possibly be hiding. He didn’t like any of the answers he came up with; perhaps he would ask someone for advice…maybe Ginny or Luna. They were girls; plus, they seemed to know what Hermione would worry about more than he would. He’d never understand the female mind, no matter how much he’d understand Hermione. The female mind, especially when it concerns Hermione, or even Ginny or Luna, would always be a mystery to him…and all the other males in the world.

He noticed the weak smile; it somehow pained him. Hermione was not meant for weak, fake, or forced smiles. Only true, genuine ones. Her questioning gaze seemed to engrave itself in her mind; he wanted to let her know what he was thinking, to just open up and let her in, like the old times. When he tried, he found he couldn’t; for some reason, he couldn’t let her know what he was thinking, not this time. He had to sort his feelings about his thoughts on his own; he’d have to find himself. He’d done so before; with the help of others; like the time he thought Voldemort was possessing him; he found himself after the help of Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. During the troubles and stress in his fourth year, he found himself with the help of his two best friends. Even in the final battle; he won because he found himself, and all he had to fight for. Now, he couldn’t have any help; he’d have to know what he felt about everything first, before going to Hermione, or Sirius, or even Ron about it.

The same thing went for this situation right now as well; he had to figure out his feelings and thoughts about Hermione’s choice of career first. He couldn’t just let his anger and worry control his thoughts; he had to think rationally for once. He watched her as he held his tongue; though she was passionate and true to what she argued, Harry saw the worry in her eyes. Was there fear as well? He couldn’t really tell anymore; he didn’t want to see it. When she finished, he continued watching her, despite his obvious anger. He was angry at her because she wanted to put herself in danger. He was angry at her because she hadn’t thought of how their twins would be affected. Most importantly, he was angry at her because she didn’t seem to care for the fact that she could die. It was like she was okay with it, that she was willing to take the chance; and he couldn’t stand it.

As he spoke--er, regrettably yelled--he noticed how she flinched back from fear. It hurt. She was afraid of him, like--like he was some criminal or something. She flinched away from him. He couldn’t hold it back though, no matter how hurt he was, he continued on with his rant. Tears. Her eyes were filling with tears…because of him. He felt horrible, but his anger overcame it. Did she see now? Or was she tearing up because he was yelling? He’s yelled with her around before; but it was always at the situation. It was always at something else; he can’t even remember a time he yelled at her. That’s because this would be the first time he had. The first time he was absolutely angry at her; he’d always forgiven her, never yelled…but now…now his anger was on her, he was yelling at her. This was a quick change in their relationship; he hadn’t intended to yell, but it just came out that way. The change was not good; not good at all.

He saw her avoid his eyes; and it hurt as well, though not as much as her cringing away from him. How come she couldn’t look him in the eyes? How come she couldn’t argue back like she had with Ron so many times? How come it was different with him? Shouldn’t she be arguing back? Shouldn’t she be yelling at how much she’s done for the twins as well; that she still cared for and thought of them? Why couldn’t she be doing something, anything else but sitting there and taking his yelling. Why? It made him feel horrible; and he was sure one of the twins, if not both, would side with their mother. After all, she hadn’t yelled or anything. It was all him. As he finished his rant, reality hit him. He yelled at her, Hermione…in front of his children as well. What would they think of him now? How could he do that to her; she only wanted the same thing he had; a safe world for their children. He was angry, but he was also confused. Who was at the wrong here? Was it him, for yelling and being a bad father? For being a terrible friend? Was it Hermione, who wanted to risk her life for the future of their children? For not thinking about what could happen if they lost her?

The more he thought about it, the more he felt that he was at the wrong. He had to get out of there; he couldn’t face them. He noticed her doubt in him, once he told her he wanted her to stay with the children. Had he affected her that much? How could he…how could he make her doubt him? It was all his fault…just like everything else. Sure, they turned out great at the end, but the beginning was always rough; no matter what he chose, the beginning was always an obstacle. Now, he feared this would be one of those times where things didn’t turn out right in the end…and it was all his fault. Those tears in her eyes were his fault; the hate his children probably had for him now, was all his fault. The disappointment Sirius probably felt was all his fault. The fact that everything was going wrong was all his fault.

When he looked back at the children, he saw Hermione trying to coax James into playing with his stuffed broom once again. He knew she had done the same with Lily. Lily, it seemed, liked him more than little James…and he felt guilt, sadness, disgust at himself, and remorse. How could he? It was his fault things took a turn for the worse then, wasn’t it? Yes, if he had been more understanding; more caring; less impulsive, then things would’ve been better.

Though his tears subsided, the pain hadn’t. Though it looked as if he wasn’t crying on the outside, he was bawling on the inside. He was broken, just like before Hermione showed up. He always went to her room back then, but now…he didn’t know what he could do. He just ruined his own future. He deserved less than he was getting. He deserved for Lily and James to hate him; for Sirius to look at him with disappointment…for Hermione to find someone better; someone that wouldn’t hurt her every chance he got. He didn’t deserve for her to stay here, to visit her parents and claim himself as the father of their children. He didn’t deserve it, not for what he’s done to his family. In his self-anger, Harry punched the wall besides him. Pain. That was the first thing that he registered; then, he heard someone crying…a woman crying. Hermione crying. That was a pain much worse than his more than likely broken fist. It sounded close, but he didn’t know what to do. Should he talk to her? Did he deserve to even talk to her, for her to even look at him? He wasn’t sure if he did.

He walked to the door, uncertain of what to do, his hand was on the handle. Drops of tears seemed to fall from his eyes once more. Why? Why did he have to be so weak? He wanted to blame it on his broken fist, but he knew better. It was the fact that she was crying, because of him; he caused her tears. It was painful. He just wanted to lock himself in there; never see anyone else again; but he wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor for that. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door slightly and stepped out. The sight he saw shattered his heart into pieces. Hermione, his Hermione, was crying, hiding her face from the rest of the world.

He didn’t deserve to be there with her; for her to forgive him; but she deserved comfort, she deserved something better than just crying on the floor…he wasn’t worth her tears.

“Hermione?”[/color] his voice was hesitant, soft; the exact opposite of how it was just moments ago. His fist throbbed with unspeakable pain, but he didn’t care. He’d break it again, because that was what he deserved. “Hermione…I--I didn’t mean to yell like that…I--I’m sorry…”[/color] he began, but he paused. Would she want to talk to him? Would she want anything to do with him? Probably not. He kneeled down, so he would be eye level with her if she would look up. He wanted to reach out, and he almost did, but he pulled his hand back. She wouldn’t want anything to do with him. “Hermione, look at me…please…”[/color] he shouldn’t even be asking her to look at him. He should just be begging on his knees for forgiveness from her. “…Hermione, I’m sorry. It’s just--It’s--I can’t lose you. I can’t let our children to grow up without you…Merlin, they probably hate me now…”[/color] he choked on his words, cradling his broken fist to his chest, but keeping his tear-filled eyes on Hermione.

“I want you here, I want the children here. I want us to see where this will take us…I can’t do that if you aren’t here…I--I can’t…”[/color] he was being pathetic. He was pathetic. There was no changing that. And they deserved better. His choked on his next statement, the tears falling from his eyes. Hermione deserved so much better than him. The twins deserved a better father than him. Sirius deserved a better Godson than him. They all deserved better; and who was he to stand in the way?

“’Mio--Hermione, I’m not worth your tears. Please, stop crying. I’m not worth it at all, I promised I wouldn’t hurt you…but it’s my fault you’re crying, isn’t it…I’m sorry ‘Mio--Hermione. I’m sorry…”[/color] he choked once again, clenching his broken fist to try and overpower emotional pain with physical. “I--I’m sorry…j-just know…I love you…I love the twins…but I don’t deserve to. I don’t deserve your tears, your pain…I don’t deserve any of it…”[/color] he couldn’t bring himself to say it. If all he was doing as hurting her, then perhaps it was best if he couldn’t get the chance to.

“I’m don’t deserve our family, ‘Mione,”[/color] he figured this would be the last time he could use that nickname, so he used it. “I’ll leave, you and the twins can share this house with Sirius…he’d appreciate it. I really am sorry…and I really do love you and the twins.”[/color]

With that said, he moved away from her and back into his room. It was painful; he didn’t want to leave…but he couldn’t hurt them anymore. All he did was bring hurt…he’d move into Godric’s Hollow if he could…if not, he was sure Grimmauld Place was still…habitable. When he entered his room, however, he noticed the blood on his hand; from punching the wall. As he stood there, by the door, he stopped crying, letting the flowing blood from his broken hand be his tears.

[Hermione Granger]

Silence had never suited Hermione’s tastes very well. She liked it when studying or when thinking, yes; but when many people were together and no one was speaking, she found that the silence was awkward more often than not. Yet at the moment, the silence that had befallen them wasn’t all too disturbing. If anything, it gave her time to think; while not great, it was appreciated. She would have liked a distraction, something to occupy her mind; but she knew that she needed to work through the thoughts and emotions she felt, so she accepted it gracefully.

Breakfast was better than she expected. Granted, she had learned to cook during her years in Australia, but she didn’t think a single meal she cooked there had ever tasted quite so good. Perhaps it was the magic, the fact that she was in a different world of sorts; Hermione, however, thought that it was the company she held which made the food so much more delicious. Her parents, though great company, were often bothered by her bouts of silence; they tended to think that she was agonizing about the war and its many victims. They were entirely unaware that it was more often the living that plagued her thoughts.

She tried to draw her attention away from such thoughts and focus back on Harry; it seemed that they were both playing the same game. Her eyes would catch his, then one would fade into thought before looking up to catch the other’s eyes, who would in turn drift into thought once more. If so many serious things weren’t occupying most of her thoughts, Hermione likely would have laughed at the insanity of it all, really. It was rather cute, the game they seemed to be playing, though they were nearly unaware of it. She found herself smiling at nothing and was unable to explain her sudden action. Perhaps the finality, the truth, of it all had finally settled upon her. Her dreams, her desires, were being realized. Years ago, when she first entered Hogwarts, she wanted to fit in, to have friends. Through an unfortunate incident involving troll, it happened. She then wanted to prove that, though a muggleborn, she was a deserving witch; she accomplished it. After that, her goals became more outwardly focused: she wanted Harry and Ron to be safe, for her family to live, for Voldemort to be vanquished. Through many long processes and close calls, it happened. Then, she wanted to settle down, to be in love, to be a normal witch, not burdened by fears of Voldemort or losing her loved ones. The world was now safe; all she needed was her love, and now, her children. She had both. But would things remain that way? For Hermione, things usually had to get worse – far worse – before they got better. Would this time be like the rest, difficult to attain, or would it be easy, unlike her past desires? Though she doubted it, she held out hope.

The years had changed them. Harry was no longer the boy in the train compartment with an interesting scar. He wasn’t the boy who was befriending the youngest Weasley boy; nor was he the youngest seeker in a century according to McGonagall. No, he was now Harry the man. When he came of age – which, in the wizarding world, was seventeen – she had been there, and he had seemed no older than the day before. But now, nearly three years had passed, and he seemed to have grown and matured during those years. The face across from her was familiar, yet there were subtle differences that she would have to grow used to. He’d shaped up, and finally gained perhaps a pound or so since the war. He still looked thin, probably from his mourning and pining, if Sirius had been correct; but during their Horcrux hunt, they had eaten very little, so he looked a tad better than before. He looked sharper now, better than he had before, if that was possible. Or perhaps it was merely her eyes tricking her because she was content once more. Her reverie was broken by Harry’s snort; her eyes darted up and searched his face quickly before smiling.

She didn’t know why he had snorted, but she found it cute. And for some reason, she didn’t understand that all too well either. He was looking back at her, and his eyes showed love for her. Warmth spread through her like a fire as Harry returned to his thoughts. She felt bad searching his face, but she wanted to know his every thought. Did he really love her? She hoped so; she really loved him, even if she didn’t fully realize it or understand it yet. She had known, before she left, that she loved him entirely. Coming back, seeing him years later, made the emotion more confusing to her. She knew she loved him, but was it the same love as before? Was it influenced by the fact that he was the father of her children? Did they share the same pure love as they had before, or was it different? She didn’t know; she wasn’t sure yet. Only time would tell.

She shifted her focus back between her thoughts and Harry once more; she felt like a schoolgirl sneaking glances when she should have been paying her full attention to the teacher. Then again, she would never do anything of the sort - nothing seemed able to distract her during a school lesson. In reality, she felt more like she had when she was back in school and had realized she liked Harry. Of course, she and Ron had decided that they fought to much to be together like that and that their feelings were more sibling-like than they were for dating. He was like her sister, like Ginny; he was like the brother she never had. Around the same time, Ginny and Harry had ended things, realizing that they too just were not meant to be. Again, it was for nearly the same reasons. It was entirely understandable; Hermione and Harry spent so much time at and around the burrow that to date two of its residents felt like dating siblings, as they were as close as they could be without being truly related. The ending of the two relationships had been for the best, and they allowed relationships to flourish, first between Ginny and Neville and then between Ron and Luna. Naturally, Harry and Hermione had been the last to hop into the dating idea. Things were just so uncertain, so confusing, back then. They didn’t know where fate would take them, so they put off the idea of being a couple for as long as they could. In the end, they couldn’t escape it. They cared for each other too much; and, well, the other four were tired of them being “just friends”. Before they began dating yet after Hermione realized her feelings, she found herself sneaking glances, usually in the great hall while eating. Sometimes she sat next to Harry, making impossible; other times, she sat by Ginny and across from the boys, making it easier to see him but harder to do it without being noticed. It wasn’t long before Ginny caught on and began teasing her about it.

Such thoughts brought a smile to Hermione’s face - a genuine one, so that she forgot what she had been faking a smile about. For a girl who was typically so intelligent so as to never forget a single thing, her absence from the wizarding world as well as her current situation left her senses a bit dulled, and she found it hard to remember everything. She would bounce back, to be sure; but it seemed that she needed time before she would again begin to recall everything. So far, it hadn’t happened.

When she tried to get an answer out of him as to why he looked upset, he merely blinked. That was frustrating she thought silently, though she gave no outward recognition of her thought. She wanted to know what was bothering, what had him so quite, so seemingly concerned; but she realized that he didn’t seem ready to tell her just yet. I hope it’s nothing bad. . . Surely he doesn’t have any bad news, does he? Everything here seems fine; I would have known if something bad had happened to someone, surely. And Sirius said he wasn’t dating anyone, so that can’t be it. . . Unless Harry didn’t tell Sirius. . . But he tells Sirius everything. . . Unaware that her nose and eyes were now scrunched up in concentration, she lost herself once again in thought. . .

The argument about the room was like being pushed into a bath of ice after being left in the desert for years - unwelcome. She would have thought that this would have quelled her - moments before, minutes before, she had wanted him to yell at her. She had wanted him to be angry, to hate her, even; she wanted him to be so disgusted with her that it would somehow assuage her guilt. Sometimes, she felt that if she were punished for what she had done, then she could stop feeling so incredibly awful about it and could let go. However, this yelling was different. It wasn’t about her leaving; at least, it wasn’t directly about her leaving. Deep down, she thought that part of the anger he showed now had less to do with her job ideas than with her disappearance. She wished it weren’t so, but confusion and fear overrode her natural instinct to reason it all out. The yelling pounded in her ears and she felt as though she may have been drowning. The tears flowed, and it seemed as though they would never stop; it was a direct parallel to Harry’s anger, which seemed not to have been stemmed either.

The idea of arguing back never occurred to her, surprisingly. She had argued plenty of times with both him and Ron - Ron usually more often than Harry. She and Ron got into spats all of the time, most of which ended with her voice as high pitched as the sound bats make; but their arguments were typically minor. Her arguments with Harry were usually more serious yet more civil: they tended to speak reasonably, rationally; sometimes, yes, voices were raised; but it wasn’t the typical case when they were. This time, however, was no normal argument, and Hermione couldn’t find the strength to fight and argue with him. This time she felt that she deserved to be yelled at and didn’t deserve the right to argue back. The yelling had ended, and Hermione’s first responsibility was, as usual, the children. They had to come before Harry; and they naturally came before herself. She had a limited time to pull herself together, but during that short time, she managed fairly well. In a matter of minutes, she had calmed both of the children - and managed to get them to accept their father’s gifts rationally, though Lily seemed more disposed to like Harry whereas James seemed more acutely aware of the situation - and gotten her and Harry’s dished taken care of. She had also managed to find what she believed to be his room - or at least the room he had chosen to retire too. But she had managed little past that - in fact, all she had managed to do since her burst of determination was crumple uselessly to the ground and melt into a puddle of tears.

Through her tears, she barely recognized that someone - Harry - had said her name. At the sound, she jumped slightly. She hadn’t expected him to open his door for her, must less to speak to her. It was her fault - why should he have to try to deal with her in such a state? He deserved more than her, so why wasn’t he just leaving to find whatever girl would be perfect for him? Why had he and Ginny not worked? She would never melt into a puddle of tears like this; she rarely cried. And yet Harry was standing there with Hermione while she cried. What had she ever done right to deserve a mad like him? His voice was soft, like the time he had knelt beside her after a particularly nasty fight with Ron. Though the thought was barely recognized, she wished he would pull her into an embrace like the one he had before; she wished he would just sit there with her forever; but he didn’t. Instead, he spoke, even though the only acknowledgement of his presence that he had been given was her slight jump. The idea that he was apologizing was preposterous, laughable, really; but she was in no state to laugh or even recognize the absurdity of it all. She felt his presence as he kneeled down, but she didn’t want him to see her in such a state. Her hair covered her face, which was streaked with tears. Her eyes were probably red and puffy, and she didn’t want to get her wand out to fix it all before letting him see her. For a moment, she didn’t move; she did nothing. Then she buried her hand deeper into her knees, hoping it would shield her eyes even if he did attempt to brush her hair out of the way.

“Hermione, look at me…please…” He was begging her to look at him. Why did he want to see her face? Surely he hated her; did he want to see her face once more just to picture her, so that he could hate her forever? The thought crossed her mind, but it didn’t fit. He wouldn’t be apologizing if that were the case; he wouldn’t sound so anguished. He was apologizing again, but sense flowed from his words. He didn’t want her to die, like some aurors did. Why did she have to bring up the jobs? Why did she start the argument? Her sobs grew slightly more audibly than they had been before. She didn’t want her children to grow up without her. And, perhaps even more than that, she didn’t want her children - their children - to hate the man they were lucky to call their father.

Though she had said nothing, he continued, soothing some of her previous fears. Even through all this, he wanted her and the children to stay with them. Even if it did sound like some twisted sort of experiment - I want us to see where this will take us, he had said - she cherished the idea. His next words broke her further. He didn’t think he was worth her tears. How could he think that? She loved him! She had hurt him! She was hurting him! And yet somehow, he thought he was unworthy of her tears. How, when all of it was her fault to begin with? He was begging her to stop crying but she couldn’t. She was unable to stop the tears from flowing, as though they were a separate entity from herself. The only thing she found herself able to do came when he said they it was his fault she was crying. Without thinking, her hand shot out from her ankle in an attempt to grab his, though she couldn’t see it. She wanted to find his hand, to comfort him; selfishly, she wanted to feel his touch, to be comforted by him.

With a loud sniff, she moved her head so that it faced him, though it was still on her knees and her hair still hid him from view. Her heart leapt . . . he still loved her . . . he still loved the twins . . . How could he keep on loving a vile creature like herself? She didn’t know, but for the moment, she wasn’t going to question it - she couldn’t. She had no strength for it. She didn’t know when the monologue would end, but she was determine to look up, to see his face. She tried to stem the tears and to dry her eyes as he continued to speak. She heard her nickname - oh how she cherished it! - before he stunned her once more. She felt numb, and her chance at looking up at him was lost as she felt him move away. He wanted to leave? Had she made him feel so terrible? No, she couldn’t do this. She could not let him feel this way any longer.

Her tangled mass of limbs unfolded. Her hands moved from her ankles to her side. Her head shot upright, and her hair settled back from her face. She wiped her tears from her eyes; they had contented to stop in the face of her rabid determination. With a soft grunt, she pushed herself until she stood. Though she swayed on her feet for a moment, she steadied herself quickly and followed him silently. She felt as though she were trespassing, but she pushed the thought away. She had to do this.

Seeing Harry’s bloody hand, she gasped. He’d punched something; she could tell. The need to heal his likely broken hand overrode her desire to talk to him. Wordlessly, she reached one hand into her pocket and grabbed her wand; with the other, she slowly reached out to grab hold of his wrist and pull his hand closer to her. With a slight motion of her wand, she said “Episky”[/color] softly and watched with a twinge of satisfaction as the bleeding stopped and a gentle click informed her that the broken bones were back in place. His hand healed, she stole a look into his face.

Her own was still marked with tears, though the flowing had stopped. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “No, Harry. You aren’t leaving. This is your home. If anyone’s going to leave, it will be me. But I don’t want to, Harry. I don’t want to leave, especially not if you want me to stay. . . I want to live here, with you and Sirius and the children. I want my - our - children to know you, to love you, to call you their father. I don’t want to leave you again, not if I don’t have to. This is all my fault, Harry. Why can’t I do anything right?”[/color] Though she had managed to keep her voice calm and steady as she spoke, her voice finally broke with her last comment and her eyes welled once more with uncried tears.

[Harry Potter]

Harry just stared at his hand, unflinching, even when Hermione healed it. Even when the blood was gone, and his hand was fixed, he just looked. He couldn’t look at her; he couldn’t see the tears he caused. She was strong, probably not crying anymore, but he knew; he knew, one look into those eyes, those emotional, beautiful brown eyes, and he would be a goner. He would fall for her, all over again. It seemed like that happened every time he saw her eyes; it was like she was a Veela, only affecting him. Making him fall for her every time he looked into her eyes. He hated it--but he loved it as well. “No, Hermione; it’s not your fault. I want to be an Auror too, I should’ve thought before I spoke.” He sighed and paused. Why couldn’t he think of anything to say? Why couldn’t he comfort her better? Why was it all so complicated? It seemed as if he was trapped…in a game.

A game. It all seemed to be a game, one that he seemed to be winning one moment, but then losing the next moment. It was complicated, to say the least. First, the different emotions that soared through him that morning, before breakfast was like a roller coaster; he was glad, then upset, then angry, then glad again. It seemed to be difficult, more complex than anything he thought before. For a time, it seemed to be fine, everything seemed to be perfect. It was all fine; they worked things out, and it seemed as if they were an actual family. Everyone eating together; Hermione taking care of the children, and Sirius joking around. It was almost perfect; if only Hermione had a ring on her finger. Then again, it might’ve been worse than it turned out; after the big fight with Hermione, Harry felt as if the game just got more complicated and much more difficult.

Things were just so complicated, but he was glad for the time alone. It gave him time to think about all that happened. First, he found out why Hermione was so scared; and for some reason, it relieved him. At least she wanted to be with him. He was relieved because her fear, the reason she was so scared, they could work it out. If it was something else, like not loving him anymore, then he wasn’t sure how he would’ve reacted. Perhaps the argument would’ve come sooner, but he thought maybe it would’ve been better than this. At least then, he’d know she wouldn’t be hurting from their argument; he would’ve been the only one, and he was fine with that. Harry shook his head, he didn’t want to think about the argument anymore. It hurt more than enough already, but he figured he probably deserved it.

He knew that morning would be difficult, but he figured there would be no arguments, not yet anyways. It was all his fault though; if only he held his temper in check, if only just for a while longer. They would’ve been able to put it off until after the meeting with her parents. Now, with their argument, they’ll seem unfit as a couple. Her parents may not even like him because of it; why would they let him have a hand in raising their grandchildren? It wasn’t as if he had any parents to argue anyways. Only Sirius, but then again, Sirius is probably disappointed in him, probably even disgusted.

Shaking his head, Harry sat on his bed, laying his hands on his head. How could things have turned out from so great to horribly wrong? He still couldn’t understand it; maybe he had the emotional range of a teaspoon as well, like Ron. Why couldn’t he understand her better? Why couldn’t he understand her reason for wanting to be an auror? Hadn’t he wanted to be one as well? Why did he have to get so defensive? With a sigh, Harry fell back, so he was half-laying on his bed, looking blankly at the ceiling. Life just took a three-sixty. Just last night, when Hermione returned, he was so excited, so happy; he felt like he was on top of the world. Now, he feels as though he just hit rock bottom; like he was below the dirt beneath everyone’s feet; he felt as low as Voldemort right now. All Voldemort did was hurt people, and what was he doing? Hurting the people he cared about the most. What made him so much better than Voldemort if they both hurt people, especially people he cared about? Normally, he would never compare himself to the likes of Voldemort, but given the circumstances, he thought it was…appropriate.

Harry wanted to blame it on the separation; on the time they--as in he and Hermione--spent apart, but he knew that wasn’t it. Hermione could’ve been living with him for the past three years, and he would still have reacted the same. Sure, he might’ve thought about it, if only for a second, but he still would’ve disagreed. Just the thought of his ‘Mione wanting to be an auror, made him angry. She shouldn’t want to go back to the life they lived before. She should want to do something else; something less dangerous. He couldn’t blame her though. Harry groaned as he laid his head in his hands, why did everything have to go from blissfully simple to terribly complicated? He couldn’t understand it! That is what must’ve frustrated him to no end; why he couldn’t understand any of it. He didn’t understand why he acted that way, why he argued, why he yelled. He didn’t know why.

That word, why; it seemed to repeat over and over in his head, all over again. Why did he have to mess up on everything? Sure, sometimes it turned out ok, but other times, it was for the worst. And who was always there to help him out? Who always stuck by him no matter what? Hermione; the girl he loved more than anything. How was it that now, now when he needed her most, he pushed her away? Was it because it’s been so long? He didn’t know, and it was killing him. Why couldn’t he be like Sirius and know how to handle situations like these? Why couldn’t he be like his father; Sirius always mentioned how Lily hated James beforehand. If only his father were there with him, then he probably could get some nice advice. But his father wasn’t there, so who was he to go to? He couldn’t go to Sirius, not after how he acted towards ‘Mione. His godfather must be disappointed in him; besides, he had a feeling that Sirius wouldn’t get involved in this fight.

Perhaps he should apologize, just go back in there, suck up his pride and apologize to her. No, she’d probably hate him for it; thinking he can just apologize and make everything better. It was more complicated than that, wasn’t it? Harry didn’t know, he couldn’t figure it out, no matter how hard he thought, no matter how many times he tried thinking about it. He just couldn’t figure any of this out. It was like being trapped in a maze, you try and find your way out, but you end up getting even more lost. At least, until you finally make a breakthrough. This breakthrough, though, is going to take some thinking; Harry didn’t want the topic to be dropped. Just because they got in an argument about it and he wanted to apologize, he didn’t want to let it drop. Because then, the next time the topic comes up, it is more sore; and he didn’t want that type of argument to occur between him and Hermione. She was just too important to him to just fight like that. For a moment, Harry felt like he was Ron, back in Hogwarts, when he and Hermione tried this little thing. It amounted to nothing, so he couldn’t be angry at Ron for it, besides, he hadn’t even realized he loved Hermione yet. He did, however, get angry at Ron for hurting Hermione during their arguments when he had.

Then why was he acting like Ron now? Arguing with her, making her upset over his words. Walking away when things were unresolved. Was he running away from the arguments; was he being like Ron when the two tried their relationship? He didn’t want it to be like that, why? Because their relationship turned out wrong; they didn’t work out. He wanted Hermione to be in his life forever, and not just as his best friend. He wanted her to be the mother of his children, legally; he wanted her to be Mrs. Potter. That’s what he planned anyways, for the future. Near or far, he didn’t care, so long as she was his. Harry sighed and shook his head, Hermione would probably get angry if he thought of her as a possession like that; but he couldn’t help it. With Hermione, it was just…he wanted her to be his and no one else’s; was that wrong? Probably.

And it scared him. He didn’t want to be wrong like that; he didn’t want her to be afraid of him, or angry at him, or crying because of him. He just wanted her to be his, forever, until their last breath. He always prayed, that she would come back and they’d make their happily ever after; why? Why was he being so girly? Because he was in love. For the past three years, he was still in love with her, and he couldn’t help it. It was so natural to him, like breathing, that he love her; did she realize that? Was she afraid of that? Did she not want that?

Those questions scared him more than anything else right now. They just had an argument, more like he was just yelling at her, and she was just taking it; why would she want to stay with him after all this? He glanced at her, and once he saw her tear filled eyes, he sat up once again. He couldn’t find the words to say. What could he say? He couldn’t think of anything else before, so why could he now? Exactly, he still couldn’t. He wanted to say something, anything to get rid of the silence, but it was there. Too strong for him to break through with words. He wanted to beat himself up, to just knock some words into himself. Maybe then, he’d be able to say something meaningful.

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, a sigh came out. Why was it so difficult? Here the questions come again; why couldn’t he think of anything to say? Why did he keep asking himself questions? If Hermione knew what he was thinking--that he was asking himself questions--then she’d find him a loon. Who’d want to stick around with a loon anyways, when they could have anyone they wanted? No one, that’s who. And he didn’t want to lose her; not because of a fight over her job, and not because he used too much time to think and too little time to talk and try and fix things. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t talk. Why?

Groaning in frustration, Harry fell back on his bed once more, hands over his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he sat up, and looked over at Hermione. Again. He fell in love with her once again. “I love you, Hermione, I really do. I just--it’s--I--”[/b] he sighed once more. Why did he sound like a babbling fool? Again with the questions! Harry pulled at his hair in frustration; great, now she did probably think he was a loon! He stood up and walked to the wall away from Hermione, his back facing her. The pain of the tears in her eyes came back to him. The pain of everything just came back to him and he began to shake. With anger, sadness, frustration; he didn’t know. And quite frankly, at the moment, he couldn’t care.

It was all just too complicated for him; why couldn’t he be The Chosen One now? Why couldn’t he find the strength, the bravery of Gryffindor now? Was it because he wasn’t facing an enemy feared by all, but a loved one? Venting all his emotions out, Harry punched the wall; the same fist hit it, over and over again. Until it was bleeding, and he was sure, almost positive that it was broken. He didn’t want Hermione to fix this; it was what he deserved. “Hermione, I’m sorry…I know I blew up on you like that…I know saying sorry won’t fix this. But I truly am sorry…” No, saying sorry wouldn’t fix it. Just like using a spell wouldn’t get rid of the pain right away. The episky spell moves your bones back to place and back to normal. For the first second or so, when the spell is cast, you can feel great, if strong enough, unbearable pain.

He deserved it though. And he deserved to just bleed. He didn’t deserve for her to fix up his mistake; she’d done enough; and he couldn’t let her fix his mistakes anymore. Especially not when it came down to them; he wanted to be able to help fix it; not make it worse, which always seemed to be the case. With a sigh, Harry gathered all his Gryffindor courage into a sigh, and turned, so he was looking at Hermione. “I don’t want you to go, but I don’t want you to just fix this.”[/color] he gestured toward his throbbing, bloodied fist. “I want us to talk about this, now Hermione. I don’t--we can’t--”[/color] Harry groaned once again, banging his broken fist against the wall. He sucked in a breath, trying to not cry out from the pain that shot through him like the crucio curse cast by Voldemort himself. Taking slow breaths, Harry continued, “I don’t want to wait, and let our emotions get the better of us next time. I don’t want the pain and hurt to build up anymore, ‘Mione. Please, let us just talk about this.”[/color]

He was a horrible person. Hadn’t he told her he would wait until after visiting her parents to talk about it? Yes, he had; and now? He was going against his word. Yes, that made him a horrible, horrible person. How could she trust him again then? Perhaps they’d just start anew, but he doubted it. Nothing ever started out anew. “Look, I know I told you we’d save this conversation for later; but I can’t anymore; I don’t want to know I hurt you every time I look at you, or every time I go to Auror Training. Hermione, we can’t put this off any longer; we have to talk about this.”[/color]

How was it, even when he hurt her; even when he felt like he was as low as Voldemort, that he always thought of her? Shouldn’t he be thinking about something else, to get his mond off her? Again, he couldn’t figure it out, and it killed him. He couldn’t have the knowledge that he hurt her without being able to resolve it anymore. He couldn’t hold the knowledge that they had an argument, and he walked away from it. Perhaps it was the guilt? Possibly, but the one thing he did know, was that he hated to see Hermione sad. He hated walking away from her. He hated being the cause of her tears. He hated being everything she didn’t need. Harry walked towards her, and he reached out to grab her hand, but pulled away, and walked right past her.

Wasn’t he a Gryffindor for crying out loud? Then why was he acting like such a Slytherin?! He clenched his unhurt hand, and just stared at the bloodied hand at his side. It was his; and yet, it looked so foreign. The hand, he’d used for reading Hogwarts: A History, to eat Hermione’s breakfast with, to clean Hermione’s room with. That hand was now so different. Perhaps he changed during that time then too? He didn’t want to; he didn’t want to change because then that would’ve meant Hermione changed as well. Her feelings would’ve changed. Her hobbies, her loves, her favorite food, color, all those little things about Hermione would’ve changed. And it scared him. Yes, he, Harry Potter, was afraid of one, one witch changing, when he fought Voldemort a couple years ago.

It was pathetic, he was pathetic. He turned and made to walk in front of Hermione; trying to hold onto every ounce of Gryffindor courage he could gather. This was it, no more running. She deserved so much more than that. “Hermione, I know you want to be an Auror, and I respect that, I really do…but I just can’t let you. I won’t, and I’m sorry.”[/color] he stated softly, finally gathering enough courage to reach out and grasp her hand, softly, gently in his own.

Sure, he got through it, but Harry knew, this was far from the end of it. He’d need a lot more courage for what was to come.

[Hermione Granger]

The frustration was killing her, but she couldn’t let it show. Why did this situation have to be so different than the others? Hermione was not unused to solving problems. In fact, she was an expert at them. In her third year, Professor McGonagall had given her a time turner so that she could attend far more classes than anyone else had ever done. She had managed then, getting excellent grades in all of her classes. Then she had dropped only two of those so she wouldn’t need the time turner any longer; she still took more classes than the rest of the students her year, but she had passed them all with flying colors - literally, since the charms final required making a spell that caused colorful sparks to be emitted from one’s wand. But all of that had been easy compared to this. Why?

Harry wasn’t looking at her, and though it hurt, she understand; in fact, she was even glad for it. Seeing his eyes now would tear her apart, and tears weren’t what they needed now. They needed strength, just as they had when Ron deserted them during the Horcrux hunt; more than that, they needed each other. “Yes, Harry, it is. All of it is. My leaving, the auror thing. It doesn’t boil down to you. You aren’t the last ingredient this time. You’re the unfortunate potion that gets mixed around and used. I’m the one who left, the one who came back. I’m the one who ran. And I’m the one who’s still running; not from you, not from fear, this time, but from the conversation we need to have. When did I become such a coward? And when did you start blaming yourself for everything? This isn’t us. You, think before you speak? You’re Harry Potter, you beat the Dark Lord by acting, not by thinking about it, Harry! That’s why this has always worked - you act, I think, and Ron, well. . . I’m not really sure what Ron did. Aside from being our best friend, maybe he was our comic relief - we all know we needed that,”[/color] she didn’t laugh at her poor attempt at humor; rather, her entire conversation had been more of a monologue, her thinking out loud. At least Harry wouldn’t think she was crazy, at least not more than usual, seeing as she talked out loud to Harry and Ron while really only voicing her thoughts all of the time. This really was no different.


Hermione Granger never thought that she would find a problem she couldn’t solve. During her first year, she had found a way to save Ron from a deadly plant and get Harry and herself the right potion for him to enter the Chamber of Secrets and her to return to ensure Ron’s safety. She had been eleven years old, yet she had managed to do all of that without a second thought, with no hitch. She had calmed down, breathed, and thought rationally until she reached the correct solution to the problem at hand. Such a cinch.

But now Hermione had to find a way to make this work, to make up for lost time, to heal wounds she couldn’t see yet she had caused, to fix problems that seemed entirely unfixable. Never had she had Harry been at odds like this before. Sure, they had fought before, once or twice. The most vicious fight had occurred over his firebolt, which she thought might have been from Sirius Black, who during their third year, was believed to have broken out of Azkaban to attack Harry. Even then, Hermione had been partially correct: the broom was from Sirius. Still, Sirius had turned out to be on their side and a good man, but they didn’t know that, and Hermione had only wanted Harry safe. Wait! That was it, wasn’t it? She had gone to McGonagall to keep Harry safe. Wasn’t that parallel to what was happening now? Hermione had ratted Harry out to get the broom confiscated so that the teachers could make sure that it was absolutely safe so Harry wouldn’t get hurt. Wasn’t that what he was doing now? He was trying to stop her from doing something dangerous, just as she had so many times before. In one swift, simple moment, it all had made since. Maybe Hermione hadn’t entirely lost her touch.


The sound of a body hitting the bed stirred her from her thoughts. She finally had figured out something, a parallel, but that wasn’t enough. She needed a plan, a strategy. But her attention was drawn to Harry, who wasn’t speaking. With a light sigh, she moved to the bed and sat next to him, her arm only lightly brushing his as she sat. She felt as though she were back in the tent that had kept them at least warm during the hunt for the horcruxes. Back then they had spent time happy, elated, upset, hungry, sad, confused, demoralized, and victorious. Now seemed no different. Harry was confused and frustrated; she was trying to figure out a plan to fix things, and yet though time passed, it seemed as if the world were standing still. But the sound of Harry groaning, which was familiar from the scene she remembered yet distinctly more clear, brought her back from her thoughts again. They had spent years apart, and for some reason, trying to calm Harry, to help him, seemed scary to Hermione. Would the same old tactics work? Had he changed so much that her touch, a kind word, would not longer work? She hoped not, but she still hesitated in moving her hand out. Once she did, however, she knew she had done properly. A gentle touch could calm even the most upset of people - she had learned that in raising her children. With a small smile, she turned to face him and brush a stray piece of hair that had fallen in front of his face, her fingers softly brushing his face in the process.

“I love you, Harry Potter.”[/color]

The words escaped before she could stop them, and she immediately felt the blood rush to her face, her cheeks turning a light pink. Of course, the words expressed a sentiment that was no news to anyone who had ever met Harry Potter or Hermione Granger, but they seemed more important, more intimate now, them both sitting on the bed in his room. She didn’t know why she had said that, but she had, and there was no going back, no returning them. Besides, she didn’t really want to. She did love him, and she desperately hoped he knew that. It made the fighting, the running, the confusion somehow more bearable, knowing that there was a purpose, that it was all because of a confusing, desperate, strange emotion called love.


Before she could do or say any more, Harry had spoken again, told her he loved her again. But there was that word, the but that she expected, that she knew was coming. She drew in a sharp breath, but no more words came and she relaxed slightly. Still, he was up, and he was gone too soon. She barely recognized the sequence of events that occurred, but she did, vaguely. Harry was hitting the wall, repeatedly. Again. Again. Again. The noise was like a heartbeat, keeping him going and her alive. She knew he was hurting himself, knew it was her fault; yet no tears sprang to her eyes. Because of that emotion, love, she knew she had to be strong.

“We’re both sorry, Harry. And we both know apologies won’t fix it. So let’s stop apologizing. And let’s start figuring this out.”

Her resolve, her strength, was returning. Her mind was running at full speed, and she knew that she was finally thinking, finally getting somewhere. They could find a way to work this out; she just knew it. Grasping on that thin hope, she smiled and let him continue to speak, begging to fix his hand but knowing that he wasn’t ready yet. His words confirmed it. He didn’t want her to leave. That made her smile even more. At least he was letting her be there, with him; at least he was finally letting her in. Yet he also wasn’t prepared to let her fix his hand yet either. He had managed to strike a middle ground, and she would also. As her own middle ground, she held out her hand so that he could place his broken one in it when he was ready. She wouldn’t do it against his will, but she wasn’t entirely past bending his will to suit her own if it meant helping him.

“I understand, Harry. This is important to us both, and we need to work through it. I was wrong to think we could put it all off for later and squelch our emotions. That’s what we did before, about being together, and the wait was painful. We can’t do it again, not now.”

She knew that he was only doing this because it was best, and she had to admit that his decision was the better one. He had clearly outsmarted her, done the wiser thing, the better things, the more mature thing. When did he become so much more mature? Was it when he nearly lost everything? No, he was only a year then. Was it during his time at Hogwarts? She had always been the responsible, mature one. But when did he surpass her? She didn’t know, and at the moment, didn’t care.

Even in the argument, he was thinking of her. When did he become so selfless? He’s always been selfless, her mind echoed back, and she knew that her mind was right. Harry had never been a selfish person, and now was no different. Just as she had known that she risked a fight in trying to protect him in their third year, he was doing the same now. It was about safety; it was about protection; it was about love. Because of that emotion, his words made sense.

He reached his hand out to her and her heart leapt, but then he walked past her, toward the door. Moments passed that felt like hours, yet Hermione’s mind did not wander. They remained rooted to the spot, to the moment she was in. She took everything in: the color on his shirt, the way he stood, his hand flexing. Her concentration was only broken by his movement; he turned to face her. Despite her instinct to cry at seeing his pain, she smiled. How foolish, how strange, to be smiling! But she knew why she was smiling: because she loved him. Because he was facing her, and she knew that this meant they could work things out. Somehow, their facing each other meant progress.

“I’ll talk about it, Harry. But I want your hand fixed first. Please? Episky gets harder to do correctly the longer the wound is allowed to remain unfixed.”[/color] Again she extended a hand to his own, laying hers out palm up so that he could place his broken, bloodied hand in her own for healing. She had become quite the master of the simple spell, but her words had truth in them. The spell did get harder to perform if the bones were left untreated for some time, and she didn’t want to do anything wrong that could hurt him.

She barely recognized that he was extending his own hand to her, grasping hers softly in his undamaged one. The touch brought an even wider smile to her lips despite his words.

“Harry, do you remember much about our fifth year?” she asked, leading him gently by the hand to the bed so that they could both sit and rationalize things out. For some reason, arguments seemed less painful when sitting, to Hermione, and she attempted to live this out calmly and with them both seated. She sat softly, perching on the edge and waiting for him to join her before continuing.

“Voldemort planted a scene in your head about Sirius, and you wanted to save him, protect him. And I told you that it was dangerous and that you were playing into their hands and that you shouldn’t do it. But what did you tell me? You said that you were going because you had to, because you loved him, because you wanted to make him safe no matter the risk to you. And what did we do Harry - not you, not Ron, not me, but we? We risked our lives to save him. How many times have we done that, Harry? Risked our lives for a good cause, for people we love? And how many times have we walked out alive? The same number, Harry.” Her voice grew softer as she spoke, and it was during this brief pause that she took both of his hands in her own and faced him. “I know you’re scared for me. I understand that. I don’t want to die. Harry, the last thing I want is to leave my children, to leave you. But I have to do this. I don’t expect you to be happy about it. Trust me, I dreaded this as much as I did. . . Well, that’s not important now. But I don’t expect you to like it or condone it or support it. I really don’t. All I need is for you to accept it. Think of it as something you can’t change, like a prophecy. You were marked as Voldemort’s equal, and you had no choice in that. Think of it, like that, maybe? Would that help? I don’t expect you to understand when I say this Harry, even I’ll admit that it sounds ludicrous, but I have to do this. For the children. For me. I have to feel safe, and I know I don’t unless I do this. Unless I learn every way possible to defend myself, and you, and my family, my children. I won’t feel safe, won’t be able to stand it, unless I do this. For my sake, if anything, just let me, Harry. Don’t accept, don’t support, just allow. If you love me, you’ll let me do this, just like I let you go after Sirius. It was dangerous, and even you have to admit, it seemed even a little stupid, like you were sentencing yourself to death, but I let you, and I went with you. Do this for me, Harry. Even if you don’t like it, even if you don’t support, even if you hate it, let me, Harry. I’ve asked for more from you than is even fair, but I have to ask for this one last thing, for my sake. Please, Harry. Please.” She wasn’t one to beg, to plead, but it seemed as though that was what she had reduced herself to. She needed him to at least accept her decision, even if he couldn’t support it yet. She knew that in time, he would; but her own selfishness was not lost on her. She was being terrible, and she knew it; it hurt her; but she had to persist. She needed this.

[Harry Potter]

Harry could only listen; did she really think that? That it was all her fault? She couldn’t possibly, not after how he reacted. Perhaps both were at fault, he should’ve thought before he yelled at her; they weren’t at war anymore, he didn’t need to get so protective. Hermione, he wanted to put the blame on her, but he couldn’t; he wanted to say she did cause the fight, but he couldn’t. Why? Why couldn’t he just put the blame on her? He didn’t understand, he always found a way to blame the person, even if it was himself. Then why was it so different now? Had the three years changed him that much? Or was it just Hermione, that he couldn’t find the heart to blame?

He sighed as she finished talking. She was right, as always, but then again, she was wrong as well. Yes, it wasn’t like them to act like that; but it didn’t just boil down to her. If there was anything he learned from the war, it was that a battle--even one as small as an argument--is never one-sided. He was to blame as well; they both were. “No, Hermione; it doesn’t boil down to just you. Both of us are at fault here, we should not have handled things the way we did. I should’ve thought first, and maybe you--well, I don’t really know how you are to blame--but we’re both at fault. And don’t argue with me about it, ’Mione; both of us are responsible for, well, this, this argument, or whatever is happening. A battle needs two sides, remember?”[/b] He tried to remember the last time they’ve had an argument like this, but none came up. It was almost always her and Rom fighting; rarely ever the two of them. He tried to remember farther; back in Hogwarts. Still, no memory came up; not of a fight as bad as this one. The closest he could think of was silly, now that he thought back.

The argument was over his firebolt; Hermione had gotten it confiscated by Professor McGonagall, and he remembered being so angry about it. He almost chuckled, at the short temper he had; he probably still had it anyways, maybe just a little more…calmer? No, he was a little more patient; that was it. He hadn’t spoke to Hermione for a while, but eventually, after cooling down, he forgave her. Why? Because he understood why she had done it; to keep him safe, to make sure nothing badwould happen. He knew why she wanted to be an auror though, she had told him; he hadn’t figured it out like their argument over his firebolt. Still, even when he understood her reasons for wanting to be an auror, he couldn’t forgive her. Not like last time.

Why? He still couldn’t figure it out; and his patience was being tested right now. If he didn’t figure out why soon, he’d probably explode from frustration. He paused, wishing it could all be fixed like when he cooled off and forgave Hermione just like that. Wasn’t he doing the same thing though? Wasn’t he trying to protect her from harm, from the danger of being an auror? Then should he just give her time to cool down, just as he had, right? But it wouldn’t end up working; Hermione wasn’t like him, though they were both stubborn, Hermione wouldn’t just give up on something as big as her future career just like that. After all, all he had to give up on was getting his firebolt confiscated, and it wasn’t even for that long a time.

For a moment, after he fell on his bed, he felt alone. Then, as if she could read his mind, he felt her next to him, their arms only slightly touching. Still, he relished it; it was as if he wasn’t alone anymore, that she would always be there with him. How he wished it was true; but how could she, when he didn’t support her decision, when he knew he’d never let her become an auror. He just couldn’t do it; he couldn’t let her put herself in danger everyday, every time she stepped out of the house. It was heartbreaking to even think of it. But did she understand that? He wished Hermione had; he wished she would’ve chosen another career path other than being an auror. Having on auror parent was enough for the kids; he’d have not only them to fight for, but Hermione, Sirius, the Weasley’s, Luna, and Neville. Everyone he cared about, that stuck with him in the war; he could fight for them. Hermione? He realized she could’ve easily fought for the same thing; but how could he let her? She had already done enough; for everyone. She stuck by her friends, even Ron, though they argued constantly.

Her fingers brushed his face, and for a moment, he felt at peace. Like the argument was just a thing of the past; as if everything was going to be alright. How could she do that? Every time, a gentle, soft touch from Hermione, and he was pudding in her hands. It was like before the final battle, during the war; whenever he was stressed, or distressed, or something, Hermione could always calm him with a gentle touch. Oh, how he missed those days. “I love you, Harry Potter.”[/color] His eyes shot open, and he glanced towards Hermione. Her cheeks were turning pink; she was probably embarrassed, but he found it adorable. His hand moved, so it lay on hers; and he held it, not wanting to let go. He did, eventually; as he moved away from her, and for a moment, he missed the warmth that was in his hand.

Yes, they were both sorry, and they were both at fault. How did things become like that, however? How did it even make sense; for some odd reason, he couldn’t understand why. It was just like a new mystery he had to solve; but he couldn’t have any help. He’d use all his life-lines on the war, and now, he had to figure it out on his own, whatever it was. How could they start sorting it out? Working it out? Harry glanced at her, and noticed she had her hand out; as if waiting for him to place his own there. He wouldn’t, however. He wasn’t ready to just let her fix it; he couldn’t let her fix it. Looking at her, then shifting his gaze, obviously, to her outstretched hand, he shook his head. No, it wasn’t going to happen like that; he couldn’t keep doing whatever she wanted. He loved her, yes; but he had to take a stand, he couldn’t bend to her will just because he was afraid of losing her. If he lost her; then at least he knew he had her, if once.

No, they couldn’t put it off; but how could they resolve things when he didn’t completely understand them yet? Emotions weren’t completely his thing; but he knew he had to understand them first before he knew what to do about their argument. He needed time to try and sort things out for himself; and he figured, though she may not think it or seem like it, that Hermione needed time too. Time was the healer of all wounds; it gave you time to accept facts and understand. For some, it didn’t help; he knew this situation was for Tonks, after losing Remus, she just didn’t seem the same old Tonks he first met. Perhaps it was love that changed her; and losing it, but gaining Teddy, his godson. Love. What was it exactly? He knew he loved Hermione; it just seemed like fate, or destiny, or whatever that he loved her. Like it was meant to be. What was it though? What did it mean?

How could he love her, when he hurt her so much, and all in one day too. Did he really love her, or was it just that he wanted someone to love? He paused, maybe it was true; maybe it wasn’t true love. But it had to be, right? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so miserable in the past few years…right? Why was he now doubting it? Because this was their first major fight. One’s true allegiance is known when there is a battle. What was his? Did he love Hermione, or was it just empty words? Did she truly love him? Or was it the same for her, as it was for him; did she just want someone to love as well? Harry turned away, placing his head in his hands.

When he turned towards her again, she was smiling. Why? He didn’t understand it; had she figured out something? Or had she just realized that she could do better? Harry tried to think of reasons as to why she would be smiling; happy when they haven’t even solved their problem. How could she be smiling at a time like this? He thought back to the times of the war; Hermione didn’t smile in any serious situations; in fact, she was always serious. Even in Hogwarts, with her school work, she was always concentrating; she smiled when she figured something out, yes; but other than that, her mouth was set in a bit of a frown, when ever she concentrated hard on something. Was it the same here, in this situation? Harry didn’t know, but he didn’t think so, after all, this situation meant so much more than any of those times. It wasn’t just life or death; it was them or Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. He just couldn’t figure out why.

She had said that she would talk about it; but she had wanted to heal his hand first. What did that mean? Did it matter if his hand was fixed or not? He didn’t want it fixed; hadn’t he already shown her that by not accepting her outstretched hand? Hadn’t he just left it alone this whole time, no matter if it hurt more than almost anything else? Well, besides the cruciatus curse, the time the bludger broke his arm in second year, the time he had the basilisk poison in him, or the time he had allegedly ‘died’. He wanted to talk about it first, to try and work things out before his hand was healed. He had that feeling, though, that something bad was going to happen. That things wouldn’t turn out right just yet. As it always seemed to do for him; and he inwardly cursed it.

“No, not yet. If it gets too difficult, then I’ll just make a quick visit to St. Mungo’s. I can‘t let you fix this, not this time. We need to talk first.” Of course, he was talking about both his hand and the problem. He figured that were the same thing; a pain that wouldn’t go away until cured and fixed. The problem, however, was the first priority on his mind; he couldn’t stand being in an argument with Hermione. At least, not one like this anyways. Maybe that was their problem though; they were running away from the truth of it, by hiding behind broken fists or guilt. He realized it was the same as before they begun their relationship. He knew he wanted to be with Hermione, but he pushed it away, because he thought that it was best for her. Now, he was pushing towards the argument, because he thought it was the best for them. The only difference. Before, it was only for himself; but now, it was for Hermione as well. He didn’t know what to do, though. What if she wanted to fix his hand first? He wanted to talk first. Was there another argument to happen, because they wanted different things? She just wanted to heal him; but he wanted to solve the problem between them. Who was in the wrong then?

He barely registered the fact that she had led him to take a seat on the edge of his bed; his mind seemed to drift off. Until he heard her next question. His fifth year? “Yeah. How could I forget?” He remembered it like it was yesterday; how could he not? With the torturous detentions with Umbridge, to almost losing Sirius and having his friends get hurt; he could never forget about it. Any of it. He smiled slightly, at the thought of Hermione feeling rebellious at the idea of the DA. It was cute.

Hermione spoke of his stupid idea to ‘save’ Sirius; Hermione was right, she had told him it could’ve been a trap. And what was it? What had it turned out to be? A trap. He had felt stupid, laying in the hospital wing after the whole fiasco. He remembered, regretting that he believed the images Voldemort placed in his mind; he remembered looking around the Hospital wing, and seeing his friends injured. He remembered the pain he felt to know that he had caused it. He remembered all of it; and though he was no longer labeled a lunatic or a liar by the Prophet, he still felt miserable. However, it was then, that he realized he had something to fight for; seeing his friends hurt, but knowing they cared enough to follow him though they knew it could have been dangerous. Was this the case with Hermione? Should he let her become an auror?

She seemed to care much about it; but he couldn’t figure why he wouldn’t let her. She had asked him to think of it as something that he couldn’t control; to think of it as if it were the prophecy. It was inevitable; and she admitted that she knew he wouldn’t like it. She had expected for him to be against it; so why is she so bent on becoming an auror? How could she do that to him? Yes, he understood why she wanted to become one; he felt the same way, his reasons were the same. However, when he thought about her, about it being Hermione; he couldn’t understand it. He understood it, but he didn’t. How could that be?

“I know why you want to be an auror; I understand why. I have the same exact reasons, and look at me, I’m training to be an auror.”[/color] Did he really want to just give in like that? Had he thought it was ok for her to become one? No and No. He wasn’t about to accept the fact; he knew he wouldn’t; he just couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Why? Was it because he loved her? Did he really even love her? Things were just getting to complicated; he knew he loved her, he felt it, but what was it? Again, he was questioning himself; again he didn’t understand something. Why? Again, he was asking himself questions.

“But I can’t accept it. I can’t let you be an auror. I won’t let you be an auror. Isn’t having one auror enough for the family? What would happen to the children without you? We can’t let others take care of our children as they grow up because both their parents are working as aurors. Besides, what if something happened to you?! How do you think that would affect the kids? I know you want to protect them, but you have to be there for them first.”[/color] Sure, when he becomes an auror, he may not be there 24/7; but he would be working to protect them. His twins would know that their father is out there fighting to keep them and the family safe. If he was hurt, or injured, it would be ok; why? Because they’d still have their strong-willed mother. If something happened to Hermione, who would the kids have? If he was miserable for the few years she was gone, then what about when he knows he could’ve stopped her from getting hurt? He’d be a wreak, something the kids wouldn’t need.

Harry sighed, and looked at her, gripping her hands in his as well. “Sometimes it’s sacrifice that makes things work, Hermione. I need you to sacrifice the decision to become an auror. Think about the future.”[/color] For some reason, he knew she would argue; he knew she wouldn’t just take no for an answer. He knew she wouldn’t just give up on being an auror. He knew it, but he wouldn’t accept it. He knew that she would try and convince him to just accept that she’d be an auror; but he wouldn’t let up. This was something he planned on fighting for; he wouldn’t let her be an auror. He couldn’t. Why? Because he loved her too much to let her.

[Hermione Granger]

His words caught Hermione off guard, which was something that he was both good at yet entirely horrid. To Hermione, Harry was always a perfect mix of predictability yet unpredictability. She knew what he was going to do, yet always seemed slightly surprised when he did it, even if she knew that he would. The thought quelled some of her inner confusion, knowing that this was to be expected. Though she didn’t see it coming, it was predictable. All in all, that confused her more than anything. Still, she wasn’t expecting him to take part of the blame, perhaps because he had been so angry. Then again, she reasoned, that might be why he was taking some of the blame – because he had overreacted to the situation rather vastly. She shook her head, trying to understand it all. It didn’t make sense; to any rational person, it made no sense, and yet, in a way, it made perfect sense. And that still confused her.

His words still maintained some sense of truth though. She nodded slowly. “I guess it never was just about me, was it? Forget being self-centered, there never was just me in the limelight, was there?”[/color] She said with a slight chuckle. Thinking about it now, the idea that it was all about her was laughable. Nothing ever was just about her, or just about anyone. They had figured that out years ago when they realized that their battle, their fighting, wasn’t just about Harry – it was a whole lot bigger than just one person. “I’m at fault because I brought all of this up, Harry. I’m at fault because I want this.” She lowered her head in a sense of shame before looking back up, searching for his eyes. “It’s an argument. Or a fight. We should be used to this, you know. From me and Ron. We should be used to arguing, shouldn’t we? But for some reason, with us, it’s different, isn’t it? It’s not so easy. There’s no real right or wrong in this, and that’s what makes it so difficult to figure out. At least, I think so. I’m not really sure.”

Her smile turned back into a slight frown, not out of frustration but out of concentration. She tended to pull her hair back and frown when deep in thought, and now she found herself reaching for a spare hair band on her arm to gather up her hair in a loose ponytail. She didn’t see the need to fix it anymore than that; at least, not until they resolved this, not until they figured out exactly what they needed to in order to move on, to continue living, to try to figure out what they had anymore, if anything. Of course, she believed that they did indeed have something, that they were still in love, even if they had been separated for so long; but only time could tell, and they had to get past this argument before they could truly find out.

The remembrance of the firebolt incident was comparable to this yet different. If only the roles were reversed, things might be different, Hermione reasoned. She had stepped out of line to protect him, and now he was doing the same to protect her. Yet this was different. So very, very, painfully, horribly different. She had gotten a possession taken away, only for a short time, to ensure his protection. Yet he was asking her to give up a career, a job for the rest of her life, not for a few weeks. He got his firebolt back a few weeks later with peace of mind and only a slight grudge. She couldn’t relive her entire life and be an auror years later, and she knew it. She honestly wished that her desire to be an auror was something, merely a whim; but her time in Australia confirmed that it was what she wanted, the only job she wanted, even if she could have been anything else. Why couldn’t he understand? Or did he, truly, deeply understand, yet know that she was in danger and therefore unable to just accept it?

For a moment, her thoughts wondered to her rights. Technically, Harry couldn’t stop her from becoming an auror. He was not her husband; he was, however, the father of her children, but they were primarily hers. Even in the wizarding world, the children were more hers than his. He had no control over her. So why was she letting his reject of her idea plague her? Why didn’t she just do it anyway? Because she loved him. Because she didn’t want to hurt him. Because she wanted his blessing. Why? Because of her love for him. It was an emotion she couldn’t shake, and she found that distance or time away didn’t end or halt it either. In fact, she had been unable to stop thinking of him even when they were separated by thousands of miles, millions of people, and who could know how many days, minutes, and hours. She had found her love for him stronger, even though she hadn’t seen him in so long. She had remembered his eyes, his smile, his looks, the way he would move toward her or toward others in his different moods and the way he would talk. She had relished those memories as her only way in being in touch with him aside from his letters, which she had savored because she associated them with his presence. When she read them, she felt as though he were truly there with her, and it made her cherish them all the more. She wished that she could pull out his letters now and read them, to show him how much he loved her; but she found the idea foolish. Of course Harry knew how much he loved her –he was the one who had said it, had acted on those feelings, had written those very letters to which she had cleaved for so many months without him. Such ideas made her realize that to go against him in such betrayal would almost be worse than her running, and she dismissed the idea quickly. She would not – could not – do that to him.

Sitting on the bed, she wished the fight would just be magically resolved. So many things in the wizarding world could be fixed with a simple spell; but this, this was entirely different. No spell could heal or fix this, and she knew it. Only they – Hermione and Harry – could fix this. She touched his face and let out her words, blushing at them; she saw Harry’s eyes open immediately, but he said nothing, and she was glad for it. If she tried to speak now, she knew she would stammer like a dewy-eyed schoolgirl, as Griphook had once said, and she didn’t want or need to be more embarrassed by her girlish actions. Instead of speaking, Harry found her hand with his own, and Hermione’s heart leapt. For a moment, she wondered if he could hear it, but she figured that she was again being foolish. He would not be able to hear her heartbeat, even if it pounded in her ears like a drum. For a minute, she felt all of her breath leave her in one gasp, his touch feeling both warm and cold. She wished that it would never change, that they could stay like that forever, not moving, not changing; instead, Harry stood up and let go of her hand all too soon.

Like a blur, she had stood up and held out her hand, but, predictably, she knew he would not take it. It comforted her to know that, despite their absence, she still knew and understood him, at least a little. That small bit of hope was enough to keep her going, to keep her fighting, not for her or him, but for them. She never thought that she wouldn’t consider herself as part of a them besides the trio. She was one of the trio, but not one of a bond between two people. When people said, “Look at them,” it had always meant, look at Ron, Harry, and Hermione, the trio, those three, not Harry and Hermione, not the parents not the two in love. The realization brought her more strength. They had to work out this fight for them to remain together, to keep the bond they had held, to save their love. She loved him, and she wasn’t prepared to let him go. Wouldn’t it be better for them both to have each other, if only for a short time, then never at all? Hermione certainly thought so.

She wondered briefly if giving them time to cool off, to think things through, would be wiser. Perhaps if they both stepped back and worked through their own ideas, things would be easier; but Harry had said he didn’t want to put it off, and she saw the wisdom in that also. She would give in to Harry on that one; she would talk about it if he wanted to. She looked back at his hand and nodded again, wordlessly. She understood. He would fix his hand later. This was the issue now, and it needed to be worked out before they could move on to matters of the physical nature, such as his hand. She let out a soft sigh and sat back down on the bed. “Okay. We’ll talk first. But you’re fixing that hand before we visit my parents, okay?”[/color] she half-asked, half-stated with a raised eyebrow, begging for an answer yet already having decided on one.

She stood up and led him to the bed, knowing that he was fighting as much of an internal battle as she was. She wanted to help him, and she wanted him to help her; the only problem was that they were fighting the same battle yet were on different sides, something that had rarely happened to them. They were nearly always on the same side of every fight or battle; in fact, they usually took battles in stride as partners; but now was entirely different. They couldn’t just back each other up when they were fighting each other, could they? No; she knew that they both had to stand their own ground. That was the point of an argument anyways, right? To prove your point and get what you wanted. To win. But to Hermione, winning this wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to hurt Harry, to anger him, to make her hate him, in the process. She wanted to strengthen, not hurt, their relationship; but how?


She let out a soft chuckle at his words. “You couldn’t forget. If you had, I’d be worried. Too much happened during our fifth year to just forget about it." Dumbledore’s Army, Umbridge, the Ministry, Hagrid’ half brother Grawmp, breaking into the Department of Mysteries. No, she wouldn’t forget that year either. Hoping to calm him, if only a little, she reached out her hand to trace her fingers lightly over the back of his uninjured hand. Even if it didn’t sooth him, it soothed her, strangely enough, and she hoped he wouldn’t pull away. She visibly relaxed, no longer sitting rigidly upright on the edge of the bed. In fact, she pushed back gently so that she was sitting a bit more comfortably and, though she didn’t want to admit it, closer to him, so that their arms were just lightly brushing whenever either one moved. It was comforting to her, knowing that he was right there, just a finger’s length away, just a slight movement away from being able to latch herself onto him in a hug and erase away the world. Facing forward and knowing that he could not see her look, she smiled widely, her eyes closing partway, and she found herself wishing she could lay her head on his chest and fall asleep as she had before.

But before she could do anything, Harry spoke again, and she was reminded that nothing of the sort could happen until they worked out this argument. So he couldn’t accept it – or is it that he simply wouldn’t? His words hit home, and she knew that his words had more validity than she wanted them too. Blood rushed to her face, now more out of anger than embarrassment, but she took a deep breath to calm herself before speaking, knowing that anger would get them nowhere. Her voice came out level and calm, her previous anger in no way recognizable in her voice. “Harry, no matter what job I pursue, I won’t be at home as much as I want to be. But actually, being an auror means I’ll be at home more than with most other jobs,” After her earlier reaction, she decided against responding to his comment as to what would happen to the children without her. It was still too sore, too painful an idea for her to voice aloud, though she had thought of it plenty of times.

She felt his hands in her own again and gripped them back, stronger now than before, as though begging him not to draw them away from her grasp again. She needed him, badly; and she didn’t want him gone so soon. “Haven’t we known too much sacrifice already? Why should we accept any more sacrifice we we’ve already accepted so much?” she asked softly, almost wistfully, more in thought than actually talking to him. With another sigh, she kept a strong grasp on his hands but shifted so that she could move one leg under her other and face him on the bed.

“Harry, will you think about this with me, for just a minute. Logically. I won’t take long, I promise, or, at least, I’ll try, but please, can you try to follow this for me?” she asked softly, begging him with her eyes to allow her to try to explain this burning desire in her.

“Harry, in our first year, we got past Fluffy and went after the sorcerer’s stone with no formal training. We knew nothing but the things first years know, but we were prepared to attack Professor Snape. In our second year, I went after a basilisk. Alone. With no help, and I wound up petrified but alive, and you fought and killed the thing, though you only lived because of Fawkes. We were second years. We knew next to nothing. Third year, we sneaked out of the castle and confronted a man who we believed to be a mass murderer who escaped Azkaban – and though he wasn’t the one to fear, we still faced him, and the real murdered, and a werewolf, and more dementors than either of care to count. Fourth year, I’ll admit, I didn’t do a lot, but you did. You fought a dragon and saved us from the lake, and you fought Voldemort. Fifth year, we started an army in school despite the obvious reasons not to. We got out of loads of trouble with quick thinking – I’m not bragging, but you have to admit that taking Umbridge to the Forbidden Forest was a good idea. Then we broke into the Department of Ministries, knowing we would have to fight. And we were ambushed, Harry, by the strongest Death Eaters there were – Bellatrix and Lucius and Dolohov and the rest. And what did we know then, Harry? Expelliarmus, petrificus totalus, and stupefy? Not a lot of things to know when being ambushed by a bunch of vindictive Death Eaters who wanted us dead, but we made it out of there, with three spells! And we all lived, barely hurt!” she said, now with more emphasis but careful not to be too loud. Instinctively, as she spoke of the ministry incident, her hand moved to her chest, to the right of her heart, where she still retained a scar from the fight. Madame Pomfrey, the nurse, had given her plenty of potions, and within a few weeks, Hermione had been nearly as good as new. But the scar, caused by dark magic, could not be healed; and Hermione knew she would always keep it with her for the rest of her life, even if she could be rid of it. It reminded her of how thankful she should be to be alive. Still, she had never shown it to Ron and Harry, for fear that they might want to leave her behind the next time they went on some great adventure, and she refused to take such a risk. Whether either of them had ever caught a glimpse of it when she was unconscious, she did not know, and she had never dared to ask. Taking a slow breath, she continued. “Our sixth year, we were ambushed by Death Eaters at Hogwarts no less, and we fought and lived, still battled those better and more experienced than we. And don’t be me started on the year after that. We went hunting for Horcruxes. We got caught by Snatchers and taken to the Malfoy manner. I lived through the cruciatus curse, sent by Bellatrix no less! And you guys came to the rescue, we made it out of there. We lived. And we broke into a Gringotts vault and escaped on a dragon, all unharmed. We went to Hogsmeade and got into Hogwarts and fought that one, final battle against Voldemort. Who would’ve though that we, 17 year olds with only six years of magic training and experience, could live through that, could fight and defeat Voldemort, Bellatrix, and the rest? No one, Harry, but we did. Imagine how much better and safer we would be if we all had formal training. We’ve been ambushed and attacked with no warning, no preparation. How much easier would it be to fight if we could prepare, if we knew what we were walking into, what we were up against? It’d be so much easier to know, I’m going to fight one wizard, I know him, I know his strengths, I have the upper hand, and I’m prepared than being ambushed by a bunch of them with the only defense we have being a wand, right? Wouldn’t I be safer learning all of the techniques, all the spells to fight? Harry, what’s to say that if you’re gone training or on a mission and Sirius is out of the house that a Death Eater couldn’t walk in here and attack me? Nothing, Harry. I’d be virtually defenseless. At least as an auror, or at least by training as one, I’d have the skills I need, and any Death Eater would think twice about attacking me, right? Harry, would you at least let me try? We could talk to Tonks or Ron, and maybe I could sit in on a training session, just to try it out? Would you be willing to meet me in the middle and give it a shot?”[/color] She asked, now loosening her grip on his hands so that he could pull away if he wanted, yet still gripping them softly as though begging him to stay.

[Harry Potter]

There were still plenty of things that Harry never understood; plenty of things that he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to; plenty of things that he didn’t even know about. Forget about him being an adult; forget about him being “the Chosen One”; forget about him being the “savior of the wizarding world”. He never wanted to be any of that; he just wanted a normal life; a life where he could be happy, play around, where he would’ve known about his parents, his being a wizard earlier. He just wanted to be normal. He didn’t want to fight Voldemort, he really didn’t. Was it his choice though, no. Did that make it his destiny? His fate? These were the things he didn’t understand. Couldn’t you change your destiny? Harry didn’t even know anymore. What was the difference between fate and destiny…wasn’t it that you could control one but not the other? Wasn’t fate inevitable? Perhaps he had it backwards. You see, this was one of the reasons that he disliked Divination; but Trelawny had taken to predicting he’d die every year; plus, it may have been a rubbish class, but it was an easy class.

Of course, Hermione detested that class; she even walked out on it. It was still such a memory; THE Hermione Granger, knocking the crystal ball off the table and storming out of class. She even dropped it! Harry couldn’t believe his ears once he heard about it; but then again, Trelawney had insulted her, and she didn’t even know it. That was all the way back, in third year; he was just thirteen. All those years ago and he could remember it as if it were only yesterday. Another thing he couldn’t understand; memory. Why was it so difficult to remember things but easy to remember others. He could barely remember anything Binns taught him, probably because he was so boring, but still; he could remember what he read in the Hallf-Blood Prince’s, which he learned later on was actually Snape, potions book like he just read it. Why were things so easy to Hermione, like that time in their first year, when the three of them were stuck in Devil’s Snare. She remembered what they learned in class; perhaps it might’ve been because she was actually paying attention, but he couldn’t remember talking or hearing a rhyme like that. Why could he remember his Hogwarts years so easily; as well as his time at the Dursley’s, but not remember some of the things he learned? This whole memory thing, he just didn’t understand it.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand a lot of things, yet it was. He knew what memory was, but he didn’t exactly understand how it choose to work. Like when he created his patronus for the first time with Lupin. His first memory was when he was flying; playing Quidditch, then his second memory, it was fuzzy. Almost dream-like, and he didn’t even know if it was real or not. It was with his parents; he was still only a baby back then; could he have remembered? Or was it that he just remembered a dream of them? Either way, the ‘memory’ had worked; he had created a patronus. Drove the boggart-dementor back in the trunk where it Lupin kept it. Then there was the whole time-traveling incident with Hermione. He couldn’t understand that either, and yet, here he was, with experience in time-travel. However, none of these incidents; not even the moment that Voldemort chose him and not Neville, could compare to how, well…confused he was now.

Hermione was right; they had been through so much together; and so why couldn’t he let her be an auror then? Why couldn’t he just say that one word, “yes” or “ok”, why did it have to always be “no”. Was it because he was an auror? Did he not want her on the same path as him? No, that couldn’t be it…it couldn’t be. He loved the idea of having Hermione around at work; he loved the idea of knowing she’d be ok, that she could take care of herself. Then why? Was it because he didn’t want the twins to see both their parents leaving? No, he knew they loved the twins; he would surely take time off to spend time with his family. Was he afraid of losing that--his family? Probably; he never truly had one. Sure, the Dursley’s were his family; but they treated him like crap. He didn’t look at them like family; after all, he couldn’t wait until he was of age, he couldn’t wait to move out of that house. When he did, it didn’t seem fast enough. Yes, he had Sirius; his godfather. He counted Sirius as family, like an uncle or something. But it was different when he thought about the twins as family; they were his children, and Hermione. How could she have been so much different than everyone else? He wanted her as family, the mother of his children; but how come when he thought of it, it was always different with her. He loved her, his children, Sirius, Tonks and Teddy and Lupin, the Weasleys, his parents. But it was always a different type of love, wasn’t it?

Love. The one thing he was sure he’d never understand, well, that and the female mind. No one but females themselves could understand that. Still, as he thought about his love for those who were not his family, but who he was close to, like Tonks, Teddy, Lupin, and the Weasley family. He felt love for them, but it only went so far; like a surrogate family. That was how he loved them, as if they were his own family, but he knew they were not. He thought about his parents. He never knew them; only seeing them through pictures, a mirror--though that was only in his first year--and he only met them once, when he was in the “limbo”, when Voldemort supposedly killed him. Back then, before the limbo moment, Harry could clench to the memory of the pictures, he would gaze at their smiling faces, trying to remember something--anything really--from when they were alive. Sometimes he thought he’d remember something, but then again, sometimes it was just a memory he created by himself--like a dream. Sometimes it was just holding onto the thought of having a memory. Other times, he would be able to hear his mother; her last words as she screamed his name before she died. It wasn’t the best of memories, far from it actually, but it reminded him how much his parents loved him. After the whole limbo incident, he tries to remember them from there; how they looked, how they sounded. Those memories he clenched to, but sometimes it felt as if it was just a dream. Sometimes he thinks it was all just a dream.

When he thinks of Sirius, however, he thinks of family; of blood-related family. Like the Dursleys. Though Sirius was much much better at being family than them. Harry loved Sirius like he would a favorite uncle. Sirius and his father were best friends anyways; they were as close as brothers. Lupin as well; he could consider Lupin as an uncle as well; and yet, he learned so much from Lupin that he was just…a surrogate family to him. Family, but not related. Perhaps it was because Lupin was always like a teacher to him; always looking out for him but teaching him something. Sirius was like that, but he was more live in the moment than Lupin was. Sirius was more like that uncle that was always playing around with you, even if he was twenty some-odd years older than you. Then, when he thinks of the twins, James Albus and Lily Minerva, he couldn’t help but love them. He loved them like they were the bane of his existence; like he couldn’t figure out what to do without them. Right now, they were his life; his reason to stop the remaining death eaters and all the darkness out there. That was how he loved his twins.

Hermione on the other hand; she wasn’t like that, not really. Sure, she also gave him a reason to keep the world safe; but she was his strength. Without her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to function correctly. She helped him through so much; she believed in him no matter what others thought. She was always there, by his side. She gave him memories he could smile upon, happiness he could live on. She gave him strength to keep going. In short, he needed her. Did he love her because he needed that reassurance, that someone would always be there, by his side? Did he love her because he needed her around? No. No, he didn’t.

“Okay. We’ll talk first. But you’re fixing that hand before we visit my parents, okay?” he smiled; why? Because he finally figured this thing out--well, he sort of did anyway. He didn’t understand it perfectly just yet, but he was on the way of getting there. He figured that she wouldn’t take no for an answer anyways; the same Hermione he remembered from Hogwarts. The same Hermione he loved. The same one he needed. “Ok. Deal.” he gave her a soft smile; one that shown with love, understanding. He was there; he wouldn’t leave. She knew it, he knew it. What about her? No, she came back. And she won’t be leaving anytime soon. Both knew this as well.

But, he knew that both knew someone had to give. They weren’t on the same side in this argument, something he missed almost right away. He missed her by his side, watching his back as he watched hers. Backing him up when he needed it; and he backed her up when she needed it. They fought together as partners so many times, that this one occasion, a battle where they were on opposing sides, hurt. It hurt like hell to Harry. Why? Because he needed her on his side; he needed her by his side; it felt so wrong to fight against her like this. But he couldn’t give in, not until he understood it. He didn’t want to win--he knew Hermione would become an auror anyways; she was always headstrong like that. He knew he couldn’t stop her, no matter how much he wanted to. This was Hermione Granger they were talking about; no one could tell her what to do. She was a strong witch like that. This was the witch he needed in his life. The witch he loved.

However, as she kept talking, Harry could do nothing. Nothing but just stand there and listen. Her words pierced through his thoughts; even when he wanted to block them out for fear of hearing the reason behind them. He didn’t want to believe it; he didn’t want to hear her reasons; otherwise, he knew, he knew he wouldn’t win this argument. In fact, now that he thought of it, he realized he knew he’d never win this argument. He knew it as soon as the topic came up; he knew it as soon as they continued it here. He knew the argument was going to Hermione; he knew all along, so why had he continued? Why was he still fighting it? He didn’t know. He didn’t understand and that was what was killing him right now. He wanted to be able to understand why he wouldn’t--couldn’t--let her become an auror. Did he just not want her to? No, he already thought of that possibility, and the answer was still the same. He would’ve loved having Hermione there, fighting with him, as a team; like partners, as they always had. And yet, even after all this, he couldn’t decide why he wouldn’t just accept the fact that she was going to become an auror.

When she finished talking, Harry didn’t make a move to answer back. Not yet. He didn’t even move, physically. He just stood there, staring ahead, his thoughts swarming his head. Memories of the times that Hermione had mentioned earlier came back; memories that included her there by his side every single time. Then the painful memories came; back in fifth year--in the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Mysteries--she had thought they hadn’t known about it. Or perhaps it was about the scar she thought they didn’t know about. But he was there; he saw her injured body; he saw Ron unconscious because of the brain welts. He saw it all; and it was just too painful for him. It was then, as they where there, that he realized why they would win the upcoming war. Because Voldemort only fought for power, for himself. The Order, his friends, himself; they all fought for each other, for their families, for those they cared about. They had a reason to fight; Voldemort didn’t. That was why they ultimately won, in the end. Love.

It was what protected him for seventeen years; from Voldemort until his fourth year, from all things bad. His mother’s sacrifice had protected him from the killing curse set on him almost immediately after her death. The reason for his scar--his injured hand raised to touch it--and he flinched. It was broken, and the more he left it alone, the more it hurt when he moved. He couldn’t let Hermione fix it though; so, with her hand still in his; he moved that hand towards his scar. His mother’s love protected him from dying. He was only a little over a year old, but he had been apart of the war since then. Since his birth actually, since there was the prophecy and all. Ever since he met Ron on the train and became friends with him, Ron was brought into the battle as well; in association with him. Then they saved Hermione from the troll. Back then, they hadn’t realized it was a part of a plot to try and get the sorcerer’s stone. The three of them, had battled the troll; though it was Ron who had defeated it, with Hermione’s guidance, and his…unintended distraction.

Ever since then, the three of them were a part of the battle, of the war that would happen years later. Ever since then, the three of them, dubbed the “Golden Trio” were fated to be a part of the war--was it really fate? Either way, the three of them, because of him, had been included in anything that had to do with the war; even learning about the Order of the Phoenix in their fifth year, when they were underage. Then, all of them were of age, they went on a dangerous and perilous journey--one that almost ruined them. They had been through so much since their first year, so why was this so different? Wasn’t it better this way, Hermione knew what she was doing; she’s been doing it ever since Hogwarts after all. So why couldn’t he just accept it? It was strange. Even he couldn’t explain his argument anymore. Sure, he could use the children as an excuse; but they couldn’t be called his yet. He hadn’t had a hand in raising them yet; so he couldn’t use them against her. Not anymore.

His hand had long fallen from his scar; but the feeling was still there. Everytime he looked in the mirror, there was always that scar that his eyes moved to first; it was like a symbol of the danger he went through; but was able to survive. He was, thanks to his mother’s love, able to survive the killing curse; and he was the only child known to do so. He was only just a little over one years old, and yet he had survived the greatest danger of all; and it was all thanks to love. Love. His mind just kept going back to that word, hadn’t it? Was that why he couldn’t accept it yet; because he loved Hermione? No, he knew there was another reason, but what was it? Was he just being selfish? Harry sighed, and gripped Hermione’s hand, drawing strength from the fact that she was there. By his side, even in their argument. Nothing could change that. They were together, side by side, hand in hand. Then why hadn’t he just let her go and be an auror? Why did he have to argue about it, especially when he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t win this fight? Why?

He couldn’t give in, not yet. There was just something inside him that wouldn’t let her go. And until he found out what it was, he couldn’t accept it. Perhaps he could give it a chance; no acceptance, but no disagreement either. A middle ground, as Hermione had said. She always knew what to say, what to do to get him to pause and re-think about everything. Right now, perhaps he just needed time to cool off; to hear other opinions about it. That’s what he needed. To hear the opinions of others other than Hermione; and to cool down and think about them. He already knew what the outcome would be though; in the end, he already knew what was going to happen.

“I won’t accept it, Hermione. But…I’m not going to keep fighting like this either. Just…let’s talk to Tonks and Ron about this, ok. Then just give me some time to think about it. There’s just…something I need to understand first, on my own. Ok.” he said, grasping her hand in his as if he didn’t want her to move away as he spoke. He didn’t; he just needed that reassurance that she brought, the reassurance that she’s there, by his side. Just like all those times. And hopefully like all the times in the future where he’ll need it. Her, by his side.

“I think we should get ready to meet your parents, then, Hermione.” and just like that, the argument ended--sort of. He knew Hermione would accept it; she knew he needed time to cool off; like he had before. But leaving it like this wasn’t bad. He left no arguments. All that was left to finish the argument was his answer. He already knew what it was going to be anyways, and there was a possibility Hermione knew as well. He just needed to understand why he couldn’t accept it in the first place.

[Hermione Granger]

As Harry mused to himself, Hermione felt disconnected – not just from him, but from the room, from the present. He was so quiet that she found herself losing herself in thought also. She could barely tell that he was beside her on his bed because in her mind, she was so far away; years away, in fact. Suddenly, she had been plucked from the room and thrown into the midst of the Forbidden Forest with Umbridge and Harry; ”What are you doing?” he asked, the concern evident on his face. “Improvising,” she whispered back, realizing yet again that her only plan was to get Umbridge to the forest on some rabid idea that she knew where Dumbledore’s secret weapon – which, for the record, did not exist – was. Once there, she had no idea how she was going to wriggle them out of the tough spot. Then, by some miracle, Gwamp and the centaurs had showed up, whisking Umbridge away, deeper into the forest. Then she and Harry locked hands before rushing back to the school, making it to the bridge. Then Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville appeared, all having escaped the Inquisitorial Squad’s grasp. The six of them argued before making Harry bend to the fact that they were accompanying him to the ministry.

The thought of the memory, though somewhat painful and not the best she ever had, brought a smile to her face. Even then, Harry had been determined, steadfast, and stubborn. When he made a decision, it took him a while to think of the alternatives, to work out his options and his emotions, before he could truly decide, accept, or relent. The only thing that sped up the process that day had been the risk of Sirius’s life. No one wanted to waste vital moments arguing over who was and wasn’t going when another’s life might be in the balance in those precious moments, and it was easier to relent to the five’s arguments that for Harry to waste time arguing. Besides, it wasn’t like Ron and Hermione were going to take no for an answer.

Perhaps that was another common thread that made Hermione smile. She, Ron, and Harry were very unused to the word no, and when they came across it, more often then not, they ignored or worked around it, eventually getting or doing what they wanted. It engrained in them the need and feeling that they could and would eventually get what they wanted with enough time, thought, and effort. This was another factor that led to Hermione’s persistence and fueled her argument. She was so accustomed to eventually getting her way, finding the answer, and being included on the boy’s excursions – if not suggesting them herself – that the idea of not her getting this, of not being an auror – was preposterous. As such, it made her fight harder, as though she could see or feel the end, only needed to find a way around the no, a way through the argument.

She had taken her eyes off of Harry, mostly because he had taken his off of hers and his had gotten that far away look that she noted he tended to get when deep in thought. When he first spoke, Ok, she nearly thought that he was agreeing to her being an auror, but she knew that such an outcome was too easy, too soon; therefore, her reaction of happiness was stunted and she remained emotionless – save for the smile from her earlier memories – until he continued to talk. She dared a glance at him, and he too was smiling. She took that as a good sign and her memory reminded her that they had been talking about his hand as he said ”Deal.” Yes, she had agreed to talk first, so long as he had his hand fixed before they went to go see her parents. She smiled wider before turning again to look at him; and with that look, she melted.

Hermione was always the girl to listen to her mind, not her heart. In her fourth year, the much older Victor Krum had taken a liking too her, and though she was amused by his advances and tickled that a boy, much less a famous Quidditch player, had taken a liking too her, her mind constantly informed her that he was too much older and lived – and studied – too far away. Yes, she had given her heart some chances to fancy; she had even indulged herself in writing him letters and attending the Yule Ball with him as her escort; but her mind had refused to let her carry on with such fantasies after he left to return to Durmstrang. In fact, the theme was a common one with her crushed. She tended to follow her mind over her heart, and it led to her not dating much – or really at all – during her Hogwarts years, save for her few weeks of dating Ron, which half made sense at the time. But looking at Harry now with his soft smile, she melted, and her mind seemed willing to indulge her heart if only for a few moments. Her mind had kept her going for so long that deep inside her brain, she thought that, perhaps, her mind was wanting a break and was all too willing to let her heart take over, if only for a little while. He was here, in the flesh, in front of her; and for the moment, that was enough. She didn’t need words; she only needed him, and she finally had him, for real. She knew that he was going nowhere; he hadn’t in two years, and he wasn’t one to run off on a whim. And she, well, she had run, but she was done with running. She didn’t want to run anymore, didn’t want to leave. And even if she did, she knew she wouldn’t – couldn’t; in this, her heart and mind were agreed. She’d gone through too much the last time. She was in the Wizarding World – she was with Harry – to stay.

The movement from Harry broke her previous concentration on things unseen. Seemingly mesmerized, she watched as he raised his injured hand to his scar, and she allowed her gaze to linger, perhaps a little too long, on the scar that she had come to know so well. She didn’t feel bad though, because moments later, Harry was moving her hand towards the scar of his own, which was far more famous and had caused him far more hassle than hers ever would. For a moment, she wondered if he knew about her scar from that one day in the Department of Mysteries, and if that was why he wanted her to feel his scar once more, but she shook the thought off; there was no way he would remember her scar. Instead, she allowed him to draw her hand closer to his forehead before she finally brushed her fingers against his scar. She’d done so before, but it seemed more intimate now, after so much time. Then, before he did, her hand fell from his scar and back to her own. The memories came back, the purple flame, then the blackness. It had been hours – day, perhaps; she wasn’t sure - before she woke up again, but when she did, she was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Ron had woken up before her, and Ginny, Luna, and Neville were all seated in chairs nursing small wounds, a broken ankle, a scar; they all seemed too unsure to speak, but they finally did, easing the mood. Madam Pomfrey said Ron would be okay, just needed rest, and he weakly cracked a joke while she tried desperately to say something, but the words didn’t come. She hadn’t had the strength. She closed her eyes again before she felt Harry move to the edge of her bed and stroke her hand. She had wanted to hold his then; of course, they weren’t dating then, nor had they even admitted their feelings, but she still considered him her best friend along with Ron, and she wanted to grip his hand more strongly, to gather strength from him, but she had had none. She had felt his grasp slip away as he moved back to Ron, and she had been unable to say or do anything until some time later.

Now, Harry’s hand was in her own and she was able to banish the memory by slightly squeezing his unhurt hand. She smiled as he did the same, nearly at the same time. It had become common for them, drawing strength from the other. She glanced to her side to take him in again, and before she really had time to truly appreciate her closeness to him, he was speaking, and she was determined to catch every precious word.

”I won’t accept it, Hermione. But. . . “ Hermione smiled. She knew he wouldn’t just accept it; that wasn’t Harry’s way, and it never had been. But the but was always a signal for something opposite of the first statement. If the first had been good, the but was foreshadowing of a negative; yet if the first was bad or disagreeable, then good was soon to follow. “I’m not going to keep fighting this either” That was a good sign. He wanted to work this out, and at least their fight would be somewhat over. She didn’t like fighting with Harry; it just wasn’t good for them, and they both were too pained by it. “Just. . . let’s talk to Tonks and Ron about this, ok. Then just give me some time to think about it. There’s just. . .something I need to understand first, on my own. Ok.” She didn’t realize that she had been holding her breath as she spoke, and as he finished, she released the pent-up air in a rush. This was good news; even if Harry wasn’t going to agree with her now, the argument was really over. He would give in; he would eventually allow it. How she knew? Well, she was Hermione. She’d known Harry for years; she could just tell. Unsure of what to say, of how to thank him, of how to agree, she merely returned the grasp. “Harry. . .” She smiled brightly and tried to say more, but no words came. With the lack of words, she scooted closer to him, her arm now pressed firmly against his. With a soft sigh, she titled her head to the side and then leaned it gently against his shoulder, her hand still in his. “I’ve missed you.”

She sat there for a while, unmoving. She didn’t want to draw away; she didn’t want time to move forward or for life to continue, because she finally felt safe, complete, content. Yet time did move forward, and she realized that he was right. “I think we should get ready to meet your parents, then, Hermione.” She nodded slowly, drawing away from him slowly, as though leaving him were actually painful. She sat upright, then moved her hand to his injured one.

“Just because I’m used to seeing you all bloodied up doesn’t mean the children are,” she joked, letting out a small laugh. Gently, she took hold of his hand again and drew her wand with the other. “Episky,”[/color] she said with a smile, noting how the bones rearranged themselves and reconnected with a loud click. She had done the spell enough times that even the added difficult of the elapsed time was not too great an obstacle. Besides, she was one who learned a spell and then perfected it, and episky was no exception.

She nodded in agreement that she needed to get ready, and stood before walking to the door, though she lingered there for a moment, not really wanting to leave him. With a sign, she turned around and looked at him one more time, smiling knowingly before walking out of the room.

From there, she went down to the living area to gather the children before making her way up to where Harry had pointed earlier. She showered and then bathed the children, pulling extra clothes and supplies from her bag so that when they all walked down the stairs to meet Harry once more, they were prepared. Hermione was lucky that he had picked out outfits previously, so they all looked rather nice when they went downstairs. Lily was dressed in jeans and a pink long-sleeved shirt, though she had a white jacket over her, making her look slightly like a marshmallow. She giggled as she tried to jump up and grab Hermione’s hand. James was in a dark green long-sleeved shirt, though his jacket was slung over his shoulder. Hermione shook her head, noting his stubbornness. “Just don’t think the weather will affect you, do you? Just like your father,” she muttered to herself, knowing that James would only put on the coat when he got outside and realized how cold it was.

Still the most marked change in the three was Hermione, who had changed from her baggier clothes into a dark pair of jeans and a red shirt that hugged her sides and made her look even slimmer than she was. Her hair, which had previously been messy, was fixed elaborately into curls, which she knew her mother would appreciate. Her face, blotched before from tears, looked as though such wetness had never touched it. Makeup covered imperfections, and mascara brightened her eyes. A spell of two had taken away the effects of her crying, and she looked quite stunning compared to her appearance hours before when her hair had been tossed about and her eyes red and puffy. Now she looked like a young lady, and though her hands shook slightly in fear of meeting her parents, she knew that she had no one better by her side than her children and Harry, and she waiting for him to appear so that they could leave, hand-in-hand.

[Harry Potter]

“Harry…I’ve missed you.”[/I]

Those four words, mixed with the bright smile on Hermione’s face, as well as her leaning her head on his shoulder. It made his day. No, the feeling was better than that. It made Harry think everything would be ok. That they could get through whatever and still remain the same, the same Harry, the same Hermione. He wanted to say the same back, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He just wanted time to freeze, to stay in this position forever. No worries; just them. He waited though, for Hermione to move away, but when she didn’t he grasped her hand in his. Keeping their fingers linked together. No matter what, she was always there; he figured, now it was his turn. He was the one who should be there for Hermione, not the other way around anymore. The war was over; and it was as if their life was just beginning. ‘A new beginning, huh?’ he thought to himself, resting his head on hers. It was a familiar feeling, and he cherished it, he loved it--he loved her. A small smile made its way to his face, and his grasp on her hand changed. It softened, yet it remained a strong hold. If she wanted to, Hermione could’ve pulled her hand out of his, but his grasp was enough to tell her he didn’t want her to.

When she did pull away, albeit it was slowly, Harry felt as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders again; like during the war. It made him remember that he couldn’t stop time; no matter how hard he wanted, that he couldn’t keep a moment like that forever. Eventually, it would be forgotten by his mind. Probably in around fifty or so years, but still; he didn’t want to forget it. Why? Because, in truth, it was one of the most peaceful moments of his life. Even when Voldemort was defeated and he had nothing to worry about anymore; even when he stood, with his friends, seeing the re-built Hogwarts for the first time; he never felt a peace like he had just then. Still, even as she moved away, that smile, peaceful and full of happiness though the smile was small, remained on his face. Before she even had a chance to speak; Harry gripped her hand just a bit tighter, before letting go. “I’ve missed you too, ‘Mione” his voice thick with emotion, as his eyes were soft, caring. The thought of telling her, one more time he loved her crossed his mind; but he chose not to. It didn’t matter how much he said it; he knew Hermione already knew it.

“Just because I’m used to seeing you all bloodied up doesn’t mean the children are,”[/I] Hermione joked, laughing softly. Harry’s smile then turned into a lopsided grin; and he chuckled himself. “Hm…” he paused, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “They’ll get used to it. Besides, if they’re anything like me, trouble will find them.”[/b] It was true; he never went looking for trouble; it always seemed to find him. Like in second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened; he didn’t go asking around for the Basilisk, he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Like when he found Mrs. Norris; only to have the halls become crowded not only a minute later. Filch blamed him, and the other students just stared at the writing on the wall; some at Mrs. Norris. And, of course, after the halls were cleared, he and Hermione and Ron were asked to stay and answer some questions. Did he go looking for a petrified Mrs. Norris? No. But did he find one anyways? Yes. Since both were young, he wasn’t sure who took after who more. Perhaps both took after Hermione, since she had raised them on her own for a while. Then again, everyone told him he took after both his parents, and he barely remembered them; only bits and fragments and pictures.

The stinging sensation in his hand brought him back; but he didn’t dare make a noise. It was his own fault after all; besides, not like he hadn’t experienced worse. The stinging pain of the ‘Episky’ spell had nothing on the Cruciatus curse cast by Voldemort. The only other person who was as skilled enough with the cruciatus curse as Voldemort was, was Bellatrix. And she was off her rocker that one. Crazier than he thought Sirius was when they first met back in his third year. With his mind back in reality and not off in it’s own little world as it had been the past couple years, Harry stood, grinning at Hermione as she left, and feeling his chin. Yes, he definitely needed to clean up before he met her parents; wouldn’t want to make a bad impression as their grandchildren’s father. Besides, he was almost positive Hermione would get all “prefect”-y if he didn’t clean himself up. If Sirius knew, he’d probably just laugh, pat him on the back and shake his head. Harry smiled at the thought of it, if anything, Sirius would turn the situation into a joke--if there was anything he could count on, it was Sirius making him feel better; even when he was just in thought.

With that thought in mind, Harry entered his own bathroom with a small chuckle. He looked around for his razor, which was hidden around somewhere. He saw the shaving cream; but the razor? It seemed to have disappeared. As he moved things, his eyes glanced at the half-dried blood on his hands from the wall; it looked painful. Nothing new, he’d seen worse, but still; he figured he should clean it up first. So, as he left the bathroom to grab his wand from it’s place by the desk, Harry paused. The wall where he had punched--twice mind you--was ruined. There was some blood which, of course, came from his fist, and there were marks and indents from where he hit. Had he really been that angry? With a sigh, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at his hand. “Scourgify.”[/b] he then pointed the wand to the wall. No need to give anyone any worries about it; he figured, if Sirius ever went in to look for something or someone came to visit or something. “Scourgify.”[/b] and with that, he made his way back to the bathroom, ready to get himself presentable for the dreaded meeting.

Right now, he didn’t feel nervous; perhaps it was because the argument between himself and Hermione had ended, and that argument had taken his mind off meeting her parents, if only somewhat. Or maybe it was because things just worked out; even after their argument, Hermione was still there, nothing was going to change--for the worse at least. His previous worry for the meeting disappeared, and Harry hoped it would stay gone. Knowing Hermione though; she was probably nervous, and a nervous Hermione made him nervous. Unless it had to do with grades, then he would either try and calm her down, or laugh, get glared at, then scolded, and then try and calm her down. Either way; Harry knew he couldn’t be nervous for the meeting--at least, he couldn’t act it. He needed to be that thing that didn’t change, that thing that would stay the same--the constant. That’s what he figured he needed to be for Hermione, a constant she could rely on, hold onto. A constant that wouldn’t change no matter how the meeting ended. There was nothing to fear, because nothing would change…for the worse. Nothing would change for the worse. It could only get better.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry raised his wand; it seemed as if his razor was hiding from him. “Accio my razor”[/b] he specified, and from the mirror cupboard thing, flew out his razor. Harry glanced at it for a few moments, then at the mirror cupboard. “When did I--you know what, never mind.” he shook his head. He must’ve been such a wreck without Hermione. He couldn’t remember ever putting his razor in the mirror cupboard…he usually kept it right next to the shaving cream. Shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head at himself, Harry began to get cleaned up.

After taking a shower, shaving, and drying up, Harry glanced at the clothes he chose to wear. He wasn’t sure of what to wear, but he hoped this would be fine--it was a nice pale green button up with a pair of jeans. As he stared at himself in the mirror; the nervousness crept back from wherever it disappeared to. He ran a hand through his semi-wet hair, which was more dry than wet, and sighed to himself. ‘Calm down Harry, calm down. You’ve faced worse than this…just…calm down.’[/color] he repeated to himself in his head. He didn’t need to be nervous about this; he really didn’t. It was just meeting Hermione’s parents…after…all…bloody hell, he did have a reason. Closing his eyes, Harry took a few deep breaths; something he learned to do in order to calm his temper and work out his nerves. He shouldn’t be nervous. He shouldn’t be nervous. It was like a mantra repeating itself in his head. When he opened his eyes, however, he noted that he should be heading down soon.

With yet another sigh, Harry ran a hand through his hair; no matter how hard he tried, his hair always remained that messy windswept way. He didn’t mind though; it was just hair; and besides, his hair wasn’t long, but short. What other way was there other than cutting it even shorter? None. And he wasn’t going to cut his hair even shorter; he was fine with it just the way it was. And so, as he checked over himself one more time, Harry gave a small sigh, for what? He couldn’t figure out, probably just to calm his nerves down. He didn’t need to at least appear nervous.

So, with that thought in mind, Harry exited the room, a small smile making its way to his face as he saw what awaited him. A cute little marshmallow Lily and a coatless James, like father like son. He himself had his coat slung over his shoulder his hand holding the top while the other hand was in the pocket of his jeans. When he saw Hermione, his smile only widened, and he made his way over; grabbing hold of her shaking hand. “No worries, ‘Mione. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”[/b] he murmured, squeezing her hand in silent support. As they turned to leave, Harry called behind his back, waving at his godfather, “See ya Sirius! Wish us luck.”[/b] He whispered the last part; though he was almost certain Sirius seemed to hear him. His godfather had that uncanny ability, probably because his animagus was a dog, and because of growing up as a prankster. He must’ve had to have known when someone was coming down the hall. With that done and said, Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand once more; before looking down at Lily, whom had moved from Hermione to him. He held a hand out, and Lily giggled; only able to wrap her small hands around a few of his fingers. He held her hand gently, tenderly; as if she were to break if he held any tighter.

So, with Hermione’s hand in his; James’ hand in Hermione’s; and Lily’s hand in his, Harry turned away from the small cottage. Soon they’d be meeting Hermione’s parents; James and Lily’s grandparents, and hopefully his future in-laws. Giving Hermione strength as well as taking strength from her hand in his, Harry smiled, first at Hermione, then at his baby girl Lily’s, whose smile seemed to spread across her face. Just seeing his baby girl smiling like that Harry‘s smile only widened. He glanced at James and smiled as well; James tentatively smiled back.

It was cold outside; colder than he had anticipated; and so, Harry let go on Hermione’s and Lily’s hands, for a few seconds; chuckling as he saw James do the same exact thing with Hermione’s other hand. The two put on their coats, both being black in color; and Harry was almost surprised at the resemblance just by that. Then, as quickly as he let go, Harry grabbed both Lily’s and Hermione’s hands once more, and he saw little James’ hand move back to Hermione’s. There was the second thing; like father, like son. Though there was the saying like father like daughter. There was also one for mother; and Harry couldn’t wait to personally see who turned out like who.

“I love you, ‘Mione. And I love you two, James and Lily, as well.” he just felt the need to say it. To let them know and hear it. He’d say it to them, the three of them, as many times as he could.

A million.

Not all at once though; he had a whole lifetime with them for that.