Chapter Text

Chapter One

“We think that death is an absence, when in fact it's a secret presence.”
― Valérie Perrin

Autumn was coming. Hermione felt it in her bones. Her view from the desk at the antique bookshop let in the slanted light of early evening, the sun already slipping away earlier as September came to a close. Any heat that had clung to the city had vanished seemingly overnight and she was glad for the thick jumper she wore. A few discreet spells also helped, something that constantly left Annie, who’d run the shop for decades, baffled. 

Hermione returned her focus to her work, a report for a family researching their ties to the MacDonald clan. She enjoyed the puzzling out of genealogy, how it tied back to the land, to history. She sipped on her tea that had gone lukewarm and read on. In the quiet she made notes before switching to another book. She bit back a grimace at the descriptions of a grotesque massacre in Glen Co. One of her less favored parts of her work. History was often filled with brutality. 

When she was done with her latest batch of notes she stretched her arms above her head, warily eyeing the stack of reports nearby. There were three other families awaiting answers before a trip to Scotland. Her school texts were also piled under the large front desk; her own assignments would have to come later. A series of creaks drew her attention towards the door that connected to the flat above. The sound, light and bouncing, made it obvious whose footsteps they were. Seconds later the door opened, revealing her favorite person. 

Hermione broke into a smile at the sight of her daughter bounding towards her, chestnut curls flying around her face.

“Annie said to stop working!” Iris announced into the quiet shop. Luckily said shop was empty, as it often was at this time of day.

Hermione dutifully put her pen down, opening her arms up to Iris who rounded the desk quickly. She leaned down, scooping her up and breathing in her comfortingly familiar scent. Hermione placed kisses across her face and Iris giggled, small hand pressing against her cheek. She caught a whiff of rosemary and garlic, which told her Iris had been helping in the kitchen. 

“Alright, I suppose I can come up,” she said, pulling back. 

Iris pressed her other hand to Hermione’s face, green eyes wide and sincere.

“Remember you have to have fun sometimes.”

Hermione bit back a smile. “I have plenty of fun,” she replied, beginning to tickle Iris who shrieked with laughter. “I’m having fun right this second.”

“Okay! Stop!” 

Hermione did, pressing a kiss to Iris’s disheveled hair. She smiled faintly against her daughter’s head, moving a hand through the tangle of curls, her fingers catching. Iris hadn’t exactly stood a chance in that department. 

The familiar ache flared in her chest at the reminder, and she held Iris a little tighter. Harry was never far from her mind, even all these years later. Not a single day went by that she wasn’t thankful to have Iris. That somehow, despite everything, she had a part of him with her.

Soon Iris began to wiggle, likely impatient to get back upstairs to the fresh bread that awaited them. Hermione adjusted her hold. While Iris still fit in her lap, she had gained at least an inch over the summer. She remained small for six, a pattern that had held true since she was born. It was a thought that always made Hermione will time to slow down.

She released Iris, who was back to bouncing on her toes, light on her feet as ever. She had changed out of her school clothes into her favorite cotton dress, purple with polka dots, paired with white wool knee socks that drooped down her thin legs. Her small tongue poked at the gap between her front teeth as she waited for Hermione to follow, hands on her hips. 

Hermione pushed herself up and away from her paperwork and got Iris to help her close up. Iris was eager to do her favorite bit first, so Hermione lifted her so that she could lock the door and flip the sign before tidying up a few things and going upstairs. 

When they entered the flat, the smell of pesto led them to the kitchen. Annie was working away at the stove, the window over the sink fogged up with steam. Rosie sat at the table, a twinkle in her blue eyes when she saw them. 

“Did she deliver the message?”

Iris nodded proudly and Hermione placed a hand on her head. 

“Yes, loudly and with conviction.”

“That’s my girl,” Annie said over her shoulder, “now you all need to sit.”

They did as they were told, Hermione helping gather drinks for everyone. Red wine for the adults and watered down apple juice for Iris. Their traditional Wednesday suppers were always delicious thanks to Annie and Rosie’s efforts. Hermione still wasn’t much of a cook; she did her best, though Iris wasn’t always subtle about her preferences.

Iris ate with gusto and Hermione paused her own eating to wipe green sauce from Iris’s cheek with a napkin as she continued to tell them all about her day and some misadventures on the playground involving her best friend Matilda. 

It was a new school year and Hermione was cautiously optimistic for both of them. Annie peppered in some questions about her dissertation and Hermione felt a flutter of excitement at what lay ahead. All her hard work culminated into her final year of being an undergrad, and she hoped it would all pay off. Academia was something a younger version of her had envisioned for herself before magic. Out of the ashes of her old life she had become determined to at least hold onto that long forgotten wish.

“Can we go to the Northern Lights again?” Iris asked, breaking through her conversation with Annie about her medieval literature seminar.

“Hmmm, that would be fun, wouldn’t it?” she said, sopping up the last bit of sauce with the rosemary bread. 

Iris nodded eagerly. “We could even visit the North Pole!”

Annie began to clear their plates. “I can do that,” Hermione said, starting to stand.  The older woman waved her off and Hermione sighed, looking over at Rosie who gave her a wink over her glass of wine. 

Hermione would forever be grateful for the two women who had taken her in as a lost pregnant teenager. She only wished they would let her take care of them more often; it was more than overdue. She wasn’t that young girl anymore and neither of them were getting any younger either. 

That time in her life was hard to think about, the loneliness and fresh grief. How it had felt like drowning. Without Harry she hadn’t known how to be in the magical world. Annie and Rosie had helped her navigate the muggle one: offering companionship, encouraging her to get on benefits, giving her flexible employment and then eventually a place to live and the belief in her that she could apply for university on a scholarship. Not to mention the way they loved Iris. Their friend-family as Iris called it. Though the term often made her think of Ron, which was always accompanied by a wave of guilt, and then memories of their last days together. 

She got a hold of herself, taking a breath in and wiping Iris’s cheeks that were shiny with butter. Thoughts of her past were often best pushed down. It was the only way to move forward, to survive it all.

“You alright Janie?” Hermione’s gaze darted to Rosie whose head was tilted, white hair pulled back from her kind face.

Hermione managed a smile. “Never better.”

Iris tugged at the sleeve of her jumper. “So can we go?”

“Go where sweetheart?”

“The North Pole!” she huffed.

She touched Iris’s chin. “That may be a tad far for now, but we can add it to the list.”

Iris lit up and quickly moved from her seat. Hermione suspected where she was going and was proven correct when Iris returned with the thick atlas that she struggled to carry in her arms. 

Rosie helped her plunk it on the now cleared table and Hermione began to sweep the floor while Annie did the dishes, the lemon scented soap filling the steamy kitchen. Iris chattered away about the places she wanted to see to Rosie who listened and helped her flip the pages. Around six months ago the worn atlas had come into the shop and Iris had taken a shine to it, so much so that Hermione finally relented and bought the thing. 

Now a good chunk of the pages were earmarked. Iris determined that she would one day be a world traveler like Marco Polo or Jane Goodall, whose documentaries she watched attentively on their small telly. There was also now a sizeable pile of books on chimpanzees on her nightstand as well.

Hermione also hoped that they would get to travel more someday, a wish that always made her think of Harry and a long ago conversation in a tent up north. 

For now their finances and life commitments meant they stayed close to Edinburgh. Not that they hadn’t seen anything exciting. They had explored more of the Highlands, and the moors of Yorkshire last autumn. There were also two brief trips to Paris with Annie and Rosie, the closest they’d come to passing through London, which, like the magic world, often felt farther away than it actually was.

A shriek pierced the air and Hermione whirled around. Her gaze immediately sought Iris who was staring wide eyed along with Rosie who had covered her mouth. A tapping sound made Hermione turn quickly to see Annie whose expression was gobsmacked as she pointed towards the window. Then Hermione saw what had caused such a stir: a giant barn owl stood on the other side of the foggy glass staring indignantly. 

On autopilot she moved towards the window, shimmying it open while Annie protested. A rush of wind and drizzle blew in with the creature. The background chaos of Rosie and Iris joined into the bewilderment but Hermione blocked it all out as she took in the scroll attached to its scaly leg. It was a sight that she hadn’t seen for seven years now. She had made sure of it. No post. No patronuses. No contact. 

Until now.

With shaky hands she untied the scroll; the bird gave another loud hoot and took off. Hermione clutched the paper, mind blanking at what it could mean. The others were speaking, but Hermione felt as if she was underwater. 

Slowly she rolled out the edge, smoothing it down so she could read. Elegant script revealed the Gringotts letterhead. Her stomach dropped, palms sweating as she undid the rest. The letter wasn’t addressed to her. It was for Iris. 

Words jumped out to her: Heir, Potter Vault, and—she all but stopped breathing at the sentence—Death of Harry Potter. Then she saw the date. She stared at the numbers, unable to process why today's date was written. That wasn’t correct—it had to be a mistake.

She had never given much thought to Harry’s estate; she had assumed it had been dealt with years before. She tried to fight through the panic, to remember her research on Gringotts inner workings, or back to History of Magic and the section on magical lineage. It appeared Iris had been added to Harry’s will somehow, but why now? And by who? Harry hadn’t died today…but over seven years ago.

Hermione stood there, her breathing strained and mind spinning. 

“Janie!” Annie’s cry finally broke through her shock and she looked up from the letter. All three of them had crowded around the table and stared at her in wonder and confusion. Iris’s eyes bore into hers and reminded her so strongly of Harry at that moment that her stomach did another huge flip. She knew instantly that their world was about to change, she just didn't know how yet.

Her panic flared, did someone know about Iris? Was she safe? A barrage of thoughts raced through her head all at once. 

“Is that a letter?” Rosie asked into the stillness of the room. 

Hermione’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.

“Mummy…” Iris whispered, brows drawing together. 

Finally she nodded, clutching the letter tighter. 

No one spoke until Annie nearly shouted. “Who on earth uses birds for post!”

Hermione didn’t have an answer. Iris made a sound of surprised delight, followed by another shriek from Annie and Rosie simultaneously. Hermione whirled around to find another owl, this one smaller and a dusty gray. Again a scroll was attached to its leg. It gave a softer hoot, tilting its head so far over it looked like it would fall. 

Hermione approached the window, fingers numb as she took the second scroll. The owl stood, as if awaiting a treat. When none came it disappeared into the deepening blue evening.

“What on earth,” Annie said, but the words were drowned out as Hermione unrolled to see the Gringotts letter head again. 

This letter was even shorter yet the words written made her own breathing stop.

Correction;

Earlier a letter was sent alerting to changes to the Potter Vault. Mr Potter is no longer considered dead. Please disregard the previous letter. Apologies for any inconvenience.

Her vision blurred as she read the concise notice over and over, the world seeming to spin off kilter. She reached a hand out blindly to grasp the counter. 

She only looked up when she felt a hand steadying her elbow. Annie was there, blue eyes widened with concern. Rosie held Iris to her and they all looked to her for an explanation. One she didn’t have at that moment. One she couldn’t fathom herself. Hermione clutched the letters to her chest as she leaned more fully against the counter for support. 

“Mummy…” Iris’s voice made her turn and she met her eyes. The green eyes she shared with Harry.

Harry. 

Harry was alive. 

A rational voice screamed inside her that was impossible. She had seen for herself, had felt his cold hands in hers as she had willed him back to life sitting at the makeshift bedside—in a room that had served as a temporary tomb. The dullness of his emerald eyes, the stillness of his body, all of it still haunted her dreams.

Without another thought she tore out of the kitchen, ignoring the voices that called for her. She headed straight to her bedroom, opening her dresser. Hermione felt the pulse of her magic as her wand practically lept into her hand.

A determination steeled over her, even as panic pulled at her insides. She had to get to the bottom of this. To make sure Iris was safe. To see if—

She cut off that train of thought, losing her head would get her nowhere.

She moved quickly, grabbing her thicker coat from her wardrobe and shoving the letters and her wand into the deep pockets. Her new mobile, a refurbished flip one, stood on her dresser and she added that too. She opened another drawer retrieving a small woven coin purse where her magical currency still resided. 

When she came out into the hallway Annie was already there, pale and her usually stoic demeanor shaken. 

“You’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“I…” Hermione swallowed, then nodded. “Can you take Iris with you?” Annie nodded, clasping her hand with hers. “I have my phone…I’ll call.”

Footsteps and Rosie calling signaled that Iris had broken away. Her small face was twisted with worry and Hermione felt the painful thud of her heart as she took Iris into her arms. She kissed her forehead, her soft cheek and whispered into her hair. “You’ll stay with Annie and Rosie tonight.”

“But—” 

She pressed another kiss to her temple. “I love you. Be good.”

Iris gripped her and she held her a moment longer, then placed her back on her feet. The anxiety on her face wounded her, straining her already strained heart.

“I’ll see you all soon,” she said, trying to smile, or at least hide her fear.

Without a look back, she darted down the stairs, through the shop and ran out into the blue evening.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

Apparating felt strange after so long; the old sensation of every atom compressing through time and space ending with her somewhere she hadn’t expected to go anytime soon: Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron’s sign blew in a soft breeze; the sky was darkening, but this far south there was still some light.

She made her way through the pub, which was rather crowded for a Wednesday. It was only when she’d begun tapping at the brick wall that it occurred to her that she had not changed her appearance—a first. She had yet to venture back into the Magical world without a Glamour since she’d left it. Not that she went often—she could count the number of occasions on one hand—and never here. Her heart raced as the alley revealed itself.

The one thought that kept intruding was the impossible fact stated in the letter. That somehow, despite everything, Harry was alive. Treacherous hope tried to push in, but she forced it back. 

She couldn’t resurrect him in her mind only to be wrong. It was too unbearable. 

The alley was quiet, with most of the shops closed up for the evening. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what she was even doing there. Gringotts towered ahead, the columns just visible as she rounded a corner. Memories shook loose and she tried to breathe. She didn’t have a clue what she would say to the Goblins, aside from brandishing the letter and demanding an explanation.

Her heart sank when she saw the doors closed firmly at the top of the steps. It was nearing seven. She hadn’t been sure…she pressed a hand over her heart and leaned against the wall of a closed apothecary. Her mind raced with possibilities: she could go home. Annie and Rosie would have taken Iris back to their cottage in Leith. She could rummage through the hidden compartment in Iris’s room, find the spell that had severed her connection from the Magical world, and—years later than she should—send a Patronus to Ron.

She pushed off the stone and moved up the alley, body moving without her mind keeping up. It wasn’t until she came to Flourish and Botts that she stopped; the door was open. A woman was visible through the glass sorting through a stack of books, a broom sweeping the stoop of its own accord. 

She heard laughter from the cafe across the street. Signs of life, of a world that had continued on without her, without Harry.

The image of Harry, twelve and smiling, his face streaked with soot after she fixed his glasses came to her and the tears she had been fighting since the kitchen rose up swiftly. Her gaze fell to the row of newspapers displayed in the window. Even with her vision blurred she could make out the picture of Kingsley walking with other important-looking people at an international conference for dignitaries from all over the globe. It was something she may have once wanted to be a part of, a life she had long since given up trying to imagine.

Hermione rubbed at her temple, the adrenaline from earlier still working its way through her, causing her body to shake. When she looked up again, the papers were flashing. She moved closer. The headline had changed, and now declared in bold letters:

Man Who Survived, Survives Yet Again.

She stared at the blinking headline until her eyes zeroed in on the photo, which all but stopped her own heart. It was Harry. He was older than she had ever seen him—a trim beard, different glasses—but it was him. He wasn’t smiling, instead he looked past the cameras, a resigned expression on his face. A face she knew so well, or had.

Quickly she moved into the shop, snatching up a paper.

“Sorry Miss, we’re closed,” an Irish accent called to her. 

Hermione dug around in her pocket, finding her coin purse and practically flinging several sickles onto the nearest surface with a shaky hand. The dark haired woman stared at her oddly, but Hermione didn’t have the capacity to act normal just then. Instead, she rushed from the shop and up the alley. Only at the brick wall did she pause, breathing ragged as she scanned over the article that had appeared. 

Harry was alive—injured, but alive. He had defied death for a third time. She read that part over and over, still unable to process how that could be, not when she had seen it for herself…that he had been gone. Then she saw what was written at the end of the brief article:

Harry Potter—the man who survived—survives again. Mr. Potter is enroute to St Mungo’s from overseas . Early reports indicate an escaped Death Eater is responsible. More details to follow in tomorrow’s paper.

Harry was somewhere. He existed in the world. He existed in a place she could actually go to. The thought was so startling that she froze again, unable to even wipe away the tears that poured down her cheeks. All of her adrenaline came rushing back at once, the revelation like a rocket inside her. Hermione shoved the paper into her pocket, withdrawing her wand and spinning on her heels.

When she opened her eyes an elderly man was frowning at her in alarm and confusion, a car horn blaring, everything illuminated by the street lamps above and the traffic that passed by. Heart pounding, she turned around on the street where she had appeared. Her eyes searched her surroundings, and then she saw the derelict building ahead and began to run. She raced up the stone steps, two at a time, to the dark stoop where a precariously-hung weathered sign declared the building ‘Purge and Dowse Ltd.’

Hermione opened the door and the noise and exhaust from outside vanished into a hush. Cool light made it hard to tell that it was even nighttime. Even the floor seemed to glow beneath her feet. A polished brass sign welcomed her to St Mungo’s. 

As healers in green robes moved about the lobby, she made her way to the large front desk that overlooked the waiting room. Rows of benches held various witches and wizards in different states of injury or distress, none of them paying her any mind—too focused on their own problems. 

“Patient or visitor?”

The deadpan voice made her whirl around. A drawn older witch behind the desk didn't look up from her copy of Witch Weekly as Hermione stood in front of her.

Heart lodged in her throat, she still managed to speak. 

“I need to see Harry Potter.”

The woman gave a loud snort and flipped the page. “Don’t we all.”

She stood rooted in place, staring at the woman. Irritation sparked in her, yet it was accompanied by disbelief that she was actually talking about Harry in the present tense.

“I’m a friend,” Hermione managed, swallowing the urgency building up inside her. 

The woman—whose name tag she finally noticed said Peggy—still didn’t look up. 

“Everyone says that. Might want to go sit with that lot.” Peggy pointed across the lobby. Hermione turned, seeing for the first time a cluster of people who did stick out upon further inspection. None of them were stricken with either pain or with the haunted desperate look she was sure she wore now. Then she noticed the camera around the neck of one bloke who was snoozing with his large head tilted back. Her blood ran cold.

Quickly, she turned back to the desk and lowered her voice. “My—my name’s Hermione Granger. Please. I need to see him.”

At this Peggy finally looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Hermione leaned forward.

“Where is he? I need to see him,” she repeated.

“Ain’t you missing?”

Hermione swallowed a scream and the urge to throttle the woman. “I’m here now. So can you please do your job and tell me where he is?”

Peggy gave her a suspicious look, flicking her wand and causing some papers to sail into her hands. It took every ounce of Hermione’s restraint not to snatch them and run. “You’re not on the visitor list,” Peggy said after reading it over.

“Is Ron Weasley on there?”

She gave her short bob a shake. “I’m not allowed to give out patient information…. You’ll have to contact your friend first.”

The scream inside her grew and she clutched the desk, trying to remember the layout of the hospital. Her mind was in chaos as she tried desperately to think. She thought about sending a patronus, an old instinct, but just as quickly she remembered the cloaking spell. The one that had hidden her all those years ago. The reason she hadn’t known…her vision blurred and she tried to breathe.

Peggy went back to her magazine and Hermione stood adrift in the glow of artificial white light. How could she come so close and fail? No, she wouldn’t let this happen.

“Look. I need to see him. Now. He’s alive…” she swallowed, clinging tighter to the desk. “Please. At least let me talk to someone who can help me.”

Peggy slowly lowered the magazine. “The big boss will just tell you the same thing as me, it’s hospital policy—”

“I don’t care about policy right now!”

The words came out fiercer and louder than she intended and her shoulders sagged, the look on Peggy’s face telling her she wasn’t going to get anywhere. 

“Hermione?”

A familiar voice made her turn, her reeling mind only catching up after her eyes had already landed on Neville Longbottom. His face was streaked with dirt, his hair longer than she remembered, dark robes stashed under his arm.

“Neville,” she breathed.

He gave his head a small shake, brows drawing together as he approached her carefully.  

“What are you doing?” His voice was incredulous and she grimaced. 

“Harry,” she said, voice breaking. “He—he’s here, isn’t he?” Neville bit down on his lip, staying silent, yet she knew she was right—Neville had never been great at lying, and the truth was written all over his face. “I need to see him.”

Neville didn’t speak for a long moment; she noticed then that his wand had moved into his hand. “The first time we met…what did you help me with?”

Hermione blinked at him. “I—your toad. Trevor. He was lost.”

The tension leaked out of his shoulders and he stepped even closer. “Merlin. It really is you.”

Relief made her legs feel weak. She wasn’t sure who closed the distance first, but she hugged Neville like he was a life preserver. His strong arms squeezed back. “Is he…is he…” 

She felt Neville nod. “He’s here. I just got the patronus from Ron. He’s alive.”

Those words—from someone she knew—finally made the dam break, and her tears came unbridled, dampening the front of Neville’s jumper. 

Without another word Neville handed her a clean handkerchief and gently led her away from the reception desk. Hermione didn’t look up; she didn’t care to see Peggy or the photographers or any other stranger staring after her. 

They entered the magical lift and she sensed the swirl of energy in the air—magic humming much like electricity. It was a sensation she wasn’t used to anymore, at least not in these concentrations. 

They were soon on another floor, this one quieter than the lobby. She finally looked up properly as several people in green robes strode past, and that was when she saw a familiar shock of red hair. Ron Weasley sat hunched over—on a seat that seemed too small for his tall frame—in the mostly deserted corridor. Watching him, another wave of tears came over her while Neville led her onwards.

“Erm…hey,” Neville started awkwardly. Ron’s head snapped up and he appeared relieved when he saw Neville had arrived, until his gaze swept over to her. His face was already drained of color but he went slack jawed, staring at her as if she were the Bloody Baron. 

“I found Hermione in the lobby…” Neville finished and Ron looked between them, his alarm melding into confusion. 

“The lobby?”

Neville glanced at her and she found she could do nothing. Her panic over Harry made it hard to speak. The free fall back into her old life left her legs shaking, as if the ground had actually buckled beneath her.

“Is it really you?” Ron finally asked hoarsely.

She nodded, her throat knotted. He stared for a long beat and then unfolded himself from his chair. He approached much like Neville had, cautious and uncertain, disbelief in the ocean blue of his eyes. Then she lost any will to stop herself and threw herself at him. It took a second for him to react, but then his long arms wrapped around her, and she was crying into Ron’s chest. Her old friend was even taller than she remembered, but he still smelt of fresh-cut grass. 

“Harry…” she sobbed, unable to finish her question. 

“He’s here.” His voice was watery as he held her in the dimly lit hallway. “They’re working on him now...”

They stood like that for ages. Hermione willed herself to calm down but the tears wouldn’t stop. Eventually Ron pulled back enough for her to see his face when she tilted hers upwards. Disbelief blanketed both of them in the glowing hallway. Hermione was only dimly aware that Neville had retreated somewhere. Questions came to her, dying on her lips before she could speak them. Her mind was still struggling to take in her new reality. The feeling she’d had in her kitchen—looking at Iris with the letter in her hand—had proven to be true; nothing would ever be the same.

She stared up at him, noting the ways he had changed. His eyes were the same shade of blue she remembered, but threaded with red; he had clearly cried at some point earlier. She remembered his eyes being like that in the days before she had left Hogwarts.

He seemed to be studying her as well, eyes roving over her face in search of some kind of answer.

“Where the hell have you been?”

His tone wasn’t harsh but it was direct.

It took her a few tries to find her voice. “Edinburgh.”

Ron started to shake his head. “Edinburgh…”

She nodded and he finally released his hold of her, swiping at his face.

“This whole time?”

Again she nodded and slowly his face flushed with color. Words seemed to have escaped him as well and they stood there still, neither seeming to believe what was transpiring. 

“Why…” he started, but stopped, a new waver to his voice. “Why didn’t you come back? We looked…we looked everywhere.”

“I…I couldn’t…” 

“Couldn’t what?”

She wiped her swollen eyes. “I couldn’t live without him.”

His brow crinkled. “You…”

“I didn’t know he…” she felt her face crumple and she hid it in her hands and tried to breathe in. “I need to see him, Ron. To see that…that he’s really here.”

She felt the squeeze of his hand on her shoulder. “They aren’t letting us in yet.” She managed to breath and he moved his hold to her elbow. “It’ll be awhile.” When she looked up again he was watching her closely. 

“I can’t wait—”

He gave a soft sigh. “Trust me. I’ve already tried, they said they’re still working on his injuries.”

Tears leaked down her face; the ache in her chest held familiar memories of waiting, of uncertainty. Worrying about Harry was like an old coat that fit seamlessly. 

“You should sit,” Ron said with enough conviction that she allowed him to guide her to one of the chairs that lined the hallway. Ron took the seat next to her and together they waited, the silence growing heavier as the minutes stretched. Her anxiety made sitting feel almost unbearable but she dug her fingers into her thighs and forced herself to stay. 

Occasionally someone would bustle past, otherwise it remained quiet, though Hermione’s heartbeat was loud in her ears. She willed herself to think of nothing. She felt as if she were in some strange dream—one too bizarre to be real. She half expected a Death Eater to storm the hall or for Ron to suddenly burst into flames like a phoenix. Instead, she pinched at the delicate skin of her forearm beneath her jumper, staring at the fixed point in front of her—a sign indicating they were on the Curses floor, which only made her anxiety strum higher.

“What did they do to him?” she asked, trying to remember the article. The word Death Eaters was the only thing that had stuck with her outside of Harry’s picture. 

“He was on a mission…I don’t know what happened yet. They’re being pretty tight lipped. Auror stuff always is.”

“He’s an Auror?”

“Yeah. He is.”

She rubbed at her temple, a headache growing as she tried to make sense of it all. Other questions started to grow too. What had Harry been doing for seven years? How the hell had he come back from the dead? He had been dead. She had seen it, felt it. She pressed her hands to her eyes, willing the image of his dead body to leave her. 

“Ron…” A new, soft voice finally broke her out of her own thoughts. Hermione glanced up and froze.

Susan Bones stood in the hall. She had the same round face she remembered from school, except instead of her trademark plait her hair was in a messy bun, a worried sheen to her hazel eyes.

Ron didn’t seem alarmed at the sight of their old school mate, unpeeling himself from the chair and moving towards her. It was only when he placed his hand on her waist that she noticed the small bump beneath her floral dress. He took the cup she offered him, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Hermione watched in astonishment as Susan gazed up at Ron, who towered over her. Their familiarity was immediately obvious.

 Susan’s gaze shifted back to Hermione, a timid smile pulling at her lips. “Hi Hermione.”

“Hi,” she managed, looking between the two of them and noticing the ring on Ron’s finger. “You’re…”

“Married,” Ron finished when she trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck, which had gone pink. “Yeah.”

Hermione swallowed, tears gathering in her eyes. She had missed so much. Her thoughts immediately bounced back to Harry. To Iris. 

“Congratulations,” she whispered, hoping they knew she meant it. Susan came closer and handed her the other drink.

“Neville told me you were here and I thought you might want this.”

Hermione accepted the cup of tea with a shaky hand. “Thank you.”

“Any updates?” Susan asked Ron, whose expression grew heavy again as he shook his head.

They all took a seat and were joined shortly after by Neville and a blonde woman introduced as Stella who was also an Auror; she had the same bloodshot eyes as everyone else. Eventually a few more people arrived, the only one she recognized was Hannah Abbott, another old classmate who appeared equally shocked to see her. The rest were strangers and she found she couldn’t hold in a single name. She tuned out the soft conversation that occasionally started up. Instead, she watched the door to the room he was in. Harry’s life hung in the balance on the other side of that door. In that moment, he felt both alive and dead to her. The despair in her stomach fought against the hope in her chest until she felt like she would be sick.

Finally, a Healer with white hair appeared from the door and all of her snapped to attention; she got up and stepped forward. 

“He’s had his first round of potions, and is stabilized. For now.”

 Hermione felt her legs buckle and suddenly Ron was gripping her elbow, her now-cold tea spilling on the pristine floor. 

“Can we see him?” Ron asked before she could. 

The Healer frowned, glancing at the group. “In a while. Only two at a time, and no more than that for tonight.”

Everyone seemed to get the hint, and a collective wave of relief passed through those assembled. The Healer had made it clear; Harry was alive on the other side. Injured, but alive.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Hermione found she couldn’t do anything but pace, motion was the only solution to the swirl of emotions. People began to filter out as the night wore on. The increased solitude was something she preferred; she didn’t have it in her to speak much. A soft touch to her arm made her whirl around. Ron stood there, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Suz is going to head back. We’ll stay.”

She nodded. Nothing on Earth could have gotten her to leave Harry at that moment—except for Iris, but she was safe. Her mind could hardly hold the fact that both of them were here in the world at the same time.

She watched as Susan and Ron shared an embrace. They spoke in low voices, Susan nodding against her husband’s chest as he held her, his hand cupping the back of her neck. The intimacy of the moment caught her off guard and she found herself looking away quickly.

With Susan’s departure, she and Ron were alone again. For the next hour they took turns pacing, then sitting. Several times Ron cleared his throat and appeared as if he was about to say something before stopping and staring at the ground. Hermione wasn’t sure she would be able to answer any of his questions; it felt as if a swarm of bees had invaded her head and she found it hard enough to simply remember to breathe.

The door opened repeatedly, though the Healers who passed through said nothing. Each time she had to fight the urge to force her way inside. Finally, the same Healer from before reappeared and her heart shot up to her throat. He said little, leading them towards the door Hermione had been watching for hours.

Since getting the news she had been unable to imagine this moment—seeing him. She wasn’t prepared for how much it was like the last time. Her breathing hitched the moment her eyes fell upon his prone form. His cheeks pale, his hair unkempt, and his body still and unmoving, just like before.

Eventually, the touch of Ron’s hand on the small of her back encouraged her forward, and she acquiesced, trembling as she approached the bed. Her breath hitched when she saw it, the miracle of it all—the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Ron’s arm went around her shoulder and together they took in their best friend. A large bandage covered part of his chest and she noted a few other scars that appeared to be healing. His glasses were nowhere in sight and it made him seem younger, though he was clearly no longer a teenage boy. A five o'clock shadow dusted his jaw and she moved closer on her unsteady legs. He had changed—but so much was the same. 

“He’s alive,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“He’s alive,” Ron echoed.

They continued to watch him, Hermione’s eyes glued to the rise and fall of his chest. Which was the biggest difference from the last time they’d been in a room as a trio. 

Slowly she inched closer. Seeing him but not touching him felt unbearable.

Harry’s hand rested next to him on the crisp sheets, fingers slack with sleep. There was no response when she slipped her hand in his, warm and pliable. Her last memory of holding his hand intruded but she pushed it down. Though she couldn’t help marveling at the difference as her thumb brushed against the skin of his wrist, eyeing the blue veins that went up his arms. There was blood pumping through them, his body working to keep him alive. 

She barely registered Ron dropping his hold of her, the sound of quiet footsteps and more muted conversation as a Healer talked about not expecting him to wake anytime soon. Instead all of her senses focused on Harry, as if willing her mind to believe what she saw in front of her. Hermione’s other hand reached out to the bandage, stomach roiling at the thought of someone trying to kill him. 

Again. 

She grazed the edge of the bandaged area, moving up to cup his jaw, his stumble both soft and rough beneath her fingers, his breath warming her skin. 

“Oh Harry…”

Tears drowned out whatever else she might say. Grief made her want to howl and moan. The memory of his death, glaringly clear, came rushing back to the forefront of her mind seeing him like this. Except it was all different, her pleas to the universe now answered as she watched each breath. She was hardly aware of the sob that tore from her until Ron steadied her. 

“Whoa. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” he murmured quietly.

Hermione couldn’t speak, the horrible attacks that she hadn’t suffered in years taking over, making her own breathing feel impossible.

“Hey… sit, alright? Here.” His words rushed over her and his own voice went up. “Maybe put your head between your legs…. Hannah said that helps.” She shook her head, the world spinning around her. 

She closed her eyes. She needed a time turner. She needed Harry to wake up. And more than anything she needed this to not be another ending.

Ron supported her weight as Hermione fought through the feeling that overtook her and robbed her of her capacities. Like a storm, it eventually subsided and she found herself sinking into the chair that Ron had procured, her breathing still uneven. Her hand went back into Harry’s, her eyes continuously pulled to the sight of the air moving his chest.

Ron had shifted another chair over and they watched their best friend, each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione’s were clouds that she could scarcely grasp before they dissolved, time passing in a daze. 

“The Healer told me one person can stay overnight,” Ron said, voice creaky from their prolonged silence. She turned towards him and he gave her a tired smile. “You want to.”

“Yes,” she breathed. She looked back at Harry, sleeping like a long lost prince in one of Iris’s fairytale books. 

“Yeah I probably should go home. For a bit. Susan’s knackered I’m sure and Mia—”

She turned to him and he let out another sigh,

“My daughter, Amelia, we call her Mia.” 

Hermione felt the sharp twist of guilt. Her mind turned swiftly to Iris as her gaze moved back to Harry. “How old?”

“Just turned two last month.”

Her lips pulled up even as tears sprung to her eyes. Again, aware of how much had been missed. Iris had been so full of spark and energy as a toddler and she felt the ache for that time. Words about Iris built up behind her lips but she pressed them shut. If she tried to speak of her daughter now she would break again. 

“You…you’ll be here. In the morning?” he asked, haltingly.

Her eyes shot back to his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He gave a small nod, relief in his eyes. “Alright. Good.”

They fell silent, the heavy kind that took up any remaining space in the room.

“I’ll be here first thing,” he said after a while, voice tired. “Please…please don’t leave again.”

“I won’t,” she said, guilt pooling in her stomach. She took Ron’s hand in her free one, linking the three of them. “I promise.”

He gave her hand a squeeze before he let it go. “We weren’t complete, you know. Not without you.”

Tears clouded her vision and she nodded. She hadn’t been either, even if Harry hadn’t come back…she should never have stayed away. Not when she had friends like Ron and Neville, and everyone else she had left behind when Harry died.

Hadn’t died, she reminded herself by brushing her thumb across his palm.

Ron’s hand grazed her shoulder briefly. “Try to get some sleep, even though I know you won’t.”

A wet laugh stuck in her throat and she tilted her head towards him. “Thanks.”

He gave her another exhausted smile then left, leaving her alone with Harry. 

She still couldn’t believe it, even with his hand warm in hers. The sight of him was surreal. A few healers came and went but she simply continued to study him. 

She hadn’t even had a chance to ask any of the questions she should have, too distracted by everything else. Like how Harry had gone from dead, laid out in a makeshift tomb at Hogwarts, to being alive for the last seven years. She squeezed his hand; unlike Ron he wore no ring. His forearms had some color, in contrast with his face which remained fair. He had acquired a number of new scars. She assumed that was from his work as an Auror. That was still hard to wrap her mind around: that he wasn’t just alive, but had a career, a life.

As she watched his eyelashes rest against his cheek, what stood out to her most was the similarities between him and Iris. Everyone always commented on how much Iris looked like her, but she had always known so much of her was Harry. Even with his eyes closed, the shape was undeniably the same. She had traced Iris’s eyelids in the first weeks of her life, and had known even before the midnight blue shifted to emerald green that they were like his.

Eventually she dug her phone out of her pocket, finding it was already nearing one in the morning. She thought of Iris asleep in the spare room at Annie and Rosie’s. She hated leaving her like that, without any warning. They were almost never apart. Yet that was nothing compared to what she faced now, having to explain to her how everything she had once known had changed.

How did one tell their six year old that their dead father was in fact alive? 

Her temple throbbed but she kept hold of him, anxious at the thought of not touching him. She stayed like that through the late night hours. At some point, she fell into an uneasy sleep, mouth dry and head resting on the soft sheets of his bed. She heard the hushed voices of the Healers moving about the room as she came to. She had no clue what time it was, but the crick in her neck told her that a decent amount of time had elapsed. 

His hand was open and loose near hers on the bed. She slipped hers back in his when they were alone again. A relieved breath escaped her. He was still here. It hadn’t been a dream. Her last visit with him had been her doing exactly this, trying in vain to commit him to memory. Except now this wasn’t a goodbye, at least she hoped not. 

Her fingers brushed his knuckles. His hands were larger than she remembered, though they remained calloused. She remembered they had both grown them along their thumbs with their dueling. Clearly he stayed active. Despite laying in a hospital bed, it was obvious he was fit, his shoulders broader than before, his build slim but defined. 

Absently she wondered if he still played quidditch, or if his fitness was simply from his job—a job where he continued to fight. Bile rose up her throat. Why on earth was he still putting himself in harm's way? It was irrational to be angry with Harry as he lay there fighting for his life. It came anyway. Worry and frustration had always been a part of caring for Harry.

Hermione sighed, looking back at his sleeping face. More questions surfaced, like how he filled his time. She wondered how much of the boy she knew was in the man before her. 

Did he still enjoy spicy food, butterbeer? Tug at his hair when frustrated or anxious? Blush when praised? Was he still a night owl? Had he continued to take his tea with cream and a spoon of sugar? Did he still have a sweet tooth?

She traced his ring finger, thinking again at the lack of a wedding ring. Unless it was removed. No. Ron would have at least told her that: whether there was someone else. There had been no indications… She knew it was a ridiculous thing to worry about. She grew nauseous anyway.

They had never spoken about what had happened between them in the tent. There had only been that sliver of time at Shell Cottage, the stolen moment on the shoreline—which had resulted in their daughter. Their daughter, who he was unaware existed.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, holding his hand, smoothing along the ridges of his palms, tracing the life line that hadn’t been cut short. She had once known Harry like the back of her own hand. Their time in the tent had ensured that. But even before that she had always paid extra attention when it came to him—something she had long denied to herself was about anything more than friendship. 

Her past self couldn’t have been more wrong if she’d tried. 

***

The day crept forward, the one window in the room brightening bit by bit behind the drawn shade. Magic prevented the sounds of the street from reaching them. Only the dim hum of magic and their own faint breathing filled the silence, except for the Healers who dipped in and out. Although they too remained silent. They didn’t speak to her, with only one giving her a wan smile. The others appeared to watch her from the corner of their eyes, faces purposely blank.

A war waged within her as she sat there. She wanted to know about his treatment, to demand answers. She had looked on as a dark purple liquid had been administered through a vein in his other arm, wracking her mind to think back on the book she had carried around on Healing Potions. 

What kept her lips firmly pressed shut was the fear of being kicked out. She could all too easily imagine Peggy’s smirk if she was escorted out of the lobby.

Hermione was well aware she wasn’t technically authorized to be here. Harry had not put her name down. Why would he? Not when she had vanished without a trace.  

She wiped at her face where errant curls stuck to her now dried cheeks, though fresh tears were already brimming. She was sure those wouldn’t stop anytime soon, all she had to do was look at Harry to feel them surface.

“You look rough.”

She whirled around. Ron stood in the doorway, a paper cup in his hand and a dark jumper folded over his arm. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he hadn’t slept well either. 

She tried to smile but her muscles didn’t seem to work properly. “Thanks.”

He approached the bed, handing her the hot tea before taking his seat from yesterday.

“Healer said no changes yet,” he told her and she bit back a grimace. His hand on her arm made her look over at him, his freckles standing out on his pale face. “He’s survived worse.”

She could only nod, vision blurring. She was well aware of how much worse it could be.

The chair itched under her aching tailbone and she shifted, leaning more onto the mattress and watching Harry’s peaceful expression.

“The Healers don’t seem keen to interact with me,” she said, trying and failing to keep the bitter note out of her voice.

“Yeah. I had to throw some words around to get them to let you stay instead of me. I don’t think they’ll say much directly until…”

She sighed, already knowing he meant when Harry woke up. 

“I’ve also done my best to make sure they know that none of this is to leak to the press,” he added.

She turned to him in alarm.

“Being a war hero and all that,” he said flatly, blue eyes meeting hers. “Makes it easier sometimes just to throw your weight around, at least when necessary,” his voice trailed off and she saw that he appeared to be mulling over what to say.

“You know you have an Order of Merlin first class.”

She sat back, no reply coming to her. She hadn’t a clue.

“They wanted to erect a statue of the three of us at Hogwarts, but we fought it until they agreed to make it a more broad tribute to everyone.” His gaze grew distant as he rubbed at his neck. “Your disappearance was all over the papers. I think the Healers were suspicious. They wanted to get the Aurors involved with you just showing up…. I realized last night that was probably the more responsible thing to do…but I…I knew it was you.” His words sunk in and she felt the leveling of his serious expression, guilt worming its way through her guts. Ron leaned forward, hands braced on his long legs. “You disappeared, Hermione. For seven bloody years.”

She bit down on her chapped lips and he released a sigh. “You said you didn’t know. I’ve been thinking about it all night. How could you not have known?”

“I didn’t,” she whispered, eyes flicking to Harry’s face. “Not until yesterday.”

“How is that possible? It was everywhere. The papers, it was all they reported on for months!”

She sat back in her chair, tilting her head back towards him. “I went back to the Muggle world. News…it doesn’t come through. Not if you don’t seek it out.”

His brows drew together. “That still doesn’t make sense. We sent you letters…countless patronuses. We even went to bloody Australia! I swear Harry sent a patronus every single day for the better part of a year.” Ron stopped, frowning further. “That’s what I can’t understand. How did you know about him being injured…and not…”

Her tears stung and she pressed her fingers to her eyelids. She worked hard to not dwell on her parents, a pain that never went away. In many ways all of her past had died with Harry. The one thing that had kept her moving forward was Iris. She was the reason she sat there now. 

“I got a letter,” she said finally, voice raw.

“We sent you hundreds of letters!”

Her vision was blurred as she blinked back into the overhead light, gaze falling on Harry again. Could he hear them? How did she tell him something like this?

“Hermione…” Ron’s voice brought her back and she looked at him.

“It wasn’t addressed to me. I can’t get post by owl.”

Questions formed in his eyes and she released a heavy breath.

“I performed a cloaking spell. When I left. I wanted to be away from magic. I thought it was safer that way.” She touched lightly at Harry’s hand near hers on the bed. “I…I didn’t…I couldn’t be in that world anymore. Not without…”

Her throat clogged and she took Harry’s warm hand in hers, the weight of it reassuring. 

A long silence stretched out between them.

“I didn’t count?”

She turned towards Ron. His face washed in a sadness that made her tears come faster. “I buried my brother…I nearly had to bury Harry. Alone. Both of my best friends…gone. I—” he stopped, the anger that had crept into his voice washing away just as quickly. “Did you ever think of that? Did I not matter to you at all?”

Her other hand reached for his freckled arm. “I’m so sorry. I am. I didn’t mean…I didn’t plan to leave for so long. I…I know it’s not enough. But I wasn’t thinking. Not clearly.”

It was true. The impulse that had made her hide herself was never meant to be permanent. Not until the pink lines had appeared on the pregnancy test. “None of it went the way I expected. I shouldn’t have stayed away…but it wasn’t…it wasn’t about me, or you, or even Harry…” 

He leaned forward further, and she still knew him well enough to tell he was about to argue with her. She squeezed his arm. “I promise. I had a good reason…I—”

She looked at Harry once again. This wasn’t how she wanted him to find out. Though she supposed there was no good way. Besides, he was under the influence of a myriad of potions and likely dreaming. And, feeling like she herself was in a dream, she turned back to her other best friend.

“I did it to protect my daughter.”

Ron’s mouth fell open. “You…what?”

She breathed out. “I have a daughter. Iris. She’s six.” 

Ron blinked in shock and she released another shuddered breath. She glanced back at Harry who remained still and she willed him to wake up, to be the first one she told about the best thing in her life. The life he had helped create. Yet she knew that wouldn’t be the case and she forced the words out.

“Harry’s her father.”

Ron looked between them, brows creased like he had when she had shown him her ancient runes homework. “You…he…together?” She could only nod and he seemed to short circuit. “Bloody hell.”

He ran his hands down his face, seeming to hold his breath for a long time before exhaling. “Susan was right…why is she always bloody right?”

Now it was her turn to frown. “Susan?”

Ron’s words were muffled as he buried his face in his hands. “She’s insisted for years that something must have happened between you two.”

She now took on the shock. “What? Why…why would she think that?”

Ron groaned, rolling his neck and finally looking up at her. “A hundred reasons.” Instinctually she wanted to argue with him, their old dynamic returning easily. He heaved a sigh. “Mainly that he hasn’t stopped looking for you…and he won’t talk about it. The war. You.”

His words landed like a punch to the gut and she found herself sitting back as if from a physical blow.

“He also won’t…” Ron made a disgruntled noise and shook his head. “Never mind. But I insisted she was wrong. That it was his…saving people thing. I felt guilty too. We both did. We survived…only to lose you.”

She swiped at her cheeks—which were wet with tears again—but remained silent, seeing that Ron was clearly not done. He eventually heaved another sigh.

“We looked everywhere. Chasing leads all over…I eventually told him we couldn’t keep going like that…” his voice broke off and her heart squeezed tightly. “I told him that it would only drive us mad…but he can’t let it go. He still has that bloody map on his wall…” He broke off, rubbing at his face again. 

“He’s cooled it a bit in recent years. But you know how he is…” he said tiredly.

Her eyes fell on Harry. She remembered sitting on the cold stone of the astronomy tower, how she had known it was him before she had turned around. And years before that; the dank cold of the girls toilet, her terror and then her name being called as she saw a mop of dark hair running at a troll. Harry had always looked for her, had always found her.

A sob caught in her throat. Her head fell into her hands as she leaned over the bed, her tears falling onto the stark white sheets. Ron’s arm went around her shoulders. She cried until she felt empty and she tried to regain her composure.

Ron said nothing, but he patted her back a bit awkwardly, though she appreciated the effort.

When she could breathe again, her eyes fell back to Harry’s sleeping form. 

“I’ve made such a mess of everything,” she said softly.

Ron didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, I mean. A bit.”

She turned back to him, raising a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

“Thanks for the support.”

His lips turned upwards and he gave her another pat on the back.  “Anytime.”

***

Late morning found her pacing the corridor, swallowing the bitter coffee that Ron had replenished before being pulled away to confer with Harry’s Healers.

Being left out made her feel a bit mad. She wasn’t used to being sidelined when it came to Harry. No. She had never allowed that, hence her all but forcing her way into the champion’s tent in fourth year. Or when she had insisted that there was no way on earth she and Ron were letting him leave without them.

Her brain spiraled, mentally berating herself for being so rash seven years ago. The logical part of her brain told her that she had done what she thought was best at the time. But the excuse still felt flimsy and foolish. She couldn’t begin to calculate what hiding away had cost her. Them. The twin thoughts of Iris and Harry made the coffee slosh around in her stomach. 

Finally Ron reappeared. His face grim. Her heart sank right to the polished floor.

“What is it?” she asked before he could speak.

“It’s fine. I think they are still seeing what kind of damage the curse did. There was some issue with his heart, but they’ve got him on potions to strengthen it. They mostly just don’t know what the long term effects will be, you know Healers. They don’t like to make predictions.”

Her hand went to her own heart, which thrummed painfully at the news. “But…he will…recover.”

Ron cupped her elbow and nodded. “He will. It’s Harry.”

She willed her mind to believe this even as her anxiety strummed higher and higher.

“Susan’s coming later. She’ll bring lunch.”

Hermione frowned, hardly believing noon was approaching. She reached into her pocket. The mobile blinked nearly dead as she rarely kept it charged. Not that there was any service inside the magical building. Somehow it was already nearing eleven. 

“Where is she?” Ron’s question made her head snap up. He looked at her curiously. “Iris.”

Hermione pocketed the mobile. “With a friend.”

“A friend…”

She sighed. “Annie. I work at her bookshop.”

“Hmm. That tracks.”

Her own lips tugged upwards and he grinned. Her mind quickly flipped back to Iris. She’d already be at school. The school year had barely begun and she hoped that Iris was managing well enough without her, hating that they had parted so suddenly. Her daughter was generally independent, but her hasty departure had likely rattled her. In six years they had almost never spent the night apart.

“Will you bring her here?” Ron’s question made her blink out of her stupor.

“I don’t know.”

He glanced around. “Suppose it’s not the best spot for a kid.”

“No. It wouldn’t be. She’s at school now.”

“Can’t have her missing any of that.”

She managed a smile, though she had never felt more cleaved in two. Half her heart was in this hospital and the other was in Edinburgh.

“I should call Annie,” she said.

“I’ll stay with him.” She gazed down the corridor to the shiny golden doors of the lift. At her hesitation, he nudged her gently. “They aren’t going to reverse the sleeping drought today. Go.”

She gave a nod and his face grew cloudy. “Just watch for the reporters.” She grimaced and then remembered an old trick. She performed the Glamour and Ron looked suitably impressed. “Smart.” 

Hermione gave him a small smile before forcing herself down the corridor. The lift journey went by in a blur, her heart racing as she entered the lobby. The few reporters that had been there last night had multiplied like someone had performed a Gemino curse. 

Luckily for her none of them seemed to take note of her appearance and she left the building, finding herself in a startlingly bright day. Unlike Edinburgh, London appeared to still be clinging to summer, the heat lingering from the sun barreling down on her. Her knit jumper and coat seemed suddenly much too warm.

She pulled out the mobile. The sad bar of service and dying battery made her think of another plan. She strolled the block, breathing in the exhaust from the array of congested streets. As she turned down another road she was greeted by one of the red booths she had been seeking. Parliament and Big Ben coming into view behind the next row of buildings. 

She dialed the familiar number.

“MacKenzie’s bookshop,” Annie said, distractedly. 

“Hi Annie.”

She heard rustling, which she knew was likely Annie’s towering stacks of papers. “Janie, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. How’s Iris?”

“Ah. She’s been a wee bit out of sorts. But she made it to school.”

Hermione twisted the cord around her finger, wincing. “I’m so sorry Annie.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. She’ll be fine, I think she’s mostly anxious about when you're getting back.”

“Soon,” she said, swallowing at the tightness of her throat. “I’ll know more soon at least.”

“You’re sure you're alright? You're safe?”

“I am. I’m sorry about my shifts and—”

“Nothing to apologize for. I know it must be important.”

Annie knew her better than anyone else in her new life. She knew without saying how much it pained her to leave Iris behind, even if it was temporary.

“You’ll tell her I love her?”

“Of course. You know she doesn’t doubt that.”

A tear fell down her cheek and she stared up at the cloud streaked sky. “I know. Tell her…tell her I’ll be back soon.”

“She wanted to know if you’d be back before your birthday.”

Hermione leaned against the glass booth, eyes closing. She had forgotten how close it was. “I will. I won’t leave her that long.”

“There’s no rush on our end. You know that. We’re happy to have her…but I think she’ll be reassured by that.”

She wiped at her cheeks. “Give her a big kiss from me.”

“Will do,” Annie replied, pausing before lowering her voice. “Be safe Janie.”

“I am. Thanks Annie. Pass my love to Rosie too.”

They said their goodbyes and she leaned against the glass as she hung up the receiver. Her chest felt impossibly heavy, wishing she could be in two places at once. 

***

When she returned, she traded spots with Ron, who wanted to visit the owlery in the hospital. Hermione could hardly wrap her mind around letters. They seemed so archaic, especially in light of the mobile in her pocket.

Hermione watched Harry in his deep rest. She stood and went to him, brushing the hair back from his forehead. She did what she had the last time she had seen him and pressed her lips to the now faded scar. This time his skin was warm and she closed her eyes, fingers entwined in the soft strands of his hair, which like before was overgrown. He smelt like the hospital, but underneath it she caught a hint of just him. 

“Please wake up,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. The ache in her chest grew in the silence. She only pulled away when she heard the door. 

Susan came in, a small paper box in her hands. “Oh hi,” she said, sounding flustered.

“Hi,” Hermione replied.

“Sorry, I thought Ron was here.”

“He’s sending off some letters.”

Susan sighed. “He really needs to stop being so stubborn and get a mobile.”

“A mobile?” she asked. 

Susan nodded. “They sell them at the shop. They’re really growing in popularity. He does the marketing and everything, yet can’t be bothered to use one. He’s like his Mum that way. He still doesn’t trust electricity.”

“The shop…”

Susan moved into the room, placing the box on the table near Harry’s bed. “The joke shop. They’ve expanded quite a bit in the last few years. They’ve adapted some muggle technology—an idea Fred and George had discussed before…” 

Hermione swallowed, eyes unconsciously drifting to Harry. 

Susan shifted awkwardly. “Anyways, it’s been a hit. Though Ron focuses more on the pub right now.”

At Hermione’s confused expression, a bit of pink reached her round cheeks. “Sorry…I’m sure there’s still a lot to fill you in on…”

Hermione blew out a breath. “I think so, yes.”

Susan settled in the chair that had been Ron’s, hand resting on her bump.

“When are you due?” Hermione found herself asking, sinking into her own chair.

“January,” Susan said with a soft smile.

Hermione returned it. “Your second Ron said.”

“Yes, Mia’s with his mom now. I wasn’t sure about bringing her here. At least right now. She’s a bit of a terror sometimes.” Susan nodded towards the box. “Are you hungry?” 

Despite the consistent knot in her stomach she found she was. Her last proper meal had been right before she’d received the letter about Iris’s supposed inheritance. She gratefully took the croissant sandwich from Susan. She was nearly done eating when Ron came through the door, looking even more tired than before, but he lit up when he saw Susan—and the food.

“Did you talk to your friend?” Ron asked, grabbing the sandwich before plopping a kiss on Susan’s head.

Hermione nodded, finishing off her last bite. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

He looked between her and Susan anxiously, taking a cautious bite of his ham sandwich.

In the deepening silence Hermione let out a sigh.

“You can tell her.”

Susan tilted her head up in confusion. Ron swallowed, clearing his throat.

“Right. Well…Hermione has a child.”

“Oh,” Susan replied, eyes widening.

“With Harry,” he added and she went still.

“Oh,” she said with more gravity.

“Yeah,” Ron said, glancing at Harry’s sleeping form.

Hermione looked away, face warm.

“I think that’s wonderful actually,” Susan said after a long moment. Hermione turned towards her and saw that she had tears in her eyes but she was smiling. “That’s happy news. Harry will be thrilled.”

Hermione felt her eyes stinging. “I hope so.”

“Well I think so,” Susan said, leaning against her husband. “And I’m usually right, aren’t I?”

Ron grumbled, but there was affection in the look he gave her. Hermione’s eyes watered. She was happy that Ron had found love. Her gaze fell back to Harry and for the hundredth time that day she wished he would wake up.

***

The afternoon passed in a stream of conversation and some long silences. Ron told them that he had discouraged anyone else from visiting, at least for the time being,. which suited Hermione just fine. It may have been selfish. But she wasn’t up for sharing Harry—at least not right now.

She learned more about Ron and Susan’s life. They both ran businesses. Ron helped George, and they had expanded beyond the joke shop with a franchise of Quidditch themed pubs. Susan made skin care products out of their home. They had reconnected through Neville and Hannah, who were now married, and had started dating after Hogwarts. She heard various updates on everyone else as well. All of their school mates had grown up, building their lives after the war.

Though the elephant in the room lay there unmoving. She wanted to ask about Harry. Yet every time she tried to say something her lips went numb. She was unsure if she was afraid of the answers or if she simply wanted to hear them from him herself. The few crumbs she did gather, she tucked away. She learned that Harry lived with Remus, Andromeda and Teddy in a flat at the top of a renovated Grimmauld Place. That, yes, he still played Quidditch for fun. He appeared to spend quite a bit of time with the Weasleys. He was also the godfather of their daughter Mia, who—by the various stories shared—adored her uncle very much but was too young to understand what was going on. 

“Will you bring Iris here?” Susan ventured when Ron went out in search of supper.

Hermione chewed on her lip, watching Harry’s steady breathing. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re both welcome to stay with us. I’m at home with Mia when I’m not here. I’m happy to look after her. I’m sure it would thrill Mia to no end.”

“That’s very kind,” she replied softly, turning to Susan. “I…I’d prefer to wait until Harry wakes up.”

Susan gave her a sad smile. “That’s understandable.”

Ron returned shortly. A box of pizza held up triumphantly. 

When evening came, Susan got ready to leave.

“Send a patronus if anything changes,” she said, kissing Ron on the cheek.

“Will do,” he said, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Don't let the monsters keep you up all night.”

Susan groaned, but smiled. “If this one isn’t kicking me all night, it will be Mia getting up, hopefully your mom already has her settled in bed.”

“Yeah, pretty sure she slips her a potion. It’s the only explanation for how she survived seven of us.” 

They all laughed, Susan swatted at her husband. “You’re terrible.”

She thought of Iris even after Susan left, likely also in her pajamas and awaiting a bedtime story. She watched Harry, thinking of the day and what lay ahead.

Eventually she turned to Ron, who was half dozing in the chair next to her.

“I’ve got to do something. I’ll be right back.”

***

Her head spun from apparition but when she finally opened her eyes she was home. Without Iris it felt unbearably empty. She glanced around at the remnants of a life she was no longer sure of. Out of habit she turned the lights on by hand and dropped her coat onto the pink sofa. 

She glanced out the window, the cobblestone below illuminated by the street lamps and the crescent moon. Stockbridge, at least this part of it, was generally quiet once all the shops closed. 

The next thing she did was head to the bathroom and strip down, stepping into the shower and washing the hospital and the long day off her skin. She then changed into clean clothing and made herself a proper cup of tea in her favorite ceramic mug covered in gold stars—a gift from Rosie on a past birthday.

Her next birthday crept closer, marked on the calendar on the fridge in purple ink at Iris’s insistence. Her daughter was a lover of any kind of celebration, or excuse to eat cake. She’d definitely inherited her sweet tooth from her father—a thought that made her stomach flutter. A reminder of what she had set out to do came racing back in. 

Cradling her tea to warm her hands, she moved carefully towards Iris’s bedroom. She opened the door to reveal the messiest part of their flat. Iris insisted that her toys preferred to be left out—something Hermione had mostly stopped trying to argue with her about. With a stubborn child, picking your battles was the only option. 

Looking over the floral-themed bedroom, she missed her daughter desperately. She placed the mug on Iris’s nightstand, still crowded with her current library books. The cupboard near her sloped wall was now bursting with clothes and stuffed animals when she opened it. Hermione pushed aside a pair of inside out jeans and various socks and a giraffe stuffie to reveal the groove in the hardwood, muttering the familiar spell so she could access her past.

It took some digging but she found what she was looking for. Sitting back on her heels, she flicked through the worn pages of Undetectable Charms. Tears blurred her vision when she read over the spell she had performed long ago.

With a ragged breath, she lifted her wand and focused, reciting the incantation that would undo the spell that had hidden her from the truth. With a rush of energy the room was filled with silvery mist. 

Her friend's voices echoed throughout Iris’s small bedroom, swirling around her and rushing past her ears. Harry’s voice stood out the most, like Ron had said—he must have sent hundreds of Patronuses—and they all reached her at once.

“Hermione—”

“Please—”

“Where are you—”

“I need you—”

Her name was repeated as a symphony, mixed with pleas for her to return, to contact them. Tears poured down her face at the ghostly sound. She had seen his face again, had felt his pulse against her fingertips, but she had not heard his voice—at least until now. 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there until the silver mist lifted, the old messages now delivered. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears and she already felt a desperation to hear his voice again.

With a shuddered sob, she closed the book. Her hand pressed against the hardwood floor beneath her where she sat in a broken heap. When she bumped up against the beaded bag she finally pulled herself together. She hadn’t used the bag in years but now she opened it carefully, Susan’s words earlier about staying at their house repeating in her mind. 

She didn’t know what lay ahead, so she didn’t let herself overthink as she began to pack some of Iris’s clothing. Right now Iris was better off staying in their old life, but Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before that would change. She tried not to think of Ron’s words, about Harry being in love with her. It was a thought that made her feel like there was a hummingbird inside her ribcage instead of a heart. 

Her eyes landed on the cooled tea and the stack of books. She sat on the edge of the unmade purple bed that smelt of lavender shampoo and Iris. On top of a book about Antarctica sat a worn copy of Peter Pan, the pages soft from her own childhood and now Iris’s. Hermione pressed the cover to her heart, then added it to the purple bag and stood up. Depleted, but ready to return to Harry's side. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

“What I mean to say is, the more you remember, the more you’ve lost.” 

-Emily St. John Mandel

Hermione was shaken awake the next morning, her copy of Peter Pan slipping from her lap as she groaned. She sat up from where her face had been pressed into the sheets near Harry’s arm. Bleary eyed, she tilted her head to find Ron looming over her, his face pensive.

“Sorry. Healers want us to clear out for a bit.”

She turned and saw there were indeed two Healers waiting at the door in their green uniforms, looking impatient. In a tired haze she gathered her things, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek before she allowed Ron to steer her out.

In the hallway, he handed her a small paper bag with a croissant before sitting them down.

“So…people are visiting today,” he said, after she had eaten.

“Who?”

“Most of the family. I held them off as best I could…” 

She didn’t answer right away, trying to imagine what that entailed. All of the past was coming back at once. Hermione wiped the crumbs off her jumper. “Should I leave?”

Ron frowned. “Why would you leave?”

She pressed her fingers to her eyes. They were already threatening tears. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want a break?”

A sob lodged in her throat. “I want him to wake up!”

When she looked at Ron, he was pale beneath his freckles. 

“Have they said anything?” she murmured. “Is he doing better?”

At his pause, her heart dropped. He took hold of her elbow. “He’s stable, Hermione. That’s all they know for sure. But he…he’ll pull through.”

Hermione nodded, knotting her fingers together in her lap. She was desperately ignoring the lone question that kept surfacing in her mind.

Exactly how many lives does one person get?

***

After a lot of reassurance from Ron she decided to stay put. Iris was in school and Hermione didn’t think she could handle attending her own classes. School was a thought that only gave her a headache; her life outside this hospital—aside from Iris—all seemed so abstract with Harry alive. Him being behind that door was what kept her in the building. 

She freshened up in the loo and when she returned the hallway was indeed filled with Weasleys. Fleur caught sight of her first, lips parting in surprise. She was just as beautiful as ever. In her arms was a cherubic toddler with rose gold curls.

“Hermione!”

All of the faces turned her way. 

“Hi,” she said weakly, attempting to smile.

This seemed enough of an invitation for Fleur to come over to her and kiss her on each cheek.

“It is so nice to see you. Ron told us you were back.”

“Well, here I am.”

Before Fleur could respond, Healer Brown—a stout man who had consulted Ron regularly, but refused to allow her presence—appeared. She was grateful for him saving Harry’s life, yet still felt a white hot ball of rage in her stomach whenever he came into the room to inevitably kick her out.

“Four at a time. Children must be accompanied by an adult,” he said, casting a weary expression at the assembled crowd.

Her gaze swept over the assorted Weasley family. Two young blonde girls stood holding hands near Bill. The plaited blonde braid of the taller one sent a visceral ache through her.

Iris’s absence was palpable—at least to her. She had asked Ron to keep mum for now.

Mr and Mrs Weasley went in first, followed by George and Angelina who threw her a warm smile before ducking into the room. She noted the other glaring absence then: Ginny. The fiery redhead was nowhere in sight.

Ron appeared from the lift, with Susan behind him. Like Fleur, he had a toddler in his arms. 

“Sorry. They beat us back.”

Hermione shifted, gaze moving to Mia who was peeking at her from Ron’s arms. A genuine smile turned up Hermione’s lips. Mia was certainly a blend of both her parents. 

“Hello Mia,” she said softly.

“That’s your aunt Hermione,” Ron told her, jostling her lightly. “You’ll like her loads.”

Mia gave a skeptical frown, looking very much like her father.

Susan came to stand next to her. “Maybe we should introduce you to all the new additions.”

Hermione followed Susan’s lead, saying hello to Bill and meeting all three of his children. Louis, who was only a little older than Mia, stayed in Fleur’s arms. Dominique—aged four—and then Victorie—aged six—said hello politely. The two sisters were like a set of dolls, down to their porcelain skin and matching gingham dresses. Her breath caught when she shook Victoire’s small hand. Like her mother she was stunning and confident. Victoire was around the same height as Iris, and when she smiled, there was a gap in the top, causing the ache in Hermione’s chest to grow even sharper.

As she was taken around, she found her eyes darting back to the girls. Iris had asked for a sister years ago, an idea Hermione had gently shot down. Her reason had been that they were a good team, just the two of them. This was true, but not entirely forthright. It sidestepped the heavy reality that Hermione had never seen herself having another child—not with Harry gone. Rosie encouraged her not to think that way about love, to keep herself open. But while Hermione had believed she would maybe find someone someday, that belief hadn’t included any visions of more children of her own.

She lifted a hand to the ache in her chest; the heaviness of her grief like a phantom weight.

Rapid fire information continued to come from Susan, Ron and the others, so she did her best to refocus. She learned that Percy was back in the family’s good graces, but would come by later without his wife and two children. Charlie was still in Romania, and Ginny was off playing for the Harpies who were currently away at a tournament in Greece. George and Angelina also had one child named Roxanne who was being watched by her Mum. 

Seven, soon to be eight grandchildren in total. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, but she kept up appearances. Everyone was warm and lovely, and avoided asking prying questions, which she was sure was what Ron’s doing.

She waited in the hall, allowing everyone else their turn with Harry. Mia proved to be a good distraction, eventually warming up to her enough to give her a dimpled smile in between happily racing up and down the hallway. 

Ron was a good parent, making Mia giggle madly as he held her upside down, copper hair waving like a flag. All of it made her think of Iris…which led to a thought that struck her like an electric jolt—Harry could actually be a father now. 

Iris had begun to ask more about him, especially when things like Father’s Day came around. Hermione had done her best to answer her questions. Although there had of course been omissions. There always were when you had to hide from the past.

She folded her hands over her stomach, watching as Susan now held Mia in her lap with only some maneuvering for her growing bump. An irrational part of her wanted to apparate to Iris’s school and pluck her out that instant. 

Rationally she knew that would be a mistake. 

Right now Iris was ignorant to what was transpiring. If she brought her here now, she would have to find a way to explain why her father was not only alive, but also unresponsive—not to mention explaining magic and everything else.

Slowly everyone made their rounds. When Bill’s family came back out, the dried tears on Victoire’s cheeks made her own surface again. Once they said goodbye to the others, Hermione followed Ron, Susan and Mia back in to see Harry. Entering his room felt like entering a time turner loop: Harry stayed the same, while she desperately hoped for a better outcome. 

“Uncle Harry sleeping?” Mia’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. 

The tiny girl was back in Ron’s arms, a groove etched into her forehead.

“Yeah, Mia Pia. He’s sleeping,” Ron replied gently.

“He have owie?” she pointed a small finger at Harry’s chest and Hermione found she could no longer stop herself from crying.

“The Healers are making him better,” Susan said, moving closer to the bed.

“Kiss?” Mia asked.

Susan smiled sadly, taking her daughter's hand. “Not with a kiss. With potions.”

Mia gave a sage little nod. Ron brought her closer to Harry and she reached out a hand, patting Harry’s head lovingly, not unlike a dog.

Tears fell down Hermione’s cheeks and she wiped them away, murmuring an excuse and fleeing the room before any of them could reply.

***

After crying in the locked toilet, feeling not unlike her twelve year old self, she returned to Harry’s room to find that only Ron remained inside. He gave her a questioning look but she simply shook her head, knowing if she tried to speak, she would set herself off again. 

The afternoon passed in mostly companionable silence, save for Ron’s occasional commentary about the Quidditch magazine he leafed through. He eventually left after procuring them a late lunch from the canteen: a sandwich that wasn’t anywhere near as good as Susan’s. 

Hermione sat next to Harry, reading out loud from Peter Pan when a knock caused her to turn sharply towards the door. Remus Lupin entered the room, and for a moment Hermione thought she’d seen a ghost. His face had several more faded scars compared to the last time she’d seen him, and he looked worse for wear, but somehow he was alive. 

Her surprise at seeing him only deepened when a young boy followed him. Her mind caught up quickly at the sight of his familiar features. Teddy Lupin was no longer the newborn described to her at Shell Cottage, but a gangly child with curls that flashed from golden to pink when he noticed her.

“Hello Hermione, Ron told me you’ve been keeping Harry company.”

“Hi,” she managed after a moment, closing the book on her lap. 

“This is my son Teddy,” he said, bringing forward the boy whose face was now turning the same shade of pink that his hair had. “Teddy, this is Uncle Harry’s good friend Hermione Granger.”

Teddy glanced down at his shoes and mumbled a hello.

“It’s nice to meet you Teddy,” she said, forcing some brightness into her tone. The young boy looked up at her then, his golden eyes shining with anxiety. Which was confirmed when he finally glanced over at Harry, his whole body stiffening. Hermione caught the crestfallen expression, his bottom lip beginning to quiver. The devastation seemed to shrink the boy as Remus put a hand on his other shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“It’ll be alright Ted, he’s just asleep right now.”

Hermione found it hard to breathe. She may not know much about Harry’s life now, but Teddy’s reaction made it clear that his godson played a big part. 

She eased herself out of the chair. “I’ll give you three some space.”

***

Hermione paced the corridor despite her heart feeling like it was being pummeled by a Hungarian horntail. She continued her trail through the other wings that branched off from where she had been confined, taking in the way the light came in from the other side of the building, providing a view of the Thames that she stopped to stare at. 

It was a reminder that after all this time she was technically home.

She leaned against the cool glass, closing her eyes. She had forgotten how much she hated hospitals, of any kind. The lack of color, the mix of mundane and adrenaline spikes, and how it made anyone inside feel like they weren’t quite a part of the world after awhile. 

Luckily, since the hospital wing in fifth and second year, she hadn’t spent much time in them. Iris’s birth had been quick, though not painless, and she had been discharged after only one night. Then there had been Rosie’s husband Roger’s illness, which had been brief. Her and Iris had visited a few times before he lost his battle with cancer. She thought of Iris at that time, only slightly older than Mia. Her bright laughter had brought some much needed light to the heaviness and sterility of the hospital. 

Iris would surely bring some joy to her day now, as well. Yet bringing her to St Mungo’s felt selfish. How could she possibly be there for Harry and take care of Iris at the same time? 

Her mind spun in circles, and she struggled to think of how to plan for whatever came next. No answers came while she stood there. She opened her eyes, watching her breath fog up the glass. The city continued to go about its business as she looked out over the people and cars below. 

Eventually, she continued her wanderings, before a stack of magazines caught her eye. Ginny smiled up from the glossy surface, red hair gleaming in the sun beneath the headline:

The Unbeatable Miss Weasley

She picked up the magazine and flicked through its pages with mild trepidation, discovering quickly that Ginny had made a name for herself in the world of Quidditch. Judging by the commentary on her personal life, the scrutiny went far beyond what happened on the pitch. It was something she remembered well enough from her brief connection with Victor. 

A man that didn’t look far from him in appearance, with bulging biceps and cropped dark hair was in one of the pictures next to Ginny. His name was Alexander Toma and he played for the Canons—the two of them had been linked romantically in the past according to the byline.

Hermione was surprised Ron hadn’t led with that tidbit once they’d sorted out that everyone was in fact alive.

However, what made her stomach drop like a Wronski feint was the picture on the next page of Harry and Ginny sitting side by side at a Quidditch game. The red head leaned in and whispered to him. The Harry in the photo gave her a grin in response, a genuine one. 

She read on further to find that the photo was from several years back, but allusions were made to rumors of an on-again, off-again affair between the two famous figures. Nausea rose up swiftly in her gut as she placed the magazine back down, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.

She doubted that Harry and Ginny were an item—at least currently. Ron would surely have mentioned it, and also wouldn’t Ginny be here if that were the case? Hermione did her best to shake off these thoughts; Harry had to wake up before she could let her mind go to those places. 

Her mind was in overdrive when she stopped short of her destination. In the chairs just outside Harry’s door was Teddy Lupin who was being held by an older woman with brown hair. Hermione’s heart felt as if it stopped when the woman looked in her direction. The shape of her face, her hair, her other features appeared hauntingly like those of the person who still followed her into nightmares. 

Cold dread spread through her until the woman’s lips turned up and the differences registered. There was no trace of malice in her smile, her brown eyes shining in the same way her daughters had. Any similarities between the Black sisters washed away in light of the awareness of who she was actually seeing: Andromeda Tonks, who appeared to be warm everywhere Bellatrix Lestrange had been cold.

Hermione’s eyes fell to Teddy, the stoic boy now crying in his grandmother's arms. Her heart had started back up, relief slowly ebbing away her panic, but it constricted at the sight of the pain on his young face. 

Andromeda placed a kiss on Teddy’s hair, smoothing back his locks of golden curls. Her smile to Hermione had traces of sadness as she tilted her head, indicating she should sit in the open chair nearby.

Feeling a bit like an intruder, she did just that. All of her felt heavy and tired, yet she was unwilling to break the quiet moment between Grandmother and Grandson.

Healers bustled by, but otherwise they were left alone in the hallway. Hermione eyed the door to Harry’s room, debating if she could go in, or if she would be dismissed by Healer Brown again. 

“Is Uncle Harry going to live?” Teddy asked in a fragile voice, breaking the silence.

Andromeda paused her rocking, not answering right away as she continued to stroke his curls. “He’s strong. Everyone is doing what they can to make him better.”

***

“Have you eaten?”

Ron’s voice made Hermione look away from Harry, who she had hardly taken her eyes off of since being permitted back into his room late that afternoon.  Hours had passed and she’d had little urge to do anything else.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied, closing the book on her lap with a sigh. She had failed to read any of it. 

Ron sighed. “Don’t do this again. You’ll make yourself sick like…”

Hermione closed her eyes at the memories he spoke of. When she opened them Ron was watching her with a concerned frown, hands holding onto the other chair’s back. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she said quietly, gaze flicking back to Harry. The helpless feeling overtook her, not unlike when she had waited for hours in the stands of the third Triwizard task, her stomach one giant knot of worry.

“There’s nothing to do,” Ron said, in the reassuring tone he kept using. “Not yet at least. We need to trust the Healers. They'll ease him off the sleeping potion soon. We can’t worry so much until then.”

She folded her arms, not filling the silence right away. 

“Iris. She doesn’t know her father is alive.” She said after a while, looking back at Ron. “I have to figure out how to tell her. And I…I can’t stop thinking about if I’m doing the right thing, or the wrong thing. Is it better that she knows him like this? In case that’s all she gets—”

 “Don’t think like that—”

“I have to think of it Ron!” He swallowed, stilling as he watched her. Her tears sprung up as she voiced the thoughts swirling in her mind.  “Will she hate me if she finds out she could have met him and I kept her away? She’s never had a chance to know him…but she doesn’t know any different right now. If I bring her here, she’ll have a father, only for that to possibly be taken away—”

Her hands came to her face and the sobs—ones that had been slowly building inside her all day—came out full force. She felt Ron’s hand on her shoulder. He didn’t say anything until the worst had passed and she was left sniffling.

“I think you should go see her.”

Hermione tilted her face upwards to his, concern still shimmering in his blue eyes.

“I can’t leave Harry…”

“You can. You’ll feel better if you see her. Maybe it will help you make a decision.” She stared up at him speechless. He squeezed her shoulder. “I have good ideas sometimes. At the least it will probably make you both happy for a bit.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What if—”

“I’ll send a Patronus. Besides, the Healers said it’s unlikely to be today.”

Stiffly, she gave a small nod.

“I saw the way you looked at Vic,” he added, and she felt her eyes water. “It’s hard being away from them, even if they drive you mental.”

A wet laugh stuck in her throat. “When did you get so wise?”

He shrugged. “Harry would tell you it’s Susan’s doing. And he wouldn’t be entirely wrong. Holding Mia for the first time was also a kick in the pants, you know? You can’t be a dumb git when you have a kid. At least you should try not to be.”

The memory of holding Iris for the first time pressed in. Her small body had been light, but the feeling of her against her bare skin had been weighted with responsibility, along with a love that still overwhelmed Hermione regularly, as it did right then.

“Harry…he…” Ron stopped, staring at their best friend with a pained expression.

“What?” At his hesitation,  she gripped his arm. “Ron…”

He let out a heavy breath. “I don’t know if it’s my place…I just…Harry would want to meet Iris. I can guarantee that bit.”

At her bewildered look, he scrubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if he would remember…but it was last Christmas. We’d had a bit of firewhiskey at Mum and Dad’s…or a lot. Holidays can still be rough—I mean better, with all the kids, but…”

She nodded, understanding the feeling all too well. Ron gave another heavy sigh. “He told me that he envied me.”

Her lips parted and Ron’s eyes shifted back to hers. “He told me he wished he had a family.”

His words sank in slowly and she turned back towards Harry’s sleeping form. Harry continued to breathe evenly, his face peaceful, blissfully unaware of the sea change in his very room.

“I know he meant it,” Ron said, in a low voice. “So yeah…believe me. He’ll want to know her. At least don’t let…uncertainty over that part play into your decision.”

Hermione nodded and released her grip on him. He sunk heavily into the chair next to her.

Her eyes stung with tears, but having even a tentative plan felt better than none. She stood, gathering her coat before leaning down to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” she whispered.

***

Salty air blew through Hermione’s hair when she landed with a thud on the soft grass of Rosie and Annie’s back garden. Everything around her glowed blue in the late evening, but darkness cloaked her where she had appeared behind a large tree. Mist hovered all around, cooling her skin—a relief after an entire day spent in the hospital. 

She pocketed her wand in her coat, then made sure there was no one to see her as she ducked around the house to ring the doorbell. The pink door opened after a moment to reveal Rosie whose mouth rounded in surprise. 

“Janie!”

She managed a smile, moving into the cottage and hugging the petite older woman whose strong embrace soothed some of her nerves. Footsteps pattered across the hardwood and Rosie released her in time for her to see Iris coming around the corner sharply on socked feet, her entire face lighting up. Hermione crouched down and opened her arms and Iris launched into them, nearly knocking them to the ground. 

She held Iris to her, kissing her messy crown, the tension she had carried the last few days releasing a bit at the feeling of holding her daughter. Iris pulled back first. The same green eyes she had been longing to see for days searched her own anxiously.

“Are we going home?”

Hermione smoothed Iris’s hair back. “Not yet, but I wanted to see you.”

She lifted them from the floor with some effort, adjusting Iris and carrying her into the formal living room. Annie appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a worn apron.

“I thought you were in London?”

She shook her head, biting back the urge to wince at the lie.  At Annie’s piercing look she started to sweat. “In Scotland. Not far.”

Hermione hated having to be cagey. Annie and Rosie were like family. She would have to figure out what to tell them soon. Iris shifted in her arms, burrowing her face in her shoulder—a reminder of what she had to prioritize.

“How are you, my love?” she asked.

Iris tilted her head. “Your birthday is in three days.”

“I know,” she said, though truthfully she kept forgetting. 

“We have to do our birthday plans,” Iris said, with a pout. 

“We will,” she said, swallowing more guilt. Her birthday was unlikely to be like years past. 

“You’ll stay for a bit?” Rosie asked, reaperring with a tray of steaming mugs.

Hermione nodded. 

“Have you eaten?" Annie added.

At her silence Annie huffed and turned back to the kitchen. Hermione settled on the sofa, moving Iris to her lap. She thanked Rosie who passed her a warm mug.

She was about to ask Rosie about their week when Iris’s soft voice made her look down.

“Mummy…can I go with you?”

Hermione put the tea down, gathering Iris closer. “Soon. I promise. I just…I need a little longer.”

“Why?” Iris’s voice cracked and she felt her resolve do the same as she tried to choose her next words carefully.

“I have a friend, an old one. From before you were born. And…they got hurt and are in the hospital.”

Iris’s eyes went round as saucers. “Who?”

“A friend from a long time ago.”

“Who?” she repeated.

She tucked a curl behind Iris’s ear. “His name’s Harry.”

Iris looked to be deep in thought before she spoke. “Did he break his arm?”

Harry’s limp arm from second year flashed through her mind. If only it were so simple. 

“No. He has an injury right here,” she indicated over Iris’s heart. “The hea—doctors are working to make him better.”

Iris seemed to mull this over, her small hand covering hers over her chest.

“I’ve seen a lot of my old friends. They want to meet you,” Hermione told her. 

“Now?”

“Soon.”

Her green eyes grew glassy. “I miss you though.”

“Oh darling. I miss you too. So much. But I think it’s best if you stay with Annie and Rosie for a bit longer. You have so much fun with them.”

Iris sniffled and nodded, wiping her nose on her pink sleeve. “We painted. And Annie let me pick the last raspberries. We’re going to make jam tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun!” 

Iris gave another nod, chin quivering. “But I want to be with you too.”

Her chest constricted at the sight of Iris starting to cry again. Hermione hugged her close, rocking her like she used to when she was much smaller. She noted that there were several surface scratches on her hand, likely a result of the raspberry picking. Iris wore her favorite oversized pink jumper over a dark blue dress, her favorite wool knee socks wrapped around her thin calves. An old bruise was fading to yellow on Iris’s thigh from a fall at the playground, and she made a note to get some salve with the wizarding money in her bag. 

Annie came back in with a slice of roast ham, root vegetables and mash. Iris reluctantly moved from her lap, though stayed close to her on the sofa. She did brighten when Rosie mentioned that there may be ice cream in the freezer. 

A sense of normalcy settled in as Hermione ate. Iris’s usual happy demeanor returned and her tears dried. She eagerly showed off the various art projects Rosie was helping her with, along with the sight words Annie had helped her learn. 

The night was so typical of their countless other visits to the small cottage by the sea, except for the constant nagging at the back of her mind over what was missing. Hermione glanced at the clock and noted it was close to Iris’s bedtime.

Iris, for her part, didn’t seem tired, nearly bouncing about the room. She was reminded of the energy it took to be with a child, even one as easy as Iris. Her daughter was wonderful, but she was still only six. Mia had lasted less than an hour at the hospital, Teddy only a little longer. 

Sitting on the floral sofa it became obvious that her next step didn’t include dragging Iris along with her to endlessly wait, not while everything was still so uncertain and unknown.

When Iris dipped from the room, both older women shot her expectant looks. She released a sigh. “I’m at the hospital. With a…a friend. Well, several old ones. I…I know it sounds strange.”

“Old friends?” they said in unison. 

Hermione gave a nod. “Yes, from…from before.”

“And the owls?” Annie asked incredulously, but right then Iris sprinted back in brandishing another school project—this one on earthworms, with real dirt smeared across the page. 

Her full stomach churned as she listened to Iris’s enthusiastic explanation about composting. She placed the project on the coffee table and took Iris’s hands in hers.

“Thank you for telling me about worms, but I do have to say goodnight.”

“Will you come tomorrow?” Iris asked anxiously.

“I’ll phone.”

Susan had slipped a mobile into her bag with a wry smile in the corridor earlier. “It’s Ron’s. Take it. Merlin knows he won’t use it,” she’d said.

A tear fell down Iris’s cheek and Hermione cupped her face. “I love you. I promise you’ll see me soon.”

She folded Iris into her arms and held her for a long time, wishing she could fast forward to when they wouldn’t have to be separated, when her disparate worlds could properly collide.

After expressing much reluctance, Iris finally let her go, but insisted on walking her to the door. Hermione said her goodbyes to Annie and Rosie in the entryway. 

“Mummy! Wait!” Iris cried, rushing away. The cold breeze from the open door caused Hermione to shiver.

Annie leaned in, voice low. “You promise you’re alright?”

“I am,” she said with as much conviction that she could muster.

Annie only gave her a doubtful look. There had never been any fooling her.

Iris returned, nearly slipping in her haste. Hermione grabbed her arms to steady her. In her hands was Prongs, her beloved and well-worn lovie, a knitted deer made by Rosie with button eyes and a cotton tail.

Hermione looked at the lovie and back at her daughter, who only smiled up at her.  “For your friend. Prongs will make him better.” Hermione’s eyes watered and she pulled Iris into her arms. Iris’s face was serious when she stepped out of the embrace. “But he does have to give him back.”

She tucked Iris’s errant curls behind her ear. “He’ll love it, and I’ll make sure he does.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Ron was half asleep in the same spot when she got back.

“How’d it go?” he mumbled, groaning as he stretched his arms.

“Good,” she answered, rummaging in her bag and pulling out the soft toy. “She’s lending this to Harry.”

“A companion of hers?”

Hermione glanced down at the plushie, pressing her thumb to the beaded eye.

“Prongs,” she told him softly after a moment.

“You love him. Don’t you?”

Her eyes lifted to find Ron watching her. “I’m not dense. It’s obvious. Even without you two having made a kid together.”

She nodded, releasing a shuddered breath. There was no denying the truth.

Ron lifted himself out of his chair and closed the space between them, resting a large hand on her shoulder. “Well he’s a lucky bloke then.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. He squeezed gently before releasing her. “Try to get some sleep.”

After the door closed behind him, she looked back at Harry, still resting like a long lost prince. She went to his side and cleared her throat; it was clogged with tears.

“I have something for you.” Carefully, she placed Prongs in the space between his ribcage and arm. “Iris wanted you to have him. She says he’ll help you feel better.”

She brushed her hand over the soft fur. “She also made sure to tell me that she’ll need him back, so I suppose you should wake up soon.”

Harry, of course, didn’t respond. She watched his even breathing, dark eyelashes resting against his pale cheek.

“My friend Rosie made him for Iris when she was born. She told me she didn’t know why but a deer seemed fitting…. It’s silly, I try not to let myself think this way, but at the time I felt that maybe—maybe it was a sign. I didn’t used to think those kinds of thoughts until after you died…and well, then it felt like one way to cope with it—to think that maybe part of you was still with us, even if I couldn’t make sense of how that could be.”

She wiped away the tears that were now falling, warm and salty onto her lips.

“I’ve told her all our stories. He became Prongs.”

There were a million other things she wanted to tell him, but the achy weight of grief made it hard to continue. Her hand moved to his cheek, reassuringly warm and soft. “I’m sorry I stayed away. I shouldn’t have.”

Her thumb stroked the stubble of his jaw and she sat on the edge of the mattress, wishing she could curl up around him on the bed. “Please come back,” she whispered. “I want you to meet Iris. She…she’s the best bits of you and of me.”

She took his hand, looking at the faded scars, thinking of Iris and her raspberry jam adventures. The spark of light they had created together unknowingly back at Shell Cottage was growing into a person all her own, and growing fast.

Never had she imagined that Harry would be there for that. Ron had said Harry would want to know Iris, and she believed him, but taking on the role of a parent was no small task. It wasn’t a decision she could make for him.

She held his hand on her lap, worrying her lip. “I also don’t expect—I mean—there’s no expectation for you to…. I just—I want to talk to you again. I’ve missed you. Desperately. Every day.”

She sat there and let herself cry—for the hope, grief and uncertainty that was intertwined inside her.

***

When Hermione’s eyes blinked open, the room was dark but not pitch black. Her consciousness snapped back into awareness as she sat up gingerly in the chair that she had transfigured to recline. Suddenly she registered the sound of a groan that wasn’t her own. 

Her eyes locked onto Harry’s bed and even in the dimness she could see that Harry was moving, his arms twitching at his side. She nearly fell out of the chair in her haste to get to his side. Up close she saw that his face was twisted in pain and her heart lurched. 

“Harry…”

He continued his jerky motions, moving like he was fighting through sand. A low sound stuck in his throat. She took his hand, pulse loud in her ears as she repeated his name more loudly.

His hand was clammy in hers, fingers twitching. She reached her other hand to touch his face. Slowly his eyes slid open. His pupils left only a thin band of green, barely visible in the dim. She stared into them, hardly able to process that it was him looking back.

Tears blurred his face and she held onto his hand tightly, then she felt his grip as he squeezed her fingers. He stilled, but she felt his uneven breath pass over her skin in their closeness. 

“I’m here,” she told him, smoothing back his hair which stuck to his forehead like he’d gone for a swim. He stared at her glassily, seemingly seeing right through her, his hand warm and solid in hers the only reminder that neither of them was a ghost.

“It’s alright. Everything will be alright,” she said softly, willing it to be true.

She felt the tension dissipating from his body before his eyes drifted shut. Her hand moved from his forehead to carefully touch his chest, his heartbeat beneath her palm began to return to a steady, calmer rhythm.

There was hardly time to process what had happened before the door opened, light pooling in from the hallway. One of the younger Healers entered and rushed forward, asking rapid fire questions that Hermione struggled to take in.

“What happened?” the woman repeated, dark ponytail swinging as she approached.

“He…he had a nightmare,” Hermione said faintly, moving from the bed but holding tight to his hand.

The Healer waved her wand, and the orbs near Harry glowed brighter. More Healers poured in and Hermione was jostled aside, her connection to Harry breaking. Healer Brown appeared and she felt a familiar spark of anger.

“I’m sorry Miss Granger, but you’ll need to wait in the hall.”

Hermione crossed her arms, looking back at Harry. “No.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to call security.”

She knew from Ron that the journalists were still circling the waiting room below like vultures. There was a long tense silence save for the other Healers bustling around the room. A stray thought of resisting crossed her mind. Her wand was tucked into her purple purse, but she knew she wasn’t likely to win a duel against a room full of wizards even if it was in her hand. 

She held tight to the rage as she grabbed her things, chancing another glance at Harry who was back to sleeping peacefully. Only once she was out in the too-bright hallway did she break down into tears. 

***

Hermione waited until morning to send a patronus to Ron. She hadn’t slept a wink in the hall, still processing everything. She refused to leave, even if returning to the bed in her flat was tempting. Her own stubbornness kept her in place. Harry needed her, so she wasn't leaving.

When Ron showed up approximately ten minutes after her Patronus, it was clear he had just woken up. His shirt was on backwards, his blue eyes were heavy with sleep, and a five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw.

“He woke up?”

She nodded and he looked dumbfounded before his freckled face split into a grin. Hermione found herself suddenly lifted from the ground and she gave a shriek as he twirled her around.

She smacked his shoulder and he placed her back on her feet.

She took a moment to reorient herself before answering. “They won’t say much. At least not to me. But I think it has to be a good sign, right?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Ron said emphatically. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

They sat and she recounted the events as best she could.

“He looked at you?” he asked when she’d finished.

“Yes…” she swallowed, remembering Harry’s glassy eyes. “I don’t know if he recognized me.”

“He would,” Ron replied.

Hermione looked away, dabbing at her eyes as they watered again.

“I wish they’d let us back in,” she murmured.

Ron gave a sigh as he heaved himself up. “I’ll go hunt down Healer Brown.”

Watching Ron leave she had the irrational urge to stomp her foot and pout like Iris sometimes did. Being left out was surely going to drive her to insanity if he continued to not wake. Instead she sat there, arms crossed, and stewed.

After a while passed with no sight of Ron, she moved her tired body to seek out a substance that might revive her—caffeine. She was mindful to cast a Glamour charm before she stepped into the lift down to the lobby. As she suspected, the furor hadn’t died down. If anything, it was worse. Reporters of all stripes were strewn about the opulent room. 

Hermione ducked her head, moving swiftly towards the cafe cart, the smell of roasting beans reviving her slightly. She mustered up a few errant sickles for two coffees. She assumed that Ron likely still took an obscene amount of sugar, which she dutifully dumped in. She thought of Harry’s one spoon and splash of cream. Had that changed?

Thoughts of Harry filled her mind as she made her way back to the lift, until a sickly sweet voice stopped her in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder to see Rita Skeeter, her quill out and moving rapidly as she cornered a Healer up against a beam. 

“That must be such a hard job. Life…and death,” she said dramatically. 

The young Healer nodded, hands knotted together. 

Hot coffee sloshed on her wrists as her hands trembled. A wave of anger propelled Hermione away, lest she pull her wand and earn herself a permanent ban from Mungo’s or time in Azkaban. She seethed all the way back to Harry’s room. Ron had returned, and was pacing the corridor when he turned towards her, face morphing into a concerned frown.

Before he could speak, she handed him his coffee and went first, voice poisonous. “That vile woman is here.”

“Who?” He took the offered drink cautiously.

“Skeeter. She’s interviewing a Healer.”

Ron swore under his breath, “I’ll talk to security.”

Her gaze swung to the door, drink hot in her hand. “You can go in,” Ron told her gently. “He’s asleep. Still.”

On shaky legs, she entered Harry’s room. The turmoil from the middle of the night had settled. Harry, as Ron said, slept on. He appeared refreshed, likely the work of the junior Healer who exited shortly after she arrived.

She felt a form of deja vu as she sat on the edge of his bed. She stayed like that until Ron returned, his face drawn.

“They kicked her out,” he mumbled, sitting down heavily and angrily. “Though I’m sure she’ll still run some shitty article.”

Hermione held in a sigh. Some things in Harry’s life had clearly not changed much at all.

***

That afternoon found her banished to the hallway. Again. Hermione was liable to explode. Instead she paced furiously, rounding on Ron when he emerged.

“What did they say?”

He put his hands up defensively. “Wow. Easy.” She glowered and he swallowed. “Right. Well, they’re lowering the dose of some of his potions. They said they won’t know if his heart has any lasting damage until he wakes up. The rest of his body is pretty much healed up.”

She released a shallow breath. “Do they know anything about what kind of condition he’ll be in?”

Ron seemed to weigh his words. “Healer Brown doesn’t want to speculate.”

She snorted. “So really, they know nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say—”

“What if he doesn’t know us? What then? What if he can’t remember anything?”

“He’ll remember us.”

“You don’t know that!”

“He didn’t fall on his head, Hermione! It’s his heart and it’s getting better. Bit by bit.”

Her anger slipped back to fear as she breathed out.

“It’s Harry. A stray curse won’t bring him down,” Ron said with far too much confidence; it made her stomach twist. She wanted to believe him; she really did. 

Except optimism had never been her strong suit, not after Harry died.

“Can we go back in?” she asked finally.

“In a bit.”

She huffed.

“Hermione, you have to relax,” he sighed.

Merlin, she loved Ron. She did. But right now she was remembering why she had once sent a flock of birds after him.

“I’m perfectly relaxed,” she said evenly.

He shook his head. “You should also maybe shower, change.” He pointed at her purple purse. “I assume that’s packed to the gills.”

Hermione glanced down at her bag, taking in her now coffee stained jumper. Maybe changing wasn’t such a bad idea.

“You can go back to our place to use a shower. We have several,” Ron said.

“I can’t…”

“Well, you’ll be wanting a base in the magical world, I assume? You're more than welcome to stay with us. Though I mean there’s also Harry’s flat…”

Hermione closed her eyes, suddenly drained of every ounce of energy.

“Look. Forget it. But today you should go to our place. There’s food and a shower. Maybe take a proper nap. Susan’s already made up the spare room for you.”

“I’m not napping at a time like—”

“Fine. Fine. But shower. Eat. You’ll be no use to Harry if you’re dead on your feet.”

The fight leaked out of her and they stood in the silence; it seemed louder once she realized that they had been nearly shouting at one another. Old habits die hard, she supposed.

“What if he wakes up and I—I’m not there,” she whispered.

Ron paused, then stepped forward. “I’ll send you a patronus. Besides, they said it would take awhile for it to wear off, and even then he may not…” Her breathing hitched and he cupped her elbow. “Not like that. I mean he may be out of it. But he’ll be alright….we can’t think differently.”

***

Begrudgingly, she realized Ron had been right: A shower helped. She had taken him up on his offer to use his place, aware that if she went to her own flat, Simon or Annie—assuming that she wasn’t home—could bustle in for a cup of tea at any point.

The fancy glass shower was just one of the many signs that Ron had done well for himself since the war. His and Susan’s newly built home on the ocean was spacious yet cozy, albeit nothing like the Burrow. It was surprisingly modern looking for a Wizarding home, with cream walls and blue accents and lots of natural wood, but Magic made itself known in the moving portraits and floating stairs. Not to mention the shower that immediately became the right temperature, releasing a lavender scent that turned the steam a light purple.

She placed a few things in the spare room, idly wondering about bringing Iris there. She was sure Iris would be drawn to exploring the expansive pebbly beach which could be viewed now through the wide window. As the water had fallen over her skin, her mind had continued to drift to thoughts of the future.

It was something she knew she shouldn’t do—with nothing known, or guaranteed.

Her empty stomach rumbled violently and she felt the ache of exhaustion down to her bones even more acutely standing next to the freshly made bed in the guest bedroom. She shook herself. What she had told Ron was true: this was not a time for napping.

She quickly finished getting ready and hurried down the floating stairs towards the kitchen, Mia’s squeals of happiness making it easy to find. So too did the drifting smell of simmering tomatoes and basil.

Susan turned from the stove when she entered, giving her a warm smile.

“Soups done, I’ll just package it up.”

Mia started chanting the word soup from where she was sprawled out on the floor with a variety of bowls and wooden spoons. Hermione crouched down.

“Are you making soup too?”

Mia nodded, still giving her a bit of side eye, but not moving away. Hermione gave her a small smile, which was returned after a moment. She stood up and leaned her body against the wood countertop, admiring Susan’s easy spell work. With a flourish of her wand Susan had packed up the soup into containers which then slotted themselves into a small leather satchel. She then bent down, only slightly awkwardly with her bump, and scooped up Mia who gave a delighted shriek.

Hermione’s own arms ached for Iris then, but instead she smiled and picked up the bag.

“Text if you need anything,” Susan said, smoothing Mia’s hair back. “Remember you’re welcome to crash anytime.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Susan bounced her daughter, shaking her head. “Anytime.”

Hermione didn’t waste anymore time, closing her eyes and apparating back to London.

When she burst into Harry’s room exactly thirty minutes from when she had left, she found it the same. Which was somehow both crushingly disappointing and a relief.

Ron barely glanced up, flicking through a magazine, long legs crossed over one another. “I told you it would be fine.”

She huffed, out of breath from her mad dash sprint. She undid her Glamor as an afterthought and settled into the chair.

“Bet you didn’t know that you’re looking at Witch Weekly’s most eligible bachelor,” Ron said drolly, gesturing towards Harry.

That certainly gave some finality to her question on Harry’s relationship status.

She hummed absently, shrugging off her jumper. Ron looked at her with a humorous glint in his eye. “He’s won nearly every year. Though Lockhart has him beat still for the most charming smile. Susan said he’d probably win if he wasn’t always looking so grim whenever he’s photographed.”

Despite herself, she found her own lips twitching upwards.

“I’m sure he was devastated.”

Ron chuckled, tossing the magazine on the small side table. “I think he manages to laugh it off.” Ron grew quiet, his smile faltering.

“What is it?”

He shrugged, and her heart sank. “Ron…”

He swiped at his face, sighing. “I was just thinking about the stupid tabloids…the rumor mill hasn’t gotten better since school.”

“Rumor mill?”

Ron made a small affirmative noise, still looking at Harry. “He was called Zombie boy at one point. Not sure which he hated more, that, or Wizarding Jesus.” At her astounded expression, he explained. “You know the Muggle that’s also God? They hung him on some wood or something?”

“I know who Jesus is, Ron.”

“Right. Well, he’s even more famous now. Sometimes I worry he’ll go off and live in the woods and not come back. Not sure I’d even blame him. His latest resurrection isn’t likely to help.”

Hermione could think of a few stories that the press would be frothing to get their hands on, one of which was currently at her primary school in Edinburgh.

A heavy silence fell over them, Hermione chewed her lip until it bled, the tang of copper sharp on her tongue. Her worry was torn in two, half for Harry, and half for Iris. What did this mean for her? To go from living in the Muggle world as an ordinary girl to being the daughter of the most famous wizard in Britain?

“Do you think Iris will be safe?” she finally asked Ron.

He looked at her with alarm. “Of course.”

“How can you be sure? Harry’s been hurt. There’s still bad people out there…”

Ron shook his head. “Harry won’t allow it. Plus you’re pretty scary when you want to be.  I can’t imagine anyone getting through you two.” 

When she didn’t answer, he put a hand on her arm. “Listen. The wizarding world is safe. At least a lot safer than it was. The press are shit, and there are still blood purist twats out there. But Harry got hurt because it’s part of his job. He seeks those nutjobs out. I mean he was in bloody Estonia! Who goes there? No one.” He paused, glancing at Harry.  “Not that it’s his fault…but it’s a risk that comes with the territory.”

“Why does he do it?” she asked, pain leaking into her voice. “He should have peace…if anyone’s earned that, it’s him.”

“I don’t think he knows how to stop…”

“Stop what?”

Ron sighed deeply. “Being Harry Potter.”

***

The day passed much like the others. Ron’s mood lightened after they ate and they avoided the heavier topics for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.

Her own heart remained vice-like in her chest. Every hour that Harry didn’t wake up increased the anxious tension in her body. None of this was helped by her lack of sleep. Hermione was sure she hadn’t been this tired since Iris was a newborn.

Once the blue evening light descended, she turned to Ron who was again snoring lightly. She rolled her eyes.

Trust him to nap anywhere. She nudged him and he snorted, sitting up.

“Go be with your wife and daughter,” she told him.

“You sure?”

Hermione nodded, looking over at Harry. “It doesn’t seem like it will be today.”

“Tomorrow,” Ron said with conviction as he stood.

She tried to smile. He patted her shoulder, whispered a quick ‘night, mate’ to Harry, and took off.

She pulled her chair closer to Harry’s bed, observing him for a while. His soft breathing was a comfort amidst her anxious thoughts. After a while she pulled one of her school texts from her bag.

Fairy Folk Tales of Ireland

Her fingers grazed the gold lettering, the soft purple cover like velvet. She had found the book in the shop, and had been delighted at how perfect it was for her research. Carefully she opened the old tome, breathing in the smell of aged paper. Right then she didn’t want to think about whether there was any point to continuing her studies. Instead, she tilted her face towards Harry.

“Alright, this probably isn’t quite as entertaining as Peter Pan,” she told him, flicking to the section she had left off on Wednesday. Only four days ago, but it felt like another lifetime.

She began to read him a story about the fae written down in the eighteen hundreds. Hermione grew lost in the words and historical fables. When she finished the second chapter, she licked her dry lips and blew out a breath. 

Her eyes were nearly as heavy as the book on her lap. She lifted them and, with a start, found green eyes watching her. They were swollen with sleep and the whites threaded with red, but they were open, and this time they were definitely seeing her.

Her mouth opened and she found she couldn’t speak. His head moved a fraction, and his lips tugged upwards, a dreamlike look on his face. They gazed at one another for what felt like years.

“Harry…” her voice was a raspy squeak.

He made a sound that wasn’t quite a cough. The book fell from her lap, a thud resounding in the quiet room. He mumbled something before he coughed again, this one making his body jerk, and his eyes blinked shut before meeting hers again.

Hermione moved as if in a trance, everything falling away that wasn’t him. She sat on the bed and watched in awe as his hand shakily reached for hers. She closed the distance, their fingers threading together.

“You’re here,” he croaked.

“I am,” she said, tasting her tears then. He squeezed her hand and she held tight to him.

He inhaled, his chest rattling, and winced. Alarm pushed in. Harry was hurt. Yet, she didn’t want to break the spell, afraid like always that this was only a dream.

“I hoped…I hoped it would be…be you,” he said slowly.

A small sob burst from her. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Last time.”

He tried to shake his head, eyes screwing up before opening.

“I…it’s different. This time.”

She nodded. Hardly able to believe she was talking to Harry, hearing his voice even if it was strained. The ghostly echo of the patronus and her memories had been a poor substitute.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, leaning in.

He nodded, confusion pulling at his brows.

“It didn’t. Last time.”

Hermione held his hand, pressing their joined hands against her abdomen. She didn’t know what he meant, but she didn’t want to question him while he was in pain. There was also the urge to throw herself into his arms, though she knew that would be unwise.

“You scared everyone,” she said softly.

Harry frowned. “Are they coming?”

“Who?”

“The others.”

“Ron will come soon.”

He gave a small shake, “Ron’s here?”

“He will be.”

At her words, his eyes blinked closed, the furrow in his brow deepening. “I…are my mom and dad coming?”

Hermione stilled. His hand was warm, thumb swiping over her palm the way she had done these last few days for him. He opened his eyes, watching her curiously before his neck rolled and he glanced down. Prongs was squashed beneath his arm and Harry gave her a bemused look.

“Harry…” she said, holding his hand tighter. “You…you’re not…”

She didn’t get a chance to finish. The door opened, light spilling in from the corridor along with several Healers. Her stomach dropped. When she looked back at Harry his eyes were locked on hers, confusion shining in their green depths. 

Healer Brown appeared. “Miss Granger, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave until—”

Her grip on Harry tightened. “I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a flurry of activity; more healers poured into the room, crowding the bed. She looked at Harry, who seemed to be struggling to take in the scene.

“I won’t leave you,” she said, moving closer to touch his cheek. “Not again.”

Suddenly a pair of strong arms was pulling her, and she felt them lock into place, her grip on Harry slipping. 

“Let go of me!” she hissed.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” someone, likely Healer Brown, was saying.

“He needs me!” she cried, ropes had appeared on her wrist.

“You’ll have to come back with Mr Weasley in the morning.”

“No!”

She fought back but it was no use, she was being escorted from the room. Though she swore she heard Harry’s voice faintly before she was back out in the corridor. 

Except the tall person escorting her didn’t stop; he moved her towards the lift. 

“I—I can’t leave!”

He ignored her and she felt a scream build in her throat as he forced her inside.

She glared at the man, but he acted like she was nothing more than a small nuisance dog at his heel. They spilled out into the grand lobby. Despite the hour it was still bustling. Hermione could hardly take any of it in. Her heart hammered, desperate to be back upstairs. Face wet with tears and likely bright red. People were staring, yet she couldn’t care. Her brain focused on one thing: Harry.

They were nearly out of the building, the cool night air making her shiver when a voice made the man stop.

“Wait!”

He turned them around and Hermione watched in shock as the Healer with the dark ponytail ran towards them. She puffed out a breath, bracing against her knees before looking up at them with a mix of shock and trepidation.

“He—he’s asking for you.”

Chapter Text

Hermione had no memory of her return journey upstairs; the security guard had reluctantly undone the binding on her arms when she broke out of her shocked state and yelled at him to do so. All she could think about was the fact that Harry was waiting for her.

On jelly-like legs, she still managed to get to the fifth floor, where she burst through his door, heart in her throat.

The cacophony of voices stopped at her entrance. Her eyes landed on Harry and the sheer intensity of seeing him properly awake was enough to make her already weak legs buckle. He was sitting up, one pajamas clad leg off the bed, his chest bare except for his bandage. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but all traces of sleep had vanished from his face—though it remained pale, with purple shadows under each green eye—eyes that watched her now.

They stared at one another for a long moment that felt infinite. 

Then on her shaky legs she moved toward the bed. 

“Hermione…” his voice was still raw from disuse.

But it was clear: his mind was working. There was no need for further prompting; she threw her shaking arms around his neck. His arms also shook when they wrapped around her, but pinned her in place with surprising strength. 

Everything else fell away:the room around them; the remaining Healers; the years apart. 

“You’re alive,” he murmured into her neck. 

A sob mixed with a disbelieving laugh left her lungs.

“ You’re alive.”

There was nothing else she could bring herself to say. She burrowed her face into his broad shoulder, noting the differences from when she had hugged him the last time…. A shudder went through her as her tears broke out in full force. Harry’s warm hold on her kept her from collapsing in on herself.

“I’m so—I’m so sorry,” she choked out. 

His hand was between her shirt and jumper. His skin felt reassuringly warm. “Why?” his voice was still hoarse, but sounded deeper as she felt the rumble of it. 

More tears flooded her, relief and guilt intermingled in her stomach. His own breathing was strained and she made herself pull back. His brow was knotted in pain, even though he appeared focused on her face. Then she remembered his injury, her gaze moved down.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” she said, brushing near his bandage gently.

She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that they were here, alive, in the same room, and talking to one another when he shook his head, but he didn’t cover his wince very well. His hands stayed glued to her waist. “Where…we—we looked everywhere…”

She swallowed. There was so much to tell him, and she still hadn’t a clue how to even start.

Any further conversation was interrupted by the clearing of a throat. Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Healer Brown.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but…Mr Potter, we’d like to do a proper assessment on your injury.”

Before she could interject, Harry did. “In a minute. And Hermione stays.”

By his tone, it was clear there was no room for argument. She sensed she had missed something after being dragged from the room. Her own anger had simmered down with the feeling of Harry’s hands on her, but she felt it creep back up at the intrusion. 

Healer Brown gave a small nod, glancing at the younger Healer on the other side of the room.

“You should let them look at it,” she said softly, hands shifting unconsciously to his hair. 

 He stared into her eyes, and she saw then how haunted they were, that they had experienced pain, both now and before.

“You’ll stay?”

Her breath hitched. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said after a moment, stroking the softness at the nape of his neck. “I promise.”

His grip on her waist tightened and then loosened, before he gave a small nod.

“Very well. If you’ll have a seat Miss Granger,” Dr Brown said, not unkindly.

She tried to give Harry a reassuring smile as she reluctantly stepped out of his embrace. With all the heaviness of a stone she sank into the chair. She watched on as he allowed Healer Brown to take off the bandage. Harry’s eyes met hers over the Healer’s white balding head. Disbelief was still etched into his face. She found she couldn’t look away either, his eyes drawing her in like magnets. 

They only shifted when Harry winced, darting down to the revealed scar, bright pink and jagged near his heart. His pained expression reminded her of second year, when he had been forced to regrow his bones. He always was one to downplay when he was hurt, so she knew that this new injury was truly painful. The fresh scar intersected with a faded one. The memory of cutting the locket from his skin seemed to singe her; she had mostly blocked that terrible night out—or had tried to. 

With a wave of his wand, Healer Brown pulled up a chart with print that wrote  itself, as inked line after inked line appeared. There was also a glowing orb that shone a pale green light. Hermione wished she could remember more of the research she had once done on Magical Medicine—but her mind was too muddled right then. 

Healer Brown began asking Harry a series of questions in a slow steady voice. He answered them distractedly, his eyes back on hers. Her heart beat was loud in her own ears and she found she barely heard what was being said about the combination of potions he had been given aside from the words Valerian and Dragon Blood—a strong enough reminder she was firmly back in the magical world.

“Do you remember being hit with the curse, Mr Potter?”

Harry’s expression faltered, something anguished passing over his face. He nodded slowly, looking away from her. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s good in a sense. It was a complex spell. Your heart stopped.”

Hermione gripped the arm of the chair, studying Harry, whose eyes widened before meeting hers again. She bit back another sob at his anxious look. “I…I died…?”

“Hmm. We aren’t sure. Magic is mysterious that way, and you Mr Potter seem to have a resiliency that others do not. Though I wouldn’t be quick to test it out again.”

“He won’t,” she said quickly, surprising herself.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up and the corner of his lips turned up after a moment. 

Her heart nearly fluttered out of her chest at the sight of him smiling again, even if it was still tinged with disbelief.

“She’s right. I won’t,” he told the Healer, though he was looking at her. 

“Good, good. Now, the plan is to keep you from feeling too much pain. You’ll need to be monitored of course—your heart took quite the hit from that curse. It will take time to fully heal. You’ll need to rest for the next long while.”

Her relief at the Healer’s words only sunk her further into the chair. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to hear good news from a Healer and not just from Ron being optimistic. Harry was really here; he was really going to be okay.

“Now. It’s late. Do you want me to call for your other emergency contact?” Healer Brown asked.

Harry hesitated. “Er…no. Not right now. In the morning.”

“Very well. I suggest then that you take the potion Healer Crowe will bring you and sleep.”

His brow furrowed and he made another face when he adjusted himself on the bed. “How long have I been asleep?”

“You were hurt Wednesday evening. It’s now early Sunday. Very, very early.”

He blinked in surprise. His eyes were full of questions. 

“Going back to sleep may seem counterintuitive, but I assure you it’s not. It will continue to play a large part in your recovery. Along with taking it easy, in every sense of the word. Undue stress is to be avoided.” Healer Brown glanced over at her. “I’m sure Miss Granger will agree that your recovery should be your top priority. I should mention that avoiding stress means physical activity, of any kind, is off the table.”

She found herself nodding, anxiety bubbling at the Healers' spiel. It took another second for her tired brain to catch onto the meaning of his emphasis, and her cheeks began to burn at the sight of Harry’s throat moving up and down at the same realization. 

“How long do I have to stay at the hospital?” Harry asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“That’s uncertain for now. Dark magic is nothing to be trifled with, especially with vital organs. I’d like to observe your progress over the next few days before I make further recommendations.”

Harry nodded, tugging at his hair and then grimaced, putting his arm back down. 

“We’ll include pain relief as well,” Healer Brown told him warmly.

“Right,” Harry murmured.

“I suggest you get some sleep. The both of you.”

She shifted in her seat, anxious for them to leave, yet nerves and anticipation fought within her at the thought of being alone with Harry.

Healer Brown conferred with another Healer, talking quietly near the foot of the bed, and she found herself once again staring at Harry, and him miraculously staring back. His hand moved towards the edge of the mattress and she leaned forward, closing the short distance. His fingers were calloused and wrapped around hers, the sensation of holding his hand so much different without the stillness. 

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured.

A soft sound caught in her throat, mixing with her tears. She pushed out thoughts of his own cold hands all those years ago, relishing the warmth now.

“They’re always like that,” she whispered. Memories of having to heat her hands with her wand before picking up a newborn Iris pushed to the forefront of her mind. 

His eyes searched hers curiously. “Yeah?”

She gave a small nod. “I’m a bit anemic actually.”

He sat forward, huffing out a breath and wincing again. She placed her free hand on his arm to steady him. “Have you seen a Healer?” he asked.

“No,” she said quietly. “A doctor though.”

He stilled. “A doctor…? You…where have you been Hermione? We…we looked everywhere.”

She took in a shaky breath. “Edinburgh.”

He looked like she had punched him. “But—then…how…”

“I stayed in the Muggle World. I…I didn’t know—” she looked down, finding her voice constricting, tears pouring hot down her cheeks

After a second she felt his calloused fingers grazing her cheek, tilting her head back towards him. “You didn’t know I came back?”

She shook her head, his hand—tangled in her curls at the nape of her neck—causing her to shiver. Any further question was interrupted by the dark haired Healer who appeared with three vials of potion.

“Two are for you Mr Potter. We also brought a second sleeping draught if you’d like it,” she said, turning to Hermione. 

Hermione pulled back from Harry, his hand moving out of her curls but staying on her arm.

“Oh, thank you,” She managed, taking the offered potion and holding it gingerly. Clearly the Healers had changed their tune when it came to her. Ron’s words about preferential treatment, war heroes, came back to her. She supposed they hadn’t completely trusted her until now.

Harry was grimacing from his first potion. She assumed it was similar to what she had taken in fifth year. Her hand drifted to the mark near her own chest. 

The Healer handed Harry the next potion and his eyes locked on hers. “You’re staying?”

She lifted the vile to her lips. “I am.”

He downed the potion at the same time as her. The liquid was warm and soothing on her parched throat. It also dawned on her that she had to use the bathroom.

She stood shakily from the edge of the bed, handing the empty glass to the Healer. Her hand came to his shoulder. “I’m just going to use the toilet, I’ll come back.”

He opened his mouth but the Healer cut in, “I believe you’ll want some privacy for this next bit.” 

His pale cheeks quickly stained red, and that sure sign of life was enough to make her act rashly. She bent and kissed him right where the blush was deepest, ignoring the zip that went through her at the contact.

“I won’t be long,” she whispered.

***

Hermione splashed cold water on her face. She had done her best to freshen up in the small lavatory across the hall. Her own bloodshot eyes met hers in the mirror. Curls a rioting mess and the lack of sleep clear in the dark circles she wished she had learned how to charm away.

There was still a shimmering quality to her vision, like she had smacked her head hard. The last half hour had been surreal, almost as if she was in a vivid dream. Harry’s voice had been hoarse from the last few days…but it sounded the same. She found her vision blurring again as she dried herself with her jumper, then used a quick cleaning charm to refresh before putting it back on.

When she entered Harry’s room, she found her breath released at finding him there alone. He was sitting up in bed, with more pillows behind him. His bare chest was now covered by a pajama top that matched his powder blue bottoms. Whatever the Healers had done for his own refreshment had far outdone her own mostly non-magical efforts.

At the sound of her approach his eyes blinked open sleepily and she found herself once again caught in his gaze, her mind all but shutting down.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

Her trembling lips turned up. “Hi.”

His green eyes were as piercing as she remembered. She touched her hand to her chest, aching with all that she was trying to contain. Her eyes darted down to the chair next to the bed, an extra blanket folded on it along with a pillow—yet another creature comfort that had been absent until now. 

“You’ve been here since Wednesday.”

It wasn’t a question but she nodded anyway. “Yes. I have.”

“Have you been…sleeping in the chair?”

Her breath hitched. “I wasn’t going to risk—to risk missing you waking up…not this time.”

His hand reached for her then, and only when she took it did she realize that she had begun to cry again. 

“I…I can’t believe it’s real…that—that you’re really here,” he said.

She swiped at her cheeks with her free arm, sucking in a breath. “I—I feel the same.”

His hand squeezed hers and her tears continued to pour out of her eyes, despite them already growing heavy from the potion. Sleep appeared to be pulling at him as well; she saw him straining to stay upright. 

“You should sleep,” she told him. 

His thumb continued its slow tracing pattern over her knuckles and it took him a minute to answer.

“Would you…would you lay here? With me?” At her obvious surprise, he gave her a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes darting down to his covered injury.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He gave a small shake of his head. “You won’t.”

Hermione took a steadying breath, glancing down at her leggings and the leather ankle boots she’d had for years.

Finally she simply nodded. Too tired to rationalize the reasons it would probably be frowned upon by the hospital staff. She let go of his hand to slip off her boots, leaving her in white ankle socks, the gleaming floor cold beneath her feet. 

Harry had already adjusted the pillow and lifted the blanket for her and without another thought she slipped beneath, careful not to jostle him. She wiggled down into the soft cotton, turning to lay on her side so she could see him in the dim light. 

His arm draped over her waist, a comforting weight. His presence filled the space around her, his scent in her nose, his touch at her side. All of it was hard to believe. Her heart beat—which had been drumming for ages—began to settle, the potion having now spread through her body like a warm blanket. 

Her hand touched his face, feeling the stubble. It reminded her of the long, lingering days in the tent, the only other time she had seen him grow facial hair. She remembered how mature it had made him look. Now she saw how young they had been—that somehow, miraculously, he had grown into a man. 

His eyes fluttered closed at her touch and her fingers moved to brush the thick mop of his hair from his face, his lightning scar now hardly visible. 

“Will you tell me?” His voice was thick and he had opened his eyes. “Where you’ve been…why you didn’t…why you didn’t come back?”

“I…” She stared into his eyes, the ones their daughter shared. Her mind and body would hardly cooperate, so heavy were her tongue and eyelids. “I…it’s a—it’s a long story.” His own eyes were growing hazier, hand still warm and heavy on her hip. Her hand moved to take his again. “I want to. Tell you. Everything.”

“Okay,” he murmured, brushing under the hem of her jumper and she found herself scooting closer to him, needing to be nearer. He gave a gentle tug and she was against him properly. A shudder of relief at the feeling of being properly nestled in his arms, at being able to feel his breathing.  Memories of falling asleep like this in the tent dropped over her like rain. Sometimes it felt like she hadn’t slept deeply since those nights.

His breath was warm on her temple, his words steady and quiet. “I…I’ve missed you.”

“I…thought of you. Every…every day.”

He hummed a sound of agreement. “Don’t…want this to be a…a dream,” he mumbled.

She tried to reply, but sleep was an ocean and she sank right down. Hoping for the same thing. 

***

Hermione woke up slowly, wrapped in Harry’s arms. It took several minutes for her mind to understand she wasn’t in fact dreaming. Pale light filtered through the room and she felt Harry’s fingers flex against the skin of her back. At some point in the night they had slipped beneath her jumper. She was warm all over, but pleasantly so. His arm kept her in place against him, securing her to reality. Her mind drifted laying there. She felt not unlike the princess from Iris’s storybook, the one who slept for a century—except the world she was awakening to hadn’t stood still. No, it had moved swiftly onwards. Including the little world she had built for herself in Edinburgh. 

That last thought snapped her more awake. Iris—she had promised to call her. She stared at Harry who continued to sleep. He appeared so peaceful, and mercifully alive, his chest moving softly. At some point she would deliver news that would drastically change his life. Hermione only hoped it would be a welcomed change.

As if he sensed the upending of everything, his eyelids began to flutter and his hand flexed on her back. She could see the edge of his bandage peeking out from the top of his shirt—a reminder that Healers would be intruding in their little bubble at any time. Hermione was unsure how early it was, her phone tucked away and hospitals always seemed stuck in a different time zone from the rest of the world, anyway

When his eyes did open, they simply looked at one another for a long time.

“Not a dream,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

Her eyes watered, looking at his sleep rumpled face. “Not a dream,” she whispered.

Their breathing and the faint hum of magic were the only sounds to break the quiet. His hand had stayed on her back, his fingers pressing lightly against her spine. Heat pooled low in her belly at the sensation. His eyes flickered to her lips, lingering there, and warmth spread through her as he effortlessly drew her in. They didn’t break the connection, studying each other in turn. 

With him awake, and without the commotion of the night before, it was easier to take in the way he had changed. His nose appeared to have been broken at some point and she fought the urge to trace the shape of it with her finger. The rest of him was the same, except for the few scars she spotted along his forearms and a nick near his ear. He was still Harry, just older. 

The weight of his hand on her side shifted, and slowly brought it to her face. His touch to her cheek was gentle. She wondered what he saw—how the years had affected her. She was sure they had; the faded marks on her stomach were proof enough.

Their quiet was broken by the sound of the door. Hermione forced herself to a seated position hastily. Harry sucked in a breath when he adjusted himself.

“Good morning. That pain potion will be wearing off right about now,” Healer Crowe said brightly, ponytail swinging. Hermione briefly wondered what potions she must be on to be that chipper on no sleep. As she approached them, Hermione came to her senses and untangled herself from the sheets and got out of the narrow bed. 

Harry had lain back down, face tense with pain. The reality that his recovery journey was far from over made her own body tense as she lowered herself back into the chair, bringing her knees up to her chin and watching silently while the Healer checked over Harry’s vitals.

“It’s not going to make me sleep again?” he asked when the Healer handed him another potion.

“Not this one. Though you’ll likely be expected to stay in bed and they’ll want you to sleep a good portion of the day…so you’ll recover quicker.”

Harry gave a small nod, lips pursed after taking the liquid. A look of disgust came over him that made her have to stifle an unexpected laugh. It was the exact same expression Iris made when she was forced to take medicine—she hadn’t noticed the similarity until then and immediately her hands began to tremble. 

“Nice to see you’ve woken up.” 

Ron’ voice made her whirl around in her seat. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking a fraction more rested than the day before—and relieved. 

He glanced between them and approached. “Now if you could both stop making me think you’re dead…that would be appreciated.”

Hermione turned to look at Harry as he was having his bandage changed. His brows were furrowed at the Healer’s touch. His eyes met hers and then Ron’s.

“I’ll try my best,” Harry said.

“That’s all I ask,” Ron replied, folding himself into the chair next to hers. “Good to see you by the way. It’s been awhile.”

The Healer put a fresh bandage on and Harry tilted his head in their direction.

“It’s really been four days?”

Ron blew out a breath. “Yeah mate, it has. Felt bloody longer though.”

The three of them grew silent. Healer Crowe finished her work and told Harry that Healer Brown would be by shortly. The silence only deepened after she left.

Hermione’s palms grew sweaty from her hold on her knees and she adjusted herself, suddenly finding it hard to look at either of her best friends.

“So when did…”  Harry started and she sensed his gaze without looking.

“Right. Neville found Hermione threatening the receptionist the night you arrived and brought her up here.”

Hermione’s eyes darted back up to find Harry’s eyebrows had shot up to his fringe. She turned sharply to Ron. “I didn’t threaten anyone.”

Ron shrugged. “If you say so. Papers this morning say otherwise.”

“What?” she and Harry said at the same time.

Ron heaved a sigh and dug around in his pocket, bringing out a rolled up newspaper. He handed it to her and she unrolled it with a sense of dread.

Her lips parted at the moving photograph of herself. It took her mind a moment to process that it must have been from last night. She was being dragged by the security guard, her face flushed pink and hair wild. There was nothing flattering about the image. Or the Headline.

Brightest Witch of Her Age, Long Thought Dead, Spotted at St Mungo’s: Visitor or Patient?

Eyes scanning the page, her stomach plummeted before turning to fury. Bloody Peggy was quoted—saying she was unreasonable and clearly mentally unstable. The byline showed that Rita Bloody Skeeter had written the article.

The pages crumpled in her grip. 

“Can I see it?” 

She lifted her eyes from the offending paper to see Harry watching with concern. Her rage strangled her vocal chords and she leaned over to hand it to him wordlessly. His face quickly melded into a hard mask. 

“ She’s been here?” he asked, his tone icy.

“Yeah. You’d think she would know better after the last time,” Ron said.

Last time? She turned to Ron, but before she could ask for clarification the door swung open.

“Mr Potter, I hope you’re feeling better with some pain relief.”

Harry lowered the paper, his expression agitated. “Ah. I see you’ve seen the papers,” the older man moved forward into the room. “If I may make a suggestion, I’d avoid those for now. Stress won’t help get you out of here as quickly as you’d like.”

Hermione gripped the arm of the chair, watching as Harry nodded and folded the paper, though he didn’t relinquish it either. Harry clearly hadn’t lost his reluctance to listen to authority. 

“I thought with Mr Weasley here we would go over the plans for your healing.”

Harry glanced at the two of them and then nodded again.

“Very well. We have you on seven potion courses, one of which will finish tomorrow. That one will keep you the most tired, so I highly suggest that sleep be your priority for the next forty eight hours.”

He went on to detail the other six, courses,all of which would end at different points over the next month. From the sound of things, there would be no rushing back into his old life. He was once again forbidden from working or engaging in any strenuous activity. 

“I know you’re not used to being idle, Mr Potter, but it's truly in your best interest. You’ll want to keep yourself rested and relaxed. It may sound boring, but it is temporary. Avoid stressors—even the happy kind. At least for now.”

Ron paled and she felt her own face drain of color.

“So he can’t get too happy?” Ron asked into the silence.

“I wouldn’t frame it quite like that. But novel things and excitement are best limited for now. It’s more of a precaution. And stress is cumulative, hence why we don’t suggest even desk work for now. The exposure to the things Mr Potter deals with in his field of work aren’t advisable.”

He looked at Harry.  “It’s best to try and keep things calm. As seen, you’ve already managed so far, even with some surprises.”

Hermione hadn’t been able to speak as her own blood pressure shot up. Harry frowned again. “Can I leave by Wednesday?”

“If everything looks good, then yes. Though that’s the next part of this discussion. You’ll require care, I take it you have someone to support you? You shouldn’t be up on your feet much.” 

“I can—”

“We’ll help—”

Hermione and Ron spoke at the same time, Ron looking at her with raised brows. 

She sensed the question behind his look. What about Iris?

Healer Brown didn’t seem to notice the beat of awkwardness between them, nor Harry’s bewildered expression. “Excellent. It looks like you have no shortage of support. Another round of potions will be given to you at lunch, and we’ll be keeping you on soup and other light foods for the day.”

“Anything else I can answer?” he added when they all stared at him blankly.

Harryleaned back against the pillow, scrubbing his face. “No. Thanks.”

“Good. Good. Healer Crowe will be by soon, to get you freshened up, and then your first soup of the day should be here.” 

A flush worked its way up Harry’s neck. “Sure. Fine.”

The Healer left and the three of them remained quiet until Ron broke.

“You two were pretty cozy this morning.”

Her face grew hot and she glowered at her supposed best friend.

When she glanced over at Harry, his cheeks were flushed, though there was a chance he was just overheated. The room did feel unbearably warm all of a sudden. She stood and shed her jumper, wrapping it around her waist. Her bare arms were warm to the touch when she folded them across her chest. 

Ron’s head kept swiveling between them and it dawned on her that he was not so subtly trying to figure out what the deal was between them. Which was nothing new, at least not that she could be sure of. Except that wasn’t entirely true considering they now had a child together. Her heart thumped hard. She wasn’t any closer to finding the right words, the ones that would tell him everything, like she had promised.

Harry’s hand brushed her arm, bringing her attention back to the room and the two boys she loved, now men, who were watching her with weighted concern.

Her lips were sticky and she tried to get herself to speak, but the door opened suddenly and then Healer Crowe was striding into the room.

Hermione found her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. She wished this was all happening differently—that she could figure out what came next, that the perfect words would fall into place. 

“You alright?” Harry asked her. She gave a nod, feeling suddenly exposed with the stranger approaching the bed and all the eyes in the room on her.

All of which made her not notice the strange buzzing sound right away. Not until Ron spoke up. “Is that the telephone?” he asked.

Her heart jumped as she lunged for the chair where her bag sat. She dug through the purple beaded material. Only one person was likely to be calling her, which was confirmed when she saw the numbers flash on the gray box on the front. 

“Annie?” she asked, breathless to her own ears.

A giggle was the response. Some of her panic leaked out at the familiar sound. 

“I’m not Annie,” Iris told her.

She gripped the back of the chair, steadying herself. “Hmmm. Does she know you’re calling?”

Another giggle, this one tinged with guilt. “Not exactly.”

Hermione blew out a breath. 

“I just missed you,” Iris said plaintively.

All at once the awareness of where she was rooted her to the spot. She could feel the unease from Ron and the curiosity from Harry. It was funny how she could sense them like that, even after all the years apart. There was no time to think about this properly. 

Covering the phone speaker with her hand, she looked over her shoulder. Sure enough Ron’s hands were shoved in his pockets, eyebrows raised. Harry’s expression held a quiet uncertainty, his forehead creased. His gaze was unwavering and she felt it all at once, her worlds colliding. 

She attempted a smile, trembling with the enormity of it all. “I’ll be right back.”

Right then all she knew was that telling Harry everything while Iris was listening in on the phone was not the correct choice.

“Mummy?” Iris squeaked into the phone, which she pressed back to her ear.

She pushed at the door, “Sorry darling, just a second.”

Out in the cooler corridor she moved forward, unsure of her direction with the same pale walls everywhere.

“I miss you too. Are you well?”

Iris gave a little contented hum. “We made pie yesterday and the sun came out! And I drew a picture. For your friend.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, voice catching. “That’s a really kind thing to do.”

“We’re also going to the sea today. Well, if the rain isn’t too blustery.”

“Where are Annie and Rosie?” 

“The garden. I told them I had to pee.”

Hermione sighed, some days she could already picture Iris’s teenage years too clearly, and she was sure that all the omissions in her own conversations with her parents would come back tenfold. That would be true, at least, only judging by her daughter’s current tendency to skirt around the truth when she wanted to do something, a phase that Rosie promised wouldn’t last. Hermione was less certain—not with her daughter’s genetic makeup.

“Remember what we talked about…with being honest,” Hermione said, keeping her tone serious.

“I was! I’m in the loo and I did have to pee.”

“That’s all fine. But next time ask Annie and Rosie first.”

As she approached the large window overlooking London, she could practically see Iris’s pout in her mind's eye. Guilt quickly overtook her when she heard the sniffle on the other end. 

She held the phone tighter to her ear, wishing she could apparate right then and there. “I know it hasn’t been easy love.”

Iris gave a small sniff, voice shaking. “You promised to call me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was going to later today.”

“Is your friend all better now? Can you come home again? Before your birthday?”

“He’s doing much better.” Hermione weighed her words carefully. “I will be home. Though likely not today.”

Iris' voice came through muffled. “You said I could be with you for your birthday.”

She rested her forehead against the cool glass, her own tears building up. “You will be.”

“It feels like a hundred years Mummy.”

“It does for me to.”

They stayed there, connected by the telephone. This was by far the longest they had been apart. Her heart still felt split in two, desperate to be in both places. Her breath caught at the thought that soon this wouldn't be the case. She wasn’t sure why the sensation felt so much like fear, the way it swooped inside her like she was flying on a broom. There was nothing she wanted more than to have Harry and Iris at the same time. For so long that had been her greatest wish. She had rarely let herself indulge in it, not with its impossibility. 

She could hear Iris’s soft breathing and she opened her eyes, looking down at the teeming city.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, sure of the words as soon as she said them. 

“Really?!” Iris’s squealed, tripping over in excitement. “Will you pick me up from school?”

“Yes,” she said, deciding at that moment that she would. There would be no more avoiding the inevitable. Her own heart couldn’t handle any more time away from her daughter—she would figure out a plan.

“Will you take me to see your friend?” Iris asked with excitement. 

Her stomach swooped again. “I hope so.” 

Iris went quiet for a moment. “Did Prongs help him?”

Her question was like a bolt of lightning. The lovie—it had completely slipped her mind with everything else going on. She shifted away from the window, glancing down the empty corridor. 

“Yes,” she breathed out, dread replacing the hope that had crept in. Iris loved that knitted creature—she couldn’t bear to not have him come back. 

“I told you he would.” Iris didn’t seem to sense anything amiss while Hermione wracked her brain for where she had last seen Prongs. 

“You did.” Hermione forced out another breath. “I have to go sweetheart. Tell Annie I’ll call later alright?”

“I will! Can you bring Prongs tomorrow? I miss him too. Not as much as you…but pretty close.”

“I will,” she said, swallowing. “I love you to the moon. Be good for Annie and Rosie.”

“I love you to the bottom of the sea,” Iris replied, blithely unaware of just how much their lives were about to change.

The phone was hot against her ear when the line went silent. With a snap she closed the mobile and placed it over her heart. Moving with purpose, she navigated the stark corridor back to where she’d come from, her mission clear.

She needed to tell Harry. Soon. And she needed to find Prongs. 

***

Hermione’s first thought when she entered Harry’s room to find it empty was that she had made a mistake. The bed was made up, her beaded bag gone and no trace of either of her friends. 

Then she backtracked to the corridor; it was for sure the room she had spent the better part of five days in. The sensation of falling was enough to cause her to press a hand out to the wall. Panic came swiftly and she was about to rush down to the lobby when Healer Crowe came around the corner.

Before she could speak, the young Healer gave a surprised look at whatever expression she wore.

“Oh. I’m sorry. He’s been moved down the hall. Room 3.”

Hermione managed a nod, taking off to the direction the Healer pointed. Her chest only loosened when she entered the correct numbered room to find Ron standing by a large window. Her eyes darted to the bed—empty.

Ron turned. “I was about to come looking for you.”

“Why did they move him?”

Ron gave a shrug. “He’s awake now. Suppose they wanted him to have more of a view. That and the attached bathroom, now that his erm—bodily functions have returned.”

Her gaze followed Ron’s to the door at the other end of the room. She nodded as she lowered herself in the chair, relief making her light headed, heartbeat still erratic.

“So…was that…”

“Yes,” she said, swallowing.

“She knows how to use a telephone?”

She glanced back at Ron over her shoulder. “Yes…”

His pale brows shot up. “Impressive.”

A laugh caught in her throat. “Is it?”

“Those things are mental. All those little buttons…”

All at once she was laughing, burying her face in her palms. She didn’t realize she was also crying until she felt Ron’s hand on her shoulder.

“What am I going to do?” she asked, when she got her breath.

“You just tell him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is.”

“You heard what Healer Brown said. No surprises. No excitement. Or Stress. This is all three—and it’s also a giant responsibility that he hasn’t signed up for.”

Hermione found herself standing, the chair scraping loudly. 

Ron rubbed his face. “Sod the Healer! He doesn’t know Harry. He’ll be more upset if you don’t tell him.”

Hermione crossed her arms, glaring at Ron.

“I’m not as comfortable blatantly ignoring medical advice!”

“There’s not much other choice is there? You just have to tell him.”

They glowered at one another until another voice joined the conversation.

“Tell me what?”

Chapter Text

Hermione whirled around to find Harry leaning in the open door frame of the bathroom, a glow of light behind him. She thought he looked like he had just run several miles—his face flushed, his hair standing on end, and his bones appearing as if they weren’t doing their job very well—all of which sent her anxiety rocketing skyward. 

At the sound of a cleared throat behind her, she finally tore her gaze from Harry to see Ron, who had grown even paler beneath his freckles. She imagined he didn’t exactly want to be a witness to this moment.

When she looked back at Harry, his face was guarded as he straightened up slowly. She found herself struggling to swallow, let alone speak, as he moved towards them. With only a few strides, her fears were confirmed that he was still in pain, as she noted the wince he failed to conceal.

Her hand reached for him without any thought when he was close. The skin of his arm was warm, and up close she saw his eyes were bloodshot, bearing dark circles like ink stains.

“What do you need to tell me?” Harry asked quietly.

Silence fell heavily across the room, the three of them stilled near the bed.

“Right…Reckon I should check on Susan…you know, just in case…she’s uh, had the baby…”

Neither of them replied as Ron began to back away. She only knew he was gone by the whoosh of the door. Hermione stared at the bandage which lay close to her eye level—a stark reminder of just how injured Harry still was, despite him walking about. 

“Hermione…”

His other hand touched her cheek gently, wiping away stray tears with his thumb. He pulled her to his chest and she felt his sharp inhale from the contact but he kept ahold of her tightly. 

“Have you taken a pain potion?” she asked, voice muffled against him. He hesitated and she sighed, peering up at him as best she could. “You’re supposed to take it easy. You shouldn’t even be out of bed this long.”

She leaned back and his grip loosened. His dark brows were knotted, anxiety shining in his green eyes when they met hers. “What…what you needed to tell me…. Is there…I mean…are you with...” His throat bobbed and he glanced down at the floor.  “I’d understand—”

“No!” her reaction was delayed, but she had practically shouted her answer in the quiet room, cutting him off mid sentence.

Now he stared at her in shock. “You…you aren’t…there’s no…”

She shook her head quickly, ignoring the pulse in her temple when she did—as well as the fact that her answer wasn’t entirely factual. There very much was someone else—just not in the way he was implying.

Harry seemed to sag in relief. “Oh…I thought…”

“There’s never been anyone…not like. Not like it was with you.”

That part was entirely true. There had been some half hearted attempts at dating in the last year or two, but nothing had ever come close to her feelings for Harry. It was like comparing a single match to an inferno. 

Harry went completely still.  His hand curled over hers, bringing it to his chest. She could feel the tremble of his pulse. She was sure her own was racing as she stared into his eyes. 

“I,” he swallowed. “I haven’t wanted anyone but you.” Her heart caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. “Not since the tent.”

She gave a small nod, vision blurring. “I…it’s the same for me.”

His thumb dragged along the side of her jaw, tipping her face upwards.

Harry swallowed, seeming almost nervous. “There’s…there’s something I’d always promised myself I’d say to you…you know…if I…if I ever found you again.” He paused, swallowing once more. “I—I wanted to say it yesterday…when I first saw you…but I couldn’t believe it…and then, all the healers…and the potions…I—I never got the chance…”

Gently she touched his cheek and his eyes met hers. His hand covered hers and he breathed out. “What I’ve wanted to tell you since yesterday…is that I’m in love with you. I—I have been for years. Since the tent…maybe even before that.”

His words made her light headed, heart fluttering madly. She closed her eyes, hardly able to believe this wasn’t part of a dream, a lovely but impossible one. 

When she opened them he was watching her, still tired, but a calm over him that hadn’t been there before. 

“I—I love you. I always have,” she whispered. 

The slow upward turn of his lips did not help matters with her wildly beating heart. His gaze dropped to her lips and she found herself pressing up on her toes. Wholly inside the moment with him as they looked at one another. The warmth of his breath ghosted across her face, his large hands cradling her when their lips met. He tasted faintly like mint, the press gentle until her lips parted beneath his chapped but soft ones. His hands moved down to grip her waist, pulling her even closer as she clung to him, the kiss deepening.

Time melted. Hermione felt just as she had the first time his lips had touched hers, whisky on their breath. And again when he’d kissed her soaking wet in the tent and the nights that had followed.

Or the last kiss, far too brief, salt wind blowing through her hair on a dark desolate shore. 

Her hand slipped down to his chest, brushing against the bandage, his heart drummed loudly beneath her palm. Knees weak, his hold on her was all that kept her upright while her head spun madly. 

Their story wasn’t over. Not yet. As she caught her breath, the awareness broke through; that she still had to tell him about an enormous chapter. 

Harry’s head bowed onto her shoulder and she held tight to him. She carded her fingers through his fringe, his forehead warm and damp beneath her palm. “You should probably lay down.”

She felt his smile against her skin and he hummed against her, causing a shiver. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with a light that hadn’t been there earlier. “If you’ll join me.”

Heat creeped up her neck and his smile grew. Her eyes fluttered at the feel of his hands bunched up beneath her jumper. All of her warm and liquid in his embrace. 

“This is real, isn’t it?” she asked, grabbing hold of the soft material of his shirt. 

He nodded, pressing her closer. “It’s real.”

Despite the myriad of reasons why she shouldn’t, that she should try and find the words to tell him about Iris, she instead found herself kissing him again. His tongue grazed her lip and she found herself moaning, her hold on him tightening. She was so lost, she didn’t hear the door open. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

Hermione pulled back, face even hotter as she touched her cheek. A young Healer from the day before stood at the entrance way, a tray in her wobbly hands and face flashing a bright bubblegum pink against her reddish hair.

Her eyes fell to the bottle of potion. The sight was more sobering than the Healer, and a strong reminder that she should be less reckless with breaching the advice for Harry’s recovery. She straightened, pulling further back from his embrace. He lifted his hand from her waist to scratch the back of his head and winced—which was another reminder that Harry still needed to focus on healing.

“Is that the pain potion?” she asked, turning to face the anxious looking Healer. 

“Erm, yes miss. It’s for pain…and to help Mr Potter sleep.”

Harry heaved a sigh and Hermione placed a hand on his arm, shooting him a stern look. “Yes, thank you. He’ll be sure to take that.”

The young witch placed it on the side table, skittering around them. “It should help quickly,” she said, holding the tray to her chest. Her green robes swirled around her ankles, loose on her small frame. She couldn’t have been more than a year or two out of Hogwarts, Hermione thought.

“Thanks,” Harry murmured. 

The healer nodded and all but dashed from the room. Hermione rubbed her temple. “What are the odds she speaks to the paper?”

Harry shrugged, barely hiding another wince as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “I don’t care what they write at this point. They’ll always want to up the ante or drama, to sell papers. Not that this isn’t dramatic in its own way…”

“It’s certainly not normal.”

“When have we ever been normal?”

Despite herself she found herself returning his tired but cheeky smile. “I suppose you're right.” She moved towards the side table picking up the potion, nudging herself between his spread legs and placing it in his hand. “Take this please.”

At his hesitation she crossed her arms. “You promised you would follow the protocol.”

He glanced down at the potion and back at her. At whatever serious expression she wore he seemed to give up any arguing. He shot the potion back, wiping the back of his mouth with a grimace. 

Studying him she could see his energy was fading. His shoulders were tight, breathing more strained and it tore at her heart. Her own adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her shaky. She touched both sides of his head gently and kissed his crown. He held onto her, his face pressed into her shoulder. Thoughts swirled in her mind, about Harry’s health, about Iris, the intersection of those two things. She would tell him, she would. Later that day, she didn’t see another choice.

He grew heavier against her, and she realized that she couldn’t completely disregard the advice of Healer Brown. She would ensure he was at least rested and well before she dropped that bomb on him. 

Even if the guilt sat heavy in her chest. She needed him to be okay.

***

Hermione awoke with a jolt, the sleep fading as quickly as the dream she’d been immersed in—one in which Iris kept running too far ahead, giggling, just out of her grasp. 

Harry was asleep in the bed next to her. She hadn’t expected to join him in sleep but the strain of the last five days had clearly taken its toll and now she was blinking the sleep from her eyes. Sunlight shone through the curtains, so it was still fairly early, at least she assumed. When she rolled over, she let out a startled gasp. Ron sat in the chair, long legs folded awkwardly as he chewed on a sandwich. 

“Afternoon,” he said, mouth full. 

She forced herself to sit up. Harry stirred, but remained deep in slumber.

Hermione groaned as she forced herself out of the bed, her body protesting. She still felt stiff from having kept vigil in the hospital chairs but she still went to sit in one again, eyeing Ron.

“Susan’s not in early labor then.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “Nah. Thank Merlin. She did make us these though. I told her I’d be back home this afternoon to help with Mia, but she insisted I come back and feed you first.”

She smiled despite herself and took the offered sandwich. They ate in relative silence, though Ron’s chewing was just as loud as she remembered from their school days.

“So? How did it go?”

Hermione wiped microscopic crumbs from her jeans. 

“You didn’t tell him,” Ron said with a sigh. 

“We…we talked about—about other things.”

She flinched at Ron’s skeptical look. “I wanted to. We just—we got sidetracked and then he had to take his potion. You saw him, he didn't look well.” She let out a deep sigh. “It’s not exactly a conversation that can be rushed.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I also don’t know if there is a potion that could sedate him after finding that out. He’s going to go mental.”

Hermione stood on her numb legs and began to move around the room. “Mental in a good way,” Ron added after a moment. Hermione continued pacing, ignoring him, her mind a frantic whirlwind. 

“Do you want to go see her?” Ron eventually asked.

Hermione paused, glancing over at Harry, who remained fast asleep. 

“She’s at the seaside. At least I think so. If the heavy rain holds off.” She crossed her arms, suddenly chilly. “I’ve been thinking…about after. How we’re going to care for him.”

Ron leaned forward, wiping his face. “Yeah. I talked to Susan. She’s open to him staying at our place. But she made a good point, that knowing him, he’ll likely want to stay in his own flat. Plus Andie has healing experience and will want to help. She’s ace at potions too.”

She frowned, momentarily confused, and then it clicked. Right . Harry lived with Andromeda, Remus and Teddy—or adjacent to them, at least. It was something she kept forgetting—Harry being alive in the world these last seven years was still sinking in. She laced her fingers together, feeling her palms start to sweat. “Of course.”

“I can’t speak for him obviously…but I think he’s just going to want to be wherever you are.”

Her bottom lip stung from her biting down so hard. She tried to imagine living with Iris and Harry. She had more hope than ever after this morning, but like everything else it felt like a dream—too good to be true.

Ron blew out a breath. “I talked to the Healers when you were sleeping. Healer Delaney said his vitals are looking better. So he may actually be able to leave by the end of the week…”

Hermione swallowed, hardly able to believe how much her life had changed within the last week. 

“He’ll still need to lay low,” Ron went on. “Susan mentioned creating a schedule. We can take turns checking in on him, but probably best if someone’s there at all—”

“I’ll stay with him,” she interjected, at his skeptical look she heaved another sigh. “I’ll have to sort a few things first of course…” 

She moved towards the large window. Way off in the distance she spotted Parliament hills—appearing only as a small blip of green from where she stood. She had spent many afternoons there as a small girl imagining her future. Her father had often pointed towards Big Ben, saying she could do anything, even run the country someday. 

She had traded in her dreams of the House of Commons for the hope of making a difference at the Ministry of Magic. Then everything had changed…those dreams had leaked out of her. 

This city was a cemetery of memory. It was why she had chosen Edinburgh—a clean slate in which she had built her new life, a life that was full, and complicated. Iris was of course at the center of all of it, the sole reason she had gone on when all she had wanted to do was give up. Yet there was also her work and research, her post graduate studies, The family she had found in Annie and Rosie, the small flat they had made a home above the shop, along with a community of friends, both hers and Iris’s. 

Standing there so much of that life now felt like mist, fragile and uncertain. Her eyes swept over the busy streets of the city that had once been home. She glanced over at Harry’s sleeping face. Being with him was a plunge back into the past. Long buried parts of herself seemed to be clawing their way to the surface. It was terrifying… exhilarating. 

Harry was here . As she watched his steady breathing, her own grew easier. The sudden rush of clarity that overcame her broke in like a dawning light, brighter than the sun breaking through the clouds outside.

“I’m going to withdraw from my classes,” she murmured.

When she turned to look at Ron, his jaw was agape. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Harry needs me.” At his startled expression, she blew out a breath. “I need to focus. I can’t…I can’t do it all at once.”

Ron gave a small nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

Hermione moved closer to Harry and touched the back of his hand lightly. He didn’t stir. The potion was doing its job, she reminded herself. Sleep was what he needed. 

Ron cleared his throat. “Right. I should probably mention that people are wanting to visit. Healers weren’t keen on anyone coming until tomorrow. I told Ginny to hold off—”

“Ginny was here?” She went back to the chair and sat down, pulling her knees up to her chin. 

“Not at the hospital. She dropped by our place. She’s back in the country.” His expression darkened as he lowered his voice. “Her and the ferret.”

Hermione could only stare, the beat of confusion causing her to stutter. “Do—do you mean…Malfoy?”

Ron tipped his head back with a groan, scrubbing at his face. “I guess I forgot to mention that bit. Honestly I try to pretend it's not real.”

She lowered her legs, the shock making her sit upright. “Ginny’s with…she’s with Malfoy? Like…romantically?”

Ron groaned again at her last question. His skin was now splotched with red.

“Yeah. It’s a bloody travesty. But Susan said I need to get over it. Same with him.” He gestured towards Harry.

She blinked at him. “This isn’t a joke?”

“Merlin. I wish.”

Hermione tried to imagine it and found she couldn’t. Her last memory of Draco was him slinking off during the battle with his parents. He may not have ratted them out—but he had still been a coward. Her hand drifted to her wrist and she took in a deep breath and tried to blow away that particular memory.

“Will he…come here?” she asked, baffled at the mere thought.

Ron shook his head. “No. I told her you’re here. That it wouldn’t be right to spring him on you like that.” He rolled his neck to the side, his face still flushed. “There’s more than enough going on without adding that.” 

Hermione could only nod, still at a loss of words over the strange development. 

“I do think Remus may end up coming by. He sent a Patronus. We’ll see how Harry’s doing when he wakes up,” Ron added. Hermione looked back at Harry. She wanted him to wake up. Badly. Yet her whole body felt like one giant knot at what came next. How did one bring up such huge news? Did she just say it? Ask him how he feels about children…and then tell him there wasn’t much choice in the matter since he already had one?

“You can bring her though. You should.” Ron’s voice interrupted her thoughts, she turned to look back at him. Her brow furrowed and then it clicked into place. 

“Tomorrow. I promised her I would,” she said, sitting back. “Or at least see her. For my birthday.”

“Bloody hell! I almost forgot!” A smile flashed across his face. “You’re getting old.”

She swatted at him half heartedly. “Twenty five is hardly old.”

At Ron’s happiness she felt some of her own returning, the hope of a birthday with the people she loved most within reach. But the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach were more like a hurricane and everything circled back to the conversation they would have to have first. 

She had also promised Iris they would celebrate. Life was short. Hermione knew this and had always acted accordingly. Each birthday they spent as much of the day together as they could. There was always a homemade cake with candles. Iris loved to bake, often insisting on sitting on the counter and mixing the bowls herself—her tongue poked out in concentration, flour dusting her hair and face, Prongs stuffed into the multicolored patched apron Rosie had made her… 

Hermione shot out of the chair, whirling around the room.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

She ignored him, looking under the bed and then in the large wooden cabinet that appeared to hold nothing but extra bedding and towels. 

“Hermione?”

She turned, panic spreading through her. “Have you seen her deer?”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean…the stuffy?”

“No. A live one. Yes, the stuffy!”

Ron shook his head, unfolding himself from the chair. “No. I haven’t. Not since you showed me.”

Hermione continued to pace the spacious room, eyeing the bare corners. Like those in most hospitals it was bland, awash in muted colours—only the entire place had a more archaic feeling, a sharp contrast to the hospital’s more modern Muggle counterparts. 

She looked out the window helplessly—almost hoping she would find the deer perched within reach on the stone arches. He wasn’t.

“Try summoning it.”

She shot towards her bag, grabbing her wand and performing the spell that had once been so commonplace for her. 

Nothing. She tried again with the same result. Hermione placed a hand on her stomach, feeling faint. Iris would be utterly devastated, and it was all her fault. Ron’s hand on her shoulder drew her attention back to the room.

“Look. We’ll ask around.”

With only a second of hesitation, she nodded. Swiftly she went to Harry, kissing his cheek and whispering a promise to return. Ron followed her out of the room and together they made their way to the part of the floor where the Healers came and went. One of the male Healers, short and freckled and familiar, walked past them. “Excuse me, have you seen a lovie? A knit deer?”

He shot her an imperious look. “No. I haven’t.”

Her heart plummeted even further. Ron cut in. “Reckon you know who we could ask?”

“We aren’t in the business of keeping track of toys. You could ask reception, that’s where lost items are turned in.”

The man stalked away without another word. “Thanks mate.” Ron muttered and Hermione found herself fighting a sudden migraine.

“I suppose we’ll go down there,” Ron said. 

“I can’t face her.”

“Who?”

“Peggy.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and she sighed. “It’s a long story…could you ask? I doubt she’ll tell me the truth even if he was sitting right at her desk.”

Ron shrugged. “I’ll try to be more charming than you.”

She rolled her eyes but followed him to the lift. She became aware during the descent that she would be wise to perform a glamour—there wasn’t the same obvious posse from before, and thankfully no signs of Rita. Still, she knew it was better safe than sorry.

“I’ll meet you on the steps,” she whispered to Ron, bee lining away from the desk where Peggy sat with her updo and magazine. 

A stray bit of sunshine fell upon her face when she stepped outside, her lungs filling up properly despite the exhaust. Taxis and cars flashed by on the busy street. No one paid her any mind on the dingy steps of what appeared to most as a derelict warehouse. 

The gust of wind was a relief, helping her shoulders relax back down. When Harry wasn’t awake, the hospital felt stifling, like the walls were closing in on her. She dug into her purse for her phone and saw that it was only mid afternoon. The day was passing by in dribs and drabs. Harry was likely to stay asleep until the evening according to what the Healer had said, he would have a few hours awake to eat and take another round of potions before sleeping even more. Which left only a few hours to not only try and find Prongs, but also figure out how to tell him everything else. 

A rustling made her turn sharply. Ron appeared at her side and she knew immediately from his expression that he had been unsuccessful. Her throat tightened, stomach twisting painfully. 

Ron placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll turn up…”

Hermione sucked in a breath, tears stinging at her eyes as they swept over the city street. Without another thought she began to move, down the few steps and into the bustle. 

“Hermione!” Ron shouted. 

He caught up to her quickly. She kept walking. 

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” she said, stopping at the edge of a crosswalk. The light flashed and she glanced up at Ron, whose worried eyes searched her face.

“We can keep looking. You were right about her, she’s more keen on Witch Weekly than being useful. We can ask Healer Delaney, she seems decent.”

Hermione stood there, already sure she couldn’t handle anymore disappointment that afternoon. Or sitting in a chair. Or waiting. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, trying to keep her voice steady. “Could you ask? I just need…I need to think…”

“Maybe you can duplicate it.”

She shook her head, knowing how unlikely that was. Iris may only be six, but she never missed much. A memory of Annie saying she would make a good investigator came back to her then. 

Like father, like daughter.

The irony of it made a hysterical bubble of laughter bubble up her tight throat. Ron’s face creased even deeper in concern.

“I need to clear my head,” she said after a moment, the light now blinking green. “Before…”

Ron gave a nod. “I’ll have another look around before I head out.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.” Letting go, she rushed across before the light changed again.

***

Hermione walked until her feet ached.  At some point the noise and jostle of late season tourists got to be too much. She desperately wanted somewhere to think, to find a sliver of peace. The solution came to her rather quickly. Soho with its winding streets was filled to the brim with other people; shoppers, meanderers, couples. She went around a group of American women towards a narrow alley bordering a cafe with a striped awning. With no one paying her any mind, she pulled out her wand.

The sound of the city faded with the squeezing sensation. When she opened her eyes, the world seemed to have been dipped in green and gold.  Birdsong filled the fresh air. Wind blew back her curls, blonde catching in her periphery. With St Mungo’s far behind, she undid the glamour, standing as herself in a place she had once known intimately. 

Hampstead Heath had been like an extended back garden when she was small, nearly every afternoon of her early years had been spent in its beauty. Carefully she made her way out of the copse of trees to a more prominent path which she meandered along until she could orient herself. There was the slightest hint of a chill in the air, a warning that autumn was arriving on time tomorrow even if the sunshine said otherwise. 

When she finally made it to Parliament Hill fields she sat down on a bench overlooking the city. Somewhere in the distance Harry was there. Alive and whole, if still recovering. 

The feeling of remembrance was like a frision of electric shock, a warm jolt.

Years of grief fell away, slowly sloughing off as the reality sunk in. Though some of it was bound to stay. A wound that deep left its mark, even if the cure presented itself. There would be no forgetting.

She watched the city from afar until she needed to move again. Failure nagged at her, catching up despite the respite of the shade of leafy trees and clean air. She kept imagining Iris’s face crumpling in sorrow at the loss of her oldest companion. Her own eyes watered, the guilt heavy in her chest. 

One of her first lessons in motherhood had been learning how easy it was to feel like you were doing everything wrong. 

Families moved past her, her eyes followed them. Fathers with children on their shoulders or holding a small hand. One man picked up a crying toddler with pink tear stained cheeks. He cradled the youngster easily, soothing the fall with a kiss to the scuffed knee. Sights that in the past had forced her to swallow her grief. Never wanting to draw any attention to Iris, on what she was missing.  Now she felt curiosity and a flicker of hope. 

There were also reminders of her childhood. Her own father would often carry her home, pointing out the various birds and flowers until she knew them by heart. Her mother had always walked a little ahead, gait purposeful and graceful. The image was so vivid, she struggled to catch her breath. Iris had forced a certain forward momentum, and she had left the past behind her, or so she had thought. Rarely had she let herself dwell on her memories of her parents, though her own parenting was covered in their fingerprints. 

Sunlight fell on her face but the grief stayed. The day grew warmer as she walked on, trying to distract herself by recalling the latin names for the trees and birds she spotted. Quercus petraea . Sessile oak.   

Anything to not think about what came before and what came next. 

The paths here were more crowded, though still nothing like the streets of London. Voices grew louder, the distant sound of splashing and the smell of fresh water heavy in the air. The swimming ponds. 

A small smile touched her lips even with the mess of emotions brewing inside her as she approached the reflective earth coloured water, teeming with life. Without thought her feet took her along a familiar route. Afternoon sunlight filtered, hazy and golden, through the old tunnel of trees as she approached the Kenwood ladies pond.

The path brought back even more memories of following alongside her mum. How she would shiver on the way home, water dripping from her thick hair, a damp towel tucked under arm. Her mother’s grip was firm, but her skin was soft. The smell of the zinc sunscreen she applied religiously to Hermione’s bare shoulders and nose when it was hot out. Some days she had complained on the walk, wishing instead to be curled up inside reading, especially when her mother insisted that the chilled spring and autumn days were perfectly reasonable for swimming. 

Like something from an antiquated novel, the pond appeared. The wrought iron black gate was the same as it had always been, declaring women only beyond that point. 

Hermione went through the gate and followed the path to the water’s edge. Women were dotted across the green space, soaking in the last bit of the season's warmth, the murky water of the pond beyond them. Sunlight reflected off the surface as Hermione walked closer, past the change stalls and towards the wooden dock. 

A woman in a bathing cap cut through the water slowly, others waded and there were more in the distance swimming solo. Hermione folded her arms around herself watching the scene and breathing in the scent of water and earth. 

The smell brought her back. Her mother had always swam them out to where she couldn’t touch and Hermione had clung to her, afraid at first. Until she had learned to float under her mother’s attention and care. She could still recall her easy laughter muffled by the water in her ears as she had looked up at the cloudy sky before her mum’s face would appear, like the sun above her. 

Hermione went back to the grassy stretch, hardly aware of what she was doing until she was doing it. A willow tree gave her some privacy, where she stashed her bag at its base and pulled out her wand. She peeled off her clothes, waving her wand discretely over her undergarments and recalling the spell she had cast long ago. A warmth spread through her where she passed by them with the tip and when she looked down the cotton had a glossy sheen. She found herself smiling as she recalled the butterflies in her stomach on that summer day, butterflies that were not so different from the ones that emerged at Harry’s touch now.

She wanted to bring him there. Both of them. She also would bring Iris to this pond, work on strengthening her swimming skills. Like her own mother had. They would take Iris to the mixed pond as well, together, as a family. She had to start believing in their future. They didn’t have to rush any of it. Deep down she suspected Harry would love their daughter fiercely, or would grow to, given some time.

She placed a quick concealing charm on her small pile of belongings and walked back to the dock. A breeze ruffled her hair when she stood at its edge. The day was cooling off, but she had swam in much colder weather. Her mother had insisted that it built character. The pang in her chest was enough to push her to dive in, the movement coming back easily.

Air was stolen from her lungs when the cold water sucked her down. She let herself sink into the murky depths, her eyes opening to the underwater kingdom—at least that’s how she had thought of it as a child. Imagining mermaids and other magic, before real magic had come into her life. Light streaked through, shimmering the dark brown and green hues. When her lungs protested, she kicked upwards, breaking the surface with a gasp. 

She swam, lazy strokes until she was in the middle of the pond, floating onto her back so she could look up at the sky. In the bracing cold, thoughts of her failures, at her inability to look back, slowly dissolved around her until she was nothing but a body being held by the water.

***

Her fingers were shrivelled when she came out of the pond, body numb and mind clearer than before her impromptu swim. The sun had dipped behind the clouds while she had floated aimlessly. Most of the people who had been lounging in the sun had dispersed. Hermione made her way over to the willow, shaking and dripping. She wrung out her wet curls with her hands. With a glance over her shoulder and seeing no one in sight, she rummaged for her wand and performed a drying followed by a warming spell then quickly re-dressing. She had just managed to get her jeans back on when she heard a buzzing that made her pause. 

She frowned looking around for an insect. When she heard it again the source clicked. She kneeled down, digging into the small purple bag, hands closing around the phone which buzzed in her palm. The number on the small screen was unfamiliar and dread slid into her stomach. A premonition of something bad was already infiltrating her mind as she flicked open the phone and pressed it to her ear. 

“Hello?”

“Janie?”

“Annie,” she replied, confused, her anxiety mounting. “Is everything alright?”

Annie’s intake of breath made her own stop. “Iris fell. She’s mostly alright. But we’ve taken her to A&E.”

Hermione stood there, water dripping from her hair and panic pressing in. “What happened?”

“Her and Olivia, they were climbing in the back…at Emily’s. We’re not sure how…a branch of the tree snapped. Olivia held on somehow but Iris fell. Knocked the wind out of her, but she’s awake, alert. I’m so sorry Janie. I do think her arm might be broken.”

“When?”

“An hour ago. We went straight there. I’ve been calling since we arrived…”

Guilt twisted her stomach further. “I’m coming. Tell Iris...tell her I’m coming.”

She got the location details before hanging up on a confused Annie, she didn’t bother explaining how she would be getting there so fast, there was no time to think, only move. She frantically gathered her things. With no one around she blinked out of sight.

The peace of the pond was already shattered from the call. Still, it was jarring to be hit with the rain and heavy dark clouds outside Edinburgh along with the traffic noise. Hermione raced from behind a dumpster to a busy parking lot, bounded by a loud and congested roadway.  The sleek modern building was nothing like the hospital she had spent the last week in. Lights beckoned towards automatic doors that spat her into the lobby. Operating on instinct she roamed the first floor and with some kind of telepathy she found them at the end of a hallway within minutes. 

Iris sat on Rosie’s lap, arm held gingerly at her side, curls disheveled and cheeks stained with dried tears. Annie was pacing blindly. Iris noticed her first, small face lifting and green eyes finding hers.

Her brows crinkled together, hope shifting the forlorn expression. “Mummy?” 

Hermione swiftly closed the distance, crouching down and holding Iris’s face in her hands. Taking note of every thing wrong. Her skin was paler than normal, several bruises were blooming on her knees that peeked out of her blue dress and torn leggings, her elbow was bright red and limp.

“Oh love, what happened?”

Iris’s lip quivered and she stroked her curls back, revealing a small cut on her hairline. 

“I fell,” she murmured, eyes large and teary. “We…we were climbing the tree, pretending…pretending to be spider monkeys and the branch…it—it broke and I couldn’t hold on.”

“We were at Emily’s. To see the new house.” Annie added, looking like she had aged a decade since Hermione had seen her when she tilted her head up.

“Livie, held on and I…I couldn’t,” Iris frowned and winced. “I don’t know Mummy, my body got all hot and then I was falling down, down.”

Hermione pressed her lips to Iris’s forehead, damp and warm. 

“It’s a bloody miracle, is what it is.” She heard Annie say, the distress barely masked. “That height.” 

“I’m sorry Janie,” Rosie said softly, running a hand up Iris’s good arm. “It was raining so we didn’t go to the beach, we stopped at Emily’s. The girls wanted to play outside once it stopped raining, the yard’s not so big so we didn’t go out with them right away…” 

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. “How far did she fall?”

“Far enough,” Annie replied, pacing again. “We want to make sure they look at her head.” 

“I couldn’t believe it…” Rosie said, slowly. “When she opened her eyes and got up. I thought…”

Her stomach folded over itself at the image. Inspecting Iris over again. She had certainly inherited father’s knack for trouble, something she couldn’t worry about right then, light headed with gratitude that Iris was alright. Injured, but alright. She released her daughter's face and stood, looking at Annie.

“Has she seen a hea—a doctor?”

“A nurse. Briefly. They don’t think there’s a concussion, but when we told them the height they said they would take a closer look when they can get her in.”

“Which is when?”

Annie gave a heavy sigh. “They said at least a few hours.”

“It’s a madhouse,” she groaned, starting to mumble about the current government and their budget cuts. Hermione glanced around. The place was brimming with people, even busier than St Mungo’s the night she had arrived to see Harry.

Another wave of anxiety hit her right there. Harry. Her mind had blanked after the call. He would be waiting for her soon enough, once the sleeping potion wore off. She hadn’t even looked at the time. 

She stood there, split in two again.

“Mummy…” Her attention was drawn back to Iris, teary and reaching her arms out for her. Hermione didn’t hesitate, carefully taking Iris into her arms, careful not to jostle her injury. Iris melted against her, small body shaking, face pressing against her neck, bringing up memories of years earlier, when she had been even smaller. 

“It hurts,” Iris mumbled, burrowing into her. 

She rocked her back and forth. “I’m sorry love.”

Iris stayed quiet for a long moment. “Will the doctor make it better?” 

“They will,” she replied. Mind already jumping to the differences of the other hospital and this one. If her arm was broken it would mean a cast, for weeks and weeks. Or…

Her heart drummed in the sterile corridor. People rushed past in scrubs. The smell of disinfectant stung her nose and the bright lights made her head throb. She was so bloody sick of hospitals.

Rosie stood, wincing. Her arthritis was likely bothering her. Her blue eyes were glassy when they met hers. 

“It’s alright,” Hermione said, before another apology came from her. “It was an accident.”

Rosie didn’t look convinced. “We still should have followed them out back earlier.”

Hermione stroked a hand over Iris’s messy hair. Her daughter’s independent streak had been there since early on. If she had wanted to go out and play, very little would have stopped her. Unlike her, who had always preferred to stay on the ground, Iris had always loved to climb.

“Is Livie alright?” Hermione asked.

“A little shaken up. I don’t even understand. The girls said they were on the same branch together. Livie said she only remembers a crack, we found her clinging to the trunk.”

Hermione frowned. Usually Iris was mostly unscathed, which technically she was. From the sounds of it she should be far more injured, yet in other times where she had nearly fallen or jumped too far from the swing, She had watched in awe numerous times as Iris seemed to land gracefully without issue. 

“I’ll call Emily now. See if she got more information from Olivia. She was inconsolable when we left, along with this one,” she placed a hand on Iris’s back. 

“I’m going to follow up at the desk,” Annie said with determination. Her short frame stalking off. She had never been great at waiting on authority.

“I’m sorry again,” Rosie started, tears leaking down her craggy cheeks.

Hermione shook her head. “She’d have done the same with me.”

Which was true. Iris didn’t listen to her authority any more than the sisters, who were like grandmothers to her. At least not when she really wanted to do something.

“Go,” she whispered. “We’ll be fine here.”

Rosie gave Iris one last kiss on the head, departing down the hall after Annie. 

Hermione stood with the weight of Iris in her arms, heart hammering and mind trying to parcel out the sequence of events that had led her here. People moved around them, not sparing a glance. Far more serious injuries continuously came in and took precedence over Iris, who was uncharacteristically quiet except for the occasional whimper. “My head hurts,” she mumbled after a while. 

“Where?” Hermione asked, trying to mask her alarm.

“Everywhere,” she said, barely distinguishable and now crying as Hermione inspected her crown with a hand. There was no visible damage, but she knew that meant little.

The decision was made in an instant. Without a word she moved swiftly with Iris down the corridor, in the opposite direction of Annie and Rosie. She wasn’t sure where she was going, only knowing she would find the right place when she found it. This turned out to be a medical supply closet at the back of a quieter part of the hospital.

“What are we doing?” Iris asked groggily, having grown sleepy on their meandering. 

Hermione cupped her cheek with her free hand. “I need you to trust me.”

Iris was wide eyed but gave a nod before wincing. Hermione kissed her forehead. The entire time she'd been walking she'd debated what she would do next and this was the best she could come up with. 

First she turned to the shelf of supplies, locating some medical fabric. Iris whimpered, more tears coming down while Hermione secured her arm in a makeshift sling, hoping that would protect the injury on their journey. When that was done she crouched them down on the cold floor.

She dug through her bag one handed and grabbed hold of her wand. She held it in front of Iris. 

“Do you know what this is?”

Iris touched it gingerly with her good hand. “A stick?”

“A wand.” Iris stared up at her, lips parted. Hermione wiped the half dried tears from her cheeks. “I’m going to use it to take us somewhere. But I…I don’t want your arm to hurt while we do.”

Iris began to tremble harder than she already had been. Hermione rubbed her back. “I want you to close your eyes. When you open them again, we’ll be somewhere else. Somewhere where they’ll make you better faster.”

Hermione expected more push back, with the questions in Iris’s eyes, but there was also pain, far too much. That, and her next question, constricted her heart further. 

“Will it hurt?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not at all. I promise.” Iris gave a hesitant nod. “Close your eyes sweetheart,” she murmured. 

Her green eyes fluttered closed and Hermione succeeded in taking a breath before whispering the spell.

“Stupify.”

Iris went limp and Hermione choked back a sob. She had to keep it together. She adjusted Iris, holding her close and telling herself over and over that this was the right thing to do. Even as her guilt overflowed. She remembered Ron’s splinched arm and the dangers of apparating in a rush or when already injured. She also knew the faster Iris got to St Mungo’s the faster they would heal her.

Then she remembered something else she should do first. Her own eyes closed as she tried to summon the wonderful feeling from that morning, the free flowing happiness of Harry’s confession and kiss. Another memory of Iris beaming up at her, dancing around the kitchen after school earlier that month. The hope of those two things existing together.

“Expecto Patronum,” she said, the wispy otter shooting out of her wand, floating in front of her. 

“Ron. I need you. Can you come back to St Mungo's? It’s…it’s Iris…” her voice broke. “She needs medical attention. Now. Please. I need you to be there for Harry when he wakes up…I— I’ll talk to you soon.”

With a whoosh the otter disappeared. Her anxiety returned, but her determination was stronger. She held Iris close and concentrated. The dim tight sterile space disappeared. A breeze, colder than the one earlier, went right through her as she opened her eyes. She was outside, in the same dim alley from last Wednesday. Quick, but careful, she moved along the busy street. Iris now cradled like a baby in her arms, grateful she wasn’t awake to feel any pain from the bumpy journey and hoping there was no damage to her injured arm.

The sky was stained purple, threatening rain. It erased the obvious passage of time; she couldn’t be sure if it was afternoon or evening. Not that there was time to ponder, she could hardly think past the next moment. A pinch of relief hit her when she spotted the sign for Purge and Dowse Ltd. dangling in the breeze.

St Mungo’s was less busy than it had been that first night. The hum of magic was reassuring. Magic would fix her daughter, quickly and painlessly. She marched right up to the desk, steeling herself when she saw that it was still Peggy sitting there in her pale robes. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care, she would bypass her and find a Healer herself if she had to.

When Peggy looked up from the desk, her soft jawline went slack. 

“I need to see a Healer. Now,” Hermione told her sternly.

Peggy stood slowly, peering over at Iris. Hermione answered her unanswered question.

“Her arm’s broken. I put her under for the journey here. Please. I need to see a Healer…”

Peggy’s hardness from the day before had given away to disbelief. “There…there’s a wait.”

“I can’t wait.” her voice came out louder than she intended, patience cracking like glass. “I’ll go up and find someone, with or without your help.”

The older witch’s face flushed, hands moving over a quill and sending some kind of note. “I’ll contact the pediatrics—”

“Hermione…” 

She spun away from the desk, her own mouth opening in disbelief. Harry stood there. Dark hair disheveled, in a pair of joggers and a grey cotton jumper that hid his bandaged chest, glasses askew as if hastily put on. He was deathly pale, but standing upright. His green eyes locked on hers.

Chapter Text

Harry’s gaze held her in place in the large atrium as her past and present suddenly collided. No matter how much she had thought about it that week, there was no preparing for this moment. 

It was Harry who took the first step closer. His eyes shifted from her to Iris and back again. She saw him register the scene and her own vision blurred, lungs seizing. When she blinked again he was right in front of her, pale and shaking, but there. 

“Is she alright?” he asked, voice hoarse.

She could hardly get her lips to move. Too much emotion was hitting her all at once and it felt like drowning. His face was hard to read, but his hand gently touched her elbow, rooting her to the fact that this was really happening.

“Her arm…” she started, the panic setting back in. Iris was slack and oblivious to the way her world was shifting; to who was there with them.

Harry turned towards reception. “We need to be seen.” Peggy’s face had drained of all colour beneath her makeup charms, her expression slack jawed. “Contact Healer Delaney. Tell her we’re coming up that way. Now.” 

His commanding tone was one she hadn’t heard since the war; hearing it again was like a time turner. All of it felt impossible—that they were all there together.

Harry’s hand was still on her elbow. She saw him glance quickly at Iris again, then he was leading them towards the lift. Both of them ignored the stares of strangers and growing whispers. Hermione could hardly pay them any mind, her world condensed down to the bubble of the three of them as they hurried into the gold doors.

Harry was silent in the lift. Hermione couldn’t form any words either. Iris felt light and heavy in her arms at the same time and remained utterly still, the only sign of life her shallow breathing. 

The doors opened to reveal an anxious Ron and not one, but two Healers. That was when it all came together. Ron. Ron had been in Harry’s room when he got the Patronus. There was no time for the guilt and panic to settle in, instead she looked toward the Healers who indicated she should follow them down the hall. Her  pulse was loud in her ears, nearly drowning out the questions being lobbed at her.

She sensed Harry there; he was behind her, just to the left. They were led to a room past where Harry’s was. Not the children’s ward, but she didn’t care.

Healer Delaney with her strawberry hair stood near the bed, all of her earlier traces of shyness from that morning gone, and indicated she should place Iris on the bed. Iris was completely limp as Hermione set her on the stark white sheet. The dirt on her trainers stood out more prominently in comparison. 

There was a rash of movement around them: a couple more Healers joining in the small room, a cupboard door being opened and whispered instructions and information being passed among them. Unlike a Muggle hospital, there were wands pulled and spells cast. Wisps of coloured smoke hovered above Iris’s head. 

“She’s been stunned,” the unhelpful freckled Healer from earlier said to another with a frown.

A few of the faces turned to her. “I—I did it for apparition. I didn’t want her arm to get worse if she…if she panicked.”

Two of them exchanged looks and she felt her defenses go up, though it was swiftly washed away by guilt. Maybe she had made a mistake, being out of practice with magic. She had never performed it on anyone that young. More tears fell down her cheeks, but she kept a hold of Iris’s hand, hoping that somehow she would feel her there. 

She was so tiny in the bed—cheeks pale, lips parted, hair spread out like halo. Healer Delaney stood on her other side, carefully undoing the wrapping of the fabric sling. She handled Iris so gently and Hermione did her best to focus on that instead of the other Healers bustling about. 

Her attention was only pulled when she felt Harry next to her. He remained silent. When she glanced up at him, he was watching the Healer’s work, his face inscrutable except for the groove in his forehead. 

Healer Delaney turned her attention to the both of them.

“It’s broken. A nasty break at the elbow.”

She choked as a sob caught in her throat, far too easily picturing Iris falling to the hard earth. Harry murmured something and then he was passing her a handkerchief. She took it, but he avoided her gaze.

“What happened?” Healer Delaney asked, not unkindly.

Hermione forced herself to turn back. “She—she fell. From a tree.”

“Magic?”

Her question stopped her. “The tree?”

“No, her…um—”

“Iris,” she said, doubly aware of Harry right then, as she sensed him looking at her now. “Yes, she’s magic.”

“How far was the fall?”

Hermione released a shuddered breath. “I—I don’t know. I—I’ve been away. She was staying with friends. I was told it was pretty far.”

“She was conscious though?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. She was talking, she told me it hurt and that she fell, she…she also said her head hurt.”

Healer Delaney’s pale eyebrows furrowed.

“Does she have any previous health concerns?”

“No. Not really. She’s generally healthy,” she said, throat tight. This was true. Except for a bad flu when Iris was an infant, there had only been the occasional cold and scraped knee. She was small for her age, something that several medical professionals had assured her was within the normal range. 

With nimble fingers, Healer Delaney parted the hair on Iris’s head, waving her wand. A glowing orb formed, a pale yellow. “Hmm, there’s no outward sign of injury. Her neck may have been jared from falling, but otherwise there’s no sign that she hit her head.”

Relief hit her so hard she practically swayed on her feet. 

“What is it then?” 

Harry’s voice startled her. He was looking at Healer Delaney, who frowned again thoughtfully.

“We’ll run some more diagnostics, but let’s fix that arm first.”

Hermione could only nod, her eyes darting to Harry. She could tell from his posture that he was fighting his own exhaustion, shoulders hunched and dark circles still present. There were a million things to say to him, none of which she could bring herself to. Not in front of a room of strangers.

With a few simple spells, the break was healed. Hermione could hardly blink before it was completed. In that moment she knew she had made the right decision, even if it had had unintended consequences. She didn’t want Iris to suffer for a second more than she had to.

“We’ll want to reverse the stunning spell soon,” the freckle-faced wizard cut in, coming to stand next to Healer Delaney. “We won’t know the full extent until we see her conscious.”

Healer Delaney straightened. “I don’t think that’s necessary. It wears off on its own and that may be a…gentler approach.”

“She’s right,” Harry said, voice low. “Especially on a child. Can you make a diagnosis first? Treat whatever needs tending?”

Hermione stared at him. She knew Harry would have gained more medical knowledge with Auror training, but it was still another thing to see it first hand. He looked at her finally, eyes glassy and red rimmed. 

She found once again she couldn’t speak, only nodding. She trusted him.

Healer Delaney gave them a soft smile. “I think that’s the right course of action.”

The freckle-faced Healer’s lips pressed together into a barely hidden grimace before he turned and left. Hermione wasn’t sorry to see him go. 

There was more wand work, and the two of them remained silent. The others had cleared out when she glanced around the dim room. The curtains had been drawn, the last bit of sunset gone. It was a reminder that time was passing, even if it felt like it wasn’t.

When her eyes darted briefly to Harry she saw him carefully brush against the sole of Iris’s shoe, her foot dwarfed by his hand. The sight distracted her completely until Healer Delaney made a small humming sound. 

The Healer finally looked satisfied, a few numeric ruins etched in the air fading to a soft purple.

“Do you know more about what happened? When she fell?”

“I…” she started, shaking her head and trying to think clearly. “She was climbing a tree outside with a friend of hers. She said there was a crack, a branch snapped off.” She stroked the back of Iris’s hand, swallowing her tears. “She said she felt hot and then she didn't remember anything else. My friends—they found her on the ground outside.”

“And the friend she was climbing with?”

“She was holding onto the trunk, she apparently remembers little either.”

“Is she magic too?”

Hermione shook her head. “They don’t know. Any of them. About magic.”

Healer Delaney hummed, studying Iris. “Has she done magic before?”

Her mind flashed to the outburst in the grocer a few years back. She pictured clearly the bottles of milk that had exploded into shards and Iris’s red-faced meltdown—one of the biggest she’d ever had. Other odd things had happened over the years, though luckily none as public or obvious as that. She found her gaze shifted to Harry. That moment—and Iris’s occasional temper—had always reminded her of him. 

“Yes,” she said finally, aware that the silence had stretched. “There’s been some…slips. Though it’s pretty rare.”

“Do you know what state she was in before the accident?” Healer Delaney asked.

“She—she sounded fine when I spoke to her earlier that day...”

“Do you think she did magic?” Harry asked. Her head swivelled, but he was looking at Healer Delaney, who paused before nodding. 

“Yes. I think that her magic protected her. And her friend.” 

Hermione couldn’t get her lips to form the myriad of questions she had before the Healer was waving her wand again. This time the orb that appeared above Iris swirled scarlett. Instantly her stomach sank. She remembered enough of the elementary healing she had studied to know that wasn’t good.

“That explains a few things,” Healer Delaney said with a sigh.

Her lips parted, but Harry filled in the answer.

“She’s depleted.”

She turned to him and this time he was looking at her, his expression once again inscrutable but his throat bobbed. “Her magic,” he added, hoarsely.

“It’s an easy enough fix,” Healer Delaney assured them, forcing Hermione’s attention away from the intense green. “I think your daughter had an outburst of magic, a strong one. It’s the likely culprit for her sore head.”

“But her arm—”

“I can’t be sure. At least not until we talk to her. It’s possible that she hit her arm on the way down, maybe on another branch. The fall didn’t leave any other damage that we can see. That wouldn’t be the case without magic.” 

Her eyes began to burn, relief and confusion merging together. 

“Her friend was unhurt, you said?” Healer Delaney asked, waving away the orb. 

Hermione could only nod. Healer Delaney watched Iris closely before she drew a deep breath. 

“She was either very, very lucky, or what’s more likely, is that Iris’s magic protected her as well.”

At her surprise, she smiled softly. “It would explain the amount of output from Iris, it seems that she was likely trying to keep her friend safe. Maybe even unconsciously, but the instinct was there.”

Hermione held Iris’s limp fingers in her palm. Heart beating wildly as she watched the steady rise and fall of her chest.

“You clearly have a very strong little girl,” she heard Healer Delaney say.

Her vision blurred. A wave of love crashed over her. It still caught her off guard at times like this—that Iris was hers.

Her back grew warm; Harry’s hand rested squarely in the middle. The feel of him steadied her, bringing her back to the moment. She tilted her head towards him and saw he was watching Iris too, his gaze distant and unfocused. 

Not just hers, she told herself. Not anymore.

“We’ll get a potion into her, we can do it through her arm. Let her rest,” Healer Delaney said, already bustling towards a cabinet across the room.

“How long—how long until she’s better?” Hermione asked, clearing her throat.

Healer Delaney approached the bed, a bundle of cotton in her arm.

“Tomorrow. She’ll likely need to rest for a day or two, but otherwise, unless something else crops up, I’d say she’ll be fine.” She held up the bundle. “A nightgown. We’ll want to get her more comfortable.”

Her relief made her sag against Iris’s bed. Harry’s hand stayed there another beat before he withdrew it, the warmth leaving her instantly. When she glanced over her shoulder he was leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped, but she noted that his leg was moving up and down. She was sure he was overwhelmed. Not that she could blame him. It was a lot to take in at once. 

The dark circles under his eyes and his palpable exhaustion chipped away at her relief. Iris’s health had been cleared. Not his.

Healer Delaney seemed to read her mind. “Healer Brown will likely want a word with you soon, Mr Potter. I believe you have a potion to take.”

Harry scrubbed a hand across his face and shook his head.

Without thought her hand went to his leg, the one that was moving as if hit with an earthquake. “You should take your potion.”

He didn’t reply, his face nearly blank. It was a familiar expression from their time on the run, when he would become numb and vacant, turning inward. Away from her. She chewed on her lip, unsure how much to press him. The dynamic was strange after all this time; she recalled that fine line she had walked with how much to push, and how much to let go. 

Healer Delaney’s voice eventually broke the heavy silence. “Should we get this one changed?”

Hermione gave a slow nod. She forced herself to stand on her leadened legs. She leaned across the bed, her body brushing against Harry, which she tried not to think about as she untied Iris’s shoe laces, which were knotted and tangled. 

The shoes off, she placed them on the floor. She reached for her wand which was on her chair, waving away the dirt with a simple spell. Next she started to roll down her now pristine white ankle socks. She focused on this familiar practice, inspecting for any other injury. Iris had a faint bruise on her knee, old by the looks of it. She was forever running into things, racing about in a great big hurry.

The dress would come next, and would be more of a challenge with how limp Iris still was. She began to unbutton the front and she heard the scrape of Harry’s chair.

“I’ll check on Ron,” he murmured. She turned but his back was already to them as he walked swiftly, if a little unsteadily, out the door.

Her heart once again split into two as he left the room. She forced herself to refocus on the task at hand.

Healer Delaney offered her gentle assistance, and together they got Iris’s prone form into the clean white gown. Iris’s favorite play dress, a light blue number with hand stitched daisies courtesy of Rosie, was deposited on the seat with her shoes, followed by the long cotton shorts she wore underneath.

Another Healer appeared with a tray and various instruments. Her heart felt lodged in her throat as they set up something that looked similar to a Muggle IV, except a small floating cauldron bubbled away in the air near the bed. The bright blue liquid flowed down a thin line into the tender skin of Iris’s arm.

“That should do it,” Healer Delaney said, tucking in the sheet under Iris’s elbow. Her blue eyes searched hers. “Is there anything else you want to ask? I’ll make sure to check in again before the end of my shift.”

Hermione brushed Iris’s hair off her face, her own hand shaky. “Not that I can think of.”

Her brain was like a wrung sponge, along with her heart and body.

Healer Delaney gave her an understanding nod. “She should feel mostly back to herself by tomorrow. Magic can be mysterious at times, but from what I’ve seen in my work so far, it’s rather resilient.”

Hermione tried to return her smile. “Thank you. For helping. I—I’m grateful.”

“Happy to help,” she replied, pocketing her wand. “There’s a chance she’ll stir or come to as the stunning spell wears off, depending on when the potion takes full effect, it should have her under until morning.” Healer Delaney quickly pressed the back of her hand to Iris’s forehead. “Just summon one of us if she doesn’t settle.”

Hermione managed a nod and another quiet thank you before she found herself alone with her daughter. 

The room was quiet. Only Iris’s light breathing, the hum of magic and her own elevated pulse filled the space. A queasiness took hold of her stomach, or maybe she was only just now able to notice how physically horrible she felt. The whiplash of emotions had her head spinning and hardly able to fathom that all the events of the day had fit into less than twelve hours.

She reached across the bed and took Iris’s tiny hand in hers again. Her thumb brushed over the delicate skin of her wrist, the blue veins standing out. Blood was pumping to her heart, the potion spreading through her, healing her.

Hermione leaned over and kissed Iris’s forehead, her skin clammy but colour slowly returning to her cheeks. She looked like an angel in the bed, surrounded by all that white fabric, her hair fanned out. Hermione had never believed in things like that—angels. She had never believed in much that couldn’t be proven, despite the magic she possessed. At least not until she had been forced to live without Harry.

Then Iris had come into her life and also challenged everything she thought she knew—carving out parts of her old self, moulding her into something she had never been before: somebody’s mother. The memory of the first time she had lain eyes on Iris came to her then. The soft shock that the wailing baby was hers was still palpable after all these years. 

And Harry’s. That had been what had hit her next: the grief, mixed with relief that some part of him had survived. She had sworn that she would do everything in her power to protect her—to protect the last remaining part of him. 

Except that plan had backfired. Horribly.

She swiped at the tears with her free hand, but it was useless; they kept coming, sobs strangling her throat. She had been so stupid, so shortsighted. And it had cost them all so much. She curled over the bed and her tears fell on the crisp sheets. Iris remained asleep, and she let herself fall apart while she could.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing Iris wouldn’t hear. But she was feeling the full weight of her regret. If she could wave her wand and make it all better, she would.

The gooseflesh on her arm was the first signal they weren’t alone anymore. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Harry, but she did. His face was drawn, just as exhausted looking as before, making it obvious he was ignoring the Healers advice about taking his next round of potions.

Worry pressed in again; there was so much of it in her body she was shocked it didn’t crush her.

He settled in the chair next to her without a word. Her own throat was constricted, so they sat in silence for a long beat.

“You called her Iris,” he said finally.

She nodded, squeezing Iris’s hand and sitting back in her chair.

There wasn’t any anger in his tone, but his body was tense and rigid.  His green eyes shifted from Iris to her. “Were you going to tell me?”

The lump in her throat made it hard to speak and she nodded again. 

“When?”

She swallowed. “Soon.”

He shook his head, swiping at his jaw. “You didn’t think I should know?”

She released Iris, rubbing at her own teary eyes. “I wanted to.” She heaved a sigh and forced herself to meet his gaze. “I…the Healers. They said that you needed to rest. To avoid any shocks…until you get better.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that worked out well.” She wiped at her tears but forced herself to not look away. His face softened, but his eyes still held hers with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “You should have told me anyway.”

“I know,” she whispered. More guilt twisting her stomach. “This wasn’t how I wanted this…this isn’t how I wanted this to happen,” she told him, her tears falling freely.

He gave another nod, eyes flicking over to Iris and back to hers. A marked sadness in them that was now clear. “You told Ron.”

She sucked in a breath, nodding and biting her lip.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words hollow even to her own ears. Nothing she could say could make up for the fact that she hadn’t come clean immediately, or that she had wasted nearly seven years not looking back.

He was looking at Iris again, his hand on the bed but not touching her. Hermione pulled her legs up to her chest, heart squeezing unbearably in the heavy silence.

Harry turned to her, tears dotting his lashes behind his glasses. “I love you, you know. I—I always will. You can tell me anything…and it won’t change that,” his voice was quiet, weighted with sorrow. “You know that, right?”

She nodded, salt on her lips. He swallowed. The look on his face made her chest feel too tight. His shoulders slumped and he leaned forward, holding his head in his hands for a long moment. She fought every instinct that wanted to reach out and touch him, but she was rooted to the chair.

His voice was strained when he finally spoke. “The other person. Did…did you love them too?”

She simply looked at him for a long while, mind trying to keep up. “Iris?”

He straightened, his dark brows rising up into his messy hair. “No…” Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “Her father. Did you love him too?”

Her mouth dropped open as it came together.

“Harry…” she started speaking, tears spilling down her cheeks.

A strange sound made her stop. The furrow in his brow only deepend and then his eyes flicked beyond her to the bed. She whirled around and saw that the sound was coming from Iris, a low groan. Her face creased in distress. Another sleepy moan cut through the thick silence.

She sat up, moving to sit right on the bed. Her hand pressed to Iris’s forehead, damp and warm. Soothing sounds dropped from her lips on autopilot. Iris was prone to nightmares; Hermione had done this before.

“It’s alright sweetheart. I’m here.”

Iris continued to move, still underneath the spell of sleep, but no longer peaceful. Her legs began to thrash, tangling her thin limbs in the sheet.  Hermione checked that her IV was fine, the shimmering thread still connected to Iris held despite her frantic movement.

“Should I get a Healer?” Harry asked anxiously, already standing.

Hermione found she couldn’t respond. She cradled Iris’s face and then her daughter blinked her eyes open, wide and glassy. A low sound caught in her throat.

“Hi, love,” she whispered, a shaky smile pulling at her lips. Even with everything, it was a relief to see her awake. 

“Mu—mummy?” Her voice was a croak.

“I’m here. You’re safe.” Confusion twisted her features, but she continued to look at her. “Does it hurt?” Her eyes swept over Iris’s body as it started to settle. 

Iris shook her head, curls spilling around her neck and sticking to her skin. “Where—where?”

“We’re at the hospital. Another one. They’re helping you feel all better,” she said, keeping her voice steady and low.

“P—p—prongs,” she rasped.  Tears formed in her eyes and she struggled to speak. “I…I need…Prongs.”

“Oh sweetheart,” she said, the earlier guilt coming back with a vengeance. “I…I’ll get him when I can. You need to rest first.”

Iris didn’t like that answer. Her face crumpled along with Hermione’s heart. Hermione swiped at the tears with her thumbs, trying to think of what she could do. She kissed the dewy skin on Iris’s forehead, murmuring some more soft reassurances. The potion was working; Iris was beginning to slacken and she pulled her into her arms, but she was fighting the effect of sleep.

She glanced over her shoulder. Harry’s chair was empty, as if he had blinked out of existence. All of her had been so consumed by Iris’s immediate needs, she hadn’t heard him leave. Her stomach tightened painfully. Hopefully he was simply getting a Healer; there was no time to contemplate more than that. She redoubled her efforts to comfort Iris, raking her fingers through her tangled curls, placing kisses over the crown of her uninjured head, holding onto the fact that—at the very least—Iris was okay.

“I—I want...him,” Iris slurred into Hermione’s chest.

“I know you do love,” she said softly, continuing to stroke her hair. “You have to be brave a bit longer.”

Iris stayed tight against her. Footsteps sounded. It wasn’t until he was right there hovering above her that she realized it was Harry and not a Healer. She was so caught off guard that she didn’t register what was in his hands at first. 

Prongs dangled from his fingertips as he swayed on the spot. His air of shock was even deeper than the initial moment in the lobby. 

“Is…is this…” he started and she found herself nodding, tears blurring her vision.

Iris stirred against her. Hermione loosened her hold and she turned her head weakly towards where Harry stood. Iris blinked sleepily, her brows drawing together. Harry looked down at his hand and back at their daughter on the bed. Iris tracked his movement, her sleepy frown transforming into a tired wonder. She struggled to sit and Hermione propped her up enough that she could lift her free arm from the bed slowly and in a second Harry was closing the gap. Hermione watched as he placed the lovie in her outstretched hand, holding on, the two of them staring into one another’s eyes. 

Iris released a long exhale, eyelids fluttering and her lips turned upwards before she brought the lovie to her face. Hermione helped guide her back onto the mattress, her small body already slack again. Within seconds she drifted back into sleep. Harry’s hand fell back onto the bed, his gaze still locked on Iris.

His lips were parted, eyes darting all over Iris’s face, as if seeing her for the first time. He raked a trembling hand through his hair, making it stand even more on end. He looked at her with a wild panic, eyes glassy.

“She…she’s…” He stopped, seemingly trying to breathe. “She’s my…”

Hermione nodded, her tears flowing faster than before. “She’s yours.”

All at once his shoulders moved down, his body seeming to all but fall into the empty chair. Hermione bit her lip hard, the sting keeping her present. She stayed perched on the bed. Iris’s warm skin under her hand, her gentle breathing reassuring in the silence.

She could feel the weight of his questions building up and when she looked at him, disbelief shadowed his face. 

“How?” he asked, voice strangled. “I…I don’t understand…”

Hermione blew out a breath. “I think you know that part.” At his deepening confusion, she found her own as well. “We—we were together…at Shell Cottage.” 

His brow crinkled, eyes darting back to Iris. “But that can’t…she…she’s five.”

She straightened, her own frown forming. “She’s six.”

“The Healer said...when we were in the corridor…”

A hand went to her stomach as her memory flashed back to the very real experience of carrying Iris. “I didn’t hear that, and I know for a fact that she’s six.”

“I…I got you pregnant?”

At her nod, Harry only looked more bewildered. His hands tugged at his hair again and his breathing came in uneven bursts. She stood from the bed and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“She was born January 31st 1999. First thing in the morning,” she told him softly. He swallowed, taking in a ragged breath. She touched the back of his neck, gently pulling his hand into hers. “It’s a lot to take in. I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

His face tipped up towards hers. His green eyes were filled with tears, a sight which made her own breath hitch. His pain had always been harder to bear than her own, something she had experienced again with Iris.

“I hope you know…that I understand—if—if it’s…” She cupped his cheek, his stubble soft under her finger. Her voice betrayed her anxiety more than she wanted it too. “I wanted to have a chance to talk it through with you first. Not…well, not to foist it on you like this. I understand if you need time to adjust, it’s a lot of responsibility and I don’t expect you—”

He shook his head. “It’s not. Too much.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, her heart leaping. “I’d understand—”

“No,” he said firmly, gaze cutting away to Iris. “I…I want to.”

“You can think about it—”

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “I want to,” he repeated. 

His answer made her sway on the spot. His hand moved to her hip, tugging lightly. “Would you sit? With me?”

She didn’t need to be asked again. The second she was in his lap he wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face into his neck. So much of the weight she had carried for days lifted at his touch, his words still echoing in her mind. His hand shifted under her jumper and she pressed herself into him further. The adrenaline from earlier was fading and her tiredness stole over her now that she wasn’t standing.  They stayed like that for what felt like hours as her eyes started to close despite herself.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, breaking the silent spell. When she lifted her face he was studying Iris like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Her lips turned up. “If she was awake she would tell you that she is six and nearly three quarters now. That distinction is important to her.”

A tired smile tugged at his mouth. Hermione forced herself to uncurl and sit up properly, her arms still wrapped around his neck, but she tilted back to see Iris.

“She’s always been small for her age,” she said quietly, which had been true since Iris had been a newborn. “She’s getting rather sensitive about it actually. So I try to tread lightly.”

He gave a shake of his head. “She’s perfect.”

“I like to think so.”

“She is,” he said, his faint smile faltering. “I—I thought that when I saw her. When you were holding her in the lobby.”

“You did?”

He gave a slow nod, eyes glassy when they met hers. “I…seeing you two. It was everything I’d ever wanted.”

Her grip on him tightened, and he dropped his head on her shoulder. “I…I didn’t think it was possible. That she would be mine." Her breathing hitched and he squeezed her to him “And it hurt. More than I wanted it too.” Tears drowned out her words yet again as he continued, his voice low and pained. “Obviously none of it mattered in the moment. I only wanted her to be okay.” She felt his shaky breath against her neck and they stayed like that until he pulled back, his hands coming to touch her cheek. 

“I was confused…because you said there was no one else-” Her lips parted and he touched them gently with his thumb. “I wasn’t angry. You had every right to find someone, but I knew you wouldn’t lie to me about that this morning…so I thought well, she might not be mine…but maybe she could be.”

Hermione searched his face. “You would have still…”

He nodded, his hand coming to touch her curls. “How could I not?” He looked over at Iris. “She’s half you.”

Hermione turned to look at their daughter too. “She’s more like you.”

A husky laugh caught in his throat. “I find that hard to believe. She looks exactly like you.”

“You’ll see,” she said knowingly, tamping down a yawn and tilting her head back to him.

“She has my eyes.” The wonder in his voice made her smile even as more tears appeared.

“She does.” Her hand came to his chest, careful of the bandage she could still feel underneath. “And your heart.” He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’ve always seen so much of you in her. It’s what…it’s what kept me going. Having her. When she was born—it…felt like a part of you came back to me.”

“I wish I’d been there,” he whispered, voice heavy again.

“Me too,” she replied through her tears. 

He leaned forward, his lips brushing her forehead tenderly. The pain of their separation wasn’t likely to lift anytime soon. But sitting there in the dim room, his heart beat steady under their joined hands and Iris sleeping peacefully, Hermione felt like she could breathe properly for the first time in years.

Chapter Text

They stayed huddled in their chair long into the early hours, neither moving from the other’s side, a sea of unspoken conversation lingering between them. Iris continued to sleep peacefully, still unaware of just how different her life would be once she woke up. 

Hermione’s eyes felt weighted with stones, her face pressed into Harry’s neck. The steady rhythm of his pulse on her cheek nearly lulled her into sleep even as she fought against its pull, some part of her knowing that she couldn’t give in—that Harry needed to get up and take his potion. She simply couldn’t muster the energy to actually do anything about it. His hands were on the skin of her back, fingertips drawing lazy patterns up her spine, the sensation only adding to her desire to stay put.

The sound of footsteps entering the quiet room finally forced her head up. She wasn’t all that surprised to see Healer Brown standing near the bed with his arms crossed, a mask of patience on his lined face. 

“I’m sorry Mr Potter, but I can’t let you jeopardize your progress any further.”

His words were like an ice bath and Hermione began to stand, but Harry held onto her, his grip gentle but firm.

“I’ll come in a minute,” he said, voice rusty, having clearly also been on the verge of sleep. 

Healer Brown gave a small nod, not betraying any emotion. “Healer Crowe has everything prepared for you. I take it you still want to be discharged on schedule, so I cannot stress enough that you allow yourself to rest.” The older man glanced over at Iris and back to them. “I’m sure you have even more motivation now to prioritize your full recovery.”

Harry gave a stiff nod and the Healer seemed to debate saying more before shaking his head and bidding them goodnight.

When the door closed, Hermione angled her face towards Harry. His eyes were glued to Iris, glassy, and still very obviously fighting pain, sleep and everything else. 

“You should go,” she whispered. 

“I know.” He met her gaze, and she found herself instantly tearing up at the longing held in his expression. “What do we do? Tomorrow?”

Her hand went to his hair, pushing the messy locks off his forehead. “Rest. Both of you.”

“But what do we say to her?”

This had been what had gone unspoken after the revelation, the shock too fresh to address it head-on, and then her own exhaustion pausing this moment until now. 

“I’m not sure,” she said finally. “I was so worried about telling you first…I haven’t even had time to come up with what to tell her. I assumed there would be more time to plan.”

“Does she know? About me?”

Hermione nodded, throat tightening. “I’ve tried…I’ve tried to tell her what I can.”  She looked over at her small child, already so much bigger than she had been when she had first asked her why she didn’t have a father. The feeling of Harry’s hand, moving up and down her back, calmed her enough to keep going.  “I told her you died before she was born. I—I think she only started understanding what that meant more recently.”

Iris’s curious questions about Rosie’s husband Roger had pierced her heart at the time. Hermione would never forget the dawning look on Iris’s face when she realized that the warm older man who had been like a Grandad to her wasn’t coming back—that death was permanent.

She pulled in a breath, Harry’s eyes on hers. “She knows that you were my best friend. That I—that I miss you.”

His hair was soft under her fingers, as she stroked the nape of his neck. As always she was grateful for the tactile feeling of him, the certainty it leant—that he was real.

“I haven’t found a way to tell her how it happened…I’ve been vague. When I’m asked by others, I say you died in a war. They usually don’t press after that.”

Hermione had learned quickly that most people weren’t keen to talk about that subject and she brushed off most follow up questions by curtly saying she would rather not discuss. Though it was of course different with Iris.

“I’m not sure I’ve done a good job at answering her questions. She’s been having a lot more recently.”

His expression softened further. “I understand.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Of course he would understand; Harry after all had personal experience growing up under that kind of weight. 

He brushed away her fresh tears. “We can figure it out together. Tomorrow.”

She gave a nod. “She already knows that my friend is in the hospital. That’s why she wanted you to have Prongs. To make you feel better.”

His gaze slid over to Iris. “Maybe we can start there.”

“I think that may be best. I don’t know how much she’s processed the bit about magic…”

“I thought about that…with what you said to Healer Delaney.”

“She does know about Hogwarts…but I told her they were stories. That it wasn’t real.” She saw that he wasn’t tracking. “They were our stories. Only I didn’t tell her that.”

“What did you tell her?”

Hermione sighed. “About the Golden Trio. The good adventures. I wanted her to have those, to know you in that way, even if it was obscured by fiction. The Marauders as well, they’re all a part of her history. I planned to tell her the truth one day, when she was older and ready.”

“That’s where Prongs comes from?”

Her lips turned up, even as her eyes watered. “Yes. She’s had him since she was born. The name came rather naturally.”

His hand held her face, forehead pressing against hers. “I’m still so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Me too,” she whispered. “But I’m grateful you're here now.”

He pulled back, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You're a good mum.”

She laughed wetly. “I try…”

His expression grew serious. “You are. It’s obvious.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You’ll be a good dad.”

He released a shaky breath. “I hope so.”

Hermione thought of Teddy’s reaction, and Mia’s, how clearly loved he was by them. And the way Iris had smiled through the fog of her exhaustion at the return of her beloved stuffie, meeting his gaze for the first time. No. She had zero doubts.

She kissed his cheek, then his nose, before he pressed his lips gently against hers. Her hand stayed on the soft stubble of his jaw. “I know so.”

His gaze tipped towards Iris and hers followed. The two of them watched her for a long moment, aware that tomorrow was nearly there.

“You should go,” she said, wishing he didn’t have to.

He nodded reluctantly and Hermione forced herself to stand, her bones seeming to creak. She tugged at his hand and he drew himself up, less steady on his feet than she would like. Without another word she hugged him tightly, wishing that the force of her feelings could be enough to make him better. He held her back and it almost felt like they had melted through time, back to the tent, back to the moments where they had clung to each other.

“I hope she likes me,” his mumbled words caused her to draw back. 

She took his weary face in her hands. “It would be impossible for her not to.”  Despite her tiredness, she found her lips turning up. “She can be shy at first. It usually doesn’t last long. Then she’ll chat your ear off and it’s getting her to stop talking. That's the challenge.”

His own lips split into a smile. “Yeah?”

She nodded, moving her hands down to his chest. “She’ll love you. I have no doubt.”

His hands took hers, and she found herself deliriously wanting to kiss him. His smile spread further, seeming to read her like a book. He closed the gap between them, his lips chapped and gentle against hers. She kissed him back, her eyes fluttering closed, at least until she made herself pull back.

“You should go. Before they cart you away.”

“We know they’re capable of that,” he muttered.

Laughter pushed out of her lungs weakly and he brushed his lips against her temple.

“I love you,” he said, the words tired, but laden with meaning.

“I love you too.”

He released her reluctantly, turning towards Iris. He bridged the gap with a few unsteady steps. Lightly he moved a stray curl from her cheek, watching her closely, the remnants of shock and awe still on his face before he dropped a kiss to the crown of her head.

***

Despite the intensity of her exhaustion, her sleep was broken and restless. Some part of her was unable to relax fully without Harry there. She had at least learned her lesson, changing into comfier clothing before transfiguring the chair into a makeshift bed and grabbing an extra blanket from the cupboard at the back of the room. But her nervous system was on overdrive, every small noise waking her, unhelped by the Healers checking in on Iris at random hours. 

The sleep she did get was broken up by fragmented dreams, where she was submerged in the pond at Hampstead Heath, the sky above her hazy and grey. When she broke the surface Iris and Harry waved to her from the grass, but no matter how hard she fought through the water she couldn’t get to them. The room was still dark, no light peeking around the curtains when the sounds of Iris’s whimpers pulled her from the dream again. She sat up, legs swinging over the bed. Iris’s hair was even more tangled, soaked in sweat as if she had been the one in the pond. She rested a hand on her crown, scooting onto the bed to be with her. “It’s alright love, I’m right here.”

Iris’s eyes shot open, her pupils wide and locking with her own.

“Mummy?”

She moved Prongs back to her hand. “I’m here. So is Prongs. Do you remember waking up last night?”

Her brows pinched together. “I think so…”

Iris sat up with a huff. The IV line swayed with the movement. She frowned. Hermione placed a hand near the area where it disappeared beneath her skin. “That’s helping you. Does your arm hurt?”

She opened and closed her hand, then lifted it gingerly. “No…”

Hermione smiled at her, pointing at the cauldron floating nearby. “Magic.”

Iris’s eyes widened even further. “That wasn’t a dream?”

“No. It wasn’t,” she replied, smoothing her hair back.

“Are Annie and Rosie here?”

Twinned jolts of guilt and memory struck her at the same time. “No…they aren’t.”

“Are we in Scotland?”

“No, England. London actually.”

Iris looked perplexed but yawned before saying anything else. The dark circles under her eyes made it clear she still wasn’t properly rested.

“Is it still today?”

Hermione found herself smiling. “Hmm. It’s very early tomorrow.”

“Did we take an aeroplane?” Iris asked, her confusion deepening.

“No. I used magic. Do you remember what I showed you in the hospital?”

Iris gave a slow nod. “A magic wand.”

“Yes. I used it to get us here.”

The sudden sound of the door opening made her heart leap into her throat. But it was only a Healer, the same older woman who had been coming in and out most of the night.

“Look who’s awake! I suppose this potion is just in time then.”

Her daughter pressed into her side, eyeing the woman who held a vial of blue liquid.

“I’m Healer Corrigan, you feeling alright pet?”

Iris glanced up at her and Hermione managed a smile, stroking Iris’s hair. “I think so. Is your headache gone?”

Iris nodded again, burrowing her face into her mother’s chest while Hermione held her close.

Healer Corrigan didn’t seem to mind her shyness, simply moving over to where the cauldron floated near the bed. “Healer Delaney mentioned a second dose would likely help her sleep longer. It’s still early hours.”

Iris peeked from behind the curtain of her hair, watching as the Healer pulled out her own wand, using it to get the floating cauldron to come towards her and carefully tipping the blue liquid inside. A jet of blue flame spat out from her wand, wrapping around the base of the cauldron before she set it back.

“You ring us if you need anything—she’ll likely feel the effects quickly.”

Carefully Iris reached out to inspect the silvery thread in her arm that slowly filled with the iridescent blue. Unlike its muggle counterpart, it was like silk—so fine it was hard to believe it could deliver anything into her veins.

Hermione thanked the Healer, who took her leave. By the time she looked back down at Iris, her eyelids were beginning to flutter. “She made fire…”

A smile tugged at her mouth at the wonder in her voice. “She did.”

Iris lifted Prongs in her small hands blinking at him in confusion. “Did I dream him?”

“Who?”

“The man.”

She paused her rubbing of Iris’s back.“No. He was here. He wanted you to have Prongs back.”

“Your friend?”

Hermione nodded, unable to say the word, inadequate as it was.

“Harry. He said Prongs was very helpful, but that you needed him more.”

Iris glanced around the dim room, her grip on Prongs already loosening. “Are you tired?” she asked Iris, who shook her head, but the slowness of the gesture proved that wasn’t likely true. “We’ll see him in the morning,” Hermione added, folding Iris into her arms again. 

There was no protest from her daughter, as she was already falling asleep once Hermione tucked the blanket around the both of them. She lay there humming a familiar lullaby until Iris became fully slack with sleep. Her guilt still bubbled inside her, much like the cauldron next to them. 

After an uncertain amount of time had passed, she carefully shifted Iris from her arms, tucking the blanket around her. She dug through the purple beaded bag until she grasped the silver phone. The time flashed at her, five fifty two. With a sigh, she flipped open the device. Ten missed calls. Her stomach dropped and she plugged in the familiar phone number, pacing away from the bed.

“Hello?” A groggy, but anxious, Annie answered.

“Annie…”

“Janie?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, casting a glance back at Iris.

“Where are you?”

“At another hospital. She’s alright. Her arm’s already better.”

She could hear Annie’s labored breathing, which had only grown more strained as the years passed. The barrage of questions didn’t come and she bit the inside of her mouth, unsure what she would say.

“You’re alright then?” Annie asked finally. 

“We are,” she said, shakily. “I know we worried you. I—I’m sorry.”

“Aye. You did. I told Rosie that I hoped there was good reason for it.”

Her insides twisted further with guilt. “I should have left a note. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You got her help. I’m glad.” There was a pause. “We won't be seeing you tomorrow, I gather.”

“No. But soon.”

“You’ll explain when you’re ready.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I will.”

“Alright, I best leave you then. Try to get some sleep, Janie. I can tell you haven’t been getting much.”

“I will. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Goodnight.” 

The line went dead and she hung up, the heavy feeling in her stomach no lighter. Annie and Rosie had been so good to them over the years, since before Iris was even born. They hadn’t deserved for her to disappear like a ghost. The thought made her temple throb. Isn’t that what she had done to everyone else?

Hermione tossed the phone back into her bag and then glanced towards the window. On her numb legs she walked to the frame, gingerly lifting the curtain. London sparkled under a velvet sky, the stars blotted out by the array of lights. She stood, folding her chilled arms across her chest and watching the city below.  A hint of sunrise slowly bled into the distance. She stood there long enough to see the first streaks of pink, eyes dry and stomach queasy. When she glanced over her shoulder at Iris she was sleeping curled on her side, Prongs loose in her hands.

She couldn’t help but wonder how the day would go. If Iris would be able to take it all in, or if she would be out of sorts. She remembered her own experience with magical exhaustion that had come after the events at Malfoy Manor. Not only the lingering pain from the curse, but how for days it had been hard to get out of bed, her mind foggy, body craving only sleep, like she had been hollowed out. Iris was likely to remain a little tired, but in her wakeful moments so far she’d been more or less herself—which was a relief. 

Now she just had to figure out how to tell her that so much of what she had been told up till now had been a lie—or rather, had turned out to be not true. Hermione didn’t have long to contemplate this before the door opened again. Her heart leapt into her throat, but it was only Healer Delaney—her ponytail looser and her exhaustion more palpable as she came towards her.

“I heard she woke up.”

“Only for a little bit.”

She went closer to the bed. “How is she?”

“Good. I think. No pain.” Healer Delaney smiled and Hermione returned it. “Thank you. Again. For fixing her arm so quickly.”

“Happy to.” The Healer inspected her arm, lightly touching the now empty thread. “I think we can do away with this now.”

Hermione watched with curiosity as she undid the line from Iris’s arm without her so much as stirring. The cauldron vanished to another part of the hospital. She performed the same spell as the last night, the glowing orb above Iris now a shade between yellow and green.

“She’s making excellent progress. But she’ll likely be tired. You should expect her to sleep more than usual the next couple days, but I believe she’ll be good to go home tomorrow.”

Hermione held Iris’s other hand, her racing heart settling. Healer Delaney tucked away her wand. “I’ll be heading home, but I’m back on shift tonight. I’ll make sure we connect before she’s discharged.” Hermione swallowed and nodded. 

“I take it you two will be staying close?” Healer Delaney added.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, glancing back, as if she could actually see Harry’s room from where she stood. “I hope we’ll all be able to leave soon.” Healer Delaney nodded., rubbing at her neck. “I’m sure you want to leave as well, I’ve lost track of how long your shift was.”

“Forty Eight hours. Three on. Three off.” Hermione grimaced. Healer Delaney smiled. “Luckily we have stamina potions—better than what they sell in the shops. The entire hospital runs on them.”

Hermione debated it for all of a few scant seconds before asking. 

“Have you seen him? This morning?”

“Yes, he’s still asleep.”

Her hands twisted together. “He—He’ll recover properly, won’t he?”

Healer Delaney didn’t rush to answer and her heart lurched until she saw the small smile on her lips. “He’s clearly a very strong person. Magically.” She looked back at Iris. “Like this one.”

Relief warmed her and she nodded, squeezing Iris’s fingers in hers. There was no denying it, the connection. It would be obvious to anyone who saw Harry and Iris together. All of it made her empty stomach quiver. The great expanse of what lay beyond the hospital seemed closer than ever, then.

Healer Delaney gave her another small smile. “Take it easy on yourself. It’s a lot to keep vigil—especially for two people.”

Hermione returned a grateful smile as the Healer left, then sank into the chair once she was alone with Iris again. She couldn’t help regretting that she hadn’t asked if there was any way to obtain the secret hospital stash of stamina potion.

Eventually sunlight beamed into the room and she pressed her face into her knees until she heard a rustling sound.

Iris had begun to stir, rubbing her eyes, lips in a pout. Hermione sat up, shimmying back onto the bed. Iris rolled right into her arms. 

“Good morning, my love.”

A small grunt was Iris’s only response as she burrowed into her. Hermione smiled against the crown of her messy hair, stroking the ends. She didn’t rush Iris, letting her wake up slowly. Her daughter had never been much of a morning person.

“Did you know you can see straight across London from here?” she whispered to Iris, who tilted her chin upwards, curiosity clearing away some of the sleep from her eyes. 

“Honest?”

“Honest,” she replied, smoothing back the hair from her eyes. “Even Big Ben. When you’re feeling better we can go explore the city.”

“Today?” Iris asked, perking up. 

“You’ll need to rest up first.”

Iris pouted, before brightening. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Hermione kissed her head. “Maybe. We’ll be in London for a while. So there’s no rush.”

Iris returned to laying on her chest and Hermione held her, content to take her own advice—moving slowly; no rush.

“I’m thirsty,” Iris murmured eventually. 

“Hmm. I’ve got an idea.” Hermione sat up, grabbing her purse and digging through until she found her reading glasses. Those would do. She transfigured it into a glass. “Aguamenti.”

Water spurted from her wand and she heard Iris’s gasp. She directed the flow to the glass filling it up before she passed it to Iris, whose eyes had gone comically wide. Hermione grinned. “Go on, drink it.”

Iris didn’t need to be told twice, she chugged it down, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. 

“Do more water magic, Mummy!”

She searched her mind, before settling on a charm she had learned in second year. She directed the spray of water into an arc across the window. The sunlight caught it, casting rainbows about the room. Iris clapped in delight, Prongs crammed under her arm.

The aftermath was a giant pool of water on the marbled tile, which Hermione was about to vanish away when Iris tugged at her sleeve. “Again! Make the rainbows again!”

Hermione laughed, prepared to do just that, when a knock sounded. Quickly she sat up. 

“Who is it?” Iris asked, kneeling on the bed. 

“One second, love.”

She went towards the door, holding her breath as she opened it. Harry stood there, hair on end and in the same clothes as the night before. 

“Hi,” she said, releasing her breath.

“Is she awake?”

Hermione could only nod. It was here. The moment she had always thought would be impossible. Harry’s throat bobbed up and down, his hands in his hair now. She could sense his nerves, much like her own. All week she had tried to picture how this would go. Now the time had come, she reached for him and his hand came down, taking hers. 

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears but she heard the patter of bare feet. She felt Iris next to her leaning against her leg in a stance she often took when meeting new people. When she looked down, Iris’s eyes was locked on their conjoined hands. Harry squeezed her fingers before releasing them. 

The three of them stood there in the silence. Words wouldn’t come to her. She knew she had to introduce them properly, but she found she could only place her hand on Iris’s head and try to breathe. Harry recovered quicker, crouching down to be eye level with their daughter. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow him.” He pointed to Prongs, still stuffed under Iris’s arm. “I think he helped as much as the Healers.”

A shy but pleased smile pulled at her lips. Her head rested near Hermione’s hip but she met Harry’s gaze full on.

“Are you all better too?”

A surprised laugh stuck in his throat, voice hoarse. “Yeah, almost.”

“I’m Iris,” she said quietly, surprising both of them by offering a small hand.

Harry took it, a soft look in his eyes that had Hermione’s vision blurring with tears before she could stop them.

“I’m Harry. It’s good to see you feeling better.”

Iris tilted her head. “Do you make water magic too?”

Harry glanced up at her and back to Iris. “Er—”

“Yes, he can do that spell too.” Hermione cut in, wiping discreetly at her eyes.

Iris had craned her neck upwards, face creasing into a frown. “Are you sad, Mummy?”

“No. No. I—” She looked at Harry, her own smile matching his. “I’m really happy.”

“Oh good,” Iris replied, relaxing. She turned back to Harry, still holding his hand. “Mummy said we can see Big Ben from the window. Do you want to check?”

Harry straightened upwards, nodding his head. “Yeah. Of course.”

Iris all but pulled him into the room, Hermione made room to let them pass. She struggled to hide her shock. Iris wasn’t usually that forthcoming with people she just met. Iris walked Harry straight towards the window, only dropping his hand when they got to the big puddle. 

“What a mess,” she sighed, hands on her hips.

Hermione gathered herself enough to grab her wand and vanish the water.

Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows, but Iris tugged at his hand again. He allowed her to pull him to the window. Iris’s chin didn’t quite reach the ledge. Iris glanced back at the bed. “Do you need a chair?” Harry asked. “Or I could lift you—”

Iris, to her surprise again, nodded eagerly, lifting her arms. 

“Wait!” Hermione closed the gap, Healer Brown’s cautions echoing in her head. “Let me get a chair.” With a wave she transfigured the makeshift bed back to the standard hospital chair. She pulled the chair to the window and Iris scrambled up. She touched Harry’s arm in a silent apology. He gave her a small smile before glancing towards the window, though she noted his gaze lingered more on Iris, who was absorbing the scene with a look of wonder.

“I see it!” she cried, pointing a finger against the glass that was fogging with her breath. Hermione followed her line of sight to Big Ben standing guard over Westminster.

“You know I’ve been to the top, right at the clock,” Harry told her.

Iris spun so quickly she nearly lost her balance but Harry’s hand shot out and steadied her as she started her rapid fire questions. “You have? Like Peter Pan? Did the clock make a lot of noise?”

He grinned. “It was loud up there; the wind was even louder, though. I flew on my broomstick.”

“Broomstick?”

Harry’s eyes flicked to hers. “Yes, a flying one.”

Iris whirled back towards her, luckily still steadied by Harry’s hand. “Like in our stories?”

Hermione nodded, chewing on her lip. She knew that the connections would start coming. She figured it was as good a place as any to start the introduction of all that was to come.

“Yes, like that. Do you remember Quidditch?”

Iris’s eyes widened, nodding eagerly.

“It’s a real sport in the magic world. Harry’s very good at it.”

His name felt strange on her tongue in front of Iris.

“Can I ride a broom?” Iris asked.

The word ‘no’ fell from her lips at the same moment that Harry said “Yes!” 

Iris’s head swivelled between them, brows drawing up. “Why not?”

Harry gave her a sheepish grin. Hermione sighed. “Not today at least. For either of you.”

Iris focused back on Harry. “Did you fall too? From a broomstick?”

He shook his head, his eyes meeting hers once again before he leaned towards Iris. “Do you know what an Auror is?” Iris gave a shake, her curls spilling behind her and he gave her a warm smile. “How about a police officer?”

“Yes, Sophie’s dad is one and he wears a funny cap.”

His smile widened. “I don’t have a cap, but I do wear a robe, and use a wand.”

Hermione touched Iris’s back. “His job is similar to a police officer, but they use magic, like the Healers here use magic instead of medicine. He got injured while working.”

Iris’s eyes filled with questions and Hermione found herself holding her breath.

“You know I didn’t know about magic either,” Harry said softly. “Not until I was eleven.”

“You didn’t?” 

His green gaze went back to hers. “No. Neither did your Mum.”

“How did you find out?’ Iris asked her.

The memory came bright and clear for the first time in ages. Professor McGonagall seated on the floral sofa, her parents shell shocked expressions, everyone's tea going cold.

“It was my birthday actually,” she replied, throat tightening. 

Iris jumped, nearly yelling. “It’s your birthday now!”

Hermione blanched. She had forgotten.

“I suppose it is,” she said, eyes darting to Harry who mouthed an apology.

Hermione was about to shake her head—saying she had forgotten and they would just have to make it up later—but Iris cut in, voice crestfallen. “We won’t be able to do our special day.”

She cupped her daughter’s soft cheeks. “We’ll do something when you’re all better.”

“I am better!” Iris insisted, pulling back and moving her now healed arm in dramatic fashion to demonstrate.

Hermione was about to disagree, when Harry’s voice made her look up.

“What do you normally do?” He was leaning against the window, watching them.

Iris turned quickly in her excitement. “We go for breakfast and we explore! Sometimes we dress up nicely too.  And we always make a cake. That’s the most important part. Mummy always picks Victorian sponge with raspberries!”

His smile had unfurled more with each word and wild hand gesture. “That sounds wonderful.”

Iris nodded enthusiastically. “And—” her further explanation was cut off by the sound of her stomach rumbling loudly. She placed her hands on it, cheeks pinking. 

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked, eyebrows shooting up in amusement.

“I think my stomach is hungry but my brain forgot.”

Harry laughed in surprise, before offering his hand. “We should do something about that shouldn’t we?” Iris giggled, taking his hand and jumping off the chair with wild abandon before Hermione could stop her, Harry’s reflexes managing to catch her and place her on her feet. 

She spun with excitement, white nightgown twirling around her legs before she let go of Harry’s hand. She did a quick look around the room before wrapping her arms around Hermione’s waist. 

“Mummy, I also have to pee.” 

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks; both of them seemed to be thinking the same thing.

***

Harry’s room really did make more sense; it was far larger and had the ensuite. Iris was distracted by the size of the window and eagerly went towards it upon entering, before Hermione re-directed her to the toilet. 

“I can do it by myself, Mummy,” Iris said, marching into the adjoining room. She didn’t argue, heaving a sigh when the door closed behind Iris, Prongs in Hermione’s hands for safekeeping.

Harry stood by the large window, hands in his pockets, green eyes fixed on her. Hermione found herself moving towards him before she could even think. They had only minutes, but she wrapped her arms around his waist and sunk into his embrace, still strong and lean like when they were younger.

“Happy birthday,” he said quietly into her curls. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything…”

Her free hand went to his heart. “I’ve already got everything I’ve ever wanted.”

His slow smile made her stomach summersault. “She actually is perfect.”

She bit back her own smile. “Stubborn and maddening as well, but I think she’s rather wonderful.”

He shook his head. “All the better for it.” Gently he touched Prongs who was squished between them. “I can’t believe she’s real. That this is all happening.”

She glanced back over at the closed door before touching his cheek, eyes searching his. “You’re not finding this overwhelming?”

“I mean…, yeah. But it’s a good kind,” he said with a huff of disbelieving laughter before sobering. “I just want her to be alright with…with everything.”

“She will be.” Hermione rubbed at the scruff of his jawline, before her fingers tangled into his hair. “I want to get this right.”

His brow quirked up. “Is there a right way?”

She didn’t get to answer. The door opened with force and she nearly jumped, Prongs falling before Harry caught him. She smoothed out her curls as she turned to see Iris padding towards them.

“Can you still see Big Ben?” she asked. Harry smiled, passing her Prongs, who she happily took back.

“Yeah. You can see even more this way.”

Iris reached up to the ledge and Hermione scooped her up before she could protest. The three of them peered through the glass, taking in the busy city below. The sunlight warmed Hermione’s face as she watched Harry point out different landmarks to Iris, both muggle and magical.

“You can almost see where I live,” Harry said, pointing to the east.

Iris’s face was nearly flat against the glass to get a better look. “Is it a house?”

“Hmm, a flat in a house.”

“We live in a flat! But it’s not in a house, it’s in a bookshop.”

“That sounds pretty fitting.” He said, smiling over at Hermione.

“Can we go to your house sometime?” Iris asked, pulling at his sleeve.

“Of course,” Harry replied, as Hermione tried to hide her astonishment at Iris's forwardness. 

“Do you have any pets? We don’t, Mummy says we can’t get one until I’m eleven,” she said, barely concealing her displeasure at this. The topic that had been repeatedly brought up in the past year. 

“Hmmm. I do have a cat.” His eyes flicked back to hers, something passing through them that she couldn’t quite grasp.

“That’s what I want!” Iris exclaimed, tilting her head back, expression hopeful. “Maybe when I turn seven instead?”

Hermione smoothed Iris’s hair with a sigh. “We’ll see.”

This answer pleased her and she swivelled back to Harry.

“What’s your cat's name?”

Again, his eyes flicked to hers and suddenly she knew exactly what he would say. 

“Crookshanks,” he replied, his gaze unwavering.

The moment hung between them, a wave of emotion striking her.

“You kept him?” her voice quavered at the look on his face, the barely concealed grief shinning in his eyes. He nodded and she wanted desperately to hug him, even with Iris in her arms. 

“That’s the name of the cat in your stories…” Iris said quietly, face concentrated on hers.

Hermione’s throat closed up, wanting to say something, anything, and being unsure what it could possibly be.

The bustle of the door caused all of them to look as a Healer came in, the same older woman who had given Iris her morning potion. “Ah, you’ve returned, Mr Potter…” She paused, taking them all in. “And you’ve got the family with you. Excellent.”

Iris lifted her head from Hermione's shoulder, the weight of her gaze told her that she had definitely taken in the off hand remark. Finally Harry managed a nod, tugging at his hair. 

Healer Corrigan put her hand on her hips. “I believe none of you have had breakfast delivered yet?”

Hermione was too shocked to respond. Harry cleared his throat. “Er—no. We haven’t.”

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” She drew out her wand, pointing them at the small side table. Three trays with steaming bowls of porridge with berries and cups of tea appeared.

She felt Iris’s wonder keenly, her small body still in her arms.

“You’ve got another potion to take after your meal, so I’ll be back. The young miss too.” The Healer told them before leaving as quickly as she had appeared.

The three of them exchanged looks and without further prompting, they settled into the chairs near the bed and ate. Iris in Hermione’s lap and Harry across from them. 

“Is food magic too?” Iris asked, prodding at the porridge with her spoon. “Or is it the same as other food?”

“Sometimes magic can be applied to food. To help it grow,” Hermione explained, after swallowing.

“Or make it move.” Harry added. “Like chocolate frogs.”

Iris’s eyes lit up. “Those are real too?”

Harry nodded, smiling over the rim of his tea. Iris seemed to be thinking as she picked up a blueberry with her fingers. “Does magic have a taste?”

Harry put his cup down. “That’s a really good question. I don’t know.”

“It has a feel.” Hermione said, surprising herself. Iris tilted her head back, expression full of curiosity. “You can sense it, outside of what you can see, feel with your hands, or hear or taste.”

Harry nodded. “Your body knows it before your mind catches up.”

Iris’s brows knitted together and she straightened, looking over at Harry. “Like love?”

He smiled softly. “Yeah. A bit like love.”

Hermione’s heart squeezed in her chest. Before Iris could ask another question, a silvery mist blew past them, swirling together to form a terrier and giving a loud bark, startling Iris who clung to her.

The dog spoke. “How are things? I’m planning to come by with some stuff. Let me know if he’s awake.”

With another bark, the dog dissolved into the silent room.

“Is that a ghost dog? A talking ghost dog?” Iris asked after a long moment, voice filled with wonderment. 

Harry and Hermione’s eyes locked before they began laughing. Iris crossed her arms, lip jutting out, and Hermione hugged her close. “It’s a Patronus.” 

“Like in the story, too?”

She nodded, summoning her wand. “I’ll show you.” 

She only had to think of their morning together to feel the warmth move through her fingertips, her silver otter shooting out. The otter spun in circles, floating on its back. Hermione spoke her message. “Come by. We’re in Harry’s room.”

Iris’s eyes were lit with delight. Hermione pressed her cheek to hers. “You can send messages through them, a bit like a magical telephone.”

She touched her wand in awe. “Can you make a kitty cat?”

Hermione shook her head, glancing over at Harry who was watching them with amusement and undisguised adoration. “Patronuses aren’t something you pick. They just appear. Differently for everyone.”

“Our friend Ron’s is a dog, Your mum's an otter and mine looks like him,” Harry said, pointing to Prongs who was seated on the table amongst their trays. 

Iris nearly launched off her lap, to get to Harry. “Can I see?”

“Not today,” Hermione said, shooting Harry a firm look. She hadn’t forgotten that part of his recovery—no magic, not anytime soon. Iris pouted, sitting back on her lap.

Harry gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll show you another time.”

“Promise?” Iris leaned her body over the table, offering a hand to seal the deal. 

He took her hand. “Promise.”

Iris appeared pleased at this and with some encouragement finished more of the porridge she said wasn’t sweet enough.

Hermione had just cleared the nearly empty trays when Ron appeared in the doorway. He looked better rested than earlier in the week, hair damp from the shower and a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in the crook of his arm.

Iris pressed herself into a ball on Hermione’s lap, peering at Ron over her shoulder.

“Morning,” Ron greeted them, coming further into the room. “Everyone alive and well?”

“Getting there,” Harry replied, standing up slowly, doing a poor job of hiding his grimace. Right, he still had to take a potion, Hermione remembered—Iris too. 

Ron’s eyes fell to them. “These are for you. Happy Birthday.” Hermione smiled, taking the offering of flowers. Iris touched the petals. “Susan grew them, she wants to have you for a proper dinner once you’re all out.”

“Thanks, Ron. They’re beautiful. Tell her thank you.”

Hermione placed them on the now empty table. “Iris, this is our good friend Ron. Ron, this is Iris.”

“‘Lo Iris,” he said with an easy wave. 

“Hi,” Iris murmured, eyes flashing up to his and then over to Harry, who smiled reassuringly.

“Blimey. She really does look like you. Except for the eyes—”

“Er—one second.” Harry took Ron’s elbow, who cast a bewildered glance back at them before they left the room.

Iris watched them go, brows creased in concern.

“They’ll be right back,” Hermione told her, heart still pounding from yet another near miss. She smoothed a hand over her forehead and brushed back Iris’s curls which were extra tangled. A simple, profound understanding settled inside her as she looked towards the closed door. They would have to tell Iris the truth together,  and soon. To avoid the truth from simply spilling out.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

Iris remained unusually quiet in her lap, curled up like a kitten. Hermione knew it could only have been minutes until the thick silence was broken by the door opening, but it felt longer. Ron emerged first, followed by Harry. Both of them were more subdued than when they’d hastily left. Harry’s face was pale and drawn, a rolled up paper under his arm. Her inner alarm bell went off when she realized it was a newspaper.

His eyes met hers, and instantly she knew they would have to discuss whatever Ron had shown him. Her stomach twisted. Any number of things could be written in that newspaper, likely none of them good. Iris lifted her head and Harry’s gaze shifted to her, his expression softening. 

He came towards her chair and crouched down. 

“Have you had enough to eat?” Harry asked Iris. She gave a small nod. “Ron brought some treats. But we can always have them later.”

Their daughter instantly perked up, looking over to Ron who had begun to unpack several paper boxes wrapped in twine. “They’ll keep. Muffins, and some sandwiches. And oh, yeah, soup. Tomato Bisque,” Ron said. 

Iris sat up, leaning towards Harry on the armrest. “What kind of muffins?” she whispered.

He grinned, turning back to Ron. “What kind of muffins, Ron?”

“Chocolate Pumpkin.”

“What do you think?” Harry asked, his gaze flicking to Hermione’s before settling on Iris. A smile tugged at his lips.

Iris tapped her chin with her finger. “Actually, I am hungry.”

His grin widened. “Let’s fix that.”

Iris scrambled to get off her lap, taking Harry’s offered hands. Iris threw all her weight at him and he caught her easily, even as he sucked in a breath and barely concealed a wince. Hermione wanted to chastise him not to overdo it. Except the happiness radiating off both of them was impossible to try to dampen.  Harry set Iris on her feet and took a muffin from the box, handing it to her. Iris scampered back over, splitting it in half and giving some to Hermione as she sat back on her lap.

“So,” Ron said when they had all settled again. “Everything’s alright?”

Hermione swallowed a bite of soft deliciousness. “This one’s on the mend,” she said, touching the top of Iris’s messy hair. She glanced at Harry seated on the bed across from them. “Harry too.”

Or, at least, she hoped so. Observing him now, he did seem better in some respects: at least he was upright and moving more easily. He was still paler than she would like, however, an air of tiredness not quite leaving him. He appeared to have lost some weight since the first day she had seen him lying prone in the hospital bed. Though he was still a far cry, from the level of skinny they had reached while on the run.

“Not sure how you’ll manage months of bed rest,” Ron said, breaking her from her thoughts. “You’re always working.”

Harry’s eyes met hers briefly and then he looked down at the muffin in his hands. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll manage. Plus I don’t think it will be that long.”

“Did the Healers say something?” Ron asked through a bite.

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. “No. They haven’t changed their prognosis, at least that I’m aware of.”

Harry’s head rose. At her pointed look, a sheepish smile tugged at his mouth. “No. They haven’t said anything different. Just a feeling.”

He turned to Iris, who had a smear of chocolate on her cheek. “Ron brought some games. Do you want to see?”

Iris’s face lit up as she moved to sit up. Hermione stopped her, scrubbing her cheek with her sleeve but Iris twisted away and was on her feet with a bounce. 

“A magic game?”

He nodded and she clapped her hands in delight, skipping towards him. Hermione pursed her lips. Her own memories of magical games always veering towards the chaotic, or in the case of chess, violent. 

“Do you like playing cards?” he asked, as he helped her scramble up on the bed. “Have you heard of Exploding Snap?”

Iris’s eager response led to a game, and then another. Hermione was unsure how wise it was, the game energetic and fast paced, but at least they were seated. 

Healer Corrigan came bustling in just as Iris cheered loudly at the burst of cards showering around them. The older woman raised an eyebrow. “Having fun, are we?”

Iris turned to Harry who gave her a reassuring smile before looking at the Healer. “I think we were due for some.”

“Hmm. Fun is good, as long as you also take these.” The Healer placed three different vials on the table near the bed. The purple Hermione recognized as the one Harry had to take three times a day, the other two were green—restoring potions. 

Hermione stood. “Should they take them now?”

“Within the hour,” the Healer replied. She pointed a finger at Harry. “Don’t have too much fun, alright?” The smile evident in her voice set some of Hermione’s worries at ease.

He grinned down at Iris who was giggling behind her cards. “We’ll do our best.”

The sight of the two of them together was a wonder. A miracle she still couldn’t quite believe. At the silence that descended she forced herself to turn away, smiling at the Healer. “Thank you, they’ll take the potions and will rest at some point.”

“She’s right,” Harry added. She looked back to see Iris give an exaggerated nod, even as she eyed the potion with uncertainty.

“You have your hands full,” the Healer said, moving towards the door. “Ring if you need anything.”

Hermione thanked her again, heaving a sigh when the door closed. She allowed herself to be absorbed into another round, but her mind was elsewhere. Even so, her heart continued to skip a beat anytime she heard Harry and Iris’s laughter sync up. 

Ron was as competitive as ever, though he only swore once, quickly apologizing. Iris seemed to warm up to him soon enough, and even began laughing at his exaggerated expressions. More than anyone though she kept looking towards Harry, her green eyes wide and flashing a curious glint that Hermione knew well. Yet she wasn’t quite sure what was going on in the mind of her six year old.

Her reverie was broken by the cards exploding in her face, causing her to yelp. 

“You’re not very good at this game Mummy,” Iris said kindly when all the cards were on the floor. Ron snickered into his hand.

“Do you want to stop?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. We can take a breather.” Ron said, waving his wand and arranging the cards back into a pile. “Also Susan wanted to remind you that the room will be ready for you if you need it. You can use the shower anytime you want.”

A shower sounded heavenly. She sighed, eyeing Iris, who was doing a terrible job at stifling a yawn. “I appreciate it.” 

“You can shower if you want,” Harry said.

“I can’t leave Iris.” The words tumbled out of her mouth automatically. Harry gave a small bob of his head and his expression instantly made her regret her choice of words. “I mean…” she blew out a breath. Iris likely wouldn’t allow her to leave, not without a fuss. “It’s really fine. I don’t need one right now.”

Iris had her chin perched on her knees and her gaze ping ponged between them, a furrow in her brow. 

The silence stretched until Ron sat back, scratching his neck. “There’s no pressure. You just seem…tense.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she replied evenly.

Ron shrugged, shuffling the cards. Harry leaned forward, concern etched in his face. That seemed all wrong; it really should be the other way around. 

“You can use mine,” Harry said. 

“What?”

“Shower.” He jerked his head towards the bathroom door. “You don’t have to go all the way to Ron and Susan’s.”

“Oh. Maybe later.”

“Are you sure?” At her hesitation he turned toward Iris, who was still watching them closely. “What do you think? Are you okay with that?”

Iris tilted her head on her knees. “Can we keep playing the game?”

A grin spread across his face. “Of course. How about we play one more round. Then we’ll listen to your mum’s advice about resting.”

Iris pursed her lips, eyes darting her direction and then back to Harry. “Maybe two more games.”

Harry chuckled. “Deal.”

Iris reached out and offered her hand which he shook, his grin widening. Hermione swallowed her shock. While independent, Iris could also be clingy in new situations, a pattern that had grown stronger in the last couple years as she had begun to struggle with nightmares more frequently. Her latching onto someone new so strongly was unusual.

“You’ve got a negotiator,” Ron said, dealing the cards and cutting through her thoughts.

Hermione knew there would be no use arguing with any of them further on the matter. Slowly she stood up, addressing Iris. “Your…Harry is right. You’ll need to take the potion after the next two games.”

Iris pouted but nodded reluctantly. Hermione felt the headache encroach further. She needed a potion herself if she was going to stay focused. Harry shot her another tired but happy smile. The urge to go towards him and fold herself into his arms nearly overcame her. Instead she scooped up her purple bag and went around Ron to Iris, placing a kiss on her crown. “I’ll be right back. Be good.”

“I will,” Iris replied, not even looking up but taking the cards that Harry passed her. Iris sat cross legged, her small knee pressed into Harry’s thigh, relaxed and at ease. Their connection was obvious in a way that stole the air from her lungs whenever she took a moment to let it sink in. She forced herself to keep going, brushing past Harry, who was already bending down to say something to Iris that she didn’t catch. As the game started up in earnest, Iris’s bubbly laughter followed her into the next room, until she closed the door and silenced everything. 

An overhead light came on immediately when the door closed, making the bathroom gleam white and more than making up for the lack of daylight in the windowless room. Hermione pressed her back against the door for a long moment and sighed deeply. The entire week had been a crash course in trying to process the impossible. It was wonderful—but exhausting.

Eventually she got herself in motion, placing her bag on the small shelf near the deep porcelain sink and shedding her clothes. She stepped into the shower. Turning the antiquated knob released water that was exactly the right temperature and she hummed in satisfaction. She could still faintly smell the pond on her and it felt good to scrub it away. She did her best to focus on lathering her body, though her mind kept getting stuck on the paper tucked under Harry’s arm—she knew the rest of the world was bound to intrude. She just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. That had been a huge part of the reason she had hidden herself and Iris away. She hadn’t trusted the press, or the rest of wizarding society. Not after everything. Now there would be no choice, and she knew with little doubt that Iris would be of great interest. It was a thought that made her stomach lurch, so she pushed it away. 

Once she was sufficiently clean she dried off with one of several fluffy towels that had appeared the moment the water had stopped. She wrapped the towel firmly around herself and attempted to fix her hair in the mirror. Her reflection looked mildly better than before, even with her tangled wet strands hanging down. Under the tiredness and uncertainty in her eyes there shone a happiness that was undeniable when she looked hard enough. On the other side of the door Iris was safe with Harry. Despite her misgivings about the wizarding world, it was all different now. He was alive. He would be there with them through all of it.

Her eyes misted over and she sucked in a shaky breath as she dug around in her bag for clean clothes. There wasn’t much left from the handful of things she had thrown in for herself and Iris. They would have to go back to their flat at some point—their home. But was it still? The conversations they still needed to have loomed and her stomach fluttered as she settled for a simple chambray dress, the material soft and flowing to her knees. She shrugged a cream jumper over top. With her hair up in a twist she inspected herself one last time before turning and opening the door. 

Harry was standing near the bed, fighting a grin. There was a large lump under the covers, one that she could swear was moving. 

Her eyebrow arched and his smile unfurled. She glanced around the now empty room. “Where’s Ron?”

“Susan called him back. They’ll come by later.”

She moved towards him and his hand closed the distance between them, settling on her hip, warm and reassuring.

“And Iris? Did she leave too?”

A muffled giggle came from the bed. 

“Ah. Good question. Not sure, she just vanished,” Harry replied, easily.

“Well that’s terrible news.” 

“It really is. I’ve looked everywhere.”

Hermione bit back her own laugh. Her eyes darted to the potions, still untouched on the table. They wouldn’t be able to put that off much longer. She brushed a hand over his and made herself take a step back towards the bed. “We’ll have to take another look. But first I need to smooth out this lump.”

Iris was giggling before she even touched the sheet. She began to tickle her fingers over Iris’s back and she quickly popped up in a tangled mess, her wild hair a glaring shade of pink. 

“Is that really you?” Hermione teased, pushing back her fringe and revealing Iris’s flushed face. She nodded, eyes bright. “You look different…are you sure you aren’t a changeling?”

“No!” Iris cried, sitting up on her heels. “It’s magic gum!” 

“From Ron,” Harry added, when she glanced over her shoulder. 

She turned back to Iris, taking her warm cheeks in her palms. “I’m glad you’re having so much fun, but you do need to take your potion.”

Iris huffed out a breath, slipping out of her grasp. “Not yet.”

Hermione sighed. When she looked at Harry, his lips were pressed together in a way that told her he was trying to hide his amusement. 

“Well, I think it’s much past the time to take them,” Hermione said. Her daughter ignored her as she lolled about on the bed with a pout.

Before she could think of another way to coax Iris, Harry was at her side. 

“I’ll be taking mine,” he told her.

She sat up on her elbows. “You will?”

“Yeah. It’s important to listen to the Healers. And your mum.”

Iris’s eyes flicked between them again before settling on Harry. “How old are you?”

“Er—twenty four.”

She seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Mummy’s older now.”

He grinned. “She is. Wiser too. Which is why she’s good to listen to.” Her heart flipped as she watched him extend an arm towards Iris. “Ron said there were some other fun things in the bag…why don’t we look after you take your potion.”

His words were like magic and Iris took his offered hand, hopping down from the bed. 

The Healer seemed to be wrong about Iris’s energy level—she was fully charged. Harry on the other hand moved more slowly. Hermione followed them to the little table near the window. Iris was already eyeing the vial suspiciously 

She placed a reassuring hand on Iris’s thin shoulder. “It won’t be so bad.”

The look on Iris’s face was the one she had been giving her more of recently; undeniable skepticism. “It’s green.” 

“Hmm it is.”

“Green things usually taste bad.”

“What about pesto? Or pistachio ice cream?”

Iris gave a conceding nod. “I said usually .”

Harry picked up the glass vial. “Why don’t we take them at the same time?”

Iris unfolded her arms, still eyeing the potion uncertainly but to Hermione's surprise she nodded. She spat out the gum into her palm, Hermione reached out to take it, but Iris was already giving it to Harry who seemed unfazed by the gesture, tossing it to the bin before she could even blink.

Pink hair faded back to gold, and Harry handed Iris the other vial. He lowered himself down to Iris’s level, wobbling and a little out of breath, but he was entirely focused on their daughter. 

 “Alright. On the count of three?” Iris nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.” Hermione was still processing the scene as the potions were swallowed, though Iris did gag between gulps. At the same time they wiped their mouths with the back of their hands.

“Disgusting,” Iris muttered, nose wrinkling. 

“Yeah. Not great,” Harry said with a grimace.

There was only a beat of silence before Iris was handing the empty vial to Harry. “What surprises are there?” 

He grinned. “Let’s find out.” Harry folded up slowly, badly concealing a wince. Hermione found herself watching the two of them, painfully aware that he was over doing it, but finding she didn’t have the heart to interrupt. 

Harry rummaged around in the cloth bag left behind by Ron and pulled out a stack of colourful paper. 

“What is it?” Iris was already at his side, on her tiptoes and grasping onto his arm.

He handed them to her. “Not sure. It looks like a drawing.”

Iris held them gently, running a hand over the gilded paper. Quickly she darted to the bed and spread them over the sheets. 

“They’re dolls! Paper ones.” She scrambled up, hovering over the papers and inspecting them with wonder. “They move!”

Hermione looked over Iris’s shoulder. They did indeed move about as magical pictures did. 

Harry approached the bed. “Oh yeah, Vic has those…I think you can get them to change.” 

Iris stared up at him. “How!?”

He leaned over, touching them with a finger. “You use your mind, think of a colour and it’ll change it.” 

Iris copied him, exclaiming in delight when the doll changed into a purple gown. Hermione used the distraction of the dolls and Harry to quickly fix Iris’s tangled curls into a loose braid.  Her daughter barely seemed to notice and she wondered when the potion would kick in. She glanced at Harry. His glasses had slipped down his nose as he bent over the bed and she noted the slump in his posture as he used the mattress for support. Her hand touched his back and he looked at her with the same tired happiness from when they were playing exploding snap. Iris paid them no mind, lost in the world of her imagination. Hermione straightened and tugged at his arm. He followed and she directed him to the chair which he all but fell into. 

She followed suit, sinking down in the chair next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better.” At her raised eyebrows, his lips pulled up. “It’s true. Even if it still feels like I did fall off my broomstick.” His arm pressed into hers. “How about you?”

“Good. Bit of a headache.” 

He leaned in further, brow furrowing. “Do you want me to get a Healer?”

“It’s not that bad. I’ll relax more when she starts resting,” she said, placing her hand on his. “And you.”

She glanced over at Iris who was still absorbed in the dolls, though her movements were distinctly slower. Her voice carried over and Hermione could overhear something about getting ready for a ball, the dresses in Iris’s small hands blazing into bright colours at her command. 

She lowered her own voice, tipping her head closer to Harry. “What did the paper say?” His nostrils flared. “Is it that bad?”

He released a shuddered breath, his eyes flicking to Iris and back. And she knew.

“They know about her.” He nodded stiffly. “Do they know she’s your—” she stopped herself. “All of it? Do they know all of it?”

He gave a terse shake. “No. It’s all speculation.”

Her mind whirled. She hadn’t worried about the papers in years, even if she had known that this was inevitable. It had crossed her mind early on in her pregnancy—at some point word would get out. It always did. And anything connected to Harry would always make headlines. 

Harry’s hand on her knee brought her back and she blinked at him in a daze. “I’ll deal with it.” 

“But—”

“I’ll talk to Remus. He’ll be by soon enough. We won’t worry about it now.” He was looking at Iris again. “We’ll just focus on her. The rest can wait.”

Iris’s chatter had started to fade, her movements half hearted. The potion was finally taking effect. Harry noticed as well, squeezing her knee before he removed his hand and began to lift himself with some effort from the chair. Hermione stood and went over to the bed. 

“Are you ready to head back?”

Green eyes met hers, heavy with sleep. “Back?”

“To your room, just for a rest.”

“No.” Iris looked down at the dolls. “I want to stay here.”

“We’ll come back but you need to sleep for a bit.”

“No thank you.”

Hermione bit back a groan. Harry appeared at her side suddenly. “You don’t have to sleep.” Her lips parted to counter this but he had Iris’s attention. He bent down near the mattress. “I know I need to rest a bit after that potion and I’m sure you do too, but then we’ll have the whole afternoon to see what else is in the bag.”

“I don’t want to leave.” Iris said, voice cracking. 

He smiled softly. “You can stay here.”

“Really?”

“Where will you rest?” she asked Harry, arms crossing.

Harry cast a look around the room. “We can transfigure the chairs. Or ask them for another bed.”

Iris and Harry were staring at her with matching green eyes filled with a tired determination. There was no way she was going to stand much of a chance going up against two Potters. 

That realization, like so many that day, made it hard to think straight. Hermione found herself giving in. “Alright.”

Harry sat on the bed and Hermione set about transfiguring the chairs into a not overly impressive sofa the same dull grey. Iris was wowed nonetheless, her sleepy eyes going wide.

“Can you change everything like that?”

“Not everything,” Hermione said, using her wand to draw the shade, leaving only the pool of lamplight. She grabbed Prongs from where he had fallen on the floor and handed him to Iris, taking a seat next to her. “How about a story?”

“A magic one?”

Her gaze connected with Harry’s. And she knew he was thinking the same thing; this might just be their opening. “Of course,” she said softly. 

Iris turned, grasping at Harry’s sleeve. “Do you know about magic stories?” He nodded. Iris tilted her head. “Even the troll one?”

“I know that one,” he replied hoarsely, eyes flicking back to hers. 

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, and pulled her daughter into her lap, her warm weight a familiar comfort. Iris patted the spot next to them and Harry hesitated only a second before sitting up against the pillow. 

The surreality hit her in waves as she started the story from the place she usually did; with a lonely girl at a new school who wasn’t sure if she would find any friends. Never could she have imagined that she would be recounting it in Harry’s presence. She was debating where, if ever, she could stop, explain that the story wasn't just a story. ut before she could come to a resolution Iris’s eyes fluttered closed, Prongs pressed against her face. Hermione continued until the wand went into the troll's nose, which always got a laugh, and confirmed Iris was asleep. Her voice trailed off and she ran a hand over Iris’s head. She didn’t stir. When she looked at Harry he was watching Iris with the same wonder that had been present yesterday. 

“You were rather brave,” she whispered, continuing to stroke Iris’s hair absently. “And stupid.”

A slow grin spread across his face, his hand grazed Iris’s arm. “I think it worked out alright in the end.” 

Hermione hummed, glancing down at Iris. “I should put her on the sofa.”

Harry began to move, shaking his head. “She can have the bed.”

“And where will you sleep?” He pointed to the sofa. “I doubt that’s all that comfortable.”

“It’ll do,” he said, stretching and yawning. “Besides, I want to sit with you first.”

Hermione shifted carefully, not wanting to wake up Iris. When she succeeded, she came around to the other side of the bed. Not ready to drop the argument. “You’re bigger than her and I really think you should rest—”

“It’s got plenty of space,” he replied easily, moving the other pillow onto the sofa. 

She glared and he looked over at her, his lips twitching up. “You look like Iris when you’re cross.”

She exhaled. “Funny. Her temper always reminded me of you.”

His grin was bellied by the fact that he grimaced as he sank down on the newly formed sofa. 

Hermione went to the side table and got the other potion, handing it to him. “She definitely gets her stubbornness from you.”

He took it. “Hmm. Probably from both of us,” he said, with another yawn. When he didn’t take it right away, she released another deep sigh and sat next to him. 

“We aren’t going anywhere, ” she said, voice catching. “You can sleep. I—We need you to get better.”

Harry rubbed a hand over her knee and to her relief he took the potion, grimacing much like Iris had earlier. She conjured him a glass of water that he gulped down. 

She laid her head on his shoulder, her own exhaustion stealing over her with a vengeance. His hand moved to the back of her neck and she nearly groaned at the sensation of him rubbing her taut muscles. “Should we come up with a plan first?” Harry’s voice rumbled against her ear. She straightened and he was watching her with heavy lidded eyes. “On what we say to her…about…everything.”

“I have no idea. I’m sure she’ll have even more questions when we tell her.”

“I don’t think the limit exists with her....”

A laugh stuck in her throat. “No. It really doesn’t.” 

Her fingers traced the soft hair along his jaw, studying him. The purple shadows under his eyes were darker than they had been that morning, but the cuts and bruises that she had noted the first day had healed, like they had never happened. His eyes had closed at her touch and she continued her exploration, brushing back the strands of his dark hair. His scar was still visible, but it too had faded. No longer raw and red like she had seen it so many times during their school days or when they had been on the run. When his eyes opened, it felt like being transported back in time. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

She touched her thumb to his bottom lip. “The past.”

He took her fingers, kissed them softly and her heart thudded in her chest, the feeling achingly familiar. Only he had ever made her feel like this, like her heart wasn’t big enough to contain it all. 

“I’ve been thinking about the past too,” he said, words slow and heavy. “The future too.”

Her heart did another huge flip. “That’s also been on my mind.”

She stole a look towards Iris, curled on her side away from them, her breathing steady and even. “I don’t know how to tell her…how we’ll answer all her questions.”

His brow furrowed. “Do…do you want to wait?”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No. I don’t want to put it off…”

“But you don’t know what to say.”

“Yes. Exactly. It feels like there hasn’t been any time. I’m still getting my head around it, all of it, and now she’s here and needs answers I don’t have. I mean, I don’t even know where we’ll be living after. Or what I’ll do.”

“Do?”

“About school, or Iris’s school, and then there’s the shop and the flat…everything back home.” Her voice wavered. She wasn’t quite sure where home was anymore. Harry squeezed her hands this time and forced herself to continue. “I still haven’t asked you what you plan to do when you recover…there hasn’t been time to sort any of it. We’ve hardly been able to fill each other in on our lives the last seven years and it—it’s not an insignificant amount of time… and I don’t…I don’t even know what your life is like—what you do when you aren’t working, or how you spend your time or how you want to do this—”

Harry cradled her face. “Hey, it’s alright. I promise. But I need you to breathe.” Hermione drew in a shaky breath. He brushed the tears that had appeared on her cheeks as he spoke calmly. “There’ll be time.”

Her vision blurred further and her hands moved to cover his. “I keep…I keep feeling like we won’t. That—that something will happen and I—I can’t…I can’t lose you. Not again.” 

The anxiety coursed through her now, life without him still fresh in her mind.

Harry pulled her closer and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. “I’m better Hermione,” he murmured. “Or nearly. And I’ll listen to the Healers. I promise. This isn’t the end.” She could only nod, holding even tighter to him.  “I know…I know we missed a lot. That we’ll have to find a way to…to make our lives come together. We don’t have to have it all figured out right away.”

She nodded against him again. “You’re right. I know you’re right, it’s just...”

“A lot?”

“Yes. A lot.” She leaned back to look at him, wiping at her eyes. “We have a history apart now and I worry—” 

“About us?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The one thing I know is that there hasn’t been a single day…there hasn’t been a single day that I didn’t wish you were with us.”

Harry leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s the same for me. The last few years matter, I know that. But we’re still us. And I know I want to be with you. Even if twenty years went by. I’d feel the same.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears falling down her neck. He was right. It could be five, ten or twenty years from now. She  could have been married, or an old woman, and she would have still felt the same way.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with glassy green eyes. She rested her hand on his jaw. “When did you get so wise?”

He gave her a slow smile that made her entire body warm up. “I think I spent enough of my formative years with you, it was bound to rub off.”

“Not sure it worked on Ron.” Harry hummed absently at her remark, his hands finding their way under her jumper. “He did tell me that you won Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor. Several times.”

His hands continued their movement, warming her further.  “I can’t think of a title I’m more excited to lose.”

A laugh bubbled out of her, a flush working its way up her face. “I think that can be arranged.” 

***

Hermione awoke with a jolt. Flashes went off behind her eyelids, her dream fading quickly, but she had been in the girls toilet, only it had been the press outside the stall instead of a troll. When she opened her eyes properly, she was pressed against Harry’s chest, his arms wrapped around her. Within seconds it came back to her—how he had convinced her to lay with him. Only for a few minutes she had reasoned. Judging by the dryness of her mouth and the heaviness in her body, it had been longer than that.

A sleepy sound from across the room brought another thing back to her. They weren’t alone. Hermione managed to turn on the sofa, with some difficulty as Harry’s arm was weighing her down. Her heart jumped to her throat when she saw in the soft light that Iris was sitting up in the bed, braid already unravelling and her eyes bleary with sleep.

“Mummy?” her voice was thick and raspy, and it unfroze her. Hastily she began to untangle herself from Harry’s embrace. He murmured sleepily but his eyes remained shut. 

Hemrione stood, swiftly going over to Iris, whose brows were drawn together. “Are you alright darling? Do you need some water?”

Iris nodded, looking past her to Harry still asleep on the sofa.

Hermione conjured a glass and handed it to Iris, who took it with less fanfare than the morning, clearly adjusting to some bits of magic. She drank deeply, handing the glass back and wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“Were you cuddling?” she asked, voice clearer and gaze penetrating. 

“Oh—I—” She cleared her throat, settling a hand on Iris’s shoulder. “Yes.” She said after a long moment, her daughter’s eyes rounding. She wasn’t about to lie to Iris. Not anymore.

“Why?”

Hermione licked her lips, trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t require an immediate explanation when Iris let out a small sound.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I really have to pee.”

Relief made her light headed. “We can fix that.” 

Iris didn’t protest as she scooped her from the bed and took them into the bathroom. Iris blinked against the harsh white light, covering her face. Prongs still clutched beneath her arm. Her daughter remained curiously silent as she helped her. It was possible the potion was still in effect, her movements slow like she was half asleep. Though Iris’s previous question hung over Hermione like a guillotine. The moment to discuss all of this with her was fast approaching, and there would be little choice but to be ready.  

Hermione glanced over at the gleaming shower. “Shall we rinse you off? It might make you feel better.” Iris shrugged. “How about I do some water magic?”

Her suggestion was rewarded with a glimmer of a smile and a nod. Once the water was going and Iris was soaped up, she seemed to wake up more fully, delighted by the iridescent bubbles that filled the room, which served to distract her—at least temporarily. Her small body slipped about on the black and white tile as she set about popping them, shampoo still foaming in her hair.  Hermione found herself smiling at Iris’s joy, even if her mind was preoccupied with what came next.

When Iris was all clean, Hermione gathered her up in one of the fluffy towels, drying her off and then helping her into the change of clothes she had thought to grab last week. In her soft navy pants and matching striped t-shirt, hair wet and curling at the ends, Iris looked ready to take on the rest of the day. 

“Are we going to stay here?” Iris asked anxiously.

Hermione brushed back her wet hair, murmuring a quick drying spell. “Yes, at least for today.”

“Do we go home tomorrow?” Her voice was still inflected with worry. 

“We haven’t made a plan yet. But you’ll be part of making it. I promise.” Her words seemed to settle Iris, who took her hand. “We might need to let…Harry, let him sleep some more first.”

Disappointment flashed across Iris’s face, but she nodded. Hermione pushed open the door and stopped at the threshold.

Harry was awake. And he wasn’t alone.

Teddy Lupin was on the sofa, engulfing him in a fierce embrace. Remus stood behind, tugging at his shoulders. “Take it easy Ted. He’s still recovering.”

The boy pulled back, and it was like seeing an entirely different person. The dark storm cloud that had hovered him gone, his face beaming. Harry chuckled, musing Teddy’s hair before he looked towards them, breaking out into a sleepy grin. Teddy’s gaze followed, his eyebrows shooting up into his fringe. 

Remus and Andromeda were standing around the sofa and all of their eyes were now on her and Iris. Iris clung harder to her arm, half hiding behind Hermione’s legs. A normal enough response for her to groups of new people. 

“Good timing,” Harry said, his voice raspy and indicating he had likely just woken up. “We have some visitors.”

Remus stepped forward. “Sorry. We should have owled first. Ted’s been very eager to visit.”

Hermione shook herself out of her surprised stupor. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Remus’s gaze fell to Iris. “She certainly takes after you.”

She placed her hand on Iris’s head and smiled, but stayed silent, wary to say the wrong thing. 

Hermione looked towards Harry, who scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“Teddy, you’ve met Hermione,” Remus said with a nod. “You remember; she’s a good friend of Harry’s.”

Teddy gave an awkward wave, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“And this is Iris,” Harry added, clasping Teddy’s shoulder. 

Teddy’s golden gaze rested on Iris, who Hermione noticed was peering back—the two of them sizing each other up in the way young children always seemed to do upon first meeting, not yet having learned to mask the reflex.

Remus interrupted the newfallen silence. “We won’t stay long, but I was hoping to have a quick word with you.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and then closed. “Oh. Of course.”

Iris held more firmly to her arm. Hermione bent down and placed a kiss on her crown. “I’ll be right back.” Her daughter didn’t loosen her grip.

Harry stood up stiffly and walked towards them, crouching down with some visible effort. “I thought we could maybe see what else Ron brought?”

Teddy scrambled off the sofa already at a run, all but crashing into Harry who somehow managed to keep his balance. “What did he bring?”

Harry grinned. “Only one way to find out.”

Iris loosened her hold and Hermione brushed back a stray curl. “Will you stay with Harry and the others? Just for a minute?”

Iris glanced back at Harry, before nodding. Harry offered his hand and she took it. 

“Did you have a good sleep?” he asked her.

Hermione didn’t catch Iris’s answer, following Remus out. Andromeda gave her a soft but tired smile as they passed. A sudden unbidden flash of memory, of Malfoy Manor from a lifetime ago, swept over her. Hermione shook herself. While Andromeda looked like her sister, there was a gentleness in her expression that didn’t match her family at all.

She pushed away those thoughts as they walked down the corridor, finding their way to the large picture window. The sun was burning low in the sky, casting a golden light over the buildings and reflecting off the Thames. It took her mind a moment to catch up to the fact that evening was somehow already approaching. 

“I’m sorry to pull you away,” Remus said, interrupting her train of thought. She pulled her focus from the cityscape to her former teacher. Like Andromeda, he appeared worn down. “I wanted to see if you recognized this.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as Remus pulled something from his pocket. His hand unfurled, revealing a delicate gold chain. He indicated she should take it and she held out her own hand, the cool metal pooling in the center of her palm. 

“Is this yours?”

She fingered the small medallion, already knowing that a tiny H was engraved across its surface. Ten years ago, the early birthday gift before she left for Hogwarts. Her parents had always made a point of celebrating while she was still with them, carrying on the traditions they no longer could with her being away. She could almost feel her mother’s gentle touch as she put it on for her. She had hardly ever taken it off. It was one of the few things she had brought with her on the run that reminded her of home. 

Remus seemed to read her answer, his expression softening. 

“Do you recall the last time you saw it?”

“I…I don’t know…” Their time on the run often blurred together in her mind. Though distinctly split into two parts. Before Ron came back and after. She knew that she had worn it when Harry kissed her that first time, tasting of firewhisky. It had also been on her neck when he had kissed her, rain soaked and desperate. 

She searched her memory. The cold December night where she had been terrified that she would lose him, the blood on her hands staining the chain. The other necklace around her neck, heavy and filling her head with awful thoughts. No. It had been with her throughout their time in the tent. Then that flash of memory came back to her again—the searing pain that had nearly undone her.

Her entire body stiffened but she managed to nod. “Malfoy Manor,” she said shakily. “I…I don’t think I had it after that.”

Remus gave a thoughtful nod and hummed. 

“Where was it?” she whispered.

He seemed to debate if he could answer, glancing out at the golden city.

“It was in the possession of a Death Eater.” Her throat closed up. The name was already on the tip of her tongue, his evil smirk burned in her memory. 

“Dolohov,” she said, voice flattening.

His eyes met hers, his face carefully kept. Years of secrecy had clearly made him an expert at not giving anything away. But she knew. The sinking feeling overtook her, a tug of panic in the pit of her stomach.

“He…he was the one who hurt Harry.” 

Remus pressed his lips together and eventually nodded. “I can’t say much more. Not until the case is filed.”

“Is he out there?” she asked, her body beginning to shake. Her mind went directly to Iris, panic slamming into her fully. 

He shook his head. “No. You won’t have to worry about him.”

Some of her panic ebbed at his words, she leaned heavily against the windowsill, eyes closing briefly. But there would be others out there. They would always have to think about Iris’s safety in the wizarding world. 

“That's the mission Harry was on…capturing him,” she said, opening her eyes.

Remus looked grim. “I can't share the details. But I shouldn’t be surprised at your reasoning. You’re still the brightest witch of your age.”

She didn’t think so. Not after being away so long, or the choices she had made. 

“He can’t tell me what happened then.”

“He can speak to his injuries. There are some things he can discuss and others he won’t be able to. There’s unfortunately a pretty strict secrecy policy.”

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. “Sounds like a dangerous job.”’

“It can be. Especially the missions Harry tends to take on.” The sinking feeling came back. She hadn’t discussed his work with him yet—not in any kind of detail. 

Remus gave a small smile. “Something tells me that might be changing.”

“I hope so,” she replied quietly, staring down at the necklace. 

“We will likely need to have a further discussion on safety.” Her head jerked up. “I don’t know if the two of you had a chance to see the headlines, but I believe it’s better to have a plan with how you’ll address the press. There’s also the basics of ensuring all of your safety overall.” At whatever look she was giving him, he leaned forward. “There’s nothing to worry about just yet. It’s simply a precaution. I know Harry and I’m sure it’s going to be top of mind.”

She nodded absently. Harry’s words from earlier aligned with this. 

“We haven’t had…we haven’t had a chance to talk about these—details. Not fully.”

“You’ve had other things to discuss I’m sure.”

“Yes…”

“You can take this with you,” he said, indicating towards the necklace. “I only wanted to be certain of its origins.”

Hermione stared at the relic from her past. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m glad it made its way back to you…even if the circumstances weren’t entirely…ideal.”

She closed her palm, the medal digging into her skin before she pocketed the necklace. 

“I’m grateful he pulled through…that I—” she sucked in some air. “That I found him again.”

Her eyes went past Remus to the city. The sun had sunk even lower, casting long shadows. Remus’s steady voice broke the quiet. 

“He’s a great Auror. But I think he’s an even better Godfather.”

Hermione looked back at him, her lips turning up. “I can tell.”

“I’m sure that will also extend to fatherhood.” Her eyes watered and she nodded. 

Remus turned toward the glass, seemingly lost in thought. “You know, despite not having known James and Lily…he’s so much like them. He has their warmth. It comes out most clearly when he’s with children.”

She nodded, having already seen first hand what Remus was talking about. The guilt squeezed her guts whenever she thought of the time apart, of what a family meant for Harry.

“Should we head back? Make sure Teddy hasn’t scared off Iris?” he said, taking a step away from the window. 

Hermione pulled herself together, swiping at her eyes. “He seems sweet.”

“He can be. He’s also got his mother’s rather…forward nature at times. It can get him in trouble.”

She nodded. “He’s a Marauder, too.”

Remus gave her a rueful smile, making him look more like the Professor she remembered. “He is. Iris as well.”

Hermione huffed a laugh. “Yes, she also comes by trouble honestly.”

They walked the short distance back, dodging a group of Healers that were mercifully running in the opposite direction. Remus inquired about Iris’s health and she filled him in on the repaired arm and magical exhaustion. 

She stopped short when she walked into the room—which was even fuller than when they had left. Her eyes immediately went to Harry who was perched on the edge of the bed, Mia in his arms. The little girl was clearly ecstatic to see him, her pudgy hands on his cheeks as he grinned at her excited babble. His eyes met hers over her tiny shoulder. 

Seeing him with a toddler made her feel gooey and soft in a way she couldn’t afford to be right now. Her next thought was of Iris and she spotted her quickly enough, just behind Harry on the bed, her head bent over something that moved. Teddy, across from her, was also focused downwards. At Hermione’s entrance, Iris did lift her head, green eyes seeking hers before darting to Harry and back down. 

“Sorry to barge in,” Susan said, approaching out of breath. “Ron said you three would need supper.”

Hermione was suddenly keenly aware just how long ago their last meal had been. “That’s so kind.”

Susan beckoned her over to a table that had been set up, a pile of cardboard pizza boxes and plates on the surface. “Hannah and Neville got us onto this place, nearly as good as Italy. Or Andromeda’s, or Harry’s.”

Andromeda smiled from the sofa at the comment. Ron, seated next to her, was eating a thin crust slice. Hermione tucked away that bit of information about Harry, her eyes locking with his. 

“You still like olives right?” Harry asked, over Mia’s delighted shrieks as he tickled her sides. 

A flush of pleasure rushed up to her face as she bit back a smile, only nodding. His grin only made her grow warmer so she focused on serving herself. 

“Harry charmed the Healer to let us stay for a bit, but I’m sure she’ll be back to kick us out soon,” Ron said, through a mouthful. 

Harry shrugged, looking back at Iris and Teddy. “They’ve already eaten, but have been sucked into Golden Snitch.”

Hermione vaguely remembered the board game from their school days. Ron’s observation seemed to be true. Iris hadn’t run over to her, in fact she hardly looked up. Not that she would complain; she was just grateful Iris was enjoying herself. As she sat around with everyone eating the delicious pizza, there was a strange sense of deja-vu. Almost like they had always been here, spending time together.

Someone had opened the window shade and the sunset was throwing around its marvelous array of colours.  Mia began yawning and Harry passed her back to Susan who held her close, stroking her soft cheeks absently as she asked Andromeda about her opinion on a potion. Hermione couldn’t help watching the mother and daughter; she could swear that Iris had only just been like that—all dimpled joints, wildness and sweetness—easily lulled to sleep just by being in her arms.

Harry was bent over the game, Ron watching on and directing Iris and Teddy on occasion. There were some cheers, but mostly their chatter was indistinct until Teddy’s voice rose above everyone else's. 

“It’s not fair! Uncle Harry, explain it to her!”

Harry placed a hand on Teddy’s back, murmuring something she didn’t quite catch. Everyone else went silent and Hermione exchanged a look with Ron, who gave an exaggerated grimace across the room. Hermione stood, prepared to intervene, when Iris suddenly swiped the game off the bed with a growl, jumping down and racing from the room, curls flying behind her. 

Harry got up, fast, too fast. He braced against the bed, his face a mask of pain and concern.

“Why did she do that?” Teddy said, sitting back on his heels with a scowl. 

Hermione didn’t wait to hear who answered him, her pulse suddenly loud in her ears at the fact that Iris was alone and out of her sight. She sprinted out the door. Finding the corridor empty only made her heart pound faster. She went towards their room only to find it empty. Not for the first time in Iris’s life did she curse herself for not putting a tracking spell on her flighty daughter. 

Iris disappearing wasn’t exactly a one off occurrence.

These thoughts came in snatches over the panic. She was about to pull out her wand to call for help when she rounded the corner. Braced against the windowsill, arms folded and head bowed as if in prayer to the city of London, Iris stood basking in the deep blue of evening.

“Iris,” the name fell from her lips like its own answered prayer.

Her daughter turned, cheeks wet and blotchy, tangled curls sticking to them. 

“Oh love.” She closed the space and Iris offered no resistance when she picked her up, melting into her chest in a puddle of fresh tears.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her nerves frayed and heartbeat slowing. London was beginning to sparkle from the city lights blazing to life. She placed a few kisses to Iris’s warm forehead. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Iris gave a small sob, shaking her head against her shoulder.

“Was it something Teddy said?” Iris hesitated and then nodded. “What was it?”

When Iris finally looked at her, her eyes were still brimming with tears.

“Why isn’t he my Uncle?”

Hermione stared at her daughter for a long beat. “What?”

Iris’s bottom lip trembled. “Why is he Teddy’s Uncle…and Mia’s Uncle…but not my Uncle too?”

“Oh.” No other reply came to her as Iris stared at her with red rimmed eyes and a quivering chin.

There was a clattering of footsteps. She turned and Harry rounded the corner, stopping short and breathing heavily, hands going to his knees.  Their eyes met over Iris’s messy curls, the silence stretching thin and fragile between them.

Chapter Text

Hermione found it impossible to tear her gaze from Harry. He was breathing heavily, having likely run when he really shouldn’t have.

He straightened, brows furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?”

She managed a nod. Iris had burrowed her face back into the side of her neck, clinging tightly. Harry hesitated then closed the distance, his hand coming to rest gently against Iris’s back.

“I’m sorry Iris. I know Teddy can get a little competitive.”

Iris didn’t reply and Hermione watched Harry’s eyes flick to her own.

She forced herself to take a breath. “I…I believe we need to talk. The three of us”

Harry’s eyes widened beneath his glasses, and then he was nodding, his throat working tightly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Seeing his nerves made some of her own settle. She glanced down at Iris, who hadn’t moved. 

“The others left,” Harry continued. “Healer Delaney wants to see Iris. I told her we needed a moment.”

London was beginning to glow through the window behind him. The day had once again escaped them somehow, but there would be no avoiding another delay.

“Alright,” Hermione murmured. She brushed a kiss to Iris’s temple. “Let’s get you looked after.”

Iris squeezed her in response, though she remained still. Hermione worried she was trying to keep from crying. Iris always went stiff when she was trying to handle a big emotion. She held her in a tighter hug. 

Harry stepped back and she fell in line with him as they walked towards his room. As he had said, Healer Delaney was there, along with a tray of new potions on the side table. 

They filed into the room silently, and Healer Delaney seemed to grasp the mood quickly. She indicated that Hermione should sit with Iris and she did. Iris finally pulled back from her, at least enough to let her wipe at her still flushed-pink face.

“Where’s Prongs?” she whispered in a thin voice. Hermione’s head swivelled around. Before she could answer, Harry had crossed the room and was coming back, the lovie clutched in his hand. Iris took it and pressed him to her cheek.

Healer Delaney crouched down to her level. “I’m not going to stay long. I just wanted to see how you were feeling. Is your head still hurting?” Iris shook it and the Healer smiled. “That's good.” She pulled out her wand. “Is it alright if I run a quick spell on you? See how you’re healing up?”

Iris gave a croaky “Yes.”

With a flick of her wand, the spell was cast and the resulting globe was distinctly more green. 

“Excellent,” she said with an encouraging nod. “It looks like you’re nearly as good as new. You’ll be free to head home tomorrow.”

Iris’s eyes flooded with tears and she buried her face into Hermione’s shoulder.

Healer Delaney looked up at her with surprise. 

“It’s alright,” Hermione said, rubbing Iris’s back gently. “It’s been a long day.”

The Healer gave a small nod. “That’s understandable. I’ve left a potion to help her sleep, along with the potions for Mr Potter.” She turned to him now. “Healer Brown will be by tomorrow morning when he’s back on shift.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a flat line as he nodded.

Healer Delaney stood up. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you’re all knackered.”

Hermione and Harry murmured their thanks. Iris remained curled against her.

Silence enveloped them when the door closed. The only sound Hermione could pick up was Iris’s uneven breathing. Her hand continued to move up and down Iris’s back, feeling the little nubs of her spine beneath her palm. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, chancing a glance at Harry, who remained rooted near the bed.

A muffled sob left Iris. “I—I—I don’t want to go—go home.”

Her answer rendered Hermione temporarily speechless.

“You don’t?” she whispered.

Iris continued to cry, her head shaking.

Hermione felt the weight of the couch shift. Harry was there, brow furrowed as he pushed his glasses into place.

“Well, we aren’t going home. Not yet,” Hermione said, looking at Harry and knowing that was true. She may have no clue what the order of things would be, but she couldn’t envision them leaving him. 

Iris pulled back, hair a mess and half blocking her face. Hermione smoothed her curls, revealing wide perplexed eyes.

“We…we aren’t?” she said, through hiccups.

“No. At least not right away.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. 

“Are—are we staying here? Tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so—”

Her small face twisted again, more tears cascading down her damp cheeks. 

Hermione glanced at Harry helplessly. His focus was on Iris who had started sobbing again. 

Slowly his hand reached out, covering her own on Iris’s back as their daughter trembled intensely. 

“Are you feeling worried?” he asked.

Iris gave a small nod, breath catching between sobs.

“I know that feeling.”

Iris hiccuped. “You…you do?”

His lips turned upwards. “I remember with school, I was having such a good time. I didn’t want to leave.”

“School?” Iris asked, brows crinkling as she wiped at her eyes. 

“Yeah.” he looked at Hermione and she bit her lip, nodding at his unanswered question. “Hogwarts.”

“From…from the stories?”

Hermione and Harry both nodded. Iris’s head tilted down to Prongs, squished against her stomach. 

“That’s actually part of what we wanted to talk to you about,” Hermione told her gently. “Our stories. There’s a reason Harry knows them too.” She tucked a stray curl behind Iris’s ear. “It’s because the stories are about us. They’re from when we were at Hogwarts together….it’s what happened when we were there.”

Iris’s glassy eyes darted between them, bottom lip still wobbling. “All of them?”

“Yes,” she said, exchanging another look with Harry. “All of them.”

“Even Prongs?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, with a nod. “Even him.”

Iris sucked on her lower lip, the lovie’s antler held in a small fist. She leaned into Hermione. 

“Are you The Brightest Witch?”

Hermione found her own vision blurring. “I am.”

Iris’s attention went fully to Harry, Hermione watched as her gaze settled on his forehead, where his scar remained hidden. 

“You’re The Boy Who Lived.”

It wasn’t a question.

Harry sat up straighter, taking his hand back and pushing his dark hair off his forehead. Iris stared, a familiar look on her face—the one she got when she solved an arithmetic question outside her grade level, or guessed the ending of a film. 

Her delicate brow furrowed. “Why did you say it was a story?”

Her question caused the tightness in Hermione’s chest to return. “I wanted you to have those stories…they’re part of you.”

“They are?”

Tears spilled down and she wiped them away, nodding.  “Yes. I wanted to talk to you about magic, about what happened before you were born…” She cupped Iris’s face in her hands. “I wasn’t very brave about telling you the truth Iris. I’m sorry. My heart hurt too much to tell them properly.”

Iris placed her palm on Hermione's chest. “Does it still hurt?”

Hermione looked at Harry. “Not anymore.” His hand settled on her knee, and she borrowed his courage. “There’s more we have to tell you,” she said quietly, smoothing back Iris’s wild curls. 

Her daughter held tight to her jumper. “Something bad?”

“No!” The word slipped from both of them simultaneously. 

Hermione took Iris’s hands in hers and held them to her chest. “Do you remember what I told you about your father?”

Iris nodded, looking down.

“What do you remember?”

Iris took a while before replying quietly. “Everything.”

She heard Harry’s sharp inhale, but stayed focused on Iris.

“Can you tell me?”

She saw the hesitation, even as Iris continued to stare downward. “His name was Harry, too.” Her head inclined slightly in Harry’s direction, as if she was holding herself back from looking directly at him.

“But he died before I was born,” she added, her words rushing out. “You told me that he liked the colour green, and treacle tart. His birthday is in July, on my half birthday. You said I’m agile, like him. At least that’s what you said to Annie, about why I like to run around so much. He was tall and handsome like Mr Darcy, you told Rosie, when you were giggling before we had pudding. You said you had too much wine after. Remember?”

Hermione’s mouth opened, but Iris kept going. “You said you loved him a lot. Like really loved him, because he was also your best friend and he always helped you. You also said he was brave. And that we have the same heart,” she finished breathlessly, seeming to sag after the torrent of words left her.

Hermione swallowed the lump that constricted her throat, resisting the urge to fold Iris into her arms. Instead she took her own steadying breath.

“I did tell you all that…but there’s something I was wrong about.”

Iris’s head lifted, questioning eyes meeting her own.

Her voice shook, but she pushed the words out. “He didn’t die.”

Her daughter went completely still, expression blanking. Seconds passed, but it felt longer. She could feel Harry next to them, his hand squeezing her knee. Iris didn’t move, seemingly frozen in her lap.

Iris made a strangled sound. “You lied?”

“No!” Hermione glanced at Harry, whose lips were parted and face pale. “I didn’t lie. I…It’s complicated. He…well, he did die. And then he came back.”

Iris shook her head, curls scattering. “You said…you said, people don’t come back. Even with wishes. Or magic. You said nothing in the whole world can change it.”

Hermione wracked her brain and then the memory came back in flashes: last summer on holiday in the Lake District; Iris’s wish that had broken her heart as they sat stargazing beneath an endless sky; her carefully worded rebuttal—that death was a locked door that never opened, no matter what.

“Oh sweetheart, I thought that too. I really did. Normally they don’t.” 

Tears spilled down Iris’s cheeks, her wounded expression giving away to something else entirely. 

Hermione wiped her daughter’s cheeks, nodding her head. “Harry’s your father.”

Her eyes went impossibly large as she slowly tilted her face towards Harry. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” he whispered, touching her elbow. “Your mum’s right; they thought I died. It’s not something they understand…even with magic…there’s no real explanation.”

Iris looked down at his hand and back up. Her face was in profile, but Hermione could still see the gravity of it hitting her all at once. 

“Do you have any questions, love?” Hermione finally asked, uncertainty squeezing her heart like a vice. 

Iris didn’t reply right away, her voice was strained when she finally spoke.

“Are you…are you going to stay?”

His thumb brushed over her elbow, cupped in his hand. 

“That’s all I want.”

There was another beat of silence and then Iris was wiggling out of her lap. Harry caught on in time, opening his arms as she launched herself towards him. 

Hermione watched, vision blurring as Harry held Iris to him, his face obscured by Iris’s tangled curls. She didn’t bother to wipe the tears cascading down her own cheeks. Harry’s head tilted up towards her, relief and wonder on his face. Iris’s arm shot out, grasping for her. She took it and allowed herself to be tugged forward. Harry’s arm wrapping around her shoulders, her own face pressing into his shoulder. All of them a tangle of limbs. 

Her hand curled against Harry’s bicep, his skin warm and real to the touch,reminding her that this wasn’t merely a dream. Iris squirmed from being squished, but held onto them. Hermione had never felt more whole.

***

The three of them stayed like that for a long time. It was Iris who eventually broke the comfortable silence from where she was sprawled over their laps. 

“Are we going to live together?” 

She glanced over to Harry, who held Iris to him. A small smile on his lips.

“We haven’t sorted out the details yet,” she replied. It was the truth; they were nowhere nearer to having a plan than they were yesterday.

Iris craned her neck back to see her. “But you’ll stay? And we’ll be together?”

Hermione nodded, seeing Harry do the same.

“Are you getting married?”

The question startled a laugh from her, Iris’s expression was so sincerely hopeful, it immediately sobered her. Harry’s face had flushed, but he fought a grin. Right then she could see it all—the expansive future that was all theirs.

“Mummy?”

Iris was still searching her face for an answer.

Hermione touched her soft cheek. “I think for now we’re going to focus on everyone getting better.”

Iris turned her head towards Harry. “You’ll get better, right?”

At the anxiety in her voice, Harry placed a hand on her crown. “I will. I’m already loads better.”

She nodded, clutching Prongs against her chest.  “Will you live with us in Edinburgh?”

Harry’s eyes darted to hers and back to Iris. “I’ll live wherever you two are.” The tension in Iris’s body softened. “We haven't come up with a plan yet, but you’re included in that decision. We’ll make it together, alright?” he said against her head.

Iris gave a small nod, looking back down at her lap, a waver in her voice.

“What…what do I call you now?”

Harry cleared his throat, his hand brushing back a stray curl from Iris’s forehead. “It’s up to you. Harry’s fine…or…” He swallowed, his throat tight from tension and hope. “Or dad…whatever you want.”

Iris went very still before she tilted her face towards him. “I always wanted a daddy. Like everyone else.”

His lips turned up. “I always wanted a daughter.”

“You’re joking.”

He laughed, raising a hand in surrender. “I’m not. I swear.”

The smile Iris gave could have lit up the entirety of London.

More of Hermione’s tears pressed in, watching the two of them, from sheer happiness. She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, craning her neck back towards the window, now awash in deep navy.

The potions on the table were long overdue. Though she hated to break the moment.

Iris was fully curled on Harry’s lap, though her thin legs were stretched across Hermione’s.

“Daddy?”

The word came slow, cautious and hopeful.

Harry’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Yeah?”

“Did you really fight a dragon?”

His grin widened, eyes flashing to hers.

“I mostly ran from it. But your mum’s done something similar.”

“Well, hardly,” Hermione said, still grimacing when she thought to that day.

“You did? When?” Iris asked, leaning forward to tug at her arm.

“I haven’t told you that one yet.”

Iris sat back on Harry’s lap, lip jutted out in a pout before her expression shifted.

“Who's the King? Ron?”

“Yeah. He is. He was there for the dragon bit too,” Harry replied.

Iris seemed to absorb this. “He does have red hair. And freckles. But I’m not sure he looks like a King.”

A laugh bubbled up Hermione’s throat as she exchanged an amused glance with Harry.

She tapped Iris’s knee. “I’m sure he would beg to differ. That said, you, sweet girl, need to take your potion. And you too,” she said, nudging Harry.

Iris groaned, pressing Prongs against her face. “It tastes like dirt.”

“That’s how you know it’s good for you,” Harry told her. Iris only groaned again.

With some effort Hermione extricated herself from the sofa and Iris’s legs. She reached for her purple bag. “I’ll get your pajamas—”

“Wait!”

Iris sat up straighter, twisting around to whisper something in Harry’s ear. 

The only word Hermione caught was “surprise.”

Harry gave her a rueful grin before turning back to Iris. “I think we can make time for that.”

***

Hermione found herself with her eyes dutifully closed, seated once more on the sofa. She could hear Harry and Iris moving about, a scuffle of noise and hushed voices. Harry’s lower baritone and Iris’s higher pitch, intercepted with excited giggles. Then there was a whoosh and the smell of burning wax.

The sofa dipped, Iris’s warm body pressing to hers, breath ghosting across her ear. “You can look now.”

Her eyes fluttered open. The room was dark except for the glow of candles on a cake. Harry’s features danced in the flames, his smile full even in shadow. 

The two of them began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and Hermione could do little except absorb the scene, failing at stopping more tears from brimming. Harry knelt down and held up the cake, a Victoria sponge with raspberries, scattered with pink candles.

“Make a wish, Mummy!”

Hermione closed her eyes and drew in a breath, though she already had everything she ever wanted right there in the hospital room.

***

“We have a cat now?!” Iris exclaimed. 

Sugar had done nothing to mellow her out. She practically vibrated with excitement and big feelings, squished on the sofa between them. Hermione had lowered the lamps, casting the room in a soft glow, but Iris was still wired and showing no signs of slowing down.  

Hermione paused mid bite, Harry grinning down at his now empty plate.

“Hmm. I suppose we do,” Hermione replied, after swallowing.

Iris tugged at Harry. “Is he actually fluffy?”

He swiped a bit of frosting from her cheek. “Very.”

This only spurred on another series of rapid fire questions, ranging fromCrookshanks’ cuddle ability to if he went outside and caught mice, all asked without pausing for a response.

Harry laughed, putting down his plate on the crowded side table when Iris finally stopped long enough for a response. “He’s an old man now, but he still has some life left in him. Though I wouldn’t say he loves to be cuddled. Not unless it’s on his terms.”

Iris sat back on her heels, seeming to absorb this. “Can we get a kitten too? For Crookshanks to play with.”

She had on her best pleading face which, Hermione had to admit, could be hard to resist. She saw Harry wavering already. 

Hermione intervened. “That can be discussed another time. Right now you need to take your potion to get a good sleep.”

Iris’s face grew stormy, and she hunched down into a ball on the sofa. “No.”

Hermione sucked in a sigh. The part she hated most about parenting was this: power struggles. Even when she won, it felt like losing.

“I know you don’t want to, but it’s important.”

Iris didn’t respond, only glowered.

Harry ducked his head down to hers. “We can take them at the same time.”

She didn’t respond, but her breathing became more uneven.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Her chin trembled, eyes growing wet. “What if I wake up and…and it’s not real?”

Her heart dropped but before she could react, Harry had already pulled Iris onto his lap. 

 “I promise that won’t happen,” he said, with reassurance. “We’ll both be here when you wake up.”

“You promise?” Iris asked, tearily.

“I promise.”

All of the fight appeared to leave her at once and Hermione got up quickly, handing her the vial before she could change her mind.

To her relief, with an encouraging smile from Harry, she took it in one go. Her face squinched dramatically and she gagged. From there it was easier to convince Iris to get ready for bed, with the promise that they would do the same.

It was both strange, and not, to have Harry with them for such an ordinary thing: bedtime. Things were certainly smoother with another pair of hands. Iris hardly seemed to notice that she was helping her change, and tidy her hair into a plait. She was far too focused on asking Harry even more questions about Crookshanks, along with other parts of his life Hermione would have never thought to ask. Questions such as if he kept juice at his house, or if he had ever been on a trampoline, or if he had a favorite type of whale. 

“Do you have to fight lots of bad guys?” 

Iris’s last question made her freeze, right as she finished her hair.

Harry, seated next to her on the sofa, rubbed a hand across his jaw. 

“Mostly I sit at a desk or attend meetings.”

Hermione could tell there was more to it than he was letting on but Iris was already starting on another question, so she lifted her from the sofa. “Alright, teeth.”

She grabbed her purse, using the break in the lavatory to also get herself dressed for bed. She realized once she rummaged through the purple bag that the only pajamas she had brought herself were a summer set, light and rosy pink. 

It was the least substantial thing she had worn in front of him since at least before Iris was born. She felt her cheeks warming just holding the thin cotton in her hands. Quickly she changed, then re-packed her purse.

Iris, who had finished brushing, spat in the sink and met her eyes in the mirror. “We get to sleep in Daddy’s room, right?”

She nodded, placing a hand on her daughter’s crown. “Like he said, we’ll be together.”

As soon as she was done, Iris zoomed from the room. Hermione gave herself one more once over in the mirror, smoothing down the material over her stomach. The gesture did nothing to soothe the butterflies that had erupted there. 

Exiting the bathroom, she stopped short in the darkened room. The flickering of the lamp was low and barely illuminated the scene in front of her. Harry stood near the window, Iris securely in his arms with her head nestled on his shoulder. He was pointing at something in the sky, their voices hushed.

It was like stepping into another life. And she found desperately that she wanted to stay quiet, let it sear into her memory. But Harry wasn’t supposed to be straining himself, and after a beat the worry pressed in, urging her towards them. 

“Do you know the star stories?” Iris was asking him, in not quite a whisper.

“A few.” He told her quietly and fondly. “At least the ones your mum told me.”

“She knows the best ones. And Annie too.”

Harry glanced behind him, sensing her approach. His eyes traced her up and down. In their wake, goosebumps erupted on her skin. She was grateful the darkness would hide her blush; she felt like a teenager again at the rush of heat in her belly. 

She sidled up next to them, taking in the city and the mostly hidden stars.

“Are you getting sleepy?” she asked Iris, who yawned, shaking her head.

Hermione opened her arms to take her and Harry passed her over. Her body was already loose-limbed and letting go of the day.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry said, heading towards the lavatory.

She rocked slightly, humming a lullaby. Hermione could have sworn Iris was asleep until her raspy voice broke the silence.

“Mummy?”

“Hmm?”

She pulled back, bare arms warm against her neck. “Are we going to see Annie and Rosie again?”

“Of course we will.”

“Are they magic?” Hermione shook her head and Iris seemed to think this over before resting back against her shoulder.

“I think they might be a little bit,” Iris murmured, a few seconds later. 

Hermione smiled against her temple. “There’s lots of different kinds of magic in this world. And I think you might be right.”

She moved them towards the bed, grateful she had already enlarged it earlier. The size was now big enough to comfortably host all three of them for the night. Like Iris, she had no desire to be away from Harry. 

As soon as they were settled, Harry emerged, hair slightly damp, as if he had attempted to fix it but to no avail, and a new set of pajamas on. 

He stopped short, pausing until Iris turned towards him. “Are you coming Daddy?”

His lips lifted and he came over, taking the space on Iris’s other side. 

Hermione dimmed the light even further, leaving the room in near darkness.

“Can you tell me a story?” Iris whispered, fidgeting in the sheets.

“Which kind?” Hermione asked. 

“Magic,” she said with conviction, rolling to face Harry. “Together. Tell it together.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“The one where you go back in time.”

“Where do you normally start?” Harry breathed. She could sense his eyes on her. 

“Depends, tonight I think we can start from the hospital wing.”

“Alright.”

Hermione found herself listening, more than contributing. Harry’s voice was still so familiar, and also novel, narrating their long ago adventure. His perspective was also different, at least enough that Iris asked a few sleepy questions.

“Don’t you remember when the brightest witch—I mean Mummy…when she slaps that mean boy.”

“Oh I remember that well.” She could hear the grin in his voice and she rolled her eyes.

“A small slap,” Hermione added.

“I remember it being pretty impressive.”

Harry started to speak again, but Iris interrupted, voice a whisper. “Did it make you fall in love?”

Neither of them spoke right away; Hermione could just make out his face in the darkness, with her eyes adjusted. Iris’s head shifted between them, Prongs squished up near her cheek.

Then they were dissolving into laughter. Iris made an unimpressed huff. “What’s so funny?”

Harry turned properly on his side, his arm wrapping around Iris. “You. You’re a funny one, Iris.”

“I am?”

“You are,” Hermione murmured, tamping down her laughter. 

“It’s a wonderful thing,” Harry said, the smile still in his voice. “And you’re a smart one too. The love part comes…just…later.”

Iris’s head rolled back towards her, eyes meeting hers and she could sense more than see the triumph in them.

“I told you they were in love.”

She felt Harry’s gaze and cleared her throat. “You did. But like your father said—that comes later.”

“When?”

She brushed back Iris’s hair, already unspooling from her plait. “That’s a story for another time.”

Iris started to pout, but it was half hearted and interrupted by a yawn. Hermione picked up the thread of the story, and they continued. She contributed more as she stroked Iris’s head in the way she had since she was a baby, until sleep finally overtook her. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t know,” Harry said quietly, after a long comfortable silence. She looked up from Iris to find him watching her in the blue dark. 

“Know what?” she whispered.

“Back at school…what was right in front of me.”

She shook her head, gathering her curls behind her. “We were far too young for love back then. There were also plenty of distractions.”

“I was an idiot.”

She bit back a laugh, meeting his eyes again. “That too. We all were.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever been an idiot.”

“That’s not true,” she sighed, rolling to face him properly. “Besides, none of us knew what we were doing back then.” 

Iris was curled between them, making it imperative that they whisper. Harry was gazing at Iris now, his love obvious even with his features blurred by the darkness. 

“I told you,” she murmured, and Harry’s eyes moved to hers. “That she would love you.”

“It still doesn’t feel real…” he replied, a catch in his voice. Her hand carefully found his. 

He tangled their fingers together and they stayed like that for a long while, just breathing. The day’s events passed again through her mind, drifting like clouds, and she found her eyelids growing heavier.

“Did she seem…worried, to you?” His question brought her back to full consciousness. 

She cleared her throat, suddenly parched. “She’s had some struggles with anxiety, at least in the last couple years.” His hand squeezed hers, she could swear his brow was furrowed. She smoothed a thumb over his callouses. “I don’t know why…at around four she started having nightmares…”

Two summers before was the first one. Hermione still remembered rushing to Iris’s room, her cries calling her out of her own sleep. Iris had mostly slept in her bed afterwards, which had thankfully eased them. 

“I’ve taken her to the doctor, and they’ve been better recently. When I ask her, she hardly remembers them. She only mentions being underwater.”

“Nothing happened?”

“No. Not that I’ve ever been able to figure out. We had just gotten back from the lake when she had the first one.”

“Lake…”

“Windermere. We go with Annie and Rosie each summer, they have a family cottage near Ambleside.” Iris slept so peacefully now, it was hard to reconcile the thrashing and screaming state the nightmares reduced her to. “She was never out of my sight, so I really don’t know.”

How she hated to think of anything hurting her. Dreamwise or otherwise. 

Harry brought her hand to his lips, kissing gently. Tears pressed at her eyes. He was there. She wouldn’t have to shoulder any of this on her own, not anymore.

Which brought her mind back to earlier.

“What was in the papers?”

His grip loosened, a trapped breath escaping him.

“Is Iris safe?” she asked, her insides instantly tightening.

“She is,” he said quickly, a whispered promise she instantly trusted. But she knew there was more to it.

“Can I see it?”

“Now?”

“Please.”

There was a long beat. “Alright,” he rasped out, his hand letting go of hers. 

With great care, they got out of the bed, Iris hardly stirring in the haze of a dreamless sleep. Hermione rubbed her arms, suddenly cool without the warmth of her bedmates.

“You also need to take your potion,” she told him, still hushed when he approached.

His arms encircled her waist, pulling her against him. “I will.” 

There was scant lighting from the blaze of London lights at the window behind them. Hermione tilted her face to study his. Tiredness lurked in the corners of his expression. But as he promised, he already did appear to be getting better. There was an alertness to him that was even more prominent than days before, even with him overdue for more sleep. 

“The paper,” she said, wishing she didn’t have to.

He nodded gravely, letting her go. He moved towards the side table, opening a drawer and procuring the rolled up newspaper.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the bed. “Do you want to put up a privacy spell?” 

Hermione did, lighting her wand after with a faint lumos. She directed the point of light to read the Headlines that Harry had unfurled, now back at her side.

Hermione Granger in Love Child Scandal

She failed to suppress a horrified gasp and Harry started to roll it back up, but she put a hand on his. “No. I should read it.”

His lips flattened, but he reluctantly handed it back over. Hermione began to read. Her stomach twisted seeing the photo of her holding Iris in the hospital lobby. Iris’s face was mercifully not visible, but it was a violation all the same. 

The article focused mostly on paternity, insinuating she was such a loose woman it was impossible to know who the father was. Not that that stopped Rita Skeeter from speculating. The old pictures of her from fourth year appeared side by side. One of her and Victor at the ball, the other one of her and Harry hugging and breaking apart before the first task. The article went on hinting that this was the reason she had been in hiding all these years. 

Then there was the worst part; it talked about Malfoy Manor, hinting that this too could be connected to Iris’s parentage. It held back actually naming anyone or saying what happened. Not that it mattered, it was still there in print. One of the worst moments of her life, a blip in a salacious gossip piece.  Harry’s body pressed next to hers kept her up right.

Anger roiled through her, hot, like a screaming kettle. She held in her scream, fingers scrunching up the paper. Harry’s hand smoothed over her low back. “It’s rubbish, all of it.”

“How could she write this?” she hissed.

Harry sighed, arm moving around her waist. “Because she’s an awful excuse for a person. And she’s still likely pissed about the jam jar.”

Hermione huffed, holding back her urge to set the paper ablaze. “She’ll wish that’s all I’ll do if I see her again.” When she glanced up at Harry, his lips twitched. “What?”

“Nothing.” With her eyes narrowing, he chuckled, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Alright, sorry, but I’d almost forgotten how adorably scary you get when you’re out for blood.”

Hermione relinquished the paper to Harry, folding her arms. 

“Er—also formidable…”  

“Nice save.”

Just as some of her anger receded, the full reality of Iris being known to the world hit her like the Whomping Willow, and she sagged against him. “What are we going to do?”

His expression swiftly turned serious, tossing the paper on the sofa and pulling her fully into his embrace again. 

“Remus is already handling some of the press. He said…he said we’ll want to make a statement. To stop the speculation.”

She nodded against him, knowing that was likely true. Fear shivered through her and Harry held her tighter. She tilted her head to his and her worries rushed from her lips.

“Is that safe? Telling the truth?”

At the flash of pain in his eyes, she rested her palm on his cheek. “I want people to know you’re her father. I do. Desperately.” She sucked in a rattling breath. “It’s just…” Of all the unspoken names from Malfoy Manor, the worst one caught in her throat. “Dolohov…”

Harry went still, anger bolting across his expression. “What does he have to do with it?”

“Won’t he…won’t he make Iris a target? Or that group…Remus didn’t say much but it sounded bad—”

Harry shook his head, his throat working before he spoke. “Iris will be a target regardless.”

Her blood seemed to pool in her ears, even though, intellectually, she had known this. After all, that was why she had stayed away so long. She had known even on her loneliest nights, pregnant and unsure of her future. She recalled the piles of lists she’d made, filled with options and plans to keep her baby safe. One, she had considered and just as quickly discarded—reaching out to Ron, begging him to provide cover. But that had never been a viable choice for one important reason: she herself was a target, so any children of hers would be too, regardless of who fathered them.

A sob left her before she could stop it. Harry wrapped her up more tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding heartbroken. “I didn’t mean—”

She shook her head, pulling back and wiping at her cheeks. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just…”

She bit down on her lip, vision blurring again. Harry gently took her face in his hand. “I know. We’ll keep her safe. I promise.”

“How?” she whispered.

“There are ways.” he said, with enough conviction that some of the tightness in her chest eased.

“What about as she gets older…” Hermione already felt sick at the thought of Iris leaving them, that she would have to grow up and learn to defend herself, to discern who she could trust. 

Harry cupped the back of her neck gently, thumb smoothing away some of her fallen tears. “One thing at a time.”

“But Dolohov—”

“He’s not a problem.”

Her brow furrowed. “How can you say that—”

Harry released a sigh deep from his chest. “Hermione. He’s dead.”

A sudden wave of relief made her sway, Harry shifted to hold her waist. His words still echoing in her mind, a strange guilty feeling settling in her gut, that someone’s death could be good news. 

“Remus didn’t say…” she said.

“He likely couldn’t say much. But I know. I was there.”

Realization zinged through her faster than the relief.

“Oh.”

His outline glowed blue, lending an ethereal quality to the stony expression that had descended over him.

“He was going to kill me,” he said,  the words seemingly heavy in his mouth.

“Harry…”

“That first day. When I saw you…I didn’t think that was possible, you being here. He…he made me believe….”

Hermione found herself touching the hollow of her throat. “My necklace…”

Harry swallowed, anger seeping into his tone. “He dangled it. Called it his most prized trophy yet.”

His eyes were glassy and she found herself holding tighter to him.

“He threw it in my direction, said I could hold onto it until he was done with me. Harry stopped and the pain in his voice was like a dagger. “I didn’t really want to live. Not right then. I…I got through the last seven years…with that shred of hope. The hope that I would see you again. I held onto it until right then.”

Tears blurred her vision, his name leaving her lips in a whisper.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a ragged breath. “And then it was…it was only blind rage. I don’t know all the details now, it’s a blur. But…but it was my hex that sent him off a cliff.”

“Harry….”

His eyes opened, meeting hers. “I’m not proud. But I’m also not sorry.”

She could feel the tremors in his body and she held tighter to him. “He would have killed you…”

“He tried,” he said with a bitter laugh and she found herself looking at his chest, picturing the bandage hidden beneath his shirt. “I think we both took aim at the same time.”

Nausea rolled through her. She had come so close to losing him. Again. She couldn’t let herself imagine it…if the second letter had never come. Instead she tucked the thought away, sure she would likely pull it out some other time to examine and ruminate upon. Instead she simply held fast to him, her hand moving to gently touch his heart, which she felt beating steadily under her palm and the cotton of his shirt.

She rested against him, and he held her, his arms strong and sturdy despite everything he had been through in the last week. When she finally blinked her eyes open, the world was blurry around her, but she could see the glow of London past Harry’s shoulder. 

“Where do we live?” she whispered into the fabric of his sleeve. “What’s safest?”

Harry’s head turned towards the window.. “Grimmauld is well protected.” He looked back at her. “Though no one knows you’re in Edinburgh. Do you ward—”

“Of course. Always.”

A ghost of a smile turned up his lips before he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll go wherever you want.” He paused, his breath warm on her temple. “I know you two have built a life there.”

The trace of sadness in his voice made her heart ache. She pulled back, her hands coming to his face.  “We have. It’s a nice life, but someone has always been missing.”

His hand covered hers and she found herself unable to look away. The disbelief still made her breath catch—that it was his eyes meeting hers. She lifted up on her toes, lips pressing to his before she could stop herself. Harry didn’t miss a beat, his arms shifted lower, pulling her more securely against him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging and wanting. The sound he made only fueled the flames that caught fire in her belly. 

She was lost in his presence, sounds spilling from her own lips once he found the sensitive spot on her neck. Her breathing strained, and with no small effort she finally made herself pull back a fraction, to focus.

“You…you still need to take your potion.”

She felt his chuckle, more than heard it. A rumbling sound that made her own lips turn up, despite her flustered state. She was very much aware, again, that this was not the time or place. Hermione peeked over at the bed, relief washing away some of the lust. Iris was still asleep. But she was also still in the room with them. 

When she looked back at him, his hair was terribly mussed from her own hands. Green eyes watched her, the details of his face familiar, wonderful, miraculous. The happiness was liable to ruin her, and she found she wanted it to. 

“I think we should stay at your place,” she said, touching a particularly unruly strand of his hair.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, arms winding around his neck. “I think we start there. At least while you recover.” Her mind sifted through some of the logistics and the rightness of it settled over her further. “Maybe we can connect our flats by floo. So I can still work my shifts at the shop.”

That was the tie to Edinburgh she couldn’t break. She loved Annie too much to leave without a plan.

“That shouldn’t be an issue,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll inquire tomorrow.”

“We can take Ron’s offer, too. Until you’re out of here.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to.”

She pulled back. “I believe you promised to listen to your Healers.”

“I will,” he said, with an easy grin. “I just think I’ll be ready to leave tomorrow.”

“Good,” she sighed, casting her eyes around the room. “I’m bloody sick of hospitals.”

His laugh, free and easy, made it easier to believe he was right. “Tell me about it.”

“So you’re promising to stay clear of bodily injury from now on?”

He hummed an agreement. “No more injuries.” His hands slipped beneath her shirt, easily spanning the curve of her spine. “Did I tell you I like your pajamas?”

She bit down on her smile. “It hadn’t come up.”

“Well, I do. A lot.”

The heat in her belly came back all at once, her entire body flushing at his voice, at the readily apparent want in it. She was out of practice with being desired—with returning it too. The feeling was not unlike free falling, only much more pleasant. She found herself leaning into him, knowing that the wish she had made had already come true: that they were already building a new life, a great one, together.

Chapter Text

Hermione stood rooted in disbelief. They were actually leaving the hospital—together. 

It had felt illicit, packing up the few things they had brought. No more squeaky floors, bad lighting, strangers and plain white walls. She watched on, eyes misting, as Harry, dressed in jeans and a jumper, stood and shook hands with the Healers who had helped save his life. She was hardly able to believe only a week ago he had been unconscious in the bed behind him. 

Iris’s small hand was in hers, and she could feel the way she practically bounced on her feet. She too was eager to get out of the hospital that she had declared boring over breakfast. Afterwards Iris had been spinning about the room, sucked into her own world of play as Hermione listened to the long list of instructions that they were given in order to discharge Harry early. Her stomach was still knotted from the dismay on Healer Brown’s face that he hadn’t managed to fully conceal. There had been no time to second guess the decision; Harry was adamant. 

Despite her reservations, she understood. She wanted to start their new life together too. Even if the whole thing felt like being on the edge of a precipice, her old life on one side, their new one on another. Leaving the hospital seemed something of a free fall, but she knew Harry would catch her. Even though technically he wasn’t supposed to lift much of anything right now—not until he was given the all clear.

Healer Delaney was the last of the Healers in the room. She crouched down to speak to Iris. “You’ll still be climbing trees?”

Iris nodded, squeezing Prongs against her chest. “I think soon.”

The woman’s smile widened. “That’s the spirit.”

“Thank you again. For everything,” Hermione said, when the Healer straightened.

Harry had come to stand at her side, Iris letting go of her to cling to his legs. 

“It was my pleasure.” Her broad smile slipped. “Though, be mindful of the reporters. Word appears to have gotten out that you’re being discharged.”

Instantly, Hermione felt the tension in Harry’s body, the same feeling going through her. They exchanged a quick look over Iris’s head. Not that they hadn’t accounted for something like this, it was unnerving all the same. 

Which was what had inspired the plan they devised upon waking.

As if on cue Ron appeared, his tall frame taking up much of the doorway.

“It’s chaos down there.”

Healer Delaney bid them a last goodbye, slipping out of the room after Ron came in.

“Did you bring it?” Harry asked.

Ron brandished a quilted floral bag. Harry reached for it, pulling out a familiar, silky silver cloak. 

Iris’s eyes widened, touching it when Harry held it lower for her to inspect. “It feels like water! It’s so…lustrous,” she whispered dramatically.

Harry bit back a laugh, glancing over at Hermione. 

“Well, that’s a word,” Ron said, chuckling and ruffling her hair. 

She crossed her arms. “It means really shiny, Uncle Ron.”

“You aren’t wrong.” He turned towards them. “You two know what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, unfolding the invisibility cloak further.

Hermione’s chest grew tighter. There was no turning back now. They would be on their own, without any Healers nearby.

Harry’s hand grazed her shoulder. “You alright?”

She nodded. “Iris, come over.”

Her daughter let go of the cloak and came to stand in front of her. Hermione scooped her up, her purse already secured on her other side. Harry grinned, fixing the cloak around them. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” she replied, muffled through the fabric. She shimmied her wand out and secured the cloak with a sticking charm. Harry’s scent clung to the fabric; 

the feeling of being under it, old and familiar, soothed her nerves. At least a little bit. 

Ron took the lead and they followed. Even with the warning about the crowds, it was worse than she had imagined. The reception was loud and disorderly, practically pandemonium, something that seemed out of place in a hospital. 

There were several Aurors in their distinctive red robes, clearly brought in for extra security. A blonde woman in Auror robes strode up to Ron and Harry, her greeting familiar and warm. A pang of jealousy thrummed through her before she could process it. It was drowned out seconds later with overwhelm as the reporters noted Harry’s appearance in the lobby and the chaos only magnified. A firework of photograph flashes nearly blinded her. Iris burrowed her face into her neck, clinging tighter. 

She could do little more than watch Harry brace himself before walking through the teeming mass with Ron and the blonde Auror at his side. The crowd was held back by some spellwork and the team of Aurors, and some Healers who had also jumped in. A splash of chartreuse green in the crush made her back away. Rita Skeeter hovered nearby, her beady eyes on Harry like a hawk. 

Her own grip on Iris grew firmer as she adjusted her hold, anger propelling her to keep going. Hugging close to the walls, she worked her way towards the front entrance. When they stumbled out onto the stoop the chill of autumn London air hit her face and she breathed in the smell of petrol and asphalt, cars racing by them. The sky was filled with clouds, hovering low and promising rain. All signs that the seasons had changed.

As she made her way down the steps, her mind buzzed. Any doubts had been erased by the scene inside—Harry’s fame had only doubled since the war. Trepidation followed her down the street, the weight of Iris in her arms. The implications this had for their daughter sank in more fully with each step.

Iris was taking it all in, neck turning to watch the people who streamed by them, completely unaware. “Nobody can see us?” her warm breath tickled Hermione’s ear.

She squeezed her. “Nobody,” she whispered back. They continued along until Hermione found the quiet alleyway she had appeared in days before with an unconscious and injured Iris. 

Once they were behind the rubbish bin, she lowered Iris to the ground and removed the cloak. Iris blinked up at her, eyes comically wide from the whole adventure and hair mussed from the cloak. She smoothed a wily curl back from Iris’s forehead. 

“This will feel funny, like being squeezed really hard. But then it will be over and we’ll be with your father.”

Iris nodded, a determined expression falling over her features. Hermione held the cloak in one arm and hugged Iris to her with the other. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the coordinates that Harry had given her. The lurch was unpleasant, as it always was, the tight squeeze sucking the air from her lungs. When she blinked her eyes open, they were no longer in a grimy alleyway but an inviting living room.

Ron came through a doorway. A teapot in his hand. “Tea?”

Iris broke out of their embrace, gaining her bearings more quickly. She rushed over to a plush couch where Harry was seated. He was starting to get up, but Iris was already launching at him and crawling onto his lap. 

Hermione’s caution to be gentle caught in her throat as Harry’s face lit up. The smile he gave her over Iris’s head was enough to melt away some of the stress of the journey over.

“Tea?” Ron asked again.

Hermione could only nod, taking in the room properly. It wasn’t unlike the Gryffindor common room. The colors were more subdued, with walls that reminded her of crisp autumn leaves, a cream sofa, plus olive colored arm chairs. There were several oriental rugs over the dark hardwood, with bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Candles in sconces and a gold lamp kept the room aglow, but she was sure the large fireplace would also be roaring in the cooler months. She did a double take at the sight of a television perched atop an elegant wood credenza. 

His flat was farther from a bachelor pad than she had been envisioning. The living room itself was the size of her own combined with her kitchen. When her eyes met Harry’s, he was observing closely, taking in her reaction. 

Before she could comment on how lovely it all was, Iris gasped, pulling both their attention towards her. She pointed across the room, and only then Hermione saw a mass of ginger fluff coming towards them. Crookshanks stopped near the sofa, his yellow unblinking eyes watching them. 

A lump appeared in her throat. She had been so consumed with grief that she had never let herself properly miss her cat. But of course, like everything else, it was always swirling somewhere deep inside her.

Slowly she moved towards him, crouching down carefully and offering a hand. “Hello, old friend.”

There was only a seconds pause before Crookshanks nuzzled her hand, then twisted his body around hers. Hermione blinked away the tears that were gathering and fell into petting his thick coat. He was thinner now and showing his age, but his purr was exactly the same. 

When she looked back, Harry had a wistful smile. His own disbelief was mirrored back to her. They were all here. 

Hermione stood and took a seat on Iris’s other side, resting a hand on her daughter’s knee as it practically vibrated. “I want you to meet someone special.”

“Is he really the same? From your stories?”

“The one and only,” she replied.

“Can I pick him up?”

Harry leaned into her. “Let him come to you.”

Iris sat back further into the cushioned seat, eyes not leaving Crookshanks, but she listened and seemed to hold her breath. 

Crookshanks observed them loftily from the floor for a few minutes and then, with more grace than one would expect from a cat his age and size, hopped onto the sofa next to Hermione. 

“Let him smell you,” Harry said. 

Iris gingerly put out a hand, Crookshanks gave her a sniff and then booped her hand.

“That means he likes you,” Harry told her and Iris beamed.

Ron came back in with a tea tray floating behind him that settled onto the table with a rattle.

Crookshanks gave Ron a cantankerous meow, which he ignored.

“Are you staying?” Harry asked.

“Should probably get back,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But Hannah will be by this afternoon.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Harry replied, sighing. Hermione looked between them. Why was Hannah coming?  she wondered.

“Who’s Hannah?” Iris asked.

“She’s a Healer. Or almost. And a friend,” Ron replied.

One of the many catch up conversations she’d had with Ron came back to her. Hannah was married to Neville. Ron had told her that they had recently moved to the grounds at Hogwarts where she was studying closely under Madame Pomfrey.

“That’s so kind of her,” Hermione said, shooting Ron a grateful smile.

He grinned. “Right. I’m sure he’ll give you the grand tour before retiring to bed.”

“As he promised,” Hermione said.

Harry rolled his eyes good naturedly, before wincing as he leaned forward for his tea.

He was masking well, but she knew better. There would be no disobeying the Healers’ orders. She would make sure of that.

“There’s food in the fridge that should get you through lunch and dinner,” Ron told them as he moved towards the fireplace. “The potions are on the kitchen table, I figured you’d find a better spot to store them than I would.”

“You’re a life saver,” she said.

He bid them a last goodbye before he stepped into the green flames and disappeared in a flash. Iris' mouth opened in awe. At moments Hermione had to remind herself just how new magic was to her. She could remember her own introduction to this world, how unreal it had all seemed.

She put an arm around Iris. “Do you remember the floo? From our stories.”

Iris gave a nod, brow crinkling. “It’s not hot at all?”

“It tickles a bit,” Harry told her and she leaned against him, still watching the tiny spark of embers in the hearth.

They sipped their tea, Crookshanks purring contently on Hermione’s lap, happy to receive regular strokes from Iris.

“I probably should show you around, so you know where everything is,” Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“And then you’ll rest?”

His smile unfurled slowly. “Yes. I made a promise, didn’t I?”

Iris was reluctant to leave Crookshanks, but was persuaded to get up with the promise of seeing her new room. They cut through the spacious kitchen which was a blend of Muggle high end appliances and the rustic cottage charm that seemed to permeate all the magical homes she had entered, not that there were many to compare it to.

Harry told them to help themselves to anything and everything, pointing out where the fridge was as it blended in with the cabinetry. Iris got on her tip toes to have a look inside and Harry grinned.

“See anything you like?”

“Is that apple juice?”

“Pumpkin.”

Iris wrinkled her nose. “Does it taste like pumpkins?”

“More like pumpkin pie,” Harry replied, shooting Hermione an amused look.

“Can I have some?” she asked, shifting from skeptical to enthusiastic in a blink.

Harry was already replying yes when Hermione cut in. “Let’s finish looking around first, love.”

A sugar-high six-year-old was not what this tour needed.

Iris huffed but relented when Harry took her hand and promised her some after.

She cheered up at the bathroom, which held a gleaming marble tub that was more like a small swimming pool. Next was a closed door that Harry didn’t stop to open. “My office,” he said, before swiftly continuing down the corridor which held three doors at the end. He pointed at the one in the middle.

“This one leads to the rest of Grimmauld. We’re technically taking up the entire third floor.”

“Is that the spooky house? The one in your story?” Iris asked, turning to her.

Harry fought a grin. “It was sort of spooky before, but it’s a lot better than it was.”

Hermione wondered if Harry had found a solution to the raving portrait of Mrs Black.

Harry seemed to read her thoughts, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “The house seems to respond better to Andi.”

Iris glanced between them. “So it’s not haunted?”

“No,” they replied at the same time. Although Hermione thought of something Annie had said: that there was no such thing as an unhaunted house.

Iris’s expression relaxed and Harry squeezed her hand. “Let’s keep going. The next room will be yours.”

Their daughter beamed at him again. Harry already seemed to know exactly what to say to her. It baffled Hermione, but in the best way.

The room was fairly bare, with cream walls and a brass bed. A picture window let in the soft autumn light and there was a striped chair next to an oak dresser.

“It’s not much, but we’ll get some stuff to make it all yours.”

“Can we paint it purple?”

“Any colour you like,” he said, placing a hand on her head. Iris twirled before throwing her weight at his legs. Hermione didn’t miss the barely concealed flinch as he bent over to hold her.

She would need to remind Iris to be more gentle. But then Iris was asking about his room and they were making their way across the hall.

Walking into Harry’s room was like basking in his magic, the feeling more concentrated than anywhere else in the house.

The walls were a deep blue, which showed off the wood furniture beautifully. The enormous four poster bed had crisp white linens and looked like a cloud. Golden sconces held unlit candles on either side, along with a nightstand overflowing with books and scraps of paper, indicating that Harry slept on the right side.

There was a small reading nook, with a built in bookcase which drew her in immediately. But more than the titles of the books, it was the gold framed photograph at eye level that grabbed her attention. She picked it up. It was of the three of them at Hogwarts, their school robes billowing and all of them laughing freely.

When she turned around after placing the photograph back, Iris had already scrambled up on the bed, polka dotted tights bunched up and skirt twirling as she bounced.

Before she could scold her, Harry was there, his arms encircling her waist.

“This feels like a dream.”

She tilted her face towards his, the floating feeling still not having abated whenever it hit her that it was really his eyes she was looking into. Iris’s delighted laughter grounded her more in the moment. This wasn’t a memory.

Her arms snaked around his neck and she fought the instinct to kiss him, an instinct that seemed to come over her whenever they were touching. She tangled her fingers in the soft strands of his messy hair.

“I’m so happy that it’s not.

***

Sunlight warmed Hermione’s face and she turned towards it, like the flowers all around. Tucked into the back of Grimmauld place was a spacious garden, enchanted out of sight like the rest of it. She had spent some time back here in that strange summer before sixth year, talking idly with Ron or Ginny amongst the overgrown grass, the size of it disguised by the brambles and neglect.

Now it shone green, manicured and lush, bursting with colour from the flowers.

“Mummy! Are you watching?”

Hermione blinked, shading her gaze with a hand as she looked towards her daughter. Iris was seated on a broomstick scaled to size for her, a turquoise helmet covering her unbrushed curls.

“I am,” she called back.

Satisfied, Iris shifted her attention to Harry who was still standing near her. Despite Hermione’s protests, she had lost out on the battle of flying lessons on the first day out of the hospital.

True to his word, Harry had spent most of the day in bed, but after Hannah’s visit, with the golden afternoon stretching ahead of them and Iris growing restless from being inside all day and her strongest pleading, Hermione had caved.

Harry hadn’t whined about being bored, but Hermione could already sense that he wasn’t going to do much better than Iris with the whole ‘taking it easy’ directive. She got the impression that Harry as an adult did very little idling. She admired him from her spot on the grass. Bathed in the light that gave the entire garden an ethereal quality, he looked good, healthy. His body was more upright and his spirits seemed to lift with the sunlight and Iris, and probably Quidditch.

She was reminded of a version of him she had only glimpsed back at Hogwarts. Harry as Quidditch captain, in what was supposed to be a return to normalcy after their disastrous fifth year, which hadn’t gone the way any of them had thought it would. As she watched him now, in his worn jeans and plain t-shirt, it was like a re-do, or a  vision of another life. In many ways it really was; he was coaching their daughter who looked at him like he was the sunlight. It was a vision she had never let herself imagine.

Iris was holding onto Harry’s shoulder with one hand, her focus directly on him. Hermione couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but Iris nodded, eventually letting go and leaning forward before she took off like a shot, skirting the sunflowers.

Hermione’s stomach clenched, but as Harry promised, the broom didn’t go much higher than six feet. Teddy was on the other side of the garden, calling out impatiently. Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a golden snitch. He released it and it floated away, much more slowly than the ones she had seen before.

His eyes caught hers and he grinned, and then her stomach was in another free-fall, albeit a much more pleasant one. He came towards her and she went to stand, but he carefully maneuvered to the ground, grimacing slightly.

“You really should be in bed,” she said, her voice taking on the edge of lecturing.

His smile eased her worry, the lightness in his face reassuring. He leaned into her.

“She’s a natural.”

Her shoulder pressed back into his. “Hmm. She certainly didn’t inherit her coordination from me.” She glanced over at her daughter who was pushing the limits of the broom and laughing. “Or her love of height.”

When she turned back to Harry, his own eyes were glued to Iris, that dazzled disbelief from the first moments in the hospital now mixed with an unmistakable pride.

The children’s voices drifted on the light breeze. Teddy and Iris seemed to get along well enough, and once he had returned from school for the day the two of them had been chomping at the bit to fly. Seeing Harry with Teddy more made the picture clearer; he had been helping parent Teddy since before Iris was even born—and capably at that. Hermione had not taken to parenting quite so naturally. The first year of Iris’s life was a fog, one she had stumbled through and barely come out the other side of.

“A sickle for your thoughts?”

Harry’s voice brought her back to the present. She gave a small shake.

“They aren’t worth that.”

He nudged her gently and she rested her head on the shoulder, eyes closing as his warm breath moved over her skin. Harry was solid next to her and she was determined to relax into the moment. She knew this time was a gift, one she never wanted to take for granted.

Iris’s voice carried over and she blinked her eyes open. She was racing Teddy at the far end of the garden, her hand outstretched. Hermione sat up as Iris twirled on her broom, only just managing to stay on before she faltered closer to the ground, rolling off and landing on her back.

Hermione stood quickly, but before she could run over Iris had jumped up, her hand held triumphantly in the air and letting out a delighted shriek.

“She caught it!” Harry was up, voice filled with excitement.

He was right, she had the snitch clenched in her small fist. She looked to Harry, who was beaming even more than Iris. Right then it was hard to believe the contrast from the week before.

Iris ran over to them and Hermione managed to catch her before she launched at Harry. She was still not quite grasping that gentleness was required.

“I did it! Daddy did you see?”

Harry grinned, placing a hand on her head. “I did. You were fearless."

Iris tilted her face upwards, squinting into the light. “Well, I got a tiny bit scared when I fell. But it didn’t hurt.”

Teddy flew over looking disgruntled. “Can we go again?”

Harry shrugged. “What do you think, Iris?” 

She gave an enthusiastic yes, wiggling out of Hermione’s hold and dashing back to her abandoned broom.

She lifted an eyebrow at Harry, who grinned sheepishly. “The games are usually quick with this snitch.”

“If you say so,” she replied, teasing, and he opened his mouth to reply when a new voice cut in.

“I’ve been sent out to inform you that supper is nearly ready.”

They both turned. Remus approached them, sleeves rolled up and complexion appearing extremely behind on sleep.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Andie wanted to make sure the children washed up.”

Harry gestured towards the towering tree the children were twisting around. “They talked us into another game, but it shouldn’t be long. Teddy appears determined to redeem himself.”

“I take it Iris has inherited the Potter flying gene,” Remus mused.

“She has,” Hermione replied, lips turning up despite her flat tone.

Harry only grinned further.

Remus looked away from the children. “Not to sour the mood with other matters…but have you two decided on a statement?”

The grin slid from Harry’s face quickly. “Has anything happened?”

“Nothing much else, just the usual press frenzy of meaningless commentary and speculation.”

Harry and Hermione grimaced at the same time, exchanging worried glances. “What exactly are they speculating about?” she asked when she turned back to Remus. 

He hesitated and her heart sank, already knowing before he answered.

“Unfortunately mostly a rehash of your love life…they seem determined to find out the parentage of your daughter.”

“Do they know anything that’s actually true?” Harry asked, crossing his arms.

“The current rumour mill is that you’re the father, which is of course true, so we have to make sure there isn’t a leak.” He turned towards her. “They’ll likely dig for more information, but you covered your tracks well.”

She swallowed the swell of anger and regret that sat in her throat, strangling her speech.

“We’ll write it tonight. After Iris’s asleep,” Harry replied, his hand finding hers.

Hermione’s mind swam. She was unsure what they could possibly say in a statement that would summarize the mess she had created by hiding. Thankfully no real details about Iris or her life in Edinburgh had been released. At least not yet. Her voice shook when she finally spoke.

“Do you have suggestions on how we approach this?” she asked Remus.

His gaze was focused on the end of the garden where Iris and Teddy continued to chase the snitch.  “As close to the truth as you’re both comfortable with.”

“Is Iris at risk? If we—if we tell the truth?” 

Her heart hammered, but Harry’s hold on her helped. Remus appeared lost in thought before he spoke again.

“There will always be people who will want to retaliate for losing the war. The two of you are symbols of this and that will always mean taking some measure of precaution. Thankfully those people are few and far between. Then there’s the notoriety. Iris will likely always be famous in our world, at least to some degree.”

Harry gave a sharp intake of breath and she moved closer to him, squeezing his hand.

Remus glanced back towards the children.  “Obscuring her identity will likely only complicate things down the road.”

His words landed with gravity. It’s what she had been doing: Obscuring the truth. This had been what she had run with, had planned to continue with until it would be impossible not too. She just had imagined that day would come on Iris’s eleventh birthday. Her teeth cut into her lip as guilt continued to lace with the ongoing worry.

Remus had already moved towards where Teddy had called him. Hermione barely noticed sinking down into the swirl of thoughts, the same adrenaline she had felt when she found out she was pregnant with Iris seemed to resurface, making her dizzy and jittery.

Harry’s arm went around her. “You alright?”

She nodded, but she knew he saw through it, his green eyes locked onto hers.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head. “Me too. But we’ll figure it out.”

His words allowed her to take in a proper breath. In all the years she had worried, she had never accounted for this—not having to figure it out alone.

The sound of children arguing carried over the wind, which had started to pick up, clouds obscuring the descending sun. Harry sighed, gazing down at her with a wry smile.

“We should probably intervene.”

Hermione nodded, grateful for the distraction. Worrying about the future would have to come later.

***

Steam trailed Hermione out of the bathroom, the light and vapor vanishing as she closed the door behind her. She leaned against it; Harry’s room was now dark except for the flickering candles in the sconces on either side of the bed. A smile tugged at her lips as she removed the towel from her head, curls spilling down her back and dampening her pajama top. Iris was in the same position she had been in when she had gotten into the shower, sprawled across Harry’s chest, except now she was fast asleep. 

The well-worn copy of Peter Pan was face down on Harry’s lap, his own eyes closed. As if sensing her gaze, Harry’s eyes opened blearily. His own lips pulling into a tired smile, neither of them had to say anything; the miraculousness of it all hung between them.

“Did she go down easy?” she whispered, padding closer.

Harry glanced at Iris, touching her head gently. “We got to the part with the evil pirates and then she was out.”

Hermione had been unable to stop herself from marvelling at it before she got in the shower, thunderstruck by the naturalness of their connection. No one looking at Harry and Iris would be able to tell they had ever been apart. Her eyes watered, something they had been doing constantly. She busied herself putting away the wet towel and tidying the trail of things Iris had made in her wake before succumbing to sleep.

A rustling from the bed made her turn around; Harry was up and tucking Iris under the covers. He came over to her, hair mussed and eyes heavy with sleep.

His hands went to her waist. “Do you want tea?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t tired?”

“I’m always tired with those damn potions.”

“Maybe also the near death experience.”

He gave her the crooked smile she loved so much. “That too.”

Hermione allowed him to lead them down the low lit hallway to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter as he filled the old fashioned kettle without magic and placed it on the stove.

When he was done, he closed the gap between them. His hands went around her waist, just under the edge of her pajama top.  She leaned into him, her own hands gripping onto his t-shirt, the urge to kiss him so strong and immediate, she found herself sucking in a ragged breath.

Harry made the decision for her, pressing his lips to hers. Soft but firm, nothing she could mistake for a dream. Her hands fisted into his shirt and the kiss deepened, which only made her ache for more as his grip flexed on her waist before sliding down to her bum. She pulled back and his lips chased hers.

“This part is going to be hard,” she murmured against them.

She tasted his laugh. “Yeah., It is.” He brushed a curl back from her cheek. “But I’m patient.”

“Are you?”

His grin widened. “I can be.” At her skeptical look, he shrugged. “I don’t think you can be a seeker without some patience.”

“I think that’s more about stubbornness.”

He huffed a laugh. “That too.” His gaze was fond and she found her stomach fluttering, unable to look away. “We’ve already noted Iris has that in spades.”

“Yes, she takes after her father.”

Now Harry raised his eyebrow. “Do I need to list all the times you swore you were right and wouldn’t budge?”

“I usually was.”

“Usually,” he said, both of them fighting to keep from smiling before cracking. Hermione had nearly forgotten what it was like—to have this much history with someone, to have been known while you were still growing into yourself.

Harry kissed her again and she found herself responding in earnest. His hands slid into her damp hair and she moaned, which only had him pressing her closer. She was so consumed, she hardly registered the low whistle of the kettle until it began to shriek before abruptly stopping. She blinked a few times, taking in Harry’s sudden grimace of pain, his hand up and directed towards the stove.

“Did you do wandless magic?” she asked, dazed.

The tightening coil of anxiety spun around her heart at his slow nod. When she felt him sway, the panic ignited her into motion. She gripped his arm tightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, rubbing at his temple. “Just a bit light headed.”

“You need to sit.” Hermione walked him over to the wooden table, directing him to sit before she rummaged through the cupboard, consulting the potion list that Hannah had gone over with them that afternoon.

She brought over a top up of the restoration potion that he dutifully drank.

“Does it still hurt?”

He shook his head. “No more than usual.”

Relief made her slink down into the chair next to him. She wasn’t sure what she had expected if he did magic—that he would go up in a cloud of smoke? The only thing the Healers had said was that it was best to avoid it until he was given the all clear.

At least now she knew he wouldn’t drop dead again, at least she hoped not. Her stomach clenched unbearably at the thought, her breath catching.

His hand settled on her thigh and she leaned her head against the cap of his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair and she nodded, holding onto his hand, now resting in her lap.

She found it hard to speak, so grateful to be close to him that it alleviated some of the panic. 

“You’d be a good Healer,” he said, after a long moment.

She tilted her face towards his. “What makes you think that?”

“Dunno…you were always figuring things out, on the run. Ron would have lost his arm if you hadn’t intervened.” He touched her chin. “That and they generally need to be a bit bossy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, pressing back her smile. “Well I prefer a work environment with less blood.”

“Then you wouldn’t want to be an Auror.”

At her disgruntled look, he smiled apologetically. “Don’t worry. I already gave Remus my notice.”

She blinked in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah, when you were being shown around the garden by Teddy. I have to talk to him more but he knows I’m not planning on coming back.”

“Because of us?”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s the biggest reason.”

“Do you like it?”

Harry took her hand, tracing the lines of her palms for a long moment before he spoke. “I don’t know.” At her visible surprise he gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I liked the team. And it was satisfying at times…. I wanted to make sure what happened during the war wouldn't happen again.” He looked back down at their joined hands. “If I’m being honest…I think the main reason I stayed was because I thought it was my best hope at finding you.”

Tears blurred her vision and he squeezed her hand. “Because you thought…I had been…”

“It was my biggest fear.” His throat bobbed. “That someone had hurt you…taken you. That it was my fault…for not being there.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, swiping at her face. “I should have sent a note, or explanation for Ron. If I had—”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Besides…you had other things to worry about.”

She nodded, not quite believing him. None of it was a good enough excuse. She should have known better than to let people worry.

“I had no clue what I was doing…” she said softly, “The months after you…it’s all a blur now. Once I knew about Iris…all I cared about was that I could give her a good life. A safe one.”

“It sounds like you did that.”

“I tried,” she said, leaning her head back onto his shoulder.

He held her to him, the two of them sitting alone in the dim kitchen.

“Do you like your job?” he asked against the crown of her head.

“I…yes. It suits me. Or it did.”

“It doesn’t anymore?”

Hermione tilted her face to his. “Annie’s shop gave my life structure when it had none at all. We…we connected over our love of history and with her support I felt like I could rebuild my life, go back to school, which I eventually did. I mainly get paid to read, so…”

Harry chuckled and she felt her own smile break through. “Mainly though, it let me build my schedule around Iris, and that’s what made it the best fit.”

He looked lost in thought before his brows drew together. “What are you studying?”

His question took her by surprise. It was hard to believe how much of the basics of their lives apart they had yet to cover.

“History mainly. Celtic. I’ve focused most of my research on folk tales.”

“Like…fairytales?”

She hummed an agreement. “You could say that. It’s been interesting, studying the non-magical side of magic.” Another smile tugged at her lips. “Then there’s knowing the Loch Ness ‘Monster’ is actually a Kelpie, but keeping it to yourself.”

His eyes sparked with amusement. “You’ll want to talk to Luna. Her line of work doesn’t sound so far off.”

Hermione laughed, which turned into a yawn. “I’d love to see her again…but I’m not planning on finishing my degree.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You aren’t?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure how practical it is now.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you don’t have to stop,” he said hastily. “Not if it makes you happy.”

At the sincerity in his face, she swallowed heavily, kissing his shoulder before standing up. “Let me finish the tea.”

She went towards the cupboards, rummaging around. He had given them a rather thorough overview of where everything was after lunch since Iris had insisted on seeing inside each cabinet and drawer. She plopped the tea bags into the china mugs, smiling to herself that Harry clearly did most of his shopping at Muggle shops. Fondness settled in her chest as she poured in the hot water and the steam tickled her chin. She was so absorbed in the ritual, she started when she felt Harry’s hand on her hip.

 “I hope you know that I’ll do whatever you want. If you want to leave the magic world entirely and live in Edinburgh, that’s what we’ll do.”

She leaned back into his chest, tilting her face towards his. “I want to be where you are. And despite everything. You, me…Iris. We belong in the magic world.” She brushed her hand against his cheek. “But right now, you and I belong on the sofa.”

He smiled tiredly, kissing her neck. “The sofa sounds perfect.”

“Do you still take two sugars?” she asked, picking up the teaspoon.

“Yes. Do you still take yours with just a splash of milk?”

She nodded, trying to think back on how many times they had performed this ritual in the tent. Not that there had always been cream or sugar, but at least they had never run out of teabags.

Harry reached around her, rummaging through the cabinet to the right and drawing out an orange-and-blue packet of Gingernuts. They shared another shy smile, their past filling the room, and this time it was less heavy.

Hermione carried the mugs and followed Harry into the spacious living room. Despite having spent a large portion of the day there, she still couldn’t quite get over the fact that he had television at Grimmauld, much to Iris’s earlier delight.

“It really is a nice flat,” she said, thinking out loud as they sat down.

“It’s been good,” he replied, taking the offered mug and passing her the biscuits.

She tilted her head back, watching him. “But you don’t want to stay here.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I never intended to stay forever.” Hermione simply nodded. He looked down into his tea. “I liked being close for Teddy…and I was too busy with work to bother figuring out another place.”

“Did you want to leave London?” 

His eyes met hers. “I’ve thought about it.” He took a sip of tea. “I found several deeds. I had never looked into it fully until after the war…”

Her brow crinkled. “How many deeds?”

“Seven,” he said, his lips twitching up at her shocked expression. “Yeah…that surprised me too. I’ve only visited one…aside from Godric’s Hollow.”

She drank her tea, trying not to wince at the memory. “Is it in London?”

He shook his head. “Aylesbury. Or near it.” His face flushed as he rubbed at his jaw. “It’s an estate. My grandparents left it to my father. Potter Manor.”

Hermione tucked her legs beneath herself, holding the warmth of the mug to her chest. 

“What was it like?” 

“Dusty.” He said dryly, taking another sip. “And overwhelming.”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s huge,” he said after a moment, gazing at the low fire in the grate. “I could never seem to justify the move. I’d just be…rattling around by myself.”

His tone was self deprecating, but Hermione heard the sadness beneath it. She reached for his hand, warm from the tea and placed it in her lap.

He released a sigh. “Besides, there was never time to actually commit to getting it habitable again.”

She nodded. Life never seemed to slow down in adulthood.

He sunk further into the sofa. “You like Edinburgh. Iris told me it’s the best city in the whole world.”

Hermione blew out her breath with another half-laugh. “Did she? I’m not sure she’s had many to compare it to. We do love Edinburgh. But I think she’ll like London just fine. If that's what we decide.”

Harry gave a small nod. “She asked when she’s going back to her school.”

Her head throbbed at the stress of it all. “I haven’t even called them. I think Annie did.”

“Do you want to send her back?”

She sighed, taking another sip. “Well, first…is it safe?”

Remus had made it clear there were security risks they would need to mitigate.

His expression sobered. “We’ll make sure it is.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll stay out front if I have to.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Hermione snorted. “I don’t think that’s a realistic option.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his tea. “Maybe not. But I would.”

She held tight to his hand in her lap. “I know.”

Tears prickled the corner of her eyes again. Iris was so lucky to have him. They both were. She cleared her throat.

“Second thing. Can she be trusted?” At his quizzical look, she bit back a smile. “I’m sure you noticed by now that she’s a keen conversationalist.”

He grinned over the rim of his mug. “I noticed. You reckon she’ll be telling the other kids about flying brooms?”

“Odds are high,” she sighed, placing her half-finished mug on the coffee table. “That’s part of why I kept magic from her. I didn’t know how to navigate both. Not when she’s this young.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “She could go to school with Teddy and Victoire. It’s small, only a few kids taught by an old friend of Tonks. She’s up in Cumbria and we floo them in.”

Teddy had said something to Iris about going to school in the woods. She chewed on her lip, holding tight to Harry’s hand. In many ways it made sense to secure Iris’s place amongst her magical peers. The severing of their old life was always something she knew would happen, at least when Iris grew up and took her place at Hogwarts.  Except she herself had been less sure of joining her. And then there was Annie and Rosie. Hermione’s stomach flipped, she owed them too much to just disappear. She had learned her lesson on that at least.

Harry put his mug next to hers and took both her hands in his. “We don’t have to make a decision tonight. We can ask her what she thinks soon. I’m sure she’ll have opinions.”

A laugh caught in her throat. “She usually does.”

His smile made some of the heaviness in her chest ease. She still couldn’t get over how lovely it felt to share Iris with him. She wiped at her eyes, letting out a ragged breath.

“There’s other things to sort out…like what we want to say to the public.” She said the last word with trepidation. Harry nodded, grimly.  “You want people to know she’s yours,” she said, not having to ask.

He nodded. “I do.”

Hermione sat up, nodding her own head. She summoned a notepad and pen, relieved Harry  used them instead of quills. She also thought to summon the newspaper, lips moving into a thin line at the glimpse of Iris on the cover. She moved their mugs around and laid everything out, staring at the blank page before them.

“Why does it feel like I still don’t understand it,” she murmured after a long moment. She looked over at him. “How this could have happened, I mean.”

Harry placed his hand on her thigh. “I can tell it’s bothering you.”

“I feel…I feel like it’s my fault you two…” She swallowed, sadness wrapping around her throat. “That I kept you apart.”

His thumb brushed over the bare skin of her leg. “You were doing what you thought was best.” She started crying and he leaned in further. “You’re her mum and you protected her. I’m never going to hold that against you.” He nudged the newspaper with his free hand, “Seeing the reaction now, you were right in one way. They would have been relentless.”

“But if I’d—”

“We found each other. That’s what counts now.” He brushed away a tear on her cheek. “I don’t know about you, but I’m bloody tired. Let’s write it and head to bed.”

A wet laugh escaped her as she nodded. “I don’t know how I can be so tired after doing so little.”

His eyebrows lifted. “I think the reason is asleep down the hall.”

They shared an exhausted laugh, leaning into each other further. They continued to talk softly, ideas blooming back and forth, and together they wrote what truth they were willing to share.