Chapter Text

Chapter 1

“Harry, we can’t.”

Harry looked up from the flickering flame at the tip of Hermione’s wand. He had been trying to coax the sodden sticks into some semblance of a cooking fire, but it was proving elusive even with magic, though it would have been far easier had his wand not been snapped in Godric’s Hollow. He looked at Hermione’s downcast expression. “We can’t what?”

She folded her arms over her stomach and sat on an upturned stump. “Last night…we can’t.”

Harry felt disappointment clutch his stomach. He had been unabashedly reliving the memory ever since he slipped quietly from Hermione’s side in the early hours of the morning. 

Though it had started out as only a dance—and a platonic one at that—it had given way to something incredible, a longing from both of them that only the other had been able to fulfill. It had been his first time and hers too. It had been a bright spot in the midst of this miserable, impossible mission. 

Or so he thought. 

He tried to keep the edge out of his voice as he said, “It’s because of Ron, isn’t it?”

She turned her chocolate eyes to his but dropped her gaze a moment later. “It’s not Ron, exactly…What about Ginny?”

“We broke up months ago,” Harry said flatly. “I didn’t cheat on her with you. I told you that last night, before—you know—everything happened.”

Hermione sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. Harry took the opening and gestured to the quiet forest. “Yesterday you said we should stay here and grow old together.”

“You and I both know we can’t actually do that—”

“But why can’t we hold on to what we do have here? Why can’t we live for today?”

Hermione bit her lip, and the words came out in a rush, as if she was hoping the speed would soften the blow. “Harry, you and I are not a couple. What happened last night was a-a mistake. I shouldn’t have given in—”

Harry scoffed before he could stop himself. “That’s not how I remember it happening. Neither of us needed to be coerced. You were just as eager as I was.”

Hermione had the decency to look abashed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean, then?”

Hermione walked a few paces away from him and scuffed her boot on a rock. “Last night, nothing mattered. But that doesn’t last. Reality came back. Everything is more complicated now.”

Harry had an uncomfortable flashback to a few months earlier in Grimmauld Place, when he had suspected that Hermione and Ron had fallen asleep holding hands. He tried to keep his voice even, though it came out strained by anger and hurt. “This is about Ron, isn’t it?”

“Not just—” Hermione suddenly stiffened. “Did you see that?”

Harry scrambled to his feet, Hermione’s wand in a ready grip. A silvery flicker was visible just in the treeline. “It looks like a patronus. A doe, maybe? I need to check it out.”

“I’m coming with you.” There was no hint of her earlier discomfort as she stood side-to-side with Harry. And though she didn’t say any more as they carefully followed the doe beneath the invisibility cloak, Harry thought he knew what she had been trying to say. The previous night had been a stolen moment, a luxury that belonged to someone else. It certainly didn’t belong to two teenage soldiers who wouldn’t live the see the end of this war. 

No, it was better to lock it away, pretend it never happened, and go back to the way things were. 

When the silvery doe led them to the icy pond and Gryffindor’s sword, they were shocked to see Ron standing at the water’s edge. Perhaps in an effort to make up for his disappearance, he insisted on plunging to the icy bottom to retrieve the sword. Hermione, still angry about him running off, had stalked away to strengthen the wards while Harry and Ron destroyed the horcrux. 

It was here that Harry had learned of Ron’s feelings toward Hermione. 

It was here he had said his first major lie to his best friend: “She’s just a sister to me. I thought you knew that.”

Though his stomach had twisted with guilt, he pushed it aside. Hermione had solidly put an end to any additional late night rendezvous, and he wouldn’t live long enough to see the consequences of that lie anyway. 

*/*/*/

Though the trio were reunited, it was not without tension. Hermione made it a point to revert to stony silence any time Ron said anything. Harry found himself withdrawing to the edge of the wards in an effort to avoid Hermione’s icy glare and the flicker of guilt that would reveal the truth to Ron. 

But even that pseudo-peace would soon come to an end. In a whirlwind of cataclysmic events, they had been kidnapped by snatchers and taken to Malfoy manor, where Hermione had been tortured, each scream ripping through Harry with physical pain. They had been rescued by Dobby, robbed Gringotts, and returned to Hogwarts. There, they had fought a long and bloody battle. Learning of his own status of a horcrux, Harry had sacrificed himself in the Forbidden forest, his last thought the stolen moment he and Hermione had shared in the tent. 

Harry had returned to life against all odds. He ended Voldemort and restored peace to the wizarding world. 

But it hadn’t been without sacrifice.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispered torturously to the room at large as they gathered around the drawn curtains in the hospital wing. “Dolohov meant that curse for me. I didn’t know that when I dodged it would hit her instead.”

And Harry wasn’t angry. This was war. People— good people—had died. Lavender, Colin, Fred. All had died in defense of the light. And still many others, like his bushy-haired friend in the hospital wing bed, were barely clinging to life, their future uncertain. 

Tonks put a hand on Remus’s wrist and voiced the words they were all thinking. “This isn’t your fault, love.”

Harry took a deep breath and stilled his shaking hands by gripping his knees. “Tonks is right,” he said, though the words didn’t replace the ache in his chest at the sight of Hermione’s too-pale form and closed eyes. This was the second time Dolohov had cursed Hermione, the first being fifth year during the ill-fated trip to the Department of Mysteries. 

Harry had been worried about her then, but it was nothing compared to the agony he felt now. There was an invisible dark hole where his heart should be, a gaping wound that could never be filled by another person. He remembered those stolen moments: her lips against his as the music in the tent had died away; he remembered how they had clung to each other, both nervous, both unsure, but neither pulling away. 

Hermione had wanted him to forget about it. And after Ron’s return, they had acted like it had never happened. But Harry couldn’t forget.

 And Harry would never be the same. 

“Harry? . . . Harry?”

Harry gave his head a shake and looked at Remus. “S-Sorry. Lost in my thoughts. What did you say?”

Remus’s eyes softened with understanding. “Of course you’ve been through a lot, and I don’t even know most of it…When I saw Hagrid carrying your body back…” he swallowed and blinked rapidly. “Let’s just say I’m glad you’re alive.”

“I did die,” Harry whispered. “I died so Voldemort could be killed. But I got to come back…I guess it was a second chance.”

Remus was very pale. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “At some point, I am going to ask for the full story, but not today. Today we worry about the basics: food, rest, and shelter. Do you have a place to sleep?”

Harry grimaced and shook his head. “I guess there’s the Burrow, but I can’t go back there right now. It’s my fault Fred’s dead—”

“It’s not your fault,” Tonks interrupted. “You're not guilty of his death any more than Remus is guilty of Hermione’s injuries.”

“I took too long to end Voldemort, and Fred died because of me,” Harry returned flatly. In his mind’s eye, he recalled Mrs. Weasley sobbing over her son’s body and Ron despondently kneeling next to her. “I can’t go over there. Mrs. Weasley will think they owe me for getting rid of Voldemort, she’ll make a fuss over me when she should be able to grieve…They need their space right now.”

“But what about Ginny?” Tonks asked, the corner of her lip curling up slightly. 

“What about Ginny?” Harry asked, staring at her. 

Now it was Tonks’s turn to stare. She cleared her throat. Her hair, which had returned to a mousy brown in the aftermath of the battle, flushed a light pink. “Um, well, Ginny told me you guys dated last year. She seemed to think things might pick up where they left off once the war was over.”

Harry cast his eyes to Hermione’s still form. Remus saw the look, and one eyebrow raised in a question as Harry found his voice. “Uh, I don’t know about that. I don’t really feel like picking it back up, to be honest. It was a long time ago. I just don’t know…” his voice trailed away, and he shrugged helplessly.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Remus affirmed. “There’s no need to jump into something right now.”

You mean like jumping into physical intimacy with your best friend in a tent? Harry thought mentally, but of course no one would ever know. Hermione—if she recovered—would make sure of that. Forcing his face to avoid any hint of his thoughts, he settled for a jerky nod. Casting around for a change of subject, he said, “Maybe I’ll just stay here. Pomfrey said she wants me to get a full checkup anyway.” Though the matron and two healers from St. Mungos were busy with the war injured, Harry knew that she would insist on a full workup the moment the critical patients were stable.

“Come back with us,” Tonks said. “We were in hiding at my mum’s before the battle, and she has plenty of space.”

Harry glanced at Hermione’s face and shook his head. “But what if she…?” he couldn’t finish the words. The thought that his life would be devoid of his best friend was too horrible to contemplate. 

“Madam Pomfrey will notify us immediately if her condition worsens,” Remus said. “Your dead on your feet. You can’t help Hermione if you aren’t rested.”

Seeing no better alternative, Harry rose stiffly, but he stumbled as another thought struck him. “Tonks, your dad…”

Tonks nodded sadly. “I miss him everyday,” she said softly. “All I can hope is that the world our Teddy will grow up in will be better than the one he left behind.”

Harry felt a lurch of guilt in his stomach. He hadn’t thought of his godson since the battle started. “He’s doing good?”

Remus nodded. “And he’s probably awake and squalling to be fed. Andromeda will be glad to hand him back to us.”

“You like being a dad then?” Harry asked as they made their way past the rubble of the great hall and to the grounds to apparate. He had asked the question to distract himself from the bodies lying in the annex room of the great hall and the blood splashed across paving stones, but he had to admit he was interested in spite of himself. 

“It’s the single best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Remus said. “I never said thank you for bringing me to my senses. I was ready to throw everything away, and it would have been the single worst thing I have ever done. You saved my marriage and my relationship with my son, and for that I can never thank you enough.”

“I just didn’t want him to grow up without his dad,” Harry mumbled, a bit embarrassed.

“And now he won’t have to, and he has an incredible godfather.”

Harry smiled at the thought. “I’ll do the best I can. I don’t know anything about being a godfather, but I’ll try.”

As they reached the gates, Remus gripped Harry’s arm. “You don’t look like you are up for apparition. Let me side-along you.”

Harry didn’t object, and one lurch later, they had appeared outside Andromeda Tonks’s home. Immediately they were met by Andromeda, who pointed her wand at her daughter’s heart. “What was the last thing Nymphadora Tonks said to me?”

“Take care of our son. He’ll need you if we’re gone,” Tonks said softly. 

Andromeda’s rigid posture softened slightly, but she turned her wand on Remus. “What did I tell Remus Lupin when he returned after an unexpected absence?”

Remus flushed slightly but said, “If you harm my daughter again, I will neuter you like the dog you are.”

Harry bit back a snort of laughter. Andromeda turned her wand on him, and Harry tried not to flinch at the action. “What did Harry Potter do the first time he met me?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to feel embarrassed. “I, uh, thought you were Bellatrix Lestrange and tried to attack you. Sorry.”

Andromeda relaxed fully and beamed at them. She embraced her daughter tightly. “Voldemort?” she asked. 

“Gone for good,” Remus replied. “Hit wizards and aurors are rounding up the Death Eaters as we speak.”

Harry cocked his head. “Tonks, aren’t you supposed to be there then?”

But Tonks shook her head. “Teddy was born less than a month ago—”

“And she is supposed to still be recovering,” Andromeda finished, suddenly stern. “You were in no condition to rush into a battle.”

Tonks shrugged. “I don’t regret it, but I’ll have Poppy give me a check up once she’s done with the more critical patients.”

“Make sure you do that,” Andromeda said. “You can’t just bounce back from a 36 hour labor and difficult delivery.”

They looked toward the house at the sound of a newborn’s cry. Tonks was beaming as she mounted the porch steps and went inside. “Hello, angel. Mummy’s so happy to be back.”

“Dora will feed him and then you can hold him if you want,” Remus said as they made their way into the Tonks’s cozy living room. 

Harry’s mouth went dry. “What if I drop him?”

“You won’t. I will show you how to hold him, and we’ll take it nice and slow.”

Though still nervous, Harry nodded ascent. Andromeda made them tea and sandwiches, and Harry tried to hide the fact that he was starving. But not much could be hidden from Remus’s watchful gaze. 

“When was the last time you’ve had a decent meal?” he asked. 

Harry swallowed and with a bit of embarrassment said, “It’s been a while. We didn’t have much while on the run.”

Andromeda walked to a curio cabinet in the corner and removed a bottle containing a shimmering lavender potion. She handed it to him. It was pleasantly warm against his fingers. “What’s this?”

“Nutrient potion. It’s kind of like a vitamin supplement in the muggle world. It’s a staple in most wizarding households, especially if you have family members who get so involved with their work that they forget to eat. It’s not a cure-all, and undoubtedly Poppy will put you on some sort of regimen to regain body weight, but it will help.” 

Harry nodded his thanks and downed the potion, which had a smooth texture and vanilla taste. 

Tonks emerged from the bedroom, patting Teddy’s back. He was wearing a simple onesie and sporting bright yellow hair. She handed the infant to Remus. “Change the nappy?”

“Of course, my love.”

While Remus took Teddy to a changing table in the corner, Tonks turned to Harry. “I sent Molly a patronus message to let her know you are here and safe. She wanted me to tell you that you are welcome at the Burrow any time.”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “I just need a bit of quiet now. And I want to check on Hermione as soon as I get a nap.”

“As soon as you get a decent night’s sleep ,” Remus corrected. “You’ve done far too much with far too little for far too long.”

Harry didn’t have the energy to argue. Pleasantly full and safe for the first time in nearly a year, he could feel the weariness tugging at his bones. “Sh-Shouldn’t we set a watch?” he asked. 

Remus and Tonks exchanged a glance he couldn’t place. It was Andromeda who answered. “Our home is heavily warded and under a fidelius. The person holding the fidelius is in this room. You are completely safe, Harry.”

“And the aurors and hit wizards are combing the countryside for what few death eaters weren’t captured or killed at the battle. With Voldemort gone, they aren’t about to show their faces.”

“They could come back for revenge,” Harry said, his stomach twisting at the possibility. 

“Let others finish this war,” Remus said, his tone kind but with an undercurrent of concern. “You’ve done enough. You need to heal.”

“I want to help.”

“Then heal,” Tonks said. “You can’t help much if you can’t stand.”

Harry had to ruefully accept the point. “C-Can I hold my godson first?”

Remus showed Harry how to hold his arms so he could support the tiny infant’s head. Teddy burbled happily when he was nestled in Harry’s arms and grabbed one of his fingers in a tiny grip. He scrunched up his nose, and his hair turned jet black like Harry’s but instead of the usual messy locks, it was curly, reminiscent of Hermione’s hair.

He felt an immediate affection for the newborn. “Hey bud, I’m Harry. I’m your godfather, and we are going to have so much fun.” 

Teddy answered with another happy burble.

Harry swallowed the tightness in his throat. “He’s really special,” he whispered to Remus and Tonks. “Thank you for making me his godfather.”

“Thank you , Harry,” Tonks said. “We have no doubt that you will be a really important person in Teddy’s life.”

I want one of my own one day, Harry realized. Not now, of course. But someday. 

*/*/*/

Back at Hogwarts, the matron turned toward her final critical patient. Hermione Granger had not yet awoken, though Poppy’s scans showed that the residual dark magic was slowly draining from the girl’s system. Poppy’s relief was evident as she smoothed the sheets and tucked another blanket around Hermione’s shoulders. Hermione was one of her favorite Hogwarts students: bright, polite, and capable. 

Now that the emergency had ended, Poppy began a series of routine health scans for witches. The results showed much of what she already knew: the girl was underweight, was lacking nutrition, had endured extreme stress levels, and likely would suffer from PTSD—all of which weren’t surprising considering everything the girl had been through. 

But Poppy gave a start at the final diagnostic: the presence of the hCG hormone. With a furrowed brow, she recast the diagnostic and received the same result. 

Hermione Granger was pregnant. 

Chapter Text

Harry awoke after the best sleep he had had in months—minus the night he had spent with Hermione in his arms, of course. 

With a titter of disgust, he gave his head a shake and rose from the comfortable guest bed in Andromeda’s home. He shouldn’t be thinking about that stolen moment. Nothing would come from it. But forcing the recollection away left him with a strange empty feeling as he laced his trainers and tried to make his hair lie flat. 

He made his way to the bathroom across the hall, where Andromeda had furnished him with basic toiletries. He had been too exhausted after a shower the previous night to study his reflection, but now he peered into the mirror. 

A total stranger peered back at him. 

Near-starvation had sunken his cheeks. He was pale, to the point of gauntness, the color a shocking contrast to his raven hair. Uneven stubble marred his jaw and cheeks. His eyes had a haunted look to them, like they had seen too much for one lifetime. Harry tried to smile, and it came out a pained grimace. His teeth were yellowed, a byproduct of the lack of hygiene while on the run. He briefly considered looking up a tooth whitening charm but remembered that the necessary book was in Hermione’s cavernous beaded bag, which still rested at the foot of her bed in the Hospital Wing. 

No wonder Remus had insisted that Harry rest. Even a full forty-eight hours after the battle, he still looked like the walking dead. He chuckled a bit at the thought; he had died, after all. Maybe his return had required a wraith-like appearance.  

He made a mental note to get a checkup with Madame Pomfrey sooner than later. Every muscle still ached and his nerves felt tight like a coiled spring, as if he was still dodging curses in the midst of the battle. 

There was a sudden cry from the nursery at end of the hall, and Harry had taken two steps toward the sound and drawn his wand when Remus entered the room to calmly comfort a crying Teddy. 

Harry put his wand back in his pocket and tried not to look conspicuous. He crept away from the sound of Teddy and Remus and toward the kitchen. It was thankfully empty, and Harry collapsed at the wooden table. 

Teddy must have been lulled back to sleep, for Remus entered the kitchen alone a few minutes later. He studied Harry with a frown between his eyebrows, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I know how bad I look, Remus,” he muttered. 

Remus took a seat across from him. With a flick of his wand, the coffee pot in the corner began brewing. “How did you sleep?”

“Solid. The bed is really comfortable.”

“Any nightmares?”

Harry pursed his lips. He distantly remembered thrashing in his blankets but couldn’t remember the cause. “Uh, maybe one or two. I don’t really remember.”

“It’s not unexpected,” Remus said, though his eyes were somber. “If you are ready to talk about it, I would like to know what you’ve been up to the last nine months.”

The story spilled out of him. He started with escaping the attack at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, learning about the identity of RAB and the reality of the horcruxes, the heist at the Ministry, going on the run, the ill-advised trip to Godric’s Hollow, and a thousand other tiny moments. His voice became strained as he explained their capture at Malfoy manor, Fenrir Greyback’s disgusting comments about Hermione (Remus had grit his teeth at that, anger raging in his eyes), and Hermione’s subsequent torture at the hand of Bellatrix. 

“I heard her screaming and couldn’t do anything. Ron was losing it, shouting for her. I-I didn’t.” His stomach twisted with guilt. “M-Maybe I’m not a good friend.” Or anything else for that matter , he finished mentally. 

“Keeping cool in the midst of battle does not make you heartless,” Remus interjected. “It’s a skill that undoubtedly kept you alive.”

Harry continued his tale, describing Dobby’s rescue and ultimate sacrifice. He detailed the heist at Gringotts and rushing to Hogwarts in search of the diadem. He was speaking to the tabletop as he described viewing Snape’s memories and learning of his own identity as a horcrux. He described using the resurrection stone to speak to his parents and Sirius. He stumbled through an explanation of his death and return to life. “You, er, know the rest,” he said somewhat lamely. 

He hadn’t been aware of Andromeda and Tonks standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Andromeda had a hand over her mouth. Tonks’s chin was trembling. With what appeared to be a herculean effort, she plastered a smile on her face. “You want to know the good news?”

“What?” Harry asked, his interest piqued. 

“You lived long enough to try my mum’s chocolate cake tonight. I’d say it’s to die for, but considering the circumstances…”

Harry snorted, grateful for the lame attempt to lighten the mood.

Remus cocked his head in thought. “I think you missed something. When did Ron leave? I went to Bill and Fleur’s over Christmas and was surprised to see him there.”

Harry flushed. He had completely glossed over Ron’s nearly three-month absence and of course had made no mention of his and Hermione’s late night rendezvous. “Er, right. About that, we had a row. Part of it was the horcrux. The other part was that it was just really hard. We didn’t have a lot of food, Ron was worried about his family, and it seemed like we were on a wild goose chase. So he left.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“But he came back later,” Harry hurriedly explained. “He’s the one who got the sword out of the pond.”

“So it was just you and Hermione for a while,” Tonks observed. 

Harry fought to avoid a blush on his cheeks. Keeping his voice even, he said, “Yeah. She said she’d stay with me no matter what. And she did.”

“She’s an incredible witch,” Andromeda said. 

Harry had to agree. But why had it taken him until a lonely dance in the tent to realize it? He felt a pang of regret about the months or years they could have spent building a bond that was built upon and transcended their friendship. Perhaps then Hermione wouldn’t have solidly ended any chance at a serious relationship. Does she feel like I used her? Is that why she shut it down? Harry thought, more regret twisting his stomach. 

“Harry?”

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts. “Sorry. I was just thinking about her and wondering if she’s feeling better now,” he muttered. 

“Let’s all floo over,” Tonks decided. “Remus will be helping with the rebuilding efforts, and you and I need Poppy to fuss over us.”

“What about Teddy?” Harry asked. 

“I can watch him for a few hours,” Andromeda said, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I have done this before, you know.”

They ate breakfast and took the floo to McGonagall’s office. Remus joined a group of teachers and Ministry construction workers gathered in the Great Hall while Harry and Tonks continued to the Hospital Wing. 

About half of the beds were occupied, but Harry’s gaze was immediately drawn to Hermione in the centermost bed. Her eyes were still closed, but there was color in her cheeks that hadn’t been there the day before. He went to her side and took her hand. Her fingers were cold and before he realized what he was doing, he raised them to his lips to warm them. 

Embarrassed, he put her hand back at her side and refused to meet Tonks’s gaze. He was spared from an explanation when Madame Pomfrey bustled over and insisted that Harry sit on an unoccupied bed. He sat stiffly as she waved her wand over his head and studied a list of runes that appeared from the tip. 

“Residual dark magic from a curse, though that seems to be dissipating well,” she said. “You are extremely underweight and malnourished. Your cortisol levels are well past baseline, and you are at risk for post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Harry flinched at the last one. “I feel fine,” he argued. 

“You’re not fine,” Pomfrey interjected. “I am prescribing a regiment of daily potions to help you gain weight and lower your cortisol levels. I will also refer you to a mind healer for management of PTSD. Paired with potions, you should be able to function normally.”

“I don’t want to take a potion for the rest of my life,” Harry scoffed. 

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes softened. She sat on a chair so she was looking into his eyes. “War changes people. So does trauma. Your brain rewired itself so you could survive. And now the threat is no longer there. It will take time to feel any semblance of normal. And that is okay. You don’t have to be the strong one anymore, Harry.”

Harry noted the use of his first name and not ‘Potter,’ similar to how McGonagall had addressed him before the battle started. “I just don’t want to be broken,” he whispered piteously. 

She patted his knee sympathetically. “We are all broken, dear, in one way or another. And my job is to patch those pieces together the best I can.”

Harry tried to ignore his lingering disappointment as the matron lined out a retinue of potions and explained what each was intended to do. He took them grudgingly, though he knew better than to voice his complaints. The final potion must have been dreamless sleep, for he was unable to fight the lull of unconsciousness and fell into a deep slumber.

*/*/*/

Wanting to give Harry his space, Tonks had waited on the other side of the room during his checkup. But she had heard the prognosis and list of potions, as well as Harry’s obvious reluctance at taking a daily potion. Remus and I will help Harry through whatever lies ahead, she vowed. 

Once Harry was sleeping soundly, Poppy gave Tonks a full postpartum check up, chastising her for rushing into danger so soon after birth. Thankfully there was no lasting damage, though Poppy insisted that Tonks get more sleep and increase her hydration to better support breastfeeding. 

Remus had joined them at the end of the examination. He traced his thumb over Tonks’s hand, his posture relaxing as Tonks was given an overall fair bill of health. 

“What is Hermione’s status, Poppy?” Remus asked. 

She cast a silencing charm around Tonks’s bed. “You know I can’t comment on the health of another patient,” she told him, though not unkindly.  “You are not her parent—”

“Hermione wiped her parents’ memories and sent them off to Australia to save them from the war,” Remus interjected. “She is all alone.”

The matron hesitated. “It will take several weeks for her to recover. She will need consistent care and monitoring. I was thinking it would be her parents—”

“We will be that care,” Tonks insisted. “Whatever she needs, we’ll make sure we are there for her.”

Poppy nodded assent. “Her current condition is stable. But she will be unconscious for several more days. I am…limited…in which potions I can give her.”

Remus’s brow furrowed. “Is she allergic to one of the ingredients?”

Poppy shook her head. She sat heavily on a chair. “Miss Granger is pregnant.”

Whatever Remus had been expecting it certainly wasn’t that. He gaped at the matron and shared a surprised look with Tonks. 

“Are you sure?” Tonks blurted. 

Poppy gave her a searching look. “I am a skilled healer. I know how to identify pregnant women.”

Tonks shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just…shocked.”

Poppy took the apology with a courteous nod. “I was surprised as well. But the hCG hormone is present, and it’s level is increasing quickly. I am hesitant to give her care that could harm the developing fetus, especially since the patient is unable to communicate her wishes. The safer potions are working, just more slowly than a rigid regimen. The father should be notified. Do either of you have any inklings in that regard?”

Remus paled. “She was kidnapped and tortured at Malfoy Manor. Harry told me that Greyback made his intentions clear.”

Tonks blanched. “Do you think she was assaulted? If so, she shouldn’t have to carry Greyback’s child!”

Poppy raised her hands. “I of course will never tell a pregnant patient what to do, and certainly an abuser has no rights. But I also will not perform an abortion on an unconscious patient who cannot communicate her wishes. Once she regains consciousness, which should be two or three days at the latest, I will discuss her options with her.”

Pomfrey left to check on her patients and tip another vial of potion into Hermione’s mouth. Once the matron was out of earshot, Remus asked, “Do you think Harry would know for sure? He didn’t say anything about it, but I understand if he didn’t want to tell us.”

“We should ask him once he wakes up,” Tonks agreed, then grimaced. “That will be a fun conversation,” she added sarcastically. 

“But an important one,” Remus said. “But let’s wait until we are back at home. Then I’ll take him aside.”

Despite his outwardly calm assurances to his wife, Remus’s insides twisted with nerves as he rejoined the construction crew purging the dark magic from the castle walls. He was so absorbed in the pending conversation that he didn’t notice the passage of time. Far too soon, the sun had set beyond the walls and the crews were dismissed for the evening. Remus returned to the hospital wing just as Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was relieved to see that some color had returned to the boy’s face, though he knew it would be a long road of recovery ahead. 

“Tonks left to check on Teddy,” Harry explained. He stood slowly and stretched, his eyes drifting back to his friend on the adjacent bed. “Is Hermione—?”

“Stable for now,” Remus said. “Poppy thinks she will reawaken in a few days.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief. He followed Remus back to McGonagall’s office, and they flooed back to Andromeda’s home, where Tonks was stirring a pot on the stove. She looked up as they entered. “I took over the cooking to give Mum a break. Nothing fancy. Just spaghetti and sauce.”

“I’m sure it will be lovely, dear,” Remus said affectionately, kissing her cheek. Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable, he turned to the boy—now man—next to him. “Harry, could you join me in the drawing room please?”

Harry followed Remus into the drawing room, raising an eyebrow when Remus cast a silencing charm. Remus gestured to two chairs by the fireplace and noticed how Harry sat stiffly. Before he had a chance to speak, Harry beat him to it.

“I will get my own place as soon as I can. I know I’m overstaying my welcome.”

“Harry, you haven’t overstayed any welcome,” Remus hastened to assure him. “Andromeda said just this morning that you are welcome to stay as long as needed. And she means it.”

Harry eyed him in confusion. “What’s this about, then?”

“Hermione.”

Harry stiffened, panic lacing his features. “Is she going to—?”

“No,” Remus interjected. “Poppy expects a full recovery. But there is a delicate matter that I am going to ask you about. You told me that Greyback threatened Hermione when you were all brought to Malfoy Manor. Did he have a chance to carry out his threat?”

Harry blanched at the insinuation but shook his head. “No. It was Bellatrix. Only Bellatrix.” His voice took on a hard edge. “She said she didn’t want to share.”

“Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Why?” Harry pressed. 

Remus gathered his courage. “Poppy told Dora and I that Hermione is pregnant. My questions were to rule out abuse—Harry?”

Harry’s face had completely drained of color. A second later that had been replaced by a blush redder than Weasley red. He buried his face in his hands, and Remus came to a conclusion he hadn’t yet contemplated—

Harry was the father. 

But he put a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder and was careful to have no accusation in his tone. “Wizarding law requires that the father be notified when a witch conceives out of wedlock. Do you happen to have an idea of who could be responsible?”

Harry raised frightened green eyes to Remus’s hazel. Though Harry was of age by wizarding standards, Remus was struck by just how young he was. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. 

“Hermione and I…we, er…” he trailed off, his face still shining red.

“Are you the father, Harry?” Remus asked, maintaining his gentle tone. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. 

Chapter Text

“It’s not all that surprising,” Tonks said. 

Remus nestled closer to Tonks and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. Her pink locks brushed his face, and he once again marveled that this incredible woman was his. He forced himself back to the conversation at hand. He had just finished telling Tonks about Harry being the father to Hermione’s child. “Why don’t you think it’s surprising?”

Tonks turned to face him. She cupped one cheek with her hand. “Think about it: they were two best friends. Alone. On an extended camping trip. With little hope that they would survive this war. They were exhausted and lonely. All they had was each other. Is it any wonder that teenage hormones got away from them?”

Remus had to ruefully agree. After the confession, Harry had excused himself to his room, ignoring Remus inviting him to dinner and even turning down Andromeda’s chocolate cake. “I will try to talk to him again in the morning. Right now I think he’s just trying to process what’s happened.”

“He can’t hide away forever. We’ll make sure that he knows we completely support him. He won’t find any judgment from me,” Tonks said.

“Nor me,” Remus intoned. “After all, that would make me a supreme hypocrite.”

Remus’s lycan hearing picked up on Teddy’s restlessness. It was two days before the full moon, which was Teddy’s second full moon. Though he hadn’t inherited lycanthropy, he tended to be wide awake on the nights preceding and on the night of the full moon. Remus slid out from the covers and moved to the hall, but he paused at the sight of Teddy’s open nursery door. 

Harry had gotten to him first. He carefully lifted his godson from the crib and rocked him in his arms. “Hey bud,” he whispered. “Can’t sleep?” Teddy blinked his wide open eyes, and Harry gave a strained chuckle. “Me neither.”

He walked to the window with Teddy in his arms. He spoke to the infant as he studied the nearly full moon outside.“I’m supposed to be a good example for you, bud, and I already feel like I messed it up. You see, there’s this girl. She’s my best friend. And we did something without thinking through all the consequences. And now I’m going to be a dad.” Harry paused, and Remus saw his adam’s apple bob as Harry tried to regain control of his emotions. “I’m scared, Teddy. I don’t know how to be a parent. I don’t want to ruin the kid’s life. And I really don’t know how to tell Hermione that I got her pregnant. Sh-She didn’t really want anything to do with me after that. She said what we did was a mistake and that we should pretend it never happened. But that’s not going to be possible.”

Teddy reached out a hand and wrapped it around Harry’s finger. Remus watched as Harry’s rigid posture softened. He cradled Teddy close and kissed his forehead. “But I also know how incredibly special you are. And you will get to grow up with my baby. That’s pretty special too. They’ll be a year younger than you at Hogwarts, so you’ll have to keep an eye out for them ok?”

Teddy burbled in agreement and Remus saw the first genuine smile alight on Harry’s face. “Thanks, buddy.”

Remus backed away from the door and back to his room. Harry may think he doesn’t know how to be a father, but he’s wrong, Remus thought. He’s going to be just fine.

*/*/*/

After a fitful night’s rest, the sun had finally warmed Harry’s face enough that he was forced to concede defeat on his attempt to sleep. He blinked owlishly and stumbled to the bathroom, where he splashed water on his face. Disoriented as he was, it took a few moments for him to remember the previous evening, but when he did, the truth hit him again like a battering ram. 

Hermione was pregnant. 

He was going to be a father. 

Harry took deep breaths as a wave of anxiety overtook him. Though he wanted nothing more than to return to his room and convince himself it was just a bad dream, his stomach growled audibly, and he knew he couldn't skip another meal and expect his retinue of daily potions to make up the difference. Gathering his Gryffindor courage, he made his way to the kitchen, where Remus, Tonks, and Andromeda looked up at his approach. 

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Remus asked mildly. 

“Er, I don't know,” he answered honestly. 

Andromeda handed him a mug of black coffee and a slice of chocolate cake. “You remind me so much of Ted when I told him I was expecting Dora. We eloped right after graduation. We were young and reckless, and I got pregnant on our honeymoon.” She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “We were both so scared. We didn't want to bring a child into a world torn apart by war. But it worked out wonderfully. Our life wasn't complete until our Dora was in our arms.”

“You at least were married,” he mumbled in embarrassment. 

Andromeda rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue at that. “You and Hermione are hardly the first witch and wizard to have a child out of wedlock, and more rushed marriages cover unexpected pregnancies than we realize.” She inclined her head toward Remus and Tonks, who were wearing carefully innocent expressions. 

Harry downed his potions and held Teddy while Remus made pancakes. “I need to be the one to tell Hermione about the pregnancy,” Harry said. “I don't want her to be all alone when Pomfrey tells her.”

“A noble choice,” Remus affirmed. “She's going to need your support now more than ever.”

“Any idea of the due date?” Tonks asked. 

“Uh, March 8th was when we…er…yeah…So forty weeks after that, right?”

“Approximately,” Andromeda confirmed. She twirled her wand in a complicated gesture and the date December 4th appeared in the air. “So probably a late November or early December baby.”

Harry was struck by how soon that was. It was May 5th, and in the intervening months, he and Hermione would have to find a place to live, get furniture set up for a baby, find jobs…

Jobs.

Could he go into unpaid auror training for three years knowing he had a baby on the way? What about finishing his 7th year at Hogwarts? Now both felt like an impossibility. 

And what of Hermione? How would the wizarding world react to hiring a young muggle-born, let alone one who was unmarried and pregnant? Would she receive even more stigma? And what of her schooling? Harry knew how devastated she would be if she was unable to graduate Hogwarts. He knew Hermione was driven to make change in the Ministry. She was not a Mrs. Weasley. She would never be content home with a brood while her husband provided. 

Husband. 

Is that what Harry wanted? For a moment, he allowed himself to daydream: Harry and Hermione preparing for their little one and decorating a Christmas tree in front of a cozy fireplace. He placing his lips on hers and his hands gently caressing her round stomach, a wedding ring on his left hand. Her hands threading through his hair, her ring catching on his locks…

But it was only a daydream. 

Disappointment clenched Harry's chest as he mulled over Hermione's words: “we are not a couple”; “what happened was a mistake.” He may desire to become a family—and the thought of Hermione as his wife filled him with warmth—but hadn't she made it clear she didn't feel the same way? 

But she allowed you to be intimate with her , the voice in his head argued. And surely that counted for something. Didn't it? 

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts to see Remus watching him with an empathetic expression. “There are a lot of decisions to make in the next few months, but don't be overwhelmed by it today. Today focus on healing, and we can teach you about caring for newborns with Teddy. I need to go back to the castle for my shift to help with the reconstruction, but Dora has one more week of maternity leave.”

A new thought occurred to Harry. “Was that a hard job to get as a werewolf?”

“Yes and no. After the fall of Voldemort, Kingsley—our new minister—awarded everyone who had fought in the battle an Order of Merlin. I'm the first werewolf to ever get one. That was enough to sway the hiring committee. That and the fact that they are terribly short handed. I have to take tomorrow off for the moon, of course, so we will see how they respond when I return.”

“I hope it works out,” Harry said sincerely.

Remus gave a grateful nod. “It’s temporary work, but I am glad to do it. We will see what the future has in store when we get there.”

Harry felt a surge of jealousy. Remus and Tonks were in a predictable place of calm, a future that didn’t need to be decided right away. They were in love, sharing kisses in the kitchen and enjoying moments of domestic tranquility. Harry’s life, on the other hand, had been completely turned on its head by the pregnancy. But as he watched Remus rock his newborn and kiss Teddy’s hair (sapphire blue today instead of turquoise), he was filled with longing anticipation. Sure Harry and Hermione had made an adult decision they hadn’t been ready for—and Harry was even okay with classifying it as a mistake—but the thought of having a child of his own to hold, love, and raise was surely worth any sacrifice he had to make. 

As the day wore on, Tonks taught Harry the basics of newborn care. He burped Teddy and changed him. He learned to wrap the blankets into a swaddle. Around midday, Teddy began to fuss, and no amount of rocking, cooing, playing, or feeding seemed to help. 

“This is the stuff no one talks about when it comes to having a newborn,” Tonks said, raising her voice to be heard above the newborn’s inconsolate wails. “Everyone sees a baby and thinks ‘oh, so cute!’ but this is also the reality.”

Harry felt a flash of embarrassment at his own tranquil daydreaming but nodded. “What do you do?”

“You go down the list,” Andromeda said. “Could he be hungry? Messy? Gassy?”

“We checked those.”

“Tired? Perhaps he’s not feeling well?”

Harry blanched and looked at Teddy. “He could be sick?”

Tonks muttered a charm and runes appeared over Teddy’s head. “No fever,” she said. “We can rule out sickness for the time being.”

“He could also be too hot or too cold. It might be too loud or too bright. He might be overstimulated or understimulated.”

Harry was overwhelmed by the possibilities. “How do you know ?” he asked. 

Andromeda chuckled. “Honestly? Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes nothing you do seems to make one jot of difference. In those cases, the best thing to do is set them safely in their crib, close the door, and walk away for a few minutes. New parents are sleep deprived and overwhelmed, and that can be a dangerous combination with an inconsolable infant. Far better to move away, become calm, and come back.”

“I had an auror case regarding a parent who didn’t do that,” Tonks mumbled, her hair fading to a mousy brown at the memory. “It was awful.” She placed the still-squalling Teddy in his crib and gently shut the door. “Everytime I start to feel overwhelmed I think of that case.”

“He’ll be okay?” Harry said doubtfully as Teddy’s cries sounded through the nursery door.

“Yes,” Andromeda said. “We won’t leave him alone for long—just a minute or two, just enough to take a breath—and then we’ll be back. We get a moment to recenter ourselves, and he is learning that his parents and nan always come back.”

Teddy’s cries gradually subsided over the next minute. When Tonks returned with him cradled in her arms, he was burbling happily. “Did you just need a change of scenery?” she cooed to the infant. She turned to Harry. “Remus should be back around six. Watch Teddy while I whip up dinner?”

Harry cradled Teddy while he played with a rattle. Teddy’s mouth formed into a tiny smile as he gradually fell asleep. 

Six o’clock came and went. Remus didn’t appear. 

6:30. 7:00.

At 7:30, Tonks sent a patronus message, but the she-wolf reappeared with a shake of its head just a moment later. “Why would Remus send you away?” Tonks murmured. Harry saw a flash of concern on her face as she shared a look with Andromeda. 

The sky was darkening when there was a sudden crack in the back garden. Startled, Teddy began to fuss, but Tonks drew her wand and sprinted toward the garden with Andromeda right behind. Harry also drew his wand, though he was torn between running into danger and protecting his godson. He adopted a dueling stance in front of Teddy’s door frame, his eyes and ears trained toward the back garden. Adrenaline pounded through his veins as footsteps appeared down the hall, and it took every ounce of self control not to start casting curses out of sheer panic. 

He wanted to relax when Remus entered the room, looking travel-worn and his shirt stained with blood. But hard months in a war had heightened his guard, and he pointed his wand at Remus. “What was Remus Lupin’s code name on Potterwatch?”

“Romulus,” Remus said with a smile. “Though Andromeda and Dora thoroughly screened me before I was let inside.”

Harry hesitantly pocketed his wand. “Where are they?”

“Strengthening the wards. They were set up by Ted using family magic, so they have to be the ones powering them.”

The adrenaline was back. Harry’s fingers twitched toward his wand. “Why do they need to strengthen the wards?” 

“Nothing you need to be concerned about,” Remus replied quickly—too quickly. 

“Remus, I fathered a child. Don’t treat me like one,” Harry snapped. 

Remus sighed and gestured to the couch. Harry sat stiffly, his heart still pounding against his ribs and every nerve prepared for immediate action. 

“I was followed—” Remus began. 

“Death Eaters?”

“No. Reporters.”

Harry cocked his head. “Reporters?”

“Someone must have tipped off the Prophet that you are living here, or at the very least, that I know your whereabouts. There’s a lot of questions regarding the final battle, and every journalist in the country wants to be the one to get the exclusive interview with ‘The Man Who Conquered.’”

Harry raised an unamused eyebrow at the stupid nickname as Remus continued. “I suspected someone in the reconstruction crew was watching my movements, probably an undercover journalist, and he attempted to follow me as I apparated home using a tracking spell. Thankfully I noticed the spell moments before I apparated and changed course. But you know what happens when you aren’t completely focused on your destination—”

Harry winced, remembering Ron getting splinched after their abrupt change of direction from Grimmauld Place to the Forest of Dean. “Did you get hurt?”

Remus gestured to the blood soaking his shirt. “I apparated to an alley in London and splinched nearly half my shoulder. I was able to clot it with a healing spell, but it was a while before I recovered enough from the blood loss to attempt apparition home. That’s why I turned Dora’s patronus away; my location in London was near a busy street filled with muggles. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself when the patronus lit up the alley. Once I regained my strength, I apparated to the back garden because Andromeda grows dittany there. Once I had applied dittany to the wound, it healed completely. No harm done.”

Harry was incensed. Interfering with someone’s apparition was incredibly dangerous, not to mention that tracking someone’s location was illegal. “When do these people stop?” he muttered. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to be left alone and live a normal life.” He blanched as a new thought struck him. “If anyone finds out about Hermione’s pregnancy and my role in it, it’s going to be front page news.”

“We’ll keep them at bay as long as possible,” Remus said. “Kingsley is releasing a statement on your behalf. He should be here tomorrow to go over the wording. Hopefully that will give you time to heal and Hermione time to recover.”

“But it won’t keep them away forever,” Harry noted. 

“Correct. There may well be a time when you talk to the press but that will be when you are ready, not when the wizarding world thinks they deserve it. We’ve been blocking mail from anyone who is not an immediate contact while you recover. People all over the wizarding world have been sending letters, gifts, and other contraband. The aurors have been screening them and have disposed of anything of malicious intent. The others are being held for you.”

Harry’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. The last thing he wanted to do was read letters from gushing, lonely witches about how great he was. And he certainly didn’t want to respond to them, which could inadvertently indicate that he wanted to keep up a correspondence. “Do I have to read them?”

Remus appeared unsurprised by the question. “Of course not. If you would rather the aurors simply dispose of them, you can do that. When Kingsley visits tomorrow, you could have him include a statement like, ‘I am grateful for your letters. Though I am unable to respond to them, I appreciate the kind words.’ That should take care of anyone expecting a letter in return and will maybe cull future correspondence if they know you won’t be responding.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks. I’ll probably do that. It’s just all…so much.”

“That’s why we have been keeping the reporters and letters at bay. You need time to heal away from all of this, and you need to focus on Hermione and your unborn child.”

Tonks and Andromeda returned to the living room. “Wards are secure. If anyone is sniffing around within thirty kilometers, we’ll know,” Tonks said. “How is the shoulder, dear?”

Remus rolled it experimentally. “Everything seems to be in order.”

Tonks sat next to Remus and began massaging the injury. He closed his eyes in appreciation. “Molly sent word to me around lunchtime. Fred’s funeral is at 10:00 on Friday.”

Harry cast his gaze to his lap. He wasn’t ready for this—especially not only two days from now—but he knew it was one thing he would never be ready for. “Will there be reporters there?”

“No. They are burying him in one of the knolls around the Burrow. It’s still heavily warded.”

“Then I’ll go. I didn’t want reporters making this about me, but since they won’t be there…” He squared his shoulders and gathered his Gryffindor courage. “I need to be able to say good-bye.”

“And Teddy and I will be right there with you,” Andromeda said. 

“And Remus and I will be there depending on how the moon goes,” Tonks added.

Remus took Tonks’s hand. “You should go too, dear. I can manage the moon—”

“I knew when I got into a relationship with you that it meant scraping your bleeding arse off cement basement floors once a month,” Tonks replied cheerfully. “Molly understands. If you are up to it, we’ll go. If not, I will be with you. You are my first responsibility.”

Remus kissed her brow. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. 

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Marriage and relationships aren't about what we deserve. It’s about what we are willing to do for each other because we love them, as I’ve told you a thousand times.” 

Remus embraced her, his fingers trailing down her back. “And I will be sure to return the favor,” he whispered. 

She pecked him on the lips. “You already do.”

They lulled into silence. Fatigue started to pull at Harry. His chin had just dropped onto his chest when the floo flashed and a letter flew into the room. It unfurled and Madam Pomfrey’s voice filled the living room. “Miss Granger is awake.”

Chapter Text

“Miss Granger is awake.”

All fatigue forgotten, Harry lurched to his feet and rushed to the floo. As he threw the powder into the flames, he shouted “Hospital Wing, Hogwarts!” into the flames. Another second later, he was stumbling across the grate and coughing on the soot. 

Madam Pomfrey was stirring a potion. She looked up at Harry’s appearance. “Please take a seat, Mr. Potter. I will allow you to visit Miss Granger as soon as I have time to talk to her about a rather delicate matter—”

“I’m the father!” Harry blurted, ignoring Madam Pomfrey’s eyes widening. “I need to be the one to tell her. Please. It should come from me, and I don’t want her to hear it alone.”

Madam Pomfrey covered her surprise admirably, a byproduct of her healing training. “Very well. I will give you ten minutes. After that, I will discuss with the patient her options.”

Harry’s stomach clenched. “Oh. You mean—”

“Termination of the pregnancy, if that is what the patient desires.” Harry’s face must have registered his feelings, for she put a hand on his shoulder. “It is her body. It is her life, Harry, that will be more impacted than yours—”

“I’m not walking away from this,” Harry interjected. “Whatever she— they —need, I’ll make sure they have it.”

She patted his arm consolingly. “I am not denying your honor, dear, but understand that actions speak louder than words. And unfortunately I’ve seen more men walk away than stay, especially when they realize just how much is required.”

“It won’t be me,” Harry returned fiercely. “This is my child. I’ll never abandon them.”

“If Hermione chooses to continue the pregnancy, I hope for her sake that is true.”

Harry turned away from the matron in misplaced anger. He swept from the office and his eyes locked with Hermione’s. She was still ghastly pale, and her flat abdomen gave no hint of the pregnancy. Her hair was a mass of tangles. Harry reached for the comb at her bedside table and gently worked the teeth through her curls. Hermione gave a soft sigh. “Thank you, Harry.” Her voice was far too weak for Harry’s liking. 

“Of course.” Anything for you , he added mentally. 

Her eyes drooped with tiredness but she forced them open. “Voldemort?” she whispered. 

Harry realized that Hermione had taken the curse shortly after Fred’s death and, as such, wouldn’t know the outcome of the war. He briefly detailed Snape’s memory and going into the Forbidden Forest to die. Her eyes widened as he talked about returning to life and ending Voldemort once and for all. 

“You’re a hero,” she whispered when he was finished. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who smacked me with a newspaper when I called myself ‘The Chosen One.’”

She gave him a weak smile, but it turned into a pained grimace. Knowing he had only minutes before Pomfrey came, he said “We need to talk” just as Hermione said “I have something to tell you.”

They looked at each other in surprise. “You first,” Harry said. She must already know, Harry thought, relief easing the weight from his shoulders. 

Hermione dropped her eyes to her bedsheet and mumbled something. Harry cupped her cheek with his hand. “‘Mione, I didn’t hear that.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes swimming with tears. “I almost kissed Ron.”

Harry almost didn’t hear it the second time, as he was so sure the words were going to be “I am pregnant.” His brain caught up with her words, and he dropped his hand to his lap. “Oh, um, ok. Th-that’s good. I guess. I-If that is what you want.” You were stupid to think she would ever be with you , his internal voice argued.

“I said ‘almost,’” she whispered. Though Harry really didn’t want to hear the details, he forced himself to listen as she said, “We were in the Chamber of Secrets getting the basilisk fangs and we tripped a curse that brought a wave of water crashing over us. He helped me up, and I could tell from the look in his eyes that he had the thought of ‘now or never.’ He leaned in, and so did I. I-I had wanted this from fourth year—”

Harry tried not to show his astute disappointment as his daydream obliterated into a million tiny Ron-shaped pieces. 

“But I didn’t,” she finished. “I stepped away from him, and he kind of laughed it off and then apologized.”

Harry found his voice. “W-Why didn’t you?”

She swallowed and two tears streaked down her pale cheeks. Her voice was barely audible as she said, “Because I remembered the night I spent with you.”

Harry must have looked completely gobsmacked, for she rapidly began to backpedal. “I know I told you to forget about it. I know I said it was a mistake—and maybe in some ways it is—but I thought that if I denied my feelings, it wouldn’t be as bad when you found another girl. I understand if you don’t feel anything for me. This is so messy and I—”

Harry covered Hermione’s stammering lips with his. Her eyes widened in surprise but then she responded to the kiss. Though it wasn’t the impassioned, desperate snogging that had characterized their rendezvous, it was somehow more incredible, carrying with it even more promise, respect, passion, and love.

Harry pulled away and looked deeply into her chocolate eyes. He said the words that came so naturally after seven years of friendship and on the cusp of something much, much more. “I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

Harry rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. She was here, she was on her way to recovery, and she loved him. She had turned down Ron for him. A warm feeling spread across his chest, and he knew this would be the memory that would power his patronus for years to come. 

She pulled away after another long moment. “What did we need to talk about?”

Harry was brought rapidly back to earth. He took her hand and held it in both of his. “I don’t think what we did was a mistake,” he whispered. “But that night we did make a mistake.”

“What?”

“We didn’t use a contraception charm.”

There was a heavy silence. Hermione’s eyes widened in shock, and she dropped her free hand to her navel. “I-I’m pregnant?”

Harry nodded. “Madam Pomfrey found out when she was treating you from the curse.”

Hermione leaned back on her pillows and blew out a breath. “I’m pregnant,” she repeated numbly. 

“Madam Pomfrey is going to come in and talk about your options. I know this is your choice, but please know that if you choose to continue with the pregnancy, I am going to be by your side the whole time. I am going to raise our son or daughter with you, and I will do everything I can to help you achieve your school and career goals along the way. I would love to have a family with you.”

Hermione was silent. Her brow was furrowed, and she was quietly gnawing her lip. 

Madame Pomfrey bustled in with potions. She waved her wand over Hermione’s head and a line of runes appeared. Nodding in satisfaction at the results, she said, “Alright, dear?”

“Mostly,” Hermione said. “I’m just trying to process the news.”

She nodded in understanding. “If this is not part of your plan, you do have options—”

“No.” Hermione’s voice, though previously a whisper, rang with determination and purpose. “I-I’m keeping this baby. Harry and I will do this together.”

Harry kissed her forehead and rested a hand on her abdomen. “You are so brave,” he whispered. 

“I’ll need your help.”

“I’ll be right here.”

He met her lips for another tender kiss. Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat and gestured to her office door, where the floo was visible. “Mr. Potter, I allowed you to come outside of visiting hours due to the circumstances, but no longer. You may come back in the morning at 8:00 and not a minute earlier.”

Harry looked to Hermione and their tightly clasped hands. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her behind. She gave him an understanding smile and squeezed his hand. “All I will be doing is sleeping,” she said, stifling a yawn. 

Harry kissed her on the forehead. “Okay. I will be back at 8:00.” He rested a hand on her navel. “Take care of our baby while I am gone?”

“Always.”

Harry slept soundly for the first time since the start of the war. 

*/*/*/

Kingsley came by during breakfast. There were new lines around his mouth, but his smile was warm as he took in the Lupins, Andromeda, and Harry clustered in the kitchen. “How are you doing, Harry?”

A smile quirked his lips. He had just finished telling the Lupins and Andromeda about the conversation with Hermione the previous day, and he was still filled with joy. Out loud he said, “Quite well, sir.”

“The entire Wizarding World is in an uproar over your disappearance. I have had hundreds of queries to either my office or the auror office requesting an investigation into your whereabouts.”

“That’s none of their business,” Harry said, his tone communicating that there was no room for compromise. 

Kingsley held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I agree. Hence why a statement from you will do a lot to mitigate those concerns while also protecting your privacy. I can work on the official wording, but what do you want the Wizarding World to know?”

Harry pursed his lips. “I want them to know that…I’m okay. I have been receiving daily potions and feel almost better, physically at least.” He thought of Fred and the upcoming funeral. “I am grieving for everyone lost in the war.” He thought of Hermione and the tiny speck—now only the size of a fingernail—that would develop into their child. He thought of Remus, Tonks, Teddy and the stigma of lycanthropy. “But I have hope for the future. I want a world of equality, where our choices are not limited by our blood status, who our parents are, or by our appearance. I want acceptance for part-humans. I want a world where no one has to hide.”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “That’s an ambitious agenda. Much of the Wizarding World won’t take kindly to such bold pronouncements.”

“Then they can go back to calling me mad and a liar,” Harry returned, his voice even though it shook with purpose. “It was the fence-sitting that allowed Voldemort to rise to power twice. It’s time everyone in the Wizarding World takes a side. And I’m choosing mine.”

“Very well. I will honor your wishes.” Kingsley removed a plaque from his robes and handed it to him. On gold-embossed metal read the words Order of Merlin First Class. “Generally there is a big hub-ub when these are awarded, but I knew you wanted your space. It comes with a token payment of 50,000 galleons. If you are willing, I will include a small note of your acceptance in the Prophet .”

Harry traced his fingers across the letters carved into the gold. “I don’t want it,” he said flatly.

Kingsley wasn’t surprised. “Unfortunately that won’t endear you to the Wizengamot who awards them. If you want to champion for equity laws in the future, I would advise graciously accepting even if it isn’t generally your style. The Wizengamot have long memories, and they look to those who have earned their favor when deciding which laws to deliberate.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Politics suck.”

Kingsley laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.” He pulled a roll of parchment knotted with a neat string from an inside pocket of his cloak. “This, however, I think you will find more palatable. It’s your admission papers for auror training. Minerva let me know two years ago that you were planning to join the ranks.”

Harry took the parchment from him. Auror training! Everything he had ever dreamed of was in the palm of his hand! Kingsley was looking at him expectantly, a frown creasing his brow as Harry stared rather numbly at it. 

“C-Can I have some time to think about it?” Harry stammered. “There’s just…some stuff that I have to work out first.”

Harry was relieved when Kingsley didn’t press the issue. “Of course. Just let the head auror know your decision by the end of the week.”

Harry traced a finger across the wax seal. “Who is the head auror?”

Tonks gave him a beaming grin. “Me. Kingsley promoted me yesterday, starting Monday when I am back from maternity leave.”

Harry returned the grin. “That’s brilliant. Congratulations.”

Remus wrapped an arm around Tonks’s shoulders. “Well deserved, my dear. They couldn’t ask for a better head of department.”

Kingsley took his leave shortly after, and Harry heaved a breath of relief. It was nearing 8:00, and he hadn’t known how to wrap up the conversation in time to rush back to Hermione’s side. 

He returned to the kitchen to wait the last ten agonizing minutes. He held his auror admittance papers in his hands, feeling more than just the weight of the thick parchment as the weight of decisions settled on his shoulders. 

Tonks must have noticed his expression, for she put a hand on his shoulder. “I know there’s a lot to consider with Hermione’s pregnancy, and know I won’t have any hard feelings if you choose a different path.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know what I want,” he answered honestly. “I will need to talk to Hermione about it.”

“Of course.” Her eyes sparkled. “You two have a family after all.”

Harry returned the grin as Remus stood painfully from the table. He rubbed absently at the shoulder he had splinched and approached his wife. “I’m sorry, dear. The moon tonight is taking more out of me than usual. I better head back to bed.”

Tonks gave him a tight embrace. “I wish this wasn’t your burden to bear,” she whispered. 

Remus returned the hug. “You make it all the more bearable.”

At precisely 8:00, he bade Tonks and Andromeda farewell, pocketed his auror papers, and flooed to the Hospital Wing. Hermione was the sole patient, and the curtains were open. She was sitting up, the bed inclined to support her back. Abandoning the chair at her bedside, Harry sat next to her on the bed and greeted her with a simple kiss. “How are you, my love?”

Hermione grinned. “Better now that you’re here.”

The warm feeling was back in his chest. This was mature love, a far cry from the flip in his stomach or his jealousy over Ginny’s past boyfriends. This was borne of sacrifice and trial and a deep, lasting love. “Is everything healing ok?”

Hermione nodded. “Pomfrey said we are going to try for short walks around the Hospital Wing today. Once I can move without dizziness, I will be good to leave.” Her smile faltered. “I’m not sure where to go—”

“Home with me,” Harry said immediately. “I’m staying with Andromeda, Remus, and Tonks. They’ve already said you are welcome to stay as long as needed.”

Hermione visibly relaxed. “Please tell them thank you. I really didn’t want to go back to the Burrow, especially being pregnant. Mrs. Weasley would know immediately.”

Harry frowned. Wrapped up in the love and acceptance of Andromeda and the Lupins, he hadn’t thought about how their friends would react to the pregnancy, especially one out of wedlock. He looked down at the watch on his wrist. Mrs. Weasley had given it to him for his 17th birthday, and it was battered and bruised from the war. But it was still a relic of his first home. He certainly didn’t want to sever ties with the Weasleys but he also understood the delicate situation they were in. “Let’s just take this one day at a time,” he said. “We have time to figure it out once you are feeling better.”

Madam Pomfrey bustled over with another retinue of potions. She raised an eyebrow at Harry seated on the edge of Hermione’s bed but didn’t comment as she cast diagnostic spells over Hermione’s head and instructed Hermione to take the potions. “Now I will check the baby.” She pressed the tip of her wand lightly below Hermione’s belly button. A fast thumping noise sounded, accompanied by another line of runes. Harry and Hermione met each other’s shocked gaze. 

They were hearing their baby’s heartbeat for the first time. 

“Heartbeat is strong, placenta has good blood supply, and development is as expected. Considering that the first ten weeks of development were in the middle of a war, that is good news indeed.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Madam Pomfrey admonished Hermione to let her know if anything seems amiss and returned to her office. Harry traced her cheek with his fingers. Though he didn’t have the words to express the overwhelming joy filling him, she seemed to understand. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, the world around them dissolving into nothing. All that mattered was this moment—

He heard a strange choking noise. Harry looked up in confusion. 

Ron and Ginny were standing in the entrance to the Hospital Wing, gaping at Harry and Hermione with identical flabbergasted expressions.

Chapter Text

Ron and Ginny were standing in the entrance to the Hospital Wing, gaping at Harry and Hermione with identical flabbergasted expressions.

There was a heavy pause. Neither party seemed to want to make the first move. Ron was still gaping, his mouth open, but his face was steadily becoming redder and his fists were clenched. Ginny reached for her wand. Knowing it was quite likely Harry was about to be on the receiving end of a bat bogey hex and worried about what could happen to Hermione and his child if she were to miss, Harry conjured a nonverbal, wandless shield out of sheer panic. Ginny glared hard at him, her wand still pointed at him though she didn’t mutter the spell. 

Next to him, Hermione was struggling to sit up, though she did so with a gasp of pain. He immediately turned to her, noting how her breathing was becoming ragged and her face was twisted into a grimace. He pressed the button on Hermione’s bedside table. The matron appeared immediately, her eyes sweeping the Weasleys on one side of Harry’s shield and Harry and Hermione on the other. She swept over to Hermione and conjured a bubble charm over her mouth and nose. “Panic attack,” she muttered. “Take nice, deep breaths. That’s it. In and out. In and out.” She turned authoritatively to Harry, Ron, and Ginny. “Her condition is extremely delicate. She cannot be stressed or over excited. Visiting hours are now closed until a time when I feel she has sufficiently recovered. Out.”

“But Madam Pomfrey—”

“You too, Mr. Potter. I will send a floo message when I feel you can come back.”

Though he was tempted to disappear through the floo, he forced himself to walk to the entrance of the Hospital Wing, where Ginny was glaring daggers at him and Ron kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Ron opened his mouth but Harry put up a hand. “Not here,” he ordered. 

He led them down the corridor until he was sure they would be out of earshot. Distantly, crashes, shouts of spellcasting, and bangs could be heard as the crews worked on reconstruction of the castle. Unwilling to delay the inevitable, he turned to Ron and Ginny and said in a rush, “Hermione and I are together. We haven’t had a chance to tell you.”

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. “Obviously. Unless you make it a habit to kiss all witches out of the blue.”

Harry winced at the reference to his and Ginny’s first kiss. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “We are not together. We are not going to be together.”

“I waited for you for a full year!” she shouted, her face quickly becoming as red as her hair. She reached for her wand again, and Harry wandlessly disarmed her. The yew wand flew into Harry’s hand. 

“You can have it back when you aren’t going to curse me,” he said. Taking advantage of Ginny’s momentary silence, he continued, “A lot changes in one year, Gin. I’ve changed a lot in a year. Hermione’s been with me from the beginning—”

“Only because you wouldn’t let me come!” she shouted. 

“Exactly,” Harry said. The concession stopped her next argument and she stared at him in confusion. “I don’t get to order you around. I wasn’t a good boyfriend for you. You needed a partner, not a protector, and I wasn’t that for you. You deserve someone better than me.” Ginny had dropped her eyes to the floor beneath her feet as Harry continued. “Gin, you are beautiful and incredible. You’re smart and resourceful. You will find your person, and he will consider himself the luckiest man in the world to be with you. But that man isn’t me.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed in thought. Ron was breathing heavily, but Harry was grateful he hadn’t interrupted. 

But Ron’s face was twisted into something shockingly close to hatred. “She’s a sister to you, huh?” he mocked. “That’s what you told me. I didn’t realize that you were okay with snogging your sister’s face off!”

There was no way around it. “I lied,” Harry said. “I knew how much she meant to you and I just—”

Ron waved away the words. “Just what? Thought that going behind my back was somehow better?! I knew something was going on between the two of you. You led me on and made me think that there was one thing I could have that the ‘Great Harry Potter’ couldn’t.”

Harry had been trying to be reasonable, but all thoughts of maintaining the peace fled at Ron’s words. His temper pounded in his ears as he said, “You prat. Hermione is a person, not a ‘thing’ you can own. You will never be worthy of her. You proved it when you left.” He knew it was a low blow, but he had never felt so angry. His fingers twitched toward his wand but he resisted the urge.  

Ron looked like he wanted to hit him. Instead he spat what he probably felt was the worst off-the-wall insult he could think of. “Bet you enjoyed that, didn’t you, Potter? Probably shagged her in that tent the first chance you got. I wouldn’t be surprised if you knocked her up.”

Caught off guard, Harry couldn’t hide the flash of truth on his face. A flush creeped down his neck as Ginny raised her eyebrows at him and Ron took a step back, his angry eyes boring into his face. “Y-You did , didn’t you?” 

Harry dropped his gaze to Ron’s trainers. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out,” Harry whispered. “I—”

Harry’s words were silenced by Ron’s fist colliding with his jaw. Harry staggered backward, again fighting the urge to raise his wand against his best mate. He was awarded for his kindness by a second punch to his nose. Harry felt the bridge break and warm blood flood past his lips. The impact had knocked Harry’s glasses to the floor, and he squinted at the fussy outline of Ron, who was gearing up for another punch. 

“RON!” came a yell down the hallway. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Ron spluttered incoherently as Harry sank to his knees, pinching his nose to stem the flow of blood. Someone set his glasses gingerly onto his nose, and Bill Weasley’s face came into focus. Bill’s features were twisted in rage as he turned to Ron. “Get home and stay there. I’m telling Mum.”

Ron must have known better than to disobey Bill, whose part-lycanthropic status was glinting in his eyes. He spun on his heel and disappeared down the hallway. Ginny hesitated. Harry handed Ginny back her wand. “I’m sorry—” he started. 

But Ginny shook her head and knelt cautiously next to him. With a glance at Bill, she spoke cryptically. “No, I’m sorry, Harry. L-Let Hermione know that I’m here for her. I can’t imagine how she must feel. She’s only 18…” she trailed off, her eyes saddened. “Take good care of her— them— okay?”

“I will,” Harry whispered. “Thanks for understanding.”

She gave him a one-armed platonic hug and walked toward the exit, though in a much calmer way than Ron had.

Bill murmured a spell, and Harry's nose realigned with a snap. A second spell cleaned the blood from his face and clothes. “Thank you,” Harry said, followed by, “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at Gringotts?”

“It's my day off and Lupin asked me to cover for him. He was hoping they wouldn't dismiss him if he had a substitute during the moon.” His eyes hardened. “I'm glad I was here.  What’s Ron’s problem?”

Harry sighed. “Ron has a crush on Hermione and walked in on me kissing her in the Hospital Wing.” 

Bill rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Absolutely no excuse to hit you. What did he expect, leaving like he did? Of course the two of you would get closer. And he and Hermione would make a terrible couple. They are oil and water, which is why they bicker all the time. You and Hermione make a ton more sense.”

“He doesn't see it that way.”

Bill shrugged. “His problem.” He cracked his knuckles. “I think I’ll give him two punches of my own once I get off.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, knowing Bill's rage was a bit misplaced. And surely the entire Weasley clan would know in a matter of a few hours, if not minutes. “That's not all of it,” he confessed. “I…er…well, I got her pregnant.”

Bill’s face registered shock beneath the twisted scars. He whistled through his teeth. “Really?”

Harry nodded, his face warm. “I-It wasn’t on purpose,” he felt obligated to explain.

Bill rocked back on his heels and helped Harry stand. “You won't find any judgement from me or Fleur,” he said. “And you and Hermione are welcome at our cottage anytime. When is the baby due?”

“December 4th.”

“Do you need anything?” 

Harry frowned in thought. “Not right now. Andromeda is allowing us to stay at her place while Hermione recovers. And I don’t know for sure what we’ll do after that. Hermione barely found out about the pregnancy yesterday and I didn’t find out until two days ago, so we haven’t had much time to figure it out.”

Bill clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes kind. “When you need something—and there will come a time that you will—don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

“Ok. Thanks.”

“And I’ll talk to Ron. His behavior was still unacceptable.” He frowned. “Are you coming to the funeral tomorrow?”

“I was planning on it, but now—”

“Come anyway. Mum is going berserk with worry not seeing you. And George and I want you there. I’ll step in if Ron tries anything.”

Harry sighed. “He’s my best mate. I don’t want to lose him as my friend.”

“He needs to grow up. It’s time he learns that life isn’t an endless competition. We’re all sick of his pity parties. I admit that he got the short end of the stick growing up. We all could’ve been better, and Mum tended to dote on Ginny. But now we’re adults. We’re each in control of our choices. It’s time he starts acting like it.” Bill checked his watch. “I better get back to the crew, but know I’m in your corner.”

Bill disappeared down the corridor, and Harry took a moment to rub his jaw, feeling the swollen skin and beginnings of a purpling bruise. He returned to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey insisted that he not return until tomorrow: “I had to put her under dreamless sleep, the poor dear. Too much excitement for one day.” 

Feeling completely defeated, he took the floo back to Andromeda’s house. Tonks was rocking Teddy in the living room. She smiled at him, but that smile froze as she stared at his face. “What happened?”
With a sigh, Harry sat across from her and detailed the row with Ron and Ginny and Bill’s intervention. “I know I shouldn’t have lied to Ron. But what do I do now? I don’t want to lose my best mate.”

Teddy reached for him, and Harry took his godson from Tonks’s arms. He rocked him, Teddy’s hair turning black with blue tips. 

“I don’t think you need to do anything,” Tonks said. “Ron’s probably going to simmer out and feel ashamed by his behavior, especially after Bill gets through with him. If Ron chooses to cut ties, he’ll lose both of his best friends. I hope he’ll think long and hard before making that decision.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, the ticking of the clock in the kitchen the only sound. Teddy reached for the auror papers in Harry’s jacket pocket and he set them on the table before the infant had a chance to drool all over him. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to ‘Mione about auror training…Can I ask you a few questions about it?”

“Of course.”

“I know the training lasts three years, but what does it involve?”

“It’s a big commitment,” Tonks said honestly. “Training is six days a week, fourteen hour days. It involves physical and mental stamina exercises, studying law and procedure, and dueling practice. About ten percent of accepted applicants complete the entire program. Some are eliminated due to poor performance, but most applicants drop out of their own accord. Some nights I cried myself to sleep because I was so battered and bruised from training that I could barely walk. And I nearly quit four times. The only thing that kept me going was dogged Hufflepuff determination to see it through.”

“Are you glad you did it?” Harry asked. 

“I am. I can’t imagine doing anything else. It’s important work, and I want to do my part to make the world safe, and that’s especially true now that I have Teddy to protect.”

“If things were different and you had had Teddy before starting training, would you have still done it?”

Tonks considered for a moment before nodding. “It would’ve been harder. I would have needed to rely on family or a daycare for child care, especially if, say, I had met Remus while he was still teaching. But I believe it can still work. I’d want to finish so I could make the world safer for my child.”

Harry pondered that. “What about now? Do you think you’ll miss him when you go back?”

“Horribly. I’m already wishing I had all the time in the world with him. But I also need to work, not just for the finances—though that’s a big motivator—but also for me. I love being Teddy’s mum, but it’s not my entire existence. I can be a mum and the head auror, and I think Teddy will understand why his Mum is at work.”

Teddy gave her a toothless smile before closing his eyes contentedly. Harry cuddled him close to his chest. “It’s good to know it’s a possibility,” he said. 

Tonks nodded. “It takes some creativity and sacrifice, for sure, but you and Hermione are smart people. You’ll figure it out. The most important thing is making sure it is what you want to do.”

Harry frowned as another thought struck him. “Are you worried that one day you’ll be in a duel and not make it back home?”

“Of course. Part of an auror’s training is understanding the mortality rates of the job while also having the skills and tactics necessary to keep ourselves and our partners alive. It’s a dangerous job, and every auror has a will. But I also know—and Remus would agree—that auror work is my calling. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. My first act as head auror will be to implement field procedures to increase safety. We’ve had too many close calls due to the carelessness of head aurors who didn’t care who lived or died. I want my team to know that my first priority is that they get back home to their families.”

“You’re going to be a great leader,” Harry said sincerely. 

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Any other advice while Hermione and I figure out what to do?”

“The biggest thing is this: is this what you want? Do you see yourself in this career five years from now? Ten? Thirty? If the answer is no, then that’s okay. There are lots of important jobs, and you are a talented wizard. If fighting to protect the Wizarding World is what you still want to do, I will happily welcome you to my force. But it has to be what you truly want to do.”

Teddy spit up a bit, and Harry wiped his mouth with the edge of the blanket as he pondered Tonks’s words. Did he actually want to fight dark wizards his entire life? When he had first learned about being an auror, it had held a certain exclusivity and power to it. But he thought of facing Voldemort…Fred’s sightless eyes…Mrs. Weasley’s wails as she cried over his dead body…Hermione’s screams as she was tortured…

Inexplicably, Harry’s chest began to tighten. His breath came out ragged, and his head began to swim. 

“Harry?” Tonks asked, alarmed. 

Harry pushed Teddy back into Tonks’s arms as he struggled to breathe. Tonks was speaking to him, but his vision darkened at the corners and he fought a wave of panic. 

He couldn’t breathe.

“Mum! Help!” 

Someone knelt next to him, and Andromeda’s voice was calm and authoritative as she said, “Put your head between your knees, Harry. Deep breaths. Do them with me. In….Out….In….Out…In…Out…”

His ragged breathing gradually faded. The dizziness abated, and the tightness of his chest began to ease. He raised his head and looked into Tonks and Andromeda’s anxious faces. “What happened?”

“Panic attack,” Andromeda said simply. “Frankly I’m surprised it’s taken this long to have one.”

“Did something I say trigger it?” Tonks asked guiltily. 

Harry shook his head. “I was thinking about facing Voldemort. And Fred. And Mrs. Weasley crying in the Great Hall. And…Hermione being tortured.”

Andromeda squeezed his shoulder. Harry could feel the wet tears on his face, and he was grateful when neither she nor Tonks commented on it. “Wh-Why does this happen?” he asked shakily. 

“That’s a question probably best answered by a mind healer,” Andromeda said. “If I recall, Madam Pomfrey gave you a recommendation?”

Harry nodded. “I hadn’t scheduled it. There’s just been a lot going on.” And I was hoping I wouldn’t need it, he added mentally.

Andromeda seemed to understand what he wasn’t saying. “Ted and I both went to mind healers after the first war. It is very helpful, even if just to unpack what happened to a neutral party. And mind healers are bound by unbreakable vows to protect patient privacy. Nothing you say will ever be repeated.”

Harry absently chewed his top lip. “Okay. I’ll think about it.” He cast a guilty look at Tonks. “Will this disqualify me from auror training?”

Tonks shook her head. “We have a mind healer on staff so aurors can process what they’ve seen with her. She would be a great healer for you because she specializes in PTSD.”

“Would she see me even though I’m not an auror?”

“If she has space on her caseload, yes. I’ll ask her on Monday if you are comfortable with that?”

Harry nodded. He felt drained, and his head started to pound. “I’m going to lay down for a bit. If Madam Pomfrey sends a message, will you wake me up?”

“Of course.”

As Harry stared at the ceiling in his room, he thought about auror training. Do I really want to fight dark wizards my whole life? It was all he had ever known, but did he feel like it was his lifelong calling like Tonks did?

 No.

The thought gave him pause, and fear clenched his chest. Turning down his admittance would mean turning down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and the prophecy had made his destiny clear. 

The prophecy doesn’t rule your life anymore, his internal voice argued. 

But if I don’t want to be an auror, what do I do with my life? he argued back. 

There was no answer. I need Hermione , he thought. I can’t make this decision without her.

Chapter Text

The funeral was at 10:00. Harry had risen, eaten breakfast, and flooed to the Hospital Wing at 8:00, but Hermione was still sleeping. Madam Pomfrey explained that she had tried another potion safe for pregnant women in an effort to speed Hermione’s recovery, but Hermione’s magic had forcibly rejected the new regimen. Hermione had spent much of the night purging it from her system and had just gotten back to sleep around dawn. 

“This can be an unfortunate side effect of these regimens,” the matron had said. “There is no lasting damage, but she will be asleep until at least mid-day.”

Harry had returned to Andromeda’s home, where Remus was sleeping off the moon and Tonks, with dark circles under her eyes, rocked a wide-awake Teddy. “Do you need help?” Harry asked. 

Tonks nodded gratefully. “He doesn’t sleep at all on full moons and would squall every time I tried to lay him down. If this moon is anything like the last, he’ll fall asleep around mid-day and be out all night. It’s just getting to that point. And Remus suffered a pretty severe scratch. I put Teddy down long enough to clean it and seal it with dittany, but I really need to monitor it.”

Harry reached down and took his godson from Tonks’s exhausted arms. “Go ahead. I’ve got him. Is it okay if Andy and I take him to the funeral so you both can rest?”

“If you are okay with that, it’s fine with me. There are bottles in the fridge and a diaper bag in the closet by the door with everything you’ll need.” Her eyes were soft as she looked at Teddy. “Please pass our condolences to Arthur and Molly. I can’t imagine how terrible it is to lose a son.”

Harry felt an acute ache in his chest as he thought of the tiny mass of cells that would develop into his child. Though he couldn’t explain it, he knew that losing his little one would be the single worst thing that could ever happen to him. He cuddled Teddy closer. “I’ll let them know,” he said softly.

“Mum is at the shops but should be back soon,” Tonks said as she rose and tiredly shuffled to the bedroom she and Remus shared. She looked back at him gently rocking Teddy, and a smile played on her lips. “You are going to be an incredible father, Harry.”

Harry swallowed the tightness in his throat. “Thank you. I-I really hope so.”

Harry entertained Teddy with his rattle and a stuffed wolf until Andromeda returned with her arms laden with shopping bags. At 9:30, he set Teddy on the floor in his room while he changed into funeral attire. Though his school robes were now too small and his ratty muggle clothing from the war had seen better days, Andromeda had purchased him black trousers, a belt, and a black button down shirt for the occasion. She had explained that she would be wearing a muggle dress to honor her husband’s memory and asked if Harry would be okay if he was dressed likewise. Harry had enthusiastically agreed. He realized he preferred the ease of movement of the fabrics opposed to the stuffy dress robes with their tight collars and hems that would snag on the sparse brush growing around the Burrow. 

Andromeda had also purchased a tiny suit for Teddy, and Harry got the infant dressed after several attempts, a blown out diaper, and fresh spit up, which required ample use of the scourgify charm on the tiny vest and trousers. Finally with both of them dressed, he met Andromeda by the floo. His palms were sweaty, and he felt a spike of anxiety. Would Ron still hate him? Would Harry’s appearance be a distraction to Fred’s memory? Should he just stay home after all?

Andromeda seemed to read his mind. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m right here. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”

Feeling moderately comforted, he stepped into the floo and shouted, “The Burrow!” One nauseating spin later, he was stepping out of the grate. Teddy immediately vomited all over Harry’s black dress shirt. 

“You’ll need to get used to that eh, Harry?” said an amused voice. 

Harry cleaned his shirt and Teddy’s clothes with a murmured charm and turned toward the voice. George was in one of the chairs around the fireplace, and though he greeted Harry with a smile, his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles beneath. He was markedly thinner, and the carefree aura that had always surrounded him was gone, snuffed out like a candle’s flame. It was odd to see him alone, almost like he was half a person.

Harry found his voice. “It’s good to see you, George. H-How are you?”

George waved away the question. Behind them, Andromeda had stepped through the floo. She took Teddy in her arms and made her way to the kitchen where Molly undoubtedly waited. 

“I’ve been better,” George answered shortly. But that half-smile returned as he winked at Harry. “But I didn’t get a girl pregnant, so I ‘spose it could be worse.”

Harry wished he was still holding Teddy; he didn’t know what to do with his arms. “Everyone know then?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to sound nonchalant.

“I think the whole town knew after Ron and Bill’s row. Bill usually doesn’t get involved—usually leaves stuff to Mum—but not this. He told Ron if he even looks at you sideways, there’ll be two burials today instead of one.”

Harry winced. “I don’t want to distract from Fred—”

“You’re not,” George said, a true grin alighting his face. “If Fred were here, he’d be taking the mickey out of you, so now that’s up to me.” Harry eyed him warily as George’s eyes glinted. “So how was it?”

“How was…what?”

George rolled his eyes and waved an airy hand. “You know what : your wanton extracurricular activities.”

Harry felt his face heat up. “Um, that’s just between me and Hermione.”

“I don’t want a play-by-play,” George said with an eyeroll. “I just want an answer to my simple question.”

Feeling like an animal backed into a corner, Harry said, “Fine. It was fine.”

George snorted. “‘Fine?’ Only fine? You're that bad at it, huh?”

“No,” Harry interjected before he could stop himself. He flushed and pinched the bridge of his nose as George shook with laughter. “J-Just drop it, okay?”

George raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay…So when’s the wedding?”

Harry felt like the world had gone off-kilter. “Th-The wedding? What wedding?”

George raised an eyebrow. “ Your wedding. To Hermione. I don’t know what’s the norm in the muggle world, but in the wizarding world, the honorable thing for a bloke to do is to marry the witch carrying his child.”

Harry was momentarily speechless. Sure he had imagined him and Hermione together as she advanced in her pregnancy, had even visualized them both with wedding rings, but it somehow had never fully hit him that this was going to be a possible point of pressure by their friends. Was he and Hermione now expected to elope like Remus and Tonks had done? Is that even what Hermione wanted? Was it what he wanted? “W-We haven’t had a chance to talk about it. Hermione’s still in recovery from that curse.”

“According to Ron, there’s been plenty of time to talk. It’s just been taken up with snogging instead,” George returned lightly. 

Harry’s temper flared. “Look, Ron needs to just butt out—”

They were interrupted by Mrs. Weasley bustling into the room. Like George, she was markedly thinner, and her red hair was streaked with grey. But her smile was genuine as she embraced Harry. “Please come over more often, dear,” she said, her voice watery as she cupped his face with her hands. “And Hermione and your little one are welcome any time. We’ve always viewed you and Hermione as part of our family, and now our family is just getting a bit bigger.”

Harry was touched by her genuine, nonjudgmental love. “We will do that. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“And are you eating? Sleeping? Taking your potions?”

Harry was tempted to roll his eyes at her mollycoddling, but remembered he was an adult and the questions came from a good place. “Yes, Mrs. Weasley. I’m getting better slowly.”

Her eyes went misty. “Aren’t we all, dear. Aren’t we all.” She turned to George. “Your father has the plot ready and the Minister is here. We should…” she trailed off and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with an apron. 

Somehow looking like a wizened old man trapped in a young man’s body, George rose heavily to his feet. They were joined in the living room by Charlie—who clapped Harry on the shoulder in greeting—Bill and Fleur, Percy—who was looking almost worse than George and carried no hint of his characteristic pompousness—and Ron and Ginny. Ron refused to look at him and hovered in the back of the room. Ginny gave him a hug and said, “Hermione okay after yesterday?”

Harry nodded, then amended. “I haven’t seen her yet today. I’m going back this afternoon.”

Mr. Weasley opened the front door. His face had more lines, and he was now nearly completely bald instead of balding. There was dirt on his palms and the knees of his pants. Harry realized that Mr. Weasley, like he had done with Dobby, had chosen to dig the grave the muggle way rather than using magic. Mr. Weasley rubbed his forehead with a hand and surveyed his family in the living room. He opened his mouth to speak once or twice but no sound came. Tears spilled down his face, and he shook his head. He waved his hand to beckon them outside. 

Wishing that there had been some way, any way to change Fred’s fate, Harry followed Andromeda and Teddy as they crested a rise behind the Burrow. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Angelina Johnson were there, standing to the side of a translucent crystal casket. 

Someone—probably Mrs. Weasley—had cleaned the blood and grime of the battle from Fred’s face. He was dressed in his dragon hide jacket over his Wheezy’s robes. His eyes were closed, and the ghost of his last laugh was still on his face. 

George staggered forward and collapsed next to the casket, his breath coming in horrible, wracking sobs. Angelina knelt next to him and put a hand on his arm as tears pooled into her lap. Feeling completely helpless to do anything, Harry cast his eyes to the ground beneath his feet. 

Fred didn’t need to die. 

If Harry had gotten to Voldemort faster, he would still be here. 

If Harry had been smarter and stronger, he could have destroyed all the horcruxes before the final battle. 

If Harry had sacrificed himself in the forest earlier, Fred wouldn’t have died. 

If…If…If…

That tightness in his chest was back, accompanied by darkness pulling at his vision. Andromeda put a hand on his shoulder and turned him away from the casket. “Breathe, Harry. Nice deep breaths. Do them with me. In, out. In, out.”

The tightness began to ease, and he blinked the spots away from his vision. “You okay?” Andromeda asked. 

“No,” he said honestly, turning and staring at Fred’s lifeless face in the casket. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ok.”

She kept an arm around his shoulders as the Minister presented Mrs. Weasley with a posthumous Order of Merlin, Third Class with Fred’s name on the plaque. Mrs. Weasley’s eyes were dry, but Harry knew it wasn’t due to a lack of caring. Some grief was too strong for tears. 

George had not risen from his place next to the casket. He rested his arms on the top and buried his face in them. Angelina remained by his side, rubbing his shoulders and whispering comforting words.

“Before the casket is lowered, if you wish to come forward and offer words either to the group or to Fred, please do so,” Kingsley said.

There was a pause. Bill had been embracing Fleur but left her side to approach the casket. “Fred always knew what to do to get us to laugh,” he said. “I remember how he welcomed Fleur into the family at a time when not everyone did the same. He told me if I had to rebel, at least I did it by bringing a blonde bombshell into our family.”

Fleur rolled her eyes as the group chuckled and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny shared a guilty look. Bill placed a hand on the casket. “Goodbye, little bro. See you when I get there.”

Percy came forward next. Unlike Bill, he didn’t address the group and instead spoke to the casket, though his voice could still be heard. “It should’ve been me,” he told Fred. “You stuck with the light, you did everything you were supposed to. I didn’t. If I could take your place, I would. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should just join you.”

Harry felt a pang in his heart. The feeling must have been echoed by George, for he looked up at Percy and said, “We need you here, Perce. We can’t lose anyone else.”

Percy removed his horn-rimmed spectacles and rubbed his eyes. Like Mrs. Weasley, they were dry, but it wasn’t from a lack of feeling. Percy returned to the group and Ron went forward, studiously avoiding looking at Harry. Like Percy, Ron spoke only to Fred’s body. “You transfigured my teddy into a spider. I’ll never forgive you for that.” He gave a watery chuckle. “But you were a really good brother. I-I hope you’re okay, wherever you are.”

As Ron passed them, Harry moved forward with Andromeda at his side. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough. I’m sorry this happened. But, knowing you, you wouldn’t want me to apologize.” He put a palm on the casket. “Give Padfoot and Prongs my love.” His throat was tight. “And my Mum. And all-all the others. I don’t know if you know, but I’m going to be a dad. And I know you’d want my kid and Teddy to be the start of the next generation of marauders.” A smile quirked his lips as he thought of George grilling him in the living room. “Well, mischief managed.”

Harry took Teddy from Andromeda as she drew her wand over the casket. There was a tangible shift in the air as she spoke a spell that was half-words, half-song. The crystal shimmered slightly then returned to its translucent color. She turned to the Weasley parents. “I evoked ancient magic to preserve the grave as hallowed ground. It also extends protection to everyone in the deceased family. As long as there is unity amid grief, the blessing is of prosperity, healing, and hope.”

Mr. Weasley nodded soberly. “Thank you Andromeda.”

They returned to their places.  As one, the Weasley parents and Ginny moved forward. Ginny was openly weeping and leaned against her mother for comfort. They spoke no words as Arthur embraced his wife, his tears flowing from his cheeks into her hair. For a long minute they held each other as Ginny went to George’s other side and embraced him. 

Mr. Weasley pulled slightly away and tilted his wife’s chin up. “I knew the day we were married that our lives would not always be filled with sunshine. The dark would come. I am so, so grateful that I have you to help me through this.”

“I don’t think I can,” Mrs. Weasley choked, burying her face in his chest. 

“I know,” Arthur whispered, an effulgent love clouded by grief in his eyes. He looked to Fred’s casket. “You raised a fine young man who stood for the light. He was brave and strong and kind. I have no doubt that he is continuing his mischief on the other side…It’s all dark now, but the sun will come, and we will be here to greet the morning together.”

They stepped back from the casket as Kingsley soberly stepped forward. “We will now lower the casket.” He gestured to a collection of shovels. “Arthur has asked that we refill the mound using non magical means. If you are physically able, please take a shovel and return the earth to its resting place.”

While Andromeda held Teddy, Harry moved forward and took a shovel. Kingsley magically lowered the casket into the ground. It made a soft flump as it landed, and Harry was struck by the finality of it all. It felt like a bad dream as he shoveled dirt over Fred’s casket, ignorant of the exertion on his arms and shoulders or the sweat on his brow. 

Though his daily retinue of potions had started the healing process, his lack of physical stamina was apparent. But Harry didn’t stop. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he had to finish this. Giving up and stepping away would be an insult to Fred’s memory. 

Bill and Percy worked alongside him. On Bill’s other side, Fleur was likewise filling the grave, her nose blotchy and her eyes downcast. Angelina worked in tandem with George, whose movements were somehow both trembling and robotic. 

Little by little, the grave filled and the dirt was mounded on top. With a murmured spell, Kingsley conjured a headstone with Fred’s name, birthdate, and “mischief managed” written in curling script. There was silence, except for the pants of exertion as everyone struggled to catch their breath. Like Harry, no one had stopped despite their fatigue.  

At this moment of parting, no one seemed to know what to do. Sweat had replaced the tears, but there was still a haunted shadow in everyone’s eyes. 

Harry had felt grief before. Losing his godfather had shattered him. Seeing Colin and Lavender’s lifeless bodies in the Great Hall had killed something inside him. But nothing, nothing destroyed him quite like the shared grief of a family he loved so deeply. 

For a fleeting moment, he considered telling George about the resurrection stone. He thought about scavenging the forest floor until he found it and then calling Fred back just once, just for a few minutes. Maybe an hour. 

But a logical side of his brain that had a Hermione-esque quality quelled the notion. The “Tale of the Three Brothers” had been abundantly clear about what could happen when the dead were called back to their world, and he shuddered at the thought of Death taking any other Weasleys for his own. 

George was the first to move away from the mound, doing so with squared shoulders that nevertheless shook with suppressed emotion. Within two strides, Angelina had come to his side. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley followed, Bill and Fleur joining them. Harry and Andromeda joined the back of the queue as Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny fell in line. Teddy was sleeping soundly in Andromeda’s arms. 

As they approached the Burrow, Andromeda said, “I am going to put Teddy down at home and check on Tonks and Remus. Stay as long as you would like.”

Feeling like he was missing his left arm as Andromeda gave Mrs. Weasley a final hug and stepped through the floo, Harry made his way to the familiar scrubbed table. He took his usual place, but Ron turned away from the empty seat next to him. Instead, Percy took the space, his eyes downcast. 

It was unusually quiet. In a home that was usually bustling with shouts and laughter, it was even more noticeable. Harry fidgeted and wiped his sweaty hands on his palms. Mrs. Weasley must have had a pot under a warming charm, for soup began to serve itself into bowls and a knife began cutting and buttering large slices of freshly baked bread. There was a murmur of thanks as everyone tucked into the meal, though no one did so with the gusto you might have expected after all the shoveling. 

George took two bites before aimlessly moving his spoon around in the bowl, catching a carrot on the end and letting it fall back into the broth. Abruptly, he stood and reached into a cabinet. He removed a bottle of firewhiskey, and his voice was gruff as he said, “I’ll be in our— my —old room.”

Harry reached across the table and put a hand on top of the bottle before George could disappear upstairs. “Not like this,” Harry said, aware that the entire table had gone still as they looked between the two. “Fred wouldn’t want you to drown his memory.”

Ron spoke to Harry for the first time that day, his face twisted in anger. “What do you know?” he snarled. “He wasn’t your brother.”

“He was as good as,” Harry said, using the same phrase Mrs. Weasley had said to Sirius when Sirius had said Harry wasn’t her son. Amid the ringing silence, George’s hand had lost its death grip on the firewhiskey, and Harry gently set it on the table. He turned to Ron. “You can hate me for what happened between me and Hermione. That’s your choice, but your family is the closest thing to family I ever had. I know a little something about making choices I wasn't ready for, and I will not sit here and let George drink his life away. If we are going to honor Fred’s memory, we’re going to do it the right way.”

Ginny returned the firewhiskey to the cupboard as George collapsed back at the table and Ron averted his eyes. “I just don’t know what to do now,” George muttered. 

“You’re reopening the shop on Monday,” Harry said, purpose filling him. “I’ll be there as early as you need and do whatever you need.”

But George shook his head. “The Death Eaters ransacked it while we were in hiding. It will take days to clean up, restock, and put back together.”

Harry pushed his chair away from the table. “Then let’s go.”

George stared at him. “Now?”

“Why not?” Harry challenged. “We can drown our sorrows in alcohol or we can go out and make Fred proud. I know which one I’d rather do.”

Ginny stood. “I’ll come.”

Bill and Fleur rose. “We’ll come.”

The rest of the Weasleys came to their feet, united in purpose. With a flourish of her wand, Mrs. Weasley cleaned up the table. Another second later, the Weasleys, Angelina, and Harry had apparated in front of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The colorful storefront had been ripped to shreds, the windows shattered. They stepped gingerly inside as George waved his wand to light the candles overhead. Dust hung in the air as they surveyed the spoiled goods and overturned shelves. George rested a palm on the counter and turned to Harry. “Do you really think this is what Fred would want?” he murmured.

Harry nodded. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. He clapped his hands together, suddenly boss-like. “Alright, gang. This isn’t going to be easy. Repair what you can. Vanish anything broken. Put salvageable merchandise on the counter, if there is any.”

They spread throughout the shop. Harry chose a location near the back and repaired the purple shelves hanging by one screw. To his surprise, Ron appeared next to him. 

“You got your wand back,” he observed. “I thought it wasn’t fixable.”

Harry ran his thumb across the holly wand’s handle and dropped his voice. “I repaired it with the Elder Wand.”

Ron quietly whistled through his teeth. “It can do that? That’s one powerful wand.”

“It was until I snapped it,” Harry finished lightly. 

Ron looked like he had been slapped. “Y-You what?!” he hissed, keeping his voice low. 

“I snapped it. I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.” Harry turned his attention to applying a cleaning charm on a dusty window. 

“I would’ve kept it, but you were always the better man,” Ron muttered, his voice bitter. 

Harry realized this wasn’t about the Elder Wand. “I’m not a better man,” he said. “I’m just a person. A person who makes mistakes. A person who lied to his best friend. This isn’t a competition. It’s just about us living our lives the best way we know how. Things are going to look very different from here on out, but that’s okay.”

Ron sniffed and scuffed his sneaker on the dirty floor. “I’m sorry I hit you.” He blew air out of his cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad at 18.”

The familiar nervousness stirred Harry’s stomach. “Yeah. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

Ron grimaced. “I guess I didn’t think about that too much. I was too angry about the…yeah…”

Harry thought of Teddy’s occasional incessant crying and more-than-occasional exploded nappies. “Trust me, the fun part’s over. The rest is just a whole lot of work.”

Ron snorted, his face red. “Too much information, mate. You can keep that to yourself.” He flicked his wand at a pile of broken vials, and they vanished in a puff of smoke. Harry followed suit with a broken crate of moldy Skiiving Snackboxes. 

“So are we good then?” Harry asked cautiously. 

Ron leaned against the wall. “Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes on the destroyed shop. “Some stuff matters more, like…like family a-and friendship…and life is too short.”

“Yeah it is,” Harry whispered. 

Across the shop, Molly watched her two boys as they spoke. Though she chose not to listen to the words, she smiled with satisfaction as Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and Harry said something that made Ron snort with laughter. In a matter of minutes, they were brothers again. 

Arthur appeared at Molly’s side and kissed the top of her head. “Our sons have mended their differences?” At Molly’s nod, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “Are you excited to welcome our first grandchild in December?”

Molly’s smile broadened. Harry and Hermione had chosen a hard road, but they were smart and talented and united. They would be just fine. 

“I’m counting down the days,” Molly answered.

Chapter Text

“I can’t wait for you to see the shop, ‘Mione,” Harry said enthusiastically as he sat at her bedside the following morning. He had just finished recounting the long night he, the Weasleys, and Angelina had spent restoring the shop to its former glory. “George has started creating stock, and he’s ready for a soft launch on Monday. Angelina will be running the counter with him.”

Hermione palmed his cheek with one hand. “You kept George from making a terrible mistake. You really did.”

Harry shrugged self-abashedly. “I couldn’t watch him self-destruct.”

They settled into companionable silence. Outside the Hospital Wing windows, birds were twittering madly and Harry could just make out Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the forest. Though it had been burned at the end of Harry’s sixth year, he was relieved to see that it had been restored. Dimly he could hear the continued hammering of the construction crew as they rebuilt the castle. Soon the castle would be ready for a bright future. 

Harry smiled as he looked at Hermione’s chocolate eyes, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and her curly hair. She raised herself to a sitting position and looked at him. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Everything is becoming new again. Voldemort’s gone. The Death Eaters are being rounded up. The future looks bright.”

Hermione gave him an understanding nod, though her eyes were sad. She rotated her wrists where the scars bearing the word Mudblood stood out in horrid detail in the flesh of her arms. “It’s not without pain, though. People are grieving. Our world is still full of prejudices.”

Harry carefully traced the scars with a finger then covered one of the words with his palm. “The future is bright but not perfect,” he clarified. “But we’re here. We’re together. And I think that’s pretty amazing.”

They shared a tender kiss, and Harry thought back to George’s question about their wedding. If I spend every day of the rest of my life with her, it still won’t be enough, Harry realized. And Mrs. Hermione Jean Potter has quite a ring to it.

“Madam Pomfrey said I can be released today after she does a final checkup,” Hermione said. 

Her words pulling him back to the present, Harry squeezed her hands tightly. “That’s great!”

“I’ll need a lot of help for a while,” she admitted. “I still can’t walk and stand for a long time without bouts of dizziness, and the morning sickness doesn’t help.”

Harry grimaced. “You’ve been sick?”

“Off and on.” She gestured to a book on her nightstand. “And I read in What to Expect When a Witch is Expecting that morning sickness is really a misnomer. It can happen any time. And I get it a lot, especially if it’s been a few hours since I’ve eaten.” 

Harry picked up the navy blue book. It had bits of parchment sticking out in intervals in the pages. 

“I’m only about ⅔ of the way through, but it’s really fascinating from a biological perspective. Did you know that right now our baby is about the size of an apricot?”

Harry blinked. “Really? Already?”

Hermione stifled a laugh at his expression. “Did you think they would just stay tiny forever? The pregnancy is over a quarter of the way over…Harry?...Harry?”

The book had fallen from Harry’s limp fingers as he gaped at Hermione.  A quarter way over. Time was passing far too quickly, and there was still so much to do, so many choices to make! The familiar tight, constricting feeling enveloped his lungs and he forced himself to take a deep steadying breath. 

Hermione was looking at him with concern. Taking another breath, he said, “Sorry. It’s just so… soon .”

Her expression softened and she took his hand in hers. “I know.” She took his hand and placed it on her navel. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “I know nothing about how to be a mum. I’ve never even babysat.”

“I’m getting a lot of practice with Teddy. I’ll teach you everything I’ve learned so far,” he returned, rubbing his hand along her flat abdomen. “We’ll figure it out together, and Andromeda, Tonks, and Remus will be there to help too.”

“And the Weasleys,” Hermione said with a smile. 

“And the Weasleys,” Harry echoed. 

Harry brushed his lips against hers. He was sure he would never tire of the velvet feel of her lips as she sighed softly and deepened the kiss. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and his hand dropped to her waist. 

“YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT JUST HAPPENED!” came a joyful shout from across the wing. Harry and Hermione broke apart as Ron sprinted to the end of Hermione’s bed. He rolled his eyes at Harry and Hermione. “Didn’t you already make a baby? What’s all the snogging for?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, your parents had seven children and I’m sure they are still snogging.”

“And practicing making more babies,” Harry added with an innocent expression. 

Ron made a gagging noise. “Okay, forget I said anything.” Unable to contain his excitement any longer, he removed a roll of parchment from the pocket of his robes. “Look at this! It’s admittance papers to auror academy! Kingsley just dropped them by.” Ron rounded on Harry. “You got it too, didn’t you?”

Harry hesitated. “Ron, I—”

“Of course you did,” Ron continued, answering his own question. “They’d be insane not to take you. We’ll do it together! I wonder if they’ll team us up for missions? I hear Tonks is the head auror now. I wonder what working with her will be like?”

“Ron—”

“Apparently they are giving the trainees field work right away as they round up the rest of the Death Eaters and the people in the Ministry who were persecuting muggleborns. Can you imagine if I get a chance to arrest Umbridge? That would be wicked!”

Hermione was looking at Harry with a questioning gaze as Harry tried to hide his apprehension. She turned to Ron and spoke when he stopped to take a breath. “Ron, that’s an incredible honor. I’m very proud of you, and you deserve it. You’ll be a great auror.”

Ron beamed at her. Harry fought a twinge of jealousy but realized there was nothing romantic about the action. “Thanks, Hermione!” he said. “Can you believe it? Well maybe you can after all we’ve been through, but I thought they’d at least make me sit my NEWTS but Kingsley said the auror academy instructors will fill in gaps as we go, though we might have to do some outside study. Harry, we can help each other study! I hear the physical stamina training is hard too, but I’m honestly kind of excited. Some of those aurors have really great muscles, you know? Harry, you don’t need to find a girl, but I do! And some muscles couldn’t hurt.”

As Hermione stifled giggles over Ron’s exuberance. Harry desperately tried to think of a way to let Ron down easily. He briefly considered playing along and then sending the Tonks’s owl with a note a few days later. But he had learned from his lie about his feelings toward Hermione just how hurtful dishonesty was to their friendship. He gathered his courage and said, “‘Mione’s right. You’re going to be a great auror. But…I’m not going to be there.”

Ron’s eyes widened in shock. “Kingsley didn’t let you in?”

“He did,” Harry answered. He removed his papers from the inner pocket of his jacket and held them up. “But I’m going to turn it down. I don’t want to be an auror anymore.”

There was a heavy silence. Hermione brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “Harry, you shouldn’t say no to this just because I’m pregnant. We’ll figure it out. You don’t need to sacrifice your future.”

The only future I want is the one with you and our child in it, Harry thought. Out loud he said, “It isn’t because of the pregnancy. Fighting dark wizards is all I’ve ever known, and I don’t want to do it for the rest of my life. I realized that when I was talking with Tonks.”

Ron sat on the foot of Hermione’s bed and blew the air from his cheeks. “What will you do instead?” he asked, casting his eyes around the Hospital Wing as if the answer were written on the ceiling. 

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “I want to make a difference. I want to go to work and enjoy it. I want to go home each night to my kid. But all I know is that whatever I end up doing, it isn’t auror work.”

Ron cast his eyes to the parchment in his hands, his voice bitter. “But if you don’t come, does that mean that I didn’t really earn this? Maybe I only got it because I’m Harry Potter’s sidekick.”

“Kingsley doesn’t play favorites,” Harry interjected. “He gave you those papers because he knows you have what it takes to be a great auror. You and Lee took down Greyback. You killed horcruxes. You fought in the war. You deserve those papers. You earned them, Ron. No one else. And you don’t need me to be in the same program. You’re going to do great all on your own.”

A smile tugged at Ron’s face and he looked over the paperwork in his hand. “Yeah, you’re right. I am pretty good at this stuff, huh?”

“Well don’t let it get to your head,” Harry said, balling up his parchment and lobbing it in Ron’s direction. Ron caught it easily and sent it back. Harry plucked it out of the air with a seeker’s speed and vanished it with his wand. 

 Madam Pomfrey bustled over with a trunk full of potions. “You are free to go, dear,” she said to Hermione. She handed Harry a thick roll of parchment. “Here are the care instructions, symptoms to watch out for, as well as recommendations for an obstetric healer to monitor the rest of the pregnancy. Ms. Granger’s only job for the next several weeks is to continue to heal and gradually increase in independence over time. I expect you to be all-hands-on-deck for her care.” 

Harry took the parchment and committed to reading through every word. “Hermione can count on me.”

Madam Pomfrey gave him a searching look. She must have detected no guile in his gaze, for she nodded in satisfaction. “Good.” She turned to Hermione. “I have a spare set of robes in the cupboard behind you. Once you have changed out of your hospital gown, you will be free to go.”

“I’ll help you change,” Harry said automatically. 

A blush appeared on Ron’s cheeks. He slapped his knees and stood. “And that’s my cue. I promised George I’d help make snackboxes and invisible hats today. Mum invited you both to Sunday brunch next week.”

“We’ll be there,” Hermione said. “Good luck, Ron. Be ready to tell us all about your first week of training.”

As Ron waved and headed toward the front doors of the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey closed the curtains around Hermione’s bed. Hermione leaned heavily on Harry’s arms as she rose to a sitting position and then a standing position. Harry worriedly watched her arms tremble as she moved in a shuffling turn so he could untie the back of the hospital gown. It fell to the floor as he reached for the navy robes in the cabinet. He kept one arm wrapped around Hermione’s waist as she pulled the robes over her head. She swayed alarmingly and Harry guided her back to the hospital bed. 

He opened the curtains and noted that Hermione was panting from the exertion. “This…shouldn’t be…so…hard.” 

“It will come,” Harry said. He took the wide-toothed comb from the bedside table and worked it through her curls. He took his time, carefully working through a tangle until the locks were glossy and smooth. Hermione’s eyes were closed in satisfaction, and Harry ran his fingers through her hair. “Your hair is amazing,” he whispered. 

Hermione hummed as he continued working the comb through her curls. “I really like you doing this,” she said. 

“I’ll do it every day for the rest of our lives if you want,” he replied easily. 

She turned to face him, her eyes vulnerable. “You mean that? You won’t, um, get tired of this?”

Harry shook his head. “I enjoy it too,” he admitted. “It makes me happy. Helping you makes me happy.” He shrunk the trunk with the potions and pocketed the instructions before gently raising Hermione to her feet. They slowly made their way to the floo and returned to the Tonks residence. 

Andromeda rose to meet them as Harry helped Hermione step over the grate. She took Hermione’s other side and directed her toward the bedroom on the left. “My home only has four bedrooms. Remus and Tonks are in one, Teddy in another. Then there is Harry’s room and my room. Are you okay with sharing with Harry? If not, we could—”

“That sounds wonderful as long as it is fine with you, Mrs. Tonks,” Hermione said politely. 

Andromeda’s eyes sparkled as she saw Harry’s innocent expression that didn’t hide the blush on his cheeks. “What happens behind closed doors is none of my business, and you are both adults. I’m happy to have you here as long as you need—your entire pregnancy and beyond if necessary.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, the relief evident in her voice. “I imagine we will be getting our own place eventually, but it’s nice to know that we don’t have to rush. I’m not quite ready for the rest of the Wizarding World to know about the pregnancy, and if Harry and I start looking for a place together, it is going to spark all sorts of speculation.”

As she spoke, Harry raised the hand that wasn’t steadying Hermione and stifled a yawn.

“We can catch up later. You should both rest,” Andromeda said authoritatively. “Harry, you haven’t slept since the funeral.”

Harry was too tired to argue. He pulled back the duvet and eased Hermione onto his bed as Andromeda slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Harry removed his shoes and slid beneath the blankets. Hermione closed the space between them and laid her head on his shoulder contentedly. Harry’s hand rested on her navel, and he closed his eyes. 

He was almost asleep when Hermione raised her head and said, “Harry, can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm?”

She bit her lip. “If you could go back in time and change the past, do you think you would intervene before we had a chance to make love and get pregnant?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “I-I’m not sure how to answer that,” he said. 

“I would change it if I could,” she confessed, her eyes on the duvet. “I don’t feel ready for this. I love you. I love being in a relationship with you, but I wish we had waited to get physical. I feel like I jumped in with both feet and now the water is completely over my head.”

Harry tightened his arms around her. “I understand,” he whispered. “I feel like the days are slipping by too quickly. I worry that I won’t be a good dad. I don’t want my baby to grow up like I did. And I definitely wasn’t ready for intimacy. But we made a choice, and we are here. We might be drowning now, but we aren’t alone. We have each other and our friends to help us through.” 

Hermione laced her fingers through his, their clasped hands resting on her stomach. “You’re right. Thank you for being the voice of reason.”

“It’s not very often the voice of reason comes from me,” Harry said with a chuckle.

They fell blissfully asleep in each other's arms, completely ignorant of an owl that flew through the kitchen with a letter clasped in his beak. Knowing that Harry’s mail was still being screened by the aurors, Andromeda nevertheless scanned the letter for tracking spells before taking the envelope and seeing the addressee: 

Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Hermione Granger

c/o Andromeda Tonks

Devon

The letter opened magically at her touch. The words Court Summons for Testimony headed the parchment, accompanied by the seal of the Wizengamot in the corner. Worried for the two young adults in her care, Andromeda scanned the contents of the letter and the details of the summons. Her hands shook as she read the long list of crimes that the accused was facing. 

If the Wizengamot makes them testify, the entire Wizarding World will know about the pregnancy by the end of the week, Andromeda thought, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke to Hermione’s hair tickling his nose. He smiled and kissed the top of her head before sliding out of the blankets. He glanced at his watch. 5:43 am. He and Hermione had been asleep over sixteen hours. 

Careful not to wake her, Harry tiptoed to the wardrobe and changed into a clean tshirt and jeans. In the sunlight that filtered behind the navy curtains, Harry could see the cursed scars on Hermione’s arms. 

Mudblood.

His contentment fled, and rage unlike anything he had ever felt filled him, urging revenge on those responsible. He couldn’t do anything about Bellatrix of course—Mrs. Weasley had seen to that—but there were others who were culpable, others who stood and watched as the force of Hermione’s screams shook dust from the rafters. 

The Malfoys would pay for this. He would make Lucius beg for death, and it wouldn’t come quickly. He would wait until his cries exceeded even that of Hermione’s. And then he would kill him. It would be easy. Harry knew the spell, and the hatred required to power it was pounding in his veins. 

Then he would go after Draco and Narcissa. Perhaps not as guilty as Lucius, they were nonetheless cowards who had stood by. Their deaths would be quicker, but Harry would make them watch as the light left Lucius’s eyes. He would stand above them, wand raised as they realized with horror that they were next. 

Azkaban would be a blessed place of rest compared to what Harry would do. And Harry would make sure they had no rest. 

His hand twitched toward his wand. He removed it from the nightstand, tracing the holly handle. He wished it was the Elder wand. Surely with a wand that powerful, he would have been able to track the Malfoys in hours, if not minutes. 

He cursed his weakness. 

But he still had to act, even without the Elder wand. He set his jaw and crept out of the bedroom. The house was still, even Teddy seemed to be asleep. Wandlessly he flicked his wrist, and a backpack from the coat closet flew into his hand. In another moment, he had filled the pack with water and food. 

There was a soft cough and gentle movement of springs in the neighboring bedroom. Someone was awake, and Harry needed to be long gone before they realized what he had done. Shouldering the pack, he walked to the front door and tapped the deadbolt with his wand. It slid back with a soft click. 

The morning was chilly, and dew clung to the grass and his shoes as he marched across it. He was nearly to the edge of the shimmering wards when he turned back to look at the modest home. He yearned to return to Hermione’s side, but he couldn’t. As long as the Malfoys were out there, they were a threat. Surely Lucius was even now claiming that his actions had been the result of the imperius curse. It had saved his murdering neck in the last war, and Harry knew the old defense—paired with generous payments from the Malfoys’ vaults—would keep him out of trouble again. 

No matter. Harry would get to them first. And he would be impossible to pay off. Rage building to a crescendo, he took a step forward, his focus on Malfoy Manor’s heavy oak doors. 

There was the customary crack and tight constriction, but instead of appearing at Malfoy Manor he fell painfully back to the dewy earth. 

The fall had knocked the wind out of him and the glasses from his face. As he struggled for breath, a shadow stepped into his line of vision. In sheer panic, he pulled out his wand. The stranger disarmed him, catching the wand smoothly. Harry lurched to his feet, raising his fists to defend himself from whatever person would dare stand in his way. He blindly threw a punch once, twice, three times. Each time the stranger neatly sidestepped him or moved just out of reach of his fists.  

The stranger muttered a charm, and his arms and legs snapped to his sides. Immobile, Harry was completely helpless as the stranger placed his glasses upon his nose. 

Remus Lupin came into focus. His eyes were full of sorrow, and he spoke in a low, gentle voice as if he was calming a dangerous wild animal. “Harry, why are you leaving?”

Realizing the reason for Remus’s downcast expression, Harry found his voice. “I’m not leaving Hermione and my child. That’s not what’s happening.”

Remus pointed to the backpack, which had split at the seam and spilled the food across the grass. “Then what is this?” he asked, his voice low and even. 

Harry’s breathing was ragged as the rage overtook him again. “I’m tracking down the Malfoys. They can’t…they hurt…they…deserve…” Harry couldn’t speak, and his fists were clenched. 

Remus had gone slightly pale, but his voice was no less even when he said, “They deserve what, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes were hard as he met Remus’s gaze. “They don’t deserve to live.”

Remus was a little too late to cover his shock. There was the sound of shuffling footsteps, and Andromeda appeared with mussed hair, tying a robe over her pajamas. She looked at Remus kneeling next to an immobilized Harry. “What’s going on?”

“Mental health crisis. Will you floo call Janelle? Hopefully she’s available.”

Andromeda hustled back into the home as Harry turned furious eyes on Remus. “I’m not having a mental health crisis.”

Remus grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to his feet. “You are,” he said softly. “And I am going to do everything it takes to help you get through this. Don’t make a mistake that will ruin your entire life. Murdering three people will do nothing but put you in a cell in Azkaban.”

Harry cast his eyes to the ground. “I hate them,” he whispered. “They stood there and watched while Hermione was tortured. They deserve to pay.”

Remus sighed, looking every one of his thirty-seven lycanthropic years. “I know. But sometimes life doesn’t award evil with what it deserves.”

“It will today.”

“It won’t,” Remus returned firmly. “That is for the courts to decide. That is not your job. Your job is to heal.”

“It is my job if I become an auror,” Harry retorted. 

Remus looked at him in surprise. “I thought you told Dora you were turning it down?”

“I did. But I don’t know now, okay?” Harry snapped, his throat constricting. “Everything is happening too fast. It’s too much. It’s too—” His words were smothered by Remus enveloping him in a hug so tight he thought his ribs would crack. 

And Harry cried.

He sobbed into Remus’s cardigan, completely unaware that Remus had quietly ended the charm locking his arms and legs. Harry clung to him like a child to his father as he shook and trembled. 

He didn’t know how long he was in the embrace, but he knew Remus wouldn’t step away until Harry showed he was ready. Eventually, Harry pulled away and wiped the tears from his face. 

Andromeda was standing a few meters away next to a blonde, middle-aged woman with kind blue eyes. She approached him now and held out her hand to shake. “Harry, I’m Janelle Wilkins. I believe Tonks told you about me.”

Harry eyed her. “You’re the mind healer?”

She nodded. “I work in the auror department and I specialize in helping people with PTSD. Will you come with me to the parlor and we can talk about what happened this morning?”

Harry cast his eyes to the ground. Now that the horrible, all-consuming anger was ebbing, he felt incredibly foolish. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

Janelle didn’t seem surprised by his words. “You’ve managed admirably. In fact, you have incredible mental resilience considering all you’ve been through. But I don’t want you to suffer one more day. I can teach you tools to manage PTSD. You have a bright future. Please accept my help.”

Reluctantly, he followed Janelle into the Tonks home and into the living room. Andromeda followed them in with cups of tea and biscuits. She squeezed Harry’s shoulder as she turned away. “Take as much time as you need. I will keep an ear out for when Hermione wakes.”

Harry murmured a thank you and took a sip of tea and a biscuit. He nibbled the treat, looking anywhere but Janelle. “Why am I like this?” he finally managed. 

“Let’s unpack that by talking about what happened this morning.”

Harry stared at his knees as he spoke about waking up and seeing the scars on Hermione’s arms. “I was so angry. Angrier than I’ve ever been. I decided I…” Harry faltered. Would Janelle turn him over to the hit wizards if he was honest about his thoughts?

Janelle seemed to understand his line of thinking. “Harry, you haven’t done anything wrong. You haven’t committed a crime. You are in no danger. Can you tell me what you decided so I can know more about your mental state?”

“I wanted to kill them. All of them. Before Lucius had a chance to pay off people and get away with everything.”

Janelle’s face remained stoic. “And do you feel like that was a rational desire?”

“Yes,” he interjected angrily. Then: “No.”

“For some people, PTSD manifests itself as anger, especially when a memory is triggered by something happening in the present. You saw the scars, and your brain locked into fight-or-flight mode, a mode which undoubtedly kept you alive during the war. But this mode can be problematic in peacetime, as you saw today.”

“I’m always going to be like this?” Harry whispered, shame coursing through him. He hated feeling weak and useless. 

“It can be managed, and I will help you learn how,” Janelle said. “Trauma changes us. War changes us. But it doesn’t need to rule over us. You can live a wonderful, fulfilling life with friends and family. You are not broken. Plenty of people with PTSD go on to live successful, fulfilling lives with careers and families of their own. You can do this too, if you want.”

Harry snorted embarrassedly. “Well, I’m going to be a dad in December, so ready or not, here we are.” 

Janelle gave him a soft smile. Her demeanor was so relaxed and welcoming, that Harry knew instinctively that he could trust her. 

“That’s a big change,” she said. “How do you feel about it?”

Harry pursed his lips. “Sometimes I’m so happy. It’s like I can’t believe this wonderful thing is actually happening….Other times, I’m worried I’ll ruin the kid’s life. I don’t know what to do for a job. I don’t know how to be a good partner. But I also love her. I regret the choice we made but at that same time I don’t regret it at all.” He stopped rambling and stared at his knees. 

“That makes perfect sense, Harry. It’s okay to have conflicted feelings. It doesn’t make you a bad person or a bad parent.”

“I just want to be a good dad,” Harry confessed. 

“Let me teach you a tool to help with that. There will be times when something someone says or something you see or something you feel brings heightened emotions like anger, or anxiety, or fear, or misery. This tool helps ground us to the present. Are you ready to try it?”

“Um, sure.”

“I call this 5-4-3-2-1. First, I want you to tell me five things you see.”

Feeling slightly foolish, Harry looked around the room. “Uh, the grandfather clock in the corner, the printed wallpaper, the green couch, the tan carpet, and, uh,” he held his hand in front of his face. “My hand, I guess.”

“Good. Now tell me five things you hear.”

Harry concentrated. “I hear my breathing, Andromeda in the kitchen, Teddy moving around in his crib, birds outside, something cooking on the stove.”

“Excellent. Now five things you taste.”

That one took more effort. “Erm, the butter in these biscuits, the tea, blood—I think I bit my lip when Remus immobilized me—, the inside of my cheek.” He took another sip of the tea. “And mint. There’s mint in the tea.”

“What are five things you smell?”

“Um, the tea, the biscuits, I think they’re making pancakes in the kitchen so the batter, syrup, and Teddy’s poo. We must have one of Teddy’s nappies in the trash in here.”

“Good. Five things you can touch.”

“The denim on my jeans, the suede of the couch, the carpet below my feet.” He put a hand to his chest. “Myself.” He flushed and rapidly began to backpedal. “I didn’t mean it that way! Not touching myself, just that—”

Janelle laughed and waved away the explanation. “I understood what you meant. Now we are going to repeat the process but with four items. Begin.”

Harry rattled off four things he could see, hear, taste, smell and touch. She had him repeat it again with three things, then two, then one. When she was finished, she nodded in satisfaction.

“Er, what was that supposed to do?”

“You tell me. How do you feel?” she countered.

Harry thought. He felt pleasantly calm. “Grounded,” he said in surprise. 

“This helps bring you back to the present and overcome that fight-or-flight response we discussed earlier. It helps your brain process stimuli and evaluate what is happening in real time. When you experience a trigger that brings anger, anxiety, fear, or sadness, I want you to do this process. You don’t have to say it out loud. Mentally is fine. But it will help, as you said, ground you in the present.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Harry said sincerely. 

“Are you still considering murder?” Janelle asked evenly. 

Harry shook his head. “No. I just want to be with my girlfriend and my unborn baby. I just want to have a long life with them.”

Janelle held out her hand for another shake. “You have a great future, Harry. Would you be willing to meet with me weekly for the foreseeable future?”

“I’d like that,” Harry said sincerely. “Thanks.”

They stood and made their way to the door that divided the living room from the kitchen. Janelle turned to him and a business card appeared magically between her fingers. “Hard things will come, Harry. If you are ever in a similar crisis to what happened today, speak my name to this card. I will be here ASAP.”

Harry tucked the card into his pocket. “Thanks.”

She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I must be off to the auror office. That new head auror had everyone there at four o’clock this morning. Absolute slave driver. Take care, Harry.”

Harry entered the kitchen as Janelle disappeared in the floo. Remus’s features relaxed as he saw that the rage had left Harry’s eyes. “Thanks,” Harry said softly. “You prevented me from making a terrible mistake.”

Remus raised his mug in a toast. “I guess that makes us even.”

Andromeda came into the kitchen carrying Teddy. Remus took the infant from her as she turned to Harry. “Hermione is still asleep, but I think we should wake her to eat. She shouldn’t be skipping meals in her condition.”

“I’ll wake her,” Harry said immediately. He walked down the hall to his and Hermione’s room and pulled the door shut behind him. Hermione’s hair was slayed across her pillow, her chest rising and falling peacefully. Harry sat next to her and gently kissed her awake. But what was meant to be a romantic notion was ended by Hermione’s startled gasp as she shoved her hands against his chest to force space between them. 

“‘Mione, it’s me,” Harry said hurriedly. “I tried to kiss you awake, you know, like in the movies? But I guess it doesn’t work that way in real life.”

The fear ebbed from Hermione’s eyes, replaced with a sparkle of mischief. “You wanted to kiss me awake?”

“Yeah. It was stupid—”

Hermione shut her eyes and released a pretend snore. When Harry didn’t react right away, she opened one eye. “I’m sleeping ,” she prompted. 

“Oh, right,” Harry said, finally catching on. He pressed his lips against hers, drew away, and then kissed her a second time. Hermione sighed against a third kiss and responded, deepening the kiss until they were both dizzy. 

It took a moment for Harry’s brain to help him form words, and when it finally did, they came out discombobulated. “Remus and Andromeda are making breakfast. They’re waiting for us, unless you want to have me for breakfast in bed?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and stifled a giggle. “Are you for breakfast?” she deadpanned. 

Harry groaned and fatalistically flopped onto the bed across her legs. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve put my foot in my mouth today. No, I wasn’t suggesting that we have each other for breakfast in either the literal or figurative sense. I was talking about food. Actual food. Pancakes and whatnot.”

Hermione was still giggling. Harry loved the sound. He knew he’d never tire of it. 

“I suppose if the only option is actual food, that’s good enough.” She gave him an exaggerated, sultry wink that was completely out of place with her usual personality. They both burst into laughter. 

Once the laughter faded into giggles, Hermione slapped his thigh. “Get up. Andromeda and Remus are going to assume a whole lot if we don’t get out there soon.”

Still laughing, Harry eased Hermione out of bed and helped her to her feet. They began the slow walk to the kitchen, though Hermione seemed to manage moving a bit better than she had yesterday. 

But they had barely entered the kitchen when Hermione’s face tinged with green and she clapped a hand to her mouth. She lurched to the trash can and became violently ill. Alarmed, Harry knelt next to her and pulled her hair out of her face. After a dozen horrible heaving noises, Hermione sat back on her heels. Sweat dripped from her brow, mixing with the tears on her cheeks. “I hate morning sickness,” she whispered. 

Andromeda knelt next to them and held out a banana-yellow potion. “This will help. I kept a bunch on hand for Dora. She was sick nearly her entire pregnancy.”

Harry vanished the sick as Hermione downed the potion. “That helps a lot. Thanks,” she said. She shuffled to the table and sat down. Harry took her other side and tucked her sweaty locks behind her ears. She touched her hair. “Ugh. I need a shower so bad. Do you realize it’s been months since I’ve had hot running water? And cleaning spells only do so much.”

Andromeda handed her a plate of pancakes. “Thankfully we have plenty of hot water here. Let me know which products you prefer, and I’ll nip down to the grocer and get them.”

As they tucked into their pancakes, Hermione gave Andromeda the brand names of a soap, lotion, shampoo, conditioner, and something called leave-in conditioner that Harry didn’t know existed. 

He did, however, recognize the brand names. “Those are muggle brands, aren’t they?”

Hermione nodded. “My parents would send more to me via the school owls. I tried a bunch of shampoos for witches during my time at Hogwarts but nothing really compares.”

“Ted converted me to muggle products long ago,” Andromeda agreed, her voice fond but tinged with sadness. 

They had almost finished with their pancakes when Remus and Andromeda shared a weighted look and Remus cleared his throat. “A letter came yesterday for both of you. It’s important that you read it.”

He handed a thick sheet of parchment across the table. Harry and Hermione put their heads together and began to read:

Dear Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Hermione Granger, 

You are hereby summoned to a hearing on May 12th to testify according regarding your capture and Miss Granger’s subsequent torture at Malfoy Manor in late April. The Wizengamot will hear testimony of all witnesses and the accused only after the aforementioned have been administered veritaserum. 

Your testimony is imperative to this case and to ensuring that the accused receive commensurate punishment for any crimes in which they are found to be guilty. 

Please arrive promptly at Courtroom Ten at 9:00 am on the 12th. 

Wishing you well, 

Mafalda Hopkirk

Below the signature was a compilation of death eaters who would be put on trial along with a list of their alleged crimes. Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco were there. Lucius’s list was much longer than that of his wife or son.

Harry finished reading and shrugged. “Well, I don’t really want to testify but I’ll do it. And if everyone is taking verituserum, Lucius can’t make up some story about being under the imperious.”

But Hermione was rigid next to him. “I can’t,” she whispered. “Verituserum isn’t safe for pregnant women.”

Harry looked to Remus and Andromeda, who were nodding agreement. “Oh, erm, can we just say Hermione can’t testify?”

Andromeda shook her head. “This is a compulsory summons. You both have to go or risk 30 days imprisonment.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry replied hotly. Remembering Janelle’s words, he looked around the kitchen to ground himself. Five things I can see…. He worked through the list mentally, grateful when he felt more in control. He swallowed. “What I mean is that it shouldn’t be punishable.”

“It was put in place at the end of the first war,” Remus explained. “Lots of people could testify but were afraid of retribution from the Death Eaters. The law is well-meaning but certainly has a negative side.”

Momentarily abated, Harry cast his eyes back to the parchment. “But what do we do?”

Hermione looked at him, her eyes full of sorrow. “The only thing we can do: I tell the Wizengamot that I’m pregnant. There’s going to be so much backlash. I can see the headlines now.”

Harry’s nerves writhed within him, but he knew there was no other path forward. He placed his hand on her stomach. “Then we give them no reason to speculate. Your reputation is not going to be drug through the mud unless they drag mine right alongside it. I’m going to take full and public responsibility for our baby. Everyone in the wizarding world will know what we’ve done, but they will also see two people committed to their child and each other.”

Hope and relief shone in Hermione’s eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

They finished breakfast, the court summons bringing a somber mood into the usually bright kitchen. Harry fed Teddy a bottle as Remus and Andromeda cleaned up. Though Harry knew Andromeda hadn’t been pleased with Remus when he walked out on his wife and child, there was no hint of tension as they talked animatedly and Remus expressed his support for Tonks as she became head of the auror department. 

“We’ll probably move back to our flat soon,” Remus said, though he seemed a bit pensive about Andromeda’s reaction. 

But Andromeda waved away his discomfort. “I daresay Dora is ready to get out of her childhood bedroom?” 

Remus laughed. “She’s mentioned it once or twice. A hundred times. Eventually we would like to upgrade to a house, somewhere Teddy can run and fly as he gets older. With Dora’s promotion and raise, we should be able to save up enough in five years or so.” Though he kept his voice light, Harry noticed the note bitterness creeping into his tone. 

Andromeda put a hand on his arm. “Please don’t count your contribution short, Remus. Being a stay-at-home dad is a job, and you are perfectly suited for it.”

“I understand that,” Remus said, but quickly followed with. “I just wish I could do more to contribute.”

She patted his cheek in a motherly sort of way. “I think you’ll be surprised to see what opportunities come your way.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Any premonitions I should know about?”

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “I am not a Seer.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Remus returned lightly. He began ticking off items on his fingers. “You predicted that if Dora dated me, we’d have a baby within a year, even though it was not part of our plan. You predicted that Dora was carrying a boy and the day of his birth.”

“I was wrong about the time, though.”

Remus shook his head. “You said it would happen at 3:16. Though we all thought you meant 3:16 in the afternoon, you can’t deny that Teddy came not a minute later than 3:16 that morning.”

Andromeda placed a hand on the windowsill, a wistful expression on her face. “I experienced those things a few times when I was a healer,” she admitted. “Sometimes we’d be diagnosing a patient, and I’d know that the diagnosis was wrong. Just strange premonitions. But they aren’t prophecies.”

“When were you a healer?” Harry asked curiously. 

“From the time Dora was thirteen until Voldemort’s return. Once the death eaters were running unchecked, I realized I would be an easy target as a Black married to a muggleborn.”

“Would you consider going back?” Hermione asked curiously. 

Andromeda nodded. “I actually have an interview later this week.” She waved a hand to encompass her tidy home. “I can’t just stay here and knit. I miss Ted too terribly. I need to keep myself busy, even if I have more grey hairs than every one of my coworkers.”

“They’ll benefit from your experience.” Remus ran a hand through his hair which had more grey hair than Andromeda’s and continued with a touch of humor, “At least that’s what I’m telling myself.”

“Got any premonitions for us about our baby?” Harry asked, only half joking. 

But Andromeda didn’t immediately dismiss him. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “But I feel that your baby and Teddy have entwined destinies.”

Harry and Hermione shared a glance. Harry, uncomfortable as he always was with the thought of another prophecy, must have shown his discomfort on his face, for Andromeda raised a hand. “That could simply mean they are thick as thieves. They will grow up together, after all.”

Momentarily abated, Harry placed a hand on Hermione’s stomach. A new person will exist because of Hermione and I. A person completely unlike anyone else on earth with their own personality, likes, dislikes, and strengths, he realized. That’s pretty incredible when you think about it. 

Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “I wonder who they will become,” she whispered. She placed her hand over Harry’s and looked into his eyes. “I never thought my life would turn out this way—pregnant at eighteen—but I’m so glad it’s with you.”

Harry kissed her and handed Teddy back to Remus. Teddy gurgled happily at his father and held his finger in a chubby fist. Remus’s eyes were misty as he looked fondly at Harry and Hermione. “I never thought my life would turn out this way, either.”

*/*/*/*/*/

Andromeda returned from the shops around noon with Hermione’s preferred hair products and soap in a paper bag. Harry helped Hermione hobble to the bathroom and set the bottles on the rim of the tub. Andromeda had put a shower seat in the tub so Hermione could sit and bathe until her strength returned enough to stand. “I’ll leave you to it,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and turning toward the door.

But Hermione put two fingers on his wrist. “Can you help?” she asked shyly. She shook her head at the surprised expression on Harry’s face. “I’m not physically able to be intimate. I’m not trying to initiate anything right now. A-And I can do it myself, but I get so tired so quickly and—”

“Of course I will help,” he said. “Please ask any time.” He helped Hermione undress and sit on the stool. The showerhead was the muggle variety with a hose connected, so Harry tested the water with a hand then held it over Hermione’s shoulders.

She sighed in contentment. “I forgot what a shower felt like.”

Harry reached for a loofah and soap and began lathering her shoulders. Though he was kneeling on the rug outside the tub, there really was no way to prevent the water trickling from the showerhead, down his arm, and onto his shirt. But he was unaware of that as he applied the soap to her back. His breath caught as he realized just how thin she was; he could count every individual vertebrae and rib, and her hip bones jutted out painfully against her skin. 

Hermione must have heard his surprised breath, for she stiffened. “What?” 

“You’re still so thin,” he whispered. “I guess I thought the potions were helping. And I worry about you.”

“The potions are helping,” Hermione said softly. “I gained half a stone while in the Hospital Wing. It’s just going to take time.” Her voice turned vulnerable. “Does it…bother you?”

The answer was yes. After all, he had no idea how Hermione was still living and breathing, let alone growing their unborn child in her emaciated condition. But he knew that she was referring not to health, but attraction. “I will love your body in every phase and shape. Please never think you have to change anything for me. All I care about is that you are healthy.”

“Thank you Harry.” She closed her eyes as Harry worked the shampoo into her curls. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

“I’m not perfect, ‘Mione,” Harry said. Though he hated to disappoint her, he confessed his mental health crisis and wanting to murder the Malfoys. He explained Remus’s intervention and his conversation with Janelle. “Speaking with her helped a lot. And she’s going to come weekly.”

“Can I meet her with you?” Hermione asked. “Madam Pomfrey said I probably have PTSD too. I could use those tools.”

“I don’t mind, and I don’t think she will either.”

Harry washed the conditioner out of Hermione’s hair and followed her guidance for applying the leave in conditioner. The process complete, he helped her stand and wrapped a towel around her. She dried off as Harry returned to their room and removed robes and underclothing Andromeda had bought for her. She gave him a nod of thanks as she dressed in the underclothes and wrapped her hair in a turban around her head. The robes had a collection of tiny buttons in the back, and Harry fumbled with undoing them as Hermione studied her reflection in the floor length mirror behind the bathroom door. 

“Harry, look,” she said, her voice full of awe.

Harry looked up from the aggravating buttons and caught Hermione’s gaze in the mirror. “What is it?”

She turned sideways in her underwear and placed a hand below her navel. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

And Harry saw it. 

Her stomach had taken on the smallest of curves, evidence of their growing child. Though unseen beneath clothing, there was no mistake. In complete awe, Harry knelt in front of Hermione and placed his lips on the tiny bump. “Hello baby,” he whispered. “I’m your daddy. And I’m so happy you're here and growing. You have the world’s best mum.”

Hermione’s chocolate eyes were misty as they cupped the tiny bump in the palms of their entwined hands. “I know this is going to be hard,” she whispered. “But it’s the best mistake I’ve ever made.”

Harry kissed her softly but with a withheld passion that both of them felt. “Being with you is not a mistake. Our baby was unexpected, but maybe that’s how fate works. This beautiful life we created is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck but swayed on her feet. Harry directed her to sit on the edge of the tub. He gestured to the robes. “There’s a bunch of these tiny buttons I need to unbutton before I can dress you. They’re driving me crazy.”

With a laugh, Hermione took the robes from him and easily worked through the buttons. Once there was enough space for her head and shoulders, Harry eased her to a standing position, pulled the robes over her head and buttoned the buttons on the back.

“How do people put these on by themselves?” he grumbled good-naturedly. 

“Maybe they just have handsome men to do it for them,” Hermione said, jokingly adding, “I wonder where I could find one?”

Harry finished the last button, and they made their way to the sitting room. Andromeda had left a copy of The Daily Prophet job listings on the table, the vacancy for a healer circled in red ink. Harry picked up the paper curiously. “It looks like Kingsley is doing a purge of the Ministry. There’s a lot of vacancies.”

“It makes sense. Pretty much every department had been taken over by Death Eaters,” Hermione mused. She watched as Harry read the listings. “Are you thinking about joining the Ministry?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t want desk work. I don’t want to exist in a cubicle. That seems awful.” He gestured to the listings. “But the Ministry is the biggest wizarding employer. If I don’t join some department, what do I do?”

“Fly?” Hermione suggested. “There aren’t any desks in quidditch.”

Harry couldn’t resist the urge to tease her. “Do you want to be dating an international quidditch star? I think Krum will be quite put out.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know fame means nothing to me. I’m just thinking about the things you enjoy.”

“I don’t want to play quidditch professionally,” he said, the words surprising even himself. “I’m sure it would be great, but I want to be here for my kid. I don’t want to go weeks or months without seeing them. It’s not worth it.” Harry gestured to the paper. “Would you join the Ministry?”

Hermione pursed her lips and then nodded. “I think so. We’re at a pivotal point politically. And now would be the time to push for equity laws for house elves, werewolves, and muggleborns. I don’t mind working in an office. And I would like to be part of that. Maybe I’ll go into law.”

“And then you’ll be Minister of Magic one day,” Harry said. “And I’ll be your handsome house-husband. First gentleman has a good ring to it.”

He had expected Hermione to laugh and swat at his arm. But she looked at him in surprise, the vulnerability back. There was an uncomfortable silence. 

“O-Or not,” Harry said, trying to figure out the reason for her surprise. “I’m not saying you have to be Minister—”

“You said ‘husband,’” Hermione said, putting a hand on his knee and her words barely above a whisper. “You really want that? Is that just because of the baby?”

“No. I don’t want this to end,” Harry replied honestly. “And if eventually you feel the same way, I assumed we’d—”

His words were covered by her lips. She pulled away quickly, knowing that Remus or Andromeda could walk in anytime. “I’d like that too,” she whispered. “You’ve been in my life since I was eleven, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” 

They shared shy smiles, but there was a weight of responsibility in the air between them, as if everything had shifted. They were no longer friends who would be coparenting, they were no longer even boyfriend and girlfriend. This was something more, something unknown and dangerous, as if they were about to embark on a steep dive on a Firebolt. “I know nothing about marriage,” Harry whispered. “All I know is that I want it.”

“Me too.”

 Harry wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I want to do this properly,” he whispered into her hair. “I want to propose on bended knee with a ring. I want a chance to make it special. Can we wait a bit before we say we’re engaged?”

Hermione’s eyes were sparkling. “I think I can manage to keep it a secret. As long as you’re not too slow with that ring.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be.”

They settled into comfortable silence as Harry cast his eyes to the job listings. “We can definitely afford to rent a flat with my inheritance money, and there’s always Grimmauld—”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. 

“---Which would be our last resort,” Harry finished. “But I do think we should look into getting a place of our own.”

“While the money isn’t an issue, the employment might be,” Hermione mused. “I don’t know many landlords willing to rent to people without proof of a job.” She sighed. “And Madam Pomfrey said it could be a month or two before I am back to full health. But maybe I can study for my NEWTS while I heal. It will be easier to get into the Ministry with them.”

Harry’s eyes were drawn to a listing at the very bottom of the paper. He picked it up as a warm feeling of purpose filled his chest. “Hermione, what about teaching?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’d be a terrible teacher. Learning comes too easily for me. I wouldn’t know how to help students who struggle, let alone be patient with their shenanigans.”

“I meant…what about teaching…for me?”

Hermione’s mouth opened to a soft o. “I really liked the DA,” Harry explained in a bit of embarrassment. “It was just as good as flying, and I think I was half decent at it.”

“You were better than decent,” Hermione said. “You were the best DADA teacher I’ve ever had.”

“Lupin was way better than me.”

“Lupin’s a close second. But still second.”

Harry smoothed the newspaper, where Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1998-1999 school year was in bold print inside a neat square. “It says to inquire by sending a resume and three letters of recommendation to Headmistress McGonagall no later than the end of the month.”

“You should do it. Getting the letters won’t be hard. Have Lupin write you one, and then maybe Slughorn and Flitwick.”

Harry grinned at his not-yet-fiancé. “You really think I could be a teacher?”

“I think you’ll be amazing, Harry.”

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger was used to feeling useful. Praised by her teachers for her tenacious thirst for knowledge and thanked by her friends for her help with their essays and spellwork, Hermione had always felt wanted and needed. 

And though her usefulness was obvious during the horcrux hunt, she began to realize something else. Despite her headstrong independence, Harry fulfilled her needs in a way no one else ever had. She and Harry had leaned on each other, strengthened each other, and collectively endured pain, fear, and hunger that would have paralyzed lesser witches and wizards. 

She knew Harry couldn’t have defeated Voldemort without her. He had told her as much.

But she would be nothing without him. 

Indeed, she wouldn’t have survived her first Halloween at Hogwarts had it not been for Harry and Ron’s intervention. Perhaps it had been a turn of fate, as if the Fates themselves knew only the most extreme of circumstances would have cemented the three friends together. Through their Hogwarts years, they would fight and laugh and bond together as the trio grew from awkward teens to capable adults. 

And now she and Harry had formed their own sort of trio. 

She reflected on these thoughts in the quiet hours of the morning as she listened to Harry’s steady breathing. She rested her head on his bare chest and traced the lightning-shaped scar on his sternum, a relic from the second time he had endured the killing curse. 

She had come so close to losing him. 

She thought about the long week in the Hospital Wing as she hovered between life and death. She thought of her emaciated condition and how Madam Pomfrey’s brow would furrow with concentration and anger as she tended the wounds on Hermione’s arms. 

She traced her fingers across the tiny bump below her navel. The fact that she was still carrying their child despite her torture at the hands of Bellatrix and Dolohov’s curse was nothing sort of miraculous. Though Hermione was not prone to whimsy, she couldn’t help thinking, Is this another one of those twists of fate? An extreme and unlikely circumstance?

And if it was, what did that mean for their child’s future?

Harry shifted next to her and opened his eyes. “Hey,” he whispered. “Can’t sleep?”

Hermione shrugged. “Off and on. What time is it?”

Harry squinted at his watch. He was hopelessly nearsighted without his glasses. “4:17am.”

Hermione sighed and snuggled closer against Harry’s chest. His steady arms wrapped around her. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispered into her hair. 

“I’m just reflecting.” In response to Harry’s questioning look, she elaborated. “Do you think fate has a hand in our lives?” She quickly detailed her thoughts about the troll and her pregnancy remaining viable despite all they had been through. “D-Do you think fate has anything to do with that?”

Harry chuckled. “I thought you despised Divination.”

“I do,” Hermione interjected immediately, but followed it by a sigh. “It’s just…some things can’t be explained away, you know?”

She was grateful when Harry didn’t dismiss her concerns. Instead she felt his head move up and down as he nodded against her hair. “I think the more we know, the more we realize how much we don’t know.” His hand rested on her bump. “I don’t want our child to have some big destiny or prophecy. I want them to grow up, get in trouble, make mistakes, and find their own place in the world. Perhaps fate brought them to us but they get to decide who they are and who they will be.”

Hermione hummed contentedly. “I like that.” With a wince, she shifted Harry’s arms so he held her more loosely.

“Sorry, too tight?” he asked. 

Hermione turned to him. “Just around my chest,” she admitted. “It’s a common pregnancy symptom. My body is preparing to nurse our child.”

“Does it hurt?”  

“Just tender and swollen. None of my button-up shirts fit. I’ll have to wear those navy robes to the trial today instead.”

Harry frowned, his eyes downcast at the mention of the trial in just a few hours. “Everything changes after today,” he whispered. “Whoever is on trial will hopefully be put behind bars…and everyone will know about our baby.”

“Perhaps it’s just another twist of fate?” Hermione suggested despite her own nerves twisting in her stomach. 

Harry shrugged. “Or it’s just proof of the inevitable. It would’ve come out eventually. We can’t hide away forever and then suddenly reemerge in the Wizarding World with a baby in tow.”

Hermione tucked her head beneath his chin and traced her fingers across his chest as a sly smile played on her lips. “But hiding away sounds like a great idea. I’d get you all to myself.”

Harry laced his fingers into her hair and lowered his voice to a murmur. “Well, if you’re feeling up to it, we can hide away in here for a while…”

Hermione was infinitely grateful for the healing potions that had steadily built her strength over the past few days. Though she was far from completely healed, she returned Harry’s shy grin. “I’d like that.”

*/*/*/*/*/

Harry kept a steady hand around Hermione’s waist as they stepped out of the floo and into the atrium of the Ministry. Ministry personnel hustled this way and that, giving them a cursory glance and then a double-take when they recognized Harry. 

“It can’t be Harry Potter!” came an excited voice. 

And then they were surrounded. 

Harry felt his lungs constrict with anxiety as the bustling crowd jostled them. He redoubled his grip on Hermione’s waist and tried to focus on Janelle’s five senses exercise to reduce the pressure on his lungs. 

But it was too loud . There was nowhere to go. Hands reached eagerly toward him, all hoping to shake his hand, pat his shoulder, and make him hear their words of gratitude. 

Hermione was looking worriedly at him. He forced himself to focus on her chocolate eyes and the stolen moment they had spent together that morning. She gripped his hand fiercely. “I’m right here, Harry. And you aren’t in any danger.” She raised her voice to shout over the din. “You need to leave! We’re rushing to an appointment.”

But the crowd wouldn’t be abated. Her words galvanized them into an even greater frenzy, and journalists were sprinting towards them with their large cameras and Quick Quotes Quills floating jauntily behind.

The cameras flashed, smoke raining down on the crowd and choking Harry’s lungs.  

Everything seemed to slow down. 

The scene in front of him dissolved. 

Run. Fight. Protect. 

Death Eaters. The forest of Dean. The taboo. 

Greyback. The Malfoys. 

…Belatrix…

Blackness was pulling at his vision.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Harry’s hand grabbed the handle of his wand as he remembered Hermione’s shattering screams. 

He couldn’t prevent her torture then. But now he wasn’t defenseless. Not this time. 

As he raised his wand, a succession of loud bangs sounded from the back of the crowd. Acting purely on instinct, Harry pulled Hermione to the floor and covered them both with a shield. He pinned her beneath him, doing everything he could to shield her body with his own. 

But she was shaking him. “Harry, it’s not what you think! Listen to me! Snap out of it!” 

The blood was pounding in his ears. No one was going to lay a finger on his child or the woman he loved. 

“ Harry!”

It was the panicked note in her voice that brought his brain screeching back to the present. The crowd had dispersed, though three figures in maroon auror robes stood outside the edge of his shield. “What…?” he whispered helplessly. 

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, relief evident in her voice. “But can you get off me, please?”

Harry hastened to stand and helped Hermione to her feet. “Are you okay? Our baby?”

“We’re fine.” Hermione gestured with her head to the aurors. “But we should probably go explain.”

With a grimace, Harry dropped the shield. The blonde on the left rushed forward. Janelle’s face was as placid as ever but there was a storm billowing behind her blue eyes. “I told the admittance personnel to clear the atrium before you arrived! Or at least let us know the time so we could arrange an escort.” She seethed with rage. “I’d bet a hundred galleons those piranhas were paid off by the press.”

Now that the panic had subsided, Harry felt incredibly foolish. He blanched as he recognized Tonks in her head auror robes. Ron was next to her, Trainee Weasley written on the badge on his chest. 

Tonks turned to Ron. “Round up everyone who was on shift in admittance for questioning.” Ron gave Tonks a respectful salute and marched away. 

Tonks turned to them. “Are you both—” she dropped her voice with a glance around the deserted atrium “---all three of you—okay?”

Harry nodded, his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “All those people…being attacked…I couldn’t…”

Janelle put a hand on his shoulder. “You aren’t weak, Harry. It’s my fault for not ensuring that they would keep their word and you would be left alone.”

“Disobeying a direct command from the auror office is a punishable offense,” Tonks said consolingly to Janelle. “You had no reason to think they wouldn’t follow protocol, especially after they’d been flawless in the past.”

Harry cast his eyes to his neat dress shoes in shame. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

Tonks gripped his shoulder tightly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” She turned to Janelle. “Can you escort them to the waiting room for Courtroom 10? I need to follow up with Weasley.”
Harry and Hermione followed Janelle to the lifts, which were waiting and empty. She tapped it with her wand, and the lift lurched forward. “It will take us directly to the tenth level without stopping on other floors. We don’t need any more would-be admirers causing a ruckus.”

Harry spread his feet to steady himself as the lift lurched again. Hermione’s face was rapidly losing color. Janelle must have noticed, for she conjured a bag out of thin air and handed it to her. As the lift shuttered to a stop, Hermione heaved her breakfast into the bag. With a wince, Harry rubbed her back, feeling helpless to do anything else. 

“I’ll have an anti-nausea potion brought down by one of the healers,” Janelle said sympathetically. “I know exactly what this feels like. I have twin boys. They’re six.”

Hermione gave her a weak smile. “Do you like being a mum?”

Janelle laughed. “Honestly? It’s the best and hardest and messiest and loudest and most exhausting thing I’ve ever done. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Harry felt a warmth in his chest at her words. They vanished Hermione’s sick bag and Harry conjured a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from Hermione’s brow. At a gesture from Janelle, they made their way down the corridor, which was as dark and foreboding as Harry remembered it from his underage magic appearance the summer before his fifth year. 

Instead of taking them to the courtroom, Janelle steered them toward a small sitting room across the hall. Inside were plush red armchairs and a crackling fire that removed the chill from the damp walls. Harry and Hermione sat together in one of the larger chairs, nervously gripping each others’ hands. 

Janelle silenced the door and sat across from them. “The court will begin momentarily. You’ll be questioned by the head prosecutor as well as the head of the defense. Minister Shacklebolt is acting as interim Head of the Wizengamot. He will make sure you are treated fairly and that the court remains in order. Percy Weasley has been appointed to take minutes. Everything you say will be recorded fairly.”

Harry and Hermione nodded. Something about the routine nature of the proceedings calmed Harry, despite the continued clamminess of his palms. Janelle took a breath. “Their questions may be difficult and probing. It may bring back heightened anxiety and painful memories of the events in question. Remember to take deep breaths and take all the time you need to ground yourself. If you experience the beginnings of a panic attack, raise five fingers. That will trigger a mandatory recess, and I will be here to help. I’ll also be here after the testimonial to help you both process anything that occurs.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said softly. 

The door to the waiting room opened. Percy poked his head in. “The Wizengamot is ready for you.”

Harry moved unsteadily to his feet, his arm around Hermione’s waist. Percy dropped his voice with an anxious look at Hermione. “The Wizengamot is requiring that all witnesses drink veritaserum—”

“We know,” Harry said tightly. 

Percy must have known from Harry’s tone not to press for details, for he pulled open the doors to courtroom ten and ushered them forward without comment. The members of the Wizengamot sat upon the raised dais in their plum robes. Percy placed his wand to his throat, and his voice was magically magnified throughout the courtroom. “The Court recognizes witnesses Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger. Please step to the witness podium.”

A whisper swept the Wizengamot, and many sat straighter in their high-backed chairs to see Harry. Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry took Hermione’s hand and they walked together to the witness stand, which was a raised platform meant to put the witnesses above the accused but not on equal standing as the Wizengamot. 

Once Harry stepped onto the platform, the prisoners were in his view, and he felt a flare of rage. Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius sat side by side in chained chairs. Narcissa was composed if pale; Lucius was glaring venomously at Harry; and Draco—

Harry had to do a double-take. Draco was barely recognizable. Pale and gaunt, his usually sleek hair hung limp and lifeless. His face was streaked with tears from bloodshot eyes. Harry had an uncomfortable flashback to finding Draco crying in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. He had looked bad then, but now he was little more than a cipher. 

Harry’s hatred dissolved into pity as he stared at the boy in the chains. We’ve all made choices we regret, and now you have to pay for yours for the rest of your life Harry thought. Would you have made the choices you did without Lucius pressuring you?

A door opened. Tonks and Ron strode in, flanking either side of the door with their wands trained on the prisoners, adding their numbers to the already numerous aurors Harry spotted at strategic locations throughout the hall. Harry’s panicked heart calmed as Ron gave him an encouraging nod. 

Kingsley stood to address the Wizengamot. “We will begin the witness accounts. Prosecution, you have the floor.”

A graying wizard with a handle-bar mustache picked up a long scroll and rose from his chair across the courtroom. His voice must have also been magically enhanced, for Harry heard him clearly as he said in a wheezy voice, “Harry James Potter, you have been hereby summoned to testify pursuant to the prosecution of Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy, who have been identified as known Death Eaters and sympathizers to Tom Riddle’s cause—”

Harry raised an eyebrow, impressed that the man was using Voldemort’s given name.

“---As a requirement of this summons, you will be given three drops of veritaserum to aid credibility in your testimony. Do you agree to these terms?”

“Um, y-yes, sir,” Harry stuttered, casting an anxious look at Hermione. “But Hermione—”

The prosecutor raised a hand for silence and turned to Hermione. He repeated the same words verbatim to her, ending with “Do you agree to these terms?”

Harry could feel Hermione trembling and goosebumps had erupted on her arms. Nevertheless, her voice was strong as she said, “Sir, I will testify, but I am unable to take veritaserum.”

There was an irritated shuffle around the court. Evidently, the prosecution wasn’t used to pushback from witnesses. The prosecutor frowned at her. “And why is that?”

Hermione took a breath. Harry squeezed her hand comfortingly. “Because I am twelve weeks and three days pregnant, sir.”

There was a surprised intake of breath and more whispering. Hermione flushed and cast her gaze to the floor beneath her feet. Draco looked appalled at the prospect, and Harry regretted feeling pity for him. 

A woman stepped up to the prosecutor and spoke anxiously in his ear. He frowned, his cold gaze on Hermione. The woman nodded insistently, and the prosecutor murmured something in response. With a furrowed brow, she conjured a long row of parchment and scanned the contents. After a moment, she shook her head. The prosecutor cleared his throat. “Our healer on staff informs me that veritaserum is unsafe for pregnant women.” He leaned forward, his eyes glittering malignantly. “But St. Mungos’ records indicate that you have not been seen by the obstetrics department. Your refusal creates a precedent. Any woman of childbearing age can make the same claim. I could have your condition examined, but this hearing is scheduled to wrap up before lunch time. Healers, I order you to administer veritaserum to the girl, who will no doubt confess that the claim of pregnancy is a lie.”

Harry saw red. He pushed Hermione behind him. “Don’t touch her,” he ordered, every syllable audible to the entire court even without magic. He turned angry eyes to the prosecutor. “I can verify that she’s pregnant. I’ve heard her baby’s — our baby’s — heartbeat. I’m responsible for her condition. Don’t hurt my unborn child for your stupidity.”

This time there were no titters of surprise, just an unnatural, shocked stillness. Harry’s neck was warm but he threaded his fingers through Hermione’s. “Give me the veritaserum. I’ll prove to you that I’m telling the truth.”

The prosecutor looked behind him where three of the prosecution’s counsel were in deliberation. The seconds dragged on, the only sound the occasional clink of the prisoners’ chains as they shifted painfully in their wooden seats. The defense had also put their heads together, no doubt discussing how to cast doubt on Hermione’s veritaserum-free testimony. 

Hermione was still trembling. Harry wrapped her in his arms and whispered into her ear. “I’m here. You’re safe. I’m right by you.”

Her trembling eased as she melted into the embrace. “Thank you, Harry.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She’s the first person I’ve ever said that to, Harry realized. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of saying it. 

Hermione stepped out of the embrace and took his hand. She faced the Wizengamot, Gryffindor courage and defiance on her face as the prosecutor stood once more. “Very well. Mr. Potter, please submit yourself to veritaserum. We will receive your testimony first.”

A healer in blue robes approached him with a clear vial. Despite every instinct screaming at him to turn and run, he opened his mouth obediently, and the healer used a dropper to administer three drops of the potion on his tongue. 

His tongue turned curiously numb, as if his mouth had been stuffed with cotton. The sensation faded as the healer returned to his seat and Harry turned his attention back to the prosecutor. 

“Confirm your name,” the prosecutor said. 

“Harry James Potter.” Though he had no intention to lie, the words were compulsively pulled from him, as if his mouth was working of its own accord. 

“Please identify the person next to you.”

“Hermione Jean Granger and my unborn child.”

This time, the words brought a storm of whispers. Percy looked up from his quill with a frown, evidently disapproving of the lack of decorum. Kingsley wrapped a gavel on his podium. “Order in the court!” he bellowed and silence fell. “Prosecution, continue.”

“Mr. Potter, please state to the court what happened on March 31st of this year.”

The veritaserum spurring his words, he explained being in hiding, saying Voldemort’s name (he was annoyed to see how some of the Wizengamot winced at the word), the activation of the taboo, Hermione concealing his identity with a stinging hex, and being caught by Greyback and the snatchers. He detailed their journey to Malfoy Manor and the threats made to Hermione. He explained how Draco was pressured to identify him, but he refused to say for sure. 

Harry took a moment to swallow past his dry throat. “I think Draco knew it was me,” he admitted. “I-I don’t think Draco wanted to be part of this. Not really.”

The prosecutor raised a hand to stop his words. Evidently that line of commentary wouldn’t bode well for the prosecution. “Please explain the involvement of the others: Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Th-They just let everything happen,” Harry said. “And I can testify of many of Lucius’s crimes.” He detailed seeing Lucius in the graveyard the night Voldemort returned and his involvement in the fight in the Department of Mysteries. Going back further, he explained the diary and how Lucius had framed Ginny Weasley as the heir of Slytherin.

There was more hushed whispering from the Wizengamot. Harry realized that Dumbledore must not have been forthcoming about the details regarding events at Hogwarts. As Harry’s story ended, the prosecutor said, “Tell the court what you know about Narcissa Malfoy.”

Here Harry paused as he tried to gather his thoughts. He explained entering the Forbidden forest to give up his life in order to save everyone from Voldemort. He explained how he had been hit by the killing curse, but that it backfired. (He was grateful that the verituserum did not require him to explain the horcruxes, as the explanation was not necessary to answer the prosecutor’s question.) He described Voldemort ordering Narcissa to make sure he was dead, how she had put her hand on his chest, asked about Draco, and lied to Voldemort. “Sh-she saved my life,” he whispered. “And she did it because she loved her son.”

There was more whispering among the Wizengamot. Harry felt weak at the knees and was grateful that the prosecutor ended his questioning. The relief was short-lived, however, when Hermione was called forward.

“Name?”

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Hermione said, her voice only wavering slightly. 

“Miss Granger, please state to the court what happened on March 31st of this year.”

Like he had, Hermione started her story with the taboo and being kidnapped by Snatchers. But unlike Harry’s testimony, which included his time in the manor’s cellar, Hermione described her torture at the hands of Bellatrix in grisly detail. Many of the faces of the Wizengamot paled as she raised her arms to show the cursed scars. One woman was quietly sobbing, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. 

“And you were pregnant at the time of your torture, correct?” the prosecutor asked. 

“Yes,” Hermione whispered. “J-just three weeks or so, but yes.”

The prosecutor turned to Kingsley. “Minister Shacklebolt, in light of this information, I move to update the accused’s crimes to include attempted murder of an unborn child.”

“Sustained,” Kingsley said.

Harry felt sick. Somehow he hadn’t put two and two together. The Malfoys had tried to murder his child , his innocent, precious baby. The familiar anger welled up inside him, and he itched to draw his wand. But he resisted the urge and forced his eyes to the courtroom’s expansive ceiling. Five things I can see…five things I can touch…five things I can hear….

Harry moved through the process, and the anger gradually ebbed. I am allowed to feel angry, he thought. But their fate is out of my hands. The court will decide their punishment. 

“The defense will now cross-examine the witnesses, if they desire,” Kingsley said. 

One man, tall and foreboding with dark hair and beard, stood. “The defense calls Harry James Potter to the stand.”

Harry stepped forward as Hermione stepped back, though he was comforted by her presence just behind him. His stomach writhed with nerves as the defense smiled at him. It was a cold smile and not at all comforting. 

The defense attorney cleared his throat and consulted his notes. “Mr. Potter, in this courtroom on this very day, you have stated that you did not believe that Draco Malfoy wanted to be part of Voldemort’s reign. In addition to the incident at the manor you’ve just described, explain to the court any other circumstances that indicate Draco’s reluctance.”

The veritaserum forcing him to speak, Harry detailed Draco cornering Dumbledore in the Astronomy tower and how he had begun to lower his wand before the other Death Eaters came. Draco had been staring at the floor beneath his feet but now he looked at Harry with disbelieving hope in his eyes. 

“And, uh, there was another incident earlier that year,” Harry said, looking anywhere but at Draco as he talked about seeing Draco in the girls bathroom crying and talking to Moaning Myrtle. “He, uh, saw me in the reflection of the mirror and we started to duel.”

“What was the result of this duel?” the defense pressed. 

Though he grimaced, the veritaserum compelled him to speak. “He tried to use the cruciactus curse on me, but I hit him with a dark curse. I-I didn’t know what the spell would do. I found it handwritten in a book.”

“What was this curse?”

“Sectumsempra.”

There was a buzz of angry muttering and Harry flushed. The defense’s eyes darkened. “Then what happened?”

Harry explained his shock at what the spell had done and how Snape had rushed in to save Draco’s life. “I was then taken to the Headmaster and punished,” he finished. 

Several members of the Wizengamot were pursing their lips. The defense attorney’s dark eyes flashed. “Are you aware, Mr. Potter, that use of that curse to inflict harm to another human being—as you have done—is considered attempted murder under the law?”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “I-I was unaware of that sir. I knew it was bad but—”

“The boy before you is on trial for crimes while you stand innocent and unopposed. I ask the court why such favoritism is being shown to the Boy Who Lived.”

“Objection!” the prosecutor yelled, making Harry jump.

“Sustained,” Kingsley said. “Might I remind the defense that Mr. Potter is not on trial. If there will be possible pending charges for this incident, it is not within the scope of this trial. The prosecution may file separate charges if they so wish.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. How could he provide for his precious newborn if he was in prison? A renewed wave of guilt crashed over him over the incident. 

“No!” 

The shout was weak, and Harry looked around wildly for who had spoken. To his utter bewilderment, Draco had stood on his feet, chains still binding his wrists and ankles to the chair. “No,” he repeated once he had the Wizengamot’s attention. “Harry shouldn’t be punished. I was going to torture him. It was self-defense. He’s stupid that he didn’t know what that curse actually did and used it anyway, but you can’t put someone in prison for being stupid.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. For Draco, his words were the equivalent of glowing praise. 

The prosecutor stood. “The prosecution will not pursue charges against Harry James Potter due to the circumstances around the use of the illegal magic.”

Draco collapsed onto his chair and rested his forehead on his knees as if the speech had completely drained him.

“The defense rests,” the defense attorney said. 

Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief and Kingsley said, “The Wizengamot will now deliberate. Aurors, please remain in the area for security detail and debriefing. Witnesses, please retire to the annex.”

Janelle and Percy flanked Harry and Hermione as they escorted them back to the waiting room across the hall. The moment they crossed the threshold, Harry collapsed in an armchair and held his face in his hands. 

Hermione put a gentle hand on his arm. “Harry?”

He took a steadying breath and looked into her concerned face. “I thought they were going to put me in Azkaban,” he whispered. “How could I take care of you and my baby if that happens? If they knew—” He broke off, casting a terrified glance at Percy. 

Janelle saw the look. “Mr. Weasley, I would like to conduct a session with my patients while we wait. Could you please step outside?”

Percy gave her a simple nod and left the room. 

Janelle pulled up a chair so she was sitting across from Harry and Hermione. “Harry, I understand why the threat of litigation would upset you. Please do not worry. The prosecution is not going to move forward. They have far bigger culprits to track down than to worry about that mistake.”

But Harry shook his head. Could he trust her? But the words were fit to bursting from him, and if he was going to be in trouble, he needed to know. “That’s not the worst thing I did,” he whispered. 

Hermione put a hand on his knee as Janelle prompted, “Do you want to talk about it? Then we can put the past in the past where it belongs.”

Harry swallowed. “I-I’ve used unforgivables.” 

“Harry, it was a war. Everyone was using unforgivables. It was life or death,” Hermione said gently. “I know you didn’t want to use the Imperious curse, but it was the only way we could get one step closer to stopping Voldemort.”

“Hermione’s right,” Janelle said. “Intent and circumstances matter. They were desperate times.”

But Harry shook his head. “That’s not the only time I used them. After…after Bellatrix killed Sirius, I went after her…I was so angry. I tried to use the cruciatus curse on her but I couldn’t do it. The spell didn’t work because you had to mean it.” Harry cast his eyes to Hermione, whose mouth was open in a soft o. “I never told you because I didn’t want you to see me like that. I-I didn’t want you to think I was bad. I didn’t want to be bad.”

Hermione took his hand. “The curse didn’t work, and it didn’t work because you are a good person. This doesn’t change anything.”

But Harry knew his confession wasn’t complete. “And before the Battle of Hogwarts, Amycus Carrow spat on Professor McGonagall after grilling her about my whereabouts. I was under the invisibility cloak, and something broke inside me. I cast the cruciatus curse at Carrow…and it worked. I did mean it.” He shook his head as tears streaked down his cheeks. “I’ve probably done more dark magic than Draco Malfoy, but he’s the one on trial.”

There was a pained silence, though Harry was grateful Hermione kept a tight grip on his hand. Janelle seemed completely unperturbed by his confession, and he wondered if she had heard far worse in her line of work. When she spoke, it was very carefully. “I’m not going to say that using the cruciatus curse on anyone is okay because it isn’t. But I also want you to know a few truths: in both circumstances, you were in a heightened emotional fight-or-flight state. You’re a fighter, Harry, and that isn’t a bad thing. What we need to do is channel your emotions in productive ways moving forward so that nothing like this—or anything close to it—ever happens again. My job is to help you be the partner and father that Hermione and your baby deserve, and I know you want that too.”

Harry sighed. “But what if this gets out? They’ll chuck me in Azkaban.”

“I think the prosecution would have a hard time getting a conviction for a traumatized child soldier fighting on the light side in a war, a child who—might I remind you— kept fighting even after the entire world turned his back on him, a child who the Wizarding World owes an unpayable debt of gratitude. Sure there’ve been some missteps along the way, but that is in the past. Leave it in the past where it belongs.”

Harry wiped his tears away with the heel of his hand. “Thanks, Janelle. I’ll try to do that.”

“It will take time, but we can always unpack that during our sessions.” She turned to Hermione. “You were incredibly brave to admit your pregnancy and give your account. How are you feeling?”

“Just…numb,” Hermione admitted. “It’s like I don’t know what to feel or if I should feel anything at all. I mostly just want it over.”

“That is completely understandable,” Janelle said. “Today was a huge undertaking. If you continue to feel this way regularly, though, please let me know.”

“I will,” she whispered. 

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Percy stepped into the room. “The Wizengamot is ready to announce their decision.”

Harry kept a steady hand on the small of Hermione’s back as they made their way back to the courtroom. Instead of the witness podium, they were directed to sit at a bench overlooking the accused and across from the Wizengamot. The courtroom was abuzz with conversation, but that ceased abruptly as Kingsley walked to his podium. He pressed his wand to his throat, his magnified voice calm but carrying a weight of accountability with it. “The sentencing of Lucius Malfoy, as unanimously voted on by the Wizengamot, is thus: life in Azkaban prison without the possibility of parole.”

Lucius made no indication that he had heard the words. Narcissa was likewise stone-faced. Draco wore a mask of disinterested unsurprise. 

“In the case of Narcissa Malfoy,” Kingsley continued, “the Wizengamot has taken into account her actions that saved the life of Harry James Potter as well as the fact that she never took the Dark Mark. However, she is culpable for witnessing heinous acts of imprisonment and torture without alerting authorities, tampering with evidence, and providing sanctuary to known wanted witches and wizards. As a result, Narcissa Malfoy’s sentence is thus: fifteen years in Azkaban with the possibility of parole pending good behavior after five.”

Narcissa flinched and hung her head. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about the sentence, but then he remembered how she had stood idly by during Hermione’s torture. She may have been worried about her son, but that level of care didn’t translate to someone else’s son or daughter. Harry nodded in satisfaction, silently hoping that she wouldn’t show good behavior after five years. 

“Regarding the sentencing of Draco Malfoy,” Kingsley said, and Harry’s stomach twisted with nerves as Draco visibly trembled in his chair. “The court heavily relied on Harry James Potter’s witness statement to determine motive and guilt. It also coincides with interviews the aurors have conducted with the accused under veritaserum. However, the Wizengamot is unanimous in the understanding that Draco is not fully innocent in this matter and that his upbringing could have heavily influenced this outcome. Therefore, the sentence is thus: mandatory weekly counseling with a mind healer for no less than six months and probation for a period of twenty-four months.”

Harry sagged with relief. Though he and Draco would never be friends, he felt he understood Draco’s feelings as Draco raised his head in disbelief and hope shone in his eyes. The manacles fell from his arms and legs and he rose shakily to his feet. He turned to Narcissa. “I love you, Mother.”

Narcissa was unable to respond as she and Lucius were swarmed by aurors escorting them to prison. Draco stood uncertainly, until Kingsley said, “Auror Tonks and Trainee Weasley will escort you safely out of the Ministry, arrange the terms of your probation, and provide contact with a mind healer. Be aware that any wrongdoing during your probation will result in a harsher sentence than you received today.” His tone softened, and he said, “You have the rest of your life ahead of you, Draco. Don’t squander the second chance you’ve been given.”

Draco briefly met Harry’s gaze then fixed his eyes on the exit. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

And neither will I, Harry thought.

Chapter Text

THE EVENING PROPHET

BOMBSHELL REVELATIONS ATTEND MALFOY TRIAL 

HARRY POTTER INTIMATELY INVOLVED

Daily Prophet investigative reporters witnessed the trial of Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy, who were accused of a multitude of crimes against muggles and muggleborns in conjunction with their allegiance to Tom Riddle, formerly known as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 

Though the list of violent crimes was shocking enough, it would pale in comparison to the bombshells dropped during the trial itself. The prosecution called to the stand Harry James Potter—notable for his defeat against Tom Riddle earlier this month, ending the second Wizarding War—and Hermione Jean Granger, an eighteen-year-old woman known as a close companion of Harry Potter and who tops the list of every academic record at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (with the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts.)

The witnesses walked to the witness podium hand-in-hand, which immediately sparked speculation that Granger was involved with Potter, much to the chagrin of Witch Weekly’s chief editor, who had named Potter Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor in the magazine’s most recent issue.

However, correspondents did not have long to speculate. Though Potter agreed to the mandatory use of veritaserum, Granger did not. When pressed for an explanation, she revealed that she was “twelve weeks and three days pregnant.”

Though the young woman’s pregnancy was a surprise to the court, it was nothing to what happened next. The prosecutor verified with a St. Mungo’s healer that Granger had not been seen by anyone in the obstetrics department and argued that the statement was a lie. He commanded waiting healers to administer veritaserum to Granger by force. 

Upon hearing the command, Potter leapt in front of Granger, declaring that he was the father of Granger’s child and could verify her pregnancy via his statements under veritaserum. He told the prosecution that he would not allow his unborn child to be harmed “for [the prosecutor’s] stupidity.”

After the veritaserum was administered, Potter confirmed his identity and that of Granger and his unborn child. This brings several questions to the forefront: what were the circumstances regarding this union? Was Potter possibly coerced or under the influence of a love potion? And why hasn’t Granger sought professional care for this apparently valued pregnancy?

  These questions became even more important when sources close to Potter indicated that he had been dating Ginny Weasley (daughter of Arthur Weasley of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office) as recently as last summer. Prophet journalists approached Ginny Weasley during an open flying session hosted by the Hollyhead Harpies’ legendary captain Gwenog Jones, but Weasley refused to comment on her past relationship. When pressed, she said, “I wish Harry and Hermione a world of happiness. They deserve it and are so good for each other.”

Though Weasley’s response seems to indicate a legitimate union, the final question still remains: why has Granger not sought medical care for her pregnancy? Most witches attend their first visit shortly after conception, unless they had been previously seen for pre-pregnancy-related care. Without proper prenatal care, a witch is more likely to experience miscarriage, early delivery, and poor health outcomes. 

Granger’s blood status may hold the answer. During her testimony, she recounted being tortured by the now deceased notorious Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange. She revealed scars on her arms, spelling the word [REDACTED DUE TO SEVERITY OF SLUR]. As a muggle-born witch, it is possible that Granger prefers that her pregnancy be monitored by muggle healers (called doctors) instead of at St. Mungos. 

Prophet correspondents reached out to Potter and Granger for a follow-up interview, but our owls were returned, indicating that the couple’s mail is being monitored. We will continue to follow this story and update as soon as possible. 

To read the Wizengamot’s verdict for the Malfoy trial, turn to page 3.

To learn more about Granger, the ‘Chosen One’s Chosen One’, turn to page 8.

Harry snorted and rubbed his eyes. He looked at Tonks, who had just returned from the auror office. She had had the paper tucked in the pocket of her robes, and Harry had snatched it from her when he saw a photo of himself and Hermione on the witness stand glossing the front page. 

Now Tonks raised an eyebrow. “I had meant to break the news to you gently, but you got to it first.”

Harry frowned at the headline. “An entire family was on trial, including a murderer, but our pregnancy was what made it on the front page?!”

“ The Prophet is far less concerned with getting the important details out than they are about catchy headlines that stir gossip and sell papers,” Tonks concurred. 

Harry groaned and tossed the paper aside. Dawn was peeking through the windows and the rest of the house was still. He glared at the bottom of the article, which was teetering on the edge of the table. “Why do they think they have a right to criticize Hermione’s prenatal care and question if she cares about our baby?”

“Welcome to motherhood,” Tonks said with a grimace. “Teddy was born here, in this house, because I couldn’t risk what a healer might do if they knew Teddy was half-werewolf. My mum was here for the birth and she coaxed me through it. But it was a long labor with no pain relieving potions—we couldn’t get the ingredients after Diagon Alley was overrun with Death Eaters—and I was sure I was going to die. It was absolutely horrible.”

Harry grimaced at the thought of Hermione going through the same pain in December. 

Tonks gripped his shoulder. “And then he was here, and Mum laid him on my chest. It isn’t a cliche when I say that every second of my pain was worth it. Teddy is the best thing that has ever happened to me and Remus. I can’t imagine my life without him.” She tossed the paper into the trash bin. “You and Hermione are now household names in the Wizarding World. Everyone is going to have an opinion about how the pregnancy is progressing, how to give birth, and how to parent. Unless you choose to move far away—and we’d miss you terribly if you did—these things are going to happen. But don’t let them get to you. You and Hermione know what is best for your child—not the press, not strangers, not even well-meaning friends or relatives.”

Harry nodded in understanding, but he frowned a moment later. “Was it important to you that your mum was there when Teddy was born?”

“Of course, and not just because she is a healer. She’s been a support and strength from day one. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.”

“Even though Remus was there?”

“Even with Remus here,” Tonks confirmed. “Remus is a wonderful partner and caregiver, but I also needed a woman’s touch. I needed to hear from a woman who’d been through it before that I could do it. And I wanted to share this once-in-a-lifetime event with the woman who gave me life.”

Harry felt a pang of sadness. No doubt his mother Lily would have been closely involved in Hermione’s pregnancy if she were alive. And Hermione’s mum was in Australia somewhere with her memories modified. “Hermione needs her mum, doesn’t she?” he murmured.

“That’s up to her, but I would be surprised if the answer was no,” Tonks replied. “Hermione has a wonderful relationship with her parents; otherwise, she wouldn’t have gone to the lengths that she did to get them to safety.”

“Do you think we could find them? Could we bring her parents’ memories back?”

Tonks pursed her lips. “It’s possible. Mum has connections in the Janus Thickey Ward that would be able to evaluate the viability of removing the charm. But also know that memory charms are complicated magic at best and can have permanent and devastating consequences. If it cannot be removed, they would need to continue as Wendell and Monica Wilkins for the rest of their lives.”

“But there’s a chance,” Harry pressed, grasping onto the possibility like a drowning man holding onto driftwood. “And as long as there’s a chance, we need to try.”

There was the sound of soft footsteps in the hall, and Andromeda walked into the kitchen with the morning’s post. She gave Harry a smile and made no effort to conceal her eavesdropping. “Before you head off to Australia, finish your DADA application. Flitwick and Slughorn’s letters of recommendation came in.”

Harry took the two envelopes with a nod of thanks. He moved to the desk in the corner, where Remus had penned a third letter. He added the resume Hermione had helped him write to the top of the letters and folded them neatly into an envelope. He wrote Headmistress McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the front and called Andromeda’s owl down from his perch in the corner. The great barn owl took the thick envelope in his beak and flew through the open window, the air buffeting Harry as he sped past. 

Harry felt the first stirrings of anxiousness. If this did not work, what would he do?

But he cast aside the worry and returned to his room. Hermione was stirring, though she only murmured sleepily when Harry asked if she was awake. Instead, he slipped beneath the covers and closed his eyes as he held her in his arms. He thought he would only lie down for five minutes, but when he awoke, the sun had risen fully and was shining through the windows. Hermione stirred next to him and gave him a soft smile. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he said. “The Evening Prophet reported about the trial and, um, us.”

Hermione grimaced. “Do I want to read it?”

“Nope.”

Hermione settled into his arms. “Well, whatever it says, it doesn’t mean anything. Let them talk.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “You mean there’s words on a page that Hermione Jean Granger won’t read?” he teased. 

“Maybe I’m just taking a leaf out of your book,” she replied. 

Harry traced his fingers over her navel and gathered his thoughts. “Tonks and I were talking this morning, and she mentioned how glad she was that she had her mum there when Teddy was born. Do you want to go to Australia and restore your parents’ memories?”

Hermione deflated slightly. “I haven’t even thought about it,” she admitted. “There’s been so much else going on.”

“Well, a pregnancy is life changing,” Harry stated fairly. “Let alone recovering from that curse and being called to testify…Do you want your parents to know about this? About us?”

Hermione kissed his cheek. “I’m a bit concerned about disappointing them. I definitely don’t think their daughter getting pregnant at eighteen by a boy she wasn’t even dating was high on their list of hopes and dreams. But…they’ll be supportive. Mum will grill us about our plans and dad will make sure you have me and your baby’s best interests at heart. And then they’ll be wonderful, doting grandparents.”

Harry kissed the top of her head. “I want that for our baby. We have the Weasleys, of course, and the Lupins and Andromeda. But your parents will be their own flesh and blood. That’s special. And it’s something I can’t provide.”

Hermione must have heard the wistfulness in his voice, for she cupped his cheek with one hand. “You can’t provide that, but you provide so much more. I am so happy that I get to raise our child with you.”

“When we fix your parents’ memories, are you going to introduce me as your boyfriend or fiance?” he asked innocently. 

She swatted his arm. “It depends on how fast you are with that ring, Potter.” 

Harry chuckled, his mind already putting a plan in motion. “So next stop Australia?”

“Next stop Australia.”

Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione really do work together perfectly as a couple, Remus thought fondly as he rocked Teddy in his arms. The duo were sitting on the floor in Andromeda’s sitting room, parchment around them filled with checklists and packing lists. Their heads were bent over a map as they circled possible places where Monica and Wendel Wilkins may have settled. Hermione asked Harry a question, and he nodded, stealing a kiss as their eyes met. Theirs wasn’t a love ruled by teenage hormones and whims of fancy; it had been forged in pain and fear and trial. 

They folded up the map and slipped it into Hermione’s beaded bag as Hermione hid a yawn behind her hand. In answer to Harry’s questioning look, she explained, “I’m just so tired. It’s common in early pregnancy. But—”

Harry pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “You should get some rest,” he murmured. “You are growing our baby, after all.”

“But we still have to pack and check the flight itinerary and—”

“I’ve got it,” he replied easily, his hand resting as it so often did on the barely-noticeable bump beneath her robes. “Please, just rest. I’ll take care of the plans while you take care of our baby.”

“But what about Gring—?”

“Bill’s working on it,” Harry interrupted gently. “There’s nothing we can do right now. I will let you know if anything comes up. All we can control is the trip to Australia. We’ll stay focused there and take the rest as it comes.”

She rested her head beneath his chin. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” she mumbled. 

“You were always there,” he said simply. “Now it’s time I return the favor.” He kissed her forehead, and she walked to her and Harry’s room, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. 

Harry waved his wand, and the map and parchment stacked themselves neatly on the coffee table. He took a seat across from Remus, a contemplative look on his face. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Remus asked. 

Harry sighed. “I just hope things go well. If we’re able to restore Hermione’s parents’ memories, I hope they’ll accept me…and what we’ve done.”

Remus clapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t promise how anyone else will react, but I will say that they are incredibly lucky to have you as the father of their grandchild. If I had a daughter, I would want someone like you in her life.”

“Even if he got her pregnant while they were both in their teens?” Harry prompted with an amused raise of the eyebrow. 

“I’d have to adjust,” Remus found himself admitting while Harry snorted. “But after that adjustment, I hope I’d see just what a wonderful young man he is,” Remus finished.

Harry nodded contemplatively and stood. “Can I show you something?”

At Remus’s nod, Harry moved to a hook near the door where his cloak hung. He rummaged in one of the pockets and withdrew a fist-sized object. “I went to Gringotts early this morning. Bill let me in before opening so I wouldn’t have to deal with crowds. I came home with this.”

He returned to the couch and held out the object in his palms. It was a ring box of plush blue velvet scuffed with age. Remus gaped when he saw it. Twenty years ago, he and Sirius had accompanied James to a small jeweler in Diagon Alley where he had purchased a ring and a blue velvet box. 

Remus took the box with shaking hands. “Is this what I think it is?” he whispered, his voice tight with constricted emotion. 

“Open it.”

Nestled in the box was a marquise diamond surrounded by four tiny emeralds upon a gold band. Tears streaked down Remus’s cheeks as he remembered the candlelit dinner the marauders had planned for James and Lily after their Hogwarts graduation. After dinner, James had taken Lily for a final walk around the lake, where he had knelt on the muddy ground and asked her to be his wife. Lily had adored that ring.

“Hagrid saved their rings the night they died. Yesterday, Bill was able to save my mum’s before the vaults were seized. He’s still trying to get my dad’s, but the goblins aren’t happy about giving it up.” 

Remus stared at him. “Your vault was seized? What’s going on?”

Harry rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking far older than his eighteen years. “The goblins seized the Potter and Black vaults to pay for the damage we caused when we rode out of Gringotts on the dragon.” He swallowed hard and added, “They even took my school vault. I don’t have a knut to my name.”

Remus swelled with indignation. “Surely they can’t do that! You were fighting a war, and they benefited from the end of Voldemort just as much as wizards.”

“Bill said we’re lucky that seizing the vaults is all they’re asking for,” Harry replied. “Because of our actions, a bunch of goblins died. Bellatrix came to the bank and killed them, and the way the goblins see it is that their blood is on my hands. If I fight this, it could escalate into an all-out goblin-wizard war. And I can’t do that. I just fought a war.” Harry’s green eyes were bright with tears as he looked at Remus. “I just want peace. They said we did twenty million galleons worth of damage, and there’s fifteen million galleons total in all my vaults, if you include the value of the Potter and Black properties. They are taking everything and forgiving the other five million.”

“That seems inflated,” Remus said flatly.

Harry shrugged. “It’s not like I know what the going rate for dragons are these days, and apparently there was a whole bunch of structural damage when we blasted through the floors, not to mention reparation money for the families of the goblins who died…They almost went after Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s vault since Ron was responsible too, but I convinced them to just take mine and not touch theirs.”

Remus studied the young man in front of him. Only ten days ago, he had rode a dragon out of Gringotts and returned to Hogwarts for the final battle. So much had changed since then. It felt like an eternity had gone by. And yet it seemed that the consequences of the war were always halting Harry’s progress. “When did all of this happen?”

“Yesterday morning was when they seized the vaults. I couldn’t sleep around dawn, and Bill sent a patronus just as soon as he knew. I met Bill there—he was the liaison—and it was all wrapped up in an hour or so. When I came back, everyone was still asleep.”

“You didn’t take Hermione with you?” Remus asked in surprise. 

Harry shook his head, a bit shame-faced. “I didn’t want to stress her and risk the baby. She’s still so thin….But she silenced the door and let me have it once I got home and told her what had happened.”

 “She doesn’t want to be treated as fragile,” Remus ascertained. “Dora was the same way.”

Harry blew air out of his cheeks. “Yeah…” He scuffed his sneaker against the leg of the coffee table. “What a great partner I am,” he muttered. “No job, not a knut to my name. I didn’t even graduate Hogwarts. And I have a kid who needs me.”

Remus reached forward and embraced him. Harry’s breathing was raspy, and Remus chose not to comment on the tears that were wetting his shoulder. “This is just a bump in the road,” Remus said softly. “It looks scary now, but good times are coming. You’ll see.”

Harry pulled back and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Thanks, Remus.” He gestured to the plans and map. “Thankfully Hermione’s parents set up a savings account for her. We’re using that money to get to Australia and it should be enough for a month or so of expenses. Hopefully we can find them soon and get back and…well, figure the rest of our lives out.”

Remus gently returned the ring to Harry’s hands, acutely aware that it was now the only thing he owned of his mother’s. “Are you proposing to Hermione?”

Harry nodded. “As soon as the time is right. I don’t want to live my life without her. D-Do you think she’ll like the ring?”

“I think she’ll love it. Lily certainly did. She snogged James absolutely senseless in front of us after he put it on her finger.” Remus smiled, remembering James’s completely dazed expression and the way his hair had been even messier than usual. “When do you leave?”

“Three days. Kingsley arranged flights and muggle transportation. He felt it would help with us travelling under the radar. Otherwise, those vultures at The Daily Prophet will be watching our every move and pumping out articles every time I sneeze.”

“And you and Hermione are adept at walking in the muggle world. It’s a good plan.”

“Thanks. And we’ll get some practice tomorrow. We’re going shopping in Westfield for more clothes. And I think it’s about time I took Hermione on a date, so we’ll grab lunch and catch a movie at the cinema before coming back.”

Remus gave Harry a smile. “A few hours away from all this will do you both good, I think.”

Harry returned the smile. He puttered around the room, consulting his packing list and putting items into Hermione’s beaded bag. Remus noted that the packing list also included much of Hermione’s books. “She’s hoping to study for her NEWTS while we’re away,” Harry explained over his shoulder. 

The packing done for the moment, Harry followed Remus into the kitchen where they made dinner. Andromeda had reported to her first day at St. Mungos, and would return shortly after Tonks was due to arrive. Remus watched proudly as Harry helped make the food, no hint of disapproval about the so-called “women’s work.”

In fact, Hermione woke about twenty minutes later, and Harry insisted on having her study while he put the casserole in the oven. He made her a cup of chamomile tea, and she sipped it as her eyes roved over an advanced transfiguration book. 

Tonks returned just as the sun set, entering the kitchen and wrapping her arms around Remus from behind. “Wotcher,” she greeted him cheerfully, nuzzling his neck. “How are my favorite men?”

“Wonderful,” Remus returned. “Teddy’s just waking from a nap.”

Tonks bustled into the living room, where Remus had placed the infant’s bassinet. She cooed to him, and Teddy babbled happily. He raised his chubby fists to her as she lifted him from the bassinet. “Every day I go to work to make your life safer, and every night I get to hold you and your daddy in my arms. I am the world’s luckiest woman.”

I’m the world’s luckiest man, Remus countered mentally, his heart swelling as Teddy scrunched up his face and his hair turned bubblegum pink to match Tonks’s. The living room was filled with Tonks’s laugh. 

He felt a hand on his arm. He turned, realizing Andromeda had come into the cozy kitchen. Her eyes were fond as she looked at her daughter and grandson. “Thank you for bringing such exquisite joy to Dora,” she said, squeezing his arm.

“She brings just as much to me,” Remus returned, watching as Tonks held Teddy in her arms and sang him a lullaby. I can’t believe I almost threw this all away, he thought for what was surely the thousandth time. 

Harry was watching the family with a wistful expression on his face. Hermione must have seen it too, for she put a hand on his wrist and raised an eyebrow. He lowered his voice to her ear, but Remus heard clearly with his lycan hearing. “I want what they have. A house of our own. A hot meal. Your mum or dad visiting and saying how happy we make each other.”

Hermione hummed contentedly and laid her head on his shoulder. “It won’t happen right away. We have to find them first. But we can still have joy in the present.”

Harry dropped his voice even lower. “I know exactly how to give you joy,” he said, an eyebrow lifting suggestively. “Tonight we should—”

Remus made a show of loudly clearing his throat. Once he had the young couple’s attention, he gestured to his ears. “Lycan hearing is more sensitive than human ears. Perhaps keep that in mind when making private suggestions meant only for one set of ears.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed as Tonks and Andromeda laughed. Andromeda patted his arm sympathetically. “Don’t worry, dear. Remus had to let Ted and I know about his sensitive hearing the morning after they moved in. Apparently we’d neglected the silencing charm.”

Tonks snorted into her drink as Remus’s cheeks reddened. “Trust me, it was just as awkward for me to bring it up.”

Andromeda flicked her wand, and the table magically set itself while Remus set the casserole in front of them. “In other news, I was assigned a specific department today. There were quite a few vacancies, so I got to choose," Andromeda said.

“What wing will you be in?” Hermione asked interestedly. 

“Obstetrics and Women’s Health,” Andromeda said with a smile. “There’s no pressure, but if you’d like me to be your healer for your pregnancy—”

“Yes! Of course yes!” Hermione squealed. 

“Good. Then I hope you won’t object to a full evaluation prior to your trip to Australia, just to make sure everything is progressing nicely. I have room in my schedule for tomorrow afternoon, if that is fitting?”

“Of course. We’ll make an appointment. Thank you, Andromeda! Or should I say Healer Tonks?”

She waved away the title. “Andromeda is fine.”

An owl carrying The Evening Prophet flew in and dropped the newspaper on the table. On the cover was a goblin standing in front of Gringotts, its cone-shaped tower destroyed except for some curved scaffolding. The headline GRINGOTTS GOBLINS SEIZE HARRY POTTER’S VAULTS TO COVER WAR DEBTS blared up at them. With a grimace, Harry turned the paper over. 

After dinner, Remus and Tonks bathed Teddy and changed him into his favorite footed pajamas (white with gold snitches). Remus swaddled him and laid him gently in his crib. The infant's eyes were heavy, and he gave his parents a milk-drunk smile. 

Remus took Tonks’s hand and led her to their room. “He went down easily,” she said, contently lying next to Remus. “Now what will we do with all our spare time?”

Remus silenced the room with a nonverbal flick of his wand. “I have a suggestion.”

“Oh?” Tonks said, her eyes sparkling knowingly. “Do tell.”

Sometimes actions spoke better than words.

*/*/*/*/*/

Harry held Hermione’s hand tightly as they walked through the crowded Westfield shopping center. They had spent the day buying new clothes and shoes, which Hermione had shrunk into her beaded bag in the bathroom. While Harry’s choices were easy to make: new trainers, some tshirts, jeans, and a belt; Hermione’s clothing choices had to account for her soon-to-be larger stomach. Since her stomach was not yet round enough for maternity clothes, she had opted for stretchy skirts and flowy dresses in addition to comfortable pants and shirts. 

She had looked absolutely stunning in everything she had tried on. 

One shirt, a cap sleeve white shirt with ruching on the sides, showed off her burgeoning bump in ways no other clothing had. She had changed into it and a pair of stretchy black shorts, and Harry had to keep himself from glancing sidelong too frequently at the attractive woman next to him. 

They stopped at a table for fish and crisps, where Hermione counted the pounds in her purse and totaled up their purchases. “We’re still well within budget,” she said cheerfully. “Plenty of money left for popcorn and a movie.”

Harry traced his thumb over her hand. “How are you enjoying our first official date?” 

Hermione smiled and pecked him on the lips. “It’s absolutely wonderful.” She looked around the crowded shopping center. “I’ve missed this,” she admitted. “There’s so much magical about the wizarding world, but the muggle world has its charm too. I wish it was encouraged for muggle borns to get the best out of both worlds instead of just conforming to the archaic practices of the wizarding world.”

Harry nodded contemplatively. “If you could take anything from the muggle world and put it in the wizarding, what would it be?”

“Pens and notebooks,” she answered immediately. “Electricity. Computers and the internet are really starting to take off, and I think there’s potential there for not just muggles but wizards too. What about you?”

“Television,” Harry answered immediately. “Can you imagine if we took Mr. Weasley to the cinema? It would blow his mind.”

“Do you think we can raise our child in both worlds? Give them the best of the muggle and wizarding world?”

“I’d like that,” Harry said sincerely. “Imagine it: they could serve detention in the forbidden forest with flashlights and flares—”

“Research for homework could be done just with an internet search—”

“Forget owls, they’d just send us an email instead. I heard Dudley talking about it once, and it seemed really cool.”

“And most importantly,” Hermione added, taking his hand. “Our baby will respect and cherish both worlds, not pit one against the other.”

“And while they grow, we’ll do what we can to bridge the gap,” Harry said. “That way, they won’t be the only kid with the experience.”

A couple passed by, pushing an infant in a pram. That’s going to be us soon, Harry realized. Everything changes in just a few months.

Andromeda was expecting them at three o’clock, so Harry and Hermione had just enough time to watch a movie. They settled for a short family comedy about a green parrot that was just ridiculous enough to be cute. Even better, it was dark enough with only a few other patrons, which gave Harry and Hermione plenty of time to steal kisses over bites of popcorn. 

After the movie, they reluctantly made their way out of Westfield and to a vacant alley where they called the Knight Bus. Apparition was discouraged during pregnancy except in emergency circumstances, so they endured the jolty ride to St. Mungos. A new conductor was in Stan Shunpike’s place, and Harry had to focus on his grounding exercises to reduce the flashbacks to the last time he had seen Stan with the Death Eaters. 

They made their way through the various wings in St. Mungos, trying to appear inconspicuous. Harry had bought a ball cap and was grateful when the people craning to look at him to see if he was in fact the Harry Potter were disappointed at the lack of a visible scar. 

They located the obstetrics wing and were directed to seats in a crowded waiting room. Many of the women were far more pregnant than Hermione, and they all seemed miserable. One waddled around the room with a hand on the small of her back. Another was rubbing her stomach with a grimace. A woman in her late twenties sat by herself surrounded by three other small children. They colored and made a cheerful ruckus as she rocked an infant over her growing belly. She looked exhausted, and Harry wondered if Molly Weasley had likewise looked the same way as a young mum. 

“Remind me to space out our kids,” Hermione muttered in an undertone. “There’s no way I could be as patient as she is. She’s a saint.”

“Y-You want more kids?” Harry asked in surprise. “W-With me?”

“No, with the Knight Bus conductor,” Hermione answered with a snort. “Who else?”

“I’m just…surprised is all,” he admitted. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“I would like at least one more,” she said. “I remember wishing for a sibling when I was younger. It can be lonely as an only child.”

“I think one more years from now would be great,” Harry said. “They’ll have an age gap since we got such a young start, but I think they could still be good friends.”

The receptionist called a name, and the mother with all the little kids made her way back to the office. She was followed by the women in the late stages of pregnancy.

Harry checked his watch. Nearly four o’clock. “They must be a bit behind on appointments.”

It was 4:15 when “Hermione Granger,” was called by the receptionist. The assistant healer directed them to a room painted in a calming sea green. She waved her wand over Hermione’s head and looked at the runes. “Vitals look great. You are still a bit underweight, but I see you are on a potions regimen to help with that. And it looks like you are just shy of 13 weeks pregnant, correct?”

Hermione nodded. The assistant flicked her wand at a chart, and information spread across it. “Healer Tonks will be with you soon. Sorry for the delay. We had a surprise birth during a routine 40 week check up, and that set us back. Every day is an adventure.”

While they waited for Andromeda, Harry studied the posters lining the walls. They were magical images, and one illustration showed a child’s development from conception to birth. At week thirteen, the embryo had grown from something resembling an alien with a tail to a defined human being with arms and legs and head. That’s what my baby looks like , Harry thought.

Another poster informed expectant witches of myths around pregnancy. Harry snorted at one of the myths. “Apparently some witches believe that if you conceive on a full moon, your child is more likely to be a boy with a full head of hair. Oh and this one: if you eat too many pickles during pregnancy, your kid will be a squib. Oh and this: if you want your kid to play quidditch, you should be sure to walk around the house pretending you are riding a broom for two hours a day from conception to birth.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I guess old wives’ tales are just as common in the wizarding world as the muggle world.” She gestured to a third poster, which had a list of the wizarding world’s most popular baby names ( Gilderoy had clinched the number one spot for boys while Agatha topped the girls’ list). “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

Harry looked at the list without seeing it. Did he want a boy or a girl? He hadn’t thought about it. “I just want a healthy baby and mum,” he said finally. “I don’t know if I am hoping one way or another. You?”

“I think I am a better fit for raising a boy,” she said. “But a girl would also be wonderful.”

“Maybe it’s one of each,” Harry deadpanned.

Hermione whacked him on the arm. “Don’t even joke. I think twins would be far beyond my abilities and, besides, if we were having twins, we would have known when Madam Pomfrey checked the heartbeat.”

“Unless she missed one,” Harry said, maintaining his deadpan expression. 

“Harry, this isn’t a joke!” Hermione snapped, burying her face in her arms. He could hear her muttering, “Don’t panic. It’s not twins. It’s not twins. It’s not twins.”

Harry rubbed a hand across her back, feeling guilty. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I should have been more sensitive.”

She sniffed and raised her head. “It’s okay. It’s just that these darn hormones make me feel so moody sometimes.”

Harry gently embraced her. “I’m still sorry.” 

They were still embracing when a light knock sounded on the door and Andromeda entered. She gave them a wide smile and consulted the chart in her hand. “Vitals look great. We’ll listen to the heartbeat and take a look at that little one.” She instructed Hermione to lay back on the examination table and bare her stomach. Andromeda placed the tip of her wand below her belly button and murmured a spell. Immediately, a fast thumping noise sounded in the room. “Heart beat is strong and perfectly within normal range,” she said. “Now let’s see the little one.” With another muttered spell, the images on one of the posters disappeared and became black. Andromeda placed the wand tip on Hermione’s stomach and gently moved it across her abdomen. A blurred outline began to take shape on the black background. Though Harry could make no sense of it, Andromeda gestured to a gray shape and said, “This is the placenta. It is high and well away from the cervix, which is great news for a vaginal delivery.” She pressed lightly with her wand, and the image turned blue and then grey again. “I’m checking the blood flow to the placenta. That looks great as well. Now let’s see that little one.”

Harry’s breath caught as a small form materialized on the screen. Though still in muted grey, Harry clearly saw his baby’s skull, tiny nose, and delicate hands. The baby’s legs were tucked tightly against its body. 

“Hello, baby,” Hermione breathed, as awestruck as Harry. “Do we know if we’re having a boy or girl?”

“Sometimes we can tell this early, but not with the baby’s current position. By twenty weeks, though, we’ll be able to know for sure.” She ended the spell and the poster spat out a miniscule photo of their baby. “It’s very similar to a muggle ultrasound,” Andromeda said, handing the photo to Hermione. “Everything looks great. Make an appointment for four weeks from now, and we’ll check again. While you are in Australia, focus on nutrient-rich foods, don’t skip your potions, and find opportunities for exercise, like a walk around the beach or prenatal yoga. How has your nausea been?”

“It hasn’t been bothering me the last few days,” Hermione answered. 

“Good. Most nausea begins to diminish around this time. Now don’t hesitate to ask questions and if anything ever feels off—anything at all—don’t hesitate to let me know. More than one baby has been saved by a mother’s intuition. In the next few weeks, you should start to feel your baby move. It will feel like butterfly wings against the inside of your uterus. That’s why we call them flutters. But don’t be worried if you haven’t felt them by the next appointment. Every baby and mum is different.” Andromeda gave each of them a hug and left for her next patient. 

Another jolty trip on the Knight Bus later, Harry and Hermione walked from the nearby village to Andromeda’s house. To their surprise, George’s patronus was waiting for them. The magpie opened its mouth and George’s voice sounded through it. “Harry, if you have time this afternoon, can you stop by the shop? Use the staff exit in the back. Password is ‘Fred’s Legacy.’”

As the magpie disappeared, Harry turned to Hermione. “Are you up for a trip to Diagon?”

But Hermione shook her head, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “I’m just so tired lately, and the thought of going into the Wheezes shop with its chaos is just too much. I’d rather spend time studying.”

Harry kissed her forehead. “Understandable. I’ll be right back.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Are you sure you’ll be safe? What if…?” Her words died away as she shrugged self-consciously. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget the war is over.”

“Me too,” Harry whispered. 

Hermione made her way back into the cottage as Harry summoned his cloak. Though he didn’t need it in the summer heat, it helped conceal his identity and kept Hermione from inadvertently finding the ring tucked in the cloak pocket. Ensuring that the ring was still securely in the garment, Harry turned on his heel and apparated to the back of George’s shop. 

He gave the password to an unmarred wall of brick, and it opened to reveal a dark corridor of wooden stairs. He followed them downward until he emerged in the Wheezes’ stockroom. A babble of voices, crashes, and bangs could be heard from overhead, followed by the jingle of coins and the opening of the till. Unsure what to do now, Harry moved around the crates toward a figure that looked like George in a shadowy corner. 

It took a bit for Harry’s brain to make sense of what he was seeing. George’s back was to him, and he and Angelina Johnson were locked in a passionate embrace, their lips locked and arms tightly around each other. He looked around, debating about the wisdom of backing away slowly and coming back later. But he remembered George grilling him about his relationship with Hermione, and the opportunity was too good to miss. 

Harry cleared his throat loudly and said, “You know, George, you might want to be careful. The last time I snogged a girl like that, I got her pregnant.”

They broke apart, flushing, but Harry wasn’t going to let them off that easily. He continued in a falsely blaise tone, “I know you made fireworks down here, but I didn’t think it was that kind. Angelina, is snogging the business owner a perk? If I work for George, do I get some too? Or did you lose something down your esophagus and he’s trying to retrieve it for you?”

George flicked his wand and silenced Harry. Harry grinned back at them, not the least penitent. 

“Are you done?” George asked, his remaining ear still pink. 

Harry nodded, and his voice returned with another flick of George’s wand. “Your patronus did tell me to show up here,” Harry said without any hint of an apology. 

George flicked his wand, and a few of the crates overturned. He and Angelina sat upon one, and he gestured for Harry to sit. George put his hands on his knees, suddenly businesslike. “I need to repay my debts,” he said. He reached into his Wheezes uniform and removed a coin purse. He held it out to Harry. 

Harry eyed him in confusion. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes I do,” he said, tossing Harry the purse, which made far more noise than could be accounted for its small size. “You gave Fred and I our start up funds. The thousand galleons are there was well as your ten-percent share of our profits for being our investor. I put an undetectable expansion charm on the purse, so it doesn't look like much, but it’s just shy of 25,000 galleons.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “George, I can’t accept this.”

George folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t insult my honor, Harry. Fred and I always intended to repay you the money, and we’ve always set aside ten percent of our profits for you. We never deposited it into your Gringotts account and hid it during the war. Now that the goblins seized your vaults, I’m glad we did. Take it, Harry. It’s what Fred would’ve wanted.”

Harry held the purse in both hands, his heart filling with gratitude. “Okay,” he whispered. “Thanks. But no more profit-sharing, okay? We’re all paid up as far as I’m concerned.”

A smile quirked the corner of George’s mouth. “I think Fred would’ve been okay with that.”

There was an awkward pause as Harry gestured to their still-pink faces. “So are you guys a thing now?”

George dropped his gaze guiltily as Angelina took his hand. “We started getting closer after the funeral, and everything just feels so right. But I don’t think it’s what Fred would’ve wanted. What kind of brother am I to go after his girlfriend the moment he’s in the ground?”

“Does Angelina make you happy?” Harry asked seriously. 

George looked at Angelina and whispered, “Beyond my wildest dreams.”

“Angelina, does George make you happy?” Harry pressed. 

Angelina nodded. “Very, very much so.”

“Then I think that’s all Fred would’ve wanted,” Harry returned. 

Chapter Text

The morning of their departure arrived, and Harry and Hermione rose before dawn had kissed the horizon. They dressed in semi-darkness, Harry donning jeans and a tshirt and Hermione a stretchy shirt and shorts. She laced her trainers and stood, looking at herself critically in the mirror. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, noting her concerned expression. 

She traced a hand over the small bump on her abdomen. “I don’t know if it’s best to show our baby off or conceal it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why?” 

Hermione sighed. “Because we’re so young. And we look young. We also look thin and pale. The muggles will notice and talk. They’ll wonder what’s wrong with me and why I was so stupid to get pregnant while obviously ill.”

Harry scrutinized their reflections in the mirror, trying to see themselves as an outsider might. Though the potions had helped restore their strength, there was a definite hollow to their cheeks, and Hermione’s weeks of nausea had made it so she appeared pale and sickly. Her collarbones jutted out in sharp relief, and her arms were thin and brittle. 

Harry traced his fingers over the bump on her stomach. He knew Hermione had bought a few flowy tops, which would completely conceal their growing child. “Please wear whatever you feel comfortable in,” he said. 

She pursed her lips and studied her reflection in the mirror. “I’m not ashamed of our child,” she whispered. “And we fought a war for crying out loud!” She turned resolutely away from her reflection to face Harry. “Let them talk. I don’t care.”

Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead and flicked his wand at the suitcase on their dresser. It zipped magically shut and flew to his hand. His other hand found Hermione’s, and they made their way to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. 

To their surprise, Ron was in the kitchen with Tonks. Both were wearing their auror robes. “Wotcher,” Tonks greeted them cheerfully. 

“Morning,” Harry replied, looking quizzically from her to Ron. 

“I have asked trainee auror Weasley to accompany you,” Tonks explained. 

“That is, if you lot are okay with it,” Ron mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red as he looked from Harry and Hermione to their open bedroom door with the mussed duvet on the bed. Evidently, he had put two and two together about their living arrangements, and he was valiantly trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed. 

“Of course you are welcome to come, Ron,” Hermione said kindly. “But can I ask why?”

“Two reasons,” Tonks said, ticking them off on her fingers. “First, Ron has just finished his tracking training. He has spent the last two weeks learning the charms and laws around tracking people and can guide you through the process. No need to get the Australian Ministry of Magic upset that you are tracking muggles. Second, Ron needs hands-on experience moving in the muggle world. There’s only so much that you can learn from a textbook, and this is a perfect opportunity. The two of you can help him avoid any faux pas, and he’ll be ready to sit the examination when he returns.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He hadn’t considered that finding Hermione’s parents may catch the attention of the ministry, and he appreciated Tonks’s foresight. “Er, don’t we need an extra ticket then?”

“Kingsley took care of the arrangements, as well as muggle identification and a passport for Ron,” Tonks explained. 

“Well, we’d better go to the village and call a taxi,” Hermione said, checking her watch. “And Ron, you’d better change into muggle clothes.”

Ron took a shrunk suitcase from his pocket and walked to the bathroom to change. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a golfing shirt, tan cargo shorts, and crew-length socks with Birkenstocks. Unable to help himself, Harry burst out laughing.

“What?” Ron asked, turning around so they could see the outfit in all its glory. “It looked just like a picture of a man in the muggle studies book.”

Stifling his laughter, Harry managed to choke out, “Ron, I thought I was the one going to be a dad, but you’ve got the outfit down perfectly.”

Hermione did a better job at hiding her smile, though the corners of her lips were turning up against her own volition. “Middle aged muggle men—usually dads—tend to wear that choice of clothing,” she explained to a bewildered Ron. 

Ron brightened and turned to Harry. “Well, Dad , once I’m through with it, you can have it.”

“Please no,” Hermione interjected as Harry continued to laugh, now clutching his sides. He looked up, caught sight of Ron’s getup a second time, and doubled over, tears falling down his cheeks. 

“Do I need to change?” Ron asked uncertainly. 

“It’s fine,” Harry managed to choke out. “Just remind me to buy a camera and snap a picture once we get to Australia.”

“Why?”

“For posterity’s sake.”

*/*/*/*/*/

The drive to the airport was uneventful, and they wheeled their luggage into the bustling airport. Ron’s eyes were wide, and Harry kept elbowing him in the ribs to remind him not to gape at every turnstile and digital flight board. Harry and Hermione handled checking the luggage and scanning their tickets. 

After the scanner made a happy beep, Ron loudly whispered, “It knows that we’re here? Weird!” A girl perhaps a bit younger than the trio giggled at his exuberance as she passed by. 

They took seats at a row of plastic chairs and watched through the long windows facing the tarmac as the planes arrived and departed. Ron’s eyes were the size of saucers. “We’re going to fly in one of those oversized tin cans? There’s no way.”

“It is perfectly safe, Ronald,” Hermione said, not looking up from the morning’s Daily Prophet , which had been charmed to look like a regular muggle newspaper. 

“Anything I should know about in the Prophet ?” Harry asked, keeping his voice low. 

Hermione handed it over to him with a shrug as Ron wandered aimlessly around, his hands in his pockets and his eyes glued to the airplanes. “There’s a protest happening on the steps of Gringotts due to your vaults being seized, and the Ministry is trying to step in. The article said it could take months of litigation before a compromise is reached. And…” here she hesitated. “The uh, DADA position is no longer being advertised in the paper.”

Harry was not prepared for the acute disappointment he felt. “Oh. Does that mean McGonagall’s already found someone?”

“Maybe. Or maybe she has enough applicants to start interviewing. I wouldn’t give up hope yet. And I’m sure Andromeda will floo call if a letter arrives for you from Hogwarts.”

Harry sighed. He had found himself daydreaming about teaching defense, from the lessons he would cover to how he would manage classroom shenanigans. He had wanted this, and it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. “We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said with more confidence than he felt. 

The intercom above their heads chimed to life to announce that their flight was boarding. They walked through the tunnel—Ron exclaiming, “Wow! What is this for?”---and into the jet. Harry located their seats and stowed Hermione’s beaded bag in the overhead compartment. Harry was about to take the window seat when Hermione gestured that Ron should take it. Harry raised his eyebrow in a question as Ron settled in the seat, grumbling about the lack of leg room. 

“I want the aisle seat. It’s closer to the bathroom,” Hermione explained in an undertone. “I have to pee more frequently and if I get nauseous, I want a quick escape route.”

Harry took the middle seat and Hermione settled comfortably against his shoulder. An older woman across the aisle looked at Hermione, and her gaze drifted to the bump. With a look of disapproval, she met Harry’s gaze. Harry stared her down stoically until the woman huffed and turned away. She rummaged in her bag for a pair of knitting needles and began clacking away at a lumpy blanket. 

“If that lady side-eyes you again, let me know, ‘Mione, and I’ll put those needles where the sun don’t shine,” Ron muttered. Harry raised an impressed eyebrow and Ron shrugged. “Auror training is all about observation and reading people. ‘Constant vigilance’ and all that. And you and Hermione have enough to worry about without other peoples’ judgment.”

Harry’s heart warmed at the words. Part of him had worried that having Ron along would strain their tentative friendship, and he was grateful to learn that that wasn’t the case. If anything, Ron seemed even more amicable now that he wasn’t constantly bickering with Hermione in a misplaced effort to hide his feelings. 

They sat through the attendant’s safety presentation, and the plane taxied over the tarmac. Ron’s grip was tight on the seat. “I don’t like this,” he muttered in Harry’s ear. 

Harry had likewise never flown, but he gave Ron a comforting smile. “It’s all right. Hermione’s done this loads of times. She says it’s safe.”

The plane began to pick up speed, and they found themselves pressed backward in their seats as the plane rapidly gained altitude. Ron’s eyes were glued to the window, and he began muttering, “Oh, I don’t like this. I really don’t like this. Why didn’t we apparate? Or take a portkey? Or the floo? This is awful.”

“Ron, keep your voice down,” Hermione hissed. 

Ron squeezed his eyes tightly shut until the plane leveled out. He opened one eye. “Are we there?”

Hermione laughed. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s a twenty-two hour flight.”

Ron looked distinctly green. Harry showed him how to recline his seat and select a movie to watch on the tiny screen. In minutes he was enraptured with the same movie he and Hermione had watched two days before. 

Hermione was reading an advanced arithmancy book spelled to look like a popular novel. She took careful notes with a ballpoint pen and notebook. She met Harry’s fond smile with a quirked eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. It just feels like old times is all,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

Over the course of the next eight hours, Hermione finished her studies and nodded off on Harry’s shoulder. Harry toyed affectionately with one of her curly locks. Ron had finished his third movie and was quite keen to start another one, but Harry put a hand on the headphones before he could place them over his ears again. “Mate, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Will you be the best man at my wedding?”

Ron looked at him in surprise. “You’re engaged?”

“Not officially. I brought the ring to Australia and will ask her when the time is right. If she says yes, will you be my best man?”

“‘Course, mate,” Ron said, still looking quite flabbergasted. “A-Are you sure you want me to?”

“Absolutely sure. I can’t imagine doing it without you.”

Ron grinned at him. “Alright then. I can do that.” He looked at Hermione’s head resting on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re really good for her, you know. You make her feel safe and loved. I can tell.”

Harry tenderly kissed her temple. “She’s really good for me too,” he said softly. “Hopefully her parents will be understanding when we find them and announce the pregnancy.”

Ron whistled through his teeth. “Didn’t think of that. Have fun, mate.”

“I might need your auror skills to come rescue me,” Harry joked lightly. 

“Won’t be there,” Ron interjected. “My orders are to activate an international portkey and return to my training once Hermione’s folks are located.”

Harry felt an odd emptiness inside him. He had assumed his best mate would be there for the duration of the trip, but he also understood. Rebuilding trust with Hermione’s parents could take weeks, and Ron couldn’t be gone that long. “Well I’m glad you’re here now.”

Ron looked at the couple again, his eyes soft. “Me too, Harry. Me too.”

Harry nodded off next, his arms comfortably around Hermione and their tiny baby. He was awoken by the intercom crackling to life as the pilot announced they will soon land at the Sydney International Airport. Harry folded up the tray in front of him and stretched in his seat. Ron was rubbing his knees. “Why do they make airplanes so small?” he grumbled. 

They began the descent (Ron again looking quite green) and exited the plane. As they waited by the baggage claim, Ron said, “I’m so glad to be on the ground again. That was awful.”

“It’s better than weeks at sea on a boat,” Hermione said. “That’s how muggles used to travel across the ocean.”

Ron shuddered at the thought. 

Their bags arrived, and Harry wheeled his and Hermione’s bags while Hermione carried her beaded bag over one shoulder. Though the purse would have been more than spacious enough to accommodate their belongings, they hadn’t wanted to arouse suspicion by arriving without any luggage. 

They walked into the brilliant Australian sunlight. It was late autumn, and the air was warm but with just a hint of coolness. Hermione sighed. “It’s the perfect weather.”

They flagged down a taxi, and the middle-aged driver took them to their hotel, keeping up a stream of tourist information in an Australian accent. Harry struggled to follow the slang at times, but he smiled and nodded at the cheerful fellow as he pointed out points of interest. Of particular note was a length of pristine beach, the waves crashing gently across the shore. It was crowded with beachgoers, and Harry asked, “Is there ever a time when the beach is less busy?”

“The morning, for sure,” the taxi driver said. “The tide’s low then, though, so it’s not great for swimming. Good for pictures, though.”

Harry nodded contemplatively, an idea forming in his mind. 

They arrived at the hotel a few minutes later, and Hermione paid the cabby while Harry removed their luggage from the boot. There was a corner shop next door, so Harry told Ron to watch their luggage while he went in to buy a polaroid camera with funds that had been converted from galleons to Australian dollars prior to leaving England. True to his word, Harry made Ron pose with their luggage and took a picture of his getup. The camera spat out the photo, and Harry held it between two fingers as the picture began to take form. 

Their hotel room was on the 18th floor, and they took the elevator up. Thankfully no one else was in the elevator when Ron, overexcited and looking reminiscent of Arthur Weasley, pushed all the buttons, making the elevator stop on every floor on the way up. Hermione rolled her eyes and shared a humorous glance with Harry.

When they reached their floor, Ron stepped out first. “Finally!” he said. “That took forever. No idea why it has to stop on each blasted level on the way up.”

Hermione stifled her giggles as Harry deadpanned, “You’d think it would just go where you told it to. The buttons are labeled, after all.”

“Exactly!”

They reached room 1812, and Harry used the keycard to unlock the door. It was a beautiful suite with two king beds and a wide window with sheer curtains. The stretch of beach the cabby had pointed out was visible through the window, along with the sparkling blue ocean. Harry stepped to the window, transfixed. “I’ve never seen the ocean before. Not like this,” he whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

“I saw enough of it on that blasted plane ride,” Ron grumbled. “Never again.” He flopped onto one of the beds and stretched his long limbs. Harry and Hermione looked at each other, Harry’s eyebrow raised in a question. Ron saw the look and rolled his eyes. “Share the other bed. I don’t care. Just don’t shag in front of me okay?”

“Of course we won’t, Ronald!” Hermione said, aghast.

“I make no promises,” Harry said at the same time. Hermione smacked him on the arm and rolled her eyes.

She turned to the small table in the room, which had a menu on the surface. “We should probably order some dinner and then get a restful night’s sleep. Tomorrow we’ll start looking, and the jet lag will catch up to us if we aren’t proactive about resting today.”

“Will you go for a walk with me on the beach at sunrise tomorrow?” Harry asked Hermione. 

She looked at him over the menu in surprise. “Of course. That sounds lovely.”

They ate a delicious meal of seafood and settled in early. Hermione wore a pair of buttoned pajamas, and out of respect for Ron, Harry had donned a shirt and sweats. Harry cradled Hermione in his arms as the shadows lengthened on the ceiling and Hermione’s breathing became deep and even. Once he was sure she was asleep, he whispered, “Ron? You awake?”

“I am now,” he mumbled. “What’s up?”

“Will you take pictures with the camera while Hermione and I go on the walk tomorrow morning? Maybe stay at a distance so she doesn’t know you’re there, and then move up when I stop and turn to her?”

“You proposing tomorrow, then?” Ron whispered. 

“Yeah. And I think she’d like to have pictures to show her parents and Andromeda and the Lupins.”

“And my mum. She’s going to gush about it for weeks,” Ron added. "Of course I'll do it."

“Thanks, mate. You know how to work the camera?”

“Yeah. There was a chapter about them in that muggle studies book I was reading.”

Harry settled into the bed, marveling at its softness and comfort, but above all marveling at the softness and comfort of having the woman he loved in his arms. 

Tomorrow marked the beginning of the rest of their lives, and he couldn’t wait to start.

*/*/*/*/*/

The sand was soft underfoot and the gulls cawed overhead as Harry walked along the beach with Hermione. The sunrise was spectacular, pinks and oranges and purples against a dusky sky. It was a bit chilly, so they had donned light jackets prior to leaving the hotel. Ron had been feigning sleep, but Harry noted that the camera was next to him on his pillow, and he had given Harry a one-eyed wink as Harry tied his trainers. 

Now Harry saw a slight shadow shift behind a line of bushes lining the board walk as Ron took his place behind the hedge. Hermione was none the wiser as she looked out at the ocean. “Harry, it’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“Yes you are,” Harry returned, wrapping his arms around her from behind and nuzzling her neck. She sighed and leaned into his touch. 

Harry stepped aside and gently turned her to face him. He had rehearsed the words in his mind for hours that night, and he was grateful that his voice didn’t waver as he said, “Hermione, you’ve been my best friend for years. You were with me at a time that no one else was, and the highlight of my life has been the dance in the tent and every beautiful thing that has come after. I know life isn’t going to be easy, but I can’t imagine it without you by my side as we raise our son or daughter as a family. I vow to be your partner, your friend, your lover. I vow to be faithful to you and only you. I want to experience every joy, every passion, and every sorrow with you.” He removed the blue box from his jacket pocket and knelt on one knee in the soft sand. “Hermione Jean Granger, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes!” Hermione’s eyes sparkled with tears, and she was grinning wider than Harry had ever seen. 

Harry removed his mum’s ring from the box and slid it onto Hermione’s left hand. It fit perfectly, and the diamond sparkled in the light from the rising sun. 

“Harry, it’s beautiful,” she whispered. 

He rose to his feet and embraced her. Their lips met softly at first, then with increasing passion as Hermione deepened the kiss. Knowing Ron was nearby clicking away with the camera, Harry pulled away before things could get too heated. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I got it! I got it!” Ron shouted, emerging from the bushes with several polaroids in his hands. 

Hermione laughed. “You really did think of everything, didn’t you?”

“I wanted it to be special,” Harry said. 

“It was perfect,” she said, placing a kiss on his lips. “Shall we go order breakfast, fiancé?” 

Fiancé. He could get used to that.

Chapter Text

After a filling breakfast where Ron dared Harry to try vegemite, they made their way to the bustling streets of Sydney. As they walked, Harry tried to wash the taste out of his mouth with a bottle of water. 

“I wonder if vegemite is like horseradish or wasabi: less is more,” Hermione mused. “It seems quite popular here, so there has to be a reason.”

“I don’t think Australians have working taste buds. That was awful,” Harry grumbled good-naturedly. 

Ron directed them to a shady alcove next to a library, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking in their direction. “Okay, the biggest thing about tracking spells is that they are time-sensitive. They can only detect if someone has been there within the last 48 hours. Otherwise it doesn’t work. There’s a bunch of counter spells wizards can use that mess with the tracking, but we won’t have to worry about them since your folks are muggles. What we do have to worry about is how to power the magic. Usually this is done with an object belonging to the person that the magic can ‘sense’ so to speak.”

“Kind of like a bloodhound?” Harry asked. 

Ron nodded. “That’s how the aurors described it, actually. Since we don’t have anything from your parents, Hermione, it makes it a bit harder. But we do have you . And you have DNA from both your parents. The magic may be a bit less reliable, but it’s a good start. We’ll use one of your hairs to power the spell.”

Hermione frowned as a group of schoolchildren led by their harried teacher ascended the steps to the library. “But don’t we have to narrow down their location first? The spell will only work if they’ve been in an area within the last 48 hours, correct?”

“Yeah. So the hard part will be casting the spell in multiple locations across the city to see if we get anything. And if not, we’ll have to go to the next town, and then the next—”

Hermione groaned. “That will take ages! Australia is a country, Ron. A big country. In fact, it’s an entire continent. ”

Ron bristled. “Look, I’m just trying to help—”

Harry raised his hands and stepped between his two friends, again struck by how much it felt like old times. He put a hand on his fiance’s arm. “I know this feels overwhelming, but we’ve done the impossible before. And Ron is only trying to help.”

“Sure, take his side!” she snapped. 

A bit alarmed, Harry took a step back. A retort was on his tongue, but he tapped down the urge as he took a deep breath and released it, as Janelle had taught him during their therapy sessions. That’s when he noticed a sheen of sweat on Hermione’s brow and a redness on her cheeks. She was absently fanning herself with a map of the city. “Hermione, sit down,” he said.

“Don’t tell me what to—”

Harry guided her to a bench and pulled her onto it. Ron followed, his brow furrowed in concern. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, muttering a quick spell to refill his water bottle and handing it to her. “Because you look like you’re overheating or something.”

“I—” she faltered. “I feel awful,” she mumbled. Before Harry could respond, she lurched to the nearest bush and vomited the contents of her breakfast. 

“Uh, does that happen a lot?” Ron muttered, his face turned away from the sick.

Harry pulled Hermione’s hair away from her face and rubbed her back. “It’s been getting better, but this certainly isn’t the first time. ‘Mione, we need to get you out of the heat.”

Hermione straightened up and vanished the sick as Harry conjured a handkerchief. She wiped her mouth and said, “It isn’t very hot though.”

“I don’t think your body—and our unborn baby—agrees.”

Hermione sighed. “You’re probably right. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She looked at Ron. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just get you somewhere cooler.”

They entered the library, avoiding the children’s section where the schoolchildren were making a ruckus. Harry kept an arm around Hermione’s waist until they entered the nonfiction section, and Harry eased her into a plush chair. She closed her eyes, exhaustion written on her face. Ron hovered over his shoulder, seemingly unsure of how to help. 

“Rest right here. I’m going to see if I can borrow a fan or something.” In an aside to Ron, Harry said, “Keep an eye on her okay? Yell if anything seems wrong.”

Harry glanced through the aisles of books but couldn’t find a fan or air conditioning vent anywhere. Distracted, he almost ran into a tottering old woman carrying a stack of knitting books. He sidestepped her quickly and muttered an apology, but she grabbed his arm with surprising force. 

Immediately Harry’s instincts flooded adrenaline to his arms and legs. But remembering Janelle’s techniques, Harry forced himself to calm his thundering heart. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to—” but the words died on his lips as she looked at him and gave him a gap-toothed smile. It was the same woman that had sat across from them on the airplane. 

It doesn’t mean anything, Harry told himself even as she continued to squint up at his face. We just came to the same city, that’s all. And the same library. And the same floor—

“Do take care of that pregnant fiancé of yours,” she said. Her voice was raspy and grating, as if she had forgotten how to use it. “I would hate for something…unfortunate…to happen to both of them.”

Janelle’s techniques be damned , Harry thought. If there was ever a time for fight or flight, it was now. 

“How did you know she’s my fiancé?” Harry said, forcing his voice to remain calm and unconcerned as he mentally judged the distance he was from Hermione and how quickly he could alert her about their need to leave. 

She patted his arm. “I know these things, dear. And I know what you are up against. You think you’ve found bliss. You think you’ve found peace, but that is not to last. Evil is never fully conquered. You’ll spend everything you have trying to protect her, but you will ultimately fail.”

Ice cascaded into Harry’s chest, but aloud he said, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know plenty about you, Harry James Potter—”

Harry felt a rushing in his ears. Was it possible she had seen his boarding pass on the plane? No, the attendant had taken it. Which meant there was only one explanation: this strange woman knew his name. 

Harry found his voice. “You said you’d ‘hate for something unfortunate to happen’ to my fiance and child. Is that a threat?” He took a step closer to her and dropped his voice to something akin to a warning growl. 

She idly traced the title of one of her knitting books with a finger. “ I wish no harm to either of them. But I see things, I know things, and I feel things. There’s a darkness coming in your path. Your child is too weak to withstand it. Your fiancé thinks she is strong, but she is more damaged than either of you realize. If you don’t do something—and do it soon—you will lose both of them.”

Panic clutched Harry’s chest. “What evil? What darkness? What do I do?”

But the woman turned away, walking in a stilting step.

“Wait—”

“ Harry! What are you doing, mate?”

Harry blinked in confusion. He had outstretched an arm to grab the woman’s shoulder but there was no one there. He dropped the arm limply to his side and turned to Ron, who was looking at him in confusion. 

“What was going on?” Ron said, his voice trembling a little. “I kept trying to get your attention but it was like you were looking right through me.”

Harry stared at him. “I was talking to the woman with the knitting needles from the flight.”

Now it was Ron’s turn to stare. “Harry…there’s no one here.”

“But she was! She was just here.”

Ron looked around in confusion. “Mate…I’d been trying to get your attention for at least a minute and it was like you weren’t even seeing me.”

“Because I was talking to the woman—”

“There wasn’t anyone around you.”

Ron was eyeing him with a level of concern that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable. “L-Let’s get you and ‘Mione back to the hotel,” he said. 

Harry made no argument as he followed Ron back to the line of chairs where Hermione rested with a hand over her bump. The sweat was gone from her brow, but she immediately stiffened when she saw the expression on Ron’s face. “What’s happened?”

“We’re going back to the room. Then Harry will explain.”

*/*/*/*/*/

There was a strained silence after Harry finished recounting what the old woman had said to him. Biting her lip, Hermione turned to Ron. “You didn’t see anyone? You’re sure?”

Though Ron had confirmed that fact only a minute earlier, he nodded. He was pale beneath his freckles as he addressed Harry. “Mate, it was like you were seeing something I couldn’t.”

“Maybe it was a disillusionment charm that she modified so only I could see,” Harry suggested, crossing his arms across his chest in defiance. “I know what I saw. She spoke to me.” 

Hermione was sitting cross-legged on their bed. She took his hand and spoke in a soft voice. “I believe you, Harry. And I believe Ron…I think we’d better use that card Janelle gave you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Hermione spoke in the same soft voice as she took his right hand in her left, her ring sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Because…it sounds like you may have had a hallucination.”

Harry blinked at her. “A hallucination? Hermione, I’m not crazy! This was real! ”

Hermione smoothed the duvet beneath her fingers and said, “Sometimes I think I see Bellatrix Lestrange in the shadows, in the reflection of the mirror while I’m brushing my teeth, in the face of any woman with her stature. And it feels real. It does. But…it’s not. It’s not real.”

With a sinking feeling, Harry went to his suitcase and removed the black business card Janelle had given him during their first meeting. “I’m only supposed to use this in emergencies…Do you really think this is an emergency?” 

“I do, Harry.”

Harry’s cheeks were wet, whether as a result of his acute disappointment or crushing overwhelm, he couldn’t tell. He wiped the tears away as he held the card in his hand and spoke Janelle’s name. There was an audible crack, and Janelle appeared, wearing her robes that distinguished her as part of the auror healing staff. Her eyes swept the room, from Hermione seated on the bed, Harry standing next to the table with ruddy cheeks, and Ron hovering while wringing his hands. 

“Trainee Weasley, could you please give me some privacy with my patients? Perhaps grab something sweet at a nearby grocer and come back in about a half an hour?” she asked. 

Looking grateful to have something to do, Ron left, pulling the door behind him with a click. Harry’s shoulders sagged as he collapsed on the bed next to Hermione. He felt drained and exposed, as if someone had taken sandpaper to his emotions. 

Janelle took a seat on the opposite bed. Harry sat up and he and Hermione faced her. Hermione gripped Harry’s hand tightly and Harry was grateful for her support as he explained to Janelle the woman in the library, the woman’s terrible words, and Ron’s insistence that no such woman existed. 

When he finished, Janelle nodded contemplatively. “From what you’ve told me, I am inclined to also conclude that this was a hallucination. The woman stated many of your fears: people that you’ve never met knowing your identity, a fear that some evil will take away your peace, and the fear that you could lose your baby and the mother of your child. Does that sound accurate?”

More tears fell from Harry’s cheeks as he nodded. “Yeah. I-I’m scared of all those things. So scared.”

Hermione swallowed and cupped his cheek with her hand. “You’re afraid me and our baby will die?” 

Harry nodded. “I don’t want to lose you in childbirth, ‘Mione. And I don’t want something to go wrong that means our baby doesn’t make it.”

“Oh, Harry…” she said softly. “I didn’t know that was affecting you so badly.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he whispered. 

They shared a tender embrace, Hermione’s tears wetting his shoulder. He looked at Janelle. “What do I do? Am I going crazy? How do I know what’s really there and what isn’t?”

“A few things,” Janelle said, flicking her wand in a complicated motion. A scarlet potion appeared out of thin air. “The first is a mental exercise to handle your anxiety around your fears. Remind yourself what is in your control and what is out of your control. For example, it is out of your control that people will recognize you. After all, you are the Savior of the Wizarding World. People will notice you. But you can request that people give you space, and you can travel at times when there are less crowds. Over time, I have full confidence that this will stop being an issue. Regarding a return of evil, you cannot control what other people do. But you can control your ability to alert authorities if you see something illicit going on, and you can raise your child to be the good that the world needs. And, if you become a professor, you can fight the darkness by teaching students how to combat it. 

“Regarding the pregnancy, you can’t control whatever the future outcome is, but you can control being a supportive partner and helping Hermione have a healthy and successful pregnancy by reminding her to take her prenatal potions and helping her bear her mental and physical burdens. And you can learn everything you can about pregnancy and infant care to prepare. Also,” she handed him the scarlet potion, “you will need to take this potion daily in addition to your other potions. It will stop the hallucinations. That way, you will know that what you’re seeing is real.”

Harry took the potion with a resigned sigh. “Am I going insane?” he asked Janelle. There was an uncomfortable twist in his stomach.

“No. Your brain is trying to handle stimuli and needs some help. That’s all. The best thing you can do for your future wife and child is be a mentally-well husband and father. And that happens by meeting with me and taking your potions. You are off to a great start, and I applaud your progress.”

“Thanks, Janelle. And thanks, you know, for everything.”

Janelle gave each of them a hug and disapparated. Harry looked at Hermione, a bit shame-faced. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve wasted time that should have been spent finding your parents.”

She covered his lips with two fingers. “There is nothing to apologize for, my love.”

They shared a collection of slow, tender kisses. They parted and Hermione rested her forehead against Harry’s. “Ron will be back soon. I hope he brings ice cream. That sounds lovely.”

“Would you like some pickles too?” Harry asked innocently. 

She considered for a moment. “No, but mint chocolate chip would really hit the spot.”

Chapter Text

After enjoying ice cream (Ron had grabbed chocolate, so Harry had whisked down to the corner station for an additional pint of mint chocolate chip for Hermione), they spent the rest of the day canvassing the city. It was an unseasonably hot day, so Harry insisted that Hermione rest beneath a shady tree in a beautiful park while he and Ron took turns laying the tracking spells. 

Ron left to canvas the remaining west side of the city while Harry wrapped Hermione in his arms and kissed the top of her head as they watched a rugby scrimmage on the field nearby. Without warning, Hermione inhaled and placed a hand on her abdomen. 

Harry tensed. “What is it?”

Hermione’s mouth was slightly open, not in concern, but in awe and wonder. “I-I just felt it,” she breathed. 

“Felt what?”

“The flutters Andromeda talked about. It really does feel like butterfly wings on the inside. Our baby is moving, and I can feel it.”

Harry’s throat had gotten tight. “That’s incredible,” he breathed. He threaded his fingers through Hermione’s hand and put their entwined hands over her stomach. “Hello baby,” he whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here and doing well.”

“It’s fourteen weeks tomorrow,” Hermione said. “Only twenty-six weeks to go. It seems so soon and yet so incredibly far away.”

Harry traced his thumb across her engagement ring. “Do you want to be married before our baby comes or after?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “In an ideal world? Or in our current blissful but messy one?”

Harry chuckled. “Both.”

“In an ideal world, we’d marry on June 30th, so four weeks away. I’ve always wanted a June wedding, and that would be the latest possible date to still get one. And it would be on a beach. Everyone we loved would be there, but it would still be small enough to be intimate.” She shook her head embarrassedly. “But I know life is messy, and the reality is that it might take four weeks—or four months—to find my parents.” Her eyes sparkled from withheld tears. “I don’t want to get married without them. If we can’t restore their memories, I’ll have to do it alone, but I have to find them and try first.” She rubbed a hand across her wet cheeks. “Darn hormones,” she muttered. 

Harry knelt on the soft grass in front of her and took her hands. “‘Mione, if you want to get married on June 30th, we’ll get married on June 30th. I’m going to find your parents in time, no matter what it takes.”

Hermione gave him a sad smile. “Harry, there are so many factors out of our control—”

“There’s a way,” he insisted. “There has to be.”

There was a slight pop , and Ron emerged from a shadowed alley. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Okay, now that we’ve canvassed the city, we should get notified by our wands once your parents are on the move. If they are here, it shouldn’t take long. The tracking spell will find them even if they are moving inside a home or business. We should know in an hour or two if they are in Sydney.”

An hour passed and then two. Their wands remained frustratingly silent. The sun was setting, the rays sparkling brilliantly across the ocean. Ron’s stomach growled and Harry chuckled. “I’ll grab food. Can you all look at the map and choose the next closest city? Then we can travel there tonight and lay some more tracking spells before dark.” 

Emboldened by his promise to find Hermione’s parents in enough time for her dream June wedding, he racked his brain for another way to complete their mission. Ron had been trained in the charms and was well aware of their limitations, so a niggling part of Harry’s brain whispered that magic wasn’t the answer here. He would have to come up with a muggle solution. 

Harry passed a bus stop, which bore a covered bench and a phone booth. Dangling from a thick cord at the bottom of the booth was a phone book, its pages dirty and crinkled from moisture.

A conversation he had had with Hermione when they were eleven came to his mind: “ Harry, it’s logic! Most witches and wizards don’t have an ounce of logic.”

Logically, Hermione’s parents would have opened another dental practice upon their arrival in Australia, which meant—logically—that their practice would be listed in the phone book of whichever city or town they had settled in. And logically if they could find the dental practice, they could lay tracking spells to locate Wendel and Monica Wilkins. 

Harry grabbed the Sydney phone book and flipped to the business listings. He ran his finger down the list of dentist offices, his suspicions confirmed. There was no Wendel or Monica Wilkins on the page. They hadn’t settled in Sydney. They were somewhere else. 

And it would take a lot less time to apparate to each city, find a phonebook, and look up dental offices than canvasing every city on the continent with spellwork. 

With a grin, he stopped by a restaurant and ordered a variety of Chinese food. Remembering Andromeda’s instructions, he made sure to order nutrient-rich dishes full of vegetables for Hermione. After a moment’s consideration, he ordered the same for himself and Ron. After all, healthy alternatives wouldn’t hurt any of them.

Takeaway containers in hand, he found a secluded corner and apparated to the alley next to the park. As he handed out the meal, he excitedly explained his discovery with the phone book. 

Hermione had been withdrawn while they waited for the tracking spells to make any sort of contact. Now her eyes lit with purpose. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!”

“You can’t think of everything all the time. That’s why there’s two of us,” Harry said, raising his egg roll in a pseudo toast.  

“Well, three of us,” Hermione said, with a nod of respect to Ron. “Couldn’t do it without you.”

“Not three. Four,” Ron said, waving vaguely to her navel. “Your kid counts too— Oomph !”

Hermione had thrown her arms around Ron and was sobbing uncontrollably. Ron looked at Harry alarmed, who mouthed the word ‘hormones’ over Hermione’s shoulder. Ron patted her back awkwardly. “It’s okay, Hermione.”

She sat back on the grass. “I know it’s okay,” she sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “It’s just…knowing that you accept our baby is the best thing. I didn’t want my relationship with Harry to push you away. Harry, I, and our little one need you in our lives.”

Ron’s ears turned red and he cast a bashful gaze to his sneakers. “Well, you guys are worth being friends to.”

As night fully descended on the city, they returned to their hotel, where Harry lay awake long after Hermione had fallen asleep. As he had taken to do whenever she was in his arms, he traced his fingertips lightly over her stomach. I can’t wait to meet you, little one, he thought.

*/*/*/*/*/

They rose early and spread a map of Australia across Ron’s bed. Pregnant women were unable to apparate due to the stress it placed on the fetus, so Harry and Ron took turns apparating to different towns and cities, locating phone books, and apparating back to the hotel. Hermione crossed off each town as they went. She suggested they look to coastal cities first, as her mother had always loved the ocean. So they apparated and disapparated, moving slowly south down the coast. 

Just after lunchtime, Ron appeared with a pop and shouted, “I found them! They’re in Melbourne!” He thrust a yellow page torn from a phone book into Hermione’s hands. Harry peered over her shoulder to read the listing:

Wilkins Dentistry

Wendel and Monica Wilkins, DDS

Below their names was a suite address within a medical complex in Melbourne. There was shocked silence as Hermione’s eyes roved over the words, drinking them in like a starved man in the desert. 

Harry studied the key on the map and made some distance calculations. “Without apparition, it’s going to take us most of the day to get there by car. Does Melbourne have any wizarding areas? Could we floo to, I dunno, an Australian version of The Leaky Cauldron or something?”

“I’ll check,” Ron said, disappearing in a blink. 

Hermione smoothed the paper containing her parents’ address with her fingers. “We found them,” she whispered. She bit her lip. “Now I’m nervous. Happy, but nervous.”

Harry wrapped her in his arms. “No matter what happens next, I’ll be right there with you.”

They remained in the embrace until Ron returned with another soft pop . “There is an entire Wizarding street with a pub! The witch at the counter said we’re welcome to floo in. I also reserved you guys a room above the pub.” Ron grinned at them. “I told her you’d just gotten engaged while we were on holiday, and she upgraded you to the honeymoon suite.”

Harry was touched by his generosity. “Thanks, mate.”

Ron shrugged and gave them a mischievous grin. “Don’t thank me. I used your money.”

The trio laughed. They shrunk their luggage, returned their room keys, and walked to a secluded corner of the hotel. Ignored by the muggles, it was an old-fashioned fireplace with crackling green flames. Large enough to accommodate the three—well, four if you counted the unborn—of them, the fireplace was warm and inviting as they stepped in and Ron shouted the name of their destination. A nauseating spin later, they stepped out of the grate. 

What Ron had called a pub was actually a coffeehouse with modern lines and comfortable red chairs around circular metal tables. The woman at the counter looked up and gave them a smile. She must have recognized Ron, for she said, “This is the happy couple, correct?”

At Ron’s nod, she swept over to Harry and Hermione. She did a slight double take at the bump on Hermione’s abdomen. “Usually the honeymoon suite comes with champagne, but considering the circumstances, a non-alcoholic option is preferable, yes?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “And thank you.”

“Not to worry dear,” she said. “I will send up some sparkling cider instead. Any nut allergies?” When Harry and Hermione shook their heads, she continued, “Perfect. We also provide some of the best chocolate you can find in Australia.” Her eyes twinkled a bit mischievously. “Some of our guests swear that it has aphrodisiacal properties, but I will neither confirm nor deny that. At any rate, they are completely safe for pregnant women and their partners. Just please keep the noise down or use silencing charms during your stay. The walls are quite thin.”

Ron coughed, his cheeks flaming. Stifling his laughter, Harry said, “We will keep that in mind. Thank you.”

She handed them a key (Harry was surprised to see that it was a modern keycard not unlike the one they had used in Sydney), and he gave her a nod of thanks. A bustle of shoppers came in for coffees and scones, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way out to the crowded streets. 

In wizarding Melbourne, the world crackled with magic. Hermione looked longingly at a bookstore while Harry studied a Firebolt in a quidditch supply store, his stomach twisting at the thought that his Firebolt had been lost during his final departure from the Dursleys’. He didn’t miss it only for its incredible performance, but because it had been a gift from his godfather. He likewise couldn’t look into a magical pet store, especially not when he caught a glimpse of a snowy owl identical to Hedwig sleeping with its head tucked under a wing. 

Had he not been so preoccupied, he would have noticed how the crowd of witches and wizards would look in his direction, do a double-take, and immediately point him out to their companions. Ron shifted uneasily next to him and put his hand on his wand. Harry looked up, realizing that several witches had stopped to openly gape at him. Panic seized his chest. 

Breathe, Harry, he told himself in a voice that sounded awfully like Janelle’s. You can’t control their actions, only your own. You are not in danger. They are just curious. 

A man stepped out of the bookshop and approached them. He wore pinstriped trousers and a rather large top hat. He bowed to them. “Mr. Potter, welcome. I am the Australian Minister for Magic. We hope you are enjoying our small piece of the wizarding world, and everyone here is happy to give you your space and privacy.” He turned to the crowd that had started to assemble. “ Aren’t we? ” he added pointedly. 

As the crowd mumbled a reluctant affirmative, a little girl broke away from her mother and rushed toward Harry, who tried not to flinch. But she had an earnest, curious expression on her face that reminded him of Luna Lovegood. “Are you really Harry Potter?” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. 

Harry knelt on one knee to be at the girl’s eye level as her mortified mother rushed forward. “Yep,” he said. “This is my first time in Australia. I like it here. Do you?”

“‘Cept for the snakes and spiders,” she said with a giggle. 

“Wait, there’s spiders here? You didn’t tell me that!” Ron hissed in an aside to Hermione. 

“Did you really get rid of the bad guy?” the girl asked as her mother took her hand to try to pull her away with an apologetic look toward Harry. Harry gestured to the mother that it was okay. There was something rather endearing about the girl’s straightforward questions. 

“I did,” he answered simply. “But not by myself. There were lots of people who knew what he was doing was wrong, and we all stopped him together. And now I get to do all the normal things I missed out on, like go on holiday.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” the girl asked abruptly, pointing at Hermione. 

“She’s my fiancé,” Harry answered. The girl looked confused, so he elaborated, “That means we’re getting married.”

There was a collective intake of breath and excited whispering at his words. Harry stood and addressed the crowd. “I appreciate your interest in my life, but I truly just like things quiet. If you could avoid leaking details to the press—or if any of you are the press—please wait a week or so to talk about it. We haven’t announced the engagement to our families yet.”

He had no idea if his words would have any merit, but the crowd gradually dispersed, one or two coming up to shake Harry’s hand and wish him well. Once the last person had left, Harry let out a long breath. “No panic attacks. I call that progress,” he said. 

Hermione took his hand. “You did great.”

They made their way out of the magical alley, which seemed to fade into the side of an abandoned storefront once they stepped back into the muggle world. Hermione purchased a map of Melbourne, and they set off in the direction of the dentist office. 

The office was inside a beautiful glass building with immaculate landscaping. “What’s the plan?” Harry asked as they hovered uncertainly at the entrance. 

“We can’t just burst in and return their memories. They’ll have patients in the waiting room, and I would rather we didn’t have to modify the memories of witnesses.”

“That makes sense. And we’d better make sure it is them first. I know it’s unlikely that there's another Wendel and Monica Wilkins who are dentists around, but it’s possible.”

“And once we have their identities confirmed, that’s my queue to go back to training,” Ron reminded them. 

Harry tried not to think about Ron’s imminent departure as Hermione seemed to make a decision. She pulled her curly hair into a ponytail and walked into the medical building. After a moment of surprise, Harry and Ron followed. 

The dentist office was on the second floor. Taking a deep breath, Hermione walked into the waiting room and smiled at the receptionist. “Hi, I was wondering if any appointments are available today?”

“Not for cleanings or general dentistry. But Dr. Wilkins may have time for emergencies, if you have an urgent concern.”

Hermione faltered. “Well, uh, I—”

Harry felt a sudden pain in his back molar accompanied by an audible crack. He yelped and put his hand to his jaw as Ron tucked the tip of his wand back in his sleeve. “It’s our friend, ma’am,” he said, gesturing to Harry. “He got hit in the mouth while we were playing grasshopper—”

“ Cricket ,” Hermione hissed. 

“Cricket,” Ron repeated. “And his back tooth hurts really bad.”

Harry tried to look like this information wasn’t new to him as his mouth filled with blood and he tried not to gag on the metallic taste.

The receptionist stood. “Let me talk with Dr. Wilkins and see if she can get you in. If not, her husband might be available. But it is almost closing time, so please bear that in mind.” 

Before the receptionist could walk to the back, a woman in scrubs came into the waiting room. She had Hermione’s wildly curly hair, though her facial structure was a bit sharper, and she was about two inches shorter than Hermione. 

Hermione sucked in a breath. The woman met her eyes, and the dentist’s eyes widened. She put a hand to her mouth. Seeming to recover, she turned to the receptionist. “I am happy to accommodate these young adults. Put them on the schedule. I am okay with working a bit longer than usual.” She turned to them. “Please, have a seat.”

They took seats as far away from other patients, and Harry whispered, “I think she recognized you, ‘Mione.”

“It’s impossible,” Hermione whispered back. 

“It sure looked like she knew you from somewhere,” Ron said. 

They waited anxiously for the other patients to be seen. The sun began to set as the waiting room gradually emptied. Harry’s fractured tooth—thanks, Ron!---was still bleeding, so he dabbed at it with a tissue while they waited. 

Eventually, Dr. Wilkins returned to the waiting room and addressed the receptionist. “Feel free to take off, Donicka. I’ll wrap up with these three. No need to stay back. I know you’d rather be home with your son than wait on me.”

Donicka gave Dr. Wilkins a smile. “Thank you, ma’am. See you tomorrow. Have a great night.” The receptionist gathered her purse and exited the room. 

Dr. Wilkins turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Let’s get you three back and see what the damage is.”

Looking to each other for support, they rose and followed Dr. Wilkins to the dentist chair in the farthest corner of the office. Harry sat upon the chair and leaned back, but the dentist didn’t reach for her implements as her husband (who was taller than his wife and bore Hermione’s chin and nose shape) went to her side. The male Dr. Wilkins’ eyes were riveted on Hermione. 

After an earnest pause, Dr. Wilkins turned to Harry and said with a touch of humor, “Why didn’t my Hermione just heal your tooth with magic?”

Chapter Text

“Why didn’t my Hermione just heal your tooth with magic?”

Dr. Wilkins’ words were accompanied by a shocked silence. Hermione flicked her wand at Harry, and his tooth realigned with a snap. 

“Y-You remember me?” Hermione whispered. 

Dr. Wilkins—no, Dr. Granger—took Hermione’s hands in hers. “Only since this morning. I woke up, and suddenly there was this rushing in my ears, and everything came back. I remembered your school years, you getting your letter to Hogwarts, sending you off on the train every year. I remembered everything.” Two tears tracked down the dentist’s face, and her husband came to her side, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. “And I remembered you pulling your wand on us. I saw you in the reflection of our grandfather clock, and I heard you whisper the spell that must have taken our memories.” Her voice was pained as she said, “Sweetheart, why did you do it?”

Hermione embraced her mother, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “The war got so much worse, Mum. And I knew that if I helped the light side, they would come for you. They would torture or kill you to get to me, and I just couldn’t let that happen.” Hermione pulled away to look in her mother’s eyes. “I understand if you hate me—”

But her mum embraced her tightly. “I don’t like that you had to do it in the first place, but I could never hate you. You give me and your father so, so much joy. And we are so proud of you.”

“Your father does have a question, though,” Hermione’s dad said, her eyes locked on Hermione’s left hand, which was still around his wife’s shoulders. “Why is there a diamond ring on your left hand?” Though he kept his voice light, Harry noticed a distinct strain in the tone. 

“Wait, what?” her mum said, pulling Hermione’s hand in front of her, exposing the glittering diamond to the light. “Is this what I think it is? Is this an engagement ring ?”

“Whelp, that’s my cue,” said Ron, clapping Harry on the back and standing. “Mr. and Mrs. Ganger, it was a pleasure to meet you again. I helped these two locate you but now need to get back to auror training. Have a great night!” He spun on his heel and disapparated. 

Which left Harry to face the Grangers alone. Gathering his Gryffindor courage, he took Hermione’s hand and faced her parents. “Hermione and I are engaged.”

Hermione’s dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “How old are you? Eighteen like ‘Mione?”

“Seventeen,” Harry admitted. “My eighteenth birthday is at the end of July.”

“You both are quite young,” her mum said. “Why not wait until you are established in your futures? There’s plenty of time to think about marriage. After all, you’ve barely entered adulthood.” There was something calculating in her gaze, and Harry immediately knew where Hermione had gotten her keen skills of deduction as she glanced at her daughter’s stomach. Hermione’s hand had gone still in Harry’s, and she was nervously biting her lip. 

“We don’t want to wait for a few reasons,” Harry said, his heart pounding in his throat. “First, I love your daughter. We’ve been best friends for years, and she makes me happier than my wildest dreams. And…we’reexpectingababy.” He said the last words in a rush as heat flooded his face. 

Her dad looked at him. “Say that last bit again.”

Hermione swallowed. “We’re expecting a baby, Dad. I’m fourteen weeks pregnant.”

Shocked silence descended on them. Her mum took in a deep breath, held, and released it. She looked at Harry. “You’re Harry, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Harry, why did this happen?”

Harry was pretty sure his answer shouldn’t begin with “Well, when a witch and wizard love each other…” Instead, he met her gaze and said, “Hermione accompanied me to fight the war. We got closer, and one night we made a choice that, in hindsight, we weren’t ready for. But at the time, I don’t think either of us thought we’d live long enough to face the consequences.” 

There was another uncomfortable silence. Her dad shifted from foot to foot and crossed his arms over his chest. Her mum sent him a look that Harry couldn’t place before turning to Hermione. “Okay, today was full of surprises, and I need to know everything that’s happened from the time you wiped our memories to now. Come home with us, and we’ll talk over dinner.”

Harry and Hermione followed the Grangers to a Mercedes-Benz parked on the first floor of a parking garage. 

“Our house is about a ten minute drive,” her mum said as Harry and Hermione clambered into the backseat and clicked their seatbelts. 

Her dad was silent, and Harry had the uncomfortable realization that the older man was avoiding looking at him. Hermione gave his hand a comforting squeeze. 

It was an uncomfortable ride out of the garage and onto the street. But when they were waiting for a stop light near the boarded up shop that hid the entrance to magical Melbourne, her mum exclaimed, “Dan, look! There’s all those quaint shops. Why have I never seen them before?”

Dan glanced at the direction she was pointing and did a double-take. “I haven’t seen them before today either, Jean.”

“Why is everyone just ignoring it?” Jean asked, pointing to the pedestrians hustling along with their faces studiously looking in any direction but toward the alley. 

“That’s wizarding Melbourne,” Hermione said. “The entrance is concealed by spells so the nonmagical community doesn’t see it. But you both can?”

Jean nodded, her eyes riveted on the scene. “Oh I can tell it’s magical now. There’s an apothecary! And a wand shop! It’s beautiful.”

“But we shouldn’t be able to see it…?” Dan asked in a leading question to Hermione. 

“Correct. Not unless you were with a witch or wizard who pulled you through the barrier first.”

“But…what could that mean?” Jean asked. 

Hermione could only shrug. “I have no idea. It could be connected to whatever allowed you to regain your memories.”

The light turned green, and Dan moved the car forward, his face contemplative. “Is whatever power or being that restored our memories dangerous?”

“I–I don’t know,” Hermione answered. “I wouldn’t think so. The dark side is almost completely gone.”

“And they would have no reason to return your memories,” Harry finished. “The motives wouldn’t add up.”

Jean smiled at them through the rear view mirror. “Well, it looks like you have another mystery to solve.”

They passed rows of houses and neat hedges, the road turning to a gradual incline until they reached a stately brick home with a white wraparound porch. Dan drove up the circular driveway and stopped by the sidewalk to the front door. 

“The house is beautiful,” Hermione commented. She turned to look back the way they came. “And you have a good view of the ocean.”

“It’s quiet,” Dan grunted as he moved past Harry, his gaze on the key in his hand. 

The entered the inviting foyer, which contained easels of beautiful paintings: flowers of every size and shape, sunsets, and ocean views. 

“Despite the memory loss, I still remembered that I loved to paint,” Jean explained. She pointed to one painting mounted on the wall. It was a stormy sea, dark clouds billowing above white-capped waves. “Around April I was beset by terrible mental health. Painting this scene helped me manage. And around the beginning of May, I painted this one.” She led them to another painting, this one a pastoral scene of a brilliant spring day, the wildflowers in full bloom. “Could it have something to do with the magic?”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t think so—”

“I do,” Harry said. “Jean, you finished the storm painting at the beginning of April, correct?”

She squinted at a tiny date and signature in the corner. “Actually March 30th, to be exact.”

“And the second painting? Was it painted on May 2nd?”

She looked at him in bewilderment. “Yes. How did you know?”

Harry was aware that Dan was standing aloof from them. He was quite intimidating with his feet shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed over his chest, even if he was still wearing his dentist scrubs. “Hermione and I were prisoners of war on March 30th. Hermione was tortured there. May 2nd is when Voldemort and his regime fell.”

“Tortured?!” Dan yelped. He rushed to his daughter and looked into her face. “What did they do to you?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. 

Hermione slowly turned her arms so he could read the cursed scars there. His face twisted in shock and revulsion. “What’s a mud—?”

“It’s a slur that refers to witches and wizards who are muggleborn,” Harry interrupted. “That’s who we were fighting against: people who claimed that blood purity ruled supreme and that muggleborns had stolen their magic.”

“It wasn’t just a war then,” Jean whispered. “It was an attempt at genocide.”

Harry nodded. “It got really bad for a while, but with Hermione’s help, I ended Voldemort. Now we need to rebuild the world we want to see. One of equality and hope and safety.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “So you two managed to make a baby, become prisoners of war, overthrow a murderous dictator, and somehow live to tell the tale?”

Despite the tension in Harry’s shoulders, he laughed. “That pretty much sums it up, actually.”

 Jean gave him a hug. Harry was a bit startled, but managed to hug her back after only a second’s hesitation. She straightened, suddenly business-like as she looked at her daughter and future son-in-law. “It sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do.”

Dan ordered pizza for dinner, and they talked long into the night. Harry and Hermione shared their adventures, starting with Bill and Fleur’s wedding and ending with Ron accompanying them to Australia. “You should have seen the outfit he put on, Dad,” she said through giggles. “I’m pretty sure I can find the exact same thing in your closet.”

Their conversation had been full of surprised exclamations, gasps of horror, and stifled giggles. As their story ended, Dan checked his watch. “Jean, it’s after midnight. We’d better tuck in. Patients will arrive by eight, and I would hate to cancel last minute. Unless you’re leaving soon?” he asked Hermione. 

Hermione shook her head. “We will be here. While you’re gone, we’ll do some research to figure out why the memory charm ended and why you can now see the magical world. After that, I’m not sure how long we’ll stay, but we’ll probably just take it a day at a time.”

“Then that settles it,” Jean said cheerfully, standing up and walking to a linen closet in the hallway. She piled her arms with sheets, a comforter, and pillows. “We’ll make you two up a bed in the guest bedroom and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“The boy sleeps on the couch,” Dan interjected, his tone firm.

Jean stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “Dear, they’re expecting a baby—”

“Which only proves what he’s capable of,” Dan interrupted. 

Harry’s face felt hot again. 

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry gently squeezed her thigh. “It’s your house, sir,” he said calmly. “I am happy to sleep wherever you are comfortable with me sleeping.”

Dan appraised him, his face stoic. “The couch. And only the couch.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jean shot her husband a disapproving look, one mirrored by Hermione. “It’s okay, really,” Harry said. “I’m happy to sleep anywhere.” He rose to his feet and kissed Hermione’s brow. “See you in the morning, my love.”

*/*/*/*/*/

Harry was awoken hours later by screams—

Bloodcurdling, ear-splitting screams.

He lurched to his feet, desperately trying to untangle himself from the blanket Jean had given him. Finally free, he grabbed his wand and rushed upstairs. Jean and Dan had turned on the hall light, and he followed them to the guest bedroom.

Hermione’s forehead was drenched in sweat, and she released another piercing scream. She thrashed beneath the blankets, her eyes closed, with no indication that she had seen the bedroom light turn on or had noticed their presence. Dan went to his daughter and shook her shoulder. But she lurched away from the touch and sobbed. “No, no! I didn’t take it! I wasn’t in your vault!”

Knowing he was about to destroy any chance at building a relationship with her father, Harry sidestepped Dan and sat on the edge of the bed. He spoke in a low, soothing voice, “Hermione, it’s Harry. This is a nightmare. It’s only a nightmare. You’re safe in bed at your parent’s house. I’m just downstairs. You are safe.” He repeated the final sentence, hoping that his words would somehow register in her subconscious.

The screaming decreased to sobs, so Harry risked brushing his hand against her cheek. She flinched but didn’t move away. “Hermione, you’re still asleep. Please wake up so we can help you. Bellatrix is dead. She can’t hurt you.” Harry sat fully on the bed and pulled her into his arms. “It’s me. I’m here. You protected our baby, even though you didn’t know you were pregnant at the time. Now let me protect you.”

With a final shudder, Hermione opened her eyes. She looked around, completely bewildered, then flushed as she saw her parents standing at the foot of her bed. “S-sorry. N-nightmare.”

Jean sat next to them and took her daughter’s hand. “Do these happen often?”

“Only twice,” Hermione answered. “Both times I was in the hospital wing. But after that I’ve been at Andromeda’s and Harry has been with me. This is the first nightmare I’ve had since then.”

Harry wasn’t aware that Dan had stepped out of the room, but he looked up as the older man returned with a pillow and blanket in his hand. “This is me eating my words, Harry,” he said, tossing the blankets on the bed next to Hermione. “I now know exactly what you are capable of, and that is being the man my daughter needs.” His eyes were misty as he extended his hand to Harry. Harry took it and gave the man a simple nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Dan and Jean returned to their room, and Harry gathered Hermione into his arms. Safe in each other’s embrace, they slept soundly for the rest of the night.

Harry woke early, the rising sun warm upon his face. He slipped away from Hermione’s side and summoned a change of clothes from her beaded bag. He brushed his teeth and changed, self-consciously smoothing his messy hair with a comb. 

The kitchen was on the ground floor, and Harry busied himself with the coffee maker and pancake mix. He scrambled eggs while the pancakes cooked and put everything under warming charms once it was finished. Wanting to make sure the meal was balanced for his growing baby, he peeled apples and made a compote to top the pancakes. 

Absorbed in his work, he hadn’t been aware of Dan and Jean entering the room, each dressed in fresh scrubs for a day at the dentist office. He jumped when Jean said, “Thank you, Harry. This looks wonderful. Usually Dan and I only have time to grab a cup of coffee and a granola bar.”

Harry dished out two plates and set them in front of Hermione’s parents. Dan looked at him with soft eyes. “I don’t think we got off on the right foot, son, and I’m sorry about that,” Dan said. “As you can tell, I’m a bit protective of my baby girl.”

“I understand, sir,” Harry said, plating breakfast for himself and sitting across from them. “I am quite protective of her too, though she does a great job of that on her own.”

“We never had a chance to discuss your future plans, Harry,” Jean said. “How are you and Hermione planning on providing for the baby?”

“I’ve applied to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. I’m hoping to hear back soon. If I don’t get that, I’ll look for a plan b. I have some savings from an investment. That and Hermione’s savings will tide us over for a while.”

“You want to be a professor?” Dan asked in surprise. 

Harry nodded. “I did some, uh, tutoring during fifth year and really enjoyed it. I want to make a difference and help students learn.” Dan had a gobsmacked look on his face, and Harry looked at him in confusion. 

Dan shook his head, a bit shame-faced. “Accept my apologies again, Harry. I judged you based only on the fact that you had premarital sex with my daughter and not on who you are as a person.”

Harry was surprised by Dan’s frank words. “I really do love her, sir,” he said softly. “I wish we had been older and more established before we made this choice, but at the same time, I’m so excited to do all these things with her.”

Jean squeezed his hand. “Young love is a beautiful thing. Just remember to cultivate your relationship every day, and you’ll be together for a very long time.”

Harry returned her smile. “We’ll do that. Thanks.”

“When is the baby due?”

“December 4th.”

“And is Hermione receiving prenatal care, or whatever the wizarding equivalent is?”

Harry nodded and explained the checkup schedule with Andromeda. “Andromeda said we might be able to know the gender on her next visit, which is at 16 weeks.”

“And you have a place to live?”

“Not yet,” Harry confessed. “Andromeda has said that we can stay with her as long as necessary but we certainly will want to rent a flat or something as soon as we can.”

“And what of Hermione’s schooling?”

“I’ve been studying for my NEWTs,” Hermione said, coming into the room. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and her hair was mussed from sleep. Harry thought she looked beautiful. “As soon as I sit the exams, I’ll explore my options.”

He handed Hermione a plate of pancakes and she murmured her thanks. Dan and Jean left soon thereafter, filling their thermoses with coffee and kissing their daughter on the forehead in farewell. Jean embraced Harry while Dan gave him a warm handshake. Hermione finished eating, but there was a definite crease to her brow. 

Harry sat next to her. “My love, are you okay? I know last night was a rough night.”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t know. I’m tired, which is understandable, considering everything that happened…”

“But…?” Harry prompted. 

“Do you remember when Andromeda said to let her know if something seems off?”

A spike of anxiety swept through him. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know…It’s probably nothing…”

But Harry was already walking to the Granger’s fireplace. He summoned floo powder from Hermione’s beaded bag and threw it into the flames. He stuck his head in the floo and shouted “Tonks residence.” A nauseating turn later, he was looking into the Tonks’s living room. “A-Andromeda?” he coughed. “Are you here?”

There was a creak of a door, and Andromeda came in. Due to the time difference, dusk was casting shadows over the furniture in the living room. “Harry, is everything ok?”

“Hermione says something feels off. She doesn’t want to bother you—”

  “Say no more. Tell me the location, and I’ll come through right now.”

Harry had no sooner backed away from the fireplace when Andromeda stepped gracefully across the hearth. She gave Hermione a smile that set them at ease as she directed her to lay on the couch and bare her stomach. 

Andromeda murmured a spell and began tracing her wand tip over Hermione’s womb. “Now, I want you to know that even if everything is well, be sure to call upon me anytime you feel—” Andromeda faltered, her eyebrows knit together. She murmured another spell, and a line of runes traced into the air. 

Harry and Hermione gave each other a worried look. “Um, is everything ok?” Hermione asked. 

“Give me a few minutes to answer that question. I do not mean to worry you, but I want to make sure I have an accurate diagnosis.”

There was a strained silence as Andromeda cast several more diagnostic spells, an eyebrow raising in surprise at the result. After a moment, she began the spells Harry recognized as routine spells from their first visit. “Blood flow to the placenta is fine, as is the baby’s growth. Your health is improving by leaps and bounds, Hermione. You should be up to a healthy weight in another week or two.” She pocketed her wand and helped Hermione sit up from her horizontal position on the couch. “Now the interesting news,” Andromeda said. 

“Is our baby okay?” Harry asked, unashamed by how his voice shook. 

“Yes. But it appears our little mister or miss Potter has been up to some mischief.”

Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow. 

“Your child is exhausted, an exhaustion which is typical of infants who show their first signs of magic.”

Hermione stared at Andromeda. “Our baby…performed magic inside the womb. Is that possible?”

“It is exceedingly rare,” Andromeda said. “Less than a fraction of one percent of magical babies are recorded as doing such.”

“So, what kind of magic did our baby do?” Harry asked in confusion.

“That’s the interesting part. My diagnostic spells indicate that the fetus performed magic similar to what a curse breaker would perform to destroy a protective charm or enchantment…Have either of you seen any evidence in the outside world of this?”

Hermione’s eyes were wide. “My parents’ memory charm was broken when we found them. And they can see the entrance to a magical alley here in Melbourne that should be invisible to muggles.”

“Your baby did it,” Andromeda concluded succinctly. 

“What?! How?” Hermione yelped. 

Andromeda shrugged. “Fetal bursts of magic are so rare we don’t have a lot of studies regarding their limitations or possibilities. But if I had to hazard a guess—and know that I am relying a bit on my Sight to do so—I would assume that the bloodline bond between your child, you, and through you, your parents, allowed the fetus to manipulate the magical inhibitors in their path. And since your child is part of you, it is possible that the fetus was influenced by your thoughts. If your baby was just a bit older, I would even say that they overheard you, but babies cannot hear until around sixteen weeks.”

Harry and Hermione stared at each other, completely flabbergasted. Harry struggled to find his voice. “This…ability…that our baby has seems pretty strong now. Is it safe? Is there any way to hone it so we are in control of what—or who—is affected by it?”

“The magical exhaustion will take time to recover from. In fact, Hermione will be well into the third trimester before the baby is strong enough to make another attempt at accidental magic. When we get to that point, we can see if an intervention is necessary, but in many cases, it will resolve on its own. But your child is definitely magical and will undoubtedly show a high degree of magic as they grow. I’ve only known one other child who showed signs of magic in the womb.”

“Who?” Harry asked curiously, sure it had to be some famous or powerful wizard. Perhaps even Dumbledore.

Andromeda smiled. “Teddy.”

Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione spent the next week with the Grangers. While the dentists were working with their patients, the young couple spent time touring Melbourne. Dan had provided them with funds to attend museums, plays, and ballets. They spent time walking along the beach, dipping their feet in the surf, and building sand castles. They were no longer miserable child soldiers in a war; they were young adults deeply in love. They also took opportunities to tour magical Melbourne—including the honeymoon suite still reserved in their name.

It was pure bliss. 

But it had not come without struggle. At first, Harry had been on edge while walking about the city. He couldn’t stand to have his back to an entrance, so he would sit in a way that allowed him to keep his eye on an exit. He scanned crowds constantly, and occasionally he’d do a double-take, certain that he had seen the face of a known Death Eater. Janelle visited midway through the week, and talking about his feelings had helped. She gave him breathing exercises that allowed him to calm his heart rate when he felt sudden spikes of anxiety. 

Over time, Harry forgot that he was The Boy Who Lived and The Savior of the Wizarding World. Aside from the occasional stare in Wizarding Melbourne, he was just Harry Potter, an expectant father engaged to the woman of his dreams. 

Hermione had similar feelings. Once or twice she would catch herself staring at Harry’s raven hair, bright green eyes, and strong jawline. She had been with him through his darkest hours, when his eyes had been haunted and he had walked stooped, as if heavy burdens had bowed his spine. Now he laughed easily, and she would never tire of his tender kisses and words of affirmation. 

He was the father of her child, and—despite their tender ages—she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

On Saturday, Dan and Jean took Harry and Hermione to a nearby park. Large, leafy trees provided plenty of shade, and muffled thwaps could be heard from a tennis court in the distance. They settled around a picnic table and enjoyed a warm lunch, courtesy of Hermione’s warming charms. 

After the plates had been scraped and Harry had whispered “Scourgify” to clean them, Dan removed a tennis racket from his bag. “Do you play tennis?” he asked Harry. 

Harry shook his head. “No, but I'd like to learn.”

The men set off toward the court, Dan enthusiastically explaining the game as they walked. 

Jean watched them go with a fond smile. “You chose a very good man to spend your life with,” she said to Hermione. There was a twinkle in her eye as she added, “I always knew you'd end up with Harry.”

Hermione stared at her. “Really? Because all my letters home—”

“Said you were crushing on Ron,” Jean finished. “I know, I know. And I also knew that that little teenage crush wouldn’t last. While you were writing to me asking advice about Ron or complaining about a tiff that the two of you had, I noticed that the way you spoke about Harry was different. Harry was your strong and steady. Aside from the issue during your sixth year with that potions book, you seem to get along very well.”

“We do,” Hermione said, thinking about the many fights she had had over the years with Ron versus the few she had had with Harry. “I guess it never occurred to me during school that we could be a couple because Harry was just so easy to love. I didn’t have to work at it. It just came so naturally that I hardly noticed it.”

Jean’s lips quirked in a smile. “ Surely there was some point you noticed?”

“During the horcrux hunt,” Hermione confessed. “In the time we spent together after Ron left, I realized Harry fulfilled parts of me that I didn’t know were missing. One night, he turned on the wireless to a song, and we danced. And all of a sudden, I was happier than I had been in months. About halfway through that song, I knew that I was in love with my best friend.” She laughed self-abashedly. “Dragons and flying broomsticks and talking hats are great, but nothing in my life is more magical than the first time we kissed.”

“Was that after the dance?” Jean asked. 

Hermione nodded, the memory bringing a smile to her face. “The music ended, and we were so close, standing nose-to-nose. We stayed there for a few seconds, just looking at each other. And then we kissed. And it felt so right to kiss my best friend, like it was meant to be.” She traced her fingers over the bump on her stomach. “We, uh, had a lot of firsts that night,” she admitted. 

Jean chuckled. She hovered a hand over Hermione’s stomach, then paused. “May I?”

“Of course.”

Jean put her hand on Hermione’s bump. The lines around her eyes crinkled with joy. “Your father and I were told we couldn’t have children, so when I became pregnant with you after eight years of marriage, we were ecstatic. I was looking at old photos last night and came across a picture of me when I was around 15 weeks pregnant. We look so much alike. And now the cycle of life is starting again, and it is your and Harry’s turn to raise one of your own.” She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of a napkin. She gestured to the tennis court, where Dan had successfully taught Harry to make a serve. “The fact that your overprotective father likes him this much is proof that he loves Harry too. After all, he isn’t going to give you away to just anyone.”

Hermione laughed. “Isn’t that the truth.”

“Are you sure you want the wedding in three weeks?” Jean asked. “There’s so much to do.”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought and nodded. “I definitely want the wedding before the baby is born. Having a newborn and planning a wedding seems like too much at the same time. And if Harry gets the Defense teaching job, he’s going to be super busy with teaching in September and probably August. But if you don’t think it’s wise—”

“I support whatever is best for you and Harry," Jean clarified. "Just know it will be all hands on deck. We’ll need to find a venue, a caterer, decorations, dresses, and tuxes—or whatever witches and wizards wear, I suppose—then there’s the guest list and invitations. Oh and the cake! We can’t forget cake!”

Hermione laughed, caught up in her mother’s exuberance over what she hoped the be the best day of her life so far. “That’s all true. But hopefully magic can speed up most of it.”

“I suppose it takes less time when you can conjure the tablecloths and make the centerpieces tap dance,” Jean joked. Then she sobered. “Have you thought about who you want to attend on our side? I’m not sure what a wizarding wedding needs to look like, and I know we’re all muggles…” There was a note of sadness in Jean’s voice, though Hermione noticed how she had tried to hide it from her daughter. 

Hermione took her mum's hand. “Harry and I have talked about this quite a bit. Everyone he wants to attend is magical, but that doesn’t mean they can’t move within the muggle world. Harry is supportive of a mostly muggle ceremony so my family can attend. We spoke with Remus and Tonks, who said that the only magical requirement of the ceremony is a bonding ribbon with wands. However, there is a charm that shields the wand work from the eyes of anyone unfamiliar with the wizarding world. They will just see a traditional handfasting while you and Dad will see the magical ceremony.”

Jean gave Hermione a tight embrace. Hermione had noticed that her mum was doing that a lot lately, whether a byproduct of Hermione’s engagement and pregnancy or due to their many months apart. “Thank you, sweetheart, for making sure we can be part of your special day.”

Hermione returned the embrace, those pesky hormones making tears prick at her eyes. “I want you and Dad there for every minute. I wish I had realized how often I was gone during Christmas and summer holidays. I should have given you and dad more time, especially since you couldn’t be part of my world. I’m sure it was hurtful watching me running off to the Weasleys’ house every summer.”

Jean squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing to forgive. Your father and I were just so happy to see you with friends and thriving. We knew eventually you would need us less, and as long as you were safe and enjoying yourself, that’s all we ever wanted.”

They watched Harry and Dan play an increasingly competitive game, the tennis ball zooming back and forth in a blur. Jean cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “Your father and I do have something to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve thought long and hard about returning to England and picking up where our lives abruptly ended a year ago…And we can’t do it. The practice here is thriving, our home is beautiful, and Melbourne is my favorite place. To uproot all of it to start again is too much. We’re not as young as we used to be,” she added with a touch of humor.

Hermione’s mind felt sluggish with disappointment as she processed the news. “So…you want to stay as Wendel and Monica Wilkins forever?”

“Only to our patients,” Jean clarified. “We don’t know any of them outside the scope of our practice. But we were thinking we'd tell our friends that we were put in the Witness Protection Program under assumed names, and now that the danger has passed, we can go back to being Dan and Jean Granger.”

Hermione blinked. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Jean looked a bit abashed. “I know we will be farther away from you, though—”

“We can floo Mum. Or make a portkey. Harry and I can travel much easier and faster than you and Dad.”

Jean smiled, her shoulders sagging with relief. “That’s what your father said. If you need anything, we'll be just a floo call away.”

Harry and Dan rejoined them, both with sweat dripping down their faces and reeking of body odor. Hermione plugged her nose with one hand and stepped away from Harry. “Sensitive pregger over here! Please keep your distance until you’ve taken a shower.”

As they walked companionably back to the Grangers’ home, Jean pointed down two streets which contained bridal boutiques. “The hardest thing to get in time will be the dress. Usually they are ordered months in advance, but we will see what is available.”

“And we can have Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, and Andromeda keep an eye out on the London side,” Harry added. “We have a whole village of people looking out for us.” There was a note of surprise in his voice, as if he had never felt this level of support. And that was probably true, Hermione realized. Between the abuse at the hand of the Dursleys and Dumbledore treating him as a child soldier, had he ever had anyone there to relieve his burdens?

Only you , came the voice in her head. Despite the stench under his arms, Hermione took his hand and squeezed it. “Will you ask Mrs. Weasley if she can make the cake?”

“Of course, love.”

When they returned to the Granger home, an envelope was levitating of its own accord in the living room. They eyed it warily as it folded itself into a paper airplane and zoomed toward Harry. Harry stopped its motion was an immobilizing charm, while Hermione checked it for hexes or jinxes. “It’s clean,” she said. 

Harry opened the envelope. “It’s from Andromeda! It says, ‘I tried to floo call but you must have been out. I’m passing on a letter that arrived this morning. I thought you’d want to open it immediately. Hope all is well.’” Harry curiously pulled out a second envelope tucked neatly inside the first. His name was written in a familiar script with acid green ink. His suspicions were confirmed when he turned the envelope over to expose the crest on the wax seal. “It’s from Hogwarts.”

“Open it!” Hermione squealed. 

His stomach twisting itself into knots, he opened the letter and read aloud:

Dear Mr. Potter

Thank you for your interest in the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As headmistress, I am committed to hiring only the most qualified candidates who demonstrate not only aptitude for their subjects, but who also possess an understanding of educational pedagogy and a strong desire to help students learn. As such, only the most qualified candidates will be progressing to the interview stage of the hiring process.

Harry shared a look with Hermione, disappointment crashing down upon him. He didn’t have enough qualifications. After all, he was a seventeen year-old wizard who hadn’t graduated from Hogwarts. How did he ever think he could be qualified to be a professor?!

“Is there more?” Hermione prompted, placing a hand on his elbow. 

Taking a breath and looking anywhere but Hermione’s parents, he continued aloud:

Therefore, I am delighted to inform you that your credentials are promising, and you are hereby invited to interview for the position on June 10th at 4:00pm. I await your owl no later than June 7th. Please respond with your intention to participate in the interview or your intention to decline. 

Best Wishes, 

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Hermione squealed and jumped into his arms. Ignorant of her parents’ in the room, she kissed him deeply. “Oh Harry! I’m so happy for you! You are going to be an amazing professor!”

“I don’t have the job yet,” he said with a chuckle. He carried his pregnant fiance to the couch and set her on the soft cushions. But his heart was light as hope filled him. 

‘Professor Potter’ sure had a nice ring to it. 

Harry wrote a brief note to confirm his intention to attend the interview and stepped through the floo to send the message via Andromeda’s owl. While there, he spent an enjoyable half hour with Teddy and caught up with Andromeda and the Lupins. He filled them in on Australia and his engagement, including the rapidly approaching wedding date. Andromeda and the Lupins immediately offered help in whatever way Harry needed. Harry assured them there would be plenty to do, and he was once again filled with an overwhelming joy at the level of support he had.

The three days before the interview were agonizingly slow. Harry's emotions teeter-tottered between anxiety over flubbing the interview to an overwhelming joy that he had even made it this far. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t much opportunity to brood. Hermione and Jean had delved into wedding planning with a single-minded focus that Harry found both impressive and worrisome. Dan must have had similar thoughts, for he started bringing them dinner in the living room, where the women were surrounded by various magazine clippings depicting decorations, flowers, color swatches, cake designs, and everything in between. 

Harry had been tasked with creating the guest list for his side. It was a simple task, though Harry couldn’t push aside the regret he felt that his parents could not be present for this momentous time in his life. Not wanting to hide away his emotions, he spent a session with Janelle, who had him complete an exercise where he wrote a letter to his parents explaining his wedding and expressing his sadness that they couldn’t attend. Though he had felt a bit raw afterward, it had been healing to get his feelings on paper. When he shared the details of the session with Hermione, she and Jean had designed the seating chart to include two empty chairs that would hold pictures of his parents alongside flower decorations that would match the bride's bouquet and the groom's boutonniere. Harry had requested that they add a chair for Fred as well, and Hermione had enthusiastically agreed. 

At the end of the afternoon, Harry had compiled the following guest list:

The Weasleys

Tonks, Remus, and Teddy

Andromeda

Luna Lovegood

Neville Longbottom

Minerva McGonagall

Hagrid

Even though all attendees were encouraged to bring a date, his list was small. As he read it over, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was missing. But he and Hermione had wanted a more intimate gathering. Just because he knew someone didn’t mean he had to invite them to his wedding. But…he hovered a pen over the notebook paper, thinking. 

I don’t think you’re a waste of space.

Harry blinked. He hadn’t thought about those words for over a year. Dudley had said those words on the cusp of their departure from Privet Drive. Though he certainly didn’t want Vernon or Petunia at his wedding, what about his cousin?

Hoping it wasn’t going to be a terrible mistake, he wrote Dudley Dursley at the bottom of his list.

*/*/*/*/*/

At 3:50pm on June 10th, Harry approached the headmistress’s office where the griffin at the entrance eyed him with his marble eyes. Harry plucked nervously at the sleeve of his robes. “Er, I’m here for a job interview, but I wasn’t given a password—”

The griffin moved to the side to reveal the familiar spiral staircase. Harry took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart and ascended the stairs. As he walked, he was inundated with memories: watching Fawkes on a burning day in second year, being escorted to the office after Umbridge caught the DA in fifth year, viewing memories of Tom Riddle’s formative years in sixth.

It felt like a million years ago. 

Taking a moment to ground himself, Harry mentally listed things he could see, smell, hear, taste, and touch. Once the uncomfortable memories had receded to the back of his mind, he knocked smartly on the door. 

“Come in,” said a voice from within. 

Harry entered the circular room. Dumbledore’s silver instruments were gone, and McGonagall had filled the area with books. The portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses looked down on him with interest. Ignoring them, he turned his attention to the witch behind the heavy oak desk. 

“Hello, Headmistress. You are looking well.”

And it was true. Though McGonagall’s face carried more lines and her hair more grey, there was an undercurrent of calm confidence that had been hidden beneath the worries of war. 

McGonagall gave him a rare smile. “As are you, Mr. Potter. Please take a seat.” As he sank into a chair in front of her desk, she appraised him stoically. He tried not to squirm beneath her gaze. Before the silence could become too uncomfortable, she said, “I must be honest. I was frankly shocked to see your application.”

Not sure how to respond to that statement, Harry simply nodded. 

“I distinctly remember your desire to become an auror, and I am aware that Kingsley has offered those who participated in the war a place in the ranks.”

“H-He did, ma’am,” Harry replied. He felt like his tongue was stuck to the top of his mouth, and he fought through his nervousness as he elaborated, “And I considered it. But I realized that I no longer want to be an auror. I want to make a difference, but I am done fighting, at least in that way. I would rather teach students to defend themselves. Maybe…maybe if I do that long enough, my students will be the ones to eradicate the dark for good. They’re the future, and they need to learn not only how to defend themselves but why. It’s so easy to go to the dark side. I want to show them why that’s not the path they should take.”

A poignant silence met his words. A portly man in a portrait whistled through his teeth. “Man, this kid is good. Hire him, Minerva.” 

“Silence, Dippett.” McGonagall flicked her wand, and two black curtains covered the portrait of Armando Dippett. The Headmistress turned her attention back to Harry. “My apologies for the comments made by my predecessor. As you can see, they can be quite opinionated.”

There was a small tittering noise from the portrait directly behind McGonagall, though Harry couldn’t see the person in the painting from his vantage point.

“Mr. Potter, tell me about your content knowledge.”

Harry spoke for several minutes, detailing everything he knew about Defense. That led naturally into the formation of Dumbledore’s Army. He detailed his lessons and experience giving students individual support. He spoke animatedly of the first time Neville had cast a disarming charm. “I was so proud of him. He had worked so hard, and it was the best feeling to watch him succeed.”

McGonagall was looking at him with one eyebrow raised. Though still quite stoic, he thought he saw the corner of her mouth turn up slightly. “That's how you know you would make a great teacher. It’s not about dumping our knowledge and expecting students to regurgitate it. Great teaching comes when we inspire students to reach new heights, not just pass an exam. I am impressed.”

That tutting noise happened again. With the slightest note of irritation, McGonagall turned, and Harry could see the occupant of the portrait. “Something on your mind, Severus?”

The paint version of Snape sneered at Harry. Evidently the painter was aware of Snape’s mannerisms, for there was no difference between the sneer directed at him now and the sneer Harry had experienced during his first week at Hogwarts. “I thought you were only accepting qualified candidates, Minerva. Potter is no more qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts than Argus Filch.”

McGonagall’s nostrils flared, but Snape wasn’t finished. He continued, his voice growing angrier by the minute. “Potter is arrogant and self-indulgent. He nearly killed Draco Malfoy due to his ignorance of dark curses, and he was hardly known as an upright student of this school. If he becomes a professor, he will favor Gryffindor house above all others. He isn’t a Hogwarts graduate, has no teaching credentials, and is barely older than the seventh-year students who will walk these halls. Do you really intend for him to teach his ex-girlfriend? The Prophet will have a heyday over that, and I am sure you don’t want any wild rumors—whether founded or unfounded—erupt regarding illicit relationships between a professor and a student.”

McGonagall raised her wand, likely to close the curtains around Snape’s portrait as well, but Harry held up a hand. “Can I talk to him?”

Looking like she thought it was a bad idea but also terribly invested in the outcome, McGonagall shifted her chair so Harry had a clear view of the Slytherin Headmaster. “Sir, I would like to address your concerns. First, I apologize if my behavior ever came across as arrogant or self-indulgent. I understand through access to the memories you provided to me at the end of the war that this perspective was due to my father’s poor choices while you were both in school. And they were poor choices. I make no excuses for what James Potter and his friends did to you, and I am sorry it happened. But I am not James Potter. As much as I look like him, I have been told that I take after my mother far more than my father. 

“But you are right that my ignorance almost killed Draco Malfoy. That’s why I want to teach. I don’t want another student to make my same mistakes. I want to give them the skills to recognize and reject the Dark Arts. And I won’t favor Gryffindor above any other house.” He met Snape’s gaze. “After all, one of the bravest men I ever knew was a Slytherin.”

Snape’s face was inscrutable, but Harry saw his eyes widen slightly as he realized the comment was directed toward him. “Don’t let it go to your head,” Harry cautioned. “I’m not going to name my kid after you or anything. But I am well aware that there are incredible students in every house. And I will reward them accordingly. And I will give out detentions as necessary regardless of house. 

“You also said you are concerned about my lack of teaching credentials. For what I lack in formal education, I make up for in field experience. And if formal education is required, I am happy to work on my credentials while teaching. Regarding my age, that’s something I cannot change. And you’re right, teaching Ginny Weasley and any of those younger students I have regarded as my friends is a weird dynamic. But I can assure you that I will conduct myself with the professionalism expected from being a person in a position of trust.”

More silence met his words. A painting in shimmering silver robes shifted slightly, and Harry realized it was Dumbledore. He was peering down at Harry through his half-moon spectacles, and his blue eyes were twinkling. Unlike McGonagall, he made no attempts to hide his smile. 

“Thank you for addressing my predecessor’s concerns, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said primly. “I hope you understand how impressed I am with your responses and professionalism. You have become a young man of whom your parents would be immensely proud.”

Harry swallowed a tight lump in his throat. 

“But—”

Disappointment deflated his ego. 

“But I hope you realize that one of Severus’s concerns is valid. It is extremely unorthodox to have such a young professor teaching students who may only be a few months younger than themselves. And it is even more unorthodox to have a professor teach a level that they did not take themselves. Though I am confident you could earn a NEWT in Defense, the fact remains that at the time of this interview, you do not have the required NEWT for teaching sixth and seventh years.”

Harry cast his gaze to his lap and could only nod. It would have been better if she’d never set the interview, he thought bitterly. Anything’s better than feeling hope when there is no hope at all. Out loud, he managed to say, “I understand, Headmistress. Thank you for your consideration. Perhaps I could reapply in a few years?”

But McGonagall held up a hand. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought these concerns were insurmountable. Allow me to suggest an alternate arrangement that I hope you will find agreeable.” 

Harry sat straighter in his seat. That certainly didn’t sound like a no! 

“Madam Hooch has informed me that she intends to retire. Since she worked on a very part-time basis, our flying program for first years was spotty at best. It was therefore rare that muggleborns learned enough about flying to be proficient, and even more rare that they would gain the skills necessary to try out for their House teams. I am suggesting that your teaching contract be a 50/50 split between flying and Defense. You would be in charge of weekly flying instruction for first and second years, refereeing all House quidditch matches, and teaching first through fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry gaped at her. Defense and quidditch?! It was a dream come true. Realizing he looked like a mackerel with a hook in his lip, Harry forced his mouth shut and found his voice, “Th-That would be amazing, Headmistress. Thank you.”

With a genuine smile, McGonagall tapped her wand on a blank sheet of parchment in front of her, and paragraphs of flowing script appeared. “This is the teaching contract. It details your salary, accommodations, job expectations, and start date. If all seems in order, sign and date the bottom of the contract. No need to send it back; my wand will notify me when you sign.”

Harry took the contract, hope filling him. But a nagging question was tugging at his brain, and he knew he couldn’t move forward without clarification. He just hoped it wouldn’t rescind his job offer. “Er, Headmistress?”

“Yes?”

“Are the, um, accommodations only for myself? What I mean is, I’m getting married in three weeks. Would it be possible to share them with my wife and my unborn child?”

There was no look of surprise on McGonagall’s face, and Harry realized that his familial situation was well-known after the Malfoy trial. “Accommodations for teachers expand or contract depending on needs,” she explained. “A teacher who enjoys minimal possessions, for example, may find accommodations to be merely a studio suite. On the other hand, Gilderoy Lockhart’s quarters had no fewer than twelve rooms all taken up with portraits of himself.”

Harry snorted, and McGonagall’s lip twitched. 

“To put it succinctly, yes, the accommodations are plenty for you, Hermione, and your little one. However, most teachers eventually buy homes in Hogsmeade, as it allows a separation between home and work. For those teachers, they return home each evening as long as they are not assigned to monitor corridors that night. And remember that it is important to maintain the professionalism required as a professor. Hogwarts is not a babysitting service. We cannot have toddlers wandering the halls between lessons.”

Harry laughed. “Understood. Thank you, Headmistress.”

McGonagall stood. Recognizing the dismissal, he warmly shook McGonagall’s hand. He was almost at the door when her voice sounded behind him: 

“Welcome back to Hogwarts, Professor Potter.”

Chapter Text

“How did it go?!” Hermione demanded the moment he stepped through the Grangers’ fireplace. She had been flipping through a bridal book but tossed it aside and looked at him expectantly.

Harry shook his head and held her hands as he sat beside her. “Um, she said I don’t have the NEWT required to teach the sixth and seventh years, and that it would be unorthodox to have someone my age teaching students only a few months younger than me.” He fought to maintain a look of solemn disappointment. 

But Hermione knew him too well. “But?” she prompted. 

The Granger parents watched the byplay from the doorway as Harry’s veneer cracked and he grinned. “But I am qualified to teach the younger students. McGonagall is splitting my contract: teaching Defense for first through fourth years and teaching flying lessons for first and second— Oomph! ” 

His words became a grunt as Hermione squealed and tackled him. Caught off guard he fell backward with Hermione pinning him. Harry struggled upright with a worried glance at Dan, who was looking at them with amusement. Hermione’s arms and legs were tangled around him as she squeezed him hard. The solid curve of their growing baby pressed against his stomach. He returned the embrace and shifted her to sit next to him. “All teachers get accommodations as part of their contract, and I already asked—you and baby can be there. That gives us a place of our own until we choose to buy a house somewhere.” He withdrew the contract from his pocket. “Salary is 30,000 galleons a year, and I have to pass two performance reviews each year to have my contract renewed for the following year.”

“I think this calls for celebration,” Jean said. “There are a variety of fine dining establishments throughout Melbourne. Let’s see if one is still taking reservations.”

“You’ve definitely earned a steak,” Dan said, tousling Harry’s hair. It gave Harry a warm feeling.

“And how about a decadent dessert?” Jean asked. 

Hermione grinned. “That sounds amazing. I really need something chocolate.”

*/*/*/*/*/

The following Thursday, Andromeda came through the floo for Hermione’s sixteen week check up. Harry had been fidgety all morning, unable to concentrate on the catering and clothing options for their wedding. He did manage, however, to take their wedding invitations through the floo and to the owl post office in Hogsmeade that morning. As the hours afterward passed, he was increasingly fidgety. Though Hermione hid it better than he did, he knew she was just as anxious. 

If everything went well, they would know the gender of their baby today.

They had talked late into the night about their thoughts. Harry was truly on neutral ground. He loved the idea of buying his son his first broom, racing around the yard, and roughhousing. But surely his daughter could do the same? When he had brought it up, Hermione had adamantly agreed that if they were to have a daughter, she would have every opportunity a boy would have. 

Hermione was still leaning toward boy, simply because she felt she had more experience with boys. “After all, my only friends were boys,” she had said. But Harry saw the wistful look on her face as he wondered aloud if their daughter would have his green eyes or her brown. Her brown hair or his jet black?

Eventually, they had settled into a comfortable understanding that they would be happy either way. 

Andromeda magicked the couch into an examination table similar to the one in the women’s health center at St. Mungos. Jean had taken an hour off for the exam, so she held one of Hermione’s hands while Harry took Hermione’s other side. She lay back on the table and bared her stomach, where a definite curve could now be seen. 

Andromeda waved her wand over Hermione’s head and studied the runes. “You’re up to a healthy weight and your blood pressure is fine. No need to continue with the nutrient potions. Any problematic symptoms?”

“Smells bother me, especially body odor, and certain foods. I’m craving chocolate all the time.”

Andromeda nodded sympathetically. “All very normal. If the aversion to scents becomes unbearable or you start craving things that aren’t food, please let me know.”

Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Dirt. Soap. Ink. Things like that. The condition is called pica. It affects only a small percentage of pregnant women, but it’s important to screen for it so it can be treated.”

“Pregnancy is weird,” Harry said before he could stop himself. He looked guilty at his fiancé. “Sorry, ‘Mione.”

Hermione shrugged and traced her fingers over the bump. “It is all pretty weird to be honest. Our baby affects so many aspects of my body that I never expected, like my sense of smell.”

“Hopefully that will diminish somewhat as you continue the second trimester,” Andromeda said. “But there may be new symptoms as well, such as additional breast growth, a runny nose, and increased libido.”

“Come again?” Harry asked, his face warming at the last few words. 

“Increased blood flow to the pelvis can increase libido in pregnant women during the second trimester,” Andromeda explained succinctly. “And it’s perfectly safe as long as you both are comfortable.”

“So clear your calendar, Harry,” Jean said, her eyes glinting. “You are going to be a busy man for the next few weeks.”

“Mum!” Hermione said, her face reddening to a brilliant shade of mauve. “What—?!”

But Jean waved away her daughter’s words and turned back to the healer, a look of feigned innocence on her face. “You were saying?”

Andromeda chuckled but managed to maintain her healer composure. “You might also notice your hair becoming thicker and a flush on your cheeks—that’s why it's called a pregnancy glow.”

“You already have that,” Jean told Hermione. “I assumed you were pregnant right after you told us about your engagement. There was just that flush to your cheeks. I couldn’t see the bump properly, but I knew from your face.”

“That’s how I knew my Dora was expecting too,” Andromeda said fondly. She shook herself from her reverie and turned back to Hermione. “The risk of miscarriage decreases dramatically in the second trimester, but as always, alert me if anything seems amiss or if you don’t feel baby move as often as usual.” Andromeda hovered her wand over Hermione’s belly button and looked at the young couple. “Do you want to find out the gender today?”

Harry and Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

“Are you planning a celebration, or would you like to know right now?” In reference to Harry’s confused look, Andromeda explained. “Some couples have a gender reveal party with their friends and family to announce the baby’s gender. One couple last week had me owl their grandmother the gender of the baby through the post. Then the grandmother was able to announce the gender to the couple. Some people choose to bake a cake with either pink or blue inside, others use balloons filled with confetti, that kind of thing. If you want to do that, just don’t do anything that puts either of you or your unborn baby in harm’s way. Some couples have been rather stupid about the whole thing, and then someone gets hurt.”

“Understood,” Harry said. He turned to Hermione. “What do you think?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “As much as I want to know right now, it would be fun to get everyone together. We haven’t been able to celebrate with the Weasleys. I haven’t even seen most of them since the battle. Mum, could we use the back garden?”

Jean grinned. “Of course. I have been itching to host a party! What about Saturday?”

Hermione turned to Andromeda. “Okay, will you tell my mum the gender but not us? Mum, then you can arrange the announcement?”

Jean squeezed her hand. “Of course, dear.”

Andromeda grinned at them. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll write down the gender on a piece of parchment that appears blank to everyone except Jean Granger. If baby is being shy, we may not be able to know today. If that’s the case, I will let you know, and we will try again at your 20 week appointment.”

Andromeda flicked her wand at a mirror hanging on a nearby wall. The surface shimmered and turned inky black. She drew her wand across Hermione’s abdomen, and the gray shape of their baby materialized on the screen. Andromeda smiled at the image. “Baby isn’t shy today. Enjoy your party on Saturday.”

“You’re coming too, of course,” Harry said. “And Remus and Tonks. We can’t do this without you guys.”

Andromeda gave him a beaming smile. “I am on call that day, but as long as I’m not in the middle of delivering babies, I’ll be there. Now, there is more to this evaluation than just gender. It’s actually to make sure all baby’s organs and bones are developing normally.” The image in the mirror zoomed in and out as she spoke. “All ten fingers and toes…good…kidneys look good…lungs look great…see how baby is opening and closing its mouth? It’s practice breathing by swallowing amniotic fluid, which helps the lungs further develop…heart looks great…see the chambers? Those are well-formed.” She paused and flicked her wand at the mirror. “Baby’s growth puts you at seventeen weeks instead of sixteen, so just a tad ahead of schedule. Nothing to worry about. Forty weeks is an estimate, after all.” She removed her wand from Hermione’s stomach and helped her sit up. “Everything looks great. You have a beautiful, healthy baby.”

Harry and Hermione stepped into the kitchen as Andromeda wrote upon a piece of parchment. Harry wrapped his fiancé in his arms. “Waiting until Saturday is pure torture,” he whispered. 

“I know, but it’ll be worth it to share this with our friends.”

Jean bustled into the kitchen wearing an I-know-something-you-don’t look. She clapped her hands together. “Okay, let's get invitations made for the gender reveal. Then we can plan the food.”

*/*/*/*/*/

Despite Harry thinking the next two days would snail by, it was a whirlwind as they planned the party and continued with wedding preparations. Also in the interim was a regular correspondence from Hogwarts to get ready for September 1st. Harry was asked to select textbooks and provide outlines for each curriculum, following guides that Harry recognized had been written in Remus’s neat script over four years before. Though he kept most of Professor Lupin’s ideas, he added some tweaks and his own personal flair.

Precisely at 2:00pm on Saturday, Ron stepped out of the floo. He grinned at Harry and clapped him on the shoulder. Auror training had filled out Ron’s muscles and he flexed his bicep to show off. Harry rolled his eyes. “Better you than me, mate.”

Behind him came Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley bustled up to him and cupped his face in her hands. “Oh, you look so mature! So ready for fatherhood. What are you hoping for? Boy or girl?”

“Either. I just want a healthy baby and mum.”

Mrs. Weasley patted his arm. “Well, you know I will be hoping for a girl,” she said brightly before bustling off into the kitchen to help Jean with the preparations. 

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom just as George and Ginny came through the floo. George feigned surprise at her figure. “Hermione! What happened? Did they force-feed you a kneazle? You’re getting a bit on the rounder side.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as Ginny embraced her tightly. The redhead turned to Harry. “I am so happy for you both, and I’m so happy you have the Grangers to celebrate with.”

“Ask Ginny what her good news is,” George mumbled in an undertone to Harry. 

“Er, what’s the good news, Ginny?” Harry asked in confusion. 

Ginny skipped to the center of the room. “I made the Hollyhead Harpies reserve team! I’ll spend the summer training with them and then on weekends once school starts. Gwenog said that if I work hard, I can take the place of one of the chasers next year.”

“What’s happening with the chaser?”

“She got pregnant,” Ginny said with a shrug. “Gwenog will let her come back in a year or two, but she’ll be put on the reserves and have to work her way back up.”

Harry frowned. He wondered how the unnamed chaser felt about all her hard work disappearing just because of a baby. He glanced at Hermione and noticed the same furrowed brow. Would Hermione’s pregnancy likewise stunt her professional opportunities? Sure, she had been studying for her NEWTs and would sit the exam soon, but that was only half the battle, wasn’t it? There was still her health to consider, not to mention workplace discrimination, and societal expectations of mothers.

Forcing himself back to the conversation at hand, he said, “That’s great, Gin. They’re lucky to have you.”

They were spared from additional conversation when the living room became crowded with the arrival of Percy, Bill, Fleur, Andromeda, and the Lupins. Harry directed them to the Granger’s back garden and they filed through, talking animatedly to each other. Once they were alone, Harry turned to Hermione. “Whatever you want to do professionally, we’ll make it work, ‘Mione. No matter what anyone else says or thinks.”

Hermione gently kissed him. “Thank you. You don’t know how much it means to me that you said that.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “Geez, I’m so hormonal. But I just realized that if I wasn’t pregnant, I wouldn’t be trying to pass my NEWTs right now…I’d be going back to school for the year. And I'm going to miss it. I know we'll be living there, but it's not the same. It's not taking classes and reading books and writing essays with quills with color changing ink. It’s not avoiding peeves and studying in the library…” she trailed off, two tears sliding down her face. “Sometimes I wish we were still kids again,” she mumbled. 

There was a pang in Harry’s heart, and he didn't know what to say. Though he often felt that Hermione's pregnancy was the best thing that ever happened to him, he was forced to accept the reality that it may not have been the best thing to happen to her . Madam Pomfrey’s words from weeks ago came back to him : it will be her life that is most affected by this, not yours.  

And as much as he wanted to continue on this blissful, domestic daydream, he realized the matron's statement was true. The Wizarding World was deeply entrenched in traditional values. In fact, aside from Tonks, he didn't know any witches balancing motherhood and career ambitions. Even Andromeda had waited for Tonks to reach Hogwarts age before continuing as a healer. And Mrs. Weasley was the epitome of motherhood. Had she ever wanted a career aside from raising her children? He couldn't imagine the Weasley matron in such a role. 

Though he loved those women and respected their choices, he knew it was not Hermione's path. Gently, he turned her to face him. “I can't make us kids again, but I vow to give you every opportunity possible for the rest of our lives. I vow to raise our baby equally with you.” A strong idea came to his mind, and he said it without conscious thought. “And because of you, our daughter will never let anything stand in her way.” 

Hermione was staring at him. 

“What?” he asked, nonplussed.

“You just said ‘daughter.’”

“Did I?” Harry said in bemusement. “The thought just came to me. Really powerfully “

They stared at each other. “Did our baby just do more accidental magic?” Harry asked, his eyes widening. 

“I don’t know….Andromeda said baby would be exhausted until at least the third trimester…”

“Or I was hallucinating again,” Harry concluded with a grimace. 

Hermione put a hand on his arm. “We’ll have Andromeda do another checkup. She detected the accidental magic before. She’ll know if it was our little one.”

Harry slid his hand over Hermione’s stomach. Our daughter? he thought. Do I have a daughter? The thought was accompanied by a warm feeling spreading through his chest, a feeling he was sure hadn’t come from him. 

Hermione took his hand. “We’d better get to the party.”

They stepped into the brilliant sunlight. The Granger’s back garden consisted of a patio with comfortable chairs, a koi pond, and a flower bed filled with a rainbow of blooms. Three tables were loaded with food surrounding blue and pink decorations, including tethered balloons that reached toward the sky. 

“Mum, it’s beautiful,” Hermione said, wiping away more tears as she embraced Jean. 

From his seat near the Lupins, Dan beckoned to Harry, who took the remaining seat. “I was just telling Remus and Tonks about your new position, but it turns out they already knew.”

Harry blinked in surprise. In the rush to get the party and wedding planned, he had completely forgotten to let anyone except the Grangers know the news. Lupin must have seen the surprise on his face, for he waved a hand. “Minerva mentioned it in passing. She is very proud of her hiring decisions. She said it’s the strongest staff Hogwarts has had in years.”

“I’m really excited,” Harry said. “It’s perfect. I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Harry hadn’t been aware that the conversation had ebbed, and everyone in the small backyard had heard his words. “What’s perfect?” Ginny asked curiously. 

“Oh, I have a job. I’m going to be teaching Defense for first through fourth years and flying for the first and second years.”

He words were met with a flurry of congratulations and a tight embrace from Mrs. Weasley. George grinned at him. “Well, Professor Potter, I will be sure to fill your students’ trunks with Wheezes merchandise. Maybe I’ll even offer a discount to first through fourth years. Then they can get more stuff.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Any ideas on who the Defense teacher for the fifth, sixth and seventh years is?” Ginny asked.

Harry shook his head. “McGonagall didn’t say anything in my interview. She just said I didn’t have my NEWT yet and was too young to teach the older students.”

Tonks leaned over to whisper in Remus’s ear, but he shook his head lightly, an expression of polite interest on his face. 

“Well I hope they’re good. NEWT year and all,” Ginny continued. 

“I’m sure they’ll be great,” Tonks said. “Minerva was on a rampage. She even managed to get Binns to retire. Said students needed to enjoy History of Magic, not sleep through it.”

There was a hearty chuckle. 

As they talked, Jean moved to the table, where two clear cylinders rested. She waved a hand to get everyone’s attention and said, “Before we learn if we are having a mister or miss Potter, we are going to place our guesses. I have pink and blue gumballs here. If you think they are having a girl, put a pink gumball in the right hand cylinder. If you think they are having a boy, put a blue gumball in the left hand cylinder. 

Harry watched as their guests filed past and made their guesses. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were hoping for a girl, the Weasley father and sons all chose boy, and Dan chose girl. (“I loved raising my daughter and hope you both get the same chance,” he explained.) Remus guessed girl while Tonks guessed boy. 

“Alright, it looks like the boy guesses outweigh the girl guesses,” Jean said, shaking the cylinders. “Now it’s time for our expectant parents to make their guesses.”

Harry walked forward and removed a pink gumball from the table and placed it in the cylinder. Hermione was beside him a second later and mirrored his action. “I don’t think it was a hallucination,” Hermione mumbled to him, keeping her voice low. “I think we have an incredibly powerful witch on our hands.”

Jean directed them to the grass, and their family and friends stood in a half circle around them. Dan appeared with an enormous black balloon that bobbed and floated around his head. Jean handed Harry a pin. “I filled the balloon with confetti that is either blue or pink. Pop the balloon, and we’ll know.”

George led everyone in a countdown, and Harry’s heart was pounding against his ribs. Somehow, this made the pregnancy feel so much more real. He was going to be a dad. It was going to happen. 

“5…4…3…2…1…!”

Hermione wrapped her fingers around Harry’s hand, and they thrust upward with the pin. The balloon burst with a loud pop, and they were engulfed in pink confetti. 

A joy Harry never knew existed filled his heart. He was completely unaware of the cheering from their family and friends as he wrapped Hermione in a tight embrace and sobbed uncontrollably. 

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked, nonplussed.

Harry wiped the tears from his cheeks and wrapped his arms back around the woman he loved. “Fine,” he said, his voice husky. “I’m just holding my girls.”

Chapter Text

Three weeks before the wedding, gold envelopes carefully sealed with a dab of red wax arrived on the doorsteps of Harry and Hermione’s family and friends. Accompanied by a sunset beach photo of Harry and Hermione in a close embrace were the words: 

Daniel and Jean Granger are pleased to announce the wedding of their daughter

Hermione Granger

to

Harry James Potter

Son of the late James and Lily Potter

30 June 1998

5:00pm

Brighton Beach, Melbourne

RSVP requested no later than June 20th. 

The couple are also welcoming the birth of their daughter this December.

Mrs. Weasley wiped a tear away from her eye with her apron. She turned to her husband, who had just come in after a night of raids. He was nodding off at the table, but she shook him by the shoulder and thrust the invitation under his nose. 

“Look at those dears! They look so grown up!”

Mr. Weasley polished his spectacles on his robes and peered at the invitation. “They also look quite happy.”

“They are absolutely besotted with each other!” Mrs. Weasley gushed. “I always knew they would be lovely together.”

“Really?” Mr. Weasley said evenly. “If I remember correctly, you were sure it would be Ginny and Harry.”

“Details, details,” Mrs. Weasley said with a wave of her hand. 

Mr. Weasley knew better than to push the matter. He chuckled and pinned the invitation to the wall next to portraits of each of his children. “In other news, I ran into Remus at the Ministry. He had to submit the final approval paperwork.”

“Aaaand?” Mrs. Weasley said, drawing out the word. 

“And Kingsley signed it, no questions asked. Remus said it’s a landmark move and a step toward full Wizengamot approval for all part-humans. In the meantime, Kingsley himself is handling the process on a case-by-case basis.”

“And is he still insisting on keeping it quiet? He’s taking a ridiculous line on this.” Molly huffed.

“For the time being. Said he doesn’t want anyone’s hopes up if it falls through.” Mrs. Weasley huffed again, so Arthur added, “It’s his choice, Molly. Not ours.”

“I know, but it’s just so exciting! And it’s the perfect schedule for him, Tonks, and Teddy.” She busied herself with cleaning the teapot. “Teddy is sleeping through the night now. I wonder when they will be trying for another?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Please do not pressure them, Molly dear. Teddy was enough of a surprise. I’m sure they’ll be taking things nice and slow, and it’s not our business whether they have one child or a whole bushel.”

But Molly peered wistfully out the window. She enjoyed when the Lupins came to visit, and could certainly find room in her heart to dote on one more. Or two. Or five or six.

Arthur must have read her mind, for he shook his head exasperatedly. “Molly dear, it’s not your concern. I’m sure our home will be bursting with grandchildren before you know it.” 

*/*/*/*/*

“So…we should probably think of a name,” Harry said, shifting to a more comfortable position with his back against the trunk of a tree. The remnants of a picnic brunch was at their feet, where a trio of blank ants carried crumbs off to their hills. 

Hermione gave a hum of agreement. “What do you think, little one?” she whispered to her bump. 

It was a week after the gender reveal and two weeks before their wedding. Time in Australia had seemed too fast and too slow all at once, and Harry wished for a time turner so he could live forever in the past. Surely he could never be happier than the moment he learned he had fathered a baby girl. He silently vowed to get a pensieve like Dumbledore’s so he could relive the memory at will. 

Hermione traced her fingers over her stomach and turned to Harry. “She’s not talking today. I wish she’d make it easy for us, like how she let us know she was a girl.”

“Well, she can’t have her way all the time,” Harry said with a grin. “We are her parents, after all. I think naming falls squarely in our department.”
“So do you have any ideas?”

“Whatever we do, don’t call her Nymphadora,” Harry said, raising the timbre of his voice to a passable intimation of Tonks’s oft-repeated phrase.

Hermione snorted. “Noted and agreed…What about Lily?” In response to Harry’s look of surprise, Hermione continued, “It’s perfectly logical that we would name her after your mum. And there will be bouquets of lilies at the wedding, so it will be like we have her grandma and baby with us. Well, I always have our baby with us,” she amended with a pat on her bump. “But the lilies will represent both of them.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Is it too obvious, though? I want our baby to have her own identity. I don’t want her to be constantly compared to my mum.”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said. “It’s not about comparisons, it’s about honoring a name and a legacy. I think Lily is a beautiful option.”

“In that case, her middle name should be after someone special too.” 

“Got someone in mind?”

Harry grinned at her. “Jean. She welcomed me right into the family, and she’s going to be such an amazing grandmother. And I think Lily Jean Potter has quite the ring to it, don’t you?”

Hermione returned the grin. “It sure does. So are we decided?”

“I am if you are.”

Hermione laughed and laid back on the picnic blanket to watch the sky. “All the pregnancy books I’ve read said that naming the baby can be a place of contention for couples, and that some couples go back and forth for months before deciding. But for us, naming Lily wasn’t hard at all.”

Harry lay next to her and met her eyes. “I think we’ve had enough hard stuff for a lifetime, don’t you? I think I’ll take smooth and easy from now on.”

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. “Hmmm. It sounds like you’re getting complacent.”

“If this is being complacent, I never want to stop,” Harry returned. 

*/*/*/*/

They returned to the Granger residence in time to make dinner before Jean and Dan arrived home. Harry whipped up a white sauce while Hermione studied for her NEWTS—this time with an aged potions book whose binding creaked and crackled as she opened it. 

“Ugh, I just need to find one more way aconite affects the nervous system in non-werewolf medicinal uses but I can't find it in any of my books,” she exclaimed. “Muggles are legions ahead of wizards in the information search department, and it will only get better with the Internet becoming mainstream. I don't think we'll recognize the muggle world 25 years from now.”

“You know, we could be grandparents by then,” Harry said lightly. “And our Lily is going to be so sick of showing us how to use the latest tech.”

Hermione stared at him. “What?” He asked self-consciously. 

“25 years …. We could be grandparents in 25 years?!?! Life is just so short.” She rubbed a hand across her stomach. “It makes me wish she was here now so we could soak up every moment.”

There was the familiar grinding sound beneath their feet as the garage opened to admit the Grangers’ car. Harry turned back to his white sauce as Jean and Dan came into the kitchen. Jean was on the phone while Dan plunked a stack of letters on the table. 

“That sounds great. See you tomorrow. Thank you so much for accommodating us.” Jean pushed a button on her Nokia phone and turned to Hermione. “Bridal shop has the tuxes and your dress ready. Since they are guessing at measurements with your growing baby, they've asked you to stop by for an additional fitting.” 

“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione said, the relief evident in her voice. “I've been eating so much more that I've been having nightmares about it not fitting.”

Jean was about to dip a spoon into Harry's sauce but paused and pointed it in her daughter’s direction. “Now is not the time to worry about your figure, especially considering that you've been underweight for most of your pregnancy. All you need to be doing is eating a well balanced diet and drinking your prenatal potions.”

Hermione raised her hands in surrender. “I’m not worried, Mum. Promise. I won’t do anything to harm our baby.”

Jean’s eyes softened. “Of course not, dear.”

Dan was flicking through the mail. “There’s a letter for you, Harry. Strange that it came through the muggle post.”

Harry took the envelope in confusion. The sender’s address was an apartment complex in Melbourne, the sender Dudley Dursley. He exchanged a confused look with Hermione. “Dudley wasn’t in Australia. The Order hid them, but they stayed in Europe,” he explained to the Grangers. He drew his wand and muttered a diagnostic charm for jinxes and hexes.

The letter was clean. 

“Well, all we can do is open it,” Hermione said, though she eyed it with more than a little suspicion. 

Harry broke the seal on the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of notebook paper bearing Dudley’s surprisingly tidy scrawl. He unfolded the page and read aloud: 

Dear Harry, 

Congratulations on your wedding. To say I was surprised would be an understatement, especially that bit about you being a dad soon. Congratulations. You both look really happy. I was also surprised to see that you’re getting married in Melbourne, which is where I live now. 

After your war ended and we could get out of hiding, I went to Australia to study abroad. Mum and Dad were mad. But I needed space away from them—as far away as possible. So I ended up at the University of Melbourne. This might shock you, but my marks were good enough to get in. 

Anyway, this is my RSVP for your wedding. No plus one. I haven’t been here long enough to meet anyone, and I’m not really looking. Got too much on my mind. 

Do you have any time before the 30th? I’d like to meet up over lunch and go over some stuff. You can bring your fiancé, of course. 

Let me know. 

Dudley Dursley

Harry finished reading and tapped the corner of the envelope against his chin as he thought. “It’s strange that he wanted to get away from Petunia and Vernon,” Harry admitted. “What d’you reckon he wants to talk about?”

Hermione shrugged and consulted the letter. “He says something is on his mind…And you said that he seemed to change last summer.”

“That’s true…” Harry mused. He shrugged. “Well, do you want to go?”

Hermione hesitated. “McGonagall is scheduling my NEWTS next week. We’ll have to work around them.”

“Do you know the schedule yet?” At the shake of Hermione’s head, he turned back to the letter. “I’ll write back and we’ll try to find something that works. It sounds like he is taking classes, so we have to work with his schedule too. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It can’t hurt.”

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry penned a letter to Dudley, suggesting that they meet up the following Sunday. Jean suggested a cozy brunch location nestled in the middle of a quiet street that doesn’t get too much tourist traffic. He added the Grangers’ home phone number to the postscript. He sealed the letter and added Dudley’s address to the envelope on the front. He set it aside to mail in the morning. 

Two days later, the Grangers’ phone rang around dinnertime. Dan answered it and waved Harry over. “It’s your cousin,” he said, handing Harry the receiver. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, uh, Harry. It’s Dudley.”

“Er, hi.”

There was an awkward pause. 

“Uh, I got your letter,” Dudley said. “And Sunday works for me. Want to meet there at ten o’clock?”

Hoping this wasn’t a big mistake, Harry replied, “Sure.” Feeling that he needed to be very clear, Harry added, “But understand if you do or say anything to hurt my pregnant fiancé's feelings, or if this is some sort of joke and you aren’t planning to show up, I will find you and curse you with everlasting boils on your rear end so painful you will sleep standing up for the rest of your life. I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t touch me.”

There was silence on the other end, followed by a rush of static. But Dudley’s voice was clear as he said, “I guess I deserved that.” Harry realized that the static must have been from Dudley rubbing his face while holding the receiver. 

Dudley took a deep breath, the receiver catching the explosion of air as he released. “Harry, I know you don’t have to believe me, but I really just need to confront what happened to you as a kid and how my parents—and I—treated you. I want to hear what happened to you while in the war, and I want to tell you how I finally got my head out of my arse.”

Despite his apprehension, Harry’s interest was peaked. Against his better judgement, he replied, “Alright then. See you on Sunday at 10:00.”

“See you.”

He replaced the receiver in the cradle and walked to the Grangers’ tea room. He felt ill, and the last thing he wanted to do was relive his childhood trauma with spoiled, pampered Dudley Dursley. He sank onto the settee and put his face in his hands.

“Harry, is everything okay?” Hermione asked. She sat next to him and rubbed his back. The touch grounded him, and he used Janelle’s sensory regulation skill to fight the panic clenching his chest. 

Once he had control of his voice to speak, he began, his words measured and carefully chosen. “Dudley said he wants to talk about what happened to me as a kid. I don’t know why…I don’t know if I want to relive that…”

Hermione brushed his cheek with her hands. She softly met his lips and held him in a tender embrace. “Do you want to see him by yourself, then?”

Her words surprised him. “You don’t want to come?”

“I do, but I understand that I probably don’t know everything. You never really told Ron or I about it, unless you needed something, like that summer we sent you food. And Ron told me about the bars on your window when they rescued you in the flying car, but I’m sure that’s not all of it.” She took his hand, withheld tears sparkling on her eyelashes. “If Dudley accidentally brings up something you would rather I didn’t hear, I understand that it might put you in an awkward position.”

“You’re my fiancé. I shouldn’t hide this from you.”

“And I don’t want you to relive your trauma out of some sort of obligation. If you want to leave the past in the past where it belongs, I don’t need to know the specifics.”

Harry looked around the tea room without seeing it. Did he want Hermione to know about the cupboard, the yelling, the chores, and the more severe injuries? But the thought of facing Dudley without her at his side was agony. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I think you should know. I never want to treat Lily the way I was treated, and maybe if you know, you’ll be able to stop me before—”

“You aren’t going to abuse our baby, Harry.”

“We don’t know that.” The confession burst from him, and his lungs ached as if the words had been ripped from his chest. “I-I worry about becoming…like them.”

“Have you talked to Janelle about this?”

Harry shook his head. 

“I think you should. She’ll help you unpack it all. And if you need to confide in me, I am here.”

His heart, raw and bleeding as it was, swelled with her words. He took her hand and looked in her eyes. “You know they hated magic…What you don’t know is that I never had a proper bedroom until after I’d gotten my Hogwarts letter and the Dursleys were worried wizards were watching the house. Before that, I slept in the cupboard under the stairs for ten years. They used to lock me in there anytime I showed any ‘freakishness’---any uncontrolled magic. And when I got locked in, they wouldn’t feed me.” Harry’s cheeks were wet, and he struggled to speak past the tightness in his throat. Hermione was watching him with growing horror. “They’d feed me after two or three days, especially if they got sick of cooking for themselves. I did all the chores. My aunt’s house was always spotless—neighbors would gush about it when they came in—but they didn’t know that it was because I would scrub it for fourteen hours a day.”

Harry continued, unaware that Dan and Jean had stepped into the tea room, bearing a plate of cookies. Their mouths were open, and tears fell silently down Jean’s cheeks. “Vernon was physical. I won’t go into the details, but I was always scared of him growing up. He grabbed me hard once and broke my arm. I was six, and accidental magic healed it by morning. But I didn’t know that at the time. I just thought it was normal.” Harry sniffed, his mind reliving the audible snap of bone and the agony sent throbbing up his arm. “Petunia was jealous of my mum for being magical, and she took it out on me. She was more subtle, but she threw a frying pan at my head once. And Dudley treated me like a punching bag. He made sure I never had friends at school and laughed when his parents were hurting me. I get he was a kid but…it still hurts. And I don’t know if meeting him is the right thing to do or not.”

He had been speaking to his knees but risked a glance at his fiancé. Hermione’s mouth was open in a silent o and her cheeks were ruddy from crying. Jean and Dan approached him, and Harry flushed with the knowledge that they had also heard. Jean set the cookies on the coffee table and embraced him. Dan took the other side, his long arms holding both him and Hermione. They stayed there for a few moments, and no one commented on the raggedness of Harry’s breathing. 

Dan spoke. “Harry, is your cousin safe? I don’t want you meeting someone who is going to harm you.”

Harry thought carefully before nodding. “Yeah…he said he ‘finally got his head out of his arse’ and wants to talk about it.”

“I still don’t like it,” Dan admitted. 

Jean put a hand on Dan’s knee. “Me neither. But Harry and Hermione are more than capable of handling one muggle.” She turned to the couple. “You have my full support to curse this boy into a slug if he even looks at you sideways. Magic has to be good for something, right?”

“I already threatened him with everlasting boils,” Harry admitted. 

There was a strained chuckle. Jean was rubbing Harry’s back, and he unconsciously leaned his head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Mum,” he whispered, the word coming to him unconsciously but with incredible clarity. Realizing he had said it aloud, he flushed and backtracked. “Sorry, I don’t have to call you that. It just slipped out—”

But Jean squeezed him even tighter, her eyes misty. “Oh, Harry, I love you to the moon and back. If you want to call me Mum, you can call me Mum.”

Chapter Text

On Sunday morning, Harry wiped his sweaty palms on the legs of his pants as he and Hermione made their way to the cafe to meet Dudley. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Remember what Janelle said: you are not obligated to stay. Just give me the word and we will leave.”

Harry nodded, the erratic pace of his heart calming somewhat. He had had two sessions with Janelle to unpack his childhood abuse. Through discussions with her, Harry began to realize how much shame and feelings of unworthiness he had internalized. Though healing was a long way off and he never wanted to see his aunt and uncle again, he was determined that his past wouldn’t shape his future. 

All that was left was to see if Dudley would have any part of that future. 

The cafe was decorated with rustic furniture and framed pictures of the Australian Outback. Located away from the main tourist attractions of Melbourne, it was quiet, the only occupants a man at the bar sipping tea while reading the newspaper and the waiter who greeted them with a simple nod. “Two to dine today?”

“Three,” Harry said. “We’re waiting for someone.”

The waiter ushered them to a corner booth in view of the front door and handed them laminated menus. “For brekkie, we have the usual: bacon, eggs, vegemite—”

Harry pulled a face at the last one, and the waiter laughed. 

“You are foreign. I can tell by your accent. But even if you hadn’t spoken, I can always tell that someone isn’t an Aussie when I offer them vegemite.”

“My parents moved here a year ago, so we need to get acclimated,” Hermione said. “I’ll take the vegemite and toast. No coffee, but I will take milk and a side of fruit if you have it.”

The waiter made a note on his pad. “And you sir?”

Harry had been looking at the front door and the lack of his cousin at the entrance, but the waiter’s words snapped him back to the menu. He ordered the first thing he saw. “Er, sweetcorn fritters and bacon, please. And tea to drink.”

The waiter bustled away, leaving one of the menus behind. Harry impatiently tapped his fingers on the menu and checked his watch. 10:10. He blew the air out of his cheeks. Hermione covered his hand with hers. “He’s only ten minutes late. It’s still early.”

“There’s been so much build up to this: talking with Janelle, working through stuff in my head. If he doesn’t show, it will be all for nothing.”

The bell above the door chimed as it opened. Dudley entered, dressed not in his expected leather jacket and haughty expression, but neat pleated trousers and a buttoned shirt. He was still solidly built, but there was something different about him, as if his physique was no longer honed in punching matches. Harry waved, and Dudley turned at the movement. He wiped his hands on his pants just as Harry had done ten minutes earlier.

He took a seat across from them, leaving a healthy amount of space between him and Harry. Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Dudley, this is Hermione, my fiance and the mother of my child. Hermione and I have been best friends since we were eleven.”

Dudley awkwardly took Hermione’s hand, as if he was the interviewee at a job interview. “Nice to meet you.”  He dropped his gaze, choosing instead to study his fingernails. “Sorry I’m late. I haven’t had to park on this part of the city yet and it took a while to find an open spot. Where did you guys park?”

“We didn’t. No need to,” Harry said. 

Dudley glanced at him quickly then looked away again. “Right. The whole, uh, m-magic thing.”

Harry slipped his wand from the pocket of his jacket to the inside of his sleeve. He palmed it and uttered a quick muffliato charm. He stowed the wand back into his jacket and explained, “Now we won’t be overheard. I’ll have to drop it when the waiter comes back though.”

“And we actually didn’t arrive by magic,” Hermione said patiently. “Though witches and wizards can apparate—disappear and reappear in another location at will—apparition isn’t safe for pregnancy. But we’re staying with my parents until the wedding, and it was a quick bus ride over.”

“A magic bus?” Dudley asked. 

“Nope, just the regular old city bus,” Hermione said with a smile. “I may have used a charm to clean the seat before we sat down, but that’s it.”

Dudley nodded jerkily. Harry realized that although Dudley had suggested this meeting, he was just as nervous as Harry was. “So, er, you wanted to talk about…um, us when we were kids?”

They were interrupted by the waiter’s approach. Dudley ordered porridge and coffee, then waited until Harry had recast the charm before speaking. “Y-Yeah. Um, I don’t really know where to start…You know when your people took us from Privet Drive a year ago?”

Harry nodded. How could he forget?

“The people who hid us—Hestia and Dedalus—were amazing. Dad was awful to them, constantly complaining when they did magic or talking about how they’d ruined his life and his chance to advance his career. It really didn’t matter to him that his wife and son were alive because of them. And Hestia and Dedalus would just roll their eyes and silence him. They always made sure we had what we needed. I enrolled in secondary school in France. I was away from the gang and everything I knew, and it was good. I had plenty of time to study, so I took enough extra classes so I could graduate last year. All those extra classes saved my overall marks.”

“Why take extra classes?” Harry asked. 

Dudley shrugged. “At first it was because I didn’t have anything better to do, but I realized how much I actually liked school. I had some great teachers who noticed I struggled to read and was way behind in math, so they tutored me in the basics until I knew enough that I could study on my own. And the longer I was at school or the library studying with Hestia or Dedalus, the longer I was away from Mom and Dad. And the longer I was away from them, I realized I didn’t want to be anything like them.”

The waiter came with their order, and they took a few minutes to tuck into the meal. Harry watched with amusement as Hermione spread a small amount of vegemite onto toast and took a tentative bite. “Oh, this is good,” she said appreciatively. 

“I think our baby is messing with your tastebuds,” Harry said, though he softened the words with an understanding smile. “I guess that makes you a true Aussie. I will forever be a tourist.” He turned back to Dudley. “So you took a bunch of classes and…?” 

“And when it came to graduation, I was trying to figure out what to do. By this time Hestia and Dedalus were both my friends, and I told them I didn’t want to follow Dad’s footsteps. (Dad never thought about what I wanted; he just assumed I would take over for him at Grunnings.) Hestia helped me research different career options, and Dedalus—what did you call it? Apparated —all over to get me applications. And I just felt drawn to Australia for some weird reason. We weren’t sure if the war would be over soon enough for me to start during the summer term, but I really wanted it in place anyway. And then on May 2nd, Hestia and Dedalus told us the war was over. I got on a flight the next day and never looked back.”

Harry and Hermione shared a significant glance. “You said you were drawn to Australia?” Hermione asked. 

“Yeah. It was weird. I’d never really considered living that far abroad but I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. I guess I just wanted distance, you know?”

Harry glanced at Hermione’s stomach. Surely our baby couldn’t—

“And when I got your invitation it all made sense,” Dudley finished with a shrug. “That’s why I wanted this brunch. So we could talk and I could, you know, make sure you’re okay. And say thanks.”

“For what?” Harry asked. 

“For saving me from the Demember—or whatever it’s called—for even inviting me to your wedding in the first place. I’m assuming mum and dad don’t know?”

Harry shook his head. “They’re not invited. I don’t want them there.”

“I’m not surprised.” Dudley took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “My major is in social work. I’m still taking the introductory classes, but I’ve learned enough to know that my parents should be in jail. I’m appalled that they aren’t. And I’m appalled that I thought them starving and beating you was normal. That I’d laugh at you in my huge clothes. That I felt better about myself when I got presents and you didn’t. And I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, but I need to say sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. We could’ve grown up together as brothers, and because of my actions, I’ll never have that chance.” He shook his head. “And all the stupid stuff with the gang too. I had Dedalus and Hestia check on them last March. Three are dead after a territory fight with another gang, two in jail, and two still on the streets. And I started that. I can’t fix it but I’ll spend my life in social work as penitence. No kid is going to suffer like you did, and if I can get one kid out of a gang, it will be all worth it.” Dudley took a shaky breath, willing back the tears that came to his blue eyes. 

Harry didn’t know what to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times while his tongue tried to form words. “I, er, I’m glad you came to your senses,” he finally managed. 

Dudley snorted, though his voice was bitter as he said, “Me too. Wish it hadn’t taken so long.” A single tear ran down Dudley’s cheek, and he brushed it away with a meaty hand.

And Harry did something he never thought he would do. He scooted across the bench and embraced Dudley like a brother. Dudley stiffened at the contact but managed a manly thump on Harry’s back. 

Harry released him and took Hermione’s hand. “I-I’m glad you’re here. Want a do over?”

Dudley swallowed. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They chatted long after their plates had been collected by the server. Harry explained his role in the war (occasionally going into long explanations of magic and magic locations to benefit the clueless Dudley), and ended with how he and Hermione had arrived in Melbourne and his upcoming position as a professor at Hogwarts. 

The sun rose past the noon hour, but the diner was uncrowded and the server didn’t see fit to make them leave. When the conversation slowed and they began to make their goodbyes, Dudley insisted on settling the bill. They made their way out into the sunny street and accompanied Dudley to the next block where his black Vespa was neatly parked parallel to the sidewalk. 

“Vernon would have a heart attack if he saw you driving that thing,” Harry said before he could stop himself. 

But Dudley shot him a wicked grin. “That’s why I got it. And it makes getting around campus a breeze.” He moved the kickstand and started the motor scooter. “Can we do this again? Maybe after the wedding but before you start at Hogwarts?”

“I’d like that,” Harry said. And he meant it. “We’ll keep in touch.”

As Dudley merged the Vespa into traffic, Hermione took Harry’s hand. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That our baby definitely had something to do with getting Dudley to Australia?” Harry guessed. 

Hermione fondly stroked her stomach. “Yep. You are quite the persuasive one, sweet Lily.”

*/*/*/*/*/

They returned to the Granger’s home and picked up the mail left on the doorstep. Hermione sorted through it and gave a squeal of surprise. “Oh, the Lewises are coming to our wedding!”

“The Lewises?” Harry asked. He hadn’t paid much attention to Hermione’s small group of aunts, uncles, and cousins invited to the wedding. 

“My aunt and uncle on my mum’s side,” Hermione explained. “Their oldest daughter Lexi is my age. We had to go to all sorts of lengths to hide the fact that I was going to Hogwarts. But David—my uncle, Lexi’s dad—got a job in America, so they moved there right before first year. They have two other kids: Louis and Heather. The last time I saw them was when I went skiing with my parents in France. Mum will be so happy! She and her sister have only been able to talk through letters for years.”

“They really named their son Louis Lewis?” 

“I didn’t say they were great at naming their kids, Harry.”

Harry snorted. “Well, I’m glad they’re coming.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind and ran his hands over Hermione’s bump. She sighed at the touch, and Harry pressed his lips against the hollow of her neck, which elicited another sigh. 

Her voice was low as she murmured, “You know that, uh, pregnancy symptom Andromeda mentioned at our last appointment?”

Harry smiled. “Do you have a need I can fulfill?”

Hermione took his hand and led him upstairs, the look in her eyes answering his question without words. 

*/*/*/*/*/

On Wednesday, Harry and Hermione took the floo from the Granger’s living room to Hogwarts. They stepped into the Headmistress’s office, and Harry gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze. She was nervous, and a smear of ink still shone on her forehead from this morning’s feverish studying. “You’re going to do great,” Harry said. 

McGonagal entered the office and nodded in greeting. “Miss Granger, the NEWT examiners are ready for you. Healer Tonks has reviewed the spells and tasks you will be required to perform and has deemed them safe for pregnancy. She advises you to bring snacks with you for the written portion, and the examiners are aware of your need to visit the lavatory more frequently than is typical.” 

Hermione simply nodded. Harry knew she felt uncomfortable with the concessions being made for her condition, but was grateful for them nonetheless.

“Mr. Potter, the Defense examiner is willing to evaluate you while Miss Granger is taking her other examinations. She is waiting in the hall.”

Harry blinked in surprise. In all the furor to get Hermione to the examinations, planning the wedding, and preparing for his new position, Harry hadn’t realized he could sit the examination himself. His surprise must have shown on his face, for McGonagall said with a touch of humor, “I am sure you will find yourself more than capable of passing.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Headmistress. I will do my best.”

“Before I send you in, it is important that you both agree to and understand the customary rules for NEWT examinations. You are not allowed to talk with another student about the examination until all examinations have been completed, which will be around 8:00 pm tonight. Mr. Potter, if you desire, you may work with your coteacher to organize the defense classroom while you wait for Miss Granger to finish her exams. He is due to arrive in two hours. Since he will be using the classroom while you are outside with your flying students, I expect you both to create a workable compromise for what the classroom should look like. After that is settled, you may also begin organizing your private rooms.” She turned to Hermione. “Miss Granger, you will be escorted to the practical examinations by myself or Professor Flitwick. The written tests will be taken one after the other in the library. Do either of you have any questions?”

They shook their heads, and McGonagal led them down the spiral staircase and into the Great Hall. No trace of the battle remained. The stone glittered and the tile shone. The enchanted ceiling reflected a perfect summer day. 

And Harry knew he was home. 

Though he would no longer sit at the Gryffindor table as a student, he was more than ready to begin his new role. He imagined his timid first years gaining confidence as they zipped back and forth during flying lessons, his fourth years learning duelling, his third years grappling with a grindylow. 

Hermione squeezed his hand and approached a severe-looking witch with her hair in a tight bun. McGonagal directed him to the far side of the Great Hall, where a rarely-used classroom was tucked in the corner. Seated on the teacher’s chair was a pink-haired witch with a heart-shaped face. Tonks stood as they entered. Harry was about to greet her warmly, but she launched into a prepared speech, “Welcome, Mr. Potter. My name is head auror Tonks, and I will be completing your examination this morning.”

Taking the cue from Tonks to maintain strict professionalism, Harry replied. “Thank you, Ma’am. I’m excited to show what I know.”

She tapped the top of his head firmly with the tip of her wand (Harry tried hard not to flinch and focused on his breathing to remind himself that he was not under attack). “This is a standard procedural spell meant to uncover the use of mind strengthening or altering potions, memory-enhancing charms, or anything else that students may use to cheat in the exam. You are clean,” she said, making a note on an examination sheet. “We will start with the written portion. You have 90 minutes. Begin.”

Harry wrote until his hand cramped, answering each question with as much detail as he could possibly muster. The questions tested his knowledge of dangerous magical creatures and defenses to use against them, dueling, nonverbal spells, wards, stealth and tracking, and even wizarding law. It was the latter that Harry knew the least about. He had to rely heavily on his memories from the Malfoy trial to make what he hoped was an educated guess. 

He finished with one minute to spare, and used the time to stretch his stiff fingers. Tonks retrieved the parchment and fastened it closed with a dab of wax. “Now we will begin the practical portion. Follow me.”

They made their way to the quidditch pitch, the soft grass springing beneath each step. She turned to face him. “Today I will test your practical skill level. Place muggle repelling wards around our immediate vicinity.”

Harry complied, and she ordered him to add other wards: anti-apparition, anti-stealth, and alarms. He demonstrated the confundus, disarming, and disillusionment charms. The sun was beating down on him, and sweat dripped into his eyes. 

“One final test, Mr. Potter. Imperio .”

Caught off guard, Harry’s mind was immediately taken to a place of uncaring bliss. But his chest tightened as Tonks’s words echoed through his head. “Bow, Mr. Potter. Just a simple bow.”

We bow, Harry, came Voldemort’s snake-like hiss through his memories. We must not forget your manners before I kill you. 

Harry’s breath was coming in tight gasps as he fought to ground himself. He wasn’t facing Voldemort. Voldemort was dead. He wasn’t—

Though Harry wasn’t aware of it, Tonks hesitated as she watched the young man’s face contort with pain she didn’t understand. Testing students on their ability to throw off the imperius curse was a standard—albeit occasionally contested—procedure. After all, that was why the imposter Mad Eye hadn’t been immediately sacked after performing the curse on students in the classroom. 

But something was very, very wrong with Harry. 

He was fighting the curse; his spine remained straight and his squared shoulders screamed defiance. But the rest of his expression spoke volumes: his eyes were tightly closed, his teeth clenched, his wand drawn and pointed in her direction. His lips were curled in a silent snarl, as if she had cast the cruciatus curse instead of the imperius. 

“Protego!” 

Tonks was thrown backward by the force of Harry’s protection charm. She hit the ground hard, the air rushing from her lungs, the connection of the imperius severed by the impact. She rolled to her feet and stumbled onto one knee as she took in great gulps of air and the side of her head throbbed. 

“Tonks! Crap, what did I do?” Harry swore and rushed to her side. His eyes grew wide. “Tonks, you’re bleeding.”

She brushed the side of her head, and her hand came back dripping with blood. Now that the dizziness had subsided, she held out a hand for Harry to help her to her feet. 

“I can heal it. Do you want me to?”

At Tonks’s nod, he murmured the incantation and vanished the blood. She rubbed the spot on the side of her skull, noting the new skin there. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. 

“You did nothing wrong,” Tonks said. He was pale, his hands shaking, so she directed him to sit with his back against the base of the center goal hoop. Her veneer of stoic professionalism cracked as she looked at Teddy’s godfather. “Do you want to talk about what happened? It looks like I might have triggered something. Should I get Janelle?”

Harry shook his head. “W-When you told me to bow, it reminded me of the night Voldemort returned. H-He used a spell to force me to bow before we dueled. He said I needed to learn manners before he killed me.”

Tonks glanced at her exam papers without seeing them as horror filled her. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have made bowing the command.”

Harry was breathing slowly in and out, a technique Janelle had also taught Tonks after Tonks’s first horrific crime scene. After a moment, he opened his eyes. “I’m okay. Really. Are you okay?”

Tonks nodded and helped him to his feet. “A bit of a headache is all. But I must say, you passed with flying colors. Only one percent of NEWT students are able to throw off the Imperius.”

Tonks led Harry back to the castle. “I’ll grade your written responses and award your practical points. Usually an owl is sent to your residence with the results, but since it is just you and Hermione testing today, we can have results to you before you leave the castle.”

Harry thanked Tonks and headed up the stairs to the Defense classroom. On the second floor, he stopped at a stone window and sat on the sill. He slowly went through the sensory mindfulness practice to ground himself and eliminate the lingering anxiety that still pinched between his shoulder blades. Through the window, he watched a thestral rise above the treeline and plunge back into the forbidden forest. The lake glistened in the sunlight. 

My life is so different now, Harry realized. Voldemort’s return and the years of fighting had taken much from him. But now he had a brilliant fiance, a baby on the way, his dream job, loving in-laws, and even a cousin who didn’t hate him. Life can’t get better than this. Everything is perfect. 

But Harry had to amend the statement a moment later when he walked into the Defense classroom to find his coteacher reading a defense book at the desk. 

Remus Lupin smiled as he entered.

Chapter Text

“Remus! You’re back!” Harry said in surprise. His face hurt from how widely he was grinning at his new coteacher.
Remus nodded. “Minerva invited me back after she got your application. She had to go through some hoops due to my werewolf status, and Kingsley had to argue my case in front of the Wizengamot, but I’m back.”

“So…full moons?”

“I’m not allowed to be within 500 kilometers of the school on full moons. Essentially, I will just floo home, transform in the basement, recuperate, and then come back. I’m structuring my classes so the students will have group work the day of and the day after the moon. They’ll work with each other while I am recovering, and then bring their questions to our next class.”

They were interrupted by a sharp cry. Harry realized Teddy was in his cot in the corner of the room. Remus picked him up and summoned a bottle. As the infant sucked hungrily, Remus explained, “Once term starts, Dora is adjusting her schedule so her days off are the two days each week I will be teaching. She’ll have Teddy then, and I’ll be home with him the rest of the week.” Remus smiled at the infant, and there was such an exquisite joy on his face that Harry felt a pang of anxious anticipation. He desperately wanted to hold his daughter in his arms. 

Remus must have guessed at his train of thought, for he said, “Having a child changed every part of my life. And it will change yours too. It’s hard. So, so hard.” He kissed Teddy’s forehead. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world. And being able to teach and raise my son is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. When your daughter is born, I’m sure you’ll feel the same way.”

“We’re naming her Lily,” Harry said. “Lily Jean Potter.”

Remus’s eyes grew misty. “That’s a beautiful name.” Teddy finished with the bottle, and Remus conjured a burp cloth. He shifted Teddy against his shoulder and patted his back as he surveyed the classroom. “Well, Professor Potter, we should get to work. The reconstruction teams focused on the structural needs of the castle, not redecorating. So what should we do with this?”

Harry scanned the room for the first time. Though he hadn’t been present when the Carrows had used this room to teach the Dark Arts, their imprint remained long after they were gone. Human and animal skulls rested on dusty shelves, spiders spun webs in the cracks in the flagstones, and a large crimson stain in the center of the room looked suspiciously like blood. Manacles hung from the ceiling, a draft from the rafters clinking them gently together. 

“This place looks like a torture chamber,” he said, a shiver clutching his spine. “Neville said something about the Carrows making older kids use the cruciatus on the first years…”

Remus nodded sadly. “A lot of evil happened in this room.” His face darkened, and he looked suddenly years older. “We’re really up against the impossible.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised by the pessimism. “What do you mean?”

Remus gestured to the doorway of the classroom. “Those first years who were tortured in this room will walk through those doors as second years. And they will be forced to sit in the same place where they endured cataclysmic pain. Worse, they will be forced to dine with some of the very people who powered the spell.”

Harry felt sick. “But…the kids who did that…they’re not still in school, are they?”

Remus looked levelly at him. “Where else should they go? Azkaban?”

“Yes,” Harry said indignantly. 

“For the crime of following a teacher’s orders?” Remus pressed. “ Especially when they did it under the threat of their own torture if they didn’t comply?”

Harry leaned against a desk. He chewed his lip, thinking about Draco’s trial. Like Draco, had these older students been coerced? “They could have done something,” Harry insisted, though the words felt like sawdust in his mouth. “Anything.”

“They really couldn’t,” Remus said sadly. “The entire system led them to the atrocity, and I doubt many of them wanted to. Others might have felt justified due to the teachers giving the okay. Others will show no remorse. And those students are who I am most worried about—not the kids who are seeing mind healers and working through their trauma. I’m worried about the ones who got a taste of the dark arts and are hungry for more.” Remus sighed. “Everyone has weaknesses, and for those who've seen how they can seize power with the dark will have a hard time believing they should stay in the light. And if they don't…”

“Someone becomes another Voldemort,” Harry finished. 

“Or Grindelwald. Or any of the dozens of dark wizards who have colored our history. But it certainly could mean the rise of another dark witch or wizard.”

Harry scanned the classroom again. He imagined the cold stone covered with plush carpet, the dark drapes removed and the remnants of dark magic sponged away. “We need to completely transform this room, don’t we?”

Remus nodded. “It’s going to take some work. Minerva gave us a modest budget for redecorating, but I fear it won’t be near enough. It’s all she could do, though. The reconstruction of the castle has sucked almost all the coffers dry—even after the Ministry paid a significant portion to fix the damages.”

Harry pursed his lips. With the fate of his vaults in limbo, he couldn’t pour excess galleons into the space. “So we start with the major stuff then.” He muttered scourgifiy at the bloodstain on the stone, but it didn’t move. 

“It’s the mark of dark magic that took a life. It can’t be cleaned.”

“You mean someone died in here?!” Harry yelped. 

Lupin nodded soberly. He pointed to three deep scratches in the stone. “If I had to guess, those are from Greyback’s fingernails. He must have cornered someone in here—”

Lupin’s voice faded away as Harry’s lungs constricted and blackness tugged at Harry’s vision. He sat on the step leading to the teacher’s desk and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. It didn’t stop the scenes from playing through his mind like a movie reel: Greyback threatening Hermione when they were captured; Lavender Brown’s tattered body in the Great Hall, her eyes glassy and deep slashes across her throat from nails and teeth. He recalled Lavender’s brief fling with Ron during sixth year. At the time, Harry had found her insufferable; now, he realized she was simply a young girl, overzealous in her first relationship. And she had been robbed of her innocence.

Harry felt sick. 

“Harry, breathe.” The sound came from far away, as if Lupin was speaking from a great distance. Lupin’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly. “Harry.”

Harry forced his eyes open. His chest was heaving and sweat beaded on his brow. Shifting Teddy onto one arm, Remus pulled Harry to his feet and directed him out of the classroom. He didn’t say a word until they had walked onto the grounds and the brilliant sunshine warmed Harry’s face. 

“Panic attack,” Harry explained rather unnecessarily. “I realized that Lavender Brown was probably killed by Greyback in that room. I knew Lavender. She dated Ron. We had classes together. And now she’s not here because of that monster.” He shivered despite the sun beaming overhead. “How can I teach in there?” Harry grimaced at his weakness and added, “How can you stand it?”

Remus gripped his shoulder again. “Had you come into the classroom twenty minutes earlier, you would have seen me in a similar mental state. These were my students. They were children, and the thought that they endured these horrors makes me want to demand a classroom change—”

“Can we?” Harry interrupted eagerly. 

“And make someone else take our place?” Remus countered lightly. “Who would you make move?”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Maybe there’s a spare classroom somewhere?”

“There are, but not any large enough to accommodate our classes. Your first year class is going to be double the usual size, as is my 7th year class.”

“Why?”

“No muggleborns were allowed at Hogwarts last year. Students that would have gotten their letters at age 11 are now getting them at age 12. And many families pulled their children out of school when the Ministry fell, especially if they couldn’t prove their blood status or had family members that were targeted by the Death Eaters. They will be starting first year a year late. And the seventh year group is larger because the war and all the horrors that happened last year disrupted their studies. Minerva invited them back so they could properly prepare for their NEWTs. About half of the students who would have graduated last year are enrolled to repeat seventh year. The other half, like Ron, have elected to join the Ministry.”

A black shape stirred in Harry’s periphery. Despite his horror at the location of Lavender’s death, a smile tugged at his lips as an adult Thestral followed by its tiny skeletal foal soared over the surface of the Black Lake. The adult tucked in its wings and submerged into the water. Thestrals are associated with darkness and death, but there is still life and beauty there, Harry thought as the baby Thestral nickered to its parent and batted the water with its wings. 

Likewise, his students would need to find the beauty despite the darkness. 

Harry gathered his Gryffindor courage. “Then let’s make our classroom what these students need.”

*/*/*/*/*/

Hermione rubbed her eyes and hid a yawn behind her hand as she made her way from the library where she had taken her written NEWT exams and down the long corridors she had walked countless times before. The sun was rapidly setting behind the mountains, and long shadows spilled across the stone walls. 

She rubbed her stomach absently as she walked. The advent of Lily’s growth had meant the stretching of her skin, and it itched something awful. Andromeda had recommended a cream to increase the skin’s elasticity, and Hermione was looking forward to using it once she and Harry returned to Melbourne. 

Lily moved within her womb, followed by a quick thumb as she kicked. Hermione rubbed at the spot, feeling the bump of the baby’s foot. The pregnancy was nearly half over, and the second half would be characterized by Lily’s rapid growth. Though Hermione still felt anxious about the impending birth—she had read far too much about what could potentially go wrong during labor—she pushed aside the worry. Today had been exhausting (they weren’t called Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests for nothing), and her pregnancy had exacerbated the usual fatigue students felt. 

She had always thought there was nothing out of her reach: she was driven and intelligent; she could hold her own regardless of others’ prejudices or preconceived notions. But that had been before a war had stripped everything from her, before she had been tortured and words carved into her skin as if she were nothing more than a fleshy block of wood. 

Mudblood. 

Hermione wanted to fight. She wanted to work long hours at the Ministry, pushing for law changes and fighting for equality. She wanted to mentor other muggleborns and provide legal support for any facing prejudice. She wanted to champion for educational and societal reforms that ensured muggleborns would never again be forced to join a registry like some sort of criminal. 

But she just didn’t have the stamina. 

She hated to admit it to anyone, not to Harry and definitely not to herself. But Hermione was forced to face an uncomfortable truth: her NEWT examinations had been incredibly taxing not only on her memory and magical prowess but other ways too. Her pregnancy meant that the small of her back ached after only an hour or two of sitting. And when she wasn’t sitting, it was due to her overactive bladder that was being squished by her growing child. Though her examiners had been accommodating, it had still been embarrassing to ask them to pause the timer on the test so she could use the lavatory. 

It had been during one visit to the bathroom that she realized something else: she was leaking milk. Her midnight blue robes had a dark stain over the right breast. She had dried her robes with a charm, but the fear that it would happen again permeated her every thought the rest of the afternoon. 

Add to that the increased level of exhaustion, the stretch of her skin across her stomach, and the heightened anxiety, it had been incredibly difficult to push through her exams. 

And she still had twenty weeks to go…Twenty weeks to do what? 

The last thing she wanted to do was twiddle her thumbs while Harry began his career. I guess I could knit like Mrs. Weasley, she thought, then dispelled the idea with distaste. Dobby was no longer alive to accept her misshapen clothing offerings, and she now knew more about systemic issues to realize that ‘accidentally’ freeing house elves wouldn’t bring the equality she wanted for them. And she didn’t feel her knitting skills would improve enough to knit clothing for her child. Maybe a blanket, Hermione thought. I’d like Lily to have something I made, but it isn’t going to keep me busy for long. And it isn’t helping the overall Wizarding World turn away from centuries of prejudice. 

Lilly kicked in her womb again. Hermione traced her fingers over her stomach. It’s not that I don’t love you, little one. It’s just…I still want to love myself. I still want to do something that matters. Is it wrong to want the best of both worlds?

Hermione paused at the landing of the third floor to catch her breath and put aside her unpleasant thoughts. She had finished her NEWTs. If all went well, the results would be in within the hour and she would be a fully qualified witch. And that was worth celebrating. 

She entered the Defense classroom, surprised to see Remus and Teddy there. Harry explained Remus’s position as his coteacher and pointed to the changes they had made in the room that afternoon: a plush rug bearing the Hogwarts crest and all four house colors covered the flagstone floor; desks were arranged in collaborative groups of five, and each bookshelf in the room was painted a different house color. 

“We transfigured most of it,” Harry admitted. “We tried to use the Room of Requirement to get what we need and bring it back here, but it was completely destroyed by the fiendfyre. So we’ve been using most of what was here.”

“I like the use of all the house colors,” Hermione said. “It feels like every student could feel comfortable here.”

“That’s what we want,” Remus confirmed. “It’s not completely ready yet. I am going to talk to Professor Sprout to see if we can get some cuttings of plants. Then we can hang them in the windows.”

“It’s come a long way,” Harry added. “When we first got here, it…well, it wasn’t good.”

Hermione looked at him curiously. Like she had with her fears about her future career, she got the feeling that Harry wasn’t telling her something. But she took his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Ah, I was hoping I would still find you here.” They turned as McGonagall entered the room. Her eyes took in the changes, and she smiled appreciatively. She held out a single sheet of parchment to Harry. “Your Defense NEWT results.”

Harry took the page, and Hermione saw the shining O for Outstanding at the top. “Thank you, Headmistress,” he said gratefully.

“And yours, Miss Granger.”

Hermione took the parchment with shaking hands. She couldn’t bear to look. She hadn’t done enough; there were several questions she hadn’t been sure about, and her transfiguration essay was only one foot longer than the minimum length required.

Harry covered her hand with his. “I’m sure you were brilliant.” Gently, he turned his wrist, exposing the NEWT results to the torchlight. Hermione’s eyes scanned the results, relief flooding through her. 

Charms - Outstanding

Transfiguration - Outstanding

Arithmancy - Outstanding

Ancient Runes - Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts - Exceeds Expectations

Potions - Outstanding

Muggle Studies - Outstanding

“You took the Muggle Studies one?” Harry asked in confusion. 

Hermione shrugged. “The Charms examiner suggested it. Said it could be beneficial if I wanted to improve Muggle-Wizard relations at the Ministry.”

“And he was right,” McGonagall said. “I have a proposition for you, but I imagine you are both hungry. Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner at the Three Broomsticks?”

Hermione looked at McGonagall in surprise. “Um, I’m good with that. I’m starving.”

“Sure,” Harry said with an easy shrug. 

“Remus?” McGonagal asked. 

Remus shook his head. He shrunk Teddy’s crib and put it in his trouser pocket. “It’s almost Teddy’s bedtime, and he’s committed to his routine. He squalls for hours if we forget something or get him down too late.”

“Tell Tonks I said hello.”

“Of course, Minerva.”

Remus bade them farewell as Harry and Hermione followed McGonagall across the grounds. She gave them a rare smile. “Welcoming my students back as colleagues is the best part of teaching.”

Hermione cocked her head. McGonagall had used the plural students , but it was Harry who was to be the colleague, not her.

“Professor Potter, I hope you’ve found your classroom sufficient?” the headmistress continued. 

Harry gave a little start at the title but recovered quickly. “Now that Remus and I have made improvements, yes. Before that…”

“It was a shrine to the worst of wizards,” she finished. 

Harry nodded. “And it will never be that way again.”

They made their way into Hogsmeade, and heads turned as they caught sight of Harry. Hermione squeezed his hand in support. McGonagall must have noticed his discomfiture, for she said, “Perhaps this is too much, Professor? We can dine in the castle instead.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. “I need to get used to this. But maybe we can request a private booth?”

The bell above the door rang merrily as they entered. Madam Rosmerta’s eyes grew as wide and the busy pub went silent. A man rose and held out his hand. “Mr. Potter, it's a pleasure. We owe you a great debt.”

“You don't owe me anything—” Harry started in embarrassment. 

But the other members of the pub crowded around them. Harry took a deep breath, a vice grip on Hermione's hand. He raised his other hand for silence. “Look, I just did what I had to do. And I don't really want to be reminded of it all the time—”

Some in the crowd had the decency to look abashed. 

“I just want to come and go as I please. I've got a lot to live for and I really just want to live the rest of my life in peace.” Harry raised their entwined hands to their eye level. “I'm getting married in a week, and my baby is due in December. That's what I want to focus on from now on.”

“And we desire a private dining experience,” McGonagall said pointedly to Rosmerta, who hurriedly gathered menus. 

The crowd dispersed after a round of handshakes, and they followed Rosmerta’s tottering heels toward the back of the pub and through a door marked for reservations. She ushered them into a booth and looked at them expectantly. 

“Um, just water for me,” Hermione said. 

“And me as well,” Harry added. 

McGonagall ordered a gillywater, and Rosmerta disappeared through the door. Hermione flipped through the menu, but was aware of the headmistress’s eyes on her. 

“I have a proposal for you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione set aside the menu and looked expectantly at McGonagall. 

“I have a vacancy of which I feel your skills would be perfect—”

“With all due respect, headmistress, I would be a terrible teacher.”

The side of McGonagall’s lip twitched. “I won’t insult you by saying I agree with that assessment. But I do not need a teacher. I need curriculum. The Muggle Studies class is now mandatory for all students in 1st through 3rd year in an effort to stem the hatred that exists between our worlds and aid students in their ability to move between both worlds at will.”

Hermione blinked. She thought back to her conversation with Harry in Westfield, where she had said that she would bring pens and notebooks into Hogwarts. “That’s a great idea, headmistress.”

“I thought so too,” McGonagall said primly. “But the Muggle Studies curriculum is horribly out of date. Nothing has been written about the muggle world in this century, and these students need modern information from someone who knows both worlds. Unfortunately our muggleborn students will find the curriculum quite boring—”

“It depends on how they were raised,” Harry said. “The Dursleys prevented me from learning a lot about the muggle world by refusing to take me anywhere. A student who was raised like that or who came from a family without money for experiences wouldn’t know very much.”

“I suppose muggleborns could test out unit by unit,” Hermione mused, her mind already focused on the task at hand. “If they test out, they get a free period for a few weeks until the next unit starts. If they don’t, they have to attend the classes with everyone else.”

“Please include a unit on fashion. We don’t need any more Rons dressed up like middle-aged dads,” Harry added, grinning. 

“That wouldn’t be until a bit later. I’d probably start with an overview of muggle life and culture, with an emphasis on appreciation for advancements like electricity and machines. And then the internet! Who knows what the future looks like with the internet? It would be fascinating to research the possibilities.”

“So is that a yes?” McGonagall asked, smiling at the exuberance shown by her favorite former student. “It will be a part-time position. The entire curriculum doesn’t need to be finished by September first, just the first three units or so. And then the successive units need to be finished a month prior to when they will be taught. Eight units in the school year is standard.” She gestured to Hermione’s bump. “And you will, of course, be able to take time off for your birth. I recommend getting a bit ahead in the next few months to ease the stress once the newborn arrives. Pay for the complete curriculum is 10,000 galleons, and Hogwarts retains all rights for reproduction and publishing. All 1st through 3rd years will begin with the base curriculum, but I anticipate you writing the curriculum for 2nd and 3rd years next year, which will build on the introductory materials.”

“That sounds amazing!” Hermione said, then sobered as she realized sweet Charity Burbage had been murdered by Voldemort and would no longer teach Muggle Studies. “Who is the new teacher?”

“Professor Collette Martin. She is an incredibly gifted witch from France. I think you will find working with her quite enjoyable.”

*/*/*/*/*/

As McGonagall, Harry, and Hermione tucked into their meal and talked in detail about writing the new curriculum, a man at the bar grimaced with distaste. Though hidden by the crowd, he alone had been the only person not to approach Potter when he had entered the pub. 

The man checked his watch and scowled. The polyjuice potion would only last another ten minutes, and he had to be far away from Hogsmeade when that happened. He dropped four sickles on the bar for his drink and swept from the pub. 

He ducked down a shadowed alley and spun on his heel. There was a crack of apparition and he reappeared in Knockturn alley. Though the familiar surroundings took the edge off his apprehension, aurors had been raiding the shops and arresting any who showed even the slightest affinity for the dark arts or the old ways. 

But no matter; they were a step ahead of the aurors. 

He whispered “blood oath, blood omen” to a nondescript brick wall. The brick writhed and a door appeared. With a quick look around, he pulled open the door and ducked inside.

Three men in shabby clothes and sporting grungy beards sat around a scrubbed table. The one on the left greeted him with a nod. “Dolohov.”

“MacNair.”

“What news?” the other demanded. 

Dolohov tossed a copy of The Daily Prophet on the table. “We’re rapidly losing numbers, Rookwood. The Carrows were caught. And Runcorn.”

MacNair swore and slammed his fist on the table. “I don’t need bad news, Dolohov! I need action.”

But Rookwood must have seen the manic glint in Dolohov’s eye. “What good news do you have, Dolohov?”

“Potter came to the Three Broomsticks with the new headmistress. We all know what that means—”

“He’s finishing school,” MacNair said. “Big deal.”

“Headmistresses don’t buy drinks for students,” Dolohov said, his voice carrying just a hint of irritation. “But I’ve watched her over the past few months. She always buys a drink or dinner for her new hires.”

“Okay, so he's teaching. But once he’s in Hogwarts, he’s untouchable,” MacNair said. 

“Lucky for you, he won’t be in Hogwarts right away. The kid announced to the entire pub that he’s getting married in a week. It won’t be hard to find the location. I bet all the Weasley traitors are invited. One drop of veritaserum in one of their drinks, and we’ll know when and where.”

“You going to get close enough to one of them to doctor their drinks?” Rookwood asked dubiously. 

“I haven’t been caught yet,” Dolohov said. “If only my tracking spell had worked on the werewolf a few weeks ago, we would have killed Potter already. But the dumb beast changed the apparition point at the last minute. Splinched himself something awful too. I was hoping he'd bleed out. Shame he didn't.”

“Has anyone ever realized it was you under the polyjuice?” MacNair asked.

“Naw. I’ve spread enough rumors that they always blame the press for being nosy.”

“Well then, what’s the plan?” MacNair demanded. As always, the executioner was tapping his foot, his entire body practically vibrating from inaction. 

“Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Potter’s marrying a mudblood. And she’s pregnant. Can’t have another piece of dirty blood filth running around.”

“So we’re killing Potter?” Rookwood pressed. “Even in all his wedding things? Shame. Dress robes are so expensive these days.”

Dolohov didn’t smile at the attempt at humor. He looked to his two compatriots, the only two holdouts remaining. But they weren’t powerless. They had evaded ministry capture for this long, and it was only a matter of time before their recruitment efforts bore fruit. Many, many wizards were appalled by the actions of the current minister, and Kingsley Shaklebolt would also come to a grisly end. But right now Dolohov’s focus wasn’t on the minister. It was on destroying the pillar that the wizarding world had upheld. 

“We kill Potter and the pregnant mudblood.”

Chapter Text

“I grabbed more snackboxes from the storage room—we're nearly cleaned out. And I put in an order with the puffskein breeder. Orange and purple seem to be popular this year. I’ll be down in the stockroom completing inventory to see if we’re short of anything else. Let me know if it gets busy, and I’ll come up to help,” Angelina said, stifling a yawn.

George looked up from an experimental potion to meet Angelina's gaze. “Thanks, Ang. You really keep me on track. I couldn’t do this without you.” Once more, his heart swelled with gratitude at her support. Though he had assumed she would take a job offer at the Ministry to continue her Charms mastery, she had elected to partner with him in the shop while working on her mastery part-time instead. She was his steady constant as the other members of his family returned to their Ministry jobs or other obligations. And she had been a godsend. She remembered things he didn't: small details, important dates. She also had a knack for finance and would settle their accounts when the rows of figures made George’s eyes blur. 

Theirs was a perfect business partnership.

Not to mention the, ahem, post-work benefits they both enjoyed. 

He flushed a bit at the thought. Angelina had officially moved into his living space above the shop, but they had agreed to keep it quiet for the time being. Outwardly, they were taking things slow, as was to be expected from a woman who had lost her boyfriend in the war and a twin who had lost his brother. After all, the Wizarding World (not to mention their families) would surely have an opinion about this unlikely relationship. So—with the exception of Harry, who had caught them snogging in the stockroom—outwardly George and Angelina were friends and business partners. 

But inwardly, they were desperate lovers hoping the other could fill an unfillable cavern of grief. 

George knew they were moving too fast, too recklessly in a collective effort to fill what was missing in the wake of Fred’s death. Rather than build a solid foundation of emotional connection, they had quickly become physical, which did nothing to dispel George’s lingering worry that Fred was watching from the other side with justified indignation. 

And if Angelina, while in deep sleep, mumbled Fred’s name and not his (as had happened a time or two), who was George to take offense? After all, if George could, he'd bring Fred back for her. 

But he couldn’t; death only worked one way. 

All George had was what Fred had left behind: the shop, his carefully-written notes of future prototypes, his clothing still in the wardrobe upstairs….and Angelina. 

George knew he should stop this. Their collective wounds were too deep for the other to fill. Neither of them had healed enough to think logically about what they wanted or needed from a partner. And certainly neither of them were looking for a lasting commitment. It would be better to end this before either of them got hurt. 

But George was a coward. Perhaps it was an unconscious thing, a desperate need to keep everyone familiar with Fred close or an even more disturbing yearning to live the life his brother couldn’t have. But whatever it was, George couldn’t lose Angelina. She made him laugh. In fact, she had been the only one to make him laugh when he had felt he would never laugh again. She was a bright spot in months of miserable darkness. 

Angelina had left the office while he worked through his muddled thoughts. She was so good at that: she knew exactly when to give him space and when to offer a comforting touch or word. He gathered up the latest sales numbers and filed the parchment with a wave of his wand. There was a babble of talk from the shop downstairs, and George squared his shoulders and put on his shopkeeper’s smile. 

He was working the till when the door banged open, bouncing off the wall, and two burly men entered. George looked up reflexively and raised an eyebrow. “Easy on the shop, gents.”

One of the men shook his head penitently. “Sorry, sir. Gust o’ wind caught it as we came in.”

Appeased, George finished tallying the purchase for a witch with flyaway hair. She doddered out the door as the man who had spoken approached the counter. 

“Name’s Flemmings,” he said, extending a hand. The man was burly but well dressed. The black cane in his right hand was embossed with goblin-made steel. George immediately knew the man’s type, and he gave a curt nod, making no effort to take the man’s hand. 

“Pleasure,” George said shortly. “But I am not in need of your marketing assistance, financial expertise, or any other service of which you’ve come to offer. I do just fine on my own.”

“Better than fine, I’ve heard,” he said, making no effort to leave. “Seems you’ve got yer hands full.”

“I manage. And I repeat: I’m not interested.” George knew to stand firm against these sales people types, but there was something cold in the man’s eyes that he didn’t like. 

“Very well,” the man said, pushing off from the counter. “We’ll just be going then.”

As the man’s companion followed him out, George noticed that the rack of dark wizard detectors he had been standing next to was now almost empty. Hot rage pounded in George’s ears. That had been among the last stock Fred had worked on, and now it was being pilfered by a common thief!

“Hey, stop!” George yelled, drawing his wand and charging after him. The two men were pushing through the crowd, and George sent the thief down with a tripping jinx. The crowd parted as George approached the fallen figure. He was breathing hard, the hand holding his wand trembling as he pointed it at the man. “That’s Fred’s…” he gasped. “The last ones…he …ever…did.”

The burly man looked to his companion. “Barley, what’ve you done now?!”

Barley kept an eye on George’s wand and mumbled, “Took somefing. Sorry Flemmings.”

Flemmings heaved a long suffering sigh, though his eyes still had that sharp coldness. “My apologies, Mister Weasley. Allow me to return your merchandise and pay for your trouble.” Flemmings waved his wand, and six dark detectors and three balls of Peruvian darkness powder flew from the folds of Barley’s cloak and into George’s hand. 

Now that the excitement had ebbed, the crowd dispersed, leaving an eerie calm. Flemmings removed six galleons from his coin purse and added them to the pile of stolen goods. “There. Again, my apologies. My compatriot is…needing more reform. Spent some time on the wrong side, if you get my drift.”

George frankly didn’t care. He just never wanted to see the two men again. “Do not come back,” he returned flatly. 

Flemmings seemed to deflate. “I really admire your work. Perhaps we could smooth over this disagreement with a drink at the Leaky?”

“No thanks.”

Flemmings nodded jerkily. He held out his hand to shake. “Sorry for your troubles. We’ll be off.”

Feeling he had been plenty rude enough, George pocketed his wand and took the proffered hand. Immediately, Flemmings gripped his wrist with surprising force and pulled him into the narrow alley next to the password protected employee’s entrance. Flemmings slammed George against the brick wall, and stars erupted in his vision as his skull hit the stone with a sickening crack. 

The two figures swam in George’s vision. He heard the unmistakable sound of a stopper being pulled out of a bottle, and Flemmings forced his mouth open. George struggled fruitlessly as a potion touched his tongue, which went curiously numb. 

“There, you muggle-loving scum,” Flemmings growled, his face centimeters from George’s. “I have some questions for you. Where’s Potter and the mudblood getting married?”

George’s eyes widened in horror. Whoever these men were, they were after Harry. George fought desperately against the compulsion of the veritaserum, but the words were ripped from him: “Brighton Beach. Melbourne, Australia.”

“Good,” the man said, a manic glint in his eye. “And when will Potter’s wedding be?”

“S-Saturday.” George choked on the word as the potion again compelled him. “F-Five o’clock.”

Behind Flemmings, Barley chuckled appreciatively. “That wasn’t hard, was it, Weasley?” He raised his wand. “Too bad you’ll never know that you are the reason Potter dies. Obliviate. ”

*/*/*/*/*/

George awoke to a pounding headache and something cold and damp against his forehead. He groaned, his stomach twisting unpleasantly. “Hey,” said a soft voice. “Can you hear me?”

He blinked, and Angelina’s anxious face came into view. She was leaning over him on the side of their bed, dapping at his forehead with a damp cloth. 

“W-What happened?”

“I heard a commotion outside the employee entrance. I went out into the alley, and two men had you slammed against the wall. You took a really bad hit to the back of the head. When the saw me, they shoved you toward me and disapparated. I called the aurors. Your brother Ron was here and did a bunch of diagnostic spellwork, but they covered their tracks well. We can’t trace where they went. Do you remember what happened?”

George shut his eyes and tried to tune out the pounding in his head. Pulling his memories to the center of his mind was like wading through quicksand. Vaguely, he remembered the nearly empty display. “One of them stole a bunch of stuff while the other talked to me to distract me….I had to get it back.”

Angelina looked unconvinced. “Considering that you got beat up in the process, shouldn’t you just have let them go? It’s not worth it.”

George glared at her in misplaced anger. “They stole the dark detectors. The last ones Fred got to work on.”

“Ah.” Angelina was quiet for a moment as she pulled the cloth away from his forehead. It was tinged rusty with blood. “While the aurors were investigating, a healer came by and healed the back of your head. They recommended the cool cloth until you woke up to ease the headache.”

George wasn’t entirely convinced that it had worked, but he gently squeezed her hand. “Thanks.” He looked at the ceiling. “We’ll need to put more anti-theft charms on the merchandise and the shop.”

“I’ll take care of it. Rest. The healer said you shouldn’t be moving around for an hour or so.” Angelina stifled another yawn. 

George looked at her. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and realized she had been abnormally tired for the last few days. “Everything alright, Ang?”

Angelina raised an eyebrow. “Aside from the fact that two thugs beat you up?”

“No. I meant is everything okay…with you? You look,” George hesitated, trying to place what seemed different. “Tired? Sick?”

Angelina shrugged. “I’ve been really tired lately, and a little sick. It’s just stress.”

“Take some time off,” George said. “As much as you need.”

But Angelina shook her head. “Keeping busy keeps me from crying about Fr—well, it’s good for me. Keeps my mind off things.”

“If you’re sure…?”

“I’m sure.” 

As Angelina made her way downstairs to the shop, George couldn’t shake the feeling that he had forgotten something. Something very important. 

*/*/*/*/*/

“Oohh, Mum painted this one when I first went to Hogwarts. I’d forgotten,” Hermione said, taking Harry’s hand and pulling him toward an oil canvas of a collection of little boats riding across a glossy lake. “I told her about the sorting, and this is how she imagined it.”

Harry nodded appreciatively. He had never thought much about art, but being engaged to Hermione had definitely meant more time pursuing museums and admiring the work of human hands. 

The other patrons around them spoke only in soft murmurs, and there was an air of scholarly calm throughout the entire building. It was a quieter life, one Harry had never thought he would have the chance to live. He threaded his fingers through Hermione’s hand as they surveyed the other paintings and read statements by the artists posted next to them. 

Jean had entered five paintings into the annual Melbourne Museum artists’ gallery. Of the five, three had been accepted for display: the black lake and the two paintings Jean had done prior to the fall of Voldemort. 

And now those works were hanging in a museum. 

“We need more stuff like this in the Wizarding World,” Harry whispered, dropping his voice low. “More art. More quiet. More stillness.”

Hermione hummed in appreciation. “If you get your vaults back, maybe we can start some sort of foundation?”

Harry smiled. “Just call me ‘Philanthropist Potter.’”

They rounded a corner. Jean and Dan were waiting for them on plush leather couches. Across from them was a family with blonde hair and graceful features. A girl around Hermione’s age squealed and leapt to her feet. She gave her a crushing hug and spoke in an American accent. “It’s been too long! We have to catch up! You wouldn’t believe how surprised we were when we got the invitation to your wedding.”

Harry hid a smile. This was undoubtedly Lexi Lewis, for her mannerisms were eerily similar to Hermione’s when they had been younger. 

Hermione confirmed his thoughts a moment later. “Nice to see you too, Lex.”

They were soon surrounded by the Lewis family. The parents were polite, if reserved, but their children made up for any lack of exuberance. The oldest son, Louis, was around fourteen, while the youngest sibling, Heather, looked to be nine or ten. 

Jean checked her watch. “Shall we go in? No need to catch up out here. Let’s fill our bellies!”

The Grangers had reserved the museum’s banquet hall for the rehearsal dinner. The heavy oak table was adorned with crystal goblets and several spoons and forks for each person. They took their seats, heavy oak chairs scraping backward as they settled in. 

“Is it just us?” Mrs. Lewis asked, looking quizzically around. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to overcome his nervousness. Thankfully, Mrs. Lewis had a very kindly face. “My best man was supposed to be here, but his brother had an incident at his shop two nights ago. Ron works in law enforcement, so he’s patrolling the area for the next little while.”

“What kind of incident?” Lexi asked.

“Shoplifter. His brother went after him and got pretty beat up. They’ll all be here tomorrow for the wedding, but needed to make sure things were secure first.”

Louis was looking at Harry with a frown behind his eyebrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lexi kicked him hard under the table. Louis glared at his sister, and she shook her head in a warning gesture. 

Assuming this was some sort of sibling nonverbal altercation that he didn’t want to get involved in, Harry turned his attention to the Lewis parents. “My godson and his parents will be arriving tomorrow too.”

“Are all of them coming from Britain?” Mr. Lewis asked. “That’s cutting it mighty short.”

Harry mentally cursed his slip. Of course muggles wouldn’t be able to make a trans-continental trip in only one day, not when the flight alone was nearly 24 hours. “Er, they’re on the plane now,” he added. 

Louis gave his sister another significant look, which Lexi was studiously ignoring. 

“But where’s Dudley, dear?” Jean asked. “I thought he was coming?”

“His professor rescheduled an exam for this evening,” Harry explained. “He’ll be at the beach early tomorrow to help, though. So feel free to put him–and me—to work.”

Jean grinned at him. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

They enjoyed a decadent meal of chicken primavera. The Lewis siblings were still doing their odd silent looks, engaged in a nonverbal conversation all their own. This was punctuated with Louis’s odd, targeted questions: “So Harry, how did you meet Hermione?”

“We went to the same private school,” Harry said simply, not wanting to risk the statute of secrecy or being caught in a lie with an overly convoluted explanation. 

Another pointed look by Louis. Another shake of the head by Lexi. 

Louis turned to Hermione. “It was a really exclusive private school, wasn’t it?” he probed. 

Hermione nodded. “Only a few hundred students across Europe.”

“Did you like it? Sorry we missed your graduation.” 

Harry was studying Louis, whose blue eyes were sparkling with an I-know-something-you-don’t look. 

“It’s okay,” Hermione said. “It was a really busy time. And yes, I enjoyed school very much.”

Louis turned to Lexi. “Tell them all about your graduation, Lex.”

Harry noticed that the reserved Lewis parents had suddenly stiffened, and Mrs. Lewis bit her lip. Lexi shot Louis a scathing look and turned to Hermione. “It was really nice. I’m glad to be finished with school. But I’ll miss Massachusetts.” 

“What are you doing now?” Hermione asked. 

“I’ll be researching mag—uh, magnificent creatures—in the Amazon. I got a scholarship to study with some researchers there.”

The dessert was served and consumed, the conversation ebbing and flowing. As the waiters came by to gather their plates, Harry excused himself and stepped into the lavatory. He stepped to the sink and splashed some water on his face. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with the Lewis siblings, but he wasn’t sure what it was. His hardened war persona came to the forefront as a new fear occurred to him: What if it isn’t the Lewises at all? What if it’s polyjuice? Or Death Eaters in disguise?

Cursing his idiocy to leave Hermione alone at the table, he turned away from the sink and rushed to the bathroom door. It opened before he reached it, and Louis came in. He had a hand tucked into the lining of his jacket. Slowly he withdrew the hand, revealing a long, black wand that he pointed toward the ground. Harry immediately tensed, and Louis raised his free hand in a placating gesture. “Relax. I’m not stupid enough to start a duel with the ‘Man Who Conquered .’”

Harry blinked. It was odd enough that Hermione’s very muggle cousin was carrying a wand, let alone that they knew the ridiculous title the press had given him. Harry grinned as something occurred to him. “Hang on, is that what you’ve been trying to do this whole time? Tell us that you’re a wizard?”

“Not just me,” Louis said. “Lex too. And Heather’s been levitating her stuffed animals since she was three. Lex just graduated from Salem Witches Institute. I’m at Ilvermorny. Thunderbird house.”

Harry stared at him. “So…all three of you are muggle born?”

Louis shook his head. “Half and half. Dad’s the wizard. Mum and Dad took us to America when he got a job with MACUSA and Lex got accepted into SWI. Mum’s spent years hiding our magic from the Grangers. We never thought they knew about magic too…” He shook his head. “It would’ve been so cool to learn about Hogwarts. I feel like we’ve missed so much.” Louis returned his wand to his jacket and leaned against the tile wall. “And on the way here, Mum, Dad, and Lex made me promise not to say anything. We knew you were magical, of course.” His eyes flicked to Harry’s scar and looked away. “When we got the invitation, I told Mum it was proof that they knew about magic, but she wasn’t sure. Said Hermione was probably a muggle and that you’d left the wizarding world after the war. There hasn’t been anything about you in our papers since the battle.”

Harry blinked. “Lucky. I can’t seem to sneeze without the British papers reporting on it.”

Louis shot him a grin. “Well, we Americans are known to be rather full of ourselves…So you met Hermione at Hogwarts, right?”

Harry nodded. “But we never graduated. We were on the run all last year due to the war. Hermione just sat her NEWTs.”

Louis looked sad. “Who hurt her? I saw the scars on her arms when she moved her sleeves out of the way. I don’t think anyone else noticed.”

“Death Eaters. They’re in Azkaban.”

“Do you think we can tell the Grangers we’re magical?” Louis asked. 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t see why not, but it might be your parents’ call.”

But Harry should have known from Louis’s previous precociousness that he wasn’t going to wait for his parents’ permission to release that information. He marched up to the adults, who were standing by the now empty table waiting for them. 

“Took you long enough,” Lexi said, rolling her eyes at her brother. 

“Had to take a massive dump,” he said, making Lexi wrinkle her nose. Louis turned to the Grangers and said in a rush, “By the way, Dad’s a wizard, Lex just graduated from Salem Witches Institute, I go to Ilvermorny, and Heather levitates things whenever she feels like it.” He turned to his parents, who looked pale. “And I checked with Harry. Hermione goes to Hogwarts. So no harm done!”

Dan and Jean looked at each other, then at the Lewis parents. Mrs. Lewis took her sister’s hands. “If I had known Hermione was magical, I wouldn’t have kept this from you.”

Jean embraced her sister. “Or us keeping it from you.” She chuckled and waved a hand to encompass the Lewises. “Well, how about coming over to our house for a few hours? We certainly have a lot of catching up to do.”

“You can say that again,” Hermione said, embracing Lexi.

They talked with the Lewises late into the night. Hermione’s eyes sparkled with joy as she and Lexi compared notes on the merits of Hogwarts and the Salem Witches Institute. Mrs. Lewis explained how she had met Mr. Lewis in college. Mr. Lewis had been taking a year to immerse himself in muggle culture to pursue a job in nonmagical relations. “You can imagine my surprise when I arrived unannounced at David’s apartment and the dishes were washing themselves. I told myself right then and there that I would marry that man!” Mrs. Lewis had said to a round of chuckles. 

It was nearing midnight when the Lewises went to their hotel and Harry and Hermione retired to their room in the Grangers’ house. After the wedding tomorrow, they would begin a week’s honeymoon traveling the continent, but for now, Harry was content just to hold Hermione in his arms. 

“Everything changes tomorrow,” Hermione whispered. She rolled over to face him and traced a finger on the stubble on his cheek. “Tomorrow I’m Mrs. Potter. Tomorrow we make vows to be together for the rest of our lives.”

Harry kissed her and pulled her close. “I can’t wait,” he whispered.  

Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione awoke early, though Harry had been up even earlier, his stomach twisting with nervous excitement. When his bride opened her eyes shortly after dawn, he had greeted her with breakfast in bed, including toast, vegemite, and pancakes. 

As much as he wanted to drink in every moment of this day with her, Hermione was whisked away by Jean shortly after breakfast to get ready at the Lewises’ hotel. Harry was left with Dan and Mr. Lewis as they waited for their guests to arrive. Dan must have seen Harry’s nervous energy, for he clapped him on the shoulder. “Can I speak with you, son?”

Harry nodded and followed Dan out to the garden. He took a seat on the patio chair and gestured for Harry to do the same. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he said, “I’ve been with Jean for over twenty-five years. And they have been the best twenty-five years of my life. I know you’re a good man. I know you’ll treat my daughter and my granddaughter well. But allow me to give you some fatherly advice.”

“Of course, sir,” Harry said sincerely. 

“From this day forward, Hermione and your baby are the most important people and priorities in your life. Keep that perspective. There will be hard times. They come to us all. Stay grounded in the fact that you made vows to love her for the rest of your days. And I can think of no better gift to give your children—for I imagine there will be more than one eventually—than to be the man who shows them how a woman should be treated. Never trade your responsibility to make her your first priority for anything.”

Harry’s throat was tight. A weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but it felt good, for he was willingly shouldering the weight. “I’ll do that.”

Dan clapped him on the shoulder. “I have no doubt you will. And I have no doubt that Hermione will do the same for you. Welcome to the family, Harry.”

Dan pulled him into an embrace, and Harry stayed there for a long moment. But the doorbell rang, and Harry stepped away. “That’s probably Dudley.”

It was in fact Dudley on the other side, wearing a neat sport coat and pleated trousers. He gave Harry a smile. “Counting the hours?”

“And the minutes and the seconds,” Harry countered. “Jean should be at the beach in a half hour or so, and then we’ll be put to work setting up chairs and what not. The tent is already up. Set up came with the rental, so we won’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, Harry,” Dan said as he made his way to the kitchen. “Jean was wondering if you could put a cooling charm on the punch. Then we won’t have to worry about ice.”

Dudley followed Harry into the kitchen, eyeing Harry’s wand as Harry spoke the charm and the surface of the punch shimmered. “Can you still drink it?” he asked incredulously. 

Harry nodded. “It’s just like a fridge.”

“‘Cept it’s not,” Dudley mumbled. 

Harry laughed. “C’mon, Dud, there’s plenty of good things about magic.”

“It sure makes life easier,” Mr. Lewis added. 

The Grangers’ phone rang. Dan answered it, though his words were muffled as he stood in the hall. He returned to the kitchen and clapped his hands together. “Alright, Jean’s ready for us. Harry, bring your tux. You’ll be able to shower and change at the guest house before the ceremony.”

They piled in the Grangers’ car and drove to Brighton Beach. The sun was shining overhead, and the weather was warm. Beachgoers were crowded on the sand, except for the area that had been reserved for the wedding, which had been cordoned off with event tape. 

They ducked under the tape and met Jean, who was grinning widely. She embraced Harry and whispered, “I can’t wait for you to see her as a bride. She’s stunning.”

“She always is,” Harry replied, though Jean’s words warmed his heart. 

They spent the next two hours following Jean’s meticulous instructions. They lined up white chairs in neat rows and rolled out the white cloth that would make the aisle. Harry kept the aisle in place with a sticking charm while Dudley and Dan assembled the arch. A light breeze began to blow, so Harry stabilized the arch with another charm. 

Dudley pushed experimentally on one of the supports. It remained firm. “You’re right,” he said. “Magic is pretty cool.” There was a definite wistfulness in his voice.

They decorated the arch with lilies, white roses, and a webby material Jean said was tulle. Harry had not much of an eye for decor, but Jean’s artistic expertise was obvious as they finished the arch and set up tables beneath the large white tent. Dudley grabbed a tablecloth to cover one of the tables, but Harry flicked his wand and every tablecloth sailed into the air, expanded, and settled perfectly onto the tables. Dudley gave him a mock-longsuffering look that didn’t hide his grin. 

With 90 minutes to spare, everything was ready. Jean had returned to the hotel to help Hermione finish up while the men went to the nearby guest house on the beach. Harry showered and dressed in his tux. It had been carefully tailored to fit his lean frame, and as he looked in the mirror, he was surprised by who he saw looking back at him. 

He was no longer a starved war hero. There was color to his cheeks, and the gauntness had faded. Frequent tennis practice with Dan had defined the muscles in his arms. And his eyes….the boyishness, the innocence had gone, replaced with wisdom of the boy-turned-man. Had he not known his own age, he would have assumed the man in the mirror was several years older than seventeen. 

Dudley was carefully parting his hair across the room. When Harry mentioned his observations, Dudley set the comb down and looked at him seriously. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re going to be a husband and father. You’ve grown into it. And so has Hermione. You both are ready for this.”

Harry let a smile grace his lips. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

At 4:30, a knock sounded on the guest house door. The Weasleys bustled in, followed by the Lupins and Andromeda. Mrs. Weasley embraced Harry. “Oh, you look so grown up! How is Hermione doing?”

“Fine, but I haven’t seen her since this morning. She’s been getting ready with her mum and cousins.”

Ron and George approached him next. Ron was holding a box in his hands. “Bill got your dad’s ring out of your vaults. He thought you’d want to have it. They’ll be here before the ceremony, but he sent it ahead with me.”

Harry’s heart swelled. He had purchased a plain silver band with the hopes that he would be able to use his dad’s ring instead. He opened the box, and a gold band looked up at him. He added Hermione’s wedding band to the box and returned it to Ron. “Thanks, mate. Hold on to them until we need them?”

“Sure. And I hope my best man speech is okay. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

“By that, he means that Angelina helped him write most of it,” George said, his eyes sparkling. “Ang came with me, by the way. She’s in the bathroom. Apparition wasn’t nice to her for some reason.”

“If you see her before I do, let her know that I’m glad she made it,” Harry said, taking Teddy from Tonks’s arms and swaying with him as the infant started to fuss. “I’m glad you made it too,” he said to Teddy, who was sporting his usual turquoise hair. Teddy burbled happily in response. 

“Congratulations, Harry,” Ginny said. “Luna wanted to make it, but she’s starting an expedition with her dad to the Himalayas today.”

Dan’s mobile phone beeped, and he read the message on the screen. “Alright, our bride is on her way and will arrive in about twenty minutes. Let’s get seated.”

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” Harry said as they approached the straight lines of chairs. “There’s no need for a seating chart.”

Hagrid and McGonagall arrived shortly after, and Harry showed Hagrid the expanded and reinforced chair they had transfigured for him. Due to his massive size, Hagrid was the only one with a seating assignment. McGonagall sat next to him and patted Hagrid’s hand as he blubbered into a handkerchief and blew his nose. 

“I held ya when yer was jus’ a baby,” Hagrid sobbed. “An’ now yer gettin’ married and gonna be a dad. Where does the time go?”

Where indeed? Harry thought. A stolen moment in a tent in the middle of a war had changed his life in the best way. 

The Weasleys took their seats together. All were present, though George was the only one with a plus one. “I asked Audrey to come, but she couldn’t get work off. Busy, busy time in the magical reconstruction office,” Percy said with a hint of his usual pompousness. “She sends her congratulations.”

Harry had zero clue who Audrey was, but he managed the required response: “Tell her thank you for me.”

*/*/*/*/*/

As Harry finished greeting his guests, Angelina fanned herself with a piece of cloth she’d transfigured into a fan. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she felt simultaneously too hot and too cold. 

“Everything okay?” George asked, studying her face with concern. 

“I just feel sick,” she admitted. “It’s too hot out here or something.”

George tested the air with a hand. Though the sun shining on their faces was warm, it was not unbearably so. But Angelina had looked decidedly green after their international portkey to Melbourne and apparition to the guest house. Evidently she was still feeling the effects. “Do you think getting something to drink would help?”

A man that had to be Hermione’s dad was walking past their seats and heard George’s words. He took one look at the sweat on Angelina’s brow and said, “There’s a big bowl of punch in the tent with cups next to it. Get whatever she needs.”

George returned with the cup, and Angelina sipped it hesitantly. It helped ease the squirming of her stomach but didn’t dissipate it completely. “Thanks. That’s better.”

Ahead of them, Dan clapped Harry on the shoulder. “It’s time, son. We’ll get Jean and the Lewises seated, and then I’ll be back with my baby girl.” His voice was constricted with emotion at the final words, and he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief as he walked toward the parking lot behind the beach house.

*/*/*/*/*/

Harry stepped beneath the arch as Kingsley appeared with a slight pop. The Minister would be officiating the ceremony, and he stood next to Harry, looking out of the rows of friends and family gathered together. 

Now that the time had arrived, Harry was no longer nervous. The nerves had been replaced with anxious anticipation, a feeling with redoubled when the Lewis girls took their places (Lexi taking a seat next to a surprised Dudley and flashing him a beaming smile, which he shyly returned) and Jean took her place on the front row. Soft music enchanted to be heard only by the guests and participants filtered through the air. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as Hermione and Dan emerged from behind the guest house. 

Hermione was wearing a cream strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline. Lace gloves concealed the scars on her arms, and she carried a bouquet of lilies and roses in her hands. Instead of a veil, she wore a glittering tiara that Harry recognized as the very one Mrs. Weasley had let Fleur borrow the year before. 

The bodice was fitted to Hermione’s figure, and rather than attempt to hide the curve in her stomach that marked their growing baby, the fabric hugged the bump, as if Lily wanted her presence known while her mum walked down the aisle.

Harry was so focused on Hermione’s walk toward him and beaming smile, that he didn’t notice what happened as Hermione passed by George. For Hermione had scarcely walked past him when he blinked in confusion, then his eyes widened with growing horror. 

Though Harry was completely unaware of it, Angelina had noticed. “What’s up?” she hissed in an undertone to George. 

“I just remembered…oh crap…” George’s eyes panned the guests. He craned his neck to look behind him at the boardwalk, the tent, and the small line of bushes that would make an ideal hiding place. “Ang, something bad is going to happen.”

Angelina stared at him. “George, everything is fine.”

“No. It’s not,” he said, his voice dropped to a hushed whisper. He palmed his wand and whispered a charm that would reveal the presence of anyone hiding behind the bushes. There was no accompanying thrum of light. His heart calming somewhat, he settled back into his chair to watch Dan put Hermione’s hand in Harry’s. Harry’s cheeks were wet, and he beamed at his bride with such an effulgent love that George could feel it from his place in the third row. 

But his calm feelings were overwhelmed by a sense of panic and urgency—a strange, alien feeling he knew didn’t come from him. It was accompanied by a powerful thought: Get help. Now.

George plucked the makeshift fan out of Angelina’s hand—ignoring her annoyed look—and tapped his wand on it. Hasty words spread across the page: Harry and Hermione in danger. I was obliviated when I was mugged, and the charm somehow lifted. Someone wants to kill them. Help! 

Remembering mischief making days from Hogwarts, he duplicated the parchment, and transfigured them into two paper airplanes. He disillusioned them and sent them airborne. One flew across the aisle before reappearing and unfolding on Tonks’s lap. The other went to the front row where Ron was sitting as best man. Tonks read the parchment and met George’s eyes. Ron had turned to look at them and Tonks raised her chin and moved her head to the side. Ron immediately stood and stepped to the side. He had a hand on the wand in his suit jacket. 

Tonks handed Teddy to Remus and likewise stepped to the side. She tapped her shoes with her wand, covertly transfiguring her heels into her usual combat boots.

At the arch, Harry’s attention was riveted on Hermione. He loved her everyday look and the sleepy mornings when she had just awoken. And it was the same woman he loved, just enhanced for the most incredible day of their lives. Her curly hair bounced around her shoulders, and her makeup highlighted the chocolate of her eyes. The slight dusting a freckles on her nose—one of Harry’s favorite features about her face—was still visible. He squeezed her hands and she grinned back at him. 

“Ladies and gentleman, we are here to witness the union of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger,” Kingsley said. “I know I speak for everyone here when I say that today is a joyous day. We have watched these two grow, fight, and bond together. They’ve both endured hardship and pain, and have come out triumphant and stronger than ever.” Kingsley swallowed and adjusted the glasses on his nose. “Harry and Hermione have each written their own vows. Harry, wherever you are ready.”

Harry was aware of Ron standing slightly to the left of him. He remembered how Ron’s long legs had been cramped on the plane ride to Australia and vaguely wondered if the rows of chairs had been spaced too closely together. But he raised his eyes to his bride, and all thoughts of Ron disappeared. He raised his voice so their guests could hear as he said, “Hermione, I get to start my life with you today. I’ve been trying to think of what to say to express how much I love you and the tiny family we made. And I realized there aren’t enough words in any language to show how I feel. Hermione, you’ve been with me through everything. Even when things were the worst in the war, you were still by my side. Today I vow to do the same to you. To be by your side during our daughter’s birth and every day before and after. I will be by your side in the easy times and the difficult. I vow that your safety and happiness and the safety and happiness of my daughter are my first priority. I look forward to celebrating our anniversary next year and every year to come. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I vow to be worthy of that every day of my life.”

Tears were sparkling on Hermione’s lashes. Below them, Jean was sniffling into a handkerchief, and Dan was beaming at them. Molly was likewise dabbing her eyes. Hagrid blew his nose, the sound echoing across the entire beach. Hermione giggled. She squeezed his hands and said, “Harry, you are so easy to love. You make me laugh and remind me to take a break. You encourage me to be my best self. I never imagined that our lives would entwine like this, but I am so glad they have. I can’t wait to raise our daughter with you. I can’t wait to celebrate every joy and endure every sorrow with you. I vow to be true to you, to spend my life with you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Hermione,” Harry whispered. 

Ron stepped forward and handed Harry the rings. He gave them a smile, but Harry noted his stiff posture and tense jaw. But he squeezed their hands reassuringly and remained standing slightly behind him. 

Kingley cleared his throat. “Harry James Potter, do you take Hermione Jean Granger to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?”

“Always.”

“And do you, Hermione Jean Granger, take Harry Jamese Potter to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?”

“Always.”

“Please hand me your wands.”

Harry and Hermione handed Kingsley their wands. “The final act of a bonding ceremony is to magically bond husband and wife. Each unique bonding conjures a ribbon representative of the couples’ unique bond.” He tapped their wands against their clasped hands. A brilliant gold and crimson ribbon wrapped around their hands. “The gold represents fidelity and honor, while the red represents courage and unity through conflict,” Kingsley explained. He tapped their hands a second time with their wands, and the ribbon loosened slightly. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Their first kiss as husband and wife was nothing short of magical. Hermione’s lips were tender and sweet against his, and Harry rested a hand on her stomach as he returned the kiss. 

But the bliss was short lived, as a wave of anxiety overwhelmed him—coming from some unknown source not his own. Harry broke the contact and looked up. Hermione’s gaze met his, and he knew she was feeling the same anxiety. 

“GET DOWN!” the shout was Ron’s and he collided with them in a flying tackle that sent both of them to the ground. Kingsley dived out of the way as a jet of green light missed him by centimeters. 

“Stay down!” Ron ordered as spells shot over their heads. 

“What’s happening?” Harry demanded. 

“No idea. You and Hermione need to get out of here! Now!” Ron rose, conjured a shield, and rushed to join the fight that was obscured by their position behind the arch. 

Harry looked at his bride. She had fallen to the ground hard, and had a hand on her stomach. But her eyes were wide as she said, “Harry, my parents! We need to help them!”

“Find something to create a portkey. I’ll get them.” Harry conjured a shield and rushed around the arch. 

It was pandemonium, and Harry’s stomach writhed with fear and hatred. Robed death eaters in masks had descended on the tiny beach. Harry counted five or six who were engaged in duels. One stood to the side, raining spells on the guests. The tent caught fire, and acrid smoke twirled toward the sky. 

“Leave! Apparate out of here!” he shouted to every witch or wizard he came across as his eyes scanned desperately for the Grangers. He found them facing one of the death eaters, Dan shielding his wife with his body despite his own defenselessness. 

Harry hit the Death Eater in the back with petrificus totalus, and he went down. Harry rushed to Dan and Jean. “Hermione will get you out of here. Come on!” They rushed toward the arch, and Harry’s heart stopped. 

A Death Eater had Hermione by the hair, a wand at her throat. He turned his masked face toward Harry. “The Dark Lord’s plans will never be vanquished. Pure bloods will reign, and it starts with killing your mudblood and the abomination she carries.” 

Hermione was struggling but was unable to break the hold. Harry raised his wand, but the Death Eater used Hermione like a shield. He couldn’t cast a spell without risking her life or Lily’s. 

“ Avada—” The spell was cut short as a jet of green light hit him from behind. He stiffened and fell to the sand. 

Ron stood behind him, wand raised, face pale but determined. Hermione rushed into Harry’s arms, sobbing. He held her tightly and buried his face in her hair. 

Harry was aware that the startled screams had stopped, replaced by an eerie calm. He looked at the Grangers. “Are you okay?”

“We’re fine,” Dan whispered shakily. 

Harry scanned the section of beach. The chairs had been scattered, the tent still aflame. He heard sirens in the distance. Remus was soothing a wailing Teddy. He had a cut over one cheek but was relatively unharmed. The Weasleys were present, shaken but unharmed. Hagrid and McGonagall stood to the side. They gave Harry a nod to let them know they were okay. 

But someone was missing. “Hang on, where’s Dudley? And the Lewises?”

“We’re here!” Lexi came from behind the tent, followed by a pale and shaking Dudley and Mrs. Lewis. Louis and Heather approached from the beach a distance away. “Dad told Louis to take Heather and run. I stayed to shield Mum and your cousin.”

“Thanks for that,” Dudley said, his voice strained. 

Lex grinned. “Maybe you owe me dinner?” she suggested, her eyes sparkling. 

Dudley returned the grin, a slight blush on his cheeks. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Andromeda approached them next and waved her wand over Hermione. A line of runes appeared in the air. “Baby is stressed and showing signs of magical exhaustion. She might be sleeping for a day or two. Though it’s unlikely, let me know if you experience any contractions.”

Mr. Lewis strode up with Tonks and Ron. Tonks clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Excellent hostage rescue, Trainee. That’s one of the worst situations we train for, and you did it perfectly. In fact—” Tonks summoned Ron’s badge into her hand and tapped it. The ‘trainee’ part disappeared, replaced with ‘Auror Weasley.’

Ron gaped at her. “You mean it?”

“I still want you to attend the classes. But you’ve proven yourself today. Congratulations, Auror.”

“Did you get the bad guys?” Heather asked excitedly. 

Tonks smiled and nodded. “Every last one. Kingsley’s taking them to Azkaban.” The distant siren became louder, and Tonks inclined her head toward it. “Ron and I will work with the Australian Ministry of Magic to smooth things over with the muggle policemen. It would be a good idea to clear out in the meantime.”

It was a somber group that piled into cars or apparated to the Grangers’ home. Harry kept his arms around his wife, unable to stem the wave of worry he had felt when the Death Eater had threatened her. Dan and Jean were likewise quiet, and worry lines traced Jean’s forehead. 

The Weasleys had arrived ahead of them. They were clustered around George, who had his face in his hands. Raising his head, he confessed to Harry and Hermione the veritaserum and being obliviated. “I didn’t know what had happened until Hermione was walking down the aisle. Then it all came back.”

“Our baby is really good at breaking memory charms,” Harry explained. He clapped George on the shoulder. “This wasn’t your fault.” He blew the air from his cheeks. “This just shows that our world has a long, long way to go. It didn’t end with Voldemort. His ideas are still out there.”

“So we keep fighting,” Hermione whispered. “The fight looks different now, but there’s still a fight to be had.”

Angelina had been standing next to the couch, rubbing George’s shoulders. But the hand stilled as she went limp and collapsed to the floor. 

“Angelina!” George yelled.

Chapter Text

Angelina had been standing next to the couch, rubbing George’s shoulders. But the hand stilled as she went limp and collapsed to the floor. 

“Angelina!” George yelled. 

Andromeda rushed to Angelina’s side. She waved her wand over her head and frowned at the results. “Slow acting poison. Did she have anything to eat or drink that no one else had?”

George blanched. “She wasn’t feeling well, so I brought her a cup of punch before the wedding.”

“So the poison was ingested, not brushed by the skin.” Andromeda pursed her lips and cast several more spells over Angelina’s prone body. “St. Mungos has the antidote she needs, but she’s too unstable to move. We’ll have to make it here.”

“What do you need?” Hermione said. “I have my potion kit.”

“I’ll help,” Lexi said. “Potions are my specialty.”

“Why don’t we just use a bezoar?” Harry interjected. 

Andromeda looked at him. “Do you happen to have one lying around?”

Harry summoned Hermione’s beaded bag from their bedroom. When it landed on the floor at his feet, it emitted a much louder clunk than expected, followed by a thundering crashing noise. “Sorry about your books, ‘Mione.” He cast a summoning charm, and the bezoar flew into his palm. With the skill of an adept seeker, he tossed it to Andromeda, who immediately pressed it between Angelina’s unresponsive lips. 

There was no movement. 

“Uh, what’s the rock supposed to do?” Dudley asked. 

“It’s a stone found in the stomach of a goat,” Lexi supplied helpfully. 

“Okaaay,” he replied, drawing out the word. “What does the goat-rock do?”

“It’s an antidote to most poisons,” Andromeda said. “The key word being ‘most.’ And the length of exposure to the poison matters as well. We may still need the apothecary kit.”

But Angelina coughed and spluttered, ejecting the dark stone from her mouth. She looked around at them. “What…?”

“The death eaters spiked the punch I gave you,” George explained. “Sorry, Ang.”

But Andromeda was still looking at the line of runes over Angelina’s head with the same frown between her eyebrows. “If everyone could please clear out, I need to speak with my patient privately.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Lexi was the first to recover. She grabbed Dudley’s hand and pulled him toward the garden. “C’mon everyone. The garden is lovely. I can’t wait to show you.”

Harry and Hermione were the last to leave. “I’m sorry this happened,” Hermione said, sniffling. 

Angelina weakly waved away the apology. “It’s not like you wanted Death Eaters to ruin everything.”

George watched Harry and Hermione leave, then turned to Angelina. “I’d rather stay, but I’ll go if—”

“Stay. Please.”

Andromeda raised Angelina to a sitting position on the floor and then knelt in front of her. “I don’t want to scare you, but I need to be forthright with you. I don’t know what lasting effects the poison could have on the fetus—”

“Fetus? What are you talking about?” Angelina demanded. “I’m not pregnant.”

Andromeda took one of her hands, her voice gentle. “You are pregnant, dear. Nine weeks, six days.” 

George gaped at Angelina. Of course they’d been reckless and had forgone the contraception charm a time or two, but surely that hadn’t…

Angelina blanched, and her eyes filled with tears. She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Can Geroge and I be alone for a bit?”  

Andromeda patted her hand. “Of course dear. I’ll step into the kitchen. George can come get me in a few minutes. We’ll need to talk about prenatal care and what to watch for with the poison exposure.”

Angelina waited for Andromeda’s steps to disappear, then cast a silencing charm around them. She wouldn’t meet George’s gaze amid the strained silence. 

“Ang? You okay?” George tried to keep his voice even, but it came out an octave higher than he intended. 

“Of course I’m not bloody well okay!” she snapped. 

George raised his hands to placate her. “I know. But it’ll be okay. It will.”

But Angelina still wouldn’t look at him.

Nine weeks, six days…

George blinked. Today was June 30th. They had become a couple shortly after Fred’s funeral on May 8th. But that didn’t add up. There hadn’t been enough time. 

His jaw went slack as he realized the implications. “The baby….It’s—It’s not mine, is it?”

Angelina was crying, shuddering gasps trembling her shoulders. Still not looking at him, she shook her head and murmured a word barely above a whisper: “F-Fred’s.”

*/*/*/*/*/

“I really don’t know why you’re so upset by this.”

The Hog’s Head was dingy and smoke hung in the air.  George raised his eyes from where he had been absently tracing the wood grain of the tabletop and huffed. Why he had chosen to confide in Percy, of all people, was a mystery to him. But the damage had been done, so George replied scathingly, “You don’t get it, do you? I slept with my dead twin’s pregnant girlfriend!”

Percy raised an unamused eyebrow. “I got that part sorted, funny enough. What I’m saying is I don’t get why you’re so upset by Angelina’s pregnancy that you left her alone to process it while you drown your sorrows in firewhiskey.”

George moved his scowl to his empty glass. He’d drunk more in the past hour than he had in years. But the expected release from his burdens didn’t come with the intake of alcohol. If anything, they felt heavier, the weight dragging him down farther with every swallow. “Go home, Perce,” he growled. 

Percy crossed his arms over his chest. “No. And you’ve had more than enough to drink for one evening.” He flicked his wand at the glass. It disappeared and reappeared in a plastic bin of dirty glasses. Aberforth gave him a nod of thanks.

While George continued to glower, Percy removed his glasses and scrubbed them on the hem of his cloak. “Look, I know a little something about making huge mistakes. And the trouble with making mistakes is that you don’t get to have hindsight when making them—you just make them, deal with the consequences, and hopefully learn from them. I'll be paying for my loyalty to the Ministry during Voldemort’s reign for the rest of my life. It’s stifled my career opportunities and strained relationships with my muggle-born colleagues.”

“Your point?” George muttered. The last thing he needed was to hear Percy go off about himself. 

“My point is that I won’t sit here and watch you make the worst mistake of your life. If you end things with Angelina now, you will regret it. Your entire future will change, and not for the better.”

“It’s not my kid.”

“It’s Fred’s kid.”

The words were met with ringing silence. George wanted to do something, anything to make the weight on his shoulders go away—punching Percy felt like a good way to start—but the pronouncement had completely crippled him. 

It’s Fred’s kid.

Noting George’s hesitation, Percy pressed his advantage. “If the roles had been reversed, and it had been you who died, who would you have trusted to raise your kid?”

There was only one answer, of course. “Fred,” George whispered, his voice cracking on the word. 

“I don’t see why Fred wouldn’t feel the same, especially considering how Angelina feels about you. He’d want to see you and her happy and raising his child together.”

George was silent, his gaze once more on the tabletop.

“And there’s another problem you need to figure out,” Percy continued.

“What’s that?”

“The court of public opinion. Think about how Angelina will be treated once it’s widely known that she’s pregnant with one dead brother’s kid while shacking up with his twin. And we all know how unfairly people treat women in these situations. They’ll call her a whore while you get applauded for your conquest. And I doubt she wants to work at the shop forever. She’ll want to finish her charms mastery, but her reputation will follow her everywhere she goes. No master will take her on.”

George’s stomach clenched. He tried to find some argument to counter Percy’s words, but there wasn’t one. The Wizarding World was steeped in tradition, and a story like Angelina’s was sure to spread like wildfire. “I can’t change that!” George snapped. “I can’t fix what other people say about her.”

“Then don’t tell anyone.”

George stared at him. “D-Don’t tell anyone?” he repeated dumbly.

Percy’s eyes bored into George’s. “Don’t. Tell. Anyone. No one needs to know the real father of Angelina’s baby. George, you’re an identical twin, which means you genetic makeup is identical to Fred’s. Even if you were to take a paternity potion, the result would show that you are the father of Angelina’s child. Keep this under wraps, and Angelina’s reputation is intact. The wizarding world sees it as a beautifully tragic love story coming out of loss. And that’s what it is,” Percy said with sudden fierceness. “You forget that I know Angelina too. She’s a great woman, and she’s going to be an amazing mum. And you’re a good match. I think you could both have a very fulfilling relationship together.”

“We already do,” George confessed, the firewhiskey loosening his tongue. “I love her.”

“Then why did you leave?” Percy said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

George sighed. After they had taken the floo from the Grangers’ home to the flat above the shop, George had immediately gone downstairs while Angelina stood frozen and alone in their bedroom. He’d apparated to the Hog’s Head and ordered three shots of firewhiskey. It was only after Percy’s patronus had appeared, asking him to confirm his safety and location, that Percy had walked through the door. Then George had confessed to his older brother the mess he was in. 

“I guess I left because I was scared,” George mumbled. “I felt like I’d failed Fred all over again. And I…I’m angry that I’m alive and he isn’t. He should be here for his kid…And he can’t be.”

“But you are here,” Percy countered. “And I am. And Bill and Charlie and Ron and Ginny and Mum and Dad are here. We don’t have Fred, but this kid isn’t going to be unloved or uncared for. And if you don’t see to it, I will. I don’t need to be in a relationship with Angelina to make sure she has everything she needs.”

George grimaced. He certainly didn’t want Percy doing what he—Angelina’s boyfriend—should do. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“I think you’d better get back to her and sort it out before you don’t get the chance.”

Percy removed the silencing charm around their table and offered to settle George’s bill as George stood carefully. He swayed a bit and shut his eyes, willing the drunkenness to leave him. But drunkenness wasn’t something you could will away. 

“Here,” Percy said, plunking a vial of green liquid on the counter. “Soberup potion. Aberforth had one left in his stores.”

George gave the barkeep a grateful nod and removed the stopper. He forced the seaweed-tasting, slimy potion down his throat. His vision stabilized and the dizziness faded.

“Do you need me to sidealong you to your house?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” George shrugged on his jacket and clapped Percy on the shoulder. He had never had a heartfelt conversation with Percy, and he realized how much he needed it. “Thanks.”

He left the pub and turned sharply on one heel. With a pop, he returned to the door of his shop. The windows in the flat above were dark. With foreboding, he passed the neat store shelves and mounted the stairs two at a time. “Angelina! Ang?” he called. 

Silence. 

The sun had fully set, and shadows lengthened across the floorboards as he rushed to the bedroom. There was no movement. But something seemed strangely empty. With a muffled curse, he went to the closet and threw the doors open. Half the closet was now bare, the empty rod staring back at him. “No, no, no, no,” George whispered. He rushed to the tiny bathroom. Angelina’s products that had previously crowded the sink were gone. Only his toothbrush and a bar of soap remained. 

The kitchen likewise had been emptied of Angelina’s touch: the printed curtains and bright fruit bowl were gone, as were the dishes she had brought with her when she had moved in. 

George sank to the floor, grief overwhelming him. “No, Ang. No,” he moaned, putting his head in his hands. 

The fireplace in the kitchen flared to life. Angelina stepped through the green flames, her mascara streaked down her cheeks and her eyes red from crying. George lurched to his feet. “Angelina.”

She brushed roughly by him, refusing eye contact as she said, “I forgot a pair of shoes. They must be under the bed. Just leave me alone while I get them—”

“Angelina—”

“---the sooner I leave, the sooner I can pretend this never happened. I don’t have time to deal with this. I have a kid to raise, after all.” Her voice broke on the last sentence. 

“Angelina, please.”

But she ignored him as she knelt on the rug beneath their bed and summoned her tennis shoes with a flick of her wand. She stood to walk out of the bedroom, but George was in the doorway.

George raised his hands. “I’m not going to force you to stay. If you need to go, I understand.” Tears, which he had managed to hold back while talking to Percy, now streaked down his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have left, and I’m sorry. I’m a terrible boyfriend, and I don’t deserve you. But I still love you. And I want you to stay here with me, if you want to. Please.”

Angelina’s rigid posture softened imperceptibly. She placed a hand on her navel. “I should have realized I was pregnant a lot sooner…I knew I was late but just assumed it was stress.” She raised tear-filled eyes to George’s. “I know you don’t have to raise a baby that isn’t yours—”

“I want to raise the baby with you,” George said. “It doesn’t matter what I have to do; it’s what I want to do.”

“You mean it?” Angelina whispered. 

“I mean it.”

Angelina dropped the sneakers and rushed into George’s arms. His tears mixed with hers as they clung to each other. Their tears were replaced by long kisses and whispered words of comfort. After a long moment, George loosened his arms so he could step back to see Angelina’s face. “We should probably decide something.” He explained Percy’s concerns about the court of public opinion and Angelina’s future opportunities. “Genetically, the kid is mine because Fred and I have the same genetics. So if that’s what we want people to assume, no one needs to know the truth but you, me, and Percy.”

“You really think Percy will keep it to himself?”

George nodded. “Yeah. He knows what’s at stake.”

“What about the baby? They deserve to know,” Angelina murmured.

“Then let’s tell them when they’re old enough to understand.” George placed a hand on her navel, and Angelina covered it with one of her own. 

“Are you sure about this? It’s not your responsibility—”

“I’m making it my responsibility. Fred’s child is my child, as far as I’m concerned.”

Angelina hummed softly and rested her head against George’s chest. They swayed for a long moment. 

“Ang?” George asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?”

“I-If the baby is a boy, can we name him Fred? Maybe Freddie while he grows up?”

“I’d like that,” Angelina whispered. 

George put his hand on Angelina’s navel again. She wasn’t showing yet, but George imagined it would be a matter of time. In February, we’ll bring a baby home. Maybe even baby Freddie.

“We only have one more problem,” Angelina said, pulling George out of his thoughts. 

“What”

“We need to go get my stuff from my mum’s house. And she’s going to want an explanation.”

George grimaced, certain he would rather face a dragon than Angelina’s rather formidable mother. “Ah.”

*/*/*/*/*/  3 hours earlier  */*/*/*/*/

Harry and Hermione looked up as Andromeda entered the back garden. “Is everything okay with Angelina?” Hermione asked. 

Andromeda nodded. “It’s taken a toll on her, though. She and George headed back to their flat. They asked me to send their apologies.”

Hermione waved away the apology. “Whatever she needs is fine. She doesn’t need to worry about hurting our feelings.”

“I’ll floo back to London so I’m close by if they need anything,” Percy said, standing. “After that mugging and the attack today, I worry about them being alone.” Percy said his goodbyes and disappeared in the floo.

Amid the silence, Dan’s eyes spanned the garden, then their guests seated around them. “Well, it isn’t the tent on the beach, but would you like to still have your reception here? We don’t have catering, but maybe we can order pizza?”

“And the cake is safe at the Burrow, dears,” Mrs. Weasley added. “I didn’t want to bring it until it was ready to cut. I just need to floo there and back to get it.”

“And we can still play music here. Silencing charms will keep us from bothering the neighbors,” Lexi suggested. 

“And we can dance!” Heather squealed. 

Harry turned to his bride. “What do you think?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Together, their guests helped transform the garden into a paradise. McGonagall summoned tulle streamers with her wand, creating a sort of faux ceiling that still allowed the stars to shine through. She decorated it with glowing fairy lights that ducked and bobbed as they turned different colors. 

Lexi and Mrs. Lewis decorated the deck chairs with their wedding colors: ocean blue chair covers bound with glittering gold bows. Dudley watched Lexi transfigure common white napkins into the chair covers with unconcealed admiration. 

Soft music played in the garden as Jean and Mrs. Weasley brought in the cake. It was three tiers, decorated with delicate sugar roses and fondant. “The cake is lemon and the filling is raspberry jam. I thought it would reflect your time as Gryffindors.”

Harry, who had given Mrs. Weasley full reign on the cake decorations and flavor, was touched by the careful attention to detail. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. It’s beautiful.”

They settled around the Grangers’ folding tables, working their way through the stack of pizzas Dan had ordered. For drinking, Jean had filled jugs with lemon water, as no one was in the mood for punch. Tonks and Ron joined them soon after, Ron gratefully filling his plate with pizza.

When the meal began to slow, Dan stood and tapped his fork against his glass. “Thank you all for coming to my daughter’s wedding. Though it was a bit more adventurous than any of us had planned—” he released a strained chuckle “---it only reinforced what I have known for weeks: that my daughter is in really good hands with Harry. I couldn’t have picked a better son-in-law if I tried. He is such a complement for our Hermione, and we couldn’t be happier that you became a part of our family today. We love you, son.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Harry whispered. 

Jean stood as the polite applause waned. “I should have told Dan I would go first, because he took all my good talking points.” The garden rang with chuckles. “Hermione, your father and I are so proud of the amazing young woman you’ve become. We’re excited for your future opportunities in both your family and your career, and you and Harry will be amazing parents. I know that from today, your focus is now on the family you have chosen and created and less on us, and that is totally okay. Just know that we are here to cheer you on every step of the way. We love you both.”

Hermione dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “We love you too, Mum.”

Ron stood next. He removed a roll of parchment singed on the corners. As he tried to unroll it, it disintegrated into ashes. “Uh, I had a speech, but I guess a curse ruined it.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts and said, “We’ve been friends since we were eleven, and I don’t think any of us thought then that this is what life would look like seven years later. I’m so happy for you both. Anyone can just look at the two of you and see how much you love each other. And your kid is so lucky to have you guys as parents. Life is kind of breaking up our trio. We’re taking different paths, but that’s okay. In fact, it’s probably expected. Harry, you’re going to be an incredible professor and flying instructor. Hermione, you are already incredible at everything—” Another chuckle rang through the garden. “---so I probably don’t need to tell you, but you’re going to be great too. Congratulations, and good luck for everything ahead.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said. 

After Ron sat, Louis stood. Mr. Lewis gave him a questioning glance that he ignored. “When we got the wedding invitation, we didn’t know the Grangers’ knew about magic. So imagine our surprise when we learned that our Hermione was marrying Harry Freaking Potter!” More laughter, and Harry rolled his eyes with exaggerated longsuffering. Louis finished with “Good luck on your marriage, cuz!”

The speeches and food finished, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Lewis cleared the tables with a wave of their wands. With another wave, the chairs assembled in a half circle around the edge of the garden. 

Hermione took his hand. “It’s time for our first dance.”

Harry grinned and nodded to Jean. He had picked the music for the first dance but had kept it a surprise from Hermione. As the first few notes sounded, he led Hermione to the center of the grass and pulled her in close. 

Hermione gave a gasp of surprise. “This is…”

“ ‘O Children.’ The song we danced to in the tent,” Harry explained, though he knew from her expression that she hadn’t needed the reminder. 

They spun around in circles, unaware of their guests blinking tears of joy from their eyes. 

“He looks so much like James,” Lupin whispered to Tonks as the couple passed by. “It’s uncanny. He looked at Lily exactly like Harry is looking at Hermione now.”

Tonks squeezed his hand. “They are truly one.”

“Soulmates,” Lupin agreed. 

The music faded, replaced by ringing applause. Harry and Hermione approached Dan, who stood for the father-daughter dance. The music began again, this time a ballad about a father watching his daughter grow up. 

Harry wiped the tears from his face as Dan danced with Hermione. Dan’s cheeks were also wet, and he held Hermione tightly for a few moments as the dance ended. 

Hermione took a seat as Harry stood. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers and said, “We also wanted to have a mother-son dance, but obviously my mum can’t be here today.” He took a moment to breathe through the renewed grief in his heart. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t had women in my life who’ve stepped in to fill the gap. If you all will forgive me for breaking tradition a bit, I’d like to dance with them today.” Harry turned to Mrs. Weasley and extended his hand. “Will you dance with me?”

He hadn’t planned this with any of the women, but Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes and took his hand. “Of course, my dear.” As Harry led her to the center of the grass, she said, “I’ve always viewed you and Hermione as my children. You don’t need to be blood to love someone like your own.”

Harry led her through a waltz, including a spin or two. As the music reached the second verse, he led Mrs. Weasley back to her seat and thanked her. He then turned to McGonagall, who gave him a surprised look. 

“You treated me like everyone else at school. And that was the greatest gift you’ve ever given me. Since you won’t be my boss until August first, may I have this dance?”

McGonagall was a surprisingly graceful dance partner, if a stickler for a rigid dance step. He led her back to her chair next to Hagrid as the final verse began. 

Harry turned to Jean and extended his hand. “Will you finish us out, Mum?”

Dancing with Jean felt like a full-circle moment. As Harry twirled the grandmother of his child around, his heart warmed at the faces of support smiling back at him. Years later, he would look to this moment as the time he knew he truly belonged. 

He had found the love of his life. He had found a family. He had found home. 

He was home.

Chapter Text

Marriage was wonderful. 

Following their reception, they had apparated to wizarding Melbourne and taken advantage of their honeymoon suite. Though they had obviously not waited for marriage for intimacy, there was still something new and exciting about their first night as husband and wife. 

Over the course of the next week, they toured the Australian continent, visiting beaches, zoos, museums, restaurants, and—of course—the inside of hotel room suites. The days passed far too quickly, and Harry awoke on the day of their departure wishing it could be longer. 

Their final stop had brought them back to Melbourne and a tiny flat they had rented for two days. Hermione was in the kitchen making breakfast when he came in. She was dressed in her pajamas, her hair still mussed from last night’s escapades. Harry embraced her from behind, his hands rubbing her abdomen. He nuzzled her neck as Lily kicked against his hand. “How are my girls this morning?”

“Wonderful,” Hermione said, gesturing for him to get a plate. He loaded french toast onto his plate and covered them with strawberry syrup. Hermione joined him at the tiny corner table as his eyes panned the flat. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”
“I wish we didn’t have to leave today,” he admitted. “Being away from everyone has been great. I enjoy your parents and the Weasleys, but the past week has been just us. It’s been really nice.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “It does feel strange to go back to my parents’ place, even if it is just for three weeks.”

On July 25th, they could move into their quarters at Hogwarts, as Harry was expected to report for work on August 1st. But getting to that point required that they still have somewhere to live in the interim. And Harry enjoyed this life, this quietness with Hermione. Their own space. Their own schedule. 

“Do you think the owner would let us stay?” Harry asked. 

“It might be worth a shot,” Hermione said. She went to the phone hanging on the wall and consulted the list of numbers next to it. “It looks like we can call the property management company when they open.”

They enjoyed breakfast, interrupting the meal to steal kisses. Hermione was rubbing the small of her back, and Harry treated his bride to a massage in the living room. It was one of his favorite new activities as their baby grew; it allowed him to feel connected to the pregnancy while alleviating his wife’s discomfort. 

His wife. Even a week later, the words still sent a thrill of joy through him. 

“Twenty-one weeks today,” Hermione murmured as Harry worked his hands into the muscles of her neck and shoulders. “The pregnancy is over half over.”

“When is our next check up?”

“Twenty-four weeks. Andromeda wants me to come in right before we move into Hogwarts. And then there’s one at 28 weeks. After that, the appointments increase to every two weeks until 36 weeks. Then weekly until I go into labor.”

Harry’s hands stilled at her words. She looked quizzically at him. 

“We’re almost to twice a month appointments?” he said. 

“Yes, and almost to the third trimester. That will be in mid-September.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “She’ll be here so soon.”

“There’s a lot to do,” Hermione admitted. “Once we get access to the rooms at Hogwarts, we’ll need to outfit a nursery, buy clothes, nappies, bottles. I want to try to breastfeed but it doesn’t hurt to have formula on hand. Not to mention supplies for if Lily gets sick, teething rings, baby lotion and soap. And a crib, of course! And a blanket for tummy time and, oh, there is still so much to do!—”

Her words were interrupted by Harry kissing her neck. “We’ll get it, love,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “A few shopping trips once we get into our rooms and it will all be sorted.”

Hermione melted into the feeling of his lips against her neck. “You’re right. I was panicking.”

“As much as I want Lily here, there’s also benefits for how things are right now,” Harry said with a grin. 

Hermione picked up on his tone, her own eyes glinting mischievously. “And what would that be, dear husband?”

Harry picked her up into his arms and bridal-carried her to their bedroom. “Let me show you.”

*/*/*/*/*/

The landlord of the flat was more than willing to rent to them for the additional three weeks, provided that they pay the rent up front. Harry and Hermione delivered the money to the landlord’s office and made their way to a cozy cafe in the heart of Melbourne. 

“I’m glad our jobs are starting soon,” Harry said. “That was over half of your savings.”

Hermione took his hand. “It’s worth it. Going back to my childhood home as a married couple is just too strange. And, besides, you should be hearing about your vaults soon.”

“Do you really think they’ll change their minds?”

“No,” Hermione said, gnawing on her lip in thought as they made their way past a line of boutiques. “But I think the Ministry will be successful with negotiations. The goblins will make someone pay, but I wouldn’t be surprised if at least part of it comes from the Ministry… But it’s hard to say. The goblins might also deny any negotiations on your behalf.”

Harry nodded, refusing to let any tendril of hope rise on the matter. After all, he had gotten the most priceless items in his vault: the wedding rings that belonged to his parents, which Harry and Hermione now wore on their left hands. James’s ring had been a perfect fit, and Harry had taken to glancing at his hand every now and again to remind himself what it meant: I’m a married man.

After a light lunch at a seaside cafe, they took the bus to the Grangers’ home. The Lewises’ rental car was in the driveway. Lexi ran out to embrace Hermione as they started up the drive. “I hoped we’d see you before we left!” she squealed. “Our flight is at 5:00.”

“You guys flew here?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t the floo be faster?” Though it wasn’t commonly done, Harry knew that a wizard could escort a muggle through the floo, with a portkey, or even during side-along apparition. 

“Mum’s claustrophobic, so the risk of getting stuck in a fireplace scares her too much. And sidealongs make Louis sick for days. And I hate portkeys. Blew my knee out after a hard landing last year.”

“So flying it is.” Harry surmised.

Dan and Jean had joined them in the driveway as they talked. Jean embraced them both. “I have a stack of cards and letters for you that Andromeda sent through the floo. Nothing seemed terribly urgent, so we’ve just been collecting them while you were on your honeymoon.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione said. 

They made their way into the house, where a side table was piled high with letters. Harry grabbed the Daily Prophet from the top of the stack and grimaced at the headline: Trouble in Paradise: Former Death Eaters Attack during Potter/Granger Wedding followed by a picture of the tent up in flames. 

He passed it to Hermione. “Even an ocean away, they didn’t waste any time, did they?”

Hermione’s eyes roved across the article. “It’s factually accurate, thank goodness, and very similar to the articles we saw in wizarding Melbourne. The rest of it is just people who think they’re important making public statements wishing us well on our wedding.” She shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“With a little luck, we’ll fade into obscurity,” Harry added. 

“Agreed. I’m not excited about the prospect of fighting off reporters while giving birth.”

Harry grimaced, mentally vowing that Hermione’s labor and delivery would be a private affair with only those she wanted there in attendance. He sorted through the other letters: mostly congratulations cards that the mail screeners had deemed safe, an update to Harry’s class schedule and anticipated class numbers, and a thick envelope in silver script with Gringotts in the top corner. With a glance at Hermione, he peeled up the seal and removed the parchment. 

Dear Mr. Potter, 

This letter is to hereby inform you of the return of your vaults and all the contents therein, which had previously been seized for war debts. Though Gringotts remains firm that payment of the damages be made, an anonymous donor has made the payment in full on your behalf. 

We look forward to continuing business with you. 

Sincerely, 

Wilchan Orek, Gringotts Head Goblin

Accompanying the letter was page after page of figures, proving that the vaults had, in fact, been calculated and returned to him in full.

“An anonymous donor?” Harry said, glancing back at the first page. “Who would have that many galleons lying around?”

Hermione consulted the letter then looked to her parents. They shook their heads. “We tried,” Jean admitted. “We contacted Gringotts the day after you told us the story, but the conversion rate of Australian dollars to galleons is terrible. We wouldn’t have even made a dent.”

Harry was warmed by the effort, though was secretly glad Jean and Dan hadn’t made that much of a sacrifice for him. He tapped the envelope against his chin in thought. Who could the donor be?

“Oh look, you missed one,” Hermione said, bending down to pick up an envelope that had fallen behind the side table and onto the floor. She stood slowly to maintain her balance with her rounded stomach. She glanced at the front and raised both eyebrows. Handing it to Harry, she said, “You’ll want to open this.”

Draco Malfoy was listed as the sender. 

Though Harry knew the mail had been screened by both the aurors and Andromeda, he took a moment to mutter some diagnostic spells over the envelope. It came back clean. With a shrug, he tore it open. It was filled with crossed-out script, as if the writer had struggled to know what to say. 

Potter , Harry , To Whom It May Concern

Dear Harry Potter,

I know you probably don’t want to hear from me . I know you’re probably surprised to get a letter from me. Since the trial, I’ve been seeing a mind healer and trying to be a better person. My healer suggested that I do some compensatory acts to help free myself of guilt. So I don’t do this for you. I do this for me.

I knew from the papers that Gringotts seized your vaults to pay for the damage during the war. Since Mum and Dad I had a hand in the war, I chose to use the Malfoy vaults and the sale of Malfoy Manor to cover the debts rather than wait for the Ministry to finish negotiations with the goblins. (Those weren’t going well, by the way). 

I can only apologize for my actions and not the actions of my parents (my mind healer says that that’s an apology for them to give, if they ever will), but as I am the only Malfoy currently not incarcerated, I can do with the vaults and property what I will. 

I’m sorry for my part in the war. I can’t make it better. But maybe I can sleep tonight. 

Congrats on the wedding. You certainly could do a lot worse.

Don’t bother to respond. It will be too weird. 

Malfoy

Draco

“That’s … interesting,” Hermione said. “Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf. And saying ‘you certainly could do a lot worse’ in reference to marrying me is probably the closest thing I will ever get to a compliment from Draco Malfoy.”

“So now we know,” Harry said. “Weird he’d want to keep it anonymous. I thought he’d want to show it off to redeem his name.”

“Which shows that he really didn’t do it for selfish reasons. He did it because he wanted to,” Hermione speculated.

“We should put the money to good use,” Harry said. “If we want to change the wizarding world for the better, we now have the funds to do it.”

Hermione’s eyes shone. “We could start foundations and programs! We could take out ads in the newspapers that promote equality! We could…”

Hermione continued her brainstorming, her eyes alight with purpose, long after they returned to their flat. She wrote all the ideas down, her fingers smeared with ink from the ballpoint pen and the haste of her script. 

“Can I make a request?” Harry asked in amusement. 

Hermione looked up from her paper abashedly. “I kind of took over this, didn’t I?”

Harry waved a hand. “I agree with your ideas. But we’ll need to start with only one or two. We can’t take on too much with a baby on the way, and we’ll want to have a team of people to support us eventually. But I do have one request: I don’t want my name plastered over the foundation for the same reason Draco didn’t want people to know he paid the war debts.”

“It feels braggy?” Hermione guessed. 

Harry nodded. “I don’t want it to be ‘the great Harry Potter’ this and ‘the great Harry Potter’ that. Can we name it the Dan and Jean Granger Foundation instead?”

Hermione nodded slowly. “That has a ring to it.”

“And it will be important historically. I’ll bet it is the first foundation in the wizarding world to be named after muggles.”

“You’re probably right. And that fits well with our agendas of muggle-wizard cooperation and better training and opportunities for wizards to interact in the muggle world.”

“And don’t forget the house elves,” Harry said innocently, though Hermione saw his grin of admiration. 

“They’re at the top of the list next to werewolves.”

“Actually, I have one more request,” Harry said, moving from his cross-legged position on the couch to sit on the floor next to her. “Can we donate some money to Hogwarts to replace the school brooms? They’re awful.”

Hermione laughed and added it to the top of the notebook paper. “You’ll need to get one yourself, too.”

Harry felt a pang at the loss of his Firebolt. “Yeah, I should. Let’s do that once we’re back in London. I can get the school brooms then too.”

Hermione set the notebook aside in satisfaction. “We’re going to make a difference, Harry. We really are. The world Lily grows up in will be so much better than we live in now.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione, his eyes roving the ambitious list. If anyone could do it, it would be his incredible wife. 

And he’d be there every step of the way. 

Chapter Text

The days faded into three weeks and before they knew it, they were leaving Australia. Hermione hugged her parents tightly, promising to send letters through the floo and visit on weekends. Her pregnancy spurring additional tears, she released them before taking Harry’s hand and bravely walking through the floo to their next adventure. 

They stepped out of the fireplace to the Headmistress’s office. McGonagall looked up and gave them a wide smile. “Professor Potter, I was just reviewing your course outlines and syllabi. Your attention to detail and content knowledge is commendable. Well done.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Remus gave me some pointers on the duelling lessons,” Harry replied modestly. 

“And Mrs. Potter,” –Hermione gave a start at the new surname but smiled widely— “Unit one is excellent. We will need to set typeface and select images to supplement the text.”

“That is on my list for this week,” Hermione agreed. “And I’m excited to meet Professor Martin tomorrow.”

McGonagall gave them a rare smile. “Welcome back to Hogwarts. The password for your private rooms is currently defaulted to Expelliarmus , but please change it to something only the two of you know. Your rooms contain a floo connection. For security purposes, please be judicious with the connections you make. Otherwise, decor and furniture arrangements are up to you.”

They said their thanks and left the office. Outside, the sun was shining, the lake placid, the grounds pristine. The quidditch goal hoops shone in the distance, and Harry felt a thrill of nostalgia. 

Hermione was looking back at the castle. “It’s been completely restored. And more than that. I think it’s better than ever before.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Kind of like us.”

She smiled at him. “Yeah. Kind of like us.”

They made their way through the Great Hall to the defense classroom on the third floor. While they’d been in Australia, Remus had evidently been working on the final touches: potted plants hung in the windows from ropes and bookshelves lined the walls. Harry grinned as the room’s feeling of belonging enveloped him. 

Hermione elbowed him. “Well done, Professor. This looks amazing.”

They made their way to the door behind the teacher’s desk. Harry said the password, and the door opened to reveal a cozy living space with plush carpet and an ornate fireplace. There was no furniture—evidently the rooms didn’t act like the room of requirement—but the comfortable feel was immediately apparent. 

They made their way through an arched doorway to a kitchen with space for a dining table. Another door took them to a bedroom with a door leading to a second smaller room. 

“That must be the nursery,” Hermione mused. “Then the larger bedroom is ours. We can keep the door open between the rooms so we can listen for her while she’s sleeping.”

The remaining rooms were the kitchen and bathroom. Though the bathroom was small, the vanity had two sinks in front of a large mirror.

Harry met Hermione’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “What do you think?”

Hermione took his hand. “I think it’s perfect. Once this school year is over and Lily starts crawling, maybe we should look for a house. But it’s exactly what we need right now.”

“We just need furniture,” Harry said. 

It was nearing lunchtime after Hermione met with Professor Martin, so they stopped by the kitchens for a light meal. Though Hermione had at first been hesitant to have the elves serve them, one of the house elves explained in a squeaky voice that Headmistress McGonagall insisted on paying them a modest wage and giving them one day off each week. 

As the house elf ran off to fetch a platter of sandwiches, Kreacher appeared at Harry’s elbow. He looked to be in good health, though he bore a long scar across his face from the battle of Hogwarts. “Master Potter,” he said, bowing low. Rising, he looked from Harry to Hermione, the rings on their hands, and Hermione’s stomach. His eyes widened. He bowed a second time. “And Mistress Potter.” His eyes were misty as he looked at Hermione again. “And welcome, young Potter. I am honored to serve you in the noble house of Potter and Black.” 

“And we are honored to have you as part of our family, Kreacher,” Harry returned. 

Kreacher bowed again, and the flicking light caught on the chain of Regulus’s locket around his neck. “Mistress Potter must be keeping her health up. Young Potter is growing quickly and very magical. Us house elves know these things. I will return with an herbal tea meant to lessen the discomforts of pregnancy.”

As Kreacher scuttled away through the throng of house elves, Hermione looked at Harry. “I forgot that we own a house elf,” she said, her nose wrinkling at the thought. 

Harry put a hand on her wrist. “We will treat him fairly, and he will know that his employment is voluntary. But he’ll need baby steps after generations of conditioning. They all will. That’s probably why McGonagall is only paying them one sickle a week each. I doubt they would take any more.”

“Then they risk being exploited,” Hermione returned. 

Harry traced his fingers over her cheek. “We have to meet them where they are at,” he whispered. “Too much too soon, and it will all collapse.”

Kreacher returned with a tray upon which balanced a teapot and collection of finger sandwiches. Hermione nodded her thanks and took a sip of the tea. It had a refreshing mint taste and, to her surprise, the ache in her back began to recede. She nodded her thanks as Kreacher returned to his duties in the kitchen. 

“You’re right, of course,” Hermione said. “I just wish it were different.”

They finished the tea and sandwiches before leaving the kitchens. The sun was brilliant across the grounds as they made their way to the arched gate. The gate opened at their touch, and they walked leisurely toward Hogsmeade, stopping twice to allow Hermione to catch her breath. 

During one of these rest breaks while seated on a small bench, Harry realized how much more pregnant Hermione appeared. It was like the baby had shifted positions lower while rapidly growing in size. Hermione was rubbing her stomach and grimacing. 

“You okay?”

“I’m just so uncomfortable,” Hermione admitted. “The pain in my back is awful, and my stomach itches something terribly where the skin is stretching.”

“Should we head back and I’ll give you a massage?”

But Hermione shook her head. “We need to do the shopping. I will be okay. I just think some days are harder than others.”

Harry kissed her temple, gratitude for his wife filling him. “Let’s take it slow, then. Please let me know when you need a break.”

Together, they visited a furniture store in Hogsmeade and chose furniture for their rooms. Hermione fell in love with a collection of red oak bookcases that Harry insisted on buying for her. For his part, Harry chose the living room couches and coffee table. On a whim, he also purchased a rocker chair that the salesperson promised was a perfect addition for anyone with a newborn.

They spent a good hour trying out different mattresses. Harry deferred to Hermione’s preferences here, as her growing belly was starting to make sleeping uncomfortable. But to their surprise, no compromise was needed: many of the models were charmed to adapt to each person’s preferences. So while Hermione enjoyed a firmer mattress, Harry’s side was marshmallowy soft. 

They chose a bed frame, dresser, and a small side table. Finally, they selected a cozy breakfast nook to act as their dining room table and purchased a stock of dishes. Though Harry wasn’t sure if they would be doing much cooking, Hermione pointed out that having the option meant not having to go to the Great Hall for every meal, especially with a newborn in tow. 

A newborn. 

Though it shouldn’t seem a surprise at this point in Hermione’s pregnancy, Harry was vividly reminded of Lily’s rapidly approaching due date when they began looking at cribs. He blinked tears away from his eyes as he approached a white crib with a magically rotating mobile overhead. At first, unicorns dangled from each string, but they changed shape until a stag, dog, and wolf were rotated around the center. 

Harry gently touched the stag’s horns as Hermione said, “It must be charmed to transfigure according to the preferences of whoever is using it.” She reached out a hand, and one of the stags transfigured into a silver otter. It dove around a stag before snuggling against its side. 

“Your patronus,” Harry whispered. 

Hermione bumped her shoulder against his. “They look pretty great together, don’t they?”

An hour later, they completed their purchases and shrunk them so they would fit in Hermione’s beaded bag. They made their way up to the castle, stopping twice to let Hermione catch her breath. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking up at the slope leading to the front doors. “It’s like everything got so much more difficult in the last week.”

Harry kissed her brow. “I know it’s difficult to slow down, but remember that it's okay to rest too. You’re growing another human, and I can only imagine what it feels like lugging our baby around all day.”

“She squishes my bladder something awful,” Hermione admitted with a chuckle. 

After a lengthy rest, they made their way back to the castle and into their rooms. They unshrunk the furniture and used levitating charms to position them. Hermione had a rather critical eye for where things were supposed to go; Harry was sure he had moved the couch a half dozen times before she was satisfied. But he had to admit that the end result was a perfect mixture of cozy utility and presentation. 

They set up the crib and placed the mobile above it. The otter, stag, dog, and wolf bounded around each other as the mobile slowly rotated. Harry’s eyes misted again, and he kissed the crown of his wife’s head. “I hope Lily likes it.”

Hermione turned to him, understanding in her eyes. “I’m sure she will.”

*/*/*/*/*/

On the morning of July 31st, Hermione awoke Harry to surprise him with breakfast in bed, including a stack of pancakes with eighteen candles. As he ate, Hermione said, “Since it’s the last day before you formally start your career, I thought we could have a birthday celebration around noon. Mrs. Weasley is hosting at the Burrow. The Weasleys and Lupins will be there.”

Harry’s heart warmed with gratitude. They had planned to buy him a new broom and replace the school brooms that morning, but he hadn’t been aware of any other plans. “Thanks, Hermione. That’s amazing.”

“Oh, and can we wait until the weekend to buy your broom? I don’t want us late for your party.”

“Okay,” Harry said, though his brow furrowed with disappointment. He had really been looking forward to choosing his broom and flying the latest models, especially since he and Hermione had collectively decided against another Firebolt. With a purchase price of 30,000 galleons, it was a luxury that—although they could afford it—they felt the money should go toward getting the Jean and Dan Granger Foundation off the ground. Instead, he would test out the other models to find something that fit his needs at a lower price point. 

Harry missed Hermione’s I-know-something-you-don’t look as she collected the breakfast dishes and turned away.

They showered and dressed before making their way to Hogsmeade, where they took the floo from the Three Broomsticks to the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons looked up at the flash of green light, then did a surprised double take. 

In seconds, they were surrounded. 

“Nice to see you, Mr. Potter,” came a voice from an aged witch. She patted Hermione’s stomach, oblivious to her discomfiture. “Nice to see your baby is coming along nicely.”

“My wife is taking wonderful care of our child,” Harry replied, putting the slightest inflection on the word. “I wouldn’t be anything without her.”

Harry’s terse tone must have alerted someone behind the counter, for a commanding female voice said, “All right, that’s enough. I’m sure they have plenty to do and don’t need you lot gawking.”

Harry looked up in surprise at the voice, then grinned. Hannah Abbott was behind the counter. He and Hermione made their way to the counter. 

“Hello, Hannah,” Hermione said. 

She returned the greeting and waved a hand at the pub, which Harry noticed bore a new menu and no sign of pea soup. “I just took over from Tom, and hope to eventually buy it from him. I’m trying new soups and making fresh bread now. I really like it here. It’s quiet, especially after…well, everything that happened last year.”

Harry and Hermione nodded in understanding. “We can’t stay for lunch today, but we’ll come by this weekend to try your menu,” Harry promised. 

Hannah smiled. “Thanks, I—”

“Harry! Hermione!” a voice interrupted them. Neville Longbottom strode through the door and greeted them with a beaming grin. “How is everything? I hear you’re teaching at Hogwarts?”

Harry nodded. “I start tomorrow with staff meetings and pre-school prep. Hermione is writing the curriculum for Muggle Studies.”

Neville grinned. “I’ll see you there! I’m teaching Herbology up to OWL year.”

“Really?” Harry exclaimed in surprise. “That’s great! But what’s Sprout doing?”

“She’s still teaching the advanced Herbology classes, and McGonagall asked if she would teach advanced potions too.”

“Interesting,” Harry mused, trying to picture Professor Sprout bending over a cauldron. 

“Yeah. She’s brilliant at potions,” Neville said, evidently having no trouble visualizing the fact. “She made the entire mandrake draught herself our second year once the mandrakes were old enough.”

“I wonder who is teaching potions for the younger years?” Hermione mused. “That leaves a vacancy.”

Neville shrugged. “McGonagall wouldn’t tell me. But she says we’re going to have the strongest staff Hogwarts has ever seen, so they are bound to be good.”

They bid their farewells after a quick glance at the clock, and Harry pulled Hermione into the alley where the brick wall hid the entrance to Diagon Alley. Hermione raised her wand to tap the brick, but Harry wrapped her in an embrace and gave her a lingering, passionate kiss. 

“Harry! What if someone sees?!” Hermione sputtered. 

Harry answered between kisses. “I guess. They’ll. See. A man. In love. With his. Wife.”

“You are a professor!” Hermione protested, though Harry heard the laughter behind her words. 

Harry kissed her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Not until tomorrow,” he murmured.

“Yes, but…Um, well, we, um…”

Harry drew away with a chuckle and took her hand. “I’m glad I can still leave you speechless, Mrs. Potter.”

*/*/*/*/*/

The order of twenty school brooms was neatly packaged behind the counter when they walked into quality quidditch supplies. On a whim, Harry also purchased new quidditch balls and jerseys that could be charmed different colors. Though the first years would not be ready for a quidditch match for a while, the jerseys would be ready for them once they had sufficient skills. 

With a twist in his stomach, Harry resolutely turned away from the shining Firebolt in the display window as they finalized the purchase and organized delivery of the brooms via owl to the Hogwarts broom shed. They had chosen the newest Cleansweep, as that model had decent power but were still a good option for beginning fliers. Though Harry had wanted to outfit the students with Nimbuses, it was simply too much power for any first or second years timid about flying.

Their purchase complete, they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron and took the floo to the Burrow. They were greeted immediately by Mrs. Weasley, who swept them up into hugs. “Hello, dears. How is married life treating you?”

“It’s wonderful,” Hermione said while Harry grinned and nodded.

“Everyone is out in the back garden. Lunch will be in just a few minutes. Ron should be here soon. He was just getting off shift.”

They walked to the garden where the Weasleys, including Bill and Fleur and George and Angelina waved to them. The Lupins were seated in the shade of a leafy tree. Harry immediately went to Remus and took his godson into his arms, noting how much heavier the infant had gotten while he and Hermione had been in Australia. “He’s getting so big!”

“And finally sleeping through the night,” Tonks said. “I thought it would never happen.”

While Harry bounced Teddy in his arms, George rose from his place next to Angelina and approached them. “Harry, a word?”

Harry shrugged. “Sure.”

They walked a distance away from the others. George had his hands in his pockets and didn’t seem to know what to say. 

Harry decided to prompt him. “Er—what’s up?”

George blew the air out of his cheeks. “Well, the entire family is here, which doesn’t happen very often, and I need to make an announcement. But it’s your birthday, so I don’t want to take away from that—”

“What kind of announcement?” Harry asked cluelessly. 

George squared his shoulders. “That you’re not the only one having a kid. Angelina’s pregnant. I’m going to be a dad at the end of February.”

Harry gaped at him. Realizing that his mouth was going to catch flies, he forced it shut. “Wow. Congratulations. Our kids will grow up together. That’s amazing.”

“Andromeda found out when Ang was poisoned. It was a bit of a shock, honestly,” George admitted.

“Well, I know all about that ,” Harry said. He clapped George on the shoulder. “You are going to be an amazing dad.”

“Thanks. Are you okay if we announce it to the family today? Probably after the cake just so we aren’t taking away from—”

“Announce it whenever you want,” Harry interjected. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Thanks.” George looked over the grounds. “You know, I always thought Mum and Dad didn’t have it figured out. That Dad should be more ambitious at the Ministry, that we should be better off…But now I’m starting to realize that we never lacked anything. And Mum and Dad are actually really great parents. I didn’t appreciate that as a kid.”

“They’re going to spoil their grandkids rotten,” Harry said with a grin. “Mr. Weasley will send them home with their pockets full of plugs and wires from his shed, and Mrs. Weasley will load them up with sweets.”

“I’m good with that as long as Mum makes me some too,” George returned. 

They made their way back to the group. Hermione gave Harry a quizzical look, but he squeezed her hand and said, “Later.”

Ron arrived with a pop of apparition. He was in his auror robes and hid a yawn behind his hand. “S-Sorry, just got off shift. It was a long night. Happy birthday, mate!” Ron turned to Hermione. “Did you give it to him yet?”

Hermione shook her head. “I wanted to wait for you.”

The group gathered around as Hermione removed a wrapped oblong package from her beaded bag. “This was Ron’s idea, and I thought it was perfect. Happy birthday from Ron and I.”

Harry balanced the long box on his legs and untied the twine at either end. He lifted the lid and gaped. 

Nestled in brown paper was a Firebolt. 

But it wasn’t just any Firebolt. As he removed it carefully from the packaging, he noticed a long crack down the handle, as if the broomstick had been damaged from falling at a great height. The crack had been carefully filled with wood patch and sanded smooth. And there was something strangely familiar about the way the handle was worn to fit his grip. 

He looked up at Hermione and Ron, not daring to believe it. “Is this—?”

“It’s the one Sirius gave you,” Hermione confirmed. “Ron found it in a muggle thrift store while on patrol in London.”

“The shopkeeper had no idea what it was worth, obviously,” Ron added. “She said she just found it in the street in front of her shop one night. She called it a ‘decor item’ and sold it to me for five pounds. It’s probably the best deal anyone’s ever gotten on a Firebolt.”

“And once Ron had it, I researched how to repair it,” Hermione added. “Ron took care of the repairs since we were in Australia.”

“The repair won’t hold up in a championship-level game, but it will be just fine for backyard quidditch and teaching your flying lessons,” Ron explained. 

Harry blinked the tears from his eyes as he ran his hand down the smooth handle. “This is incredible. Thank you. I thought it was lost forever.”

He set the Firebolt carefully aside as he opened his other gifts: a stack of instructional defense books from the Lupins, homemade towels and washcloths from Mrs. Weasley for their new home, and a case of Honeydukes chocolate from Bill and Fleur. Ginny and Charlie had pitched in together to get a miniature dragon model charmed to transform into a stuffed plush anytime the owner required a cuddle.

“Honestly, it’s more a present for Lily than for you,” Ginny admitted. “But I wanted to get it anyway.”

The dragon curled into Harry’s palm and Harry imagined baby Lily cuddling it once she got older. “It’s great, thank you.”

Percy, George, and Angelina surprised him with a stationary kit full of premium quills and vibrant colors for marking student papers. “I think you’re going to see more than your fair share of Wheezes merchandise, so we got you something else,” George explained with a grin. 

They enjoyed Mrs. Weasley’s excellent sandwiches for lunch. As the conversation lulled, George caught Harry’s eye and raised an eyebrow in a question. Harry gave a brief nod. 

George cleared his throat and wiped his palms on his pants. “Um, everyone, I—er, we —” he gestured to Angelina “--have an announcement. We’re expecting a baby at the end of February.”

The announcement was met with shocked silence as the Weasleys exchanged glances. “Th-this isn’t a joke, right?” Ron said carefully. 

George shook his head. “Nope.” With a wink, he added, “Learn from me and don’t forget the contraception charm, little bro.”

Mrs. Weasley recovered from her shock and embraced Angelina. “Oh, a baby! How wonderful! How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Sick,” Angelina admitted, then nodded to Andromeda. “But Healer Tonks is taking good care of me. And I start the second trimester soon, so hopefully I will start feeling better.”

Hermione gave her a hug. “If you need to talk, send an owl anytime,” Hermione said. 

Angelina returned the embrace. “I’ll do that. It’s nice to have someone who’s going through it too.”

Bill cleared his throat and stood. “Well, my little brother stole my thunder, but Fleur and I have an announcement too.”

Mrs. Weasley’s hands clapped over her mouth and looked at Fleur. “Are you expecting?”

Fleur nodded. “We just found out zis morning.”

“Due date will be sometime around the end of April or early May,” Bill added. He shot a grin at Harry and George. “But we were actually trying, so I’m not as shocked as you two probably were.”

Mrs. Weasley embraced Fleur, who looked surprised at the affection but returned a radiant smile toward her mother-in-law. 

Harry looked at their collective family and friends in disbelief. “They’ll all be at Hogwarts together,” he said. “Teddy first, and then Lily and the two Weasleys the next year.”

“Unless our child goes to Beauxbatons,” Fleur interceded. 

Bill kissed the crown of her head. “Beauxbatons or Hogwarts, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure either school would be a great choice.”

As the party wound down, Harry took his Firebolt and rose to the sky to play a scrimmage with George, Bill, Charlie, and Ron. As he swooped around the field, he saw Hermione talking animatedly with Fleur and Angelina, one hand lovingly rubbing her extended stomach. 

Does life get better than this? Harry thought, joy filling him even as he narrowly dodged a bludger sent his way by George. I don’t think it can get better, but I’m excited to find out.

Chapter Text

Harry took a deep breath and straightened his navy robes outside the staffroom. Despite his excitement at his new position, he found his stomach wriggling with nerves. What if he wasn’t a good teacher after all? Would the students listen to him? What if they didn’t like his class?

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, he pushed the door to the staff room open. 

“Hello, Mr. Potter! I am excited to call you my colleague!”

The shout was from tiny Professor Flitwick, who was seated on a stack of books to reach the table in the center of the room. 

“Thank you, sir. I’m excited to be here.”

His eyes panned the room. He was a bit early, and most of the other tenured teachers had not arrived yet. Neville waved and grinned from the far end of the table. Harry returned the wave, then faltered as he noticed who was seated on Neville’s left. The blonde-haired man was studying the tabletop, but there could be no mistake. 

“Hello, Draco,” Harry said, grateful when his tone came out even. 

Draco looked up. He was thinner than Harry remembered, and the imperiousness had left his features. “Hello, Harry. McGonagall said you’d be teaching as well.”

Harry considered briefly, then took the seat next to Draco. He was forcibly reminded of the trial and the second chance Draco had been given. They would never be friends, but he certainly didn’t want enmity with a coworker. “Huh, McGonagall didn’t tell me you’d be teaching.”

“Nor me,” Neville said. “I was quite surprised.” Neville’s voice was clipped, and Harry realized that Neville wouldn’t be immediately forgiving of the former Death Eater. 

“I was, um, only hired recently. Way after you,” Draco said. “She had to think it over and get permission from the Wizengamot first.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Harry said, and he was surprised to realize that he meant it. “Are you teaching Potions then?”

Draco nodded. “Up through fourth year since Slughorn went back into retirement. And I’m also Slytherin head of house. You?”

“Defense first through fourth and flying for first and second.”

Draco nodded again, though his eyes shifted from Harry’s face to the rest of the room. “You’ll be really good at that.”

Harry chuckled. “Every time someone says that, I get more and more nervous about screwing it up.”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one there,” Neville said conversationally. “I was just telling Hannah that if I mess this up, she’ll have to hire me on as a dishwasher.”

“I have the highest confidence in all three of you.” McGonagall had entered the room while they spoke and smiled at them as she took her place at the head of the table. “Bear in mind, this is your first year of teaching. You will make mistakes. Your lessons will not always turn out the way you hoped. You will grow and stretch—for teaching is a profession that is ever changing. But I have every confidence in your ability to make a positive impact on your students. I wouldn't have hired you otherwise.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Harry said, his words echoed by Draco and Neville. 

As the other teachers steadily entered, Harry turned to Draco and dropped his voice. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, so I will just say this: thank you for paying off the goblins. My wife and I are using the money philanthropically, and we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Draco swallowed and said, “Thanks. I thought that if anyone would do something good with a giant pile of gold, it would be you two.”

Remus took a seat next to Harry and clapped him on the shoulder. He was sporting dark circles under his eyes and hid a yawn behind his hand. Remus gave a polite nod to Draco, who surprised Harry when he addressed his former teacher: “How are you feeling? The moon wasn’t too long ago, was it?”

“Two days,” Remus confirmed. “I am looking forward to a nap this afternoon—if my newborn son will let me sleep, that is.”

“I-I would like to meet my cousin sometime,” Draco said. Seeing Remus’s surprised look, he began to backpedal. “N-Not if you or Tonks don’t want me to. Forget about it. It’s ok—”

“Draco, we’d be happy to have you meet Teddy. Come to the defense classroom after the final period on Friday, and I’ll tell you how to get to our home. We just moved into a cottage in the country, so you haven’t been there before.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, sir.”

As McGonagall called the meeting to order, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at Draco’s new life, now untrammeled by his father or Voldemort. We did more than save muggles and muggleborns by winning the war, Harry realized. We gave people like Draco a fresh start too. 

Harry turned back to the headmistress and took careful notes. His head was spinning as he realized just how much went into teaching. There was the expected information: blanket school rules that each faculty member was expected to enforce, the rotating schedule to monitor the halls, and staff codes of conduct with students and each other. But there were also assignment modifications for students with special needs, expectations of data tracking, and a discussion of the signs of abuse to watch for and who to report to.

 It was during this discussion that McGonagall held Harry’s gaze a moment longer than the others as she said, “In previous headmasters’ tenures, it has been the stance that Hogwarts does not get involved with students’ lives outside these walls. I have not agreed with this philosophy for years, and now that I am headmistress, I will exhaust no effort in uncovering child abuse. No student will return on holidays or summers to abusive households.” She then listed the signs to look for: malnutrition, unexplained bruises, anxiety, among others. Her usually stern face was especially grave as she said, “A student who feels safe and respected in a classroom may have the courage to speak up about their ordeal. When this happens—and this is a when , not an if as I have full confidence in the caliber of this year's staff—report directly and immediately to me. I will then contact aurors and begin any necessary investigation.”

Harry was mentally reeling as his thoughts went to years of torment at the hands of the Dursleys. What would his life have been like if a teacher—probably McGonagall, judging by the way she was looking at him now—had been allowed to raise concerns about his home life? The thought of what may have been tightened his chest, and he took several deep, steadying breaths to lessen the trauma response. 

The staff meeting went until noon, when they were dismissed to the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione was already there, a ball point pen in hand as she wrote the next muggle studies unit on a thick notebook. Reference books were spread around her, but she shifted them out of the way as Harry sat next to her. 

“Hello, Professor,” she said, the smile evident in her words. “How was the first staff meeting?”

Harry squeezed her hand. “Great. There’s lots to remember. But I’m excited.”

“Mrs. Potter,” Draco said, his voice strained. Harry felt an influx of anger at the tone of his voice, but one look at his face showed that his tone was of remorse, not revulsion. 

Hermione looked up in surprise, her face hardening into a mask a moment later. “Malfoy.”

He held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Hermione took it. He bent over their hands in a half-bow. “I’m sorry for how I treated you in our school days and for what happened in the manor,” he said in a rush. “I-I know better now, and I wish you and your family health and happiness. We don’t ever have to be friends, but I hope that one day we will be civil.”

Hermione released the handshake, then raised her arm so the cursed scars were visible. Malfoy flinched, and her cold demeanor softened somewhat. “An apology doesn’t make it okay, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Malfoy nodded jerkily. His gaze fastened on the ball point pen, and he picked it up in confusion. “What is this?”

“A pen,” Hermione explained. “Muggle writing implement.”

He looked around the table. “Where is the ink?”

“Inside it. The ink flows as you write and the point can be retracted. No worries about ink spills or blotches.”

Malfoy depressed the top of the pen, giving a start of surprise at the sound of the click and the retraction. He looked at Hermione’s neat script on the notebook. “Is this parchment with lines?!”

Hermione couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Yes. Notebook paper.”

Malfoy looked from the pen to the notebook in shock. “This would be a lot easier. Why don’t wizards use these?”

“Probably because blood purists refuse to use anything created by muggles,” Hermione replied coolly. 

“Well, they’re wrong,” Draco whispered, setting the pen down and wiping his hands on his trousers. “It’s hard…unlearning everything you were taught…learning that it all was a lie…that it all was evil…but I’m trying.”

Hermione’s stiff set to her shoulders softened. She opened a box next to her and removed another pen. “I have a whole drawer of these. You can have this one. Try it out and see if you like it better than quills.” With a murmured spell, she duplicated the notebook and erased her writing from the duplicated copy. “There. Now you can try it with the paper too.”

Draco took the pen and notebook with something akin to reverence. “Thanks. If these work well, would it be okay if I tell the Slytherin students? Maybe they can purchase them from you?”

At Hermione’s earnest nod, Draco took his place down the long staff table, still turning the pen between his fingers.

Harry leaned toward Hermione. “I bet you five galleons the Slytherin common room is going to be full of pens and notebooks by November.”

“No bet,” Hermione said with a grin.

*/*/*/*/*/

The next four weeks fell into a common routine. Harry and Remus would work together in the defense room, preparing supplies and materials for the coming year. In the afternoons, Harry would turn his attention to the quidditch field and the new school brooms in the broom shed. He carefully maintained the brooms—adding additional wards so that curious students would be unable to access the shed without his permission—and assisted Hagrid in getting the quidditch pitch ready for a new year. 

Hermione spent her time writing the muggle studies curriculum and meeting with Professor Martin. Around mid-August, she was particularly energetic, finishing an entire unit in a week. When Harry remarked about this new found energy despite the usual third-trimester fatigue, Hermione had made a surprising admission. 

“I think I’m nesting,” she admitted. “I just want everything ready so that when Lily arrives, I’ll be able to focus all my energy on her. With another unit out of the way, I’m closer to that goal.”

On the morning of Saturday, August 30th, they made their way outside the castle grounds and took the floo from The Three Broomsticks to Andromeda’s home. She smiled widely and greeted them in her healer’s robes. Though most check ups had been at St. Mungos, Andromeda had requested that their 28-week check up be completed at her home. 

Hermione lay on the couch and bared her stomach, revealing the angry red lines from her rapidly stretching skin. 

“Any pain with the stretch marks?” Andromeda asked, magically summoning a tape measure to measure the baby’s fundal height. 

“A little. They really itch,” Hermione admitted. “I keep using the cream, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much.” She was quiet for a moment, then admitted in a whisper. “I mostly…don’t like seeing….my body like this.”

Harry looked at her in surprise. Though he was privy to most of Hermione’s discomforts regarding her pregnancy, he hadn’t been aware of how it was affecting her confidence. “‘Mione, you’re so beautiful to me—” he started. 

But Hermione was wiping away tears as she said, “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Andromeda vanished the tape measure and knelt next to Hermione. She took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay if you can’t love your body right now,” she whispered softly. “Pregnancy brings so many changes so quickly. It’s hard to get used to them. Give yourself grace.”

“I feel so stupid,” she admitted. “I love my husband. I love the baby we made. But I don’t love my body.”

“You don’t need to feel stupid,” Andromeda replied softly. “And struggling with your body image doesn’t mean you are a bad mum. And it certainly doesn’t mean that you don’t love your daughter. Pregnancy is hard. Watching your body change is hard. Feeling like a human incubator is hard.”

Hermione snorted at that. “That’s exactly how I feel,” she admitted. 

“The stretch marks will fade over time,” Andromeda added. “And soon baby Lily will be in your arms. And she isn’t going to care if her mum has some stretch marks. She’ll be too busy loving her parents and being loved in return.”

Harry wiped tears from his eyes as Hermione accepted a hug from Andromeda. After getting assurances that Hermione was feeling okay, Andromeda rocked back on her heels and said, “The fundal height is measuring at thirty-one weeks, so that’s about three weeks ahead of schedule.”

Harry and Hermione shared a glance. “W-What could that mean?” Harry asked. 

“Some wizard babies supplement their development with bursts of their own magic to accelerate their growth,” Andromeda explained. “Though rare, it isn’t unheard of, and I daresay Lily is certainly powerful enough to manage it.”

“So our baby might arrive sooner than December?” Hermione asked. 

Andromeda nodded. “It would also explain why your stretch marks aren’t reacting to the cream I gave you—your stomach is growing faster than normal, and the elasticity of the skin can’t keep up.”

“Is it dangerous?” Harry asked, his voice catching as he rubbed Hermione’s arm to ground himself.

“Not any more dangerous than pregnancy itself. But it is more uncomfortable. Have you been nesting?”

Hermione nodded. “I have the muggle studies text finished through unit six,” she admitted. 

Andromeda laughed. “Well, you will certainly be prepared. It may be a good idea to plan for an early November baby.”

Early November.

Eight weeks. 

Hermione would be going into labor in eight weeks.

A slice of nerves shot through him. Though he desperately hoped for a smooth labor, the niggling worry in the back of his mind that Hermione would not survive childbirth would not abate. I can’t lose her. She is the love of my life. The mother of my child. What if she doesn’t make it?

Andromeda was studying his face. “Harry? Do you have any questions about the change in the due date?”

“I–” Harry didn’t want to worry his wife, but the words spilled out of him. “I’m scared. I don’t want to lose my wife in childbirth.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione struggled to sit up, then turned to look at him. Her eyes were kind with understanding. “I can’t promise everything is going to be okay, but Lily hasn’t failed us yet. And you’ll be next to me the entire time. My mum and Andromeda will be there too.”

“And Hermione has had a very stable pregnancy so far,” Andromeda added. “She is healthy and so is baby Lily. She has a very good chance at a textbook labor and delivery. And in the event something goes awry, I will make sure I do everything in my power to save her life.”

Harry nodded, the worry abating somewhat but not fully leaving. He tenderly kissed his wife’s brow. 

“Let’s take a quick look at baby while we are here,” Andromeda said, gesturing for Hermione to lie back and bare her stomach once more. 

Andromeda murmured a spell and placed the tip of her wand over Hermione’s belly button. As usual, one of the portraits hanging on the wall faded to black, replaced by a fuzzy outline of their baby’s nose and head. But there was a strange white streak near where Lily’s shoulder was. It had a hollow quality to it, as if it wasn’t fully transparent. Andromeda took in a surprised breath. 

“What? What is it?” Hermione said hurriedly, noting the healer’s change in manner. 

Andromeda turned to Harry. “How old was James Potter when he became an animagus?”

Caught off guard by the question, Harry stuttered, “Er, Remus said they did it in fifth year but I don’t know the exact date, so he would’ve been fifteen or sixteen?”

Andromeda nodded at the information, returning her eyes to the screen and the odd white steak and grey mass on the image. 

“Andromeda? Can you tell us what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, her voice strained with worry. 

Andromeda gave herself a shake. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m just surprised, is all. I’ve heard of this but never seen it.”

“Heard of what?” Harry demanded, a note of frustration in his voice.

Andromeda traced the white streak on the portrait with a finger as she spoke. “The animagus transformation is highly regulated in part because of what happens to an individual’s reproductive system. Most adults do not attempt it until after childbearing years or after concluding they do not want children or any more children. Since James was still in puberty when he managed it, certain genes can get passed on. Harry, the gene is latent with you but active in your daughter.”

Harry and Hermione shared an unnerved glance. “Wh-What are you saying?” Hermione whispered. 

And then Harry saw it. The white line extending from their baby’s shoulder, the hollowness of the bone. And below, faint grey lines that intersected together into several tiny v-shapes. 

Feathers. 

Their baby had feathers. 

His thoughts were confirmed a moment later. “Baby Lily is an animagus,” Andromeda concluded.

Chapter Text

“Lily isn’t yet able to transform completely,” Andromeda continued, gesturing to the tiny wing on the screen. “But she’s experimenting with her powers. It won’t be uncommon to have her mid-morph, especially while she is still an infant. By her toddler years, though, she should be able to completely transform from human to animal.”

Harry looked at Hermione, expecting to see the total shock on her face that had gripped his insides. But she was smiling . She tenderly stroked her stomach. “Smart girl,” she cooed. “You certainly have a lot of surprises, don’t you?”

“Speaking of surprises,” Andromeda said as she restored the portrait and helped Hermione to a sitting position. “There’s a reason I asked that your check up be here instead of at Saint Mungos. Your parents, us, and the Weasleys planned a baby shower. They’re outside waiting for you.”

“Really?!” Hermione said, her eyes misting with tears. “Thank you.”

They made their way to the yard, where several long tables had been set up, full of pink balloons and one of Mrs. Weasley’s signature cakes. Jean and Dan rose from their chairs and embraced Hermione. As they pulled away, Dan caught sight of Harry’s face. “Son? Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, but considering that’s probably normal for wizards—”

Harry emitted a strained chuckle. “My daughter has wings ,” he confessed. He felt the tightening of his lungs and forced himself to take a steadying breath to avoid the coming panic attack. 

Jean and Dan looked at him quizzically, their faces lacking the shock that Harry felt the situation warranted. Dan glanced at Hermione and back to Harry. “Is that…not normal…for magicals?”

Harry was aware that their conversation had caught the attention of the Weasleys and Lupins. “No…I mean, my dad could turn into an animal—a stag—but I didn’t know…How could we know that—”

Hermione rested a hand on Harry’s elbow. “Sweet husband, you’re spiraling.”

“Of course I’m spiraling!” Harry returned. “‘Mione, our kid can fly . How do you keep track of a kid that can turn into a bird at will?”

Jean chuckled. “Well I, for one, always knew my granddaughter was an angel.” She wrapped Harry in an embrace and cupped his cheeks with her hands. “Lily is a gift, and you are going to rise to every challenge, feathers and all. You’ll worry yourself sick—all parents do—but you will be so proud of her and so glad she is in your life.”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “You seem…unconcerned…about this,” he mumbled. 

“Well, we’ve had plenty of practice,” Dan said with a smile at Hermione. “Imagine being muggles and your three year old keeps making her books float around the room—”

“And then changed the color of her favorite dress at five—” Jean added.

“And turned her small teddy bear into a behemoth that took up her entire room at eight—”

“The point is,” Jean continued, “parenting doesn’t come with a manual. Every child is so different with different needs and abilities and struggles. When Professor McGonagall arrived on our doorstep to welcome Hermione into the wizarding world, I felt like you do now. But that feeling didn’t last. I was excited for her new adventure and the ability I had to watch her thrive.”

“Lily will be the same,” Dan said. “And if she happens to sprout feathers while we’re watching her, well, we’ve seen strange things before.”

“She’s also supplementing her growth with bursts of magic. Her due date has been moved to the beginning of November,” Hermione said. This news, Harry realized, seemed to make her more upset than their daughter being an animagus.

Jean squeezed Hermione tightly, a look of understanding in her eyes. “How are you feeling about that, my dear?”

“Like there’s not enough time,” Hermione admitted. “And I’m nervous.”

“Well, hopefully we can help you feel more prepared. We have presents!” Dan said.

Dan’s exuberance easing Harry’s anxiety, he followed Hermione to two empty chairs at the table. Remus and Tonks smiled at them as they sat across from them. “You know, Harry, your mum was worried about the animagi trait being passed on to you.”

“Really?” Harry asked in surprise. 

Remus nodded. “She told James that if she had to give birth to a baby with antlers, he would be building himself a barn and sleeping in it.”

A chuckle swept the table. Harry put a hand on Hermione’s stomach, and Lily kicked against his hand. He smiled. “Well, we’ll be ready for her. Feathers and all.”

For the next hour, they unwrapped gifts from their friends and family. Mrs. Weasley had knitted several blankets, hats, and sweaters in a rainbow of colors. The Weasley siblings had pitched in together to get Lily an enchanted rattle that lit up whenever she needed changed. Jean and Dan surprised them with a collection of books for babies and toddlers. The Lupins pitched in with burp cloths, bottles, and diapers. 

Harry looked around at the sea of wrapping paper and gifts surrounding them. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Lily is so loved.”

“And so are both of you, my dears,” Mrs. Weasley added. 

After cake, they made their way back to Hogwarts with their gifts shrunk inside Hermione’s beaded bag. They carefully folded the clothes and blankets in the dresser and stacked the diapers next to the crib. 

“Everything is ready for her to come,” Hermione said, surveying the room with satisfaction. 

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist. “And so are we.”

*/*/*/*/*/

The next day would bring hundreds of students to Hogwarts via the Hogwarts Express. Harry spent the day adding some finishing touches to the next days’ lessons before heading down to the Great Hall for the beginning of year feast. Hermione’s bursts of energy had finally given out; she declined to go to the feast in order to rest with her swollen ankles up on the couch, and Kreacher delivered a plate of her favorite foods to their rooms. 

So Harry entered the (for now) quiet Great Hall alone. Remus was already at the table, as well as Neville. As the other teachers filtered in, Harry looked around. “Where’s Draco?”

“McGonagall asked him to do the sorting,” Neville explained. “He’s in the foyer waiting for Hagrid to bring the first years.”

Harry’s stomach twisted with nervous excitement as the thestral-drawn carriages pulled up to the grounds and students disembarked. Many of the sixth and seventh years he knew—if not by name, by sight—and he was grateful for McGonagall’s wisdom in having him teach the lower years. It would just be too strange to teach a class so close to him in age. 

The doors opened and students swarmed to their seats. They were a rambunctious bunch, prodding and poking at one another and heckling students from other houses. 

“I don’t think we were ever this squirrelly,” Harry remarked to Neville. 

“We were worse,” Neville returned. “At least no one’s fought a troll or killed a basilisk yet. But, hey, it’s only the first day.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the reference to his school exploits. 

At a wave of McGonagall’s wand, the floating candles dimmed, and the students hushed by instinct. The anteroom opened and Draco entered, leading a long line of first years. Some were noticeably taller. Those would be the muggle borns who weren’t able to attend last year, Harry mused. 

He scanned the line, looking for any features he would recognize as perhaps being the younger sibling of an older student, but Harry didn’t notice any family resemblances. What he did notice, however, was a girl, tall and willowy for her age, standing with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes at her feet. 

As the first boy “Adams, Eric!” came forward at Draco’s call, Neville nudged Harry in the shoulder. “Let’s try to sort them before the hat calls it. That ones a Hufflepuff.”

Harry shook his head. “Ravenclaw.” But he stifled a groan a second later as Eric was declared a Hufflepuff. 

The next boy was brawny and stood head and shoulders above his classmates. “Gryffindor,” Harry and Neville muttered automatically. But they had to amend that thought a moment later as he was sent to Hufflepuff with Eric. 

The next was a girl with large glasses and slightly large front teeth reminiscent of Hermione’s when they were younger. “Ravenclaw,” Neville mumbled. 

“Gryffindor,” Harry countered. 

Harry clapped as the girl, Abbey Ewan, went to Gryffindor. As the line began to diminish, Harry and Neville continued their game, celebrating the rare victory when they correctly predicted the hat’s decision. 

Harry hadn’t been aware of Remus’s attention on them until “Millbury, Marcus!” was sent to Slytherin and Remus leaned forward in his seat to speak to his colleagues. “I don’t think either of you should teach divination any time soon. We’d better leave that to Trelawney,” he joked. 

Soon only the willowy girl with her eyes on her shoes remained. As “Zanders, Alexis!” was called forward, she walked to the hat like she was approaching her own gallows. Harry had seen various degrees of nerves on the faces of her classmates, but nothing compared to the terror he saw there. But she reached the stool and sat gingerly upon it.

“Gryffindor,” Harry whispered. After all, she was still there, seated on the stool, regardless of her internal demons. 

Neville looked unconvinced. “Ravenclaw, maybe. Or Hufflepuff.”

They waited expectantly for the hat’s decision. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

Finally the hat spoke, but it wasn’t with the expected shout of one of the four houses. Instead, the tear in his brim wobbled as he said, “For centuries I have sorted students according to their deepest, most earnest desires and traits. Salazar Slytherin made me promise that no muggle born student would enter into Slytherin, as his house was to reflect his values, and he feared the prosecution of muggles more than any other threat within or without these walls.

“But mere months ago we fought a bloody, violent war on these very grounds, a war which brought supremacy to its knees and ushered in a new dawn. My vow to Slytherin is void. Students can be sorted regardless of blood status. Therefore, SLYTHERIN!”

Alexis Zanders stood on shaking legs. Unlike the other students, there wasn’t the expected cheering. Instead, furious whispers swept the long table, and the faces looking at the first years were decidedly unfriendly. 

Draco put a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the Slytherin table. He silenced two scowling students with a hard look, and they reluctantly turned their gaze to their plates. 

The girl remained stiff and uncomfortable through the entirety of the feast, though she visibly jumped when the food magically appeared (a third year Slytherin nearby snorted with derision). Though Harry expected her to pick at her food, she ate voraciously, as if she hadn’t had a proper meal in days. 

Midway through the feast, McGonagall stood to make the usual start-of-term announcements. She smiled at the staff table as she said, “Now I am excited to welcome a number of new staff to our ranks. It is expected that you treat each of them with the respect required toward a Hogwarts professor. Some of you older students may recognize some of them.”

The students hadn’t paid much attention to the staff table as they ate, but now every eye was turned toward them. Harry saw two younger students point at him and whisper fiercely to each other, and he wished they wouldn’t do that. 

I can’t control them. I can only control myself, Harry reminded himself as he took several steadying breaths. 

“Please give a warm welcome to this year’s defense against the dark arts teachers, Professors Remus Lupin and Harry Potter, who will be teaching 5th-7th years and 1st-4th years respectively. Professor Potter will also be teaching 1st and 2nd year flying lessons.”

There was a thunderous applause among the younger students as many turned to get a good look at him. The reception was a bit lukewarm from the older students, though. Many clapped loudly while others were looking at Remus with unconcealed shock and revulsion. 

Remus appeared unaffected by the reception, but Harry cast him a concerned look. As if reading his mind, Remus said simply, “I knew not everyone would take kindly to my position here. It will take time for wizarding prejudices to change, and werewolves like Greyback haven’t made it any easier.”

But Harry still felt uneasy. I’m going to make sure my students are excited to move up to Professor Lupin’s classes, he vowed. If we are going to end prejudice and teach empathy, it starts with me.

McGonagall introduced the other new staff. Neville and Draco drew cheers from Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectfully, while the muggle studies teacher Professor Martin and the new Transfiguration teacher Professor Embers—a man with pale skin dressed in deep black robes who Harry realized hadn’t been at any of the staff meetings—each earned a smattering of polite applause.

As the feast waned, the plates were cleaned and the food disappeared from the tables. McGonagall ordered the prefects and Head Boy and Girl to escort the new students to their houses. As the students filtered through the large doors, McGonagall turned to the staff. “Please perform a sweep of the corridors and then meet at the staff room for a debriefing.”

Harry and Neville walked through the corridors on the north tower together. Harry’s years of discovering Hogwarts passages—due, in large part, by the Marauder’s Map—meant that students who may previously have been undiscovered were now interrupted. Harry couldn’t hide the blush on his face when he pulled back a tapestry to reveal a hufflepuff and ravenclaw seventh-year locked in a passionate embrace. “Er—”

“Go to your common rooms. Now,” Neville stepped in authoritatively. "Before I decide to take points."

The couple passed them, blushing furiously and smoothing hair and robes. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to have to work on my teacher voice,” he admitted. “Thank goodness I have the younger kids.”

“You’ll grow into it,” Neville said with a shrug. “I gained my ‘take charge’ voice after the hell that was last year.”

They made their way through the rest of the corridors, which were thankfully vacant of any more hormonal teenagers. They met the other teachers in the staff room, who were watching McGonagall expectantly. 

She squared her shoulders. “So our term begins. Please reach out for support as often as necessary. Formative observations will begin the third week of term, so focus on establishing expectations and routines during the next two weeks. And Draco,” she said, turning directly to him. “Keep an eye on Alexis Zanders. I have my concerns about her safety within Slytherin.”

Draco inclined his head. “I spoke to the entire house while everyone else was sweeping the castle. I made it clear that bullying due to blood status would not be tolerated.”

“Her home life is not great,” McGonagall continued. “After I appeared at the home to give her the letter and talk to her father about Hogwarts, it was apparent that the home is not safe. I am working with the muggle authorities and ministry regarding another placement, but for now understand that she bears more scars and horrors than any other student in these halls.” She took a breath amid the tense silence. “And I implore all teachers to be watchful. As much as we would like to move forward from the war, Voldemort’s ideology still permeates the minds of the impressionable. But that is why we educate—to send a better generation into the world than the one of which we belong. Get a good night’s rest. It’s a busy day tomorrow.”

Harry bid farewell to Neville and made his way to his rooms. To his surprise, Andromeda was there, handing Hermione a sky blue potion. Harry rushed to Hermione’s side, noting the paleness of her face. “Is anything wrong?”

“Just some Braxton Hicks contractions—false labor contractions,” Andromeda explained. “Very common for this stage of pregnancy.”

“But it was enough to have me panicking,” Hermione admitted. “I didn’t want to interrupt the feast for a false alarm, so I asked Andromeda to come.”

“Interrupt anytime,” Harry said. “‘Mione, this is our baby. She and you will always come before any job.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Of course. And if it had been real, I would have. But they are just muscle contractions. Enough to make me a bit uncomfortable, but not enough to dilate the cervix.”

Andromeda said farewell and disappeared through the floo. Harry gathered his wife into his arms and kissed the top of her head. He told her about interrupting the seventh years, and soon they were both laughing. “It was so embarrassing,” Harry admitted between chuckles. “Thank Merlin Neville took charge.”

Hermione must have noticed the strain in his voice, and she looked at him with knowing eyes. “You are going to make a great teacher. You won’t know what to do in every situation, and that’s okay. Just show your students that you care about them and want them to learn, and everything else will take care of itself.”

His worries calmed somewhat, and he fell into a deep sleep. 

Tomorrow was going to be a big day. 

Chapter Text

Harry wiped his palms on his navy robes as he waited in the defense classroom for his first class, a double with third year Slytherins and Ravenclaws. A wardrobe rattled to his left, evidence of the boggart contained within. 

Harry had decided to adopt an open door policy twenty minutes before the start of class, and the first students arrived fifteen minutes before the bell. Harry traced a list of names, trying to commit his students’ names to memory and then match names to faces once class started. 

Each name had a small code of letters indicating pertinent student information, such as age, birthday, any health concerns, and—due to the continued unrest regarding muggleborns—blood status. 

Among the third years in his class were three muggleborns who should have been in fourth year but had not been allowed to attend Hogwarts the previous year (indicated by a + sign next to their names), and students who had been tortured at the hands of older students during detentions in their second year. There was a jagged lightning bolt next to those students, indicating possible residual curse damage.

Seven names had the lightning bolt.  

Harry turned his gaze to the students who had entered the room. He guessed that none of the early birds fit these categories as they chatted with one another and looked curiously around the classroom. One carried the Daily Prophet atop a stack of books and unceremoniously buried his nose in the paper after a respectful nod toward Harry. 

“Professor Potter, what are we learning today?” one of the girls piped up. 

“You’ll see,” Harry replied, not wanting to spoil the surprise. 

The boy with the Prophet folded the newspaper and put it aside. “Are you really Harry Potter?” he asked. “ The Harry Potter?”

Harry nodded. “Professor Potter now.”

“And you really did it? You really got rid of You-Know-Who?”

“Yes. And his name was Voldemort. Or Tom Riddle. Don’t forget that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. Voldemort ruled by fear and lies and murder. If we really want to make sure dark wizards are a thing of the past, we need to be unafraid.”

The boy blinked and straightened his Slytherin tie. “My granddad wasn’t a death eater but he believed in what they were trying to do. I-It never really felt right to me. He started rounding up mudbloods—”

“Muggleborns,” Harry interjected mildly, recognizing that the boy had said the slur not to cause additional pain but simply because he had never heard them referred to as anything else.

“Muggleborns. Sorry. He started rounding up muggleborns at the Ministry and got really bad. He’s in Azkaban now. Auror Nymphadora Tonks came to our house and arrested him. She said ‘Albert Runcorn, you are under arrest for conspiracy, murder, and terrorism.’ And then he was gone. Just like that. Now it’s just me and gran.”

Harry looked at the boy and felt a surge of pity for the heavy burdens. This was the other side of the war people didn’t talk about. The losing side—as horrific and criminal and misled as it all had been—had families too. And they were also suffering. 

“You get to make a better future for yourself,” Harry told him. “You’re the start of a better generation.”

“That’s what Professor Malfoy said. He’s my head of house,” the boy added rather unnecessarily.

“Professor Malfoy knows what he’s talking about. Follow his guidance, and you’ll become a great wizard.”

As the start of class approached, more and more students filtered into the classroom. Now Harry could easily pick out those who had been harmed by the war. The older muggleborn students were noticeably taller than most of their peers, and they tended to sit alone, as their previous friends were now in a different cohort and they hadn’t yet had time to make new connections. 

And those who had been tortured entered the classroom with pale faces, as if they were heading to the gallows itself. Those worried looks were somewhat calmed as they entered the classroom’s inviting atmosphere, but they sat stiffly in their chairs and their eyes frequently drifted to the doorway, as if they expected any moment for the door to slam shut and the shackles to descend from the ceiling. 

At class time Harry walked forward and raised a hand for attention. The students stilled, looking at him expectantly. He called roll, trying to commit each face to memory before setting the parchment aside. “Alright, welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Professor Potter. Not too long ago, I sat in these seats where you are. Today we are—”

“Professor Potter, I forgot my ink!” a Ravenclaw in the third row—whose name Harry realized he had already forgotten—interrupted, thrusting up her hand and looking completely mortified. “I’m sorry! I’ve been using pens for the last year and I forgot that I need quills and ink—”

Another Ravenclaw, Alexander Stephens, snorted with derision. “Freaking muggleborns,” he muttered under his breath.

“---Can I go back to my dorm and get it?” she finished. 

The class was looking at Harry expectantly. He knew exactly how McGonagall would react to a student interrupting her and coming to class unprepared. He admired the Headmistress for her no-nonsense attitude and knew that classroom management was a critical component of teaching. And since he was new, the students were waiting to see what kind of teacher he would be. 

But did he really want to mirror McGonagall?

The student flushed slightly at the pause. “Sorry,” she mumbled, casting her eyes down to her desk, aware of the whispers around her. 

Making a decision, Harry flicked his wand at his desk, and a pen flew out of a drawer. He caught it with the skill of a seeker and handed it to her. “My wife has ordered pens and notebooks, which should be here by the end of the week. Students will be able to purchase them during mealtimes.” Harry turned to Stephens and made eye contact with him. “We have a lot to learn from each other. Everyone is welcome in this class.” He turned a soft smile on the girl now holding the pen between shocked fingers. “Next time, wait until I’ve finished speaking to make comments or ask questions, but since it’s the first day, I think we’re all getting used to the structure of things.”

“Yes, sir,” she said softly. 

Harry verified that everyone had a copy of the year’s text and went over the classroom expectations. He also let them know about his open door policy twenty minutes before and after school: “If you need support or homework help, please come see me.”

“Now, to business: books, pens, and quills away. Wands only on the desks, please.”

There was an interested shuffle as the notetaking supplies were returned to backpacks and satchels. Once everyone was ready, Harry drew his own wand and turned to the wardrobe. It wobbled ominously, and the students at the nearest table shrank back in their chairs. 

“Any guesses as to what is in here?” Harry asked.

“A poltergeist?” a Slytherin asked. 

“Some kind of animal?” another suggested.

“Filch snogging his brooms!” Alexander Stephens shouted, eliciting guffaws from the rest of the class. 

Harry hid his smile. Though the comment was hilarious—and the wardrobe had rocked even more at the words as if it was proving the boy’s point—he knew he had to address the disrespect. He was not their peer; he was their teacher. “Since our only classroom rule is to respect others, Ravenclaw will lose two points for that comment, Stephens.”

Stephens folded his arms and hardened his jaw. Ignoring the action, Harry directed the students’ attention back to the wardrobe as the doorknob shook. “A boggart is inside. Boggarts take the shape of whatever you fear. Visually, a boggart is virtually indistinguishable to the thing you are most scared of. It can really be hard to know the difference between a boggart and the real thing. Does anyone know what repels a boggart?”

“Laughter,” said a blonde Slytherin girl—Amber, if he remembered correctly. 

Harry nodded. He directed the students to draw their wands and copy the wand movement. “ Ridikkulus!” Harry demonstrated, and the class murmured back the spell. 

“Alright, we are going to defeat the boggart together today, though you will each face the boggart individually in turn. But,” he said, turning suddenly serious, “I know there are some of you who do not wish to have your fears known by your peers, or some of you who have fears that are so traumatic you do not wish to relive them in front of everyone. If that is the case for you, please simply shake your head when your turn comes. If you likewise feel unready to face the boggart, you can also shake your head.”

Stephens thrust his hand in the air. “So they just get out of it?” he demanded. 

“No. Each student will face the boggart. Anyone who does not face the boggart in class today is welcome to come back during dinner or make an appointment during office hours.”

Momentarily appeased, Stephens settled back in his chair. 

With a wave of Harry’s wand, the tables, chairs, and bookbags stacked themselves neatly against the door. The third years huddled in a tight group, gripping their wands. 

“Everyone remember the incantation and wand movement?” Harry asked. At the flurry of nervous nods, he flicked his wand at the doorknob. 

Stephens was in the front as a towering clown with a rainbow wig emerged. Its red lips had the appearance of blood, and it smiled at the boy with razor sharp teeth. “R-Ridikulus!” Stephen shouted. The clown was instantly encased in a giant wad of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. There was a burst of laughter as the clown fought to extricate itself. 

Crack! The boggart became a werewolf with blood dripping from its gums before the Slytherin girl cast the charm, and it became a pink poodle with bows in its hair. 

Crack! The poodle was replaced by a life-sized doll holding a meat cleaver, which fell apart before—

Crack! It became absolute utter darkness, pressing hard on the eyelids of everyone in the classroom, until the next student shouted the spell, and the darkness turned into a sky of stars spelling the word “Poop.”

Crack! A cursed skull. A dismembered body. An acromantula. A mummy who tripped on its wrappings until it stood in front of them only in pyramid-print boxer briefs. 

At the students’ final cackle of laughter, the boggart shrieked and returned to the wardrobe. Harry locked the wardrobe with a tap of his wand and returned the tables to their original positions. 

“Well done, everyone!” he said, grinning at the triumphant faces around him. “You collectively fought a boggart on your first day! You’ve faced your fears on your first day! If you chose not to face the boggart in this period, please remember to come during dinner or office hours. No homework today, but I want you each to remember one thing—”

The class leaned forward expectantly as Harry paused to make sure every student heard the next words.

“---Every great witch or wizard started out as nothing more than each one of you: students. If they can do it, why not you? Class dismissed.”

The hours sped by as Harry taught a group of second years the disarming charm and walked onto the pitch for a flying lesson after lunch. The first years in his flying class had vastly different skill levels, and he started planning a slight change to the scheduling so his rudimentary fliers could be grouped into one class while his amateur but passable fliers could be grouped into another. 

As the knot of first years made their way back to the castle from the pitch, Harry had a moment to think about his incredible wife. Hermione was currently at Flourish and Blotts to discuss the cover options for the first eight units of Muggle Studies curriculum. Though the students had received the text bound with large clips, Hermione was hopeful the bookstore would be willing to create a traditional binding and publish it to the wizarding world at large, paid for in part by a large grant from the Dan and Jean Granger Foundation. Though he missed Hermione dearly, he was excited to hear about her meeting and tell her about his first day teaching. 

Once the brooms were safely returned to the shed and the wards reinforced, Harry entered the Great Hall for dinner. He waved to Neville and Draco and served himself a plate of shepherd’s pie. Three students had declined to face the boggart during class, and he wanted to be back in time to meet with them.

Before he could head back to his classroom, Draco asked, “How was your first day?”

“It flew by,” Harry said honestly. “And it was probably the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

“Your third years had herbology right after DADA, and they told me all about the boggart while they were repotting tentaculas. Good call, following Remus’s shoes,” Neville commented with a grin.

Harry took the compliment modestly. “Speaking of which, I have three students who chose not to face the boggart in front of the class. I asked them to come back during dinner. I should head back.”

“Before you go,” Draco interjected, sharing a significant look with Neville, “did you observe anything about the Zanders girl?”

Harry pursed his lips as he thought back to the muggleborn Slytherin’s first flying class. “She kept to herself mostly. She performed in the middle of the group in terms of skill after I taught her the basics. And she really seems to be trying.”

“Did any of the other students try anything?”

Harry shook his head, then amended. “Not that I saw.” After all, he was a brand new teacher. It was completely possible that he had missed something. “Having any trouble?”

“Itching powder in her four poster last night,” Draco said, his tone clipped. “She spent her first class in the Hospital Wing with horrific rashes. I’m trying to get to the bottom of it, but Slytherins know when to talk and when to keep their mouths shut. And everyone’s being really tight-lipped about it.” Draco sighed. “I’m worried this will get worse before it gets better.”

Harry frowned in thought, his mind recalling Hermione’s first few miserable months at Hogwarts. She had spent them alone and friendless, and may have remained so, had it not been for a certain troll in the girl’s bathroom. “I have Zanders in defense on Wednesday. Doubled with the Puffs. I’ll make a seating chart and see if I can seat her with an extravert who will take her under their wing. They won’t be in the same house, but at least she’ll have someone to confide in.”

“Thanks,” Draco said. “I’m really considering moving her to Hufflepuff if this doesn’t stop.”

“Can we do that?” Neville asked in surprise. 

Draco shrugged, but his eyes were determined. “I don’t care. Her ability to go to school safely is more important than who she goes to classes with.”

Harry took his leave a moment later, his plate bearing shepherd’s pie and treacle tart. He made his way to the Defense corridor, relieved to see that the three students had not yet arrived. He didn’t want to keep them waiting for him.

As he went to unlock the door with his wand, he noticed that it was open a few centimeters. 

Odd. He was sure he'd locked it prior to his flying lesson. 

Adrenaline flooded his system, but he chastised himself and took several calming breaths. The war was over. He was in no danger. 

But he was still wary as he pushed the door open, balancing his plate in one hand and his wand in the other. But his food fell to the floor as his eyes adjusted to the darkened room.

Hermione was lying in the center of the floor with one hand on her rounded belly. Her robes were soaked with blood, her eyes glassy and unseeing.

Chapter Text

Hermione was lying in the center of the floor with one hand on her rounded belly. Her robes were soaked with blood, her eyes glassy and unseeing. 

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, rushing to her side. He knelt in the pool of blood and searched desperately for a pulse on the side of her neck. 

Nothing.

“Hermione. Please.” The words were a strangled whisper. “Please. Don’t do this. Please.”

He drew his wand to send a patronus message to Madam Pomfrey. He said the incantation, but the expected stag didn’t come. His chest felt like it was encased in ice, and panic was starting to darken his vision at the corners. 

A happy memory. One happy memory. 

Hermione, stunning in white on their wedding day. 

But as he cast his eyes to her still form, the happy feeling evaporated. One of her hands still rested on her bump, and Harry felt a wave of guilt. He had done this. If he had not gotten Hermione pregnant, she would still be alive. 

He collapsed to her side and gathered her in his arms, aware that her skin was cold and clammy. Not even Madam Pomfrey could help them now. A keening wail tore through his throat, and he buried his face in her hair. Her hair felt different, somehow, rougher than the twisted locks he knew so well. 

But he cast that thought out of his mind as another wrenching sob tore through him. 

“Um, Professor Potter?” came a timid voice. 

Harry looked up to see Melissa, Jane, and Carrie—the three third years who had declined to face the boggart—standing hesitantly in the doorway. “D-Do we need to get someone?” Jane asked, taking a brave step into the classroom. 

Harry shook his head. “She’s already gone,” he choked. 

Jane took another step forward, her eyes glistening with her own tears. “I-I’m so sorry.” She made her way fully into the room. “What do you need? How can we help?”

Harry was about to reply when a loud crack split the air, and Hermione’s body disappeared from his arms. He wheeled around at Jane’s startled gasp. 

A man stood in front of Jane. He had blue eyes the same shade as hers, and his face was twisted and red with rage. Jane backpedalled rapidly as the man raised a belt over his head to strike her. The man swore at her. “Stupid! Idiot! Worthless! I wish you’d never been born!”

The other two students remained motionless in the threshold as Jane, with sudden understanding, drew her wand and yelled, “Riddikulus!”

Crack!

The man disappeared, replaced with a stately-dressed woman whose approachable attire did nothing to hide the sneer on her wrinkle-free face. She turned to Carrie. “If you eat one more bite, you’re going to be too fat for your robes. I’m not buying a size up. You’re as big as a whale, and I won’t have it! One grapefruit for dinner tonight. Not a calorie more. And you don’t need to eat tomorrow, either.” 

Carrie’s face paled, but her eyes glinted with anger. “Riddikulus!”

The sneering woman ballooned much like Aunt Marge had done years ago at the Dursleys’. The boggart popped and rushed back into the wardrobe, which—Harry noticed—had a curiously open door.

An eerie calm was left behind. 

Harry took a steadying breath and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. It was only the boggart. It wasn’t real. He wiped his wet cheeks and looked at the three girls, shamefaced. “Some Defense teacher you have, huh? Tricked by a boggart.”

Jane shrugged. “You told us that they are practically impossible to tell from the real thing.”

“I wonder how it got out, though?” Carrie mused. 

Melissa scuffed her shoe on the floor. “Alexander Stephens said he was going to get back at you for taking points,” she mumbled, not making eye contact with Harry. 

Harry nodded. “Makes sense. He was quite upset with me.”

“He’s a complete pig!” Jane shouted, then amended with a look at Harry. “Sorry, Professor.”

Harry hid a chuckle. “I’ll overlook it for now, Miss Bellwether,” Harry replied lightly. He flourished his wand, and the torches around the classroom flared to life. “On the bright side, two more students conquered their fears today. Five points to each of you for saving your teacher from the boggart.”

Jane and Carrie beamed at each other. “Thanks, Professor!”

“But what about Melissa?” Carrie asked, gesturing to the other girl. “She didn’t get to fight the boggart.”

“I told you I don't want to,” Melissa mumbled, with a scathing look at Carrie. “You dragged me here anyway.”

Carrie opened her mouth to object, so Harry raised a hand. “Let me take it from here.” He then turned to Carrie and Jane. “Your boggarts…do they represent your parents or guardians?”

The girls nodded reluctantly. 

“And do they represent real events that have happened to each of you?”

Another reluctant nod. “Dad…Dad’s not very nice,” Jane muttered. 

“And you all got to see my mum. She’s a piece of work.” Carrie sent a glare at the wardrobe. 

Harry kept his voice gentle as he said, “I will need to report this to the headmistress. We need to make sure your home lives are safe, and if that isn’t the case, we need to make sure you are somewhere that is.”

Both girls blanched. “But on the next holiday, Dad will—” Jane started. 

“He won’t touch you,” Harry interrupted. “You have my word that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Your safety and your future matter to every teacher in this school. And that starts with addressing issues at home.”

Harry sent Jane and Carrie back to their dormitories with large pieces of Honeydukes Best Chocolate before turning to the third student. “Melissa, are you ready to face your boggart?”

She shook her head and set her jaw in defiance. 

Harry gestured to a seat across from his desk, where she sat stiffly. “Can you tell me why?”

Melissa stared at her shaking hands. Her voice was barely above a mumble when she said, “Some fears don’t go away. They can’t be fought.”

Harry was about to respond with encouragement when some instinct stopped him. There was something about her body language—shoulders hunched, hair obscuring her face—that hinted that there was a much deeper issue going on. “Melissa, I am your teacher, and my job is to keep you safe, just like I said to Jane and Carrie. Please tell me what your boggart is.”

Melissa was silent for so long, he thought she would refuse to respond. “M-My uncle,” she whispered, as if divulging a dirty secret. She raised terrified hazel eyes to Harry’s, every word a forced effort. “H-He holds me down and…I can’t stop it…I just have to wait for it to end…” she trailed off as a shuddering sob shook her frame. 

Harry’s face went slack with horror. He fought to keep the rage out of his voice as he said, “Come with me. We’re going to the Headmistress.” 

“But he told me if I told anyone, he’d—”

“That piece of vermin will never touch you again.”

*/*/*/*/*/

Harry was in his private rooms when the floo flashed and Hermione stepped out with a wide grin. “Harry! You’d never guess what they said at Flourish and Blotts! They—” she faltered as she saw his face. “Rough day…?”

In halting tones, he explained the mishap with the boggart. To maintain confidentiality, he did not tell Hermione the girls’ names. “Then I took her straight to McGonagall, and McGonagall called the aurors. Ron and Tonks came to interview her. And they’re going to take the cases of the other two as well.” He placed a hand on Hermione’s womb and felt Lily kick against his palm. “People are sick. How could anyone hurt their own kid? Or their own niece ?”

Hermione sat next to him on the couch and rubbed his shoulders. She sighed. “I don’t know. I think about the love I already have for Lily, and I can’t even bear the thought of her getting a single scratch. I can’t explain why evil people do what they do. But all three of those girls faced their fears today. The one that didn’t face the boggart told you the truth, and that’s the most courageous thing she could have done. And now she’ll be out of that situation. You are a pretty great teacher.”

Harry snorted. “I got tricked by the boggart, remember?”

“You got three abused children to confide in you,” Hermione countered. “They knew they could trust you, even though they just met you. The fact that they even came after dinner to face the boggart proves that.”

Harry allowed himself a modicum of comfort. “I hate that there’s still so much evil in the world,” he admitted. “We ended Voldemort, but there’s people just as bad out there running free. Maybe I should have been an auror after all—”

“There’s more than one way to make the world better, Harry. You made the world better today because you were exactly where you needed to be to help your students.”

“Maybe fighting bad guys just looks different now?” Harry mused. 

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Harry enjoying the circles Hermione continued to rub onto his back. “What did Flourish and Blotts say?” he asked.

“They want to publish an entire collection and name me the author. We’ll start with the Muggle Studies curriculum but eventually they want all sorts of how-to books for grown wizards to be able to function better in the muggle world. They’re writing up a publishing contract and it should arrive by owl in a few days.”

“Hermione, that’s amazing!” 

They shared a tender embrace. Hermione put her feet up on the footstool and gestured to her swollen ankles. “Negotiating all day took a toll, though. The cankles are something awful.”

Harry removed the shoes from her feet and ran his hands across her ankles. “It won’t be long before you don’t have to worry about cankles.”

“Or a sore back. Or stretchy, scratchy skin,” Hermione mumbled, her eyes closed. “We’re making a difference. We really are. What we are doing matters. And Lily will grow up in a better world because of us.”

Harry kissed her forehead. “She sure will.”

*/*/*/*/*/

Two days later, the Prophet reported on the arrest of Sebastian Ulkart, Melissa’s uncle. He was being held in Azkaban, though he initially denied any wrongdoing. However, administration of veritasserum to the perpetrator brought out the truth and a swift sentence by the Wizengamot: life in Azkaban without the possibility of parole. 

Perhaps due to the collective experience with the boggart, the three girls became inseparable. Though Jane was a Slytherin, she was often seen eating at the Ravenclaw table, laughing with Melissa and Carrie. 

Though subtle, it began a movement among the Houses. By the end of the third week, members of other houses were dining with their friends, their yellow, red, blue, or green robes standing out amid a monochrome mass. 

Notably, Lexi Zanders, the muggleborn student in Slytherin, did not eat with her friends, though Harry knew from flying and defense that she had one Gryffindor and one Hufflepuff friend. 

“How is Zanders holding up?” Harry asked Draco as he watched Lexi pick at her lunch at the end of the Slytherin table, the bench on either side of her noticeably empty. 

Draco frowned. “No more blatant attacks. It appears that the House has chosen to ignore her rather than torment her.”

“That’s torment on its own,” Remus interjected, undoubtedly thinking about the prejudice he faced as a werewolf. 

Draco didn’t argue the point. “Maybe they’ll soften over time. Three Slytherins are using pens and notebooks. That’s not as many as the rest of the Houses, but it’s something.”

Harry pursed his lips. “You know, she’s a decent flyer. Now that she knows the basics, I could see her really improving over the next few weeks.”

“Does she seem to like it?”

Harry nodded, his brain working through an impossible plan. “Any chance McGonagall would be willing to bend or eliminate the first year rule?”

Draco stared at him. “Do you think Zanders has a chance to make the team?”

“With additional coaching, yes. Chaser or Seeker.”

“The Slytherin quidditch captain will never put in the time to train her. And, frankly, he shouldn’t have to.”

“I can train her for an extra hour each day,” Harry said. “In fact, I could offer the extra training to any of my amateur flyers interested in playing for their House teams.”

Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully. “So you think getting her on the quidditch team could help her integrate more into Slytherin?” 

Harry shrugged. Truthfully, he had no idea what the outcome could be. “It can’t hurt, can it?”

And so Harry found himself walking across the frozen grass on the first Saturday of October toward the pitch. Five first years and three second years were already waiting for him, their noses and cheeks pink with cold despite thick scarves. Lexi Zanders stood a bit apart from the others, as her friends had chosen not to take additional flying lessons. 

Harry summoned the brooms from the shed and mounted his Firebolt. They flew a lap around the pitch at a comfortable, safe speed before Harry directed them to the center of the pitch to hover in midair. Some of the students were a bit shaky, not having hovered thirty feet above the ground in their rudimentary flying lesson. Harry looked at the shakiest one, a boy with tousled brown hair. “Don’t focus on the ground. If you do, you’ll tense up, and that’s one of the easiest ways to fall.”

The boy nodded and steadied as he turned his attention to Harry. He and his students spent an enjoyable hour tossing the quaffle back and forth before Harry directed them to the goal hoops and instructed them to try to get the quaffle past him. 

Only Lexi Zanders managed it. 

She had streaked like a bullet toward the left goal hoop before feinting and passing the quaffle through the center hoop. Harry had missed it by centimeters. 

“Well done, Zanders!” he said. “A few more goals like that, and you could be on the team.”

Lexi shrugged. “Maybe the reserves,” she said modestly. 

The Slytherin quidditch team held their tryout the following week. Harry, as a rather prolific former Gryffindor, didn’t want to be accused of spying for the scarlet team, so he remained in his office as the tryout commenced. The mounted players were only tiny specks from this distance, and he had no idea of the outcome.

But Draco knocked on his office door a half hour later. “Results were posted in the common room,” he explained without preamble. 

“And?”

“Zanders made it on the reserves. But I heard some of her dormmates talking during potions. Apparently she outscored two of the three chasers who the captain brought on.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “The captain was willing to have a lower performing team just so he wouldn’t have to play with a first-year muggleborn?”

“Looks like it.”

Harry scowled. It seemed that every time they made one step forward, they took another step back. “Are you going to talk to him?”

To Harry’s surprise, Draco shook his head. He raised a hand to cut off Harry’s retort. “If I make the captain add her to the team, it will feed resentment. Any losses they have this year will be blamed on her, even if she had nothing to do with it.”

“He’s right,” came a soft voice.

Harry grimaced as Lexi Zanders came into the room, a pen tucked over her left ear and a sheet of notebook paper in her hand. “I forgot to turn in my essay, Professor Potter. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I heard my name and…well…”

Draco rubbed his eyes. “At least you’re honest about it.”

“Why do you think Professor Malfoy is right about the team?” Harry asked. 

Lexi looked at him, and Harry could see a burning light of Slytherin ambition there. “I’m a muggleborn in Slytherin. That means I have to work twice as hard as anyone else in this castle for half the credit. I get it. I don’t have to like it, but I get it.” She removed her satchel from her shoulders and removed two defense books from the bag. “I, uh, also took these off your shelves during a lesson a few weeks ago—”

“I saw,” Harry said shortly.

Lexi raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh. Uh, well, I’m done with them. I looked up the curses and wards in the books. Then I put wards around my bed and on my stuff. If anyone but me touches it, they get a pretty strong stinging hex. That’s why no one’s bothered me lately. They learned real quick not to try.”

Harry and Draco exchanged impressed looks. “Those are fifth-year spells,” Draco said.

Lexi shrugged. “Anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.”

Harry reshelved the books with a wave of his wand. “Next time you want to borrow a book, just ask.”

She nodded, though there was no penitence on her face. 

“So are you going to play in the reserves?” Draco asked. 

Lexi grinned. “Yep, and they are going to really regret putting me on the reserves when I outfly all three chasers in six months.” With a nod to both professors, she swept from the room.

“You know, I don’t think the hat made a mistake after all,” Harry observed. 

“I think you’re right,” Draco concurred.

Chapter Text

October flew by as Harry and Hermione became accustomed to Harry’s teaching schedule and Hermione continued writing the muggle studies curriculum. Anxious to get out of their rooms, Hermione took the floo twice a week to Australia, where she and Jean would talk over lunch at a local sandwich shop. Summer was fully in swing in Australia, though, and the oppressive heat sapped Hermione’s strength, especially with her now nearly full-term baby belly.

She awoke on October 30th with a distinct ache in her lower back. Harry had already left, and a quick tempus charm told her that it was quite late. She had been sleeping far more as her pregnancy progressed. Sometimes she felt that it was too much. She thrived on productivity and busyness, but Harry had reminded her that she was in the late stages of pregnancy, characterized by Lily’s exponential growth. “That will take a toll on anyone,” he had said. 

So Hermione had gradually—and, sometimes, grudgingly—learned to give herself grace and rest as often as needed. 

She changed into navy maternity robes, again rubbing that ache in the small of her back. She waddled to the sitting room and continued the seventh unit of curriculum: Differences in greetings and norms in muggle cultures around the world. 

By lunch, the ache in her back had grown, and the now-familiar tightening of her stomach from the braxton-hicks contractions had started. She set her notebook on the coffee table and went to the loo for what felt like the tenth time that day. 

I am so sick of being pregnant , she thought. Indeed, labor—as painful as it inevitably would be—was almost a relief. She was ready to have her body as her own again, to move easily and freely, to wear clothing that didn’t have to account for her extended stomach. 

And she was so ready for Lily to be in her arms. She was ready to enter parenthood. She was ready for Harry to become a father. 

It was something she hadn’t thought possible. After all, she was barely nineteen  years old, and had never envisioned young motherhood as part of her future. But a stolen moment in the tent had changed the trajectory of her and Harry’s lives. Though she had worried ceaselessly the night after she learned she was pregnant, now the worry had abated. She had a bright future with her husband and a fulfilling, flexible career. 

She had almost completed the unit when Harry returned from classes that evening. They had decided to make dinner together rather than go to the Great Hall, so Hermione stirred the sauce while Harry cooked the pasta. He playfully kissed her neck and placed his arms around her stomach from behind. “How are my girls?” he asked, the coarseness of stubble from his five o’clock shadow tickling her cheek. 

Hermione closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of safety and love evoked by his embrace. “We’re great. Can you do me a favor though?” She took his hand and pressed it against the small of her back. “Press down hard right here. My back has been killing me all day. And those darn braxton-hicks contractions are about to drive me mad. They started around ten and just haven’t let up.”

Harry rested his hand on her back but didn’t add pressure. His voice was strained as he asked, “ ‘Mione, are you in the early stage of labor?”

Hermione turned to look at him, her eyes widening. Amid all the daily pains of third-trimester pregnancy, she had been quick to write off the gradual tightening and loosening of her womb. They weren’t unbearable yet, but they had become more regular. “I, uh, maybe,” she admitted. 

“Okay. Okay. W-We’ll be okay. We have the hospital bag. I’ll send a patronus to Andromeda, and she’ll meet us at St. Mungos. Then I’ll get your mum and then—”

“Harry, we’re not to that stage yet,” Hermione said, noting how pale Harry had become. “Andromeda said to let her know once the contractions are five minutes apart and I am struggling to talk through them. If this is early labor—and it honestly might not be—we still have plenty of time.”

“Are you sure?” Harry whispered. 

She pulled two plates out of the overhead cupboard. “I’m sure. Right now I just want to enjoy dinner with my husband.”

“Should I get my sub plans together for tomorrow?”

Hermione was about to say not to worry, but some sort of instinct stopped her. “Yeah. Maybe you should.” Harry and McGonagall had worked out his paternity leave by having Remus step in to teach his morning classes and Draco cover his afternoon flying lessons for the next eight weeks. Teddy would be enjoying quality time with Mrs. Weasley while Remus and Tonks worked overlapping shifts. 

Harry was still pale, but squared his shoulders and nodded. “Think she’ll come tonight?”

Hermione shook her head. “I doubt the labor will progress that quickly. But maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

Harry finalized his sub plans over dinner and sent two letters by floo to Remus and Draco. Responses were returned almost immediately. “Remus says he’ll plan on it and best of luck on the delivery. Draco says essentially the same,” Harry said, scanning the responses. 

Hermione took her plate to the sink and rinsed it. She grabbed the edge of the countertop as the tightening sensation—now deeper and with an added cramping pain—wrapped around her stomach. She breathed through her nose and closed her eyes. 

Harry was next to her in a moment, placing his hand against her back and pushing forward to add counter pressure as they had learned to do in What to Expect When a Witch is Expecting. After a minute, the contraction ended and Hermione released the death grip on the counter. 

“I-I think this is the real thing, ‘Mione.”

Hermione gathered her Gryffindor courage. “I think you’re right.”

They went to bed early, and Harry cradled Hermione in his arms. Though Hermione had thought the impending labor would leave her tossing and turning, she fell asleep almost immediately—

But was awoken shortly after midnight by pressure in her lower stomach. She slid out of bed and headed to the loo. There was a red streak of blood in her undies. Andromeda had said to expect it, that it would be entirely normal at this stage as the baby’s head pressed on the delicate tissues lining the cervix.

Hermione changed her clothes and double checked the hospital bag. All of her necessities were inside, as well as a tiny onesie and knitted hat for Lily. Needing to do something to distract herself from the regular pressure and cramping of her uterus, she moved the bag to the floo and tried to finish writing unit seven of the curriculum. 

But the strongest contraction yet drove everything from her mind. She panted in surprise and rested her hands on her knees. That pant became a cry of pain that she tried to stifle. All she needed was to scare some poor member of the Hogwarts faculty as they made their rounds. 

There was a shuffling noise from the bedroom, and Harry was immediately by her side. “ ‘Mione?”

“I think…It’s time…to go…” she said through pants.

Harry shouldered the bag and raised her to her feet. She rested in his arms and breathed through the contraction, knowing she could not walk until it abated. 

Once the pain and pressure had ebbed, she allowed Harry to assist her to the floo. One nauseating spin later, they were stepping out of the fireplace and into the lobby of St. Mungos Labor and Delivery Wing. 

Harry glanced at the clock overhead. “Just after midnight. Happy Halloween, Lily Jean.”

Hermione sank gratefully into a chair while Harry checked them in. The medi witch at the front desk gave him a medical bracelet lined with runes. He returned to Hermione’s side and wrapped a second bracelet around her wrist. The runes lit up at contact with her skin. 

“The medi witch says the runes will monitor your vitals. Andromeda is on her way. Once we get checked in, Andromeda will check how things are progressing.”

Ten minutes later, they were led to a triage room and given a hospital gown. Harry helped her change into the garment, though they had to pause halfway through for Hermione to breathe through another contraction. Though the pregnancy book had said that many times witches were turned away during triage when the labor was still in its earliest stages, the next contraction ensured that they would not be turned away. 

Harry was tying the hospital gown behind her back when the contraction was accompanied by warmth swamping her legs and both their shoes. Harry looked down, noting the clear puddle of liquid on the floor. “ ‘Mione, your water is broken.”

Hermione nodded as Harry eased her onto the hospital bed. “Get my mum please. The contractions are going to get a lot worse soon.”

Harry kissed her brow and swept from the room. Feeling horribly alone, Hermione breathed through another contraction, gripping the bed rails and trying to avoid crying out. 

There was a knock on the door, and Andromeda came around the curtain wearing healer’s robes. She immediately saw the puddle on the floor. “Broken waters?”

Gritting her teeth, Hermione could only nod. 

Andromeda donned gloves and checked her cervix while Hermione tried to avoid crying out. Having her cervix checked had been a regular but uncomfortable part of late pregnancy appointments, but the process paired with contractions was nothing short of torture. 

“Three centimeters and about fifty percent effaced,” Andromeda said cheerfully while peeling her gloves off. “My guess is we will have Lily in arms by this afternoon. Let’s get you moved to a delivery room.”

“Harry went to get my mum,” Hermione forced out. 

“I’ll make sure they know where to find you,” Andromeda consoled her. “Pain relieving potions for labor generally last around eight hours, and you certainly don’t want it wearing off prematurely. Feel free to walk around the halls or take advantage of the bath in your room to manage pain until you are around five centimeters. Then you can have the potion if you desire it.”

“Okay.”

Andromeda and another medi witch rolled Hermione and her hospital bed down a hall and to a larger suite with a deep jetted tub in the corner. Andromeda laughed at Hermione’s widened eyes. “It’s been a while since you’ve been able to have your stomach submerged in a proper bath, hasn’t it?”

“Far too long,” Hermione agreed.

Andromeda and the medi witch left after ensuring that she knew where the call button was and admonishing her to press it if she needed anything. Harry returned ten minutes later with Jean following closely behind. Hermione was in the middle of another intense contraction, and Jean pulled Hermione’s sweaty hair away from her face. “In just a few hours, this will all be over,” Jean said softly. “I know it’s hard right now, but you will get through this. Your body knows exactly what to do.”

With Harry’s help, Hermione changed into a two-piece swimsuit and submerged herself in the bath. The water eased her aching muscles. Though it didn’t dispel the pain of advancing labor, the water was charmed to maintain a perfect temperature, and the jets added a positive counter pressure against her back. 

She remained in the bath for two hours. Harry stayed by her side at the edge of the bath, massaging her shoulders and kissing the crown of her head. He also kept track of the time and intensity of the contractions with a pen and notebook. 

When Andromeda returned, Hermione changed back into her hospital gown and endured another cervical check. “Four centimeters,” she said. “You’re making great progress.”

Hermione looked incredulously at her as she grit her teeth through another contraction. “All that…for one centimeter?!” she panted. 

“It’s your first baby. These things take time with the first. Subsequent pregnancies will be much faster.”

“Won’t be….another…pregnancy,” Hermione grunted. She glared at Harry, who took a hurried step back. “Don’t…ever…touch me…again.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender as Andromeda and Jean shared a knowing look and hid smiles.

Hermione paced the halls with Harry as dawn lightened the horizon and birds started twittering outside. They would often pass other couples likewise taking tentative steps and breathing through contractions. One woman was obviously further in labor than Hermione, her breathing a low moan as her partner held her in the center of the hall. “You’re at six centimeters,” he whispered in her hair. “You can take the potion if you want.” To which the woman had shaken her head. 

“Am I a coward?” Hermione mumbled as they made their way around the halls. The couple had disappeared over an hour ago, undoubtedly to deliver their baby. “That woman isn’t taking the potion—”

“Which is her choice,” Harry interjected firmly. “You are free to make whatever choice you want. Having a way to relieve your pain is not cowardice. And your birth will be no less special than hers.”

Hermione stopped and held onto Harry’s arms for yet another contraction. They were only two or three minutes apart now. “You always…know…just what to say.”

“Not always. But I’m glad I’m not sticking my foot in it at the moment,” Harry replied. 

Andromeda was waiting for them at the door to their room. She ushered Hermione onto the bed for another check. “Five centimeters. You can have the potion now if you would like.”

“Yes please.”

A medi witch returned with a goblet brimming with pearlescent pink potion. Hermione drank it in two gulps. Though she expected it to be bitter, it had an herbal, almost floral taste. The pain of the next contraction deadened, and she leaned back on her pillows with a relieved sigh. 

Andromeda placed a small circular device etched in runes on her stomach. “This will monitor Lily’s heartbeat as the labor progresses. It’s not uncommon for the baby to be stressed—this is a big moment for her too, after all—so we’ll keep an eye on her to make sure she’s enduring them well. Try to get some sleep. Then you’ll be refreshed when it’s time to push.”

Hermione was sure that she wouldn’t be able to sleep, even with the numbing sensation spreading across her pelvis from the potion. But she closed her eyes a moment later and fell into a deep slumber. 

The sun had reached the noon hour when she awoke to an intense pressure that even the numbness couldn’t abate. Harry had been sleeping on the adjacent couch, his neck at an odd angle, but he stirred at her hiss of pain through clenched teeth. She threw the hospital blanket from her legs and moved to the edge of the bed. 

“ ‘Mione, you can’t get up,” Harry said, moving to intercept her. “The potion makes you completely numb. You can’t stand.”

“I need the loo. So bad,” she countered. 

“Lay back,” Jean ordered, her voice strong with sudden understanding. She pressed the call button. “Andromeda will be here soon.”

“But I don’t—” The intense pressure, followed by a bout of nausea stopped her words. Andromeda came into the room. Jean explained the situation as Hermione interjected, “I just need the loo. That’s all.”

Andromeda put gloves on her hands and swept the gown up to expose Hermione’s thighs. “You don’t need the loo. You’re fully dilated. What you are feeling is your baby’s head pressing down. Harry and Jean, loop your arms behind Hermione’s knees and bring her legs up. Hermione, when I tell you too, I need you to bear down, okay? But not before. You need to be fully effaced before you start pushing.”

It should have felt embarrassing to be so exposed as three more medi witches came into the room with a cart bearing a small bassinet for baby, as well as a variety of healing devices for mother and newborn. But the pressure was almost to a breaking point, and Hermione fought the instinct to push her baby out by any means necessary. 

Andromeda’s eyes were on the runes of Hermione’s bracelet and the monitor on her stomach. “Hold back for one, maybe two more contractions, and then you can push.”

Hermione met Harry’s eyes. He was visibly trembling, the growth on his face now more apparent. But there was also joy and wonder there. 

“She’s….almost here…” Hermione panted. 

“You’re absolutely incredible, ‘Mione,” Harry whispered. “You’re such an amazing mum.”

One of the medi witches took a piece of chalk and wrote magically on a slate in the corner. “October 31st, 1998. Happy birthday, Lily Jean Potter.” There was also space for weight and length, though those lines remained blank for the moment.

“It’s time to push,” Andromeda said. “Take a deep breath, and push for ten seconds. We’ll count for you. Then another breath and push again. We’ll do that during each contraction until she’s born.”

Giving into the instinct, Hermione took a breath and pushed while Andromeda’s voice sounded above her. She took another breath and repeated the process. After a third push, she had a tiny break until the next contraction. But the next contraction came quickly, and she pushed again, focusing on nothing but relieving the extreme feeling of pressure. 

“You’re doing great,” Andromeda said. “Baby should be crowning soon.”

Sweat was dripping down Hermione’s forehead and into her eyes. Surely this shouldn’t be so hard! But she gathered the reserves of her strength and kept pushing, focused only on the sound of Andromeda’s rhythmic counting. 

When Hermione was sure she had no strength left, Andromeda said, “Baby’s head is crowning. She has a full head of curly black hair. You’re doing great, Mama.”

Heartened, Hermione pushed with renewed vigor. She felt a release of pressure at the same time the air was rent with a newborn’s cry. She opened her eyes as Harry cut the cord with a pair of large scissors. Andromeda flicked Hermione’s gown back and laid Lily on her bare chest. The infant was covered in blood and white vernix, her curls plastered to her forehead. Hermione cupped her tiny head with one hand. She had her nose and facial structure. Lily blinked and looked at them with emerald green eyes. 

Harry laid a hand on Lily’s back. ‘“Mione, she’s beautiful.” Tears were running down his cheeks, and he gently hugged her. 

Hermione was dimly aware of Andromeda mumbling spells to stem bleeding after the placenta was delivered and Jean’s beaming smile. But they faded into the background as she studied her daughter’s face, committing every feature to memory. She felt something soft and fluffy on Lily’s back and laughed at the feathers that had appeared there. “You are an incredible animagus. One day, you’ll be able to completely phase from bird to human.”

“That can wait for a while,” Harry told Lily. 

Jean squeezed Hermione’s shoulder. “Your father is waiting anxiously in the lobby. I’ll let him know she’s here. We’ll be back in an hour or two but want to let the two of you have time to bond privately.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “If you see any reporters, don’t let them haggle you. Just tell them we’ll be releasing a statement within the week.”

Hermione held Lily for several more minutes until the medi witch coaxed her to release Lily for measurements and her first bath. Harry followed, never taking his eyes off the newborn. They bathed Lily in the sink in the corner of the room, and a magical tape measure recorded her length and head circumference. Lily was diapered, dressed, and swaddled. Harry returned to his seat next to Hermione with his newborn in his arms. “Hello, little one. Loving your mum is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“And loving you both is the best thing I’ve ever done,” Hermione returned.

Chapter Text

Harry had never believed in love at first sight. 

After all, years of torment at the Dursleys’ hands had effectively ruined any daydreams of a happy family of his own. And his relationship with Hermione—though as real and true and wonderful as it could possibly be—hadn’t been built by a single moment. Rather it had grown one day at a time from years of interactions, jokes, perils, and friendship that had led to them becoming more. 

But Lily Jean Potter proved to Harry that there was such a thing as love at first sight. 

She was nestled in his arms, swaddled in a yellow blanket knitted by Mrs. Weasley. One of her tiny hands was clamped tightly around his finger, as had been the case ever since he had finished giving her the first bath. She stirred and blinked up at him with emerald green eyes to mirror his own. 

“Hello, my sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. Andromeda and the mediwitches had left shortly after Lily’s birth, though they let the new parents know they could call them anytime. Hermione had fallen asleep shortly thereafter, the ordeal of labor still on her face. So Harry had held his daughter, enraptured by her tiny nose and dimpled chin, as the sun set and evening descended on the Saint Mungo's Maternity Ward. 

Lily turned her head toward his chest, her mouth open in a little o as she instinctively rooted for a breast. Harry chuckled. “You won’t find anything there. I have useless nipples.”

He stood, careful to keep a hand supporting Lily’s head and neck, stroking the soft feathers that had appeared there. He sat on the edge of Hermione’s hospital bed and gently nudged her shoulder. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked when she stirred and opened her eyes.

Hermione took a moment to take stock of her faculties. “Like I’ve been run over by a hippogriff. Everything hurts.”

“The mediwitches said we can request pain relieving potion.I’ll request one for you.” He shifted Lily into Hermione’s arms. “This little one is hungry, and I’m completely useless in that regard.”

Hermione broke into a beaming smile and stroked her daughter’s curls. “When you call the mediwitches for the potion, can you also ask for a lactation consult? I’ve read about it, of course, but successful breastfeeding can be difficult without help.”

Harry pushed the button on the side of Hermione’s bed, and a mediwitch appeared in their doorway immediately, almost as if she had apparated there—which, Harry reminded himself, was probably true. She gave Hermione a scarlet potion for pain and patiently coached mum and baby through the latching process for the first feeding. It took a few tries, but within minutes Lily was happily suckling at her mother’s breast. 

“Do you feel any pain with the latch?” the mediwitch asked. 

Hermione furrowed her brow. “No, just more of a tugging.”

“Good. If you ever feel sharp pain while nursing, gently put your finger in baby’s mouth to break the latch. Then try again. A successful latch should be relatively comfortable.”

The mediwitch stayed for the duration of the feeding, and afterward Harry placed Lily against his shoulder. He patted her back to release any gas bubbles and was rewarded for the effort by a rumble in Lily’s tummy followed by a blown out diaper, the mess dripping down his hand. Remembering how often Teddy experienced the same, Harry calmly changed her and cleaned off his shirt and hands. 

He swaddled Lily once more and laid her in the bassinet. The effort of eating and pooping must have exhausted her, for she was fast asleep, her tiny chest rising up and down. Harry’s eyes ached with tiredness, and he looked longingly at the couch that was charmed to magically transfigure itself into a bed and mattress. But he looked worriedly back to Lily.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked. 

Harry gestured helplessly to the bassinet. “I just…don’t want to fall asleep in case something were to happen to her. What if…?” He trailed off, unwilling to voice the fears running through his head: What if a death eater disguised as a mediwitch kidnaps her? What if there’s an earthquake and the bassinet falls over? What if she wakes up and thinks we’ve abandoned her?

Hermione took his hand gently in hers. “Lily is perfectly safe. You and I are right here with her, and” —she flourished her wand over the bassinet— “if anyone that is not you or me tries to pick her up without our knowledge, they will be on the receiving end of a harsh stinging hex.”

Harry kissed his wife’s forehead. “You always know how to help me.”

“Did Mum come back yet?”

“Just for a few minutes, but you had just gotten back to sleep. She and Dad will be back in the morning for an official visit.”

Hermione yawned and settled onto the pillows. “Tomorrow’s a big day. I’m sure they won’t be our only visitors.”

Harry had been sure he would struggle going to sleep, but exhaustion overcame him almost as soon as he lay on the transfigured bed. He was awoken two hours later by Lily’s restlessness and little cries. He brought her to Hermione for a second feeding, then patted her back to relieve the gas bubbles. Thankfully there was no exploded nappy this time, so he changed her and returned her to the bassinet. 

They were awoken twice more in the same fashion. The second time, Lily had turned away from the breast and refused to eat, so Harry walked up and down the room, rocking Lily in his arms and offering the pacifier. Her cries eventually settled, though her wide awake eyes made it clear there would be no more sleeping. 

“What time is it?”

Hermione cast the tempus charm. “3:56am.” She hid a yawn behind her hand. 

“Rest,” Harry said. “I’ve got her.”

“I feel like all I’ve done is rest,” Hermione said, though her eyelids were heavy. 

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“But you’re tired.” It wasn’t a question. After all, Hermione knew Harry had been up just as long as she had, and Harry could feel the stubble on his face as well as the puffiness beneath his eyes. 

He didn’t try to hide it. “Yes, but I didn’t give birth. I’ll rest once Lily falls asleep again. Please don’t worry about me. Just focus on healing.”

Hermione’s breathing became low and even as Harry settled onto the couch with Lily in his arms. “Your mum’s amazing, Lils. You are so lucky. And your grandmum and granddad are wonderful. You might even be awake when they come tomorrow. Now, you won’t grow up with my parents, unfortunately, but one of my dad’s best friends had a kid a few months before you were born. His name is Teddy, and I’m sure you guys are going to grow up best friends. Did you know that my dad and Teddy’s dad are the reason you have your animagus abilities?” He launched into the story of the marauders as dawn gradually lightened the horizon and the first birds began twittering outside the windows. 

He had just finished telling Lily about Sirius’s form as Padfoot when there was a soft knock at the door and Andromeda entered. She smiled at him. “How is fatherhood?”

Harry spoke through the tightness in his throat. “It’s everything I ever hoped it would be.”

“Did you all sleep well?”

“She woke up twice to eat and has been up for the last few hours.”

Andromeda nodded sympathetically. “Be sure to rest today when baby rests. Eventually she will become more accustomed to day/night cycles, but it will take a few months. In the meantime, make sure you help each other get adequate sleep, even if that means asking for help from family or friends.”

At Andromeda’s instruction, he lay Lily on a magical scale in the corner of the room. Andromeda cast a few diagnostic charms over the tiny infant and nodded at the results. “She’s perfectly healthy.”

Andromeda turned her attention to Hermione, who was rubbing sleep from her eyes. She raised Hermione up slowly to a standing position, and they made a shuffling walk to the bathroom. Andromeda assisted with bathing, and Hermione returned a few minutes later dressed in comfortable pajamas with her curls wet. She looked refreshed, if still a bit drawn from her ordeal.

“Visiting hours start soon, and I have no doubt you will have a steady stream of well-wishers today,” Andromeda said. “But I have already made it clear to the reception desk that only those on the approved visitation list will be allowed admittance. They’ve already turned away three sets of reporters. And remember that you can request any visitors to come back later, even if they’re on the approved list. Prioritize your rest and the well-being of your family.”

“Thank you, Andromeda,” Hermione said.