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The chicken was sizzling happily in the wok when Harry threw in the chopped vegetables, adding another healthy dash of teriyaki sauce to the pan with it. He flipped it a few times before laying it back on the flame, turning up the heat again to penetrate the rinds of the veggies. Going to the fridge, he pulled out some juices and started measuring large pours into an oversized pot on the counter.
He was just searching the pantry for the bottle of peach & white cranberry juice when he heard the floo in the great hall go off. He froze where he was, listening intently. A mighty whoosh of flames and a glow of green light on the doorframe signalled the arrival of… someone.
There were not many people who could penetrate the protective wards around his home. There were even fewer who knew the password to his floo, and three of them were already here. He walked on cats’ feet to the doorway of the dining room, observing and intuiting.
The sound of the fire died down, and he heard a familiar noise. It was familiar in the way that hearing a sound many times over years and years made it both immediately recognisable and very nearly dismissible: a sniffle, and a holding back of tears.
Hermione.
The stirfry flew from his mind completely as he rushed into the hall. He scanned his friend and her surroundings, checking for injuries, enemies, ripped clothing, or casualties, and finding nothing. He looked into her eyes, confused, and the regret he saw there quickly sobered his panic.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked, coming closer and taking her by the elbows.
Hermione had both hands on her face in a comical imitation of horror, tears falling from her wide eyes as he watched. She was muttering quietly, and as he stopped to listen, he heard her repeating over and over,
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry…”
“It’s alright, it’s fine,” he soothed, patting her hair awkwardly. “Are you okay?”
She started nodding before changing her mind with a small sob and shaking her head vigorously. Closing her eyes against more tears, she tilted forward until she was leaning on Harry, and he was forced to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug. He rocked her back and forth as she sobbed into his chest.
“C’mon, ‘Mione,” he said, pulling her along to the kitchen as she quieted. “My stirfry is burning.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again as he sat her on a step stool near the sink.
“Stop apologising,” he told her as he turned the heat down on the stove and flipped the wok a few times. Not burnt, just a bit thickened.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I mean, sorry.”
He smiled at her, though with his concern so strong, it was probably more of a grimace.
“‘Mione, stop,” he asserted, leaning his hip against the oven as he turned to look at her fully. “You are welcome in my home at any time, day or night, for any reason. Or no reason at all. It’s the same as you and Ron have told me about your house. I don’t know what you’re sorry for, but you have me worried. Is everyone okay?”
“Yes, everyone is fine,” Hermione said tiredly, stealing a dish towel to dry her face. “Completely safe and happy without me.”
“I don’t know about ‘happy,’ if you’re not there to keep them company.”
“Oh, you’re sweet, but I know for a fact that I’m not needed,” she said, shedding more tears. “Ron said so himself.”
“I doubt that!”
“Are you calling me a liar, Harry?”
“No,” he said with a huff of disbelief. “I just know he can be thoughtless at times, when he doesn’t… think things through. But he never means it.”
“And I’m supposed to figure out when he should be taken seriously and when he’s just being his asshole-self?” she said, her anger taking over as she stood up in front of him.
“What did he say, then?”
“And I should just accept it, let him say to me whatever comes to his mind. As he insults his wife, and the mother of his children, until she’s moved to tears. And then to keep going!”
“What happened?”
“He just kept stepping on landmines! It would have been of academic interest with how impressive it was, if it weren’t also so very heartbreaking,” she said, dropping onto her seat again. “His words just kept coming, easily, like he’d thought it a thousand times before.”
“He thinks the world of you, and has done since at least fourth year.”
“It doesn’t feel like it usually does when we’re just having a misunderstanding. He didn’t seem confused. I kept asking clarifying questions, and he kept giving me these terrible answers.”
“Are you going to tell me what he said?”
Hermione gave a great sigh. “That my family doesn’t need me.”
“If you mean your parents, they don’t.”
“Of course they don’t. I can keep an eye on them from Oxford, but they’re pretty self-sufficient, both of them.”
“Then he meant himself and the babies? Because that’s blatantly false. Of course, they need you.”
“Yet here I am in Amesbury, crying in your kitchen. And all three of them are at home, likely sleeping soundly.”
“Unless you snuck out, I doubt Ron is relaxed. In fact, does he know you’re here?”
“How do I know what he knows?! I apparently don’t know anything about the man!”
Harry put up a calming hand as he said, “Alright, let me send him a text. Just so he’s not worried.”
“Harry James Potter, you’ll get that hand out of my face before you lose it.”
“Sorry,” he said, unconcerned, using both hands to type a quick note to Ron on his mobile. He pressed ‘send,’ then pressed a kiss to her hair. “Would you like dinner and a spa night?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Help me mix the sangria, and we’ll bring everything upstairs.”
~*~
“I come bearing gifts!”
“Shit, it’s the wife,” Harry heard Pansy hiss, followed by a cheerful giggle from Draco.
Harry pushed the door open with his foot and smiled at the sight his husband and his best friend made. They were spread out on Draco’s childhood bed, playing cards and drinking Coke from wine glasses, while bottles of nail polish littered the bedspread.
“Hello, darling,” Draco said as Harry pecked him on the moisturised cheek.
“I hope you’re both hungry. And thirsty,” he added as Hermione entered with the pitcher of white wine sangria. “And I brought another friend in need of pampering.”
“Granger, you’ve brought a quality offering,” Pansy said, taking the sangria and setting it on the side table while she downed the Coke left in her stemmed wine glass.
Draco was sending Harry a questioning look as he watched Hermione climb onto the bed with them and sit among the nail polish and playing cards. Harry sent back a look of concern as he shrugged. He started handing out bowls of stir-fry as Draco cast a concerned eye towards Hermione again.
“We’re painting our nails in warm mother-of-pearl, Granger, because Pansy insists it looks fantastic on pale skin.”
“We have a beige, if you’d rather,” Pansy said, holding bottles of polish against Hermione’s arm. “Sort of a French manicure look, like we did last time.”
“Whatever you think looks best,” Hermione said quietly. “I defer to the experts.”
“You’re the only expert on yourself, Granger,” Pansy said, pointing a serious finger at her. “Don’t ever let others try to teach you about yourself.”
“Unless it’s a psychiatrist, then you should consider it as good advice,” Draco added with a chuckle. “Oh, no…”
Hermione had started crying again, and Draco looked terribly guilty. She laughed a bit and shook her head, but was unable to form words, so Harry filled the silence.
“Something happened, a row with Ron. I haven’t learned exactly what went down, but something did.”
“No,” Pansy said matter-of-factly. “We are not crying over boys tonight. Dry your tears, Granger. Here, have some cooled cucumbers for your eyes.”
Hermione leaned back against the bedpost, tipping her head back and placing the cucumber circles over her red and swollen eyes. She crossed her arms over her torso, hugging herself and sighing tightly.
“Can I deal you in, Harry?” Draco asked, tearing his eyes away from Hermione.
“Sure,” Harry said, sitting at the foot of the bed near his friend.
They spent the next half hour playing poker with kernels of popcorn and devouring chicken stir-fry. Harry’s pokerface, or lack thereof, became a running joke as the crafty slytherins ran away with the game. The white sangria was delicious, even to Pansy I-Prefer-Red Parkinson, and had Hermione relaxed and tongue-loose in no time.
“I apologised, of course, for coming home so late,” Hermione was saying. “I was revising for one of my law seminars, as we have a guest lecturer next week, and I lost track of time!”
“Seems reasonable.”
“Did Weasley not believe you?”
“But it’s you, where would you be besides the library?”
“Oh, he believed me,” she said. “He was very understanding. Too understanding. Like he expected nothing more, or like he wasn’t bothered that I came home past nine at night.”
“If you didn’t have a row, why did you come crying to Potter?”
“Because he should be bothered!” she exploded. “Shouldn’t he? We have two small children, and his wife came home three hours late. It was like he didn’t care at all.”
“You’re upset that he wasn’t upset?”
“Yes! I know it sounds crazy, and it was probably a ‘me’ problem, but he wasn’t at all concerned about where I’d been all evening.”
“‘Mione, he knows you. He probably figured you were at the library. It’s where I would have guessed you were. Like Draco said, you’re always there lately.”
“I’m trying to get my doctorate, planning my thesis. I’m already working with the Ministry's public defenders’ office.”
“Not blaming you.”
“But he fed the kids, put them to bed, and sat in his office all evening. None of them even missed me!”
“Weasley isn’t exactly a smooth individual. I doubt it went as well as you described it.”
“That’s a point. Did you ask him?”
“No. And Ron may stumble through a lot, but he’s a great dad. Enough that Mum is an afterthought.”
“The motherfucker,” Pansy growled.
“Thank you! Someone understands what I’m saying.”
“Forgive the psychobabble, but it seems we’ve hit the vein here,” Draco told her. “Are you perhaps jealous of his parenting abilities?”
“What? Of course not, ‘Mione’s a great mum!”
“A bit, yes,” she whispered under Harry’s defence.
“I hope you can see the difference between having the skill and having the time.”
“Yes, well. Apparently not.”
“He works from home half the time, and he’s acting as primary caregiver while you finish your degree,” Harry said reasonably. “It’s expected that he’d be more set in a routine with Rose and Hugo, isn’t it?”
“Listen,” Draco said, leaning forward over the forgotten poker game. “No one ever feels completely prepared for their children. Pansy sure wasn’t. Harry and I adopted, and we still felt inadequate bringing Jamie home.”
“I was terrified. I made Draco promise to help me raise her before I decided to go through with it.”
“But you had Teddy first. And you’re both so good with kids. Harry’s a natural,” Hermione argued.
“I wasn’t always a natural. Do you remember just after the war, when Teddy was just a tiny teal baby?”
Hermione gave him a one-sided frown as she considered the truth in his words, though it didn’t seem to be enough to convince her quite yet.
“Have you told Ron about how you feel?”
“I didn’t know myself. I was a bit distracted by him telling me that my children don’t need me.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then why would he say it?”
“Like I told ‘Mione, he says things without thinking sometimes. Puts his foot right in his mouth. Steps on landmines, as ‘Mione says.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not an arsehole, too.”
“Let’s be nice, Pans.”
“That was nice. Want to see bitchy?”
“I think you should establish a routine for the kids. Start them early, before they can notice how busy you are.”
“Can you spend breakfast at home?”
“Not usually. Not this semester. I have a professor whose office hours are eight to ten.”
“Lunch? Dinner?”
“I don’t get to have those every day; I doubt I could carve enough time to spend it with them.”
“What about bedtime? I used to go over to read Teddy his favourite books before bed. I always made sure to be there at seven each night to read to him, even if I had to leave work to do it. Robards hated it, but oh well.”
“I have a standing date with Miss Scarlett every Sunday.”
“Where are your children, anyhow?”
“Sleepover in the master bedroom across the hall, of course.”
“Ah, of course. Even Teddy?”
“No, he’s with Aunt Andromeda until tomorrow night. It’s just Jamie and Scarlett tonight.”
“I once had a date where the bloke thought he had a gift for guessing bra sizes,”
Pansy said abruptly, taking a sudden left turn in their conversation. “He called me an a-cup, and I slapped him and left.”
Draco choked on his wine, and Harry leaned over to pat his back. Hermione gasped and nearly spilt her glass of wine over her lap.
“You’re kidding!”
Draco was giggling drunkenly, leaning into Harry’s touch. “Did I ever tell you about that first date I had where he took me fishing?”
“No!”
“I had a date once where I found out two hours in that she was married. She wanted me to be their third. Apparently, she had heard I was bi and assumed that I’d be fine with it. I was not.”
“That’s bi-phobia, Potter. Or bi-philia? You should sue. I’ll take your case.”
“Thanks, Parkinson, but it was many years ago. I’m not sure what I would even accuse them of.”
“I once agreed to a date with Cormac McLaggen. It was like watching someone try to date a mirror. Harry rescued me, thank God, hid me behind a curtain until he’d wandered away again.”
Hermione was laughing and seemed well cheered up after a few more horror stories. Harry felt his phone buzz in his pocket and excused himself, saying he needed to make their face cream. It didn’t matter, though, as no one was paying him any attention.
~*~
Leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs, Harry watched the flames in the fireplace burst to life, turn a verdant green, and rose to cast odd shadows on his panelled walls. From the flames stepped Ron, looking sleepless and bothered.
“Hello, Ron. How are the kids?”
“Asleep and unbothered. George is at the house right now, at least until I come back. Don’t worry, he already read me the riot act.”
“I wasn’t going to yell at you.”
“Then ‘Mione hasn’t filled you in yet.”
“She told me some. Draco and Pansy have got her well drunk by now, so she’s at least in a better mood.”
“Tell me honestly, Harry. Do I have a chance of bringing her home tonight? Or will I have to beg, do you think?”
“You have a good chance,” Harry told him, leading the way back to the kitchen.”But some begging wouldn’t kill you. She was quite hurt.”
“I don’t even know why she was upset in the first place,” Ron said, watching Harry pull ingredients out of the baking cabinet. “Do you know why she was upset?”
“Yes,” Harry said, putting cocoa butter and coconut oil in a saucepan and turning the heat on low. “She was hours late in coming home, and didn’t feel missed.”
“Of course, she was missed! I always miss her, because she’s always gone!”
“Easy, Ron. She’ll be done with school by this time next year.”
“Yes, finally. At the age of twenty-eight.”
“What do you want? It’s a law doctorate. Did you expect anything different from her, really?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Right. So be less understanding when she goes missing, and at least pretend to be concerned. Or jealous about where she’s been, or something. Anything, really.”
“But I was concerned! Damn it, I was so proud of myself for handling it so well.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“Did you really tell her that her kids don’t need her?” Harry asked after a moment, taking the oils off the stove and sticking them in the freezer to cool.
“No! Well, yes, I guess I did say that. But I didn’t mean it! Not like that!”
“Bad form, Ron.”
“I know!” he all-but howled. “I just meant, you know, they’re eleven months and two and a half, not infants anymore. If she’s busy, it’s okay for her to miss dinner now. Or bedtime.”
“She’s their mum,” Harry stressed.
“I know that.”
“She needs to be needed. You have to take it all back, Ron.”
“Fuck me,” Ron swore, sighing heavily and falling onto the stool by the sink that Hermione had used earlier.
“No, thank you,” Harry quipped as he took out the cooled facemask. He added a bit of orange oil and a hefty scoop of granulated sugar for exfoliation. “C’mon, then, let’s go.”
~*~
“I have frosting, to ice your faces,” Harry sang, pushing the door open. “And I brought another guest, though I doubt he’d submit to a manicure.”
The laughter stopped rather suddenly as Ron entered the room, the good cheer they’d managed evaporating as quickly as eye contact.
“Hullo.”
“Ronald. Are you well?”
“What on earth is he doing here?”
“I’m married to that one,” Ron said, indicating his wife, who was studiously avoiding his eye now.
“Are you sure you remember me? Perhaps it was just a dream, and you’re actually a happily single father of two. After all, who the hell am I?”
“What?”
“She’s saying that you fucked up, Weasley. Royally.”
“I know that, thanks. Watching her leave out the floo was my first clue.”
“Hey!” Hermione said, giving Ron a serious look as she put a lazy hand on Pansy’s ankle. “Don’t insult my friends.”
“Sorry,” Ron apologised, looking confused.
“Cheers, Granger.”
“Look, ‘Mione, I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Hmm. For what?”
“For, er, being too understanding.”
There was an intake of breath from everyone else in the room as Ron shoved his foot down his own throat.
“Ooh, Granger, let me thrash him.”
Hermione said nothing, but patted Pansy’s ankle again and started sorting through the bottles of nail polish.
“Ahem,” Harry cleared his throat from his spot next to Draco. “What did you tell me downstairs?”
“That she’s been in school forever.”
“Ha.”
“And that matters because…” Harry prompted.
“Because I miss her! I miss you, Hermione.”
“I live with you. I let my parents buy us a house instead of living in the dorms and saving up. Do you know how shitty that feeling was, letting them do that?”
“I know. I wouldn’t have let you say yes if you didn’t seem okay with it, though.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“What? Because I know you. Because we talked about it.”
“You apparently didn’t miss me enough to check where I was tonight,” Hermione said, handing a tan bottle of polish to Pansy. “I could have been dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“I know you’re busy, and I understand why. You’re at that library a lot, and I know you to be bad with time sometimes.”
“Doesn’t prevent me from being brutally murdered on campus.”
“Jesus, Granger.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
“And the other thing, Ron,” Harry reminded him, as Pansy shook the bottle and reached for Hermione’s hand.
“Yes! Sorry, yes, I need you. I mean, you’re needed, ‘Mione. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”
“Then why did you say otherwise, hotshot?”
“Because I’m an idiot, Parkinson. Is that what you want to hear?”
“It’s music to my ears, but I’m not the one you have to charm.”
“I only meant that it’s okay to miss dinner and bedtime for the kids. They’re older now, not newborns, and they’re used to it.”
“Used to not having their mum around,” Hermione summarised, the corners of her mouth turning downward as she watched Pansy tilt her hand and paint a nail. “That’s great. Thank you for that.”
“I mean just that particular hour. Of course, they miss you.”
“So now I’m an inadequate mother, too.”
“What are you- No! You’re an amazing mum! Those kids love you!”
“Then why would they be so happy without me?!”
“‘Mione, I don’t know what you want to hear!”
“Just the truth, Ron!”
“No, that’s just making you more upset.”
“I want to know that my children want me!” Hermione stressed, stretching her words into a plaintive whine as she flapped her free hand. “That my husband needs me! That anyone cares about where I am when I don’t show up for hours.”
“Rose’s favourite game is school, where she studies the laws she’s going to make up. Her second favourite game is lawyer, where she represents her own case after she’s caught breaking rules.”
“That is way too cute,” Draco gushed quietly, breaking his silence. “Sorry, continue.”
“Well,” Ron hesitated, before finding his resolve and pleading with her. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, just decided to let it happen again naturally, but Hugo said his first word last week. Someone pulled their car into our driveway to turn around, and he heard it and thought it was you. ‘Mione, his first word was still ‘mama.’”
“It was?”
“Of course it was,” Ron said, as though it was ridiculous even to ask. “And I should have messaged you when you were late coming home. To be fair, I was watching the clock. If you’d been home about forty minutes later, I would be on campus looking for you right now.”
“What would you have done with our children?”
“Same as I ended up doing anyhow: calling George.”
“That joker is with your kids right now?”
“I see what you did there.”
“Shush, slytherins,” Hermione ordered lightly, giving Pansy her other hand. “What of you, husband?”
“As for me needing you?”
“Yes?”
“Do you honestly think that I would have made it this far in life without you? I don’t know if you’ve noticed how gormless I am without you. Of course not, if you’re there, I’m automatically much more competent. Just ask Harry, then.”
“He’s right. Absolute idiot.”
“Oi! I mean, thank you.”
“Any time, nitwit.”
“Ooh, ask me!” Pansy said over Draco’s giggles. “I have plenty to say about you, Weasley. I’m quite creative, too. I could spin a good yarn. Just ask!”
But Ron wasn’t paying them any mind. He was giving Hermione his best innocent look, and she regarded him back. She had softened considerably, but seemed to be holding out by just a sliver as she stared him down.
“I love you, ‘Mione. I’m sorry.”
Hermione nodded, her face falling into a tender expression as she stood on the bed and carefully stepped toward him over the mess of things on the duvet. Ron came closer, looking ready to catch her, and she tipped herself into his arms.
“Oh, Ron. I love you, too!” she squeaked, shoving her face into his armpit as she held him closer.
“Ew, heterosexuality,” Draco whined in an undertone to Pansy.
“Do shut up, bosom buddy,” Pansy returned. “I’m more concerned about whether those nails are dried.”
“I’m concerned about the time, and the fact that he likely hasn’t applied deodorant in hours.”
“Are you Statler and Waldorf? Stop heckling my friends,” Harry admonished.
“We can’t stop, Potter, or we’d die. We’re like sharks,” Pansy said, as Draco snapped his teeth at Harry playfully.
“Well, we’ll be off, then. Thanks, Harry.”
“Yes, thank you all for cheering me up. And the lovely manicure,” Hermione said, waggling her fingers.
“Good luck.”
“Next time, just talk to each other.”
“Not that you aren’t welcome if it happens again. Or for any other reason.”
They both gave Harry grateful hugs as they left the room, showing themselves out. As Harry stepped into the hallway to watch them go, he heard the click of a door latch and watched the master bedroom door open to show Jamie’s little face. His eyes were sleepy, and his brown hair was a riotous mess atop his head.
“Alright, Jamie?”
“I heared Uncle Ron?”
“Yes, Uncle Ron was here to get Aunt Miney, but they’re gone now. They were only here for a little bit.”
“It’s not a party?”
“No, love. You’re not missing anything, I promise.”
“Alright. Goodnight, Daddy.”
“Goodnight, baby. Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Harry watched the door click closed again, mulling over whether he should bank their fire or fuel it. He decided to leave it be for a bit longer and reentered Draco’s old bedroom.
“Harry! You’re back!”
“Come on over, Potter. You’ve been volunteered to try this facial cream first, to check for poisons.”
“Oh, goodie.”