Archive of Our Own

The lift descended through the Ministry of Magic with its familiar metallic groan, and Hermione Granger-Weasley closed her eyes against the fluorescent glare overhead. Fourteen hours. She'd been here for fourteen hours on Easter Sunday, and her body was making certain she knew it. Her feet throbbed in her sensible work heels, though "sensible" felt like a cruel joke when one was seven months pregnant and had been standing through most of an international negotiation. The baby gave a solid kick against her ribs, as if in agreement.

I know, she thought, placing a hand over the swell of her belly. I know. We're going home now.

The lift shuddered to a halt at the Atrium level, and Hermione stepped out into the cavernous space. At this hour on a Sunday evening, Easter Sunday, no less, the Ministry was nearly deserted. Her footsteps echoed across the polished floor, past the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and past the fireplaces where a lone witch was disappearing in a swirl of green flames. The security wizard at the entrance gave her a tired nod.

"Evening, Madam Undersecretary. Working late again, I see."

"Just tying up some loose ends, Bernard." She managed a smile, though it felt thin. "Happy Easter."

"And to you, ma'am. Get some rest, eh?"

If only he knew how desperately she wanted exactly that.

The cool April air hit her face as she stepped out onto the street, and Hermione drew in a deep breath. London was quiet in that way it only ever was on holiday Sundays, the usual bustle subdued, the streets half-empty, the sky beginning to deepen toward dusk. She glanced at her watch. Seven o'clock. She'd left the house at half past four that morning, kissing Fred's sleep-warm cheek and whispering promises to be home as soon as she could.

The international treaty on magical creature welfare had been months in the making, involving delegations from fourteen countries, each with its own laws, customs, and deeply entrenched prejudices. Then there was the trafficking operation; the multi-agency investigation that had consumed her every waking thought for the past six weeks. They'd finally made the breakthrough yesterday, coordinating raids across three continents, and today had been spent managing the diplomatic fallout and ensuring every creature rescued was properly cared for.

It mattered. It all mattered so desperately much.

But right now, standing on a quiet London street with her feet screaming, her back aching, and her baby doing acrobatics against her internal organs, all Hermione wanted was to go home.

She Disapparated with a soft crack.

The sitting room materialised around her, and Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Home. Their home, the cottage in Devon they'd bought five years ago, when Rose was a newborn, and the world had still felt fragile and new. It had seemed enormous then, far too much space for three people. Now, with Georgie's toy broomstick abandoned by the sofa, Rose's picture books scattered across the coffee table and another baby on the way, it felt exactly right.

Laughter drifted in from the garden.

Hermione's exhaustion didn't disappear; her feet still hurt, her back still ached, and she was certain she could sleep for a week, but something in her chest loosened at the sound. Children's laughter, high and bright, sounded utterly delighted while underneath it, deeper and warmer, was Fred's voice.

She moved toward the window, drawn by the sound like a moth to flame.

The garden was bathed in the golden light of early evening, the apple trees just beginning to bud, the grass thick and green from recent rain and there, in the middle of their lawn, was her husband.

Fred Weasley was dressed as the Easter Bunny.

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, caught between laughter and something that felt dangerously close to tears. He'd clearly put effort into the costume; the ears were enormous and floppy, attached to a headband that kept slipping sideways, and he'd Transfigured his jumper into something fluffy and white with a ridiculous cotton-wool tail. He was hopping across the lawn whilst Rose and Georgie shrieked with laughter.

Rose, five years old and already showing signs of inheriting Hermione's determination and Fred's mischief in equal measure, was dressed in a yellow costume that made her look like a small, fierce chick. She was hunting for Easter eggs with the same intensity she brought to everything, her little basket already half-full of foil-wrapped chocolate. Her red hair, which was so like Fred’s, caught the light as she darted between the flowerbeds.

Georgie, three and still possessing that wonderful toddler combination of fearlessness and chaos, was also dressed as a chick. His costume was slightly too large, the wings dragging on the ground as he waddled after his sister, clutching his own basket and crowing with triumph every time he found an egg.

Fred caught sight of Rose reaching for something hidden in the rosebush and called out, "Warmer, warmer! You're practically on fire, Rosie!"

"I've got it!" Rose's voice rang out, triumphant. She held up a large golden egg, and Fred applauded, his bunny ears flopping forward.

"Brilliant! That's the special one, it's got Fizzing Whizzbees inside!"

Georgie immediately abandoned his own search and toddled over to his sister. "Rosie! Share?"

"Maybe," Rose said, with the careful consideration of an older sibling weighing generosity against possession. "If you help me find the purple one Papa said was by the fence."

Hermione watched them negotiate, watched Fred hop over to ruffle Georgie's hair, watched the easy joy of it all, and felt something crack open in her chest. This. This was what she'd been working for all day, all week, all month. A world where magical creatures weren't trafficked and exploited, where international cooperation could prevent suffering, where her children could grow up in a better world than the one that she'd fought a war to save.

But also: this was what she'd been missing.

She stepped back from the window and bent down, awkwardly, carefully, one hand braced against the wall to unbuckle her heels. The relief when she slipped them off was so intense it was almost painful. She flexed her toes against the cool floorboards and allowed herself a moment of pure, simple gratitude for being home.

Then she padded barefoot toward the back door.

The grass was cool and slightly damp beneath her feet as Hermione stepped out onto the lawn. The evening air smelled of earth and growing things, with an undertone of chocolate that made her smile. Fred had clearly been very thorough with his egg-hiding.

Fred spotted her first. His whole face lit up with that expression of love that still, after all these years, made her heart skip a beat. She smiled back as he bounded over to her, his bunny ears bouncing.

"Hermione!" He caught her in his arms, careful of her bump, and kissed her soundly. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of chocolate. "You're home."

"I'm home," she agreed, and leaned into him, letting him take some of her weight. He smelled like himself: a combination of cinnamon, fireworks and something indefinably Fred that she'd been breathing in since she was seventeen years old. "You're a rabbit."

"I'm the Easter Bunny," he corrected, mock-offended. "There's a difference. Much more official. I've got a certificate and everything."

"Forged, no doubt."

"Hermione Granger-Weasley, are you impugning my credentials?" He grinned and slid one hand down to rest on her belly. "Hello in there, little one. Your mum's home. She's been out saving the world again."

The baby kicked, right against Fred's palm, and his grin softened into something tender.

"Someone's pleased to hear your voice," Hermione murmured.

"Takes after their siblings, then." Fred's thumb traced a gentle circle over the curve of her stomach. "How are you feeling? You look exhausted, love."

"I am exhausted," she admitted. "But I'm better now."

"Mummy!"

The shriek came from across the garden, and suddenly Rose was pelting toward them, her chick costume flapping, her basket swinging wildly. Georgie was hot on her heels, moving with that determined toddler run that looked perpetually on the verge of disaster.

"Mummy, Mummy, you're home!" Rose crashed into Hermione's legs, gently, because even at five, she understood about the baby and wrapped her arms around her mother's knees. "We're hunting Easter eggs! Papa's the Easter Bunny, he hid them everywhere, and I've found twelve already!"

"Twelve!" Hermione smoothed a hand over Rose's hair. "That's wonderful, darling."

Georgie arrived a moment later and immediately lifted his arms. "Up! Mummy, up!"

"Oh, sweetheart, Mummy can't pick you up right now." Hermione's heart twisted at his disappointed face. "The baby's making me a bit too round. But I can hug you right here."

She crouched down, Fred's hand immediately going to her elbow to steady her, and Georgie threw himself into her arms with the full-body enthusiasm only a three-year-old could muster. He smelled like chocolate, grass and sunshine.

"Missed you," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"I missed you, too, my love. Both of you." She kissed the top of his head, then reached out to pull Rose into the embrace as well. "So very much."

"Look, Mummy!" Rose pulled back and thrust her basket forward. "Look at all my eggs! There are chocolate ones and ones with sweets inside, and Papa said the big gold one has Fizzing Whizzbees!"

Hermione examined the collection with appropriate seriousness. The basket was indeed impressively full: chocolate eggs in every size and colour, some wrapped in foil, some decorated with icing, some clearly shop-bought and others that looked suspiciously homemade.

"This is quite a haul," she said. "You've been very thorough."

"I'm a good hunter," Rose said proudly. "Like you, Mummy. You hunt bad people."

Hermione blinked, caught off-guard. Fred made a soft sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something else entirely.

"I... yes, I suppose I do," Hermione said slowly. "Though I prefer to think of it as helping people who need help."

"And stopping the bad ones," Rose insisted. "Papa said you were stopping people who were mean to magical creatures."

"That's right."

"Good." Rose nodded firmly. "Being mean to creatures is wrong. Auntie Luna says all creatures deserve respect."

"Auntie Luna is very wise." Hermione glanced up at Fred, who was watching their daughter with an expression of mingled pride and amusement. "And so are you, Rosie."

"I know," Rose said, with the unshakeable confidence of a five-year-old. Then, mercurial as always, she grabbed Georgie's hand. "Come on, Georgie! We haven't found the purple one yet!"

And just like that, they were off again, racing across the lawn in their chick costumes, leaving Hermione and Fred alone.

Fred helped her stand, his hands gentle and sure. "Careful, love."

"I'm pregnant, not made of glass," Hermione said, but she was grateful for his steadying presence, nonetheless. Her back gave a warning twinge, and she pressed a hand to it, grimacing.

"Come here." Fred guided her over to the garden bench, the one they'd bought a few summers ago, when Hermione had been too pregnant with Georgie to stand for long and had insisted on still helping with the gardening. He sat down and patted the space beside him. "Sit with me for a bit. Watch our little chicks hunt."

Hermione sank onto the bench with a sigh of relief. Fred immediately shifted, angling himself so she could lean against him, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She let her head rest against his chest and watched Rose and Georgie investigate the area near the garden fence.

"They're getting so big," she murmured.

"They are." Fred's voice rumbled through his chest. "Rose has been reading to Georgie. Actual reading, not just making up stories based on the pictures. She's got your brain, that one."

"And your creativity." Hermione smiled. "The stories she makes up are wonderfully mad."

“Takes after her uncle George, then." Fred's voice was warm with affection. "Speaking of which, George was asking after you today. Wanted to know if you'd managed to save the world yet, or if you were still working on it."

Hermione laughed softly. "What did you tell him?"

"That you're making excellent progress, but the world's being particularly stubborn about being saved." Fred grinned. "He sent home some of those experimental Easter eggs for the kids. The ones that change flavour every time you bite them. Georgie's already declared them 'the best thing ever,' which I'm sure will last until tomorrow when he discovers something else that's the best thing ever."

"How is George? And Angelina?"

"Good. Busy with the shop, as always. Little Freddie's getting into everything now that he's walking, George says it's like having a tiny, destructive tornado in the house." Fred's voice held a note of pride. "Reckons Freddie's going to be worse than we ever were."

Hermione smiled at the mention of Fred's nephew. The Unbreakable Vow the twins had made as first years, to name their first sons after one another, had seemed like typical Weasley twin dramatics at the time. But now, with both boys toddling around, it felt right. A promise kept and a bond honoured.

"Georgie's got his namesake's talent for chaos, at least," Hermione said softly. "Yesterday, he somehow managed to turn all the bathwater purple."

"That was yesterday?" Fred laughed. "He told me he did that last week. The little fibber."

"He's three. I don't think he has a firm grasp on temporal concepts yet."

"Fancy words for 'doesn't know what day it is.'"

"Exactly." Hermione closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the garden wash over her. Birds were singing their evening songs. Rose's voice, explaining something very seriously to her little brother. The rustle of leaves in the apple trees. "This is nice."

"Yeah?" Fred's hand moved to her hair, fingers combing through it gently. "Better than the Ministry?"

"Infinitely better than the Ministry." She sighed. "Though the Ministry was... it was important, Fred. We got them. The trafficking ring. Fourteen countries coordinated raids yesterday, and we rescued over three hundred creatures. Dragons, Nifflers, Bowtruckles, and even a small family of Fwoopers that had been kept in cages barely large enough to turn around in."

Fred's hand stilled in her hair. "Hermione. That's... that's incredible."

"It was a team effort. Dozens of people across multiple agencies and governments." But she couldn't quite keep the pride out of her voice. "Though I did coordinate most of it and today was spent managing the aftermath, making sure every creature is properly cared for, handling the diplomatic complications, ensuring the people we arrested can't slip through legal loopholes."

"On Easter Sunday."

"Crime doesn't take holidays."

"No," Fred agreed. "But you could have."

Hermione opened her eyes and tilted her head to look up at him. His expression was gentle and understanding, but there was a flicker of something else there, too. Concern, perhaps. Or weariness.

"I know," she said quietly. "I know I could have. But if I hadn't been there—"

"Someone else would have handled it," Fred said. "Kingsley has a whole department of people, Hermione. You're brilliant, dedicated and absolutely irreplaceable, but you're also seven months pregnant, and you've been working fourteen-hour days for weeks."

"I'll take maternity leave soon," Hermione protested. "Once everything's properly tied up—"

"You said that last month."

"This is different. The trafficking operation is finished now. The treaty just needs final signatures, and I can delegate that. Another few weeks, maybe a month—"

"Hermione." Fred's voice was patient but firm. "You're going to work yourself into exhaustion, and then where will we be? I need you to be healthy. The kids need you healthy. This little one," he placed his hand on her belly again, "needs you healthy."

Hermione bit her lip. He was right, of course. He was always right about this sort of thing, able to see when she was pushing herself too hard, when her determination crossed the line into self-destruction. It was one of the things she loved about him, his ability to ground her, to remind her that saving the world didn't mean sacrificing herself.

"I just want to make sure everything's done properly," she said. "There are so many creatures depending on this treaty, Fred. If we don't get the protections right, if we leave loopholes—"

"Then you'll have done your best, and someone else will carry it forward." Fred kissed the top of her head. "You can't fix everything, love. You can't save everyone. You can only do what you can do."

"I know that intellectually."

"But not in here." He tapped gently over her heart. "I know. Believe me, I know."

They sat in silence for a moment, watching Rose help Georgie reach an egg that had been hidden in the low branches of an apple tree. The light was fading now, the sky turning from gold to pink to the deep blue of twilight.

"How was Sunday lunch?" Hermione asked eventually. "At the Burrow?"

Fred's face brightened. "Chaotic, as always. Mum made enough food to feed an army. I think she's still not quite adjusted to the fact that not everyone comes every week anymore. Bill and Fleur were there with Victoire, and Charlie was visiting from Romania, so that was nice. Percy brought Audrey and the girls. Ron and Harry sent their apologies; they're on some Auror assignment that's got them working through the holiday."

"I should have been there," Hermione said, guilt twisting in her stomach. "Your family—"

"Understood completely," Fred interrupted. "Mum sent you a plate, by the way. It's in the kitchen, enough roast lamb, potatoes and veg to feed you for three days. She also sent approximately seventeen different desserts and made me promise to make sure you're eating properly."

"I'm eating properly."

"You had toast for breakfast and skipped lunch."

Hermione winced. "How did you—"

"Because I know you." Fred's voice was fond. "And because you always skip lunch when you're deep in a project. So, Mum's sent enough food to ensure you're well-fed for the foreseeable future, and also enough chocolate to last us until next Easter."

"Chocolate?"

"Oh, Hermione. So much chocolate." Fred gestured toward the garden, where Rose and Georgie were still hunting. "Every single member of my family brought Easter eggs for the kids. George brought a whole box of experimental ones from the shop; they change flavour every time you bite them. Charlie brought dragon-egg-shaped ones that smoke when you unwrap them. Even Percy brought fancy Belgian chocolate. We are going to be living off chocolate for months."

Despite her exhaustion, Hermione laughed. "The children must have been beside themselves."

"Georgie tried to eat four eggs at once and made himself sick. Rose very sensibly decided to save most of hers for later, which means she's hidden them somewhere in the house and we'll be finding chocolate in strange places for weeks."

"She gets that from you."

"Absolutely, she does." Fred grinned. "The hiding things, not the sensible part. That's all you."

"Mummy! Papa!" Rose's voice rang out across the garden. "We found them all! Every single egg!"

"All of them?" Fred called back. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Rose was jumping up and down, her basket clutched to her chest. "We counted! There were twenty-five, and we found twenty-five!"

"Then I suppose that means the Easter Bunny's work here is done." Fred stood, offering Hermione his hand. "Come on, love. Let's get these chocolatiers inside before they eat their entire haul and make themselves sick."

Hermione let him pull her to her feet, though her body protested the movement. Everything ached: her feet, her back, and her shoulders from hunching over paperwork all day. But as Rose and Georgie came running over, their faces flushed with excitement and chocolate smeared around Georgie's mouth, she found she didn't mind quite so much.

"Bath time, I think," she said, eyeing the grass stains on both children's costumes and the suspicious smudge of dirt on Georgie's cheek.

"Aww, Mummy!" Rose protested. "Can't we stay up a bit longer?"

"It's nearly eight o'clock, darling. Well past your bedtime."

"But it's Easter!"

"Which is why you got to stay up this late in the first place." Hermione smoothed Rose's hair back from her face. "Bath, pyjamas, and then maybe, if you're very good, Papa will read you both a story."

"Two stories," Fred said immediately, scooping Georgie up and settling him on his hip. "It's Easter, after all."

"Fred—"

"Two short stories," he amended, winking at Rose. "Or one medium-length one."

"The Gruffalo!" Georgie shouted, throwing his arms around Fred's neck. "Want Gruffalo!"

"The Gruffalo it is, then." Fred started toward the house, still carrying Georgie, and Rose skipped along beside him, chattering about which eggs she was going to eat first and which ones she was going to save.

Hermione followed more slowly, her hand pressed to the small of her back. The baby was shifting, settling into a new position, and she paused for a moment to breathe through the discomfort.

Fred glanced back, noticed she'd stopped, and immediately handed Georgie to Rose. "Rosie, take your brother inside and start getting ready for bath time, yeah? I'll be there in just a moment."

"Okay, Papa!" Rose took Georgie's hand with the careful responsibility of an older sister. "Come on, Georgie. Race you to the bathroom!"

They disappeared through the back door, and Fred returned to Hermione's side. "Alright?"

"Just the baby moving." She managed a smile. "I'm fine, Fred. Really."

"You're exhausted," he said bluntly. "And you've been on your feet all day, I can see that you're in pain even if you won't admit it."

"I'm seven months pregnant. Pain is rather part of the package."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it." Fred slipped an arm around her waist, taking some of her weight. "Come on. Let's get you inside. I'm going to run you a bath after I've sorted the kids, and then I'm going to rub your feet until you fall asleep."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," Fred said firmly. "You've spent all day taking care of everyone else. Let me take care of you."

Hermione leaned into him, letting herself be guided toward the house. "A bath does sound wonderful."

"With those lavender salts Ginny gave you for Christmas?"

"Perfect."

They made their way inside, where chaos had already erupted. Rose and Georgie were supposed to be getting ready for their bath, but instead they appeared to be disagreeing about who got to use the green flannel. Their voices drifted down from upstairs, Rose's patient explanation clashing with Georgie's stubborn refusal.

"I'll handle it," Fred said, kissing Hermione's temple. "You sit down. Put your feet up. There's tea in the pot, still warm, and Mum's dinner is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"I should help—"

"Hermione." Fred cupped her face in his hands, his brown eyes serious. "Sit. Down. I've got this."

She wanted to argue. Every instinct in her body wanted to help, to be useful, to manage, organise and ensure everything was done properly. But she was so tired, Fred's hands were warm on her face, and from upstairs came the sound of Georgie's laughter as Rose apparently won the flannel debate.

"Alright," she conceded. "But come get me if you need help."

"I won't need help. I'm an expert at wrangling small children." Fred grinned. "It's like dealing with Pygmy Puffs, except louder and with more opinions about bedtime."

He kissed her once more, quick and sweet, and then bounded up the stairs with the energy of someone who hadn't spent fourteen hours negotiating international treaties. Hermione listened as he greeted the children with a dramatic gasp, saying, "Could that be a Gruffalo? No, wait, it's just Georgie covered in chocolate!" This was followed by their children’s delighted giggles in response.

She made her way to the sitting room and sank onto the sofa with a sigh of relief. Her feet were throbbing, and she bent down awkwardly to massage them, wincing at the tenderness.

A soft mrrp announced Crookshanks's arrival. The ginger cat emerged from wherever he'd been napping and jumped up onto the sofa beside her, butting his head against her arm.

"Hello, you," Hermione murmured, scratching behind his ears. "Did you miss me?"

Crookshanks purred, a deep rumbling sound, and settled himself carefully on her lap, or what remained of her lap, given the size of her belly. He'd been with her since she was thirteen years old, through Hogwarts and the war and everything after, and though he was getting old now, his fur greying around his squashed face, he was still her faithful companion.

"It's been a long day," she told him, and he purred louder, as if he understood.

From upstairs came the sounds of bath time: splashing, laughter, Fred's voice doing an exaggerated impression of the Gruffalo. Hermione closed her eyes and let the sounds wash over her. This was home. This was what she'd been missing all day, what she'd been working toward. Not just the physical space, but the feeling of it. The warmth, the love and the beautiful, chaotic normalcy of family life.

The war had been over for nearly a decade, but sometimes Hermione still woke up expecting to find herself in a tent in the woods, hungry and frightened and running for her life. Sometimes she still reached for her wand in the middle of the night, heart pounding, certain she'd heard Death Eaters outside. The peace they'd fought for had been hard-won, and she'd spent the years since trying to make it mean something. Trying to build a world worth living in.

But moments like this, sitting on her sofa with her cat purring in her lap, her children laughing upstairs, and her husband singing a silly song about a mouse taking a stroll through the deep dark wood, these were the moments that made it all worthwhile.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Fred was gently shaking her shoulder.

"Hermione, love. The kids want to say goodnight."

She blinked awake, disoriented. Crookshanks had relocated to the arm of the sofa, and the sitting room was darker now, lit only by the soft glow of the lamps. Rose and Georgie stood beside Fred, both in their pyjamas, their hair damp from the bath.

"Sorry," Hermione said, struggling to sit up. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"You needed it." Fred helped her up, and she bent down to hug Rose and Georgie.

"Goodnight, my darlings," she murmured, kissing each of them. "Sleep well."

"Night, Mummy," Rose said, hugging her tightly. "I love you."

"Love you, Mummy," Georgie echoed, his words slightly slurred with tiredness.

"I love you both so very much." Hermione smoothed their hair back, breathing in the clean scent of soap and shampoo. "Sweet dreams."

Fred shepherded them back upstairs, and Hermione heard the soft murmur of his voice as he tucked them in, the creak of floorboards, the click of their bedroom door closing. Then he was back, crossing the sitting room with purpose.

"Right," he said. "Your turn. Bath time."

"Fred, I can run my own bath—"

"I know you can. But you're not going to, because I'm going to do it for you." He held out his hand. "Come on, Granger. Don't make me carry you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Hermione took his hand, too tired to argue, and let him lead her upstairs. The bathroom was still steamy from the children's bath, and Fred immediately set about running a fresh one, adding the lavender salts Ginny had given her and adjusting the temperature until it was perfect.

"There," he said, satisfied. "In you get."

Hermione undressed slowly, her body protesting every movement, and sank into the hot water with a groan of relief. The heat immediately began to work on her aching muscles, and she let her head fall back against the edge of the tub.

"Better?" Fred asked, sitting on the edge of the tub.

"So much better." She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't even started on your feet."

"You really don't have to—"

"Hermione." Fred's voice was patient. "Let me do this. Please."

She looked at him, really looked at him. He'd taken off the ridiculous Easter Bunny costume and was back in his usual clothes, his red hair sticking up in all directions, his brown eyes warm and concerned. He'd spent the day entertaining their children, hosting Easter egg hunts, managing Sunday lunch with his family, and now he was here, wanting to take care of her.

"Alright," she said softly. "Thank you."

Fred smiled and rolled up his sleeves. He took one of her feet in his hands and began to massage it, his thumbs working into the arch, and Hermione made an involuntary sound of relief.

"That good?"

"That's incredible." She closed her eyes. "You're incredible."

"I know." His voice was smug, but his hands were gentle, working out the knots and tension with practised ease. "So, tell me more about this treaty. What happens next?"

Hermione let herself talk, let the words spill out as Fred worked on her feet. She told him about the negotiations, the compromises they'd had to make, the protections they'd managed to secure. She told him about the creatures they'd rescued, about the look on the face of the witch who'd been running the trafficking ring when she'd been arrested, and about the satisfaction of knowing they'd made a real difference.

Fred listened, asking questions, offering observations, his hands never stopping their soothing work. By the time she'd finished talking, the water had started to cool, and both her feet felt like new.

"You're amazing," Fred said, leaning forward to kiss her. "You know that, right? You're absolutely amazing."

"I'm just doing my job."

"No." Fred's voice was firm. "You're changing the world. You're making it better, safer, kinder. You're doing it whilst growing a whole new person, raising two children and putting up with my family's chaos every Sunday. You're a marvel, Hermione Granger-Weasley."

Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes, pregnancy hormones, probably, but also the sheer relief of being seen, of being understood. "I couldn't do any of it without you."

"We're a team," Fred said simply. "Always have been, always will be."

He helped her out of the bath and wrapped her in a warm towel, then guided her to their bedroom. Someone, Fred, obviously, had turned down the bed and laid out her favourite pyjamas, the soft ones that accommodated her growing belly.

"Get dressed," he said. "I'll bring up Mum's dinner, and we can eat in bed."

"Fred, you don't have to—"

"Hermione." He cupped her face in his hands. "Stop trying to do everything yourself. Let me help. Let me take care of you. Please."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and he kissed her forehead before disappearing downstairs.

Hermione dressed slowly, her body warm and relaxed from the bath, and climbed into bed. The sheets were cool and clean, and she sank into them with a sigh of contentment. Crookshanks appeared from somewhere and settled himself at the foot of the bed, purring.

Fred returned a few minutes later with a tray laden with food. Molly's Sunday roast, with all the trimmings, was still warm from a Heating Charm. He also brought a pot of tea and, because Fred was Fred, a selection of the Easter chocolates the children had collected.

"Dinner and dessert," he announced, setting the tray on the bed. "As promised."

They ate together, Hermione tucked against Fred's side, sharing the food, the chocolate and the comfortable silence of two people who'd been together long enough that words weren't always necessary. The roast was perfect, as Molly's cooking always was, and the chocolate was rich and sweet.

"Your mum always spoils me," Hermione said, popping a small chocolate egg into her mouth after she’d finished eating the Sunday dinner.

"That's her job. She's a grandmother. Spoiling people is what she does." Fred stole a piece of chocolate from the tray. "Besides, you deserve to be spoiled."

"I don't know about that."

"I do." Fred set the tray aside and shifted so he could wrap his arms around her, one hand resting on her belly. "You work too hard, you care too much, and you never let yourself rest. So, I'm going to make sure you rest, even if I have to tie you to the bed."

"Kinky."

Fred laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Not what I meant, but I appreciate where your mind went."

Hermione smiled and let herself relax into his embrace. The baby kicked, and Fred's hand moved to follow the movement, his touch gentle and reverent.

"Do you think about it?" she asked quietly. "The future? What's it going to be like with three of them?"

"All the time." Fred's voice was soft. "I think about Rose teaching the baby to read, the way she teaches Georgie. I think about Georgie being a big brother, trying to protect them from everything. I think about all of us together: you, me, Rose, Georgie, this little one and Crookshanks, all piled on the sofa on Sunday mornings, reading the paper and eating toast and just being a family together."

"That sounds perfect."

"It does, doesn't it?" Fred kissed the top of her head. "I think about you, too. About you finally taking maternity leave and resting. About us having lazy mornings, afternoon naps and time to just be together without you worrying about treaties and trafficking rings."

"I'll take leave soon," Hermione promised. "Really. In a few weeks, and then I'll hand everything over and focus on the baby."

"And on yourself," Fred added. "Promise me you'll focus on yourself too, Hermione. Not just the baby, not just the kids, not just work. You."

"I promise." She turned her head to look at him. "I promise I'll try."

"That's all I ask." Fred smiled and kissed her, slow and sweet. "Now, what do you say we finish off this chocolate and then get some sleep? You've had a long day."

"Sunday lunch, a bath, a foot rub, and chocolate," Hermione murmured, echoing her earlier thought. "The perfect way to end Easter."

"Almost perfect," Fred corrected. He reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Then he settled back down, pulling Hermione close, his hand still resting on her belly. "Now it's perfect."

Hermione closed her eyes, surrounded by warmth and love and the quiet sounds of home. From down the hall, she could hear Rose's soft breathing, the occasional rustle as Georgie shifted in his sleep. Crookshanks purred at the foot of the bed. Fred's heartbeat was steady beneath her ear.

This was what she'd been working for. This was what she'd been fighting for, all those years ago when the world had been dark, dangerous and uncertain. Not just peace, but this. Family. Love. Home.

The baby kicked again, and Hermione placed her hand over Fred's, feeling the flutter of new life beneath their palms.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," Fred murmured back. "All of you. Always."

As Hermione drifted off to sleep, safe, warm and surrounded by everyone she loved, she thought that perhaps she had managed to save the world after all. Not through treaties, operations or international negotiations, though those mattered too. But through this. Through building a life worth living, a family worth fighting for, and a future worth believing in.

The war was over. The work would continue. But tonight, on Easter Sunday, Hermione Granger-Weasley was home, surrounded by family, and that was enough.