Disclaimer: Obviously, Harry Potter and his world are property of JK Rowling and all those other
lucky bastards. Someone you don't recognize from anywhere in canon? Then that's mine.
A/N: Well, howdy all! Sorry for taking so long to post this one. Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter.
I appreciate it very much. I really enjoyed writing that one. The mixed feelings towards Stella are perfectly
understandable cause I'm not sure how I feel about her, myself!
Danielerin: I'm surprised you thought Julia needs some flaws. I thought hers are pretty obvious. For one, she is stubborn to a fault. I definitely think some stubbornness is good (since I can be pretty obstinate myself, lol) but you know what they say about too much of a good(?) thing... Look at it this way, Julia would rather be stubborn than listen to people who cared about her. So much so that she unwittingly endangered the life of the very person (Emerson) that she'd compromised her survival for. Death gave her a respite from realizing the error of her ways, but her mistake was no less significant because of that.
Thank you for your review :) I hope you'll keep reading and I hope you'll continue to be honest, cause that's how I know where I need to improve in my writing!
So here's another chapter. Many, many thanks to Lissanne for the beta!! You rock!
And as always, comments would be welcome. Thanks.
Chapter Seven -You Know That, Sometimes...
On that same Sunday afternoon, hundreds of miles away from both Hogwarts and Inverness, Ballynore could be found in
loud and disheveled chaos. People of various sizes breezed in and out through the open glass doors to and from the vast
backyard, chattering and laughing.
It was the annual Back-to-School Bash that the Potter, Weasley, Malfoy and Wood families organized for their children, all of whom attended The Woodlands Wizarding Day School (usually referred to as just 'Woodlands') . Woodlands was the school that most Wizarding children attended up until they received their Hogwarts letters. It had only been existence for about a decade and a half, founded in the wake of the final defeat of Voldemort.
The Lupins used to be included in that list but since Carolyna was their youngest child and she was already at Hogwarts, they didn't have any children at the party. Remus and Tonks did put in an appearance, though, and the party was generally open to any student of Woodlands that the party children invited.
Perhaps 'organized' was too rigid a word to describe the gatherings. They were always scheduled within the month before the Woodlands kids went back to school and were always held at either Ballynore or the Burrow, alternately. But as a general rule, activities were left more or less spontaneous.
Although that wasn't for lack of trying on Hermione's part.
"What's wrong with making an outline of all the things they can do and for how long?" she demanded of an exasperated Harry. They were in the living room and Harry had just advised against her whipping out the "Schedule of Events" that she'd spent quite some time putting together.
"Maybe because they're kids?" Harry responded wearily. He came up to stand behind her and rubbed her shoulders. "Hermione, relax. You do this every year."
She spun around, glaring at him. "What do you mean, I do this every year?"
"You know what I mean," he said gently, peering into her eyes. "I think it's great that you're so enthusiastic about it, you know that. But you get yourself worked up making your lists that get followed up to maybe item number three, at the most. And then the midgets get restless and need to be let loose to run around and scream aimlessly for a good thirty minutes. Which, in turn, messes up the schedule so that the Creative Writing Workshop has to be scrapped."
Hermione shot him a look. "I didn't put in Creative Writing this time," she retorted, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. That had been aiming rather high to expect kids stuffed full of sugar to sit still long enough to even remember their names, much less write them down.
She did tend to get over-analytical about these things, though. She'd always been that way and even her job as a Research Consultant for St. Mungo's demanded her organizational and heuristic skills. It wasn't that easy to turn those things off.
"And don't call them 'midgets'."
Her husband grinned and pulled her close; she sighed and let him hold her. Outside, she could hear the yells of more than a dozen children and their harried caretakers. He was right, of course. Soon enough, the kids would all be following lists and schedules for the better part of nine months. They deserved to enjoy these last days free from any bureaucracy.
Swallowing her pride, she leaned back to look into his eyes. "You're right."
Harry's eyes lit up but he didn't rub it in. He knew how hard it was for the brilliant Hermione Granger Potter to admit she was wrong. Instead, he kissed her forehead and pulled her back into the embrace. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and exhaled.
Sometimes Hermione found it hard to believe that she was a grown woman with children and married. To Harry. For all intents and purposes, he should be dead. He should have been dead since the age of fifteen months. But he survived and kept surviving. Where would she be- no, who would she be without him?
If she were to ask him that question, he would just look at her with his intense green eyes and throw the question back at her. He seemed to think he'd had less influence on her life than she'd had on his and Hermione knew that to be false. Being Harry's friend had been such a defining aspect of shaping who she was today. The things she had endured with him had taught her that she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. That she could be scary when someone she loved was threatened.
That it was possible to love so much that nothing and no one could come before or between them and their family.
Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night and felt strangely frightened by the thought of how happy she was. More than once, she had bounded out of bed and hurried silently to her children's beds to watch them sleep. She would just stand there and smile over the way Emerson's covers always seemed to end up on the floor; the way Ben's fingers would twitch in such a manner that to an uninformed eye, it looked as if he was dreaming about playing the piano. Hermione knew, however, that it was actually dreams of turning pages that made his fingers move like that; he'd told her so once when he was six.
Budget, surprisingly, sucked his thumb in his sleep and little Davina still slept with her bottom sticking straight up. Once she had feasted her eyes on the pillars of her world, once she'd reassured herself that it wasn't all an elaborate dream, she would go back to bed and stare at the one who had made it all possible.
The years had been kind to Harry, in terms of physical appearance. He was gorgeous and it wasn't just because she was biased. Granted, the Wizarding world wasn't a good barometer, since all and sundry still paid him excessive attention. But whenever they went into Muggle London, women of all ages would invariably do double takes, toss their hair, smile and employ other such flirty behavior. Her husband would react with bewilderment and Hermione knew he honestly had no idea just how attractive he was. Which just made him all the more appealing!
Except for a few tiny crow's feet at his eyes, one would guess him to be at least five years younger than he actually was. His body was fit and toned from all his Quidditch; he still trained with his team sometimes, even though he was now the owner.
Oh, and his eyes! Sometimes all he had to do was look at her and Hermione would feel herself melting. She was so in love with him that, after all this time, the thought that she was Mrs. Harry Potter would have her wanting to hug herself and shed tears of girlish delight.
Yep, he was her man and whenever she saw other women ogling him, she would beam and make no effort to suppress the rush of pride that she was the one he wanted. Sometimes it would actually excite her so much that if they were without the kids, Hermione would steer him somewhere private, from which they always emerged sated and grinning naughtily.
She'd once read a book in which there was a thought that she identified with so strongly, she almost felt she had written it herself:
How terrible it must be for all the people who have no one to love them so and no one whom they loved so...
"What're you thinking about?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her temple.
She smiled. "You."
"Excellent answer. And what part of me were you thinking about?"
From that cheeky grin on his face, there was no mistaking what he meant and Hermione blushed. "Control yourself, Potter. The place is full of 'midgets', after all."
His brow furrowed as if in thought. "I know!" he exclaimed, holding up a finger. "We can- get this- send them home!"
"And what'll we do with the three that belong to us?"
"Oh, right."
Hermione laughed and raised her face to kiss him. "I love you." He kissed her back and for a minute, she actually forgot that their property was filled to overflowing with a vast assortment of redheads and other colors.
"Love you, too," he whispered, letting her go just as the glass door slid open again and the patter of small feet and young voices raised in carefree laughter surged through the room.
"Hahaha! You're gonna have to do better than that!" yelled six-year-old Tristan Malfoy, who was being pursued by Luke as well as Ron and Luna's Alex. Tristan was the image of his father, except he had strawberry blond hair. He had a twin sister, Theresa, who was the sweetest little girl and as mild as Tristan was wild.
Hermione rather thought Tristan had inherited all of both his parents' showier aspects, leaving Theresa with what little meekness Malfoy and Ginny possessed between them. In fact, were not for the resemblance between them, one wouldn't know they were even related, much less twins.
Ginny Malfoy came storming in then, her red hair long and wind-blown, brown eyes flashing with annoyance. "Tristan Malfoy! How many times have I told you not to run in the house?"
Tristan stopped short in mid-dash, causing Luke and Alex to run smack into him and the three of them tumbled over, laughing. They wrestled around on the floor until Tristan caught sight of his mother's face. He got to his feet and adopted a smirk so reminiscent of a young Draco Malfoy that even his mother looked momentarily startled.
"Quite a few times, Mum. But you were talking about our house, not here. So that doesn't count."
Harry snickered softly beside her but Hermione was watching Ginny, whose eyes had widened. Tristan seemed to realize he'd gone a bit too far. He all of a sudden appeared so angelic, probably even Snape would've been fooled. "I think I'll go outside now, though."
"You stay right where you are, mister," Ginny said in a dangerous whisper. "Luke, Alex, go outside and play. Tristan won't be joining you for a few minutes."
"Yes, Aunt Ginny," the boys chorused, scrambling up from the floor.
Hermione watched her son as he ran by Tristan and distinctly heard him say, "Bad luck, mate. But better you than me!"
Harry took her hand and led her from the room so Ginny could have some privacy. As soon as they were outside, though, he burst out laughing. Hermione didn't think it was at all funny; she quite sympathized with Ginny. Luke could be the handful at times too.
"Can you believe that, with the exception of Andy Wood, every single child here is either a Potter, a Malfoy or a Weasley?" she asked suddenly, gazing out across the lawn.
He shook his head, still chuckling. "Pretty unbelievable. Though of course a good three-quarters of them are Weasleys." He turned to grin at her. "Let nobody say the Weasleys aren't being fruitful and multiplying."
He pecked her quickly on the cheek and hurried to help Ron and Oliver Wood with the mini-tournament they were putting together. Hermione rolled her eyes and went to chat with the other mothers, while also keeping an eye on things. Once the "tournament" started, she held Davina on her lap and helped her daughter cheer unabashedly for Ben, whom everybody said was going to be as brilliant a Seeker as his Dad was. Certainly when he was hovering on his broom, squinting against the glare of the sun on his glasses, Hermione could have sworn she was seeing an eleven-year-old Harry in his first matches at Hogwarts.
Unfortunately for Hermione, Ben seemed also to have inherited Harry's fearlessness of heights and speeds. She could only hope that, unlike his father, he didn't have rogue Bludgers or Dementors, not to mention an evil wizard, anywhere in his future by the time he got to fly in a more official capacity. Watching Harry fly at school, especially with all those obstacles, had already shaved months off her life, she was sure.
Once the game was done, everyone sprawled around eating fish and chips, pumpkin juice and treacle tarts. The rest of the day seemed to fly by after that, as always when there are numerous children underfoot. Before she knew it, Hermione was saying goodbye to the last visiting family at the party.
"I'll probably see you tomorrow at Woodlands for that parents' meeting," she said, helping Theresa into her coat.
Ginny nodded even as she expertly confiscated the trick sweets that Fred and Angelina's Matthew had given Tristan. Ignoring her son's whining, she leaned in to whisper, "I'm so glad the summer's nearly o-v-e-r. Too much more of this and I'd lose my mind." She leaned back to hoist her bag higher up onto her shoulders. "No, Tristan, you may not have them." Pause. "Because I said so. Draco, we're ready!"
Malfoy came into the room then, carrying his youngest child, three-year-old Abigail, who was a flaming redhead and utterly adorable. She was also spoiled rotten, being the youngest Weasley grandchild. But her spot would surely be usurped in a few months when Ron and Luna's infant arrived.
Malfoy was an Auror and, surprisingly, was complaining about how quiet things had been lately. "It's times like these I actually wish ol' Mad-Eye Moody was still on the force," he was drawling to Harry, who was toting his own little curly-haired princess. "He would, at the very least, liven things up a bit with his paranoia."
Harry snorted. "If that's by turning you into a ferret again, then I agree."
The other man made as if to present Harry the bird but he caught sight of Ginny's face just in time to turn the gesture into a rather anti-climactic "Talk to the hand" instead. Hermione caught Ginny's eye and the two women hastily ducked their heads to keep from bursting into laughter. Imagine Draco Malfoy adopting something so decidedly Muggle! If that didn't indicate he had changed, Hermione didn't know what would.
"Thanks for having us," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling as she pulled out their family Portkey, a limited edition miniature mahogany broom, elegantly engraved with all their names and the Malfoy family crest. "And remember to owl me about- I said no, Tristan! Bloo- Just owl me, okay?"
They gathered around, activated the Portkey and were gone, Tristan grumbling all the way out of sight.
Hermione stood still for a moment, listening to the deafening silence that always follows the cessation of a great noise. The Malfoys were the last of the crowd to leave and for a moment, Ballynore seemed unnaturally quiet.
Then Davina said, "Put me down, Daddy."
And sound returned. She could hear Ben and Luke in the family room, the ticking of the heirloom grandfather clock her Dad had given them as a wedding present.
Harry granted Davina her request and he and Hermione watched their daughter toddle away to where her brothers were. Harry put his arms around Hermione and she leaned back against him.
"Well, that's over with for another year," she said with a sigh.
"Yeah." She could feel the vibrations of the word through his chest. "And you have another year to obsess about and micromanage your list."
She smiled and wrapped her hands around his. "You love me anyway."
His nose rubbed deliberately against the side of her neck before being replaced by his lips and she shivered. As his arms tightened around her, Hermione closed her eyes and savored the perfection of the moment while she could.
Because surely it wouldn't last. The perfect moments came and went, as it was. Such was life but all things considered, she knew she had a pretty good one.
*********
Later that night, Harry was in the kitchen getting himself a glass of water when Hermione came in. As always when he first caught sight of her, a tingle ran down his spine and he paused in mid-drink to stare at the way her long hair rippled at her back. Sometimes Harry wondered whether it was either normal or healthy to be as attracted to his wife as he was. Because if the answer was 'no', he was in desperate need of a medi-psychiatrist. Or whatever the Wizarding equivalent of a Muggle shrink was.
Thankfully, he hadn't yet had to find out.
She was wearing jeans and a sleeveless top, and his eyes traveled the length of her body appreciatively. When they returned to her face, she was staring back at him.
"You are so beautiful," he told her softly, watching the color creep up her neck. Even after all the times he'd told her this, Hermione still blushed every time and a part of Harry got such a kick out of it. He was so incredibly lucky to have this woman a part of his life. He knew she wouldn't have had any problems whatsoever finding a husband, had she not settled for him. What man wouldn't want her?
She was beautiful and her brilliance was legendary in the Wizarding world. Even the almighty St. Mungo's had bent over backwards to hold onto her when she'd wanted to leave. Hermione had been determined to shelve her career indefinitely after Ben was born. Effectively delivering a shock to all those who knew her (or thought they did), she'd declared that she wanted to be a stay-at-home mother to her children, without any outside demands on her time.
Harry had had his doubts. Not about her as a mother, not at all; there was nobody else he could even dream of being the mother to his children. But he knew how much fulfillment she got out of her passions and he wondered if putting them aside was the best thing for her. He had, of course, supported her decision after letting her know his concerns.
The hospital, however, had been frantic. You'd have thought the very foundations of the institution would've crumbled if the great Dr. Granger (Hermione used her maiden name professionally) had resigned. After a lengthy courtship, they'd managed to convince her to stay on in a consultant capacity but with all the rights and privileges of a full-time employee.
So periodically, she needed to go to the company for meetings, debriefings and whatnot, and she usually had quite a bit of paperwork. But she got to be home with their children the vast majority of the time, which was what she'd wanted in the first place. Harry knew she was secretly relieved that she still had something external to occasionally be consumed by, though. And he completely understood. He couldn't imagine Hermione Granger without something book-related to obsess about.
He watched her move around, Summoning the ingredients for the kids' nighttime hot chocolate that they always had before bed. He smiled as she lingered over the cups, running her fingers over the names printed on each one. She was as wonderful a mother as she was a bookworm.
He set down his glass and walked over. "Can I help?"
"Sure. You can put chocolate in the mugs," she replied, handing him the enormous container of hot cocoa mix.
There were ways of making hot chocolate using only a wand, of course. But once upon a time, Hermione's father had prepared the drink for the kids using a well-known Muggle mix and from that day on, nothing else would do. Smiling to himself, Harry removed the lid and began doing as he was told. Just as he'd finished scooping into the last mug, he happened to glance at the countertop across from him. The space was clear of anything but Harry suddenly got such a look on his face, you'd have thought it was covered with Golden Snitches.
He grinned suddenly and looked over at his wife, who seemed oblivious. "Hermione."
"Hmm?"
"D'you remember what happened over there?" he pointed at the countertop right beside the enormous refrigerator.
She looked where he indicated, stared at the spot for a second and frowned. "No. Should I?"
"I think so," he replied, moving to stand behind her.
"What happened there?" she asked, turning around to look at him, the hot chocolate forgotten for the moment. One thing he loved about Hermione was she still retained that high level of curiosity, that thirst to know. It was part of what made her such a great mother; she actively sought to know their kids.
Harry grinned. "Not going to tell you."
She looked annoyed. "Well, if you're not going to tell me- wait. When did this happen?"
"That's the spirit. It happened, let's see.. going on nine years now."
"Nine years!" she cried, gazing at him in exasperation. "You expect me to remember something from nine years ago?"
He nodded, still with that same infuriating I-know-something-you-don't grin. After watching her stew for a few seconds, he chuckled. "It was a few weeks after Ben was born. Ten weeks, in fact." He emphasized the word 'ten' as if it would mean something to her and his grin widened when he saw that it did: Hermione was blushing deeply.
"Oh."
" 'Oh' is right," he whispered, pulling her to him and letting himself fall into the memory.
It was ten weeks after the birth of his first son and Harry Potter could be found shoved up against the
refrigerator in his kitchen. Every now and then, his elbows would bump against the gleaming brushed silver surface of
the appliance and he would emit soft groans and other assorted noises.
The sounds were not of pain, however. Far from it. Because Harry had, in his arms, his wife, who was kissing him with a feverish passion and he wouldn't have stopped her for all the Galleons in Gringotts. He was a willing and active participant, you see. His hands wandered down to cup her buttocks, pulling her flush against his body and he smiled at the feral growl that Hermione emitted. She was on fire, she was in heat and knowing her as he did, Harry was not surprised.
Beginning shortly after they'd confessed their true feelings for each other, Harry had discovered, to his delight, that Hermione had a vigorous sexual appetite. When he'd commented on it to her, she'd said he was the cause of it and while that was pleasing to his ego to hear, Harry wasn't sure how much of that assessment was accurate. He rather thought it was simply Hermione, as much her as her obsession with books and lists. And to say he was happy to be reaping the benefits of that particular trait of hers would be putting it mildly. Not for nothing were they considered the randiest couple in their circle of friends.
So imagine how they'd reacted when after Ben's birth, their doctor had casually added that they were to abstain from sexual activity for at least ten weeks.
Hermione had finally managed to tear her eyes away from Ben's tiny face. "Excuse me. I thought I heard you say 'No sexual activity for ten weeks.' I know I misheard you."
The Healer looked up. "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Potter. Because of the.. ahh.. complication, it is absolutely essential that you allow yourself time to heal and ten weeks is the minimum for that."
"What?!" Hermione exclaimed, gaping. "Isn't it supposed to be six weeks?"
"Usually, yes," the Healer conceded. "But that's merely a benchmark and in your case, ten weeks is what will be required. I'm afraid that number is not negotiable, unless you want to further compound the complication."
Hermione looked aghast, then glanced up at Harry as if pleading for help. What could he do but look just as helpless? Surely the Healer knew what he was talking about?
Harry had listened to his wife rant and rave about what the hell use was it to be magical and living in a medically superior world if they couldn't even heal a simple tear? The very idea made Harry wince and he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved that he wasn't a woman. The next instant he was overwhelmed with love and sympathy for his wife for what she'd endured to give him the perfect little boy he was holding.
He knew he wouldn't really suffer from the ten week abstinence order. Sure, he would miss making love to Hermione but if things got too hard (no pun intended), he could always.. ahem.. take matters into his own hands. Or hand, as it were. And he really needed to stop thinking about that!
But his beautiful, lusty wife would not be able to even attempt anything of a sexual nature for ten weeks? How would she survive?
She had, but Harry was not at all shocked when as soon as they reached the end of the ten weeks, his wife had attacked him. The ten weeks were finally up, which was how he came to be smashed against the fridge, being mauled by the brown-eyed woman. Not that he minded. After all, what man can resist the woman he loves being so hot for him that she was literally tearing his clothes off?
"Harry," she gasped, fumbling with his zipper. Her hair was wild around her face and he brushed it aside as he kissed her possessively. Her aggressiveness excited him and he was as eager to be with her as she was to be with him.
He unbuttoned her shirt and cupped her breasts, heavy with nourishment for ten-week-old Ben, who was fast asleep upstairs, along with Emerson. The house was charmed so that when the kids were upstairs, Harry and Hermione could hear them from anywhere inside but the kids couldn't hear them.
He made as if to unhook her bra, but her hands came up to stop him. "No, not unless you want a faceful of milk. My nipples are aching too, but not in a good way," she said in a rush, before she was sucking so hard at his neck, Harry knew he would need Concealment Charms there the next day.
"Okay," he murmured, running his hands up and down her back instead. Their lips met in a sweet and drugging kiss even as she managed to get her hand inside his pants to stroke his erection. Harry groaned and tugged her skirt up, his fingers creeping up her thighs to move her knickers aside. Except-
"No knickers, Mrs. Potter?" he whispered as his fingers met soft hair, but not even the most minuscule of materials. But of course. Surely she'd been looking forward to this all day and his wife was nothing if not practical. Still- "Tsk, tsk."
Hermione moaned and ground her crotch into his hand as his fingers delved into her folds. She was so wet, so responsive and Harry felt suddenly overcome with emotion. He knew it was silly but even after more than two years of marriage, it still shocked and thrilled him that Hermione was always as hot for him as he was for her.
"Please," she gasped, unable to wait anymore and Harry needed no further encouragement.
He pushed his jeans and boxers down, lifted her and perched her on the edge of the counter. She opened for him but before he could enter her, she reached down to grasp him.
"Oh, Harry," she sobbed. "I've missed you. I've miss it."
He kissed her rosy lips softly. "It missed you too," he whispered and entered her in one smooth motion. She cried out and quickened around him immediately, her head falling forward onto his shoulder as her body shook. But he moved slowly, knowing that getting there was only half the fun and that she wouldn't be satisfied that easily.
Not after ten weeks of abstinence.
Harry couldn't have defined in words how good it felt to be inside her again. How had he existed without this? The sensations were incredible, his wife's heat intoxicating. She caught her breath and began moving with him, her tongue mating with his in direct imitation of what they were doing further south. Harry picked up the pace and Hermione threw her head back, her knuckles white from clutching the countertop.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," she moaned repeatedly. "Do it."
He did it, faster, and she went into a frenzy. Her hands were everywhere, grabbing at him, tugging him closer as if she was trying to absorb his entire being into her. As if she couldn't get close enough to him and Harry couldn't help but be caught up in her passion, her hunger.
He was gripping her hips so hard that he knew there would likely be bruises, but Hermione didn't seem to care. Because at that moment, he couldn't hold her tight enough; he couldn't move fast enough; he couldn't go deep enough. She was calling out his name, ordering him, begging him, telling him what to do and how to do it, and in such colorful terms that it took all Harry had not to lose it right there and then. He needed her to reach Shangri-la first because frankly, he feared for her sanity if she didn't get this release.
"I love you," he whispered raggedly, hearing her beginning to make the little whimpers that he knew signaled that she was close.
At that precise moment, there was a sudden plaintive wail from upstairs. Apparently Ben was awake, for some reason. Instinctively, Harry started to slow down and turned his neck to look in the direction of the sound.
But Hermione grabbed his head. "Harry Potter, if you stop now, I swear to God I will murder you," she growled, her hips bucking frantically against his.
At her words, Harry felt himself swell even more within her and her eyes widened then fluttered shut.
"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, giving her his all again, pounding into her and barely a minute later, her tension burst and she was screaming into his neck as her body went into powerful spasms around him. She convulsed in his arms, her walls clenching him and undomesticated equines couldn't have held back his explosion.
For a moment, nothing else existed but the utter bliss of being one. The pleasure was sublime, exquisite, mind-numbing. They returned to Earth, gasping and shuddering, to the sound of the increasingly angry yells from upstairs. They swiftly disentangled themselves and tried to set their clothing to rights. Harry helped Hermione off the counter and held her up until her knees could support her. Her face was flushed and she was still trembling but their son needed her.
"Thank you. I really needed that. Continue this later?" she said, speaking rapidly.
He nodded quickly. "You're on."
She took a deep breath, gathering herself, and Disapparated; a mere second later, Ben's cries had lessened dramatically. Harry stood alone in the kitchen, bracing himself against the counter, taking gulps of air. His whole body felt simultaneously weakened and invigorated by what had just happened and he wondered vaguely why there weren't scorch marks on the side of the fridge. Because surely the heat in the kitchen just now had been an inferno.
"Daddy!" another little voice piped up and Harry's head whipped around. Checking to see that he looked presentable and mentally putting on his 'Daddy' cap, he hurried from the room. His daughter was standing at the top of the landing, sporting spectacular bed head.
Harry climbed the stairs to her. "Hey," he said, stooping to pick her up. "What're you doing awake?"
Em pouted and rubbed her eyes. "Ben woke me up."
Harry could sympathize. His son had a voice loud enough to raise the dead and no qualms about putting it to use, either. "He's pretty loud, isn't he?"
"Uh-uh," Em nodded, then let out what Harry thought seemed like a far too grown-up sigh. "I guess it's too much to hope for a little peace and quiet around here."
'Now where on earth did she hear that one?' Harry thought, gaping at his daughter as he fought the laughter bubbling up inside him. He and Hermione had long been telling themselves not to be surprised by the things Emerson said anymore; the kid had a remarkable memory and an excellent pair of ears. But the decidedly grown-up manner of speaking that she had, especially coming from a three-year-old, afforded them more moments of amusement and pride than the laws of humility normally allowed any two parents to experience.
"I guess so," Harry said, grinning as he buried his face in Emerson's untidy jumble of curls. "Let's get you back to bed, though."
Once he got her tucked in again, he sat beside her bed and watched her fight to keep her eyes open. She had pretty much lost the battle by the time Hermione slipped into the room, though she managed to sleepily mumble, "Mummy?"
"I'm here," Hermione whispered, smoothing the small forehead.
"Love you, Mummy. Love you, Daddy."
"Love you too," they whispered, taking turns to kiss the sleeping child before slipping out of her room.
They made a detour to the nursery so Harry lean over his now-contented son and kiss the little face. He felt a rush of love and protectiveness for this miniature version of himself, who was sleeping peacefully once again.
"He's so greedy," Hermione said later as she undressed for bed. But she was smiling.
Harry chuckled, pulling the blankets back and climbing inside. "He is my son, isn't he? We Potters love our food."
"That's for darn sure," his wife sighed, slipping under the covers too. "I fed him barely two hours ago."
"Guess what Em said just now," Harry said as they snuggled together under the covers and they both laughed heartily when he told her.
"That kid," Hermione giggled. "I bet she picked that one up at the Burrow."
"Probably," he replied. "But enough about that. I seem to recall receiving a request to continue a certain something right about now."
Hermione colored, but he could see the lust creeping back into her eyes. "Oh, really? I don't remember."
"Well, let me refresh your memory, Mrs. Potter. A mind is a terrible thing to waste," he whispered as he lowered his lips to hers once again.
And let's just say her memory was very thoroughly refreshed by the time they surrendered to their sated exhaustion and fell into slumber.
"How did you manage to get upstairs that night without splinching yourself, anyway?" Harry asked his
red-faced wife, as they both stared at the infamous countertop.
She giggled. "I don't know. I could barely stand up but I guess I was just determined to get up there. I was feeling a bit guilty by that point. You know, that I let my baby cry because I was too busy getting off."
"You wicked, sex-crazy wildcat, you," Harry growled, slipping his hands under her shirt. The memory had turned him on and from the look in Hermione's eyes and the fact that her nipples were rock hard, he knew it'd had the same effect on her. "How about an encore performance?"
She grinned devilishly and stood up on tiptoe to gently bite his earlobe. "I thought you'd never ask."
Just then, they heard Davina let out a scream of what sounded like frustration. The next second, Budget exclaimed, "I had it first, Vina!" and Davina burst into loud wails.
Hermione rested her forehead on his shoulder with a sigh, then stood back. "Can I take a rain check?"
"Yeah," Harry muttered grudgingly, his lust fading for the time being.
Such were the joys of parenthood, anyway, right? Being a parent meant, to be pessimistic, a dramatic reduction in the time and opportunity for little quickies. Besides, you don't always get what you want, when you want it. Actually, didn't that apply to every area of life, whether you were a child, a teenager, an adult or a parent?
Hermione went to sit in judgment over the dispute, leaving Harry to finish preparing the hot chocolate. As he left the kitchen, levitating the tray with the steaming mugs ahead of him, the countertop gleamed beside the shiny refrigerator, wrapping its covers again around its secret.
Until next time.
*********
End Notes:
1. The quote: How terrible it must be for all the people who have no one to love them so and no one whom they loved so... is from the book, Annie John by Jamaica Kincaid, and belongs to her and the publishers, yada yada. Lovely book!
2. The "undomesticated equines" is a shout-out to Stargate SG-1 and the luscious Teal'C!