Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Note: First of all, I must thank Bentheslayer for beta-ing this fic. He is absolutely wonderful, and I just adore him. And I highly recommend his stories! They're brilliant. Thanks, love!

Second of all, this is my first ever fluff-piece and I'm a bit nervous about it, but I must thank Ben once again for boosting my confidence! The humour I'm iffy on. My sister said it was cutely funny, and I took that as a bit of a compliment, seeing as she's not at all a Harry/Hermione shipper.

Last, but certainly not least, thanks for reading and if you could, please leave a review. They make me happy.

Disclaimer: If I was J.K. Rowling, Harry would have realized his feelings for Hermione AGES ago. Therefore, I'm not as rich as the queen, I'm not driving people mad with red herrings, and I'm not making money from this. Cheers!

The sounds of birds' songs and children's laughter mingled beautifully, carried by the cool summer breeze that Hermione, walking out onto the Burrow's sunny back garden, was most thankful for. A smile played on her face as she carried a jug of iced pumpkin juice and listened to the sound of her children, playing with their many cousins.

She rested a hand on her slightly protruding middle as she made her way to the tables around which were seated ten Weasleys, the Longbottoms, and her husband, her Harry, and looked over at the four-on-four Quidditch game, then at the sandbox where four of the six little girls played and giggled. A content sigh escaped her as she neared the table, her pale yellow sundress billowing softly by the breeze.

She set the cold flagon down between her two best friends and was about to take a seat when a bushy-haired four-year-old came rushing up to her from the sandbox, crying.

"What is it, darling?" she asked, leaning down as much as she could, given her condition. Gemma was sobbing and seemed unable to speak. Her hazel eyes were swollen and red, and her brown hair, slightly lighter than her mother's, ruffled in the wind.

Hermione looked at Harry who had knelt beside their daughter. "What's wrong, baby?" he asked, green eyes full of worry.

Gemma gave a huge sob and opened her mouth. Hermione grasped the edge of the table to keep herself upright at the sight of her daughter's tongue with a hole straight through. Acid Pops.

Harry heaved a great sigh and stood. "Geoffrey James Potter!" he called toward the Quidditch game. "Over here! Now!"

"Time out!" called Etienne, Bill and Fleur's eldest son at age nine. This elicited the groans of six other children, who climbed off their toy broomsticks to see what was going on as a messy, brown-haired, green-eyed boy made his way over to his father.

Geoff took one look at his sister and stopped dead in his tracks. Almost instantly, he adopted a sympathetic expression and rushed to her side. "Gemma, what's wrong?" he asked, rather convincingly.

Hermione heard poorly stifled sniggers behind her and turned to scowl at a thoroughly amused Ron, Fred, and George. She gave them one of her most severe looks which almost wiped the smirks off their freckled faces, before turning to see Harry kneeling beside Gemma once more.

"Show him, honey," he said.

At the very moment Gemma opened her mouth, Geoff said, "I didn't give it to her!"

Harry gave him a sternly suspicious look that made even Hermione suppress a grin. He'd certainly stolen a few of her own tactics over the years. "Oh really?" said Harry. "Where else would she have gotten it?"

"Don't ask me!" exclaimed Geoff. "Look who we're surrounded by!" He gestured to his dear uncles and cousins as he said this.

The twins and Ron laughed harder than ever. "He's right, you know," gasped Ron, taking his ten month old daughter, Nymphe, from Luna. Nymphe giggled up at her father, strawberry blonde curls playing in the gentle breeze.

"You are not helping matters, Ronald," snapped Hermione, who sat down heavily and looked around for her wand, drawing Gemma into her arms. She sighed and said, "Harry, hand me your wand. I must have left mine in the kitchen."

Harry handed it to her, still gazing at his son. His wife hesitated before healing her daughter. "Harry," she said, in a voice full of warning. He broke his penetrating gaze at Geoffrey to look at Hermione. The message was clear; Legilimency was not an aid in discipline. She always insisted that they trust their children, and show it by not using magic to determine the truth. Harry found this rather difficult, as his son was the incarnation of his father and his godfather combined.

After an impatient, bossy-sounding sob from her daughter, Hermione waved Harry's wand and muttered a Healing charm she often used at St Mungo's. Her daughter, tongue restored and good as new, continued to sniffle as she clung to her mummy.

"Gemma, who gave you the Acid pop?" she asked softly, running her fingers through her hair. She felt the girl shake her head with an almighty sniffle.

Harry sighed again. "We'll never know who did it," he said irritably, sinking into his chair beside Hermione.

"Does this mean I can get back to the game?" asked Geoff, just as irritably as his father.

Narrowing her eyes at her son, Hermione spoke crisply, "Once you learn how to speak to your parents, you can play all the Quidditch you want."

Geoff grinned at her. "You look beautiful today, mum," he said, winningly.

"On with you!" Harry said, trying not to laugh as Geoff sniggered and ran back to the game.

Shaking her head and laughing quietly, Hermione looked down at Gemma, who had rested her head on her mother's baby bump. "Hi, baby," she said softly, still sniffling. She continued to run her fingers through the hair so like her own as she looked up to watch her son fly with his cousins, two of which were throwing-

"Are they using a gnome as the Quaffle?" she asked, aghast. They had painted it red, she was horrified to see. "And the Bludger?!" She saw its small body and potato head, painted black, fly across the lawn and was hit by a small bat.

"It doesn't hurt them!" said Ginny quickly, as she cradled two-week-old Julius in her arms. "Hear it giggling? It's a more fun version of de-gnoming the garden!"

Before Hermione could comment at how barbaric this game was, even when played by children, Ron stood and shouted, "Don't decapitate him, Arturius! Save that brutality for Hogwarts!"

"Ron," said Luna, with an exasperatedly amused shake of her head and a dreamy smile.

Harry laughed and refilled his goblet with pumpkin juice. He took a sip and reached over to take Hermione's hand, grinning. Even after all these years, she felt her heart melt at the sight of that grin she adored. She gazed at him, as he kissed the back of her hand and resumed watching the game, her thoughts traveling places they really shouldn't at such a time, but before they'd gone too far, a shout rent the air.

"I got it! I got it! We've won!" Geoffrey was yelling, jumping off his broom and running toward his dad to show him the now dead, golden dragonfly they'd used in place of a Snitch.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the sight of the lifeless insect splattered all over her son's hand, as Harry disentangled his fingers from hers to jump up and spin around with Geoff in his arms, both laughing.

"Sadist's Quidditch," Hermione grumbled, hugging her daughter tightly.

"Excellent job, son! Excellent!" Harry said happily, placing Geoff back on the ground and ruffling his already messy hair. They beamed at each other.

"I think," said Mrs Weasley at the other end of the table, "that this is cause for celebration." She waved her wand and twelve bowls of ice cream appeared at the children's table.

"Go wash your hands," Hermione told Geoff. He heaved a long-suffering sigh, but did as he was told.

Gemma, eyes twinkling excitedly, joined her best friend and cousin, Stella, Ron and Luna's middle child at the same age as Gemma, at the table. Hermione watched them fondly as they giggled and ate their chocolate ice cream, until someone whispered in her ear. "Want to escape while we can?"

Her lips curved into a smile and she turned her head to see Harry's green eyes dancing mischievously. She nodded eagerly, her own eyes twinkling excitedly, and took his proffered hand, standing with his help.

"We're going to take a walk," Harry informed Ron quietly, as Fred sulked and whinged, "Don't we get ice cream, too, Mum?"

Laughing softly, Harry and Hermione made their way away from the table and down the path that led through a heavily wooded area to the pond. She leaned into her husband as he wrapped an arm around her expanding waist. He kissed her hair as they walked silently around the water where several ducks swam gracefully.

Birds sang busily, frogs croaked wetly, and crickets chirped sweetly, the sounds all culminating, drowning out the happy chaos of the traditional Saturday Weasley Picnic they'd left behind, pulling them into a world all their own.

Smiling contentedly, they approached the gazebo he and the Weasley boys had built for Ginny and Neville's wedding four years previous. Harry helped her up the stairs and sat with her on the white wooden bench. The sun was setting now, casting long shadows over the pond.

They sat together silently for a short while, comfortable in the peace and quiet and each other's arms. Hermione's head was resting on his shoulder when he cupped her chin and tilted her face so that their eyes met. They gazed at each other for a moment before his eyes fell shut and he pressed his lips to hers softly. She was all too eager to return the kiss, which steadily deepened.

Wanting to take things farther, Hermione made to remove his belt, but Harry, evidently, had other things on his mind. He broke the kiss. "Not now," he whispered. "You know who we were surrounded by." He gave her a lopsided grin and she laughed softly. He placed a light kiss on the corner of her lips, on her chin, a trail of kisses along her jaw.

Her hands twitched as a breathless whimper made itself known. If he didn't want to make love, he'd better stop that. He did stop, and she was both disappointed and relieved, until he began whispering against her ear, one of her most sensitive spots.

"I know I don't tell you often enough," he said, "but thank you." He nibbled her earlobe.

"For-for what?" she asked, closing her eyes and trying to concentrate on what he was saying.

"For everything, for life," he answered and nipped at her neck. She uttered a breathless moan. "You have given me life in so many ways. You've saved mine in more ways than I can count. You've given me three children." He stroked her belly and kissed her neck sloppily, eliciting another husky moan from her lips. "You are my life."

She felt tears sting her eyes and she pulled away from him to wipe them hastily away. "How can you say that to a pregnant woman?" she said, sniffling.

He grinned impishly at her and before he could reply, she pulled him to her once more and kissed him hungrily. Soon, neither of them cared who they may or may not be surrounded by.

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