Better Late Than Never by cheering charm

Rating: NC17
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 18/02/2005
Last Updated: 13/03/2005
Status: In Progress

It has been twenty years after Harry, Ron and Hermione left Hogwarts. None of them could have
imagined the effect time, distance and life in general would have on their friendship. An opportune
meeting on Platform 9 3/4 rekindles feelings long forgotten.




1. Chapter 1
------------

**Better Late Than Never**

**by** **cheeringcharm**

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger had known heartache before. Never had her heart felt as broken as it did at
this moment.

Platform 9 ¾ was awash in the usual activity that signaled the imminent departure of the
Hogwarts Express. Tearful goodbyes of family and cheery hellos of old friends intermingled with the
occasional hiss of the imposing red steam engine. A conductor walked along the platform,
encouraging people to get aboard. Owls were hooting in their cages and cats were darting away from
their owners in a last ditch effort to avoid captivity for the next few hours.

Hermione took in none of the commotion going on around her. Her focus was on the little boy
standing in front of her struggling not to cry. He was small for his age, with large black eyes,
olive skin and a nose he hadn’t quite grown into. His heart-shaped face was framed with a mass of
soft, brown hair that curled up slightly at the ends.

She knelt down until they were eye to eye. “Daniel?” She rubbed his arms while her heart
constricted painfully in her chest. “You are going to love Hogwarts, honey.”

“No, I’m not,” he replied. “I don’t know anyone there.”

“Yes, you do. You know Katherine and Jo Potter. Katherine will be in your year.” The watery eyes
of moments before were replaced with the indignation of an eleven year old.

“That was five years ago, Mum, and she spent the entire time picking on me and making fun of my
nose.”

A flare of protective anger rose in Hermione. “Kids pick on other kids to feel better about
their own inadequacies, Daniel. Just ignore it.”

Daniel scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Do you have everything?” Hermione asked with enthusiasm she didn’t feel.

Daniel nodded silently.

“Let’s get you on the train, then,” she said, standing up.

“Hermione!”

With a large smile on her face, she turned toward the sound of a familiar voice calling her
name. Ron Weasley was striding down the platform, his arm extended above his head in an
attention-grabbing wave. Hermione waved back before glancing down at her son.

“I wondered if we would see you here,” Ron said with a grin, giving her a brief hug.

“Wotcher, Hermione,” the wisp thin witch next to Ron said. “Long time no see.”

“Hi, Tonks,” Hermione replied, giving her a hug. “Love the hair.”

Tonks ran her hand through her spiky hair in an effort to remember what it looked like on that
particular day. She gave a wicked grin and Ron rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes. The lime green spikes -
Ron’s favourite.”

“This is how my wife tortures me. I obviously only partially pissed her off. If she’s really
angry, she turns into a frightening replica of my mum.”

Hermione laughed and said in answer to Daniel’s confused expression, “Tonks is a
metamorphmagus.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “I’ve read about those!”

“Like mother like son, I see,” Ron chuckled.

“I guess so,” Hermione replied with a proud grin.

Tonks knelt down in front of Daniel and said, “Want to see me do it?”

He nodded his head vigorously in reply.

“Any preferences?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Daniel squinted an eye closed and screwed up his mouth in thought. With a devilish grin he said,
“Long hair in dreadlocks.”

“Colour?” Tonks asked.

“Cerulean.”

Tonks looked at Hermione with an appreciative grin. “Cheeky boy, isn’t he?”

“He got *that* from his father.”

“Okay, here it goes.” Tonks screwed up her face and immediately her hair started growing and
intertwining itself into long braids. The lime green color darkened into a beautiful, but equally
bright electric blue.

“That’s enough!” Ron exclaimed as Tonks’s hair grew down to her waist. She grabbed the ends of
her locks and looked at it admiringly.

“Nice,” she said as Daniel looked on with a grin.

“Thanks Daniel. It’s my new favourite,” Ron said, slapping him affectionately on the
shoulder.

“Where are your kids?” Hermione asked the couple.

“On the train already. They bolt away from us as soon as possible. No long, teary goodbyes for
them.”

“I can’t decide if that is a sign of raising well-adjusted sprogs or more of an indictment on
our parenting skills,” Tonks mused.

“I’m sure it is the former,” Hermione replied, watching Ron drape an arm casually over his
wife’s shoulder.

Even after almost twenty years it was still difficult to Hermione to accept that Ron had married
Nymphadora Tonks. His infatuation with her had started between their sixth and seventh year. Tonks
had tolerated the schoolboy crush with good humour, but didn’t do anything to encourage his
affection. Instead, she spent her time around Ron at Grimmauld Place with the countenance of the
most unattractive features she could imagine. Hermione had thought that was an excellent tack for
Tonks to take, knowing Ron’s predilection for beauty in years past.

He had surprised everyone with his single-minded pursuit of Tonks after they left Hogwarts. She
finally went out with him, mainly with the intention of turning him off and directing him to
witches more his age. She had been shocked to realize halfway through the date that the idea of him
dating anyone else made her stomach churn. They were married a year later.

“Have you seen Harry?” Ron asked Hermione, popping her out of her reverie.

“No, I haven’t,” she replied, looking around.

“I’m sure they are running late. Three girls will do that to you.”

“Let’s get you on the train,” Hermione said to Daniel.

“Here, let me help,” Ron said, grabbing Daniel’s trunk.

Hermione knelt down once again and gave Daniel a hug. “I love you,” she whispered, trying to
keep her voice from trembling.

“I love you, too,” he said.

“The holidays will be here before you know it. You will probably make so many friends that you
won’t even want to come home.”

“Yeah, right,” Daniel said, apprehension written all over his face.

“Hey, Danny!” Tonks said cheerily. “Let me take you to find Theo. He’s a second year in
Gryffindor. He’ll show you the ropes. Plus, I want to show him my hair. He’ll be over the
moon.”

Hermione watched her only child walk away from her with Tonks, who turned her head and gave her
a wink. Daniel turned and waved from the steps of the last train car and was gone.

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Ron said from behind her.

“I know,” Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes. She turned to see concern written all over Ron’s
face.

“You all right?”

She nodded and gave him a half-smile. “I’ll be fine.”

The train gave a long hiss and the conductor cried, “All aboard!” just as a clatter of trolleys
and shrill exclamations reverberated through the emptying platform.

“Ten fifty-nine,” Ron said. “That’s downright early for them.”

“Them” was a group of five people – a man, a woman and three young girls, each of varying
heights and hair colour, but clearly sisters. The oldest was in the lead, obviously trying to
distance herself from the other four people as quickly as possible. Her prefect badge gleamed on
her jumper and her long strawberry blonde hair was clipped at the nape of her neck. She walked to
the first compartment and boarded the train without a backward glance at the other four people.

Not that they noticed. The two younger girls were in a shouting match, which their father was
trying valiantly to mediate while the older witch looked on with a bored expression.

“How many times do I have to say that I did not draw the goatee on your Oliver Wood poster?” the
youngest girl said without sincerity.

“And who else would do that, Katie? NO one! You are the only one demented enough to destroy
someone else’s property!”

Katie shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t believe me. I don’t care, Jo.”

“I’ll get you back, you just wait,” Joanne replied. She turned on her heel and stomped up the
steps into the first available car.

The wicked gleam in the beautiful little girl’s eyes disappeared into a look of innocence as she
turned to her dad. “Did you draw on her poster?” he asked in a grave voice.

“No,” Katie said innocently, throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Her innocent façade
crumpled a bit under the stern gaze of her father. “I painted on it.”

Harry rolled his eyes and knelt down. “Katie, you can’t be causing trouble at Hogwarts. You know
Snape will be searching for any reason he can to expel you. Promise me you will stay out of
trouble.”

“But, Dad…”

“Promise me.”

“Okay.”

“Right. Just so you know, if I get one owl from Snape about you, you will not get the trip you
want for Christmas.”

Her reaction to this news left no doubt that she thought Harry was overreacting to the entire
situation. “DAD!”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” said the woman who had been standing a couple of steps
back from the scene.

Ignoring the woman and her comment, Harry kept his attention on his youngest girl. “You need to
stay out of trouble. That is more important than a shopping trip to Paris.”

“Fine,” Katie said, and she too turned and stomped up the stairs of the train.

Harry stood and watched the train shift forward bit by bit. His weak “Bye” was lost amid the
sound of the steam engine releasing a heavy sigh of resignation as it began its laborious job.

“You know, she is really looking forward to Paris.”

He turned his attention to the woman behind him for the first time. “Yes, I know. That’s why it
will hopefully keep her in line.”

The blonde witch rolled her eyes before glancing at her watch. “I have an appointment,” she
said, and disapparated.

“Of course you do,” Harry murmured.

An unreadable expression flickered across Harry’s features when he spotted Hermione and Ron
standing there, trying to act as if they hadn’t witnessed the uncomfortable family scene. Shock
followed by comprehension registered on his face before he shook his head and exclaimed, “Merlin’s
beard! Hermione!” He strode forward and gave her an awkward hug, much like the one Ron had given
her minutes earlier.

“Harry,” Hermione said, returning the hug. “Good to see you.”

“You, too!” he replied, looking her up and down. “You look great.”

“Thanks. So do you. Both of you,” she said, including Ron in the compliment.

“Is your son starting Hogwarts this year? I thought he might go to the school in Spain.”

“No. Miguel and I agreed long ago that he would go to Hogwarts.”

“Best wizarding school in the world,” Ron piped in.

“Too right,” Hermione agreed.

“Is he excited?” Harry asked, his green eyes shining with interest behind his glasses.

“Yes. And no. He’s a bit nervous about not knowing anyone. Thankfully, Tonks took Daniel to find
Theo and re-introduce them.”

“He’ll take good care of him. I would offer Katherine’s services – she’s in her first year, too
– but she would be more likely to get him in trouble.”

They all chuckled in the way that old friends, now separated by time and distance, do. Hermione
searched for something to say to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Your daughters are beautiful,” she offered.

Harry lit up with a father’s pride. “Thanks, although I don’t take much credit for it. They got
their beauty from their mother.”

“Thank Merlin that’s the only thing they got from her,” Ron mumbled.

“I think the middle one looks quite a bit like you,” Hermione said.

“She is the spitting image of Harry,” Ron interjected. “And quite a bit better than you on a
broom, I might add.”

“You love bringing that up, don’t you?” Harry said with mock severity.

“Hey, I’ve got to use any excuse possible to deflate that ego.”

“Wotcher, Harry!” Tonks said, sliding her arm through Ron’s.

“Hiya, Tonks! Nice look,” Harry said, staring at her hair with a smirk.

“Thanks.” She turned to Hermione. “Danny and Theo hit it off. I reckon by the time they make it
to Hogsmeade they’ll be thick as thieves. Nothing to worry about.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Tonks. Now let’s just keep our fingers crossed for
Gryffindor.” Tonks raised her hand and crossed her fingers, giving Hermione a wink.

“How about we go for a pint at the Leaky Cauldron?” Ron asked. “Give us a chance to catch
up.”

“That sounds brilliant,” Harry said, looking expectantly at Hermione.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t,” Hermione said. “I have rounds at 1:00.”

“Oh,” Harry and Ron replied together.

“Well, I’m sure we will be seeing more of you now that Danny is at Hogwarts,” Tonks said. “We’ll
plan something next time.”

“Sounds lovely,” Hermione said. “I really must go. Quite a ways to travel.” She gave them each a
hug in turn and disapparated.

Hermione lied when she said she had rounds at one. She had rounds at 1 o’clock the following
day. Today, her day was filled with the task of sitting alone in her empty house crying for Daniel.
The thought of sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, forcing conversation or worse, talking about the
“good ole days,” while she was dying inside made her nauseous. She wanted to be alone.

Holding a cup of tea, she walked through her home oblivious to her surroundings, her bare feet
slapping on the ceramic tile floor. Sunlight streamed through the arched windows, revealing a stone
courtyard anchored by a three-tiered fountain. Her mind directed her to the one room in the entire
house in which she was most comfortable – the library.

She walked into the dark room and waved her wand at the fireplace. A fire erupted immediately,
but gave off no heat. She had learned the charm for an ambient fire long ago, the real thing rarely
needed in the mild climate of Barcelona, Spain.

She settled into her favourite armchair and stared into the fire, wondering what Daniel was
doing. She looked at her watch: 3 p.m. She stood and went to the globe that was sitting on her
desk. She gave it a whirl and stopped it on England. She stared at the tiny island she’d called
home for 22 years, but had only returned to visit a handful of times over the past 15 years.

“York,” she whispered, guessing where in his trip Daniel might be. Her fingers traveled lightly
over the orb, circling her location roughly 1000 miles away to the south. The bright colors of the
globe blurred as unshed tears pooled in her eyes.

She blinked, clearing her vision, her gaze resting on a line of framed pictures on the mantle
above the fireplace. The tea in her hand was soon forgotten as the memories awakened by these
pictures took over.

The first was a muggle picture of her and Daniel, skiing in Switzerland with her parents last
Christmas. A grimace crossed her face as she remembered the crash Daniel suffered not two hours
after this picture had been taken. His daredevil spirit, inherited from his father, had compelled
him to test his mettle on an advanced slope, despite the fact that it was only his second time on
skis. Hermione had quickly mended his broken arm before the Ski Patrol had a chance to arrive.

The next picture was of Daniel’s 9th birthday party. His friends were surrounding
him, watching him blow out the candles, cheering and waiting patiently as Hermione kissed Daniel on
the head before doling out chunks of chocolate gateau to everyone. The wizarding picture reset
itself and began again. At first glance, it appeared to be just like any other birthday scene.
Looking more closely, it was easy to see that the adults in the background were valiantly trying to
hide their grim expressions under their smiles. Their eyes gave them away, as did Daniel’s.

The next picture, Hermione’s favourite, was from years earlier. It marked no special occasion,
unless you consider happiness to be a rare occurrence, which Hermione did not. She and Miguel sat
on either side of Daniel on the beach at Vilanova. Granules of sand dotted their legs and arms, the
remnants of a long day at the beach. Hermione’s hair was windblown despite being clipped at the
nape of her neck, forming a bushy halo around her face. Daniel’s hair was plastered to his
forehead, from sweat or the surf Hermione couldn’t remember. Miguel was leaning toward his wife,
grinning, his stark white teeth almost blinding in the black and white picture. He looked at
Hermione with an expression she had become accustomed to, while she stared with pride at Daniel.
Miguel leaned over, nudged her neck and whispered something in her ear – ‘you’re beautiful,’ she
remembered, hearing his soft voice in her ear once again. In the picture, her gaze shifted to him
and her expression mirrored his. They kissed and were interrupted by Daniel, who made a face at
their display before turning and wrapping his arms around them in a hug.

Another gap of years separated that picture and the one to its left. Miguel and Hermione,
obviously younger, were sitting at a small table in a café, toasting each other with flutes of
champagne. They intertwined their arms and drank, celebrating their marriage. Hermione ran her
fingers across her lips as she watched Miguel give her a long and sensual kiss. Her younger image
blushed and looked at the photographer in embarrassment. Miguel laughed good-naturedly and kissed
her crimson cheek before the picture reset.

Hermione stood immobile before this picture remembering their improbable courtship and marriage
barely three weeks after they met.

Fifteen years earlier she had been twenty-two and had just finished her five year training to
become a healer at St. Mungos. She decided a short sabbatical was needed to re-charge after twelve
straight years of 100% dedication to her studies. Much to her surprise, her request for two months
had been quickly granted, a perk she was sure was due to the lingering notoriety she received from
her part in defeating Voldemort. Usually loath to accept favours stemming from that part of her
life, she quickly accepted and set out on a tour of Europe.

Her goal had been to travel the continent, focusing on places that were historically significant
to the magical world. She arrived in Spain three weeks into her holiday and stopped in a café in
Tres Leche Square, the Spanish equivalent to Diagon Alley. There, a chance meeting with a young,
handsome Spaniard named Miguel Duran would alter the course of her life.

“How was your lunch?” a smooth baritone voice broke through her concentration.

Hermione smiled up at a man who, from the look of his attire, was the cook at the café she had
stopped in for lunch.

“Very good, thank you,” she replied, before returning her attention to her book. She knew it was
best to be polite but brief to inquisitive men. She was a woman traveling alone, after all, and had
had her share of propositions over the last few weeks.

“May I?”

*And so it begins*, she thought.

The cook nodded toward the book and reached forward to read the title. Hermione held the book up
for his inspection. “The History of Magic in Spain.”

“I thought that looked familiar,” he said with a grin. “Required reading for students at San
Benito’s.” He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. “First time in Spain?”

“Yes,” she said, burying her face in her book again.

He waited a moment for her to elaborate before continuing the one-sided conversation. “What do
you think so far?”

Hermione struggled to restrain an audible sigh. “I’ve only just arrived,” she replied, not
looking up from her book.

“Talkative, aren’t you?” the man said with a hint of mirth.

“I appreciate your interest, but I’m in the middle of something just now,” she said, impatience
clear in her voice.

He leaned over the table. “Let me guess, you are plotting your day, trying to squeeze in each
and every attraction you can in the most logical and precise way.”

Hermione finally looked up at the man sitting across from her. Through narrowed eyes she saw his
sparkling black eyes full of good humor. “Not that you have a chance in the first place, but
winding me up is not the way to win my favour.”

He leaned back in his chair and arched an eyebrow, surprise and admiration written all over his
face.

“Yes, I can tell by your expression, Señor…?” she paused, a silent question in the air.

“Duran,” he replied.

“…Señor Duran, that this charming act works well for you. Am I right?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t call it an act. I am, in fact, a charming man.”

“No need to waste that charm on me,” Hermione replied. “I feel certain you’ll find another
unsuspecting lady to charm in no time at all. It’s wasted on me.”

“You think so.”

“I know so.”

Giving herself a mental pat on the back for rebuking him so well, she returned her attention to
her book.

“I must warn you. Once Barcelona has cast her spell over you, you will never want to leave,” he
said.

“You think so?”

“Most assuredly.” He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper. “You must also know
that you will not see the true magical side of Spain if you follow that book.”

Hermione stiffened at the perceived insult until she saw humour dancing in his dark eyes. Her
breath caught when she saw the intensity with which he was staring at her, an intensity she had
never had directed her way before. She felt a charge of electricity shoot through her. She had
obviously underestimated her adversary. She was wholly unable to break his gaze. She cleared her
throat and said, “What would you suggest as an alternative, Señor Duran?”

“A tour guide.”

Hermione took a sip of her water and appeared to consider the matter. “I’m on a limited budget,
Señor Duran,” she replied, replacing the water. She was unnerved to find her hand trembling. “Can
you recommend an affordable, trustworthy tour guide, Señor…?”

“Miguel. Call me Miguel.” He held out his hand to shake hers. She stared at his outstretched
hand as if it was covered in bubotuber pus. The thought of touching his hand was the most
terrifying thing she could imagine at the moment. However, she knew it would be incredibly rude to
refuse the gesture of friendship. She quickly grasped his fingers with a weak squeeze before
returning her hand to her lap. The feel of his hand in hers didn’t leave for hours.

He gave her an open smile devoid of cunning charm and turned in his chair. He called out to the
elderly bartender who was wiping down the bar with a pristine towel. “Alejandro! Do we know any
affordable, trustworthy tour guides?”

“Not a one,” Alejandro said without hesitation.

“Who is the best tour guide we know?”

Alejandro looked up and grinned. “If the job is taking the beautiful young lady around
Barcelona, then I am the best tour guide we know.”

“Dirty old man,” Miguel muttered good-naturedly. “You were supposed to say me,” Miguel
cried.

“But you aren’t trustworthy,” Alejandro replied, continuing to wipe the spotless bar. “I, on the
other hand, am trustworthy and affordable.”

“Sounds perfect,” Hermione said, suppressing a grin at the crestfallen look on Miguel’s face.
“How about tomorrow?”

“What is tomorrow?” Alejandro asked.

“Tuesday,” Miguel replied.

The bartender snapped his fingers. “I’m so sorry! I can’t tomorrow. I have a date with the
beautiful widow in 4C. I’m sure Miguel will do a serviceable job in my place.”

Hermione leaned forward. “Why do I get the feeling you two have done this before?”

“I have no idea,” Miguel replied with a mask of innocence on his face.

Hermione considered changing course at this point. She knew that this handsome man had done this
before, and would most likely do it again. She knew the type. But something kept her in her seat.
His unquestionable allure and the spark she felt when he looked in her eyes made all of her
unwavering logic recede to the recesses of her mind. She did have enough prescience to try to keep
the upper hand as long as possible. “Will Alejandro let you have time off of your job?”

“Oh! Good question.” He turned again and yelled at Alejandro who had retreated through a door
behind the bar. “Alex, can I take the day off tomorrow?”

“Why are you asking me?” was the muffled reply. “You’re the boss.”

Miguel feigned shock, mirroring Hermione’s expression, and said, “I guess that’s a yes. When and
where should I pick you up, Señorita…?

“Hermione,” she replied, and her course was set.

The shrill ring of the telephone roused Hermione from her memory. She paused and debated whether
or not to answer the call from her mother. The shrill ringing stopped before her decision was made.
Hermione took a sip of her cold tea and waited, mentally counting the seconds until the ringing
would begin again.

“Hello, Mother,” she said, picking the phone up on the first ring.

“How are you doing, darling?”

Hermione sighed, foregoing any pretense of ignorance or strength. “How did you do it, Mum?”

“I think I cried every day for a month,” she replied. “The worst was when I broke down during a
root canal a week after you left. I didn’t stop crying for hours.”

Hermione sniffed and looked up at the ceiling, willing herself to not break down. “It’s so
quiet,” she whispered instead, her voice breaking slightly.

“I know, honey. I know.” Elizabeth Granger put on a falsely cheery voice and said, “I was
thinking of coming down for a few days to visit. Get some shopping done, maybe visit the beach.
What do you say? A mid-week hols for the girls?”

“I can’t, Mum. I have to work tomorrow.”

“I’m sure they will let you have a couple of days off, all things considered.”

“You know I don’t want special consideration made for me.”

Elizabeth sighed, exasperation clear in her voice. “Yes, well that’s admirable, dear, but maybe
you should accept some.”

“No.”

There was a pause. “What time do you go in?”

“One.”

“We can get a bit of shopping in before you go to work. There’s a flight at 6 p.m. I can be at
your house by 10.”

Her inherent independent nature acquiesced to the need to have her mother hold her and reassure
her that everything would be all right. “That sounds lovely. I’ll pick you up.”

“Dobby, I’m back!”

“Dobby is in the kitchen, Master Harry!”

Harry walked through the entrance hall of his home in Godric’s Hollow and into the kitchen.

“Something smells good,” Harry said, lifting the lid of a pot on the stove.

“Beef stew, Harry Potter, sir. Would you like Dobby to make you a bowl?”

“Not right now, Dobby. Maybe in an hour or so.”

“The package from Mrs. Longbottom is on your desk. It arrived not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Thank you, Dobby.” Harry grabbed a glass of water and headed to his office.

Harry –

A rather slow week, I’d say, only five groups asking for a handout. I’m sure it will pick up as
the Holidays approach. Don’t forget you have a meeting on Friday at Gringotts to discuss the
foundations investment options. I’m sure the goblins have figured out that you are making entirely
too much money and want to adjust your allocations to line their pockets.

There are some minor issues with expiring grants, but nothing that can’t wait until you come
into the office on Thursday. Floo me if you have any questions about the grant requests.

Ginny

Harry shook his head and smiled at Ginny’s unique outlook on life. He couldn’t complain though.
Her suspicious mind and keen investigation skills had steered him away from many a disastrous
decision. Harry knew what no one else did; he was a figurehead. The Black Foundation owed much of
its success to Ginny Longbottom.

When he thought about it, there wasn’t much credit he could take at all for the Black
Foundation. It was started with Sirius’s money, the money he had left to Harry, along with
Grimmauld Place, in his will. Its conception had been Hermione’s brainstorm when Harry had told Ron
and her that he didn’t deserve any of it since he had effectively caused Sirius’s death. With
Dumbledore’s assistance and guidance, the Foundation had been created. The first recipients of the
Black Family philanthropy were Frank and Alice Longbottom, whose hospital fees were paid monthly
courtesy of the family who produced the witch responsible for destroying their lives.

The first ten years following its inception, the Foundation took in more money than it gave
away, due primarily to Harry’s indifference. Money was given to causes that he happened to hear
about through the press or an offhand remark from people he knew. No one sought the assistance of
The Foundation since no one save Dumbledore and Harry knew of its existence. The donations were
always made anonymously with no stipulations on the use of the money and no requirements to meet to
keep the money coming. St. Mungos was the largest recipient, followed by two orphanages – one
Muggle, one magical – a scholarship fund for disadvantaged Hogwarts students, a summer Quidditch
Camp started by Oliver Wood, and seed money to start a Global Magical Education Foundation whose
mission was to educate the wizarding world on how to eradicate the discrimination and attitudes
that led to Voldemort’s rise to power.

While Harry’s money was busy making the world a better place, Harry was in training to become an
Auror. For three years he walked, talked, breathed, ate and slept (very little) Defense Against the
Dark Arts. Hermione had been correct in her assumption that he would have little to no time for a
social life while in training. Weeks went by when he didn’t see the sun, whether he was waking
before dawn and returning home well after dark or he was stuck inside at the secret training
academy for Aurors. He rarely saw his friends and when he did, he was so tired and bleary-eyed that
he didn’t usually remember anything they did together, where they went or what they talked
about.

Upon completion of his training, his social life picked up considerably. His years out of the
spotlight hadn’t diminished his star in the wizarding world, and witches were more than willing to
be seen on the arm of Harry Potter. After living the life of a monk for three years, he was happy
to oblige them. That was how he met his wife, Bridgettete.

He sighed, remembering the scene from the train station earlier. Bridgettete’s lack of interest
in their children became more and more apparent during the past year, since their divorce had
become official. She managed to squeeze in activities with the girls between appointments at the
spa. How the woman could need to have her hair cut every week was beyond Harry. It was long and
straight and never looked any different. He wanted to tell her she was getting ripped off but
didn’t have the energy. Bridgettete Smyth-Potter had become his own personal charity case. He was
more interested in doing whatever necessary to keep her happy and away from him than he was in the
money used to achieve the goal.

Harry felt ridiculous every time he thought of his failed marriage. It had lasted 13 years
through his sheer determination to create a loving home for his children. The problem was, he got
tired of pretending to love his wife, especially when she didn’t even try to pretend that she loved
him. Harry knew weeks after their first daughter, Olivia, was born that Bridgette had married his
name and not the person. Three years into the marriage, he decided he’d had enough, took Olivia and
left. Two weeks later, Bridgette informed him she was pregnant. Joanne was born 8 months later,
followed 11 months later by Katie.

Bridgette’s mothering instincts decreased with the birth of every child, until their three
children were being raised exclusively by nannies while Harry worked odd hours as an Auror and
Bridgettete was off doing something else (what exactly, no one knew). So it happened, that eight
years into his career as an Auror, three in training and five as an Auror, Harry Potter retired to
raise his children and run the Black Foundation. When Harry realized the potential for good the
Foundation had, and his lack of ability to manage the day-to-day operations, he brought Ginny on
board to help. He congratulated himself every day on that move, which had proved to be his smartest
business move to date.

He flipped through the five applications Ginny sent over and stopped at one for a Muggle
orphanage. Recently, the Foundation had been branching out into more Muggle philanthropy,
specifically orphanages. Harry and Ginny thought it would be poetic justice that money from one of
the oldest and most bigoted families in the magical world go to non-magical orphans. Harry knew
that Sirius was smiling down on that particular decision. So the fact that an orphanage had applied
for a grant to the mysterious Black Foundation wasn’t noteworthy to Harry. The location of the
orphanage, however, was: Barcelona, Spain.

Harry sat back in his chair and stared into space. When he saw Hermione and Ron at the station
today, he felt, for an instant, as if the three of them were getting ready to board the train for
Hogwarts. It was as if the last twenty years had melted away and they were the three most important
people in each other’s lives again.

“Dobby!” Harry called out, leaning forward on his desk.

Dobby appeared immediately in Harry’s office on top of Harry’s desk, his long nose only inches
from Harry’s.

Harry lurched back in his chair, grasping his chest with his hand. “Dobby, how many times have I
told you to not apparate onto my desk? Just…somewhere in the room is fine.”

“Right, sir. Dobby is so sorry.” He climbed down and stood in front of Harry’s desk, his eyes
barely peering over the edge.

“Do you know where my trunk from Hogwarts is?”

“I believe it is up in the attic, sir. Would you like for me to bring it down?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll go up myself.”

“Oh, let Dobby sir. It would be an honour.”

“It would be an honour to rummage around in a dusty attic?”

“Anything I do for Harry Potter is an honour,” Dobby said shyly.

Harry shook his head and smiled. “Dobby, if everyone was as fond of me and as loyal as you are,
I’d be the happiest man on earth.” He walked around the desk and patted Dobby on his skinny little
shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dobby. You go have lunch. I’ll do the rummaging
for a change.”

“But, sir, you haven’t eaten lunch yet!” Dobby cried, the idea of eating before Harry abhorrent
to him.

“I’m not hungry just yet. You sit for at least an hour and enjoy your lunch. That’s an order!”
Harry said with false sternness.

“An hour?! Dobby only needs five minutes to eat. There is much that needs to be done, Harry
Potter.”

“Well, I order you to take a break,” Harry said, walking out of the room and making his way up
the stairs to the attic.

*Why am I doing this?*

Ten minutes later, he popped open the lid to the trunk and stared at what was left of his youth:
his Quidditch uniform, the fake galleon he used to summon the DA, a broken quill, the faulty
sneakoscope Ron gave him for his thirteenth birthday, some old spell books, the two-way mirror from
Sirius, and his very worn book bag, which contained a Potions essay from seventh year with the
stellar mark of U. He dug to the bottom of the trunk to find what he had shoved there 15 years
earlier in a fit of anger, and more than a bit of jealousy. He removed the picture of Hermione and
collapsed down in front of the trunk, staring at the smiling face of his best friend at age
seventeen.

*She looks the same*, he marveled. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure the image of her
from earlier today. He could think of nothing to dispute his opinion that she looked as good today
as she did when this picture was taken 20 years ago. The only difference was her smile. Today, her
eyes had been rimmed in red and she was struggling to be strong and not cry. When she did smile, it
didn’t reach her eyes. That was to be expected, considering all she had been through over the past
few years.

He hadn’t expected her to accept Ron’s invitation of a drink, but when she declined he felt
disappointment anyway. He hadn’t realised how much he missed her until she was there, and then gone
so quickly.

He was amazed at how easy it was for he, Ron and Hermione to drift apart. None of them could
have imagined the effect time, distance and life in general would have on their friendship. The
three of them hadn’t been together in five years and that meeting had included their respective
spouses and could only be termed as uncomfortable. The easy camaraderie was there, underneath the
surface, straining for release. Was it deference to their spouses that had kept their interaction
shallow and strained? Or was it the knowledge that that meeting was destined to be like every
other. The promises made to keep in touch and visit each other often were hijacked by life, if they
were sincere in the first place.

He walked back to his office, picture still in his hand, and threw a handful of floo powder into
the fireplace.

“Ginny!” he called.

Ginny peeked over her desk into her fireplace to see Harry’s head sitting in the green
flames.

“Hiya, Harry! Good thing Neville just left or you would have gotten quite an eyeful,” she said,
rearranging her papers on her desk, half of which was suspiciously empty.

“You know, Ginny, you don’t have to give me so much information, really.”

“But it makes you so uncomfortable and I love watching you blush when I talk about mine and
Neville’s sex life.”

“That’s enough. Please.”

“Fine. Killjoy,” she said, coming around the desk. “What’s up?”

“Could you call the Muggle orphanage in Barcelona and make an appointment for Wednesday?”

“Sure. I’ve got a few things going on Wednesday but nothing that can’t keep. I’ll use the normal
cover story – I’m a single mum, wanting to adopt, blah blah.” She wrote a note on a spare bit of
parchment and smiled. “I might just call on Hermione, see if she can have lunch.”

“Well, actually, I wanted you to make the appointment for me.”

“Oh!” Ginny said, surprised. “Any reason why?”

“I just thought I’d give you a break from traveling. All my kids are at Hogwarts now, and yours
aren’t. I can pick up the traveling load a bit so you can be home at night with your family.”

“Ah, Neville can handle it,” Ginny said with a dismissive wave. “How was the scene at the train
station? Lots of tearful goodbyes?”

“Hardly. Olivia didn’t even acknowledge our existence after we passed through the barrier. Jo
and Katie were fighting the entire time and Bridget was completely silent, anxious to get to
whatever beauty appointment awaited her.”

“Bitch,” Ginny mumbled.

“Yeah, well…”

“Did you see Ron and Tonks?”

Harry started to answer when Ginny gasped as understanding flooded her features. “Daniel starts
Hogwarts this year! You saw Hermione, didn’t you?!”

“Yes, I did,” Harry replied looking down, cursing the blush he felt creeping on his features. He
knew what was coming and braced himself.

A moment of silence followed before Ginny said, “Okay. I’ll call the orphanage. Any particular
time you want?” She walked back around the desk and sat down.

*Wait, where is the teasing?* he thought. “Go on, say it. I know you want to.”

“Say what?” Ginny said, engrossed in whatever she was writing and not looking at him. “What time
do you want the appointment for?”

“Um, one o’clock?”

“Okay. I’ll owl the details over to you as soon as possible.”

“Er, thanks,” Harry replied. “Bye.”

Ginny waved dismissively and Harry pulled his head out of the fire before he could see the huge
grin break across Ginny’s face.



2. Chapter 2
------------

Chapter 2

“There you are!”

Hermione looked up from the chart she was reviewing to see her brother-in-law, Andres Duran,
standing in the doorway of her office with a large smile on his face.

“Here I am,” she replied, returning his smile.

“How was yesterday?” Andres asked, walking over and sitting on the edge of Hermione’s desk.

“Horrible,” Hermione said, tossing her reading glasses and quill down on the parchment in front
of her. “I was a blubbering mess when I got home.”

“I’ve no doubt you were a pillar of strength in front of Daniel,” Andres replied.

“Yes, well I’ve gotten rather good at that act, haven’t I?” She pushed her chair back from the
desk and turned to face him. She crossed her legs and leaned her head back on her chair, staring up
at the ceiling.

She had done an excellent job of keeping her mind off of the fact that her son was starting his
first day of wizarding school 1000 miles away from her. The morning shopping excursion with her
mother had filled what would have otherwise been a solitary morning at home in a quiet house. Once
she arrived at work, she had been insanely busy with grand rounds, a brief lecture to her students,
visiting her patients and the mounds of paperwork that were required even in a wizarding hospital.
She knew that Andres meant well, but seeing him was not helping her. His face, so much like his
brother’s, was a reminder of what she had lost two years ago and the absence of the little boy that
had been her anchor in the time since.

She felt the tears trickle out the corner of her eyes. She bowed her head and buried her face in
her hand. She felt Andres grasp her hand and pull her out of her chair into a strong embrace. “I’m
sorry,” he whispered as she buried her head in his neck.

“I’m usually not this weepy,” she said with a loud sniff.

“I know,” Andres said. “You do an admirable job of putting on a brave face whatever travesty
comes your way.”

“I’d hardly call my son going to boarding school a ‘travesty.’

“Yes, well you know what I mean,” he replied.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered. His arms were wrapped around her shoulders, one moving in comforting
circles on her back, the other stroking her shoulder length hair in a decidedly sensual way. She
could smell a hint of his after-shave and the tonic that he used in his hair, the same tonic that
Miguel used. Hermione stepped back quickly, averting her eyes from his.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a long moment before he murmured, “I remind you of
him, don’t I?”

“No, no,” she said. “Daniel leaving has just brought everything to the front of my mind. You
know me, thinking too much.” She gave him a smile that, even to her, felt forced. By the expression
on his face, he saw right through her.

“I’ve always hoped there would come a day when you wouldn’t see me and think of Miguel.”

She felt his direct stare on her but couldn’t bring herself to look straight at him, instead
choosing to fiddle with the parchment on her desk. “That will never happen, Andres. You’ve only to
look in the mirror to see why.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he replied. He walked around her desk and sat in one of two wooden chairs.
He fidgeted in an attempt to get comfortable and said, “This is new.”

“Oh! Sorry about that! Don’t want to encourage the students to ask too many questions,” Hermione
said with a sly grin. She waved her wand at the wooden chair’s twin, turning it into a squishy
armchair. “Better?”

“Much,” he replied, settling into the red chintz. “Have you heard from Daniel yet?”

“Not yet,” Hermione sighed, as much from the admission that she hadn’t heard from her child as
from relief that Andres changed the subject. “I expect to get an owl from him today.”

“Let me know when you do.”

“Of course.” Hermione looked at the heap of paperwork on her desk and let out a fluttering sigh.
“I don’t feel like doing this at all,” she said, waving her hand at the pile and dropping into her
chair.

“Then don’t.”

“But, what if my boss finds out?”

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” he smirked.

“Please, everyone knows you carry no weight around here,” Hermione laughed, picking up her
quill.

“Watch it, or I’ll give you all nightshifts from now on, Healer Granger.”

“Idle threat,” Hermione replied, focusing on the chart in front of her once again.

“True,” Andres replied. A few moments passed with only the sound of her quill scratching on the
parchment breaking the silence. “Which is your done pile?” he asked.

Hermione placed her left hand on a large stack and her right on a short stack. “Guess.”

Andres made a face. “Thank Merlin I’m important enough to farm all of my paperwork out to my
underlings.” Hermione glared at him over the rim of her glasses. “Oh, right. That would be you,
wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would, Chief Healer Duran.”

“As your boss, I can say to leave it until tomorrow. Tonight, I am taking you out to dinner and
a film to alleviate the symptoms of your empty nest syndrome,” he announced, rising with difficulty
from the low chair.

“Oh, Andres, I’d love to…” Hermione started before being interrupted by a pecking on the window
of her office. They both turned, Hermione with an exclamation of glee as she darted toward the
window to allow the owl access to her office.

A large barn owl hopped onto Hermione’s desk and waited patiently for Hermione to remove the
letter from his outstretched leg.

“This isn’t Daniel’s owl,” Andres stated.

“No, it isn’t.” Hermione removed the parchment from the owl’s leg and unrolled it. She gasped as
she recognized the handwriting.

Hermione,

Are your surprised to hear from me? I’ve no doubt that you are. How are you holding up without
Daniel there? It is abnormally quiet around here, so much so that Dobby has taken to bounding up
and down the stairs in an effort to mimic the sound of Jo and Katie chasing each other around the
house. Seeing as Dobby weighs about 30 pounds soaking wet, he still doesn’t make much noise, but I
appreciate the effort anyway.

As it turns out, I am going to be in Barcelona on Thursday for business. This is normally a trip
that Ginny would take, but since I’m the one without kids at home, I offered to take this one for
her. She was rather disappointed (I get the impression she enjoys the business trip side of her job
a bit more than she should) but I insisted. Not because I enjoy visiting orphanages, but because I
hoped that we could meet and catch each other up on our lives. Seeing you and Ron today at Platform
9 ¾ made me…well, nostalgic, I guess. Is that a sign of old age? (Don’t answer that!)


My meeting is in the early afternoon. Would you like to meet somewhere for dinner? I apologize
for the short notice, but I do hope you can make arrangements to meet. I’d love to see you.


Send your reply back with the express owl, if you would.


Hope to see you soon,


Harry

Hermione stared off into space, disappointment that the letter wasn’t from Daniel replaced
with…what? Confusion? Surprise? Excitement?

“What is it? Everything okay?” Andres asked with concern.

“Fine, fine. Just an old friend coming to Barcelona for business. Wants to meet for dinner.”

“Anyone I know?”

She shook her head to clear it and looked at Andres. “No, you haven’t met,” she replied, giving
him a warm smile. “I’ll see you later?” she asked, returning to her desk.

“We were making plans for tonight?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Andres, I can’t. I was saying I’d love to but my Mum is in town for a few
days.”

Andres clapped his hands together. “Even better to be seen with two beautiful women! I’ll pick
you two up at eight.”

“I don’t know. Mum might be tired and want to stay in.”

“Nonsense,” he said, walking toward the door. “Elizabeth has a slight crush on me. Mark my
words, she’ll want to go.” He turned at the door and gave her a smile. “I’ll see you at eight.”

Harry rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Knock, knock,” he said.

Hermione looked up from the large medical book she was reading and gave Harry a large smile.
“Hi!” she said, tossing her glasses on the open book and walking around the desk to give Harry a
hug. “Didn’t have any problems finding me, did you?”

“No, not at all,” Harry lied. He’d been walking around the maze that was her hospital for an
hour and had asked no less than 10 people where to go.

Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Liar. Sometimes I even get lost in this
place, and I’ve been here 15 years. Sit down. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Sure, take your time,” Harry said, choosing to sit in a deep comfortable looking chair instead
of the wooden straight backed one. He looked around her office while she tidied up her desk. The
entire wall behind her desk was covered in dark wood shelves bulging to capacity with books. Two
arched windows took up most of the wall to his right, offering a panoramic view of Barcelona with
the Mediterranean Sea in the distance. The wall to his left contained her degrees; certificates
framed identically and tacked on the wall in an organized, symmetrical manner. The walls were
painted an earthy yellow, which gave the office a warm inviting appeal which the sterile
environment of the hospital didn’t have. Her desk, which was meticulously clean despite the fact
that it was covered with parchment, files and books, was a large mahogany affair that made her
appear smaller than she actually was.

“How was your meeting?” she asked, closing a file and placing it on a small pile.

“A bit depressing, to be honest.”

“Were the conditions horrible?”

“Oh, no. It’s very well run. Nice and clean. But no matter how many brightly coloured rooms you
have, it doesn’t change the fact that these are kids that no one wants. And you can see in their
eyes that they know it.” He was surprised to realize that when she looked at him he knew exactly
what she was thinking, just as he did when they were in school together. Her gaze told him that she
remembered that, for all intents and purposes, he had been a child like that also. He stood up and
walked to the window. “Nice view. Is it real?”

“Yes, 100%. I can even open the window if I like.”

“That’s nice.” He turned back to see her placing files into a briefcase. “I hate to admit this,
but I have no idea where we should go for dinner. I was hoping you might be able to suggest
somewhere. That’s incredibly rude, I know. Invite you to dinner and then expect you to make the
plans.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said, walking to her door and removing her white lab robe as she went. She
closed the door slightly and hung the coat on the hook on the back of the door. “I wouldn’t expect
you to know where to go. This is your first time here, right?”

“Right. But still.”

“As a matter of fact, I had an idea,” Hermione said. “It’s been a horrible day here and I
honestly don’t want to be around people. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if we went back to my house
and had dinner there.”

“That’s fine with me. We can pick something up on the way.”

“No, I’ll cook,” she replied, picking up her briefcase.

“Absolutely not!” Harry cried. “I invited you to dinner. Cooking would be too much of an
imposition, and you just said you’ve had a terrible day. I’m sure that is the last thing you want
to do. We’ll pick something up.”

“No, I’ll cook,” Hermione said with finality. “I enjoy cooking. It helps me unwind. You being
here will just mean I won’t have leftovers for days, which is a good thing.”

“Hermione…” Harry started.

“Are we going to stand here and argue when you know in the end that I’ll win?” she asked with a
twinkle in her eyes.

“Some things never change,” Harry said, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Good boy,” Hermione replied with a wink.

Harry pulled the door open completely and stepped aside for Hermione to walk through. He was
pulling the door closed behind them when he heard someone call her name.

“Andres, hi!” Hermione said.

The man returned the greeting, but his eyes never left Harry. Harry was stunned into silence,
staring at the man that if he didn’t know better, he would swear was Hermione’s dead husband.

“Andres, this is Harry, a friend of mine from Hogwarts. Harry, this is Andres Duran.” At Harry’s
quizzical look, Hermione added, “Miguel’s brother.”

“Right,” Harry said, feeling extremely foolish for forgetting that Miguel had a twin. He
extended his hand to Andres and said, “Pleased to meet you.”

Andres nodded in assent, but said nothing, his eyes glued to Harry. “How long are you in town
for?” he asked.

“Just today,” Harry said.

“Your business is finished?”

Harry got the distinct impression that Andres wasn’t talking about Harry’s business meeting at
all.

“Almost,” Harry said, glancing at Hermione before returning his gaze to the man that was
emitting a protective aura.

“We best be going since we don’t have much time,” Hermione interjected. “See you tomorrow,
Andres.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said, placing his hand at the small of Hermione’s back briefly as they
walked away, a gesture specifically meant to irritate the other man. He looked over his shoulder
and was greeted with a steely gaze, which he returned.

“Do you mind if I change?” Hermione said after they apparated to her home.

“Of course not.”

“First, let me get you something to drink,” Hermione said, leading him to the kitchen. “Would
you like a glass of wine? Ale?”

“Go change. I can fend for myself for a few minutes,” Harry said.

“You sure?” To Harry’s nod she replied, “I’ll just be a minute.”

She walked around the corner and disappeared, giving Harry the chance to take in his
surroundings without interruption.

He was standing in the entry hall, which in reality was a large hallway connecting two wings of
the house. Straight in front of him was a wall of floor-to-ceiling arched windows that looked out
onto a courtyard. Shrubs and flowers adorned the open space with four large palm trees at the
corners of the quad. A stone walkway cut through the center of the courtyard, ending at a door that
led into another part of the house. Directly in the center of the walkway was a large stone tiered
fountain.

Harry found the kitchen easily. In a few minutes he had found a chilled bottle of wine and two
glasses. He had just removed the cork when Hermione entered, dressed casually in faded jeans and a
crisp white cotton blouse open down the front. Underneath she wore a fitted white tank that, Harry
was surprised to note, accentuated the fact that she was tan. He tried to remember what her skin
tone had been like in England but couldn’t. He was sure, however, that it had never been that
particular shade of brown.

“Perfect. You found the wine,” Hermione said, pulling her hair back into a pony tail, twisting
it and clipping it at the top of her head in a modified French Twist. “It’s a little early for
dinner yet. Are you hungry?” she asked, taking a sip of the wine he offered.

Harry looked at the clock on the wall, which read 7 o’clock. *Early?* he thought.

“I guess I should say it is early for dinner in Spain. We usually don’t eat dinner until after
nine.”

“However do you survive?” Harry asked.

“We eat later lunches.” She set her wine glass down and pulled a couple of potatoes out of a
basket on the counter. “I didn’t eat lunch, though, so let’s eat now. It will take a bit for the
potatoes to roast, anyway.”

“What are we having?” Harry asked, moving next to her.

“In Spain, we call it a tortilla. You know it as an omelet.”

“Yum,” Harry said, his mouth watering. “How can I help?”

“You can wash the potatoes,” Hermione said, handing three large potatoes to him.

Fifteen minutes of easy conversation and two glasses of wine later, the potatoes were roasting
in the oven and Hermione was leading Harry out onto the terrace that was just off the kitchen.
Harry stopped when he stepped outside the door.

“My God,” he whispered. Below him, spread out for miles, was the city of Barcelona. The sun had
just set over the horizon, leaving muted colors of pink, orange and yellow to fade into the darker
blues and blacks of the nighttime sky. The lights of the city were winking at him, daring him to
not fall under its enchanting spell. “This is beautiful.”

“You’d better watch it. You’ll never want to leave,” Hermione said, sitting down at the terrace
table.

Harry pulled out the other chair and sat down, still enthralled with the sight below him. “I
didn’t see any of the city in daylight, but seeing it at night has certainly piqued my
interest.”

“Did you apparate straight to the hospital from your meeting?”

“Yes, and then straight here.”

“Next time you are in town, I’ll take you on a tour.”

“That sounds great,” Harry said. “Have you heard from Daniel?”

“I have.”

“And?” Harry prompted.

“He loves it!”

“I knew he would.”

“I had my doubts, truth be told. Hogwarts is so different from the culture he grew up in. I was
a bit afraid that it might be a bit of a shock for him. But he and Theo have become best friends,
apparently.”

“He is in Gryffindor?”

“Yes, thank goodness! Well, honestly, I wouldn’t have minded Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. As long as
it’s not…” Hermione stopped abruptly and clamped her mouth shut.

“I guess Daniel told you, then?”

“He did. Harry, I’m so sorry!”

He waved his hand as if swatting a gnat. “There are worse things than your daughter being sorted
into Slytherin.”

“Of course, there are,” Hermione said. “But I’m sure it is still disappointing.”

“It is. Katie didn’t even owl me; Jo did. She said that when Katie was sorted she burst into
tears.”

Hermione cringed. “Not exactly the best way to meet your new housemates.”

“Um, no. Apparently though, by the next day she had made friends and was already ignoring
Jo.”

“That’s just a sibling thing, I’m sure.”

“Maybe,” Harry replied, draining his wine glass. “Katie has always been different from Jo and
Olivia. You saw a perfect example on the platform the other day. When I think about it, she is much
more suited to Slytherin than any other house. Cunning, ambitious – those are two of her most
prominent traits. Just like her mother,” Harry mumbled.

“What did Bridgette think?” Hermione asked.

“She didn’t see what the fuss was about. Being from Beauxbatons, she wouldn’t, would she?”

“I guess not.” Hermione fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, turning the glass around and
around on the table. A gold band on her right middle finger caught Harry’s eye. The ring hit the
glass with a soft ding as she cupped the wine glass in her hand and lifted it to her lips. “I
wonder what Snape thinks of having a Potter in Slytherin,” she said before taking a sip.

“I don’t even like to think about it. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t expel her just to spite
me.”

“Minerva would never allow that.”

“Maybe not, but since she’s in his house, her fate rests with him.”

“Let’s just hope the threat of losing her trip keeps her in line.”

Harry grunted in response. He knew that it was only a matter of time until he received an owl
about Katie. He hoped it happened sooner rather than later. After Christmas he wouldn’t have
anything to hold over her head to keep her in line.

Hermione reached for Harry’s glass and stood. “Let me go get us another and stir the potatoes.
Back in a mo.”

She returned a few minutes later and set a fresh bottle of wine on the table. “Why pretend?” she
said, with a chuckle.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Hermione?”

“Goodness no,” she replied. “This is the last bottle anyway.”

“Good. Don’t want to splinch myself when I leave.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That would be messy.”

“And most likely painful,” Harry rejoined with a laugh. “So, tell me about Andres.”

Hermione choked on the wine she was drinking. She patted her chest a few times and swallowed,
before emitting a couple of weak coughs. Harry grinned and took a sip of wine.

“Andres? What about him?” she asked, when she finally recovered.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. He seemed rather protective of you, is all.”

“It’s not like that,” Hermione said firmly.

“Like what?”

“There is nothing going on there. He is my brother-in-law and colleague. That’s all.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Why are you so interested?” she asked, twirling the ring on middle finger around and
around.

“I wanted to know if I read the looks he shot me correctly. Obviously I didn’t since you say
there is nothing going on.”

Harry studied Hermione for a moment as she gazed at the view, periodically taking a dainty sip
of wine. He wondered if she was being deliberately obtuse or if she honestly didn’t see what was so
obvious to Harry. Twenty years ago, he would say the latter. After all, he and Hermione had spent
almost two years harboring feelings for each other without realizing they were reciprocated. But
for him at least, with maturity came a bit of intuition. He was sure that, based on the signals he
received from a two-minute encounter with Andres, there was no way Hermione could not sense that
her brother-in-law harboured stronger than familial feelings for her.

She caught him staring at her and said, “What?”

“Is it hard?” Harry asked before checking himself.

“Is what hard?” she asked playing with her wine glass again, a hint of nervousness in her
voice.

“Seeing someone that looks so much like Miguel on a daily basis.”

She took a deep breath and held it, waiting. Harry imagined she was composing her response in
her mind.

She released the breath and began, “There are times when it is very difficult. But, for the most
part, no. Not anymore. They may look alike, but they are very different people. Andres is much more
like me, with only a hint of the charm that just oozed out of Miguel. Miguel was creative,
carefree, and absolutely engaging. He made friends with an ease that I’ve never seen before.” A
wistful look came into her eyes as she stared into the middle distance. She looked at Harry and
continued. “Andres is much more reserved with people he doesn’t know, which you saw today. He’s old
fashioned…the type that wants his wife at home, not in a profession. But he has high standards for
people and would never date a woman that wasn’t intelligent and successful. Which probably explains
why he isn’t married. The women he dates don’t want to be housewives,” she said dryly.

Harry frowned, wondering why a sense of relief was flowing through him at her words. He wouldn’t
have taken the time to analyze his motivations for taking this trip, even if it had been in his
nature to do so. In his mind, up until the point when relief flowed through him, he was here merely
to catch up with an old friend. The fluttering in his stomach told him otherwise. He absentmindedly
rubbed his stomach and tried to remember the last time he’d felt this particular sensation.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked, looking at his stomach.

Harry’s head shot up in alarm and his hand stopped the circular motion on his abdomen. *Why
was she asking that?* he wondered, looking down. With a sheepish grin he said, “I’m fine. Just
hungry.”

She stood and gathered the wine and her glass. “Let’s feed you before you waste away,” she said
with a cheeky grin.

Harry followed her. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, never.”

“I think you are subtly implying that I’ve put on weight since Hogwarts.”

Hermione looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Harry, you were too skinny at Hogwarts.
Any weight you have put on – and I’m not saying you have – was well needed, trust me.”

“Oh, so you are saying I looked bad then?”

“No, no. You are just as handsome as you always were.”

Harry puzzled over whether that was a compliment or not as Hermione pulled eggs out of the
refrigerator. She waved her wand and the eggs began cracking themselves into a metal bowl. “Want to
get the potatoes out of the oven for me?” she asked, grabbing a skillet from the pot rack above the
island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Sure,” Harry said.

He placed the pan of potatoes on the trivet Hermione provided and stepped back out of her way.
He watched her efficiently move through the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients and utensils
necessary to complete the meal, performing very few tasks with magic. He took special interest when
she bent down to remove the makings of a salad from the bottom bin of the refrigerator and
remembered why he enjoyed seeing women in muggle clothes so much more than wizarding robes. If only
the tail of her shirt wasn’t quite so long…

“Harry, would you make the salad?” she asked, closing the door to the refrigerator with her bare
foot.

“Er, sure,” he said, a bit embarrassed with where his mind had drifted. The fluttering feeling
returned when she gave him a warm smile and replied, “Thanks.”

He was standing at the island with his back to her, she was standing at the cooker with her back
to him. As he chopped and diced, he considered moving to the other side so he could face her and
glimpse at her without her knowing. He reckoned that it would be rather obvious to switch sides for
no apparent reason at all. He did the only thing he could think of.

He had never made a salad so quickly.

“Done,” he said, standing beside her at the cooker to watch her.

“Really?” she said. “Wow, that was fast.”

She gently shook the skillet containing the egg and potato mixture to loosen it. When the edges
were set she placed a plate on the top of the skillet and flipped them over, so the plate was on
the bottom. She returned the pan to the burner and slid the omelet, uncooked side down, back into
the pan.

“I’m impressed,” Harry said.

She smiled, keeping her eyes on her cooking. “You can’t be married to a chef for 13 years
without picking up some skills.”

“Obviously not.” Harry leaned against the counter by the cooker. “OW!” He said, jumping away
from the still hot pan the potatoes had been in. He shook his burned hand and grimaced.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said. “Are you okay?”

Harry studied his hand and saw that the bottom part of his palm was red and beginning to throb
painfully. “I’ll be fine,” he replied, feeling exceedingly stupid.

“Let me see,” Hermione said, grasping his hand gently. He could feel gentle puffs of her breath
on his fingers as she bent her head to examine his hand. “That’s a nasty burn,” she said, softly
touching his palm with her fingers. He was barely listening; instead he was staring at the hair on
the top of her head, which was an only inch from his face. Her hair was lighter than he remembered,
with streaks of blonde running through tresses that were more wavy than bushy.

“We need to get something on that,” she said in a businesslike manner. She grabbed her wand and
with a flick upward levitated the pan to just above the flame. With a shake of her wand the pan
began imitating her gentle shaking movements from earlier. “Follow me,” she said walking out of the
kitchen.

“I just need a bit of ice. It will be fine.” He stared at the pan containing their dinner and
his stomach gave a large rumble. The last thing he wanted was to be the cause of dinner burning. He
was certainly willing to suffer a bit of pain to settle his hunger.

“Don’t worry, dinner will be fine. We’ll only be a moment.” Harry tore his eyes away from the
pan and saw that Hermione was struggling to restrain her laughter.

Down the hallway, around the corner and through her bedroom she led him, ending in the ensuite
bathroom. She patted the marble countertop and said, “Sit,” in a tone that brooked no refusals.

The bathroom was, of course, perfectly ordered, just as the bedroom they had passed through was.
She opened a closet door to reveal that her life was organized under the surface, also. Neatly
folded towels and washcloths filled the top three shelves. The fourth shelf, the one she was
currently rummaging through, held potion bottles of all sizes, colours and shapes. The shelf below
contained what appeared to Harry to be common Muggle toiletries.

She turned to him holding a squatty orange bottle, a muggle q-tip and a roll of bandages. “I
hate to tell you this, but it’s going to sting a bit,” she said, unscrewing the cap. A disgusting
odor of rotting fish met his nose and he leaned back.

“Surely it can’t feel worse than it smells.” When the wet q-tip touched the burn, he flinched
and inhaled through gritted teeth in a valiant attempt to not yelp in front of a woman he was
trying to impress. “And yet, it does.”

“It only stings for a minute.” For the second time she bent her head down close to his hand.
This time, the air he felt was intentional as she blew gently on the medicated palm of his left
hand. Whether from the medicine or the warm feeling he got watching her care for him, the stinging
subsided to a tolerable level and he immediately began to feel better.

“How’s that?” she whispered, meeting his eyes.

His throat constricted and he struggled to talk. Instead, he nodded his head vigorously in
response. She smiled and patted his knee. “What a brave patient you are,” she said with a grin.

“Do you really think that is necessary,” he said, as she began to roll the strip of cotton
material around his hand. She stopped when she turned his hand over and ran her finger over the
light scarring from his fifth year detention with Dolores Umbridge.

So much had happened in the twenty-two years since Hermione had last helped him relieve the pain
in this hand. Were they the same people they had been then? Or had their experiences changed them
to a degree that they would never have a relationship close to what they shared as children? At
that moment, Harry wished fervently that he was back in the common room of Gryffindor Tower, his
hand in a bowl of murtlap essence, his eyes wide open to see that all of the little things that
Hermione did for him added up to much, much more. He wanted to shake some sense into his younger
self who for the seven years following continued to make mistake after mistake until Hermione
returned from her sabbatical head over heels in love with an adoring husband.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His voice jolted her back into action, her fingers leaving the back of his scarred hand to
continue wrapping the bandage around his palm. “For what?” she asked in her best nonchalant
voice.

“For being such an idiot. In school.”

She didn’t look at him, instead choosing to focus on her task. “We were young” was all that she
said in reply.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I wish I could change what happened.”

“And what would you change?” she asked, her eyes still averted from his.

“I would have told you as soon as I knew how I felt about you, when my feelings changed, instead
of waiting two years like a dolt.”

He saw a hitch in her chest rather than heard her intake of breath. He knew this information,
that he’d harboured feelings for her for so long, was a revelation to her. True to form, he hadn’t
realised until years later how that tiny bit of information told at the right moment could have
changed the course of their lives. He decided to push forward now, releasing all of his regrets
whether she wanted to hear them or not.

“I wouldn’t have let you talk me into ‘focusing on school’ so soon after we finally got
together.”

“I don’t seem to remember you protesting too terribly much at the time,” she said, ripping the
end of the bandage into two strips a bit more forcefully than necessary. She wrapped one end around
his hand and tied them together into a knot on the back of his hand before turning back to the open
cupboard.

“You’re right. I didn’t. I should have.” Harry slid off the counter and stood behind Hermione,
inspecting his bandaged hand before attempting to put it in his pocket. He dropped the bandaged
hand to his side and stared at Hermione back. “In my defense, I was following your plan. Focus on
Auror training. When we were both finished with school, we would give a relationship a go. I didn’t
expect you to fall in love on your sabbatical.” Harry was impressed with himself that the last
statement came out with no bitterness, which was in sharp contrast to how he actually felt about
the situation 15 years earlier.

Harry could tell that she was just fiddling with the contents of the cupboard in an effort to
keep from turning to face him. “Tell me something, Hermione.”

She straightened her shoulders, closed the cupboard door and turned to face him. “What?”

“Was there another reason for the break? I’ve always felt like there was but I couldn’t figure
out what I did wrong.”

She opened her mouth to reply and paused before saying, “You did nothing wrong. Come on, dinner
is going to burn.” She turned and walked out the door.

The conversation changed the mood of their reunion, replacing the comfortable companionship with
an awkward, heavy silence as they sat on the terrace and ate their tortilla and salad. Harry
watched as Hermione speared greens on the end of her fork, before glancing up at him and attempting
a smile. “The salad’s good,” she said, before looking back down at her plate with a slight
grimace.

“Thanks.” He twirled his fork absently on his plate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you
uncomfortable or embarrass you earlier.”

“No, no,” she said, waving her hand, but continuing to look away.

“It obviously upset you. You can’t even look at me.”

“Harry, it’s not you,” Hermione said, placing her hand on his forearm and looking at him for the
first time. She removed her hand and continued. “It’s just never fun revisiting the insecurities of
my youth.”

Harry didn’t have much time to puzzle over that comment before she continued. “I didn’t realise
until…later, that focusing on our education was only part of the reason for the break-up.”

“What was the other reason?” Harry prodded.

“Lack of confidence?” Hermione said as if unsure of the answer herself.

“Lack of confidence in who? Me or you?”

“Both.”

“Hermione, forgive me for being rude, but would you just come out and say it already?!” Harry
said, tossing his serviette on his empty plate. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

“Fine,” she replied. She looked straight at him. “I never knew where I stood with you. I wasn’t
sure of your feelings. Snogging and petting were fine and all, but I didn’t know if that was due
more to deep feelings or teenage hormones.” Her shoulders dropped as if the weight they’d been
holding had just been removed.

Harry cleared his throat. “It wasn’t only hormones, Hermione.”

“I didn’t know that, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I was terrified of the answer.”

“Which answer?”

“Either.”

Harry bent his head down and squeezed the bridge of his nose, displacing his glasses. “And of
course I had no idea how to tell you how I felt.” He replaced his glasses and shook his head in
frustration, the result of the miscommunications of their youth weighing heavily on his mind. He
wondered how different his life would have been – if happiness would have replaced regret and pain
had he been able to say three little words to the woman sitting across the table from him.

“When you talked about us taking a break and focusing on school, it sounded so logical. It was
hard to argue with it. Part of me thought that you didn’t feel as strongly for me as I did for you
and that this was your out. When you came back from Europe happily married, it confirmed my
suspicions.”

“I should have written you and told you before springing Miguel on you like I did. You had been
so active socially, dating so many girls after you finished training, I rather thought your
infatuation with me had ended.”

“Remember when I came to see you at St. Mungo’s on your last day of training?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied a bit warily.

“The rose I brought you wasn’t to congratulate you on your accomplishment, I was going to give
it to you when I asked you out on a date.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “And I was going on and on about my trip across Europe.”

“You’d just gotten approval,” Harry interjected.

They sat in silence, the weight of regret surrounding them as they each stared out at different
points of the darkened night. Harry shifted his attention to Hermione, tracing the outline of her
profile with his eyes, wanting more than anything to run his fingers across her cheeks and trace
her lips with his fingertips. He stood and picked up their plates. “I’ll wash up,” he said,
retreating into the kitchen before she could protest.

He stood at the sink letting what he had just learned sink in. He turned the tap on and began to
rinse the dishes with a sponge in slow, gentle circles. There was no surprise in the revelation
that miscommunication had cost him a shot at a relationship with Hermione. If there was one
constant in Harry’s life, it was dealing with the consequences of his inability to ask the right
questions and articulate his feelings. He placed the clean plate in the empty sink and picked up
the next one, which was not as lucky as the first. His hair flopped on his forehead and his glasses
slid down his nose as his body shook with the effort of cleansing his mind of the pent-up
frustration brought on by his past mistakes. The slippery plate slid out of his hands and shattered
in the sink.

He stared at the broken plate and snorted a laugh. “I’m sure this is somehow symbolic,” he said
as he withdrew his wand and muttered, “Reparo.”

He took a deep, purifying breath as the plate repaired itself. He lifted the plate to inspect
it, searching for any sign that it had been in pieces only moments before. All he saw was his
reflection in the bone-coloured china. He gave himself a confident grin and knew what course of
action he needed to take.

He felt her presence in the kitchen a few minutes later as he stood at the sink rinsing the
roasting pan. She stood there for a bit, saying nothing. He felt her eyes on his back. Adrenaline
pumped through his veins much as it did before the pick-up Quidditch games he and Ron enjoyed every
Sunday afternoon. For the first time in his personal life, he was going to go after what he
wanted.

“I can’t regret what happened,” she said to his back. “To do that would demean my love for
Miguel and Daniel.”

Harry turned, drying his hands on a towel and stood on the opposite side of the island from
Hermione. “No, of course not. I love my children too much for regret.” He folded the damp towel and
placed it on the counter. “But all the same, I hope it’s not too late to fix the mistakes of the
past.”

Harry caught her gaze and held it, throwing down the gauntlet of his intentions. He felt a surge
run through his body as she held his stare. He wanted to know what was going on in that brilliant
mind of hers…whether she was composing columns of pros and cons and assessing the potential for
success or disaster or if she, like he, was being driven by the emotions he felt when he looked at
her.

Fear was evident in her eyes as he walked around the island to face her. “It’s late. I need to
get going. Thank you for dinner.” Her eyes grew wide as he leaned forward. He paused and stared at
her lips before switching course and kissing her softly on the cheek. He ran his hand down her arm
and grasped her hand, squeezing lightly.

“You will never again doubt where my affection lies,” he whispered into her ear before
disapparating.



3. Chapter 3
------------

**Chapter 3**

*You will never again doubt where my affection lies.*

His words hung in the air.

She didn’t know how much later she slumped against the kitchen island and dropped to the floor,
but the words he whispered into her ear stayed with her through the rest of a sleepless night and
into the next day. She found herself rubbing where her ear met her jaw, recalling the feeling of
his breath caressing her skin as she remembered the words he said, still as real as the light touch
of her fingers. She imagined that it was Harry’s fingers brushing along her jaw, whispering the
phrase as his lips almost touched hers.

“Healer Granger?”

It was inevitable, and probably fortuitous, that a student interrupted her fantasy. The
distraction worked for a while, until she would be walking down the hall alone and her mind would
wander to the night before once again. She puzzled over what happened. What did they talk about
before he burned his hand? Was dinner good? Did she make a fool out of herself? Did she hurt him
when she told him that she didn’t regret not being with him for the past 15 years? Did she have
some sort of unconscious ulterior motives in cooking dinner for him instead of going out to a
public restaurant? When would she see him again?

The last question came to her, along with a heavy dose of guilt, while she sat in her office at
the end of the day. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, casting a warm glow through her
office. She looked at the picture on her desk of Miguel and Daniel, and her stomach constricted
with self-loathing. Despite the fact that Miguel had been dead for two years, she still felt as if
she was betraying him any time she thought of another man in a context that had been reserved for
him alone.

She rubbed her queasy stomach and smiled, remembering Harry doing the same thing the night
before. *Poor bloke*, she thought with a chuckle, *he was starving and I was going on about
something dreadfully boring, I bet.* She didn’t think he had been bored with her company at the
time, but looking back on it she couldn’t imagine how discussing her job and such would hold much
interest for him. Thinking on it, she realised she had done most of the talking. With a few
well-placed questions here and there from him, she had barely given him any time at all to talk
about himself. And there was so much she wanted to know about The Black Foundation, his girls, what
he did in his free time, whether he keeps up with their old Hogwarts friends?

She was ashamed to admit that what she was most interested in was his failed marriage. What she
knew about it was sparse to say the least. Ginny, who Hermione had kept up with only marginally
better than Ron and Harry, had given her an earful during a lunch for a business trip she had in
France a few years ago. Ginny made it clear that Bridgette Smyth-Potter was despised by all of
Harry’s friends for various reasons, with the primary offense being the fact that she was a
‘publicity-seeking, gold-digging tart.’ Hermione couldn’t argue with that assessment. Her few
experiences with Bridgette had been less than positive. It was obvious to everyone, except Harry,
that Bridgette had married him for his name, fame and money.

It broke Hermione’s heart to think that Harry had been unhappily married for so many years when
he had so much to offer the right woman: courage, humour, intelligence, dedication, love,
loyalty…not to mention good looks. She groaned as she remembered their exchange about him putting
on weight. She was sure that was the wrong thing to say, or at least the wrong way to say it. She
thought he looked very good indeed, so good that the memory of him staring at the skyline of
Barcelona for the first time had been distracting her all day.

His green eyes had grown wide in astonishment behind his glasses. He had run his hand through
his hair, a mannerism she didn’t remember from school, pushing it back from his forehead briefly
before it fell back into place across the scar that had defined his life. His jaw was dusted with
the end of the day stubble of a beard, something she remembered for sure the 17-year-old boy she
knew hadn’t had in such abundance. Later in the evening, when she was bandaging his hand, she had
noticed a new scar less than an inch in length, running horizontally across his chin just before it
dipped down into his neck.

She closed her eyes and remembered the exact moment butterflies had taken up residence in her
stomach. She was standing in front of him and had just dabbed the potion on his palm. He gasped and
his legs jerked together involuntarily, pinning her in front of him. She was sure that he didn’t
even realise it had happened, he was so distracted by the stinging in his hand and the horrible
smell of the ointment. She still couldn’t explain what she did next by bending over and blowing on
his palm. As a doctor, she knew that that particular reflex, to blow on a burn, did absolutely no
good. But there she was, in her memory, blowing seductively on the palm of a man she had once loved
before whispering something – she couldn’t remember what – to him.

She laid her forehead down on her desk in embarrassment. She tapped her head over and over on
the desk, chiding herself for being such a tease. *Why don’t I just write ‘Shag me’ on my
forehead?* Her head stilled and she turned her cheek to the cool mahogany surface and stared at
the picture of her family. She was amazed at how easily the guilt from earlier had left her, only
to be replaced with more fantasies and memories of Harry.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Her head shot up from the desk to see a snowy owl sitting on the ledge of her window, tapping
its beak against the glass.

“Hedwig?”

The owl flew through the window Hermione opened, and she dropped a rose and a piece of parchment
on Hermione’s desk before settling on the tower of files. A smile broke across Hermione’s face at
the delivery. She picked up the red rose and inhaled its scent, the butterflies from the night
before returning in full force.

Hedwig hooted and swiveled her head around in a complete circle, searching, Hermione was sure,
for water. Hermione tapped an empty mug with her wand and a stream of water poured from the tip.
“Here you go, girl,” she said as she petted her soft feathers. “I’m very, *very* glad to see
you,” she said, the rose still under her nose.

She eyed the parchment warily. Fantasizing was one thing, but opening that letter and having her
desires reciprocated was something else entirely. Her thoughts were her own – private and very
safe. No pain would come from letting her imagination run riot. The idea of kissing a man other
than Miguel was all right to think about, but the terror Hermione felt at the thought of actually
going through with it was something else altogether.

*You have a high opinion of yourself,* she thought with contempt. *Whose* *to say
this isn’t a simple “Thank you for dinner, maybe I’ll see you on the platform next year” note?
After all, you did a bang-up job of making him feel responsible for your breakup twenty years
ago.*

“That’s not true,” she said to the empty room.

Yes, well, did you see his face when he went to wash up? That wasn’t the look of someone smitten
with an old flame. Then you followed it up with “I can’t regret what happened.” Was that your idea
of encouragement?

She felt a nipping on her hand and saw Hedwig on the edge of her desk, gently pecking her
fingers. Once the owl had gotten Hermione’s attention, she hopped over to where the note had landed
and hooted encouragingly. “Are you waiting for a reply?” Hermione asked.

The snowy owl hooted again and spread her wings in assent. “I guess that’s a good sign,”
Hermione said, to an affirming hoot from Hedwig. If Hermione didn’t know better, she would swear
the owl smiled.

“Right, then,” she said, picking up the rolled-up parchment and settling in her chair. “Here
goes.”

Hermione –

It’s 3 a.m. and I can’t sleep. I’ve been going over and over our conversation in my mind. I
don’t know who is to blame for what happened. Should blame even be assigned to a mistake that has
given us so much? You had a wonderful marriage to a man who loved you very much. And you have a son
who, if Jo’s letters are correct, is the perfect combination of intelligence and charm. I have
three daughters that I love wholeheartedly and wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. So I agree
with you – we should have no regrets.

But, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened between us if I had told you how I felt
about you all those years ago. It would have been simple really; three little words would have made
such a difference in our lives. At the very least I wouldn’t be sitting up at 3 am wondering ‘what
if?’ I find myself wanting to know the answer to my ‘what if’ questions more for the future than
the past. What if I ask her out and she says no? What if she says yes? What if we’ve changed so
much that the connection we had before is gone? What if she can see when she looks in my eyes that
all I can think about is kissing her lips? What if that idea is ‘totally gross’ (to borrow a phrase
of Olivia’s) to her? What if, what if, what if?

Despite the depressing turn the conversation took for a while, I enjoyed myself immensely last
night. It is now 4 am and I am no closer to sleep. My meeting at Gringotts looms large at 8 am.
Luckily, in a meeting with goblins, they do most of the talking, so I won’t be required to do much
beyond showing up. Which, as it happens, is the story of my life. Ginny basically runs the
Foundation, Dobby runs Grimmauld Place and my children are at school.

All of this free time brings me to this: I want to see you again. Soon. How soon depends on you.
What happens from here depends on you. I understand there are other issues involved and I’m not
going to rush you. But I see no point in pretending that my feelings for you are platonic. We are
too old to play cat and mouse, don’t you think?

I don’t know if it is possible to rectify the mistakes I made in the past. I do know that I’m
not going to make the same mistake twice. I guess this letter is my feeble attempt at being
forthright, the lack of which cost me dearly 20 years ago. I’ve re-written it twice and re-read it
more times than I can count. I keep telling myself that putting myself ‘out there’ like this is
good. But honestly, it is the most petrifying thing I’ve ever done. My palms are sweaty and Hedwig
keeps giving me commiserating looks. That is never a good sign.

As you may have guessed, Hedwig is supposed to stay until you reply. Of course, she isn’t
supposed to peck you to death, just give you sad eyes and hoot woefully until you feel pity on me
and either give me the heave ho or make my day.

Waiting patiently,

Harry

Hermione looked at Hedwig, who, as if on cue, hooted woefully and stared at her with large amber
eyes. Hermione laughed and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you wait.” She pulled out a
piece of parchment and began to write her reply.

Harry,

Hedwig is doing her job nicely, I must say. Although I don’t plan on making her wait.

I’m sorry that writing to me was a terrifying experience. I won’t make you wait until the end of
the letter to find out the question that, although wasn’t stated outright, was the underlying theme
of your letter.

Yes, I want to see you again. Soon.

You are a very distracting man, Harry Potter. You leave me last night with a piercing gaze and a
cryptic statement which have both occupied my mind for the last 24 hours. Then you write a letter
that mirrors the thoughts and questions I’ve been grappling with all day. At least the question of
our feelings being mutual is answered, yes?

As to the ‘other issues’ you alluded to, I assume you mean Miguel. On a logical level I know
that Miguel is dead, but emotionally it’s difficult to let go. I also know that exploring what I
feel for you isn’t going to diminish what I felt for Miguel. But there is still a certain level of
guilt for even acknowledging that I haven’t been able to think about anything but you all day
long.

I see what you mean about being petrified. My palms aren’t sweaty, but I do have a queasy
feeling in my stomach while I write this letter. I wonder why that is? You’ve already told me your
feelings (well, actually I read that between the lines), so it isn’t as if I’m putting myself out
there like you did. What a brave Gryffindor you are! I don’t know that I would have been able to do
that. I’ve no doubt that I would have continued to mull over what happened between us until time
slipped away from us again.

Hedwig is ruffling her feathers in expectation. I believe she is ready to go so I’ll wrap this
up. There is a muggle festival, La Merce, held in Barcelona each September. Would you like to come
into town for a couple of days, possibly the 24th and 25th? You must see
Correfoc, the parade of demons and fire-breathing dragons in Sant Jaume Square. Of course, the
dragons aren’t as exciting as the ‘real’ thing, but for a muggle display, it is quite good. The
next day, I will take you to the magical side of Barcelona and to Tres Leches Square, the Spanish
Diagon Alley. Do send your answer back soon!

Thinking of you,

Hermione

**

It was two and a half very long weeks from the time Hermione’s invitation to Barcelona took
flight with Hedwig until she heard the knock on her front door announcing Harry’s arrival. Each day
that passed, her nervousness grew until she was sure she was going to explode from the
anticipation. She had been pacing up and down the hallways of her house, looking at her wristwatch
and the clock in whichever room she happened to be passing at the moment. Time would alternately
speed up and slow down, with no discernible pattern to its movement. She would sit in the library
and jump up when she realised that thirty minutes had passed in the blink of an eye. She made three
laps around her house with barely five minutes ticking off the clock. The sandwich she made purely
to have something to do sat untouched on the counter. No book held her interest. She had retreated
to the loo five times to check her make-up and hair, which is where she was when she heard the
faint knocking.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to reveal the cause of her distraction and anxiety.
She was relieved and concerned to see that he, too, was nervous, greeting her with only a small
smile and a croaked, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she returned, rooted to the spot.

*This isn’t good*, she thought and immediately wondered if she had made a mistake in
inviting him. She didn’t know what to say, and anxiety regarding what in the world they were going
to talk about flooded her. All of the romantic notions and fantasies of a comfortable weekend were
lost as she stared at a man she suddenly realised she didn’t know at all.

Shaking herself from her internal dialogue and remembering her manners, she jumped back out of
the doorway. “Come in,” she said, motioning with her hand.

“Thanks,” he said. He stepped through the door, obviously trying to stay as far away from her as
possible.

She closed the door behind him as he looked around the entrance hall and she noticed the duffle
he had thrown over his shoulder. A lead weight settled in her stomach as she remembered that the
plan had been for him to stay overnight.

“Let me show you to your room so you can put your things away,” she said, leading him down the
hallway to the left of the front door.

They passed the library and she resisted the urge to flee into her sanctuary. Instead, she
continued to lead him to the spare bedroom. She opened the door and flipped on the light with a
wave of her wand, stepping aside for him to walk in.

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a smile. He threw his bag onto the bed and gave the room a cursory
glance.

“The loo is just down the hall,” she said, motioning vaguely to the left.

“I’m sure I’ll find it.” He looked around the room again as if searching in every nook and
cranny for something to say. He slipped his hands in his pockets and bounced on his toes. Hermione
heard the faint jingling of money as his hands fluttered in his pocket. “Was that a library I saw
back there?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, embarrassed.

“It looked very cozy,” Harry replied, moving a step closer to her.

“It is. I spend loads of time in there,” Hermione replied. “Shock horror” she said with a
nervous laugh.

Harry chuckled and looked around the room. He jingled change in his pockets and admitted, “I
feel like a teenager.”

Hermione laughed. “Come to think of it, that’s a spot on description of how I feel.”

“I reckon we both need to relax a bit. You seem to be tense, and I know I am.” He stepped
forward and lightly grasped her hand. “Why don’t you show me your library?”

“Okay,” she said, leading him out of the room by the hand. His thumb ran along the back of her
hand a few times, sending goosebumps up her arm. “Here it is,” she said, releasing his hand once
they were in her favourite room.

Harry walked around the sofa and glanced out the windows that overlooked the street. He turned
to his right and walked alongside the wall covered with bookshelves, inspecting the tomes as he
went. He paused briefly as he walked by the mantle adorned with pictures of Hermione’s family,
before returning to Hermione’s side.

“Very cozy. Just as I thought.”

“It looks alarmingly like Professor McGonagall’s quarters at Hogwarts.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I only went to her quarters once or twice and barely got a glimpse as I stood outside the
door. But I guess I retained more of it in my memory than I knew. I only realised why it seemed so
familiar a few years ago.”

“I would have pictured her with straight-backed uncomfortable chairs and wooden benches. Well,
McGonagall has good taste I guess. Who would’ve thought?” Harry mused, looking at Hermione. As he
smiled at her a bit more of her uneasiness melted away.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked. “The parade doesn’t start for a bit so we have
time.”

“Sure.”

“What would you like?” she asked as they walked toward the kitchen. “I have wine, ale, pumpkin
juice…”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, grasping her hand and stopping her in the entrance hall. “Can we
get something out of the way?”

“What?” she asked, distracted by his hand covering hers. He leaned forward, his eyes on her
lips, and paused.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice when his intention became apparent. His eyes moved to hers and
she said, “You mean that.”

He waited for what seemed like a rather long time to Hermione. Was he waiting on her? She tilted
her face up and closed her eyes.

His lips are like velvet. How did I forget that? Not that I’ve ever kissed velvet, but if I did,
I imagine this is what it would feel like. I wonder what he’s thinking right now. Probably not
about kissing fabric. Well, at least I hope not. I wonder what my lips feel like. Do I have
lipstick on? Does he hate the taste of lipstick like Miguel did?

Bloody hell. Shouldn’t have thought about that.

Hermione pulled back slightly and ducked her head in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said wondering
when their hands had intertwined. His thumb began its journey up and down the back of her hand. She
watched it for a moment and reveled in the sensation the simple touch sent through her.

“I should be apologising,” Harry said. “I’ve barely arrived and I’m snogging you in the hall.”
Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He took a step back and started to release her hands.

“No, don’t,” she said, grasping his hands before he could break the connection. “It’s not that.
I’m just thinking too much.”

A lopsided grin greeted this revelation. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
He lifted his hand and ran his fingers along her jaw. “You are just as beautiful as you were twenty
years ago.”

“Oh, I hardly think…” He placed his fingers over her mouth to silence her.

“I don’t remember if I told you how beautiful you were then.” He let his fingers drop from her
mouth while his eyes roamed over the features of her face and her hair. “You were, you know. And
you are even more beautiful now.”

The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes again were his green eyes boring into hers
with a thrilling intensity.

This kiss she felt. The fact that Harry had soft lips was the last thing on her mind. Instead,
the physical sensations roiling through her body consumed what little coherent thought she may have
possessed at the time. Chills sped up her spine as a burning sensation she hadn’t felt for years
settled into her abdomen. Her arms hung limply by her sides as his hands cupped her face, his
fingers gently stroking her neck.

But he didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead he released and captured her lips, interspersing long
sensual kisses with short sweet ones, which led to his lips roaming down her jaw to her ear. His
warm breath tickled her ear as he nipped her earlobe. She reflexively grinned and ducked her head
to the side. He took the opportunity to shift his lips to her cheek before settling again on her
lips in a long, soft, sensual kiss. Her hands finally responded to his prompts by sliding around
his back and pulling him closer. She opened her mouth beneath his and ran her tongue across the
seam where his lips met, encouraging him to open his mouth to her.

She couldn’t help herself – she thought again of her dead husband. The guilt from wanting
another man had diminished over the past few weeks, but nothing would change the fact that this was
the first man she had kissed besides her husband in 15 years. She had resigned herself to the
comparisons that she knew would pop up at the most inopportune times. This was the first of
many.

He tastes different.

But it was familiar. She remembered the first time she kissed Harry when they were 17 years old.
When she tasted him for the first time so many years ago, it was as if he was the missing
ingredient to a complex potion. This feeling of completion hit her again as his tongue roamed
around her mouth, filling her senses with his unique flavor of musky masculinity mixed with a hint
of pumpkin juice. The last ingredient made her chuckle and she pulled away.

“What?” he asked, breathless and confused.

“Pumpkin juice.”

His brows furrowed and he shook his head. “I’m not thirsty.”

She laughed, leaning her head on his chest. “No, I just remembered that you always tasted a bit
like pumpkin juice.”

“Hmm,” he said, tightening his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “What else do you
remember?”

“That what I felt for you scared me. You scared me.”

“Why?”

She looked up at his face, one that had changed for the better over the years, the sharp lines
of his youth softened into the soft curves of adulthood. His hair, under the tutelage of the gray
elder statesmen dispersed throughout the rebellious raven locks, had calmed into a more mellow
state of unruliness. His glasses, once such a prominent feature of his face had been replaced with
smaller, rimless versions of their predecessors, making his green eyes even more noticeable. The
scar was still there, prominent beneath the hair that would always give a valiant effort at
concealment.

Was this version of Harry less frightening than the one from twenty years past? Were her
feelings from him less intense, tempered by age and experience?

“I was young and inexperienced, Harry, and was less than confident in my ability to keep you
interested.”

“Did I ever act uninterested?”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “I…” She stopped and looked at his confused and somewhat
angry expression. “Are we going to go through this every time we’re together? What happened
happened. We both made mistakes. I thought the whole point of this,” she said, placing her hand on
his chest, “was to remedy the mistakes of the past. I want to move forward, do you?”

He turned his head to the side and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“If moving forward includes more of this,” he said, leaning forward and capturing her lips. He
pulled her tightly against his body until she felt every contour through their clothes. He dipped
her, bracing her back with his right hand while his left hand cradled her head, deepening the kiss
until she was dizzy and breathless. He released her lips but continued to hold her in the dip.

“Feeling confident?” he asked, a cheeky grin spread across his handsome face.

Breathing heavily she nodded her head, holding tight the knowledge of the confident witch that
awaited Harry once she found the courage to take their relationship to the next level. A tenative
smirk broke across her face.

*He isn’t going to know what hit him.*

**

“The festival celebrates Catalunian Princess La Merced’s protectorship of the city,” Hermione
yelled into Harry’s ear.

They were standing in the middle of Sant Jaume Square among a throng of muggles waiting for the
festivities to begin. Hermione was taking the opportunity to educate Harry on the history of La
Merce.

He was only partly paying attention to what she said. He was rather distracted by her – her
lips, her hair, her eyes, the way she moved her hands around when she was explaining something, how
she tucked her hair behind her left ear, never her right. That possibly could be due to the fact
that he had her right hand in a vice grip, determined to not let her go.

What he enjoyed most was seeing her smile. She had many different smiles, he realised. And if he
were to think on it, he would remember that that was always the case. The small smile she gives
when she is distracted by something else but too polite to say, “Leave me alone, I’m doing
something.” The sarcastic smile that is accompanied by the roll of her eyes and followed by a laugh
when he makes a silly joke. The aha! smile she gets when she has found the solution to a problem or
the answer to a question. The smile that starts in her eyes when he looks at her, moving down to
the lips that he always wanted to kiss again and again. But his favourite by far was the ‘I know
something you don’t know’ smile she gave him today when he kissed her. That smile held the promise
of something bigger, something worth knowing…and the anticipation of the discovery was killing
him.

The crowd was thickening around them as movement at the far side of the square increased. A buzz
filled the air and people began moving forward, pressing toward something Harry couldn’t see.

“Here they come,” Hermione said in his ear.

Everyone around him began to wrap scarves around their mouths and noses in anticipation of the
vast amount of smoke produced by the fireworks display to come. He and Hermione didn’t have to do
that. Hermione had performed a simple charm on each of them that would keep the smoke from
bothering them.

Whoops and cheers went up from the crowd and Harry saw in the distance a tall pole with twirling
lights on the top begin to move through the crowd. Showers of sparks fell into the crowd as more
and more poles made their way through the throng until the square was filled with the dancing light
of the fireworks. The mass of people pulsed with excitement. A group of drunk twenty-somethings
passed by them, pushing their way through their crowd and knocking Harry sideways into
Hermione.

“Sorry,” he said, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling.

She waved her hand in dismissal. “What do you think?” she asked, her upturned face being lit by
the dancing light.

“Beautiful,” he replied, keeping his eyes on hers. The crowd jostled him into her again, but all
he felt was his somersaulting stomach.

The roar of the crowd broke their eye-to-eye connection. Hermione looked toward the far end of
the square and shouted, “Here they come!”

Harry moved around behind Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to
him.

“Is this all right?” he whispered in her ear.

She covered his hands with hers, intertwining their fingers and nodding in assent.

“Good,” he said, lightly kissing behind her ear.

He felt her lean back against him and her head fall back against his shoulder. Harry looked up
to see dragons of all shapes, colours and sizes weaving through the crowd to the delight of
everyone, but all he could think about was the way Hermione’s body felt against his. His right hand
slid under the hem of her shirt and touched her bare stomach. He felt her abdomen quiver as his
fingers slid back and forth along her smooth skin. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and
falling in short bursts. On the next pass his hand made across her stomach his pinky finger slid
beneath the waist of her jeans, testing the boundaries. A hand rested on his and he paused,
waiting.

There was no smile in her eyes now as she turned to face him. “You’ve seen one fake dragon,
you’ve seen them all. Let’s go,” she said, and she turned to lead him through the throng of
people.

**

She didn’t remember passion.

When she thought of her time with Harry twenty years ago, passion was never part of the
equation. Nervousness, fumbling, inexpert kisses and touches were what came to mind; two children
learning as they went. The predominant feeling she remembered and had thought was desire she now
realized was fear. Fear of doing something wrong. Fear of doing something right and where that
might lead. Fear of exposing herself, literally and figuratively, to her best friend. She was so
busy being afraid that their intimate moments were less than memorable. In fact, over the years she
had done her best to forget them, she was so full of embarrassment at how she had or hadn’t
acted.

With Miguel, there had been no fear. His confidence had buoyed her and given her confidence she
never knew she possessed. With him it had been pure excitement from the moment he had leveled that
intense gaze at her in the café. It had helped that he was a stranger, one she was sure she would
never see again. That allowed her to be a version of herself she had longed to set free,
uninhibited and sexually self-assured. By the time she came to her senses, she was too enamoured of
her newfound confidence and the thrill of passion to turn back.

It was the same thrill of passion she felt at that moment, as Harry pressed her against the wall
and kissed her roughly. Their tongues found each other at once and began an intimate frenzied
dance. He wasted no time, his hands moving under her shirt to seize her breasts. She lifted his
jumper over his head, tossing it aside carelessly. Then she pulled him back into a kiss. Her hands
roamed over his shoulders and down his arms before finding the broad expanse of his back.

Hermione moaned at the sensation of being in a man’s arms again – feeling smooth skin under her
hands, warm lips on hers, strong hands rubbing along her body pulling her closer, his erection hard
against her belly. She felt blood rush downward and she clenched in anticipation. It had been so
long and she wanted him so badly. She whimpered and leaned her head back as he began kissing her
neck, whispering her name. She ran her hands through his beautiful dark hair and pulled him closer
to her, whispering, “Miguel…”

As soon as the name left her lips, she realised her mistake. Harry stopped kissing her neck and
slowly lifted his eyes to hers. The feeling of warmth was replaced by cold dread and shame. She
leaned her head against the wall and squeezed her eyes closed to block out the look of pain
reflected in Harry’s eyes.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, Harry.” She hit her head against the wall and repeated, “I’m so, so
sorry.”

She swallowed, fighting the bile that was rising in her throat in its desperate attempt to
abandon her churning stomach. She felt tears burning her eyes behind her closed lids. She squeezed
them tighter to stem the flow of tears she knew was coming. Despite her best attempts she felt the
tickle of her nose and knew that the sob wouldn’t be denied.

Harry’s fingers rubbed across her cheek. “Hey,” he whispered, pulling her head to his bare
shoulder. “Don’t cry, Hermione. Shhhhh. It’s okay.” He stroked her hair and continued to whisper
consoling words to her as she cried.

As her sobs subsided, Harry pulled back. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to look at him, instead
focusing on the knot of bone that protruded from his right shoulder.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

She clenched her teeth and looked at him, prepared for anger and hurt to be reflected in his
eyes. Instead she saw compassion.

“I understand, Hermione. You don’t have to apologise. To be honest, part of me expected it.” He
adjusted her shirt, which had been in the process of being lifted out of the way when the
unfortunate event occurred. “I can’t imagine how confusing this must all be for you. You aren’t
ready to move in that direction, and that’s fine.” He rubbed her arms and continued. “I don’t want
to leave, but I’ll understand if you want me to.”

“No!” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He gave her a relieved smile. “Good.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and stroked her
cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I got carried away. All rational thought flew
southward.”

Hermione smiled, relieved that her gaffe hadn’t caused irreparable damage to their burgeoning
relationship. “You and me both,” she said with a grin.

“Really?” Harry asked, cocking one eyebrow.

“Despite…what I just said, and how that may seem. I wasn’t thinking about Miguel, I really
wasn’t. That just slipped out. I don’t know why. God, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Harry replied. “The last thing I want to do is scare you off.
Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

“Right,” Hermione replied, disappointment and relief surging through her.

He stepped back from her and gave a little nod toward the loo. “Right, then. I’ll just go to
the…you know, cold shower and all.”

Hermione looked down at the ground sheepishly. “Right,” she replied. “You should have everything
you need in there. Towels are in the cupboard.”

“Night,” he said, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on her lips. “Sleep well.”

He retreated into the guest room and Hermione walked into her room and began her bedtime
routine.

*Sleep well*, she thought pulling her pyjamas on. *Not bloody likely*.

She would be surprised if she got a wink of sleep, she was so wound up by what just happened.
Harry was right; she wasn’t ready to move their relationship *there*. Her body was, which was
no surprise to her. Her body had been ready for some time, the solitary efforts she had made to
appease it over the last two years proving to be unsatisfying, to say the least. But her mind, it
seemed, wasn’t quite there yet. She just hoped that once her mind had caught up to her body, Harry
wouldn’t be too shocked by the monster that would be unleashed.

She chuckled and shook her head at the irony of her sex life. She had always enjoyed sex, but
had thought that it was geared more toward the male than the female. Miguel’s excitement was always
rather obvious, his completion a crescendo that was difficult to miss. With her, as with most
women, she presumed, it was more subtle. Sure, she felt the stirrings and tinglings that were
common in romance novels, and she enjoyed herself. But she was always a bit envious of the gusto of
Miguel’s achievement, for she never felt anything close to that. Until one night her hand errantly
touched her nub while stroking Miguel, something she never considered doing before. And damn if all
of those lost years of great sex wasn’t the biggest regret of her life.

That night, she had her first truly memorable orgasm, whether from what she did, what Miguel
did, or Miguel’s reaction to what she did, she didn’t know. But after that everything changed. She
became a woman obsessed with pleasure. She would find herself thinking about it at random times
during the day, something she knew was a very masculine thing to do. She would owl notes to her
husband, suggesting he come home for lunch on her days off. She even spent time exploring her body
on her own, something only months before would have been absolutely shocking for her to
consider.

Then, Miguel got sick and sex was the last thing on her mind.

It had all happened so quickly. The headaches he had ignored, and not told Hermione about, until
his only refuge was a dark room, a soft pillow and complete silence. The diagnosis of an inoperable
brain tumor so far advanced that his prognosis was given to them in terms of days instead of weeks.
His death a mere month later.

They were all in shock. Hermione was stung, not only by the loss of her husband and lover, but
also from her inability to save him. The lesson that magic had its limitations, one that she had
recited to numerous families of terminal patients over the years, was difficult to accept when it
was your own loved one you were helpless to heal.

For the first time in Hermione’s life, she took the easy way out. She focused on Daniel and
getting him through his grief instead of her own. His devastation at the loss of his

father, the man that he idolized and that doted on him, was complete. The traits that made
Daniel so much like Miguel, carefree, confident and outgoing, seemed to die with him. The phrase,
“you are so much like your father” was heard less and less until the only comparison made between
the two had to do with their unique nose and dark eyes.

Hermione tried everything she could to draw her son back out. Over time, as the sting of the
loss eased, she saw glimpses of the child he had been before. But, everything was tempered with
caution, as if he viewed happiness as a fleeting emotion. They settled into a comfortable routine,
their life returning to a semblance of what it was before but both knowing that his normalcy would
be short lived, that he would soon be leaving for school.

The specter of Daniel leaving began to weigh heavily on Hermione’s mind. Always close, even when
Miguel was alive, the thought of her son not being there every night when she came home broke her
heart. Keeping him out of school wasn’t an option, nor was sending him to Beauxbatons, a much
closer but far inferior school to her alma mater. The logical move, one she had considered after
Miguel’s death, would be for her to return to England. She delayed the decision, one that she
considered inevitable, in deference to Daniel. With the upheaval his father’s death had caused, she
wanted to wait as long as possible to uproot him from the only home he had ever known. Plus, her
career was going well in Spain. The idea of uprooting her life wasn’t appealing either.

Hermione paused, hairbrush poised to run through her hair, trying to remember when the loss of
Miguel, his absence had become less painful. She had never wallowed in self pity. Questions of ‘how
will I do this without him’ never entered her mind. Failure for her had never been an option and
this was no different. Bills needed to be paid, a child needed to be raised, the minutia of life
would still be there, arrogantly indifferent to the loss of the man that made her laugh, the man
that taught her how to love, the man that looked at every day as a new adventure. She would be
damned if she let the little things destroy her. Miguel’s absence didn’t affect those things. His
role in her life, and she hoped hers in his, was enrichment. He was the reason the little things
didn’t destroy her, but her reason was dead now for two years. The little things had been starting
to weigh on her more and more, especially since she had watched Daniel walk down Platform 9 ¾.

Then, Harry Potter had walked back into her life with a cryptic statement and a piercing gaze
and somehow she knew that life would never be the same.

**

Harry was staring at the ceiling, his arms crossed behind his head. He doubted he would get a
wink of sleep, due partially to sexual frustration but mainly to his mind refusing to shut off.

He knew this had been a possibility; he had prepared himself for it when he decided to pursue a
relationship with Hermione. He even bought a fucking book about it. But the fact remained that his
ego had been bruised when Hermione had called out Miguel’s name. Every man expects to be able to
drive the memory of previous lovers away with their sexual prowess. The fact that he couldn’t was
tough to take, even though he knew his feelings about it were selfish and unrealistic. At least she
didn’t call out someone else’s name.

You bastard! She is conflicted and grieving for her husband and that’s what goes through your
mind?

“Shut it,” he said aloud. He flipped the blanket off of himself and swung his legs to the floor.
Sleep wasn’t coming any time soon.

He pulled on a t-shirt and opened the door to his room, peeking out into the darkened hall. He
tip-toed down the hall to the library. A shaft of gray light illuminated the room. He wandered over
to the bookshelves and began looking at the titles, hoping to find something compelling enough to
capture his interest but boring enough to put him to sleep. Unfortunately, everything seemed to be
about anatomy or cooking. He wasn’t surprised to see there wasn’t a Quidditch book in the lot.

He walked past the dormant fireplace, looking at the pictures of Hermione’s life without
him.

*She looks blissfully happy*.

He stared at the oldest picture – the one of Miguel and her taken after their wedding. He had
the sudden urge to chuck it into the fire. The look on her face made him doubt that there would be
a future between them and planted a seed of fear in his heart that there would be no way he would
be able to compete with the memory of the love of her life. He stared at it for a long time,
thinking that if he hadn’t been such an idiot all those years ago he could have been in Miguel’s
place. He could have been the one kissing Hermione in a café, her adoring gaze lingering on his
face.

“Harry?”

He turned, startled by her voice. She was standing in the doorway, wearing men’s pyjama bottoms
and a white v-neck t-shirt, both a good two sizes too big for her. Her hair was pulled back into a
very loose ponytail and her face shown with the radiance of newly cleaned skin.

“Hi. I was just looking for something to read,” he said, motioning to the fireplace mantle as if
it were the bookcases. Embarrassed that he’d been caught staring at her pictures, he stepped back
in front of the bookcases and gave an discomfited smile. “I can’t sleep,” he continued.

“Me, either,” she replied. She stood in the doorway for a moment more, before walking toward
him. “Anything in particular you want to read?” she asked, stopping in front of the picture he had
wanted to destroy moments before.

“Er…anything about Quidditch?”

“Will that put you to sleep?” she asked with a grin.

“Depends on whether I’ve read it.”

“Well, I have nothing on Quidditch, sorry to say. I do have a dusty copy of *Hogwarts: A
History*. That’d put you to sleep in no time, I’m sure.”

“I’ve read it, thanks.”

“Oh, that’s right! Dumbledore made you read it sixth year, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I fell asleep with that book across my chest for months.”

They stared at each other for what felt like a few minutes, but could have only been seconds.
Harry felt the same comfortable connection he’d felt with her as a child and teen. He’d lost the
ability to read her mind or finish her sentences, but staring into her eyes, he knew that it was
only a matter of time before that particular talent returned. Although they hadn’t been as close
for the past fifteen years, he realised that time couldn’t erase the bond they shared. He hoped she
felt the same.

“You’re looking in the wrong place,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“That’s where we kept all our professional books.” She backed up past the fireplace and motioned
at the other bookshelf. “This should have something a bit more interesting to read before putting
you to sleep.” She gave him a half smile and pulled a thin volume from a middle shelf. “What about
Shakespeare? Will that do it?”

“Sure,” Harry said, taking the book from her. Their fingers brushed as they exchanged the
book.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?” she asked in a strangled voice. “I was on my way to make
some.”

“Okay,” he replied and started to follow her out the door.

“No, stay here. I’ll bring it to you.” Hermione pointed her wand at the fireplace and a small,
perfect fire erupted. “Make yourself at home.”

“Right. I’ll just start reading.”

He sat down on the sofa and looked at the book for the first time. “The Taming of the Shrew,” he
read. He opened the book and read a brief biography of Shakespeare before turning to the first
page. Barely three pages in he was bored, but not tired. He closed the book and stared at the
fireplace, wishing he was in the kitchen watching Hermione make hot chocolate. He wondered what was
taking her so long to pour chocolate powder into hot milk. He stood to go help when she returned
with a large white mug in each hand.

“Here you go,” she said, offering him a mug.

“Thanks,” he replied.

He lifted the cup to his lips and blew on the liquid.

“It shouldn’t be too hot,” she said, taking a sip to prove her point. “I’ve got hot chocolate
down to a science.” Harry took a sip as she continued. “It’s Daniel’s favourite.”

“Perfect,” he said. “Blimey, this is really good. Is there cinnamon in here?”

“Just a touch,” she said, smiling over the rim of her cup.

“I really wish you’d stop doing that,” Harry said.

“Stop doing what?” Hermione replied in alarm.

“Smiling. It makes my stomach do these little flippy things and I feel like a teenager
again.”

She started to smile, caught herself and twisted her mouth in a frown in a sarcastic attempt to
stop it. Instead, she just managed to purse her lips in a very engaging way that made Harry want to
kiss her.

“Sorry,” she said in a deep voice. “Not smiling.”

She sat down on the opposite corner of the sofa, tucking her bare feet underneath her bum. Harry
sat down at the other corner, feeling foolish for leaving so much real estate between the two of
them, but not exactly sure that sitting in the middle of the sofa, right next to her, was
appropriate. He wished it was a smaller sofa. Then he wouldn’t be in such a quandary.

“Tell me about Bridgette,” Hermione said, placing her mug on the side table with a click.

Harry choked on his drink. “That’s a bit out of the blue,” Harry said, wiping the chocolate that
had sloshed on his chin.

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “There hasn’t been an appropriate time to ask, so I decided to just come
out with it.” She pulled a chenille throw from the back of the sofa and tucked it around her lap,
as if settling in for a long story.

“Getting comfortable, are you?” Harry said. “I don’t know that the story will be all that long.
It isn’t one of my favourite subjects.”

Hermione picked up her mug and cradled it in her hands for warmth, the gold band on her right
hand glowing in the firelight. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

“Right,” Harry said. He searched his mind for memories of his ex-wife that weren’t tainted with
bitterness, lest he appear to have had a miserable life for the past fifteen years. His life hadn’t
been miserable. It hadn’t been what he expected or wanted, but for whatever reason, he wanted to
keep the miserable details from Hermione for a while longer. “Why don’t you ask me questions,” he
said finally.

“How did you meet?”

“At a club, I’m sorry to say.”

“Was it love at first sight?” she asked, the corners of her mouth turning up in a sardonic
smile.

“I take it by your expression that you don’t believe in love at first sight.”

“Not the ‘see someone across a crowded room’ kind, no.”

“But you fell in love with Miguel rather quickly. That wasn’t love at first sight?”

She looked down at her beverage. “No. It took at least a day for me to fall in love with
him.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “What did he do,” Harry asked quietly, “to make you fall in love with
him?”

She tilted her head to the side still focusing on her chocolate. “He made me feel like I was the
only person in the world. He had this way of focusing on whoever he was with, giving them his
undivided attention. That along with his charm was a devastating combination for a witch
inexperienced in the ways of love.” She looked up finally. “I thought we were talking about you and
Bridgette.”

“Yes, well, I was trying to move the conversation away from that, truth be told.”

“Is it that painful?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“No, it is that embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

He took a sip of his chocolate and looked away. “I wasn’t much competition.”

“What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat. “It never occurred to me that someone would go to the lengths she went to
to get what she wanted.”

“What did she do?” Hermione asked in alarm.

“I thought I was marrying someone like…” Harry stopped, stunned that the word about to tumble
for his mouth was, ‘you.’ Until that moment, he didn’t realize that Hermione was the woman to which
he compared all others. The obsession he’d had with her since their encounter at Platform 9 3/4 no
longer seemed as concerning or out of the blue, which he had to admit, was a relief.

“Harry?”

“What?” he asked, shaking his head to clear it.

“You didn’t finish. You thought you were marrying…?” she prompted.

“My ideal woman,” he finished. “It turns out I married Pansy Parkinson’s long lost sister.”

“That is unfortunate,” she said with a chuckle. “I hardly think that is anything to be
embarrassed about. Bridgette is the one at fault, not you.” She lifted the mug to her lips, the
gold band on her right hand, a magnet for Harry’s gaze. “Did you love her?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “I thought I did at the beginning. She knew just the right buttons to push to
get me to fall in love with her. When Bridgette wants something, she usually gets it. It’s a gift
of hers,” he said. “She wanted me and nothing was going to stop her. It took years for me to
realise what a fraud she was. She was able to keep up the façade of love for quite a while. It was
more difficult for her to shun the spotlight, which is what she wanted from the beginning. She
wanted to be Mrs. Harry Potter.”

The only sound in the room was the crackling fire. Harry was relieved that the silence wasn’t
awkward or uncomfortable. With anyone else he would have been self-conscious about revealing his
life’s biggest failure. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have revealed what he just told her to anyone else,
Ron included. Harry was sure that Ron knew it anyway, but to voice it aloud would make him feel
like less of a man. He preferred his emasculation to be understood but not talked about.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said.

“My turn?”

“You tell me something terribly humiliating.”

“Harry, you should not be humiliated. Bridgette sounds like a dreadful person. You didn’t
deserve what she did.”

“Well, the sex was good,” he said in an attempt at humour. He cringed as soon as the words left
his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, chagrined. “Not appropriate.”

Hermione waved her hand in dismissal. “Please. We’re adults. It isn’t like I think you never
made love to your wife, or other women, for that matter.”

“Other women? How many women do you think I’ve been with?”

“More than me, I’m sure.” She placed her mug on the coffee table. “So, how many?” she asked.

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Honestly? It slipped out.” She paused, picking at the fringe of the throw she was snuggled
under. “But, since it’s out there, you might as well answer it.”

Harry cleared his throat, wondering if the revelation from earlier of his fallibility would in
fact be the most embarrassing revelation of the night. In an attempt to again steer the
conversation away from him, he asked, “How many for you?”

“One,” she answered without hesitation.

*Damn, she answered that too quickly. I was hoping for an uncomfortable pause.*

Resigned to answer the question, he replied, “Well, more than that, but not by much.”

He half expected her to quiz him on the particulars of the unnamed ‘other women’ and was
relieved when she didn’t.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, due in large part to the elephant that was now in
the room with them. So Harry did what he did every time he was in an prickly situation. He moved
the subject to something he was at ease with – Quidditch.

“Did I tell you Jo made the House Team?”

Hermione straightened up. “No! You didn’t. That’s brilliant!”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What position?”

“Chaser,” Harry said, his eyes lighting up with pride. “She is a great flyer. Flies circles
around me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true. She’s a natural.”

“That’s to be expected – she is your daughter, after all,” Hermione said with a smile. “I
remember how impressive you were on a broomstick. I loved watching you play.”

“I thought you hated Quidditch.”

“I can take it or leave it. I went to see you, and Ron, play.”

“Have you been to a Quidditch game since Hogwarts?”

“Er…no.”

“Want to go to one?”

“I guess that depends. Who’s playing?” she asked with a smile.

“Jo,” he replied. “I was thinking that you might want to come to England for a weekend and go to
the match with me. You could see Daniel.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “When is it?”

“Two weeks from tomorrow.”

She squinted one eye closed and screwed up her face in mock concentration. “I think I can swing
that,” she said with a smile.

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Really. It sounds like fun,” she replied, giving him a warm smile.

“Brilliant.”

“I’ll owl Daniel tomorrow to tell him I’m coming.” Hermione gave a huge yawn, covering her mouth
with her hand. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Come here,” Harry said, lifting his arm in invitation. She smiled and scooted next to him,
nesting her head in the crook of his shoulder. She placed her left hand on his chest, the other
lightly resting on his thigh. He intertwined his fingers in hers and felt her give a little
squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“Me, too,” he said, squeezing her hand in return.

“It’s nice to have someone to talk to,” she said in a quite voice. “Since Daniel’s been gone…”
she trailed off.

Harry squeezed her shoulder. “Are you doing okay?” he whispered.

“Some days are better than others. But mostly?” she paused and Harry waited for the answer he
knew would come.

“No,” she answered.

“No?” he repeated, surprised at her admission.

“Having you here, being with you, has made me realize how much I miss my friends in England.”
She snorted. “If I even have any left that is, since I’ve done such a stellar job keeping up with
everyone.”

“What about your friends here?” Harry asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “They aren’t really my friends. They’re Miguel’s. When he died, they
were very supportive. But, I never had a connection with them and with Miguel gone their owls and
visits came less and less often until they stopped altogether. Now that Daniel is gone, all I do is
go to work and come home. As much as I love what I do, that isn’t enough for me.”

Harry shifted to look at her, excitement rising in his chest. “Are you thinking of moving back
to England?”

“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid. I just don’t know what it would do to Daniel. This is his home.
He has friends here. I don’t want to uproot him.”

“But, what about you, Hermione?” Harry asked. “Isn’t your well-being important?”

“I…I dealt with Miguel’s death on my own, I can deal with this if it means Daniel is happy.”

“What do you mean, deal with Miguel’s death on your own?” Harry asked. “I thought his friends
were supportive.”

Hermione sat up and moved away from him. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Harry.”

“Too late,” he said. He reached out and gently turned her face to his. “I’m your friend. Talk to
me.”

She stood up and walked to the fireplace, her back to him. “I’m past it Harry.”

“Past what?” he asked, rising and moving to stand beside her.

“Miguel’s death.”

“Are you?” he asked, turning her to face him. “I’m not so sure,” he said, fingering the sleeve
of the overlarge man’s t-shirt she was wearing.

She looked down and chuckled, shaking her head. “I started wearing his pajamas before he died,
when he was in the hospital. They still held his smell, and I needed something of him to hold onto
at night. After he died, I just kept on.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It probably wasn’t the
healthiest thing to do, but at night was the only time I was alone and could grieve. All day I felt
like I had to be strong for Daniel. At night, I could wrap myself in Miguel’s memory and cry.
Eventually, the crying stopped, but packing his pajamas away was something else. They became the
symbol of his memory, I guess. If I put them away, he would cease to exist.”

“You know that’s not right.”

“I know,” she said. She played with the hem of the t-shirt. “But, they are just so comfortable.
It’s very difficult to find comfy pyjamas, these days” she said jokingly.

“They look comfortable,” Harry said in a soft voice. “Hermione…” He didn’t want to say it. He
didn’t want to tell her that the ring on her finger and the clothes she was wearing told him that
she wasn’t ready for a relationship. He didn’t want to tell her how hearing her call out Miguel’s
name had broken his heart like nothing before. He stared at her face, tilted up to his in question,
half shadowed in darkness, half bathed in dancing golden firelight and was unable to finish what he
needed to say. “Are you sure you are ready for this? For dating another man?”

“Yes,” she said with conviction.

“But,” he began.

“Harry, I’m wearing his pyjamas is all. Don’t give it more meaning that it has.” She grasped his
hands. “I loved him with all of my heart. I’ve grieved for him. I’ve said my goodbyes. I’ve had
chances to move on with other men. I haven’t taken them because it didn’t feel right. I began to
think that I had ridiculously high standards after what I had with Miguel. When I saw you standing
on my terrace, looking out over the city, I…I was able to see myself moving on, or trying to, with
you.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “When we were in the bathroom, standing that close to you, I knew I was in trouble.
Why do you think I couldn’t look at you?”

“I thought it was because you were angry with me.”

She laughed. “Hardly.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “Don’t give up on
me yet, Harry.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he replied, returning her embrace. He gently removed her arms from
around his waist. “Come here,” he said, leading her over to the sofa. He sat down in the corner he
had just vacated and raised his arm, inviting her to return to their comfortable position from
before. She smiled and sat beside him, tucking her feet under herself again and resting her head on
his shoulder. “Like this?” she said.

“Yes, just like this.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the pleasant feel of her head on his chest.
The light fruity scent of her shampoo tickled his nose as she intertwined her left hand with his
right. The fingertips of her other hand moved slid languidly up and down his forearm, sending
goosebumps down the entire right side of his body.

“I’m glad we both couldn’t sleep,” she said, her voice heavy with sleep.

He kissed the top of her forehead lightly in response. “Me, too.”

“I was nervous…,” she gave another huge yawn, “sorry…about what we would talk about when I saw
you standing at my door this afternoon.”

“Were you?” Harry said.

“Petrified, which was silly. We’ve always been able to talk, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered. “To a point, we have.”

“Right, to a point. I reckon we did a good job of chipping away at that particular barrier
tonight, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. As uncomfortable as it was, I’m glad we talked.”

“Me, too,” she replied, moving her head up and down as if burrowing into his chest for a
comfortable spot. When she stilled, he asked, “So tell me, what was that look you gave me
earlier?”

“What look?”

“The one you shot me when I dipped you in the hallway.”

She lifted her head from his chest. “I gave a look?” she asked.

“Yes, an ‘I know something you don’t know’ kind of look.”

Her furrowed brows cleared and she smirked again before resting her head back on his chest.
“Bits and pieces, Harry. Bits and pieces.”

He wanted to be irritated because she was keeping something from him, but couldn’t. Instead he
sat there, staring into the fire as Hermione’s breathing evened out and deepened, marveling at how
despite fifteen years of mistakes, he had still managed to find his way back home.

**

She usually woke up all at once, ready to attack the day. Today, she woke up slowly.

Eyes closed, she stretched her arms and legs wide, the crisp sheets of her bed rustling against
her outstretched limbs. She was used to the absence of a body next to her, so that was not unusual.
What was unusual, she realised as the events of the night came back to her, was that she was in her
bed at all. The last thing she remembered was Harry’s arm wrapped protectively around her and her
head resting on his chest as they both snuggled on the sofa in the library.

She opened her eyes and looked around. Nothing out of place. No sign of Harry, not that she
expected him to be there. She was disappointed nonetheless. Still bleary from sleep, she got out of
bed and shuffled to the bathroom to brush the morning taste out of her mouth. After a half-hearted
attempt, she left her room, her foggy brain intent on finding Harry to make sure that she hadn’t
dreamt their conversation last night.

She knocked on the door of his room. “Harry?” she whispered, wondering what time it was and if
he was still asleep. “Harry?” she repeated a bit louder.

“Looking for me?” he whispered behind her.

She jumped and turned to see him standing there, shaving kit in hand, a mischievous grin on his
face. “You scared me,” she said, placing her hand over her heart.

“Didn’t mean to,” he replied. “Good morning,” he said, leaning down to give her a light kiss on
the lips.

“Good morning.” She smiled at him and leaned forward to return his kiss, lingering just a
fraction longer than he did. “How did I end up in my room?”

“I carried you.”

“Did you?” she said, impressed.

“Yep,” Harry said, flexing the muscles on his right arm.

Hermione squeezed his bicep and said, “Impressive.”

“Glad you think so,” he said. “Do you always clean your teeth first thing in the morning?”

“Yes, I…wait! How did you know?”

“I could taste the toothpaste on your lips.”

“Oh, right,” she said, touching her lips. “In answer to your question, yes, I do. Always. First
thing.”

“Is that because your parents are dentists?”

“No, it is because I hate morning breath.”

“And here I was hoping that you cleaned your teeth because you were eager for me to kiss
you.”

“Well, there is that, too. You did just kiss me.”

“True, but I didn’t *kiss* you.”

“Is there a difference between a kiss and a *kiss*?”

“Definitely. Harry leaned down and gave her a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. “That is a
kiss.”

“That is a kiss. Right, got it.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, capturing her lips with his and
releasing all thoughts that didn’t involve him and his lips, his tongue, his arms, his hair…really
every inch of his body, from her mind. He released her suddenly and said, “That is a
*kiss*.”

Breathless, she said, “I see the subtle difference now that you mention it.”

“Subtle?” he said, his eyes darkening as they moved down her body. He advanced on her until she
was stopped by the door of his room. “Subtle, eh?”

A thrill of fear shot through her at the darkened look in his eyes. There was no doubt that he
wanted her, desperately if she read the expression on his face. He moved his hands slowly under
Miguel’s t-shirt, his fingers lightly touching the skin on her sides, making her shiver in
anticipation. His eyes moved to hers as his palms cradled her sides, moving slowly around to her
lower back and back again to her sides, this time a fraction higher than where they started. She
knew where they were going and wanted nothing to impede their progress. She lifted her arms and
draped them around his neck as his palms slid underneath her arms and around to her breasts.

She couldn’t restrain the gasp that escaped her throat. It had been too damn long since she’d
felt someone touch her this way and the need of it overwhelmed her. Harry leaned forward and
devoured her mouth.

*Did he see it in my eyes?* she wondered, as she allowed herself to be taken away by the
physical sensations of being in Harry’s arms.

He pulled away from her breathless, lips swollen and wet. “Say my name,” he panted.

“Harry,” she breathed.

“Again,” he said.

“Harry,” she whispered, pulling his head to her neck and knotting her fingers in his hair.

“Tell me you are thinking about me,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear. “Even if it’s a lie, tell
me.”

“It isn’t a lie, Harry,” she breathed. “You are all I’ve thought about for weeks.” He pushed his
pelvis against her in response, his erection rubbing against her. “Oh, Merlin,” she said as a warm
tingling sensation shot out from her center. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed into
him, wanting to feel the length of him against her.

“Hermione,” he panted, between frantic kisses. “We don’t have to do this. If. You.
Aren’t…ready.”

She reached back and opened the door to his room in answer, kissing him all the while. They
never made it over the threshold.

*“Hermione!”*

The sound of a male voice carried through the house. She dropped her legs from around his waist
as he released her from their embrace. They looked down the hall, in the direction of the voice
that called out Hermione’s name again.

“Who is that?” Harry asked.

“Andres,” she said. Without looking at him she moved away and walked toward the kitchen. She
felt his confused and angry gaze on her back as she turned the corner. She took a deep breath and
pushed her hair from her face, trying to smooth it out while her other hand ran across her wet
lips, erasing any evidence of the kiss she just shared with Harry.

“There you are,” Andres said with a smile from the threshold of the kitchen. “I didn’t wake you,
did I?”

“No,” she said, brushing past him into the kitchen. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He stopped her, grasping her arm. “Are you okay, Hermione? You look a little flushed.” He placed
the back of his hand against her forehead feeling for a temperature.

“Am I?” she asked with a nervous laugh. “I feel fine,” she lied.

“I brought breakfast,” he said, still looking at her with concern and pointing to a bag of
pastries on the counter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, moving to make coffee.

“Yes, well, what can I say? I’m thoughtful.”

She heard the rustling of the bag as he removed the pastries. She stared at the coffee pot,
having forgotten what she was doing. “I forgot my wand in my room,” she said, turning to leave the
kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

“That’s okay,” Andres said, pulling his wand. “I can do it. Just have a seat.” A swish and a
flick and water flowed into the urn from his wand and ground coffee scooped itself into the
pot.

“Thanks,” Hermione said walking around the island and sitting on a barstool. She watched him
move through the kitchen. He was prattling on and on about something, but she didn’t hear a word.
She was preoccupied, trying to think up a way to get rid of him and worrying about whether Harry
was going to walk in wearing his pyjamas.

“Did you hear me, Hermione?”

“What? Sorry, no.”

“I asked what your plans for the day are.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Are you sure you are okay?” he asked, giving her a concerned look.

She stared at him.

*No, I’m not okay. I feel like my parents just walked in on me doing something I shouldn’t be
doing. But, why shouldn’t I? I’m a grown woman. What Harry and I were about to do isn’t
wrong.*

*Well, you aren’t married.*

*Stop being so old fashioned. I’ve known Harry for years and I’m thirty-eight years
old.*

*But this is only the second time you’ve seen him in years.*

*Third.*

*The train station hardly counts.*

*What is your point?*

*You don’t want to tell Andres because you’re afraid of his reaction.*

*I don’t answer to anyone, especially him.*

“I’m going…” she began.

“To show me the sights of Barcelona,” Harry finished.

Hermione turned and saw Harry, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen in his
pyjamas, a defiant look on his face. She narrowed her eyes at him, giving him the silent scolding
look that worked so well on Daniel. He caught her eye and raised his eyebrows.

“Well, isn’t this…unexpected,” Andres said. Hermione turned to find Andres looking at her with
barely concealed fury. He moved his gaze to Harry and said, “In town on *business?*”

“No,” Harry replied. “Just for pleasure. Hermione invited me to the festival and offered to show
me Barcelona since I didn’t get the chance the last time I was here.”

“How thoughtful,” Andres said. “And what did you think? Of the festival?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Well, when you’ve fought a real dragon, the muggle ones just
don’t really compare.” Harry stepped farther into the room, his eyes never leaving Andres’. “Ever
fought a real dragon, Andres?”

He bristled. “No, can’t say that I have.”

Harry snorted and nodded his head. “Lucky you.”

Andres wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “Hermione is a great tour guide,” he said walking toward
the door. “She learned from the best.”

She heard the cracking sound of him disapparating from outside the kitchen and whirled around to
face Harry. “’Ever fought a *real* dragon, Andres?’ What the bloody hell was that all
about?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“What are you talking about?” she huffed, walking toward the coffee pot.

“You sure didn’t seem too anxious to tell him you were spending the day with me.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Couldn’t quite bring yourself to tell him, could you?”

“I was about to when you interrupted!” she retorted, yanking a mug out of a cabinet.

“Took you long enough.”

She slammed the mug down on the counter. She closed her eyes, her chest heaving from her
laboured breathing. *Ten, nine, eight, seven*…She opened her eyes and stared at the half empty
coffee pot.

“What do you want from me, Harry?” she said in a small voice.

She heard him move toward her. “I want to know what I’m up against, Hermione.”

She dropped her head and laughed. “It isn’t Andres.”

“Then why the hesitation?”

“Forgive me for not being able to switch seamlessly from passion to insouciance in the span of
two minutes.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Harry said, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Indifference, nonchalance, whatever,” she said, turning around. She leaned against the counter
and looked at him. Maybe it was her imagination or wishful thinking, but his lips still looked
swollen and wet from earlier.

“What do *you* want, Hermione?”

“What do I want?” she repeated.

*What do I want?*

She was shocked to discover she had never considered the question. During all of the hours of
musing about Harry and what it all meant she never once thought about what she really wanted. She’d
thought about Daniel’s reaction. She’d thought about Harry’s children’s reaction. She’d thought
about what her being in a relationship would do to Miguel’s memory. She’d thought about her
parents. She’d thought about what the British wizarding world would think. She’d thought about what
Andres would think. She’d considered how the logistics of a long distance relationship would change
her life. She’d thought about Harry, wondering if his desire to atone for past mistakes would be a
passing whim, ultimately breaking her heart. She had become so expert at putting other people
first, mainly Daniel since Miguel’s death, that her happiness, her desires never entered her
mind.

She looked up at Harry, tears brimming in her eyes. “I want, for ten minutes, to stop thinking
and just feel,” she croaked. “I want to be able to do something impulsively and not struggle with
guilt. I want to not worry about what other people think.” She inhaled and hiccupped at the same
time, a squeak escaping her throat. She blinked and tears trailed down her face.

“I want you,” she whispered, before a full-fledged sob escaped her throat.

She buried her head in her hands in embarrassment a split second before Harry wrapped his arms
around her.

“Shhh,” he said. “Please don’t cry. There is nothing to cry about. You have me.” His lips
pressed on her head in a soft kiss while his hands rubbed her back. He tightened his arms around
her, protecting her and said, “You will always have me.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and returned his embrace, silent tears of relief flowing
down her cheeks.



4. Chapter 4
------------

**Chapter 4**

He stood, waiting by the gates of Hogwarts.

A blustery wind blew his robes around his body, the snapping material mirroring the hidden
turmoil unsettling his stomach. Something was wrong, he just knew it. There was no other
explanation for the sight of his mother walking towards him with a large smile on her face.

Daniel resisted the urge to run toward her and bound in her arms. The unbearable homesickness
he’d tried so hard to hide from his friends and push out of his mind for a month abated with each
step she took toward him. But when she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, the scent of her
brought the feeling of hopelessness back in full force. He swallowed the sob threatening to escape
on the wings of the knowledge that this reunion, one he’d been wishing for since he’d arrived in
Scotland was short lived. In a few short hours he would still be here — alone, away from everything
that was familiar to him and away from the person he missed the most.

She squeezed him and rocked from side to side. “I’m so happy to see you!” she said.

He didn’t want to leave her familiar embrace, but the eleven year old boy’s fear of
embarrassment was stronger than his need of assurance. He pulled back and looked up into her
shining face. “Hi, Mum,” he said.

“Let me look at you,” she said, holding him at arm’s length. “Whew! You look the same.” She bent
down and said, “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I was worried you’d have changed.”

*I have*, he thought.

Hermione ran her hand through his dark hair and smiled. He tried to return the smile, but the
queasiness in his stomach turned it into more of a grimace. She knelt in front of him and said,
“Estàs bé Daniel? Et passa res?”

The combination of her reverting to his native tongue, something he hadn’t heard save inside his
own head and her hand resting on his neck, cradling his face — a familiar gesture that he didn’t
realise he’d missed until now, put him on cusp of tears. He was on the verge of answering her when
his eyes settled on the man standing behind her.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and in English said, “Oh, you remember Harry, don’t you,
Daniel? He’s Joanne’s father.”

*What a stupid question*, Daniel thought. Of course he knew who the man was. Although his
mother didn’t talk a lot about her role in the defeat of Voldemort, he’d heard enough and read
enough to know exactly who the man was. Then there was Jo, who talked about her father as if he was
the second coming of Christ. Of course, everyone talked about him like that. In a way, Daniel
guessed that he was. None of that mattered right now. He was more interested in what *Super
Wizard* was doing here, with his mother.

“Hi, Daniel,” Harry said with a wave.

“Harry suggested that coming to a Gryffindor Quidditch match would be a good excuse for me to
see you,” she said. “Since he’s on the Board of Governors, I’m able to come as his guest.”

“Ever been to a Quidditch match before?” Harry asked with a smile.

“I’m not a Muggle,” Daniel snapped. Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. “My dad took me.”

“Right,” Harry said, embarrassed. “Who’s your favourite team?” he continued.

Daniel didn’t want to admit to him that he didn’t have a favorite team. His Quidditch-watching
experience consisted of two matches his dad had taken him to when he was eight. He’d loved it and
they had planned to get season tickets the next year. It didn’t happen, though.

“Chudley Cannons,” he said, blurting out the first team that came into his mind, which he
immediately regretted. It had only been one month and he’d grown sick of hearing Theo talk about
the Cannons.

“From what I hear, they have a lot of potential this season,” Harry said. Moments passed while
Harry waited for some response from Daniel. When it didn’t come, Harry’s hands moved around in his
pockets, emitting a faint sound of jingling coins. “Well, I’m going to try to find Jo. I’ll meet
you in the top box,” he said to Hermione. He looked down at Daniel. “Good to see you again,
Daniel.”

“Bye,” Daniel said. He felt his mother’s eyes on him as he watched Harry walk away. When he
returned his gaze to hers, he saw concern etched in her features.

“¿Qué pasa, Daniel?”

“Nada,” he replied, looking down.

“You know you can’t lie to me, Daniel. How are classes going?”

“Fine.”

“Are you having any problems? Kids picking on you?”

“No, Mum.”

“Then what is it? What are you not telling me?”

He met her eyes. “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? That’s why you came here, to tell me something bad.”

Hermione sat back on her heels, stunned. “No, that’s not why I came.”

“You hate Quidditch.”

“I don’t hate Quidditch.”

“You never talk about it. You never wanted to go to a match.”

“I’m not interested in Quidditch. That doesn’t mean I hate it. I came to every game while at
Hogwarts.” She cocked her head to the side. “You thought I was coming here to give you bad
news?”

He nodded. She pulled him into a fierce hug. “No, honey. I came here because I wanted to see
you. I miss you terribly. I don’t have any earth-shattering news to tell you. My life is dreary and
dull since you’ve left. I wake up, go to work and come home.” She pulled back and looked at him.
“If I have to suffer through a boring Quidditch match to see my boy, then I’ll gladly do it,” she
smiled.

The dread that had been residing in his stomach for a fortnight evaporated at the sight of his
mother’s smile. “The match isn’t going to be boring,” he said, regaining his normal animation.
“Theo and I’ve been watching practices. Jo is phenomenal. You should see her fly,” he said as they
walked toward the Quidditch pitch. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she scores ten goals.”

“Ten? That would be impressive,” Hermione said, her hand draped across Daniel’s shoulders.

“How is Andres?” Daniel asked.

He felt his mother stiffen a bit but thought nothing of it when she answered in a normal voice.
“He’s fine. Sends his love.”

“I’ve got a letter I was writing him. I wanted to wait until after the match to finish it.”

They were now walking with the crowd of students and professors that were exiting the castle.
They were stopped by a few of the professors – Flitwick, Sinistra and, Vector – who greeted
Hermione with warm embraces, generic questions about life and praises of Daniel. It was during the
fourth or fifth encounter of this sort that Daniel saw Katie Potter and her band of friends walk
by, muttering to each other behind their hands while keeping their narrowed, scheming eyes directed
on him. He heard snippets of their comments…“*teacher’s pet*”, “*mummy’s boy*”…before
they dissolved into a cackle of laughter.

“Daniel!”

He turned from the gaggle of girls to the voice of his friend, Theo. He’d been wearing his hair
in dreadlocks ever since the two of them met. As soon as they’d arrived at Hogwarts and he was
allowed to do magic, he’d shown off his nascent metamorphic skills, sprouting puke green dreadlocks
down to his waist before he had been able to stop the transition. His skills had improved with
practice, and today his hair was shoulder length with alternating locks of Gryffindor gold and
red.

“Hiya, Theo!”

“Oh, my,” Daniel heard Hermione say. He turned to his mother, who sported an expression of shock
and thinly veiled parental disgust.

“He’s a metamorphmagus like Tonks,” Daniel explained. “He doesn’t always look so weird.”

“Yes, I do,” Theo said with a smile. “Hi, Mrs. Duran…I mean Dr. Dur…Granger?”

Hermione smiled at him. “Call me Hermione. But just so you know, it’s Dr. Granger.”

Theo smiled sheepishly. “Right.” He turned to Daniel. “Ready, Danny-Boy?”

“Yeah.” Daniel turned to his mom. “I guess I’ll see you after the match?”

“Yes. I owled Professor McGonagall and got permission to take you to lunch in the village. Theo,
too, if you want to come.”

“Brilliant!” Theo said. “Can we stop by Honeydukes, too?”

“Theo! Stop thinking about your stomach for a minute,” Daniel admonished.

Hermione laughed. “My God, that sounds so familiar. Yes, Theo, we can stop at Honeydukes. I
wanted to take some chocolate back with me, as a matter of fact.”

“All right!” Theo said, punching the air with his fist. “Let’s go, Danny.” He grabbed the sleeve
of Daniel’s robe and pulled him toward the stairs leading up to the Gryffindor stands.

“Bye, Mum,” Daniel said, waving. “See you after the match!” He watched his mum wave at him with
a brilliant smile and a bubble of affection rose in his chest and burst. He beamed at her and
bounded up the stairs two at a time, happier than he had been in a long time.

“Why am I not surprised that you are a Mummy’s boy?”

He stopped and watched Theo continue up the stairs, his multi-coloured hair bobbing up and down.
Resigned, he turned to Katie Potter ascending the stairs behind him. “Why am I not surprised to see
you here, irritating me?”

She narrowed her eyes in thought, trying, he could tell, to work out what he meant by the
comment. “So, how is your mummy?” she mocked.

“Very good,” he said. “How’s yours?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s right, yours isn’t here, is
she? I bet she had a pressing engagement, like a manicure or a mud bath.”

“What would you know about my mother?” she asked in a dangerous voice.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just what your sister, my *best friend*, tells me.”

Katie barked out a bitter laugh. “Best friend? You think Jo actually *likes* you?”

Daniel stood there mute as Katie’s face changed from vicious to gleeful. “You do, don’t you?”
She bent over at the waist and slapped her knee, laughing. When she stood, she picked up the edge
of her green and silver scarf and dabbed at the corner of her eyes in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, you
slay me. Jo only tolerates you because of Theo. Though why she follows what that oaf does is beyond
me.”

“He isn’t an oaf,” Daniel said, taking a step forward, his fingers curling around the handle of
his wand.

“Easy there, Catalan,” she said, holding up her hands. “I wouldn’t be so protective of Theo.
He’s only your friend because his dad has bribed him to be nice to you. I believe a season pass to
the Cannons is at stake.” She placed a placating hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear,
“Don’t worry about it, Catalan, I’m sure there are plenty of other losers in Gryffindor you can
befriend,” before moving up the stairs and leaving him alone.

“Hi Theo,” he heard her say in a jaunty voice.

“Katie,” Theo replied. “Hey! Danny-Boy! Come on, the match is about to start,” he called down to
Daniel.

Daniel took a deep breath and turned, plastering a smile on his face. “Coming!” he said.

“What did *she* want?” Theo asked when they settled in the front row of the Gryffindor
section.

“To take the piss out of me. The usual,” he replied.

“Don’t believe a word of anything she says. Jo says the girl is a professional liar. Mental,
that one. Look! There’s Jo.” He pointed to the zooming blurs of red that were streaking onto the
field. “WOOOOOOOOOOOO! GO GRYFFINDOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Theo’s enthusiasm, along with the excitement of their housemates, was contagious, forcing Daniel
to forget, or at least push to the back of his mind, the accusations Katie had made. He didn’t want
to believe her, content for the moment to accept whatever friendship Theo and Jo offered, no matter
how forced or contrived, with the hope that their affection would grow to become genuine. The
alternative was to suffer through a year of solitude in the highlands of Scotland, performing so
poorly in his classes that he was either expelled or his mum was compelled to move him to a school
in Spain.

“Can I see those?” Daniel asked Theo, who was looking through a pair of omnioculars.

“Sure,” he replied, handing them over.

Daniel adjusted the glasses to fit his eyes and searched out his friend. He found Jo just as she
tackled a Slytherin chaser and stole the quaffle. She leaned forward on her broom and swerved away
from the attack of a bludger as she accelerated toward the goal. The next series of moves she did
to evade Beaters, bludgers, and Chasers were too complicated and fast for Daniel to even catalog
before she tossed the quaffle through the hoop, scoring easily and making the Slytherin keeper look
ridiculous. A roar of approval went up around Daniel as Jo was bombarded on every side by her
teammates. Her gaze traveled to the top box and she pumped her fist in acknowledgement. Daniel
followed her gaze to see Harry standing by his mother, pumping his fist in response, a beaming
smile on his face. Harry turned to Daniel’s mother, who was clapping and yelling, and said
something to her. She smiled and looked…

“Give me those,” Theo said, ripping the omnioculars out of his hands. “I want to see that
replay. That was unbelievable!”

Irrational annoyance at Theo’s rudeness flamed inside Daniel before he realised that the
omnioculars were Theo’s after all. He strained to see his mum and Harry across the pitch, a seed of
concern rooting itself in the back of his mind.

“Bloody ancient, these are. I can’t wait to get a new pair,” Theo said in disgust.

“Can I use them again?” Daniel asked.

“Sure. Keep them for all I care.”

Daniel readjusted the glasses and focused on the box across the pitch again. His heart clenched
when he saw his mother holding her hair back from her face with her hand, the wind making the long
curls jump around her head in protest. Harry leaned close to her, moved her erratic hair out of the
way and whispered something in her ear. Her expression changed into something he didn’t recognise,
then she broke into laughter. Harry was grinning at her, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses, his
gaze never leaving her face. She turned to look at him, their faces only inches apart and Daniel
gasped, sure that they were about to kiss. Instead, she shook her head with a grin and turned her
attention to the game. Jo scored again and the moment was broken; they both stood and cheered along
with the rest of the stadium, save Slytherin.

“Okay, I lied. I want them back,” Theo said. “Every time I give them away, she scores.” He
paused before taking them back. “Maybe you should keep them,” he said, his superstitious side
getting the best of him. “Maybe you’re good luck.”

“No, I don’t want them anymore,” Daniel said pushing them into Theo’s hand before sitting down,
a queasy feeling invading his stomach.

Daniel’s prediction of 10 goals for Jo had been spot on. He and Theo rushed down to the field
after the match to offer their congratulations to their friend *and* the team which had beaten
Slytherin handily 340-120. Jo was standing in the middle of the group, being jostled around by her
older teammates in celebration. The Seeker, a burly seventh year named Peter Weatherly, was rubbing
the top of her head, dislodging strands of her jet black hair from its precarious ponytail. She
ducked out from under his hand and slapped it away playfully, her green eyes shining with
excitement.

“Jo!” Theo called out.

She turned to see them and her face lit up even more, aided by her red, wind-chapped cheeks.
Theo strode forward and gave her a high five. “Brilliant flying, Joanne.”

“Don’t call me Joanne,” she said sternly, the rebuke never getting to her eyes.

“You did great,” he said, walking forward and giving her an awkward punch on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said.

“That first goal was great! Well they were all great, but the way you made the Slytherin keeper
look like a Chudley Cannons third-stringer was just brilliant.”

“I just got a good angle on him, that’s all,” she said.

Daniel and Theo exchanged an eyeroll. One of the best, and worst, attributes of Jo’s was her
self-deprecation. She gave credit to everyone but herself and always talked about *the team*
this and *the team* that. Her teammates loved her for it, but everyone knew that she was the
best of the bunch. But Daniel knew that he would never hear those words pass her lips. It was one
of the things he liked best about her.

“There she is!” a loud voice said from behind them.

“Daddy!!” she squealed, pushing around Theo and Daniel to run and jump into her father’s arms.
She wrapped her legs around him and hung on for dear life. Harry twirled her around in a circle a
couple of times before placing her back on the ground. He bent down to her eye level, a beaming
“proud papa” smile on his face, and said, “You, my dear, are the best Quidditch player I’ve ever
seen.”

This comment made her blush. She looked down at the ground and said, “It’s all because of the
team.”

“Oh, come on,” Katie said, walking up to the group. “Even *I* can tell you are better than
everyone else on your team.”

Jo looked around quickly, checking that her teammates weren’t within hearing distance. “Shut it,
Katie. That’s not true.”

“I’m trying to give you a compliment, you daft git,” Katie said, teasingly. “You’d better take
it, you know I don’t give them out often. Congratulations. You played really well.”

“Thanks,” Jo said, looking pleased with the compliment. Despite the fact that Jo and Katie were
two completely different people in personality and temperament and the fact that most of the time
they fought like cats and dogs, Daniel could tell that Jo welcomed the approval of her sister.

“Hiya, popkin,” Harry said to Katie, lifting her up into a hug.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said. When he put her back down, Daniel was surprised to see fear in her eyes.
“I’m surprised you are talking to me,” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry said, surprised.

“Oh, well, you know,” she said, playing with the tails of the green and silver scarf around her
neck.

“Oh, that,” Harry said, looking at the scarf. “Yes, well, I’m not going to hold it against you.”
He bent down to look her in the eye and said with a wink, “You’ve always looked good in green.”

Daniel saw her face soften in relief. He also saw the admiration for her father reflected in her
eyes. She turned and caught his eye. Before she could mask her dislike of him he caught a glimpse
of a very different girl. The thought raced through his mind, so quickly that he would forget about
it until years later, that he could like this girl — the girl she was with her father. Her eyes
hardened into the look of contempt that she seemed to save just for him, and all compassion for her
dissolved and was whisked away in the blustery wind.

“Where’s Olivia?” Harry asked, looking around.

“Right here,” she said, pushing through the group of older Gryffindors that had surrounded the
Quidditch team. “Good game, squirt,” she said, ruffling Jo’s hair.

Daniel immediately began studying the toes of his shoes. He was intimidated by Olivia Potter,
not only because she was a prefect, but mainly because she was beautiful and smart. He’d spent many
nights in the common room hiding behind a book and sneaking glances at Olivia while she sat by the
fire, talking and laughing with her fifth year girlfriends.

Hermione stood by Daniel and draped her arm over his shoulders. “I’m taking Daniel and Theo to
lunch. Do you all want to join us?” Daniel’s head shot up. The thought of spending an hour sitting
at the same table with one girl who clearly hated him and one who he couldn’t look at without
blushing sounded like pure torture.

“That sounds good,” Harry said, clapping his hands together. “What do you say girls?”

Olivia looked at her watch and said, “I have a meeting at five, but I reckon I can make it. I’m
in.”

“Where are we going?” Katie asked, appraising Hermione.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I thought the Three Broomsticks.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said, to Jo, Olivia, and Theo’s approval. Katie narrowed her eyes at
Hermione, doing little to hide her scrutiny of Daniel’s mum.

“I’ll go shower and change,” Jo said, bounding off with adrenaline-infused energy.

Harry, remembering his manners, said, “Olivia, Katie, do you remember Hermione Granger?”

“Yes, nice to see you again, Dr. Granger,” Olivia said formally, holding out her hand.

Hermione gave her a warm smile and shook her hand. “Call me Hermione, please.” She accepted
Olivia’s smile in acknowledgement and turned her attention to Katie. “Hi, Katie. Nice to see you
again.”

“You’ve taken a long journey for a Quidditch game,” Katie said.

“It was worth the trip. What a great match,” Hermione replied, looking at Harry. “Plus, I got to
see Daniel, which was the real reason I came,” she said, ruffling his hair. He stepped out from
under her hand and ducked his head in embarrassment, smoothing out his hair. Katie smirked at him
and he sighed, knowing that this little exchange would come back to haunt him.

Jo returned quicker than expected and soon they were sitting around a table in the Three
Broomsticks ordering drinks.

“I’ll have pumpkin juice,” Harry said to Madam Rosmerta before glancing down the table at
Hermione. Daniel looked at his mum and saw her looking at the menu with a half smile on her face.
When Rosmerta asked for her order, Hermione looked up and said, “I’ll have pumpkin juice, too.”

“What?” Daniel said. “You hate pumpkin juice.”

“No, I don’t,” she replied.

“You never drink it.”

She gave a nervous chuckle. “Just because I don’t drink it doesn’t mean I don’t like it.” Daniel
followed her quick glance down the table to Harry, who had an amused smirk on his face.

“That’s all Dad drinks,” Jo said. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have pumpkins growing out of his
ears.”

“I don’t drink it that much,” Harry responded.

Olivia choked on her laugh. “Yes, you do.”

Rosmerta sat a goblet of juice in front of Harry, who shrugged and said, “I guess I do,” before
raising the glass and taking a drink.

“Mamá, ¿cómo están Nan y Pop?” Daniel asked.

“Están bien y te mandan besitos.” She leaned toward him and whispered, “Daniel, it’s rude to
speak in another language when others can’t understand you. They might think we’re talking about
them.”

“Are you staying with them tonight?” he continued in English.

She cleared her throat and cast a glance down the table. “I stayed with them last night. I’m
going back by there after I leave you.”

“You are going home tonight? Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“No, I have tomorrow off.”

“Then why aren’t you staying with Nan and Pop?”

Hermione flattened her serviette in her lap. “I’m staying with some friends in London,” she
replied.

Daniel was confused. “Who?” He tried to remember anyone she had mentioned enough to warrant an
overnight visit.

“Just an old friend from school,” she said, adjusting the location of her knife and fork, as
well as her goblet of juice.

He was about to ask another question when Olivia interjected with a query about Hermione’s
career and they were off to the races. Soon, the occupants of the table were divided up in
conversation; Olivia was quizzing Hermione about being a Healer, St. Jordi’s, the wizarding
hospital in Barcelona, and about the city itself while Harry, Theo and Jo talked Quidditch. Daniel
spent his time apprising the Three Broomsticks, which he had heard about but had never visited
before. It was really rather unremarkable. Aside from the obvious magical touches, it could have
been any pub in Britain. He took a drink of his butterbeer and glanced around the table. The
conversation about Quidditch was as animated as the conversation about healing was intense. Daniel
joined the conversation about Quidditch as best he could. Katie sat across from him, arms crossed
over her chest, a bored look on her face.

“So, Daniel, how do you like Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“Er,” he said, shifting in his seat at the silence that befell the table. “Good. It’s good,” he
replied, trying as much to convince himself as the others.

“Not quite as picturesque as Barcelona, is it?”

“Yeah,” he said, thinking fondly of his hometown and the view from the terrace of his home.
“Wait!” he said, looking at Harry. “Have you been to Barcelona?”

Each face that had been turned to Daniel was now turned to Harry, curious looks on them all,
save one which had found interest again in the positioning of her cutlery. Harry took the attention
in with an uneasy gaze before settling his eyes on Hermione. “As a matter of fact, I went there on
business a few weeks ago. Your mum showed me around Barcelona. It is a very beautiful city; I can
understand why you would miss it.” He pushed his cutlery back from the edge of the table and rested
his crossed arms on the edge. “Did all of your friends go to the school in Spain? What’s the name
of the wizarding school?”

“Blanquerna. Yes, my friends went there.” He ignored the snort from across the table.

“Do you keep in touch with them? Send them owls?”

“A couple of them.”

“This one bloke has the biggest owl I’ve ever seen,” Theo said, holding his arms wide. “Its
wingspan is probably as big as this table.”

“That’s Andres’ owl,” Daniel said, beaming, “my uncle. He bought Don Quixote when he learned I’d
be going to Hogwarts so he wouldn’t have to use the international post owls.” He turned to his Mum,
eyes shining with excitement. “Did I tell you that he sent me a package with all of my favorite
sweets? We’ve been feeding on them for a month. I’ve had to hide them from Theo, or they would’ve
been gone in a week.”

“I’ve always wanted to visit Barcelona,” Olivia said.

“You’ll have to come visit, then,” Hermione said to her. “I’ll take you on a tour of the
hospital.”

“Would you?” she asked, eyes lighting up. “That would be lovely.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” Hermione replied.

“What did you think of Barcelona, Mr. Potter?” Daniel asked.

“Mr. Potter,” Theo said with a snort.

“Oy,” Harry said, swatting at Theo with his serviette. “At least he has manners, which is more
than I can say for you.” He looked at Daniel. “You can call me Harry, by the way. And I loved
Barcelona. It is very beautiful.”

“You must go to the Festival La Merce some time. It’s a muggle festival, but rather good anyway.
We go every year.” He turned to Theo and Jo, who were sitting beside him. “There are these
castellers who try to build the tallest human pyramid possible. There are street theatres, bands,
open markets. The best, by far, is Carrefoc.”

“What’s that?” Jo asked.

“It’s a midnight parade of dragons, eagles and devils in Bari Gothic. The square is filled with
hundreds of people, with fireworks going off everywhere. It is really spectacular.”

“Dragons?” Katie said. “Real dragons?”

“No, not real dragons,” Jo said. “He said it was a muggle festival, or were you not
listening?”

“Jo,” Harry said in a warning tone.

“I just don’t see what is so impressive about fake dragons,” Katie put in.

“It doesn’t have to be real to be enjoyable,” Daniel said. “Ever been to a play? A muggle
movie?”

“Yes,” Katie said.

“Well, those aren’t real, but they’re fun.”

Katie gave a practiced shrug of nonchalance. “I guess when you’ve seen a real dragon…”

“Even so,” Hermione interrupted. “It is a lot of fun. Too bad the festival is in September when
you lot are in school.”

“I guess you’ll just have to come after we are out of Hogwarts,” he said to Jo and Theo. “Just
to La Merce. You can come to Barcelona to visit during break anytime. Right, Mum?”

“Of course they can.”

“Brilliant,” Theo said.

“Sounds fun to me,” Jo piped in.

“So, Dad,” Katie said, raising her voice to interrupt. “Where’s Mum?”

A crackling tension settled over the table. Jo sat back, crossing her arms. Olivia affected a
look of supreme unconcern and engaged Hermione in yet another conversation. Harry had gone
completely still.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied.

“Didn’t you tell her about the match?” Katie asked.

An uncomfortable silence followed. “No. I assumed Jo did,” Harry said, turning to Jo, who was
looking down. “You did, didn’t you?”

“No,” she said, almost inaudibly.

Harry gave a great sigh. “Joanne, you should have told her. I’m sure she would have wanted to be
here.”

Jo gave a snort. “Not likely.”

“I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Katie said, glaring at Jo.

“Why didn’t *you* tell her? You send her a letter every day!” Jo shot back.

“I do not,” Katie huffed, her cheeks tinged with red. “And it isn’t my job to relay your
so-called accomplishments,” she said, spitting out the last word.

“Of course not. That would mean you would have to talk about someone besides yourself, wouldn’t
it?”

“Girls, stop it!” Harry said much to Daniel’s displeasure. He looked over at Theo, whose
expression of glee mirrored his own. There was something special about watching Jo go at it with
her sister. Neither backed down and both gave as good as they got. Daniel was sure, and was
secretly hoping, that one day it would end up in fisticuffs. He imagined Theo thought the same. His
money was on Jo.

“Jo, you need to write your mum and apologise for not telling her.”

“Yes, sir,” Jo said.

“And tell her the schedule for the rest of your matches.” Madam Rosmerta waved at Harry to let
him know the food was ready. “Who wants to help me get the food?” Harry said, waving at Rosmerta in
acknowledgement.

“I will,” Hermione said.

“Me, too,” Olivia offered.

As the three walked away Katie turned to Daniel. “I take it I’m not included in the
invitation.”

Daniel’s good manners struggled with his aversion to have anything to do with Katie. “I just
assumed from your comment that you wouldn’t be interested. Of course you are invited,” he said,
good manners winning out.

She tossed her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to go anyway.”

“You are so rude,” Jo said to her sister.

“Don’t’ worry about it, Jo. I just asked her to be polite. I wouldn’t want her there anyway,”
Daniel said.

“Oh, in that case, I must come,” Katie said with glee.

“Whatever. No me importa,” Daniel said, as Hermione, Harry and Olivia returned with their
food.

He ate quickly, hoping that the others would follow suit. He wanted to get away from Katie as
soon as possible…and preferably not see her for the rest of his life. He knew Theo would scarf down
his food and he knew that his mother would take forever, as usual. His only hope was that the peer
pressure of being the last eating would encourage her to give up. However, as was par for the
course, Katie was as slow an eater as his mother, and matched her bite for bite. At first he
thought this was just an unfortunate coincidence until he saw Katie start to smirk with every
excruciatingly slow bite she took.

*She either knows I want to get out of here or she is mocking my mum. Either way, I want to
kill her.*

He sat there, trying his best to ignore her presence, his dislike for her growing stronger every
minute.

**

“That was a complete and utter disaster, don’t you think?” Hermione said as she breezed past
Harry into his home. She dropped her duffle onto the ground and turned to face Harry. Her hair was
still slightly windswept from earlier and her face was flushed.

“A disaster? That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“A little extreme?” Hermione said shrilly. “It’s obvious that Katie and Daniel hate each
other.”

“Did Daniel say that?” Harry asked.

“No. But every time they looked at each other I expected daggers to fly out of their eyes.”

Harry chuckled. “I didn’t get that at all, Hermione. I’m sure they just don’t know each other
very well, being in different houses and all.” Hermione paused, as if she was about to say
something more before shaking her head. “What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing. Never mind.” She shook her head again. “Let’s just forget it. It isn’t as if we
were…,” she paused. “Never mind.”

“What?” Harry repeated.

She cleared her throat. “It isn’t as if we are checking the compatibility of our families or
anything. It’s way too early for that.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “You’re right. Way too early.”

“Right,” Hermione replied, looking around the entry hall.

“So, what’s the bag for then?” Harry asked jerking his head toward the duffle she had tossed
aside.

Hermione looked first confused, then abashed. “Um…I was…just stopping by…on my way back
through…”

“Hermione?” Harry asked, stepping toward her. “Shut up,” he whispered before pressing his lips
to hers.

This was what he’d been waiting for all day — for the past two weeks, actually. Finally, he had
time alone with Hermione and an opportunity to kiss her without interruption or distraction. Before
he had the chance to enjoy his achievement, she pulled away.

“That wasn’t very nice,” she said. “Telling me to shut up.”

“You talk too much,” Harry said, staring at her lips.

“And your solution is to tell me to shut up and kiss me, hoping I’ll be distracted from your
rudeness?”

“Pretty much,” he said kissing her again, this time not waiting to invade her mouth with his
tongue. He’d been talking and listening and thinking all day. He had even given serious
consideration to skipping the Quidditch match when he’d first seen Hermione outside of the Three
Broomsticks, an idea that would normally be unheard of for him. He wanted to push everything and
everyone else out of his mind and *feel* for just a few minutes. Gauging from Hermione’s
reaction, she felt the same way.

When they finally pulled apart, she said, “I can’t fault that plan.” She smiled at him, her eyes
roaming over his face. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

“You’ve missed me since we left Hogwarts two hours ago? Or since I left Barcelona two weeks
ago?”

“Barcelona,” she replied.

“Nice,” Harry said, leaning down to kiss her again.

She placed her fingers over his lips stopping him. “What is it with us and snogging in the
hallway?” she asked, looking around.

Harry followed her gaze. “I don’t know,” he replied. “We could always take it somewhere else,
like upstairs,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hmmm,” Hermione said, looking at the stairway with a grin. “Maybe later.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “You can’t fault a guy for trying.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” He moved behind her and grasped the collar of her cloak to slip it off
her shoulder. “Why don’t I tell you the rest of my evil plan to keep your mind off of everything
but me.”

“Evil plan?” Hermione said, shrugging her cloak off. “That sounds…nefarious.”

“Oh, it is. Dobby and I spent hours devising it,” Harry said, laying her cloak over the
banister.

“This should be good.”

“Well, you see, we were in a conundrum,” he said, placing her hand on his arm and leading her
toward the kitchen.

“A conundrum?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “That’s a big word.”

“Yes. I had to look it up.”

“Ah,” she said. “Trying to impress me with your prolific vocabulary.”

“Er, right,” he said. “Anyway, we were in a conundrum. Should I try to sweep you off your feet
with a five-course dinner, wine and candlelight?”

“That sounds nice.”

“Or should I be more subtle and have a small elegant picnic in front of the fire?”

“That’s good, too,” she said.

“Or would the perceived expectations from all of that be too stressful, so maybe ordering up a
curry from the Indian place around the corner would fit the bill?” he asked, stopping her before
they entered the kitchen.

“And, how is this curry?” Hermione said skeptically.

“Very good.” Harry looked at her askance. “Are you implying that because we live in the country,
we don’t have good curry?”

“No! Never,” she said with a smirk. “What did you and Dobby decide?”

“We didn’t,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“You didn’t?”

“No, it was too much pressure. We decided that you should decide.”

“Right. Let me think,” she said, tapping her finger on her chin. “They all sound good. I haven’t
been wined and dined in…oh…too many years to count. A picnic by the fire sounds lovely and
romantic. But I haven’t had good curry since moving to Spain, so that sounds good, too.”

“So…you can’t decide,” Harry said.

“No, I can’t.”

He nodded his head solemnly. “We thought that might happen.” He opened the door to the kitchen
and stepped back. “So we went with all three.”

Hermione stepped into the kitchen. A rather small room, a large stone fireplace took up a
majority of the opposite wall. Cream-coloured cabinets rimmed the room, and a rough-hewn wooden
table and six chairs were pushed to the side to make room for the picnic. A large blanket laden
with curry (which smelled delicious) and wine was lying across the flagstone floor in front of the
fireplace, which, except for the numerous floating candles, was emitting the only light in the
room.

“Harry, it’s lovely,” she said. He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and
resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Not nearly as lovely as you are,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

She turned her head and threaded her fingers through his hair. “Thank you,” she whispered,
tilting her head up to give him a kiss.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a smile. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Honestly? No,” she said with a cringe. “I’m sorry. I’m still full from lunch.”

Harry feigned disappointment. “Me, too,” he replied. “Why don’t we drop your bag in Olivia’s
room and go for a walk in the village. Maybe we’ll be hungry when we return.”

“Sounds good,” Hermione said. “But, what about the food?”

“Dobby has mastered warming charms. It’ll be fine,” Harry replied leading her back into the
central hall.

The house that Harry shared with his girls wasn’t what you would expect from one of the richest
wizards in England. Three years ago after his divorce from Bridgette and expulsion from their cold,
modern flat in London he had chosen to build a family home on his family’s land in Godric’s Hollow.
So instead of a large and impressive home befitting one of the richest and most celebrated wizards
in England he had designed, with imput from his daughters, a small, cozy home suitable for a
family. The main hall spanned the entire length of the house, starting at the front door and ending
at the back of the house with the door leading to the garden. Mahogany paneling lined the walls and
oriental rugs of varying sizes and colours covered the hardwood floors.

“This way,” Harry said, grabbing her bag and leading her up the stairs. “Here is the bathroom,”
he said, flicking his wand to light the lamp. A basic bathroom, its walls were painted a pale
green. Painted frogs rimmed the bathroom just above the chair rail. “Nice,” Hermione said as the
life-like frogs leapt over each other in an endless game of leap frog.

“Remus painted it for us,” Harry said. “The man is talented.”

“No kidding. That’s amazing.”

“Here is Katie’s room,” Harry said, turning on the light to the next room.

Hermione was assaulted with pink walls covered with varying sizes of orange, green and white
polka dots, four colours that she would have never imagined together, but that she was shocked to
discover looked quite nice together. Her furniture was white with hand-painted pull knobs shaped
like flowers. Her iron bed was painted a pale green that matched the polka dots and sheer white bed
hangings draped from a central point above the bed. “Bright, but I like it,” she said in
admiration. “She is obviously very girly,” Hermione continued.

“Oh, yes, she is. She did all of this herself. Came up with the idea, the colours, the
decorations, everything. She was nine years old,” Harry said with pride.

“Nine?” Hermione asked in shock. “That is impressive.”

“She also helped Jo and Olivia with their rooms.”

“Are they all like this?” Hermione asked.

“You’ll see,” Harry said, walking across the hall. “This is Jo’s room,” he said.

This room was as different from Katie’s as possible. Pale blue walls sat atop a wooden floor
painted a deep hunter green. Her bed was pushed up against the far corner and was covered with a
deep purple Pride of Portree blanket, a gold star blazoned in the middle. On one wall, a snitch
whizzed around, deftly avoiding the two bludgers that were being beaten by bats on either end of
the wall. The remaining three walls seemed to be dedicated to posters of Oliver Wood, Catriona
McCormack, and The Weird Sisters.

“It’s a Quidditch pitch,” Hermione observed.

“Yep.”

“Did Remus…,” she started.

“Yes, he did.”

“Wow.”

Harry flipped off the light and led her to Olivia’s room. “This is where you’ll be,” Harry said,
tossing her duffle on the bed.

Olivia’s room consisted of pale yellow walls, white, unadorned furniture and bookshelves filled
to the rim with books. A squishy deep red armchair that could have been stolen from the Gryffindor
Common Room sat in the corner beside a table with a lamp perched on its well-worn surface.

“Much more my speed,” Hermione said.

“I thought you would like it.”

Holding her hand, he walked her back down the hall toward the stairs. “Do you need to…,” he
crooked his head toward the bathroom, “before we go?”

She shook her head and glanced at a closed door that he hadn’t shown her. “Is that your room?”
she asked.

“Yes, but it’s boring.”

“Show me,” Hermione said, tugging his hand.

He opened the door to a rather bare room. An enormous bed, sans head or footboard with a soft,
chocolate-coloured duvet cover took up most of the room. The chest of drawers was a deep mahogany
with a small mirror hanging over it. The bare walls were painted an uninspiring beige.

“Katie didn’t decorate it for you?”

“She did. Apparently, this is my personality.” Hermione’s head whipped around to find him
grinning at her.

“You’re having me on,” she laughed.

“Yes, I am. I was afraid of what Katie would come up with, truth be told. Not very exciting, I
know. So,” he gestured to the plain walls, “beige it is.”

“It’s nice,” Hermione said, looking around.

“It’s horrid, but thanks for being polite.”

They stood there, looking anywhere but at each other. “Right, well, this room is boring me
already. Let’s go,” he said walking toward the door. “Why don’t we go for a walk, I can show you
the village…”

“Harry, I’ve been thinking…,” Hermione said in a tiny voice.

Harry stopped and turned, trying for lightheartedness but finding himself filled with dread just
the same. “Uh-oh. That’s never a good sign,” he teased. He attempted a winning grin. “What is
it?”

Hermione was wringing her hands and was looking at him with an apprehensive expression. “I….”
She cleared her throat, shifting her gaze to the ground. “Yes, well, I’ve been thinking…,” she
started before stopping again and swallowing with some difficulty.

Harry walked toward her. “Yes, you’ve said that.”

“Yes, I know,” she said impatiently. “Bloody hell,” she swore, still not looking at him.

He grasped her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Should I be worried here, Hermione?”

She opened her mouth, an indistinguishable sound escaping. She closed her eyes and gave her head
a slight shake. When she opened her eyes, the apprehension from before was gone. In its place was a
look of steely determination, which confused Harry to no end. She leaned forward and placed her
lips gently on his. Harry stood frozen for a moment, his mind, which had been preparing itself for
heartbreak, took longer to adjust to this turn of events than his body. Her tongue danced along the
seam of his lips and thoughts of everything else vanished from his mind.

He cupped her face in his hands and reveled in exploring the wonderful, small cavern of her
mouth that he’d been lost in since their first kiss two weeks ago. What struck him then, and now,
was how natural it felt to be in her arms. There was no uncertainty, no hesitation; their lips
melded together like two halves of a whole. It was this, more than anything that assured him that
what he felt for Hermione was right. It was this that made him want more.

He grasped her arms and pushed her away from him. His chest was heaving and he had difficulty
focusing on Hermione’s face. “Wait,” he said. He took a few deep steadying breaths to allow time
for her face to come into focus. “The male, testosterone-driven part of me wants me to think this
is going…somewhere. The other, much smaller, logical side thinks that I’m reading this wrong.”

“Listen to your testosterone-driven side this time, Harry,” she said.

Trying to not get over-excited he said, “Right,” in a neutral, wary tone of voice. He knew they
were treading on delicate ground here where one word could send everything skidding out of control
in the wrong direction. “This is what you’ve been thinking about?”

She cleared her throat again and blushed. “Yes. I’m sorry I’m not being very clear. I’m
nervous.”

He rubbed her arms up and down, in an effort to console her. “I am, too. That teenager thing
coming back.”

“Exactly!” she said with a relieved grin. “I never thought I’d feel like a teenager again.
Petrified and excited all rolled up together.”

“I believe that is called teenage angst.”

“Angst!” she said rolling her eyes. “As much as I hate that word, I think it fits,” she
laughed.

Harry turned his head toward the door. “You think we’d feel more comfortable in the hall? We’ve
never snogged anywhere else.”

She stepped closer to him and placed her arms lightly on his chest, her right hand fingering the
collar of his shirt. “That all depends.”

“On what?” he asked, distracted by thoughts of what was about to happen and the fruity smell of
her hair.

“Where’s Dobby?” she asked.

“Dobby has been threatened with clothes if he shows his face before morning.”

“Harry! You did not!”

“He knows I’d never do it. But it gets the point across that I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“You are cruel,” she said, forcing back a smile. “So you were hoping we might end up in this
situation if you’re threatening a house elf with freedom.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I swear. I just wanted you to myself with no inopportune
interruptions.”

Hermione nodded her head and quirked her mouth in a way that told Harry that she didn’t believe
a word of what he was saying. “Hermione, I swear…” he started, feeling the need to justify
himself.

“Harry, can we stop talking? Talking leads to thinking and that always gets me in trouble.”

“I seem to remember that your thinking always got us *out* of troub…”

“Harry, really, shut up,” she said, pulling his head forward into a kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he said against her mouth, as he walked her backward toward the bed. “I’m
nervous.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” she murmured, nipping his lower lip and turning him around so
that his legs bumped against the bed.

She pulled his shirttail out of his trousers and began unbuttoning from the bottom up, her
knuckles brushing lightly against his crotch. He thought it was unintentional until he saw the
mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he said, his heart thumping
against his chest.

After finishing with the buttons, she pulled the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the
floor. She ran her hands up his bare arms and around to his chest. “God, I hope so,” she replied,
capturing his lips and pushing him back onto the bed.

**

Daniel stood in the middle of the corridor, book bag slung over his shoulder, and turned around
in a circle. He let out a dejected sigh and let his bag drop to the floor. It was no use. He was
lost.

He’d been in the library with Jo and Theo studying Charms and listening to them whisper to each
other about their second year Transfiguration notes. He watched their camaraderie from the corner
of his eye and waited for them to draw him into the conversation. The fact that they were studying
second year subjects and assumed that he wouldn’t want to talk about it never entered his mind.
Instead, the evil seeds of doubt that Katie had planted earlier began to germinate until he felt as
if he was going to jump out of his skin.

He bolted up from his chair, shoving stuff in his bag, startling the two of them. “I’m going
back to the Common Room,” he said.

“Is everything okay?” Jo asked. He paused at the hint of real concern in her voice. Part of him
considered staying, but the larger, more immature part of him wanted to brood.

“I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you two later.”

He stood outside the library doors, wondering where he should go. It was too early to go back to
Gryffindor Tower. It would be teeming with people still high on the victory over Slytherin from
earlier in the day. He didn’t want to be around people. He wanted to be alone. But where to go?

He turned to his right, the opposite direction from Gryffindor Tower, and started walking, with
no destination in mind, only the idea that he wanted to look out over the grounds. He climbed
stairs and walked down corridors, descended stairs and passed too many suits of armor and statues
to count until they all started looking the same. His plan, he realised too late, was to go to the
Owlery, but he had only a general idea of how to get there from offhand comments by Theo.

Which is how he came to be standing in the middle of a corridor, completely lost. He dropped to
the floor and leaned against the wall, reasoning that someone would eventually pass by and give him
directions, hopefully before Filch found him. He looked at his watch and saw that he wasn’t out
past curfew, thank Merlin. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to decide which way to go when he
heard a voice from out of the darkness.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

He peered into the darkness, the light from the torches spaced periodically down the hall
casting shadows in large, semicircular chunks. Katie Potter stepped out of the nearest half circle
of darkness, refueling the feelings of anger Daniel had been trying, without success, to walk away
from for the past hour.

“Great, it’s you. Where’s Filch when you need him?”

“Ouch,” she replied. “You’d prefer seeing Filch to me? That is harsher than anything I’ve ever
said to you.”

“Yes, well I remember the comments you made to me about my nose when I was six. And I hold a
grudge.”

“Obviously,” she said, trying to restrain a smirk. “So, are you lost?”

“No,” Daniel said defiantly.

“Oh, so you enjoy sitting alone in a cold, dark hall surrounded by rusty suits of armor and
moldy pictures of dead wizards?”

“You do know we can hear you, right?” a bespectacled overweight witch asked with a yawn.

Katie leveled her gaze at the wizard. “And what are you going to do? Glare at me from your
frame?”

“Well, I never,” the witch huffed.

“Come on,” Katie said, pulling on Daniel’s sleeve.

He jerked his arm out of her grasp and followed. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you back to Gryffindor Tower.”

“And how do you know where Gryffindor Tower is?” he asked incredulously.

She turned to him and wiggled her eyebrows. “I have my ways.”

“Why do I not trust you?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you trust me, Catalan?” she teased. When he didn’t reply, she
continued. “Could it be because I’m a…,” she gasped dramatically, placing her hand over her mouth,
“Slytherin!”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve never been anything but cruel to me.”

“You’re too sensitive.”

“I am not!”

“You are being sensitive right now when all I’m doing is showing you where to go.”

He opened his mouth to respond then clamped it shut, realising that she hadn’t said one nasty
thing to him. But it was early in their encounter and he knew it was only a matter of time. “Where
are your minions? I thought you moved in packs.”

“My minions?” she laughed. “Now that’s funny, Catalan! I didn’t know you had a sense of
humor.”

“Who’s joking?” he said, trying not to laugh at her response.

“You must be. Minions, indeed. Are you talking about the girls I was with today?” she asked.

“Yeah, the pack of Aryan-looking witches.”

“Ooooh, that does make us sound evil, now, doesn’t it?” she said, the good humor still in her
voice. “Those are just girls in my year.”

“Your friends,” he stated.

She stopped and turned to look at him. “No, they aren’t my friends,” she replied before walking
on.

Puzzled by her frankness and disquieted by her demeanor, he followed her. “So, wherewere you
going when you found me?”

“To the owlery to send a letter to my Mum,” she said, holding a piece of parchment he hadn’t
noticed before.

“Oh,” he said, remembering his original, fuzzy goal. “Would you show me where it is? I’ve never
been up there.”

She studied him for a minute. “Sure,” she said. “This way,” she said, turning around and heading
back the way they came.

It turned out that he had been closer to the Owlery than he thought. Two flights of stairs up
from where he was, Katie opened the door to the Owlery. The floor was littered with the bones of
small animals and the entire room had a stench of feces about it. Despite this, the sight of the
rafters soaring up through the circular room to the opened sky above was magnificent to Daniel. He
wondered for a split second where all the owls were before remembering that they hunted at night.
The rafters were sparsely dispersed with owls, most munching on their latest kill. Daniel ducked as
a large eagle owl swooped through the opened window, a rat in his beak, to settle on the rafter
just above Daniel’s head.

“Wow,” he whispered, turning around in a circle, bones and straw crunching beneath his feet.

He saw Katie at the far end of the room, tying her letter onto the leg of a brown barn owl. He
walked toward her and heard her speaking in soft endearing tones to the owl as she stroked his
feathers. “Is he yours?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, she is,” she replied. “Her name is Trio.”

“Trio? Why trio?”

She gave another lopsided grin. “She always hoots in sets of threes, don’t you, girl?” she said
to the owl. As if in understanding, the owl hooted three times.

“*Mola*,” Daniel said, enthralled despite himself.

“Do you want to pet her?” she asked.

“Can I?”

“Sure,” she replied, stepping aside to make room for him.

The owl’s amber eyes never left him as he walked forward, hand outstretched tentatively. She
swiveled her neck, following his hand until it rested on her wing. The feathers were softer than he
imagined. “She’s beautiful.”

“Do you have an owl?” she asked, stroking the owl on its other wing.

“No. I wish.”

“Maybe you’ll get one for Christmas. Or your birthday.”

“Maybe,” he said, stepping away from Katie and her owl.

“Off you go,” she said to Trio, who hooted three times and launched herself from her perch. They
watched her fly off, her wings gracefully carrying her higher and farther away until the pinprick
she became vanished.

“Let’s get you to Gryffindor Tower before Filch catches you,” she said, leading him out of the
room and down the corridor.

“What about you? Won’t you get in trouble?” he asked. A moment of shock settled on him when he
realised that he actually cared if she did get in trouble or not.

“Are you worried about me, Catalan?” she said in a mocking tone, one he was more familiar
with.

“No,” he replied.

“You shouldn’t be. Filch loves me.”

“Filch loves you,” he deadpanned in disbelief. “Why?”

The wicked grin returned. “He doesn’t know me yet.”

“Seriously, Potter,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “You just have to have all the answers, don’t you? I grew up hearing all
about Filch from my Dad. I know enough about him that I think I can manage to work my way out of
just about anything.”

“You mean manipulate him,” Daniel said, relieved that the Katie he knew was returning.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Call it what you want. I call it my trip to Paris.”

“What?” he asked, thoroughly confused.

“Nothing. Never mind. We know why I was out in the halls, but why were you wandering the halls
alone?”

“I was going back to the Gryffindor Tower.”

“Were you?” she asked, arching the eyebrow over her left eye in a perfect half moon. “All alone?
Where are Theo and Jo?” she asked as if she knew the answer.

“Studying Transfiguration,” he replied.

“Hmm,” she said.

He waited for the death blow he knew was coming. She’d set him up perfectly for one of her
well-placed jabs. He was rather disappointed when it didn’t come. “What? No mocking? No, ‘I told
you so, Catalan?’” he said, perfectly mimicking her tone of voice, albeit with a slight accent.

She looked at him in surprise. “Funny and a mimic. You have loads of hidden talents,
Catalan.”

He was completely confused. First she was cruel, then she was nice. Then she would say something
that he thought was meant to mock him, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Periodically, she flashed a
vulnerability that he wouldn’t expect before the razor sharp edge of defiance returned.

“You saw it, too, didn’t you?” she asked. “That’s why you are out here alone.”

“If you are talking about Jo and Theo again…,” he started.

“Jo and Theo can sod off for all I care,” she replied angrily.

Daniel stopped. She turned to face him with her arms crossed over her chest. “What?” she
snapped.

“You’re jealous,” he said, the dawning of realization hitting him.

“What are you talking about?” she replied, a hint of fear in her eyes.

“You’re jealous because Jo and Theo are friends with me but won’t have anything to do with
you.”

She let out a bark of a laugh. “You’re way off base,” she said, pushing past him.

He grabbed her arm and turned her toward him, too excited about the realization that Jo and Theo
were actually his friends to see the pain in her eyes. “Am I?” he asked.

She snarled at him. “Yes, you are. And I’m going to laugh my arse off when you realise what I
already know.” She wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “You are an even bigger idiot than I thought
you were. That, Catalan, is quite an accomplishment.”

She turned on her heel and stalked off.

“Hey! What about helping me get back to Gryffindor?” he said as she turned the corner and
disappeared from sight.

“Hem-hem,” he heard a voice behind him say. He turned to see a fat lady in a pink dress staring
at himwith an amused expression on her face. “You’re there, young man.”

“Expecto Patronum,” Daniel growled.

“You’re Hermione Granger’s son, aren’t you?” the fat lady asked.

“Yes,” Daniel replied sullenly.

“Oh, I remember her fondly. Such a sweet…”

“Yes, I know. She was sweet, smart and an all-around great witch. The smartest witch of her age.
Can you please open the bloody door?”

“Obviously, the apple fell far from her tree,” the Fat Lady replied tersely before the portrait
swung open.

“Daniel! Where have you been?” Jo asked, jumping up from an armchair by the fire.

“I got lost,” he said, throwing his book bag on the ground beside the sofa opposite Jo’s chair.
He looked around for his dreadlocked friend. “Where’s Theo?”

Jo looked down, embarrassed. “He was tired. He went to bed.”

Daniel snorted. “I’m glad he was so worried about me,” he replied.

“I told him I’d get him if you weren’t back by eleven.”

“You’re the one that should be tired,” he snapped. “Not Theo. All he did today was stuff himself
at the Three Broomsticks and Honeydukes.”

“Yes, well, eating has always taken a lot out of Theo,” Jo said with a sarcastic smile. She
forced her face into a serious expression. “He takes it very seriously.”

Daniel looked at his friend, his best friend, and laughed. The fact that Jo, as tired as she
must be after her Quidditch match, had stayed up to make sure he returned safely to the common room
made him ashamed of all of his pitying self-centered thoughts. He felt foolish for ever believing
Katie in the first place and not seeing the real issue, her jealousy, until now. After all, Jo and
Theo had gone out of their way to be nice and to include him from the first moment they met. In
contrast, Katie had been a constant source of irritation and annoyance. He vowed to never believe
another thing that Katie Potter said.

“How did you get lost?”

“I don’t know. I was trying to find the Owlery and wasn’t paying attention. Next thing I know,
I’m in the middle of a long dark hall full of moldy portraits and rusty suits of armor.”

“Sounds creepy. How did you find your way back?”

He opened his mouth, Katie’s name about to tumble out unchecked. “A Slytherin passing by gave me
directions.”

“And you trusted them?” Jo asked in disbelief.

“Well, I didn’t have much choice, now, did I?”

“At least it wasn’t Filch,” Jo said bracingly.

“Yeah,” Daniel said, staring off into the fire, Katie’s parting comments darting around his
mind.

“Are you okay, Daniel?” Jo asked. “You’ve seemed distracted since lunch. Everything okay with
your Mum?”

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” Daniel said, sadness at missing his mum returning to the
forefront of his mind.

“She’s really nice,” Jo said. “Your mum. Pretty, too.”

“You think so?” Daniel asked, pride creeping in his voice. He’d always thought his mother was
beautiful, and he took inordinate pride when others expressed the same opinion.

“I do.” Now it was her turn to gaze into the fire. “Very natural,” Jo finished. She looked back
at Daniel. “I love her hair. It’s so curly!”

“She hates her hair,” he replied, laughing. “I’ve heard her swearing like a sailor about it in
the mornings.”

“Really?” Jo replied, bending over in laughter. “She doesn’t seem the type to swear.”

“Oh, trust me. She’s the type. Just have to push her buttons.”

“Have you ever pushed her buttons?” Jo asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Not since…,” he stopped, the smile fading from his face. “Not since my dad died,” he finished
weakly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He waved her apology off, feeling the familiar burning sensation in his stomach. “It’s
okay.”

An uneasy silence settled over them as the Common Room emptied until there were only a few
stragglers left. “You lot had better get up to bed. It’s getting late,” Olivia said, walking toward
them.

“Oh, please,” Jo said. “You stay up later than this all the time.”

“Yes, well, I’m older.”

“I hate it when you use that excuse!” Jo replied, thumping her fist on the arm of her chair.

“Oh, calm down,” Olivia said, pushing Jo’s hand off and sitting on the arm. Jo playfully punched
her before Olivia grasped and held her hand. “What are you two plotting over here?”

“Nothing,” Jo said. “We’re too *young* to plot,” she finished with a sly grin.

“Cheeky little bint, you are,” Olivia replied, tweaking Jo’s nose.

Daniel felt an unbidden pang of jealousy on Katie’s behalf. His brief wallow in jealous misery
at the idea of Theo and Jo excluding him gave him a bit of perspective on how heartrending it must
be for Katie to be excluded from her family. As he watched Katie’s sisters exchange comfortable
barbs, he understood why Katie knew the exact location of Gryffindor Tower.

“Actually,” Jo started, “I was about to make a proposition to Daniel.”

“I know you are too young for that,” Olivia said, winking at Daniel. He felt the heat rush
across his face and looked down.

“Stop it, Olivia,” Jo said, swatting her sister again. “You are embarrassing him. You know he
has a crush on you,” she whispered loud enough for Daniel to hear.

Daniel’s head shot up, his face in full flame now. “I know,” Olivia said, giving him a cheeky
smile. “And it is so cute. If only he were a little older…,” she said.

“Merlin’s beard, Olivia. He’s never going to come out of his room after this,” Jo chastised.
“Daniel, I was going to ask you if you would teach me Spanish,” she said in a tone that brooked no
refusals.

“Spanish?”

“That is what you and your mum were speaking today at the Three Broomsticks, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it was Catalan.”

“Oh,” Jo said, confused. “I thought you were from Spain.”

“I am. I know Spanish, too. Catalan is a dialect common in Barcelona.”

“Oh, okay. So, will you teach me?”

“Sí, te enseñaré,” he said in Spanish.

“Oohh, very sexy,” Olivia teased.

“Gross, Olivia,” Jo said, pushing her off the arm of the chair. “Would you go away?”

“Adios,” she said, wiggling her fingers at the two of them.

“I’m so sorry,” Jo said. “She gets goofy late at night. She is really the serious one of the
three, I swear.” Jo scooted forward in her chair, draping her arms across her knees in a rather
masculine way. “I was thinking, in exchange for teaching me Spanish, I’d teach you how to fly.”

“On a broomstick?”

“No, sprout wings and fly. Of course on a broomstick, silly.”

“But aren’t we going to take a class for that?”

Jo gave a dismissive wave. “Yeah, but I’ll teach you all the stuff Madam Hooch won’t. Do you
know how to fly? Ever been on a broomstick?”

“I was starting to learn before…,” he paused almost imperceptibly, “my dad died. Mum won’t get
within ten feet of a broomstick.”

“You’re a beginner. That’s okay,” she said as if devising a lesson plan in her mind. “We’re
going to get you on the house team next year!”

“What?” Daniel asked. “The house team?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just never thought about it before.”

“Well, start thinking.” She stood up, stretched and yawned. “Now, I’m knackered.”

Daniel stood up and draped his book bag across his shoulder. He cleared his throat. “How did you
know?” At Jo’s nonplussed look, he continued, not meeting her eyes. “About Olivia.”

He heard her chuckle. “You are rather obvious, Daniel. And anyway, everyone has a crush on
either Olivia or Katie. Considering how you and Katie act, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out
which one you chose. Good night,” she said, punching him on the arm and walking up the girls’
staircase.

Daniel trudged up the stairs, visions of his four poster bed beckoning him higher and
higher.

**

“Are you alive over there?” Hermione asked, pushing on Harry’s shoulder.

“Barely,” he replied with a sigh. “Good lord, woman. I’m an old man. If this is what is in store
for me, I might have to rethink this whole thing.”

“Too late, Mr. Potter.” She rolled over on her stomach and crossed her arms under the pillow,
staring at Harry, a sated grin on her face. Harry was lying on his back, staring with glassy eyes
at the ceiling. His chest, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, was rising and falling, slower and
slower as his heartbeat settled back down to normal. His glasses were somewhere…maybe the floor,
she thought…and without them his face looked bare. Small indentations on his temple where his
glasses usually sat pointed the way to the locks of sweaty hair that framed his face.

He jerked his head to the side, catching her gaze. “What?” he asked with a grin.

She shook her head rapidly. “Nothing,” she said, trying to suppress the giddy smile at the
memory of his expression when he came. Thoughts of the noises she’d made, the faces that she was
sure would be embarrassing to see, and the knowledge that she’d just, to put it plainly, fucked
Harry to within an inch of his life flew through her mind, mortifying her. She picked the pillow up
and buried her head under it and let out a muffled scream.

She heard Harry laugh and felt him move onto his side, closer to her. “What?” he chuckled,
trying to remove the pillow.

“NO,” she said, a fierce grip on the pillow.

“Okay, you asked for it.”

She felt the rush of cool air as he threw the sheet off of her body. He planted a soft, warm
kiss on her shoulder, chasing away the chill from the exposed air. “What are you doing?” she
murmured from under the protection of the pillow.

“Torturing you,” he said, continuing to plant sensual kisses along her back.

“Yes, Harry, you’re right. This is torture.” She shivered as his tongue ran up her spine.
“Please stop making me feel all gooey inside this instant.”

He skimmed his body over hers, moving his lips up to her neck. He pushed her hair to the side
and kissed the base of her neck. “That *is* the torture,” he whispered beneath the pillow.
“The threat that I might stop,” he said, kissing her other shoulder. “Why do you have the pillow
over your head?”

She picked it up a fraction and said quickly, “I’m embarrassed,” before clamping it back
down.

Harry stopped kissing her. “Embarrassed? Whatever for?”

“Keep kissing and I’ll tell you,” came the muffled reply.

“Tell me and I’ll keep kissing.”

“Compromise,” she said. “Pull the sheet up and I’ll tell you.”

“What? Why?” he said, running his hand down her back, across her arse and down her thigh.

“We may have the teenage angst going, but I don’t have the teenage body to go with it. Pull the
sheet up.”

“Compromise,” he said, covering her body with his own. He grasped the pillow and threw it to the
end of the bed. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to recapture the darkness of the traitorous
pillow. “Why are you embarrassed,” he whispered in her ear, before placing a soft kiss on her
cheek.

She covered her face with her hand. “I just…” she paused, not able to say fuck out loud and
embarrassed to admit that was what it had been. “Shagged you,” she finished.

“And that’s embarrassing, why?”

“It isn’t altogether embarrassing. It is the little, individual things that made up the one big
thing that’s embarrassing.”

“Like when you…”

She reached back awkwardly and covered his mouth with her hand. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

“Why not?” he laughed. “You did it, why can’t you say it?”

“I don’t want to hear it spoken out loud, on the record, making me feel like I’m some sort of
randy tart.”

“Does this mean that…*that* won’t happen again? Or that thing…”

“Harry, stop, really,” she laughed, struggling to turn over underneath him. She clasped her hand
fully over his mouth. “Really,” she said. Harry nodded his head in assent and she removed her
hand.

He smoothed her errant hair away from her forehead, his eyes searching her face. “We both know
what that was,” he whispered, his green eyes settling on hers.

“What?” she said, voice quivering with fear.

“That was two years of sexual frustration being laid to rest…and probably something else,” he
said.

“Harry…,” she started.

“Shhhh,” he said with his lips pressed to hers. He kissed her cheek, her forehead, the tip of
her nose and her other cheek. “That’s okay. It’s over and it was amazing. But now it’s my turn.”
His soft, velvety lips met hers in a tender, lingering kiss. The timbre of his voice deepened as it
moved in soft caressing waves through her mind. “Now, it’s time to make love” he breathed into her
ear, in between planting kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Are you ready for that?”

She nodded her head in assent, unable to wrap her voice around the small word of affirmation. “I
didn’t hear you,” he said, kissing the curve of her shoulder.

“Yes,” she croaked, her mind taken captive by the sensations humming through her body. She
swallowed the fear that was rising in her chest. “I though you were an old man,” she croaked, the
feel of his hardening penis on her inner thigh.

“I’m not dead yet,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes and tangled her fingers in Harry’s soft locks as his mouth traveled down her
body, pausing to give detailed attention to her breasts, before continuing on to kiss and lick the
small bump that was her belly button. She watched in her mind, as if from above, Harry’s hand slide
down her leg and back up her thigh. His hand rested at her hip, his thumb fondling the soft pale
skin of her inner thigh, just brushing the curls between her legs. She moved her hips in
anticipation of that thumb continuing its exploration but was rewarded instead with Harry’s warm
lips planting a trail of kisses down the line where her leg ended and her frustration began.

“Harry,” she pleaded.

“Yes, love,” he said, nuzzling the curls between her legs and inhaling deeply.

“Stop teasing…,” she began before feeling his finger glide inside her. “Oooookay,” she said as
his tongue began to fondle her nub. She threw her arms out to the side, completely surrendering her
body and soul to Harry. She opened her eyes and looked down at the top of his head, bobbing up and
down, sending her reeling into oblivion with every lick of his tongue and thrust of his hand.

Love, not desire, swelled up inside her chest. She saw the paths of their life draw together
again, a final time, completing a great circle started almost thirty years before on the day they
met. Everything that had come before — their lives, their experiences without each other — it was
all necessary for them to become whole. They had suffered, that much was impossible to deny. But
the pain, the discovery, the paths they’d chosen…it had all led to this moment of completion. A
sense of inevitability hit her; she realised that she had known all along that this chapter of her
life, the one with Harry as the central character, hadn’t ended when she was a teenager.

“Harry,” she whispered, her fingers brushing at the forelock of hair draped across his scar. He
opened his eyes to hers and stopped. Their ability to communicate without words, a skill taken for
granted during their school days, returned the instant theirs eyes met. He crawled up her body, a
boyishly giddy grin on his face.

“Yes, love?” he said, eyes twinkling with their unspoken understanding.

She rubbed her thumb across his wet chin, the stubble of the day rough under her finger. “Make
love to me,” she replied, her eyes sparkling in acknowledgement.

“As you wish,” he said as he slid inside her, their journey back to each other complete.



5. Chapter 5
------------

**Chapter 5**

“Are you awake?”

“Barely,” Harry murmured.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

They were lying together on their sides, Harry snuggled up to Hermione’s back, his arm draped
over her waist, holding her hand in the nook between her breasts. A thin sheet covered them to
their hips, hiding their intertwined legs from the darkness of the room. Hermione tightened her
grip on his hand and nuzzled back into his chest, trying to fuse the feel of his body against hers
into her skin. The warm, sweet puffs of air on her shoulder from his light breathing reminded her
that she wasn’t dreaming, that she was lying in his arms, content, happy and whole, for the first
time in years.

“What you said earlier, when we were making love,” she started. She stopped, wondering why she
was asking about this at all. It would have been easy to avoid it, never mention it and wait until
it came up again in the natural progression of their relationship. But no. Instead, here she was,
compelled by her need to know — her unquenchable thirst for understanding — asking a question that
she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to just yet.

“What did I say?”

*Lord, he doesn’t even remember. Thank Merlin. It was just a moment of passion, nothing
more.*

“Nothing. Never mind.” In the silence that followed, she thought he’d dropped off to sleep.

“I know what I said,” he whispered. “And you heard it correctly.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no,” she replied. “How could that make a woman uncomfortable?”

“If you aren’t ready to hear it...”

“I…”

“Hermione, listen,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “You don’t have to say it back. In fact,
don’t. I don’t know that I’d entirely believe you right now.”

“But…”

“But nothing. I meant it. I do love you. But I didn’t mean to say it. It just slipped out.” He
kissed her shoulder. “At the risk of sounding sappy, this was the first time I’ve ever felt the
*love* part of making love. Even in the beginning with Bridgette, when I thought I was in
love, it never felt like that. So I said it. Didn’t mean to, but I was overwhelmed. It was either
that, or cry from joy and that *is* melodramatic and sappy. Two things a man isn’t meant to
be.”

The fear she expected to feel on confirmation of his feelings didn’t materialize. Instead, she
felt lightheaded and giddy. “What if I like my men melodramatic and sappy?” she retorted.

“Somehow, I don’t think Miguel was melodramatic and sappy,” he replied.

“He could be a little sappy,” she replied with a smile. “The whole macho Spaniard thing was a
façade.”

“And a good one. He was very intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” Hermione laughed. “Miguel?”

“Tall, dark and handsome. He made me feel like the pasty, frail Englishman that I am.”

“I think pasty is a bit harsh,” Hermione replied.

“So, you agree with frail?” he asked, tickling her side.

“No, no!” she said, wiggling away.

“Come back here,” he said, pulling her back against him. “You can’t leave.”

“Then stop tickling.” She settled back against him, noting how perfectly their bodies melded
together. “You don’t seem to be intimidated by Andres, and he’s Miguel’s twin,” she said with a
smirk, turning her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, there is a big difference there,” Harry said.

“And what’s that?”

“You aren’t in love with Andres, are you?”

“No,” she said, staring at Harry’s lips. She kissed him softly, getting lost again in the
tenderness of his kiss. “Would you believe me now?” she whispered when they pulled apart.

“Believe what?” he asked.

“If I said it.”

“No,” he replied with a smirk.

“Hmm,” she said, laying her head back on the pillow and closing her eyes.

She didn’t want to succumb to the sleep that was beckoning her lest this contented feeling
vanished with the light of day.

“Are you asleep?” Harry whispered.

“Almost,” she replied.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“This sounds familiar,” she replied, eyes still closed.

“Any errant thoughts…during?” he asked.

She turned her head to look at him again and saw his eyes filled with apprehension. “By ‘errant
thoughts’ you mean Miguel?”

He nodded his head in embarrassment.

She turned over to face him full on. “No. None. I was with you…mind,” she ran her hand through
his hair, “body,” continuing down his neck and to his heart, “and soul,” she finished before
placing her lips on his, infusing every ounce of feeling she had for him into the kiss. “Would you
believe me now?”

“No,” he whispered, staring at her lips.

She pushed him onto his back and rolled on top, straddling him. “Then, maybe I’ll just have to
show you.”

He grinned, a cute, mischievous, lopsided grin that she loved, and said, “As much as I love the
sound of that, you might be asking for a miracle.”

She ran her hands across his chest in large looping circles. She reveled in running her hands
across the taut muscles she never expected to find hiding beneath his soft skin. “Have you
forgotten that Charms are my specialty, Mr. Potter?”

He ran his hand down her side, over her hips and back to settle on the curve of her arse. “Yes,
I had forgotten that.”

“Tsk, tsk,” she said, leaning forward, her breasts brushing across Harry’s face as she reached
toward the side table to grab her wand. She paused as his mouth wrapped around her nipple, his
tongue flicking the hard little nub in the center. She sighed and pulled back. “As nice as that
feels…”

“Nice?” Harry asked, cupping and squeezing her breasts.

“Incredible?” she asked.

“Better,” he said, sitting up, mouth open and eyes focused on the neglected breast.

“But,” she said, putting her hand on his chest and pushing him down onto his back, “this is
about me showing you how I feel,” she said, brandishing her wand.

“You waving your wand around like that is a little frightening, Ms. Granger.”

“Is it?” she said. “I’m a professional, Harry. You shouldn’t be frightened.”

“A professional what?” he asked, still watching the wand.

“Healer, of course. I took an oath to help people. Don’t you trust me?” she asked, eyes wide in
innocent question.

“Completely,” he replied.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, moving down his legs.

“As if I’d say anything else right now,” he murmured.

“What?” she asked with a smirk.

“Nothing, nothing.”

She looked down at his hardening penis and raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure you need
this?”

“I guess it depends on what *‘this’* is,” he replied.

“Ever heard of Viagra?” she asked, moving her wand in a circle above his groin.

“Yeah, Uncle Vernon…”

She held up her hand and closed her eyes. “Not something I want to think about right now.”

“Right. Good point.”

“On second thought,” she said, tossing her wand onto the floor. “Who needs magic?” she said,
lowering her head and running her tongue along his shaft and kissing the tip of his penis before
taking him in her mouth.

**

She was gone when he awoke. He sat up and squinted, one eye closed against the bright light of
morning, looking around the room for Hermione. He saw her opened bag in the corner of the room and
the part of him that thought it had all been a dream was relieved.

He pulled himself out of the bed, his legs, spongy with fatigue, taking him into the bathroom.
The sight of Hermione’s pink and gray make-up bag sitting on his countertop made him grin like a
schoolboy. He peeked into it and saw her toothbrush and toothpaste at the top and thought about her
cute little quirk. He was moving to pull out his toothbrush and toothpaste when a glint of gold in
the bottom of the bag caught his eye. He reached into the bag and pulled out a simple gold ring —
the one she wore on her right middle finger.

“Good morning!” he said to Hermione and Dobby a little while later in the kitchen. They were
standing at the cooker with their backs to Harry. Dobby was watching what Hermione was doing with a
look of intense concentration mingled with adoration.

“Harry!” Hermione said, turning to him with a smile.

“Master Harry,” Dobby said with glee. “Miss Hermione is showing Dobby how to make a Spanish
tortilla!”

“Is she, now?” Harry said, walking around the table and planting a kiss on Hermione’s cheek.
“Morning,” he whispered.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile.

Harry went to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of pumpkin juice. “Sorry we didn’t eat
your picnic last night, Dobby. We were too full still from our lunch,” he said, pouring the juice
into a goblet.

“Miss Hermione told Dobby. Dobby offered to make her a home-cooked meal for lunch, but Miss
Hermione says she has to return to Spain,” he said, shaking his head sadly. He perked up and said,
“Dobby will pack a basket full of his best food for Miss Hermione to take back home with her!”
clapping his hands with glee.

“Oh, Dobby. You don’t have to do that,” she replied.

“But Dobby wants to, Miss,” he said. “Dobby remembers, as do all house elves, what Miss Hermione
did during the War for us. Dobby could never repay what she did.”

“I didn’t do enough, I’m sure,” Hermione replied.

“Oh, Miss, that is not true. All house elves remember how you championed our cause. We still
talk about you,” he said, dipping his head in embarrassment. “Plus,” he continued, with a joyful
smile, “Dobby knows how much you mean to Harry Potter.”

“Do you?” she said, raising her eyebrows at Harry, who shrugged in return.

“Oh yes, Miss. Harry Potter has been talking about nothing else…”

“So,” Harry interrupted. “Is that tortilla about ready?”

“Just about,” Hermione smiled, turning back to the cooker.

Harry furrowed his brow and shook his head at Dobby. After a moment of confusion, Dobby grabbed
his ears in mortification. Harry glared and pointed his finger at Dobby in warning. Dobby had been
with Harry long enough that it took only that gesture for Dobby’s thoughts of self-brutalization at
his gaffe to be controlled, albeit with difficulty. Harry gave him a wink and a smile and nodded
his head in approval.

Harry cut his eyes to Hermione’s back, then jerked his head toward Dobby’s room, hoping he would
get the hint. After a few minutes of hand signals and head nodding, Dobby caught on and silently
left the room.

Harry walked toward Hermione, who still had her back to him. She said, “Dobby finally get the
hint?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and settled his chin on her shoulder. “How did you
know?”

“I’m a mother. Eyes in the back of my head and all.”

“Right,” he said, brushing her hair off her shoulder and exposing her neck. “Yes, he got the
hint,” Harry said, placing small kisses up and down her long, slender neck.

“Good,” she said, moving the skillet off the hot element before turning and wrapping her arms
around his neck. “I’ve wanted to do this since I woke up,” she said, pulling his head down into a
passionate kiss.

“Why didn’t you?” Harry asked when they pulled apart.

“You just looked too cute sleeping. I couldn’t wake you up.”

“You should have,” he replied.

“Next time,” she said, with a wink. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Let’s eat,” she said.

They settled down to eat a breakfast of tortilla, toast and fruit. Their comfortable silence was
punctuated by each catching the other staring, before smiling back into their plate of food.

“Nice pyjamas,” Harry said.

Hermione looked down at her well-fitting, decidedly feminine pyjamas. The t-shirt was white,
with long pink sleeves; the pants were pink with little white flowers all over. “Thanks,” she
replied. “Turns out, comfortable pyjamas aren’t so hard to find after all.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry replied. He watched her lift her fork to her mouth, her bare middle
finger on her right hand drawing his gaze. “Do you have time for a quick walk through the village
after breakfast?”

“You mean lunch?” Hermione said with a grin.

“Lunch?”

“It’s half eleven, Harry.”

“You’re joking!” he said.

“No, I’m not, sleepyhead.”

“How long have you been up?” he asked.

“Not that long. Since about nine, I think.”

“I wish you would have woken me up,” he said, sore that he’d lost two hours of time with
her.

“I was about to bring you breakfast in bed, so you wouldn’t have slept much longer.”

“I should have done that for you!” he said.

“You can do it next time.”

“Which begs the question, when will I see you again?”

She smiled and took a bite of her eggs. “I left a copy of my work schedule on your desk.
Presumptuous of me, no?”

“Yes, and smart of you, to boot.”

“The bad news is I don’t have two days off together for another month.”

“A month?!”

“I didn’t really have a need for it, so I scheduled odd days off, to give the other Healers
back-to-back days. But I always have Sundays off, without fail. One day is better than none,
right?”

“Every day would be best, but I’ll take what I can get. I reckon I’ll be seeing you on Sundays.
I can come to Spain Saturday night and return on Monday morning.”

“Sounds lovely,” she said, reaching for his hand across the table. “In answer to your original
question, no, I don’t have time to walk around the village. It takes a couple of hours to make it
through all of the apparation points, plus I have an early day tomorrow. Since I didn’t get much
sleep last night, I need my rest,” she smirked.

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, raising her hand and giving it a kiss.

“I’m not,” she replied. She pushed her plate to the side and leaned on the edge of the table.
“We never really talked about yesterday, by the way. I enjoyed talking to Olivia. She’s very
charming and intelligent.”

“I knew you two would hit it off. From what Remus says, she is a lot like my Mum.”

“And Jo is just like you, right down to the beautiful green eyes. And what a quidditch
player!”

“I know, isn’t she great? She’ll have a chance to play professionally, without a doubt. She has
more natural talent than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“You could have played professionally, you know.”

“Oh no. I had the world to rid of dark wizards,” he replied. “I’ve had to settle for pickup
Quidditch games on Sundays to quench my competitive thirst.”

“Sundays?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, finishing off his eggs and pushing his plate away.

“Is that going to be a problem?” she asked.

“What kind of problem?” he asked, before realisation hit him. “Merlin no. If it’s between pickup
Quidditch and seeing you, you will win every time.”

“You say that now,” Hermione teased. “But the day will come when I play second fiddle to
Quidditch.”

“I don’t ever see that happening,” Harry said to her playfully stern face. “Well, at least not
until we see each other every day.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Hmm,” he said with a grin, leaning across the table to give her a kiss. “Was everything okay
with Daniel yesterday? You seemed concerned.”

“He said everything is okay, but I’m not sure,” she replied, worry lines creasing her
forehead.

He stroked her hand. “I’m sure he’s fine. I remember how tough the first month at Hogwarts was.
And I *wanted* to get away from the Dursleys. My guess is he misses you and doesn’t want to
admit it.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I hope that’s all it is.”

“What else could it be?”

She shifted in her seat. “He thought I was coming to give him bad news, Harry. The look on his
face when he asked me what was wrong. My heart just broke.” The stricken expression on her face was
enough to break Harry’s heart.

“Hey,” Harry said, moving around to sit beside her. “He’ll be okay.”

“He thought I was coming to give him life changing news, Harry! Probably that someone was
dying,” she said with a sniff.

“Think about it, Hermione. That’s not so crazy considering everything he’s been through. In his
mind, it would have to be something significant for you to travel so far. To him,
*‘significant’* right now equals death. He doesn’t understand how parents do crazy stuff like
traveling thousands of miles for their kids all the time.”

She gave a weak laugh. “He’s a great kid, Hermione,” Harry continued. “I could tell from just
the little bit of time I spent with him.”

“Even when he was being rude to you?”

“Well, I was with his mother who was bringing bad news,” he said with a grin.

“Shut it, you,” she said.

“Jo loves him, Hermione. She talks about him in her letters all the time. In fact, if I didn’t
know better, I’d say she has a crush on him.”

“Know better?” Hermione asked.

“They’re too young for all that just yet.”

Hermione crooked an eyebrow. “Don’t be too sure.”

“My point is, he’s doing well in school. He’s got great friends in Jo and Theo. He’s adjusting.
It just takes time. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “I’m being silly.”

“No, you are being a mum.” He paused. “Of course that means by definition that you are
*crazy*, not silly.”

“Yes, right,” she said, laughing. She cradled his face in her hand. “Thank you,” she
whispered.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, kissing her on the nose. Harry stood up, pulling her up and into
his arms. He dipped his head down and began kissing her neck. “What time do you have to leave?” he
whispered.

“I’ve got a little extra time,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

His head popped up. “A walk through the village, of course.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, walking him backwards toward the door while kissing him.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked against her mouth.

“I went exploring this morning and found an inviting sofa in the parlor,” Hermione replied.

“Did you? What about Dobby?” Harry asked, bumping his back into the doorway to the parlor. “Ow,”
he said with a grimace.

“Sorry about that. Wasn’t paying attention,” Hermione said, kissing him. “I have faith that
Dobby took the hint,” Hermione said, lifting Harry’s shirt over his head. “And it makes it more
exciting to know we might get caught,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows before peppering his chest
with kisses.

“*More* exciting? Than the three times last night? You *are* trying to kill me, woman!
Have you always been this aggressive?” Harry asked, lifting her shirt over her head.

“Heavens, no.” She slipped her hands beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and around to
squeeze his arse, pulling him to her in a long, deep kiss. She pushed his pyjama bottoms down and
said, “Didn’t you know that women hit their sexual prime in their thirties?”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, pushing her pyjama bottoms and knickers down while kicking off
his own.

“Yes, it’s true. You are catching me during my peak sexual years.”

“Lucky me,” Harry said.

“Indeed,” Hermione said with a grin before they tumbled onto the sofa.

**

Hermione looked at her smiling face in the mirror and wondered if her cheeky grin would ever go
away. The way she felt at the moment, she doubted it. A balloon of elation had inflated in her
chest so that every step she took, every motion of her body, felt effortless, as if she was as
light as air. At the moment, she couldn’t imagine ever being weighed down by worry or sadness
again.

She latched her titanium muggle watch(a gift from her parents and one of the last vestiges of
her muggle upbringing she clung to) onto her wrist, put her simple pearl earrings on and slipped
Miguel’s gold band on her finger without a second thought. She paused and looked at the gold band,
a tiny bit of sadness inflicting a chink in her armour of happiness. She tried to feel guilty for
not feeling guilty but could not. She knew that it was time to move on, that Miguel would even
approve. He had always liked Harry. The few times they had been around each other they had gotten
along well. Miguel had even teased her about carrying a torch for her old boyfriend. She had
responded by rolling her eyes and dismissing the idea as ridiculous. In hindsight, she guessed that
Miguel had seen something that she hadn’t.

Honestly, she thought that Miguel was most likely in heaven right now saying, “It’s about damn
time.” One of their last conversations, while he was lying in a bed at St. Jordi’s wracked with
pain, had been about her future. The conversation was one-sided and consisted of Miguel telling her
in no uncertain terms to move on with her life or he would haunt her until the day she died. She
had agreed, if for no other reason than to end the conversation. The thought, at the time and for
months following, was incomprehensible to her. Until now.

She did a quick check of the loo and bedroom for any forgotten items. Satisfied, she threw her
rucksack on her shoulder and went downstairs to meet Harry, who had gone to the kitchen to help
Dobby with the basket of food Dobby insisted on preparing for Hermione. Just outside the kitchen,
the voice of a woman stopped her dead in her tracks.

“So she played well?” the woman asked.

“She was brilliant,” Harry replied, and Hermione could visualize the proud look on his face from
the tone of his voice.

Hermione moved close to the wall and peeked through the doorway, doing her best to keep out of
sight. She was greeted with long blond hair cascading down a trim torso clad in an expensive silk
robe. She jumped back from the door as Bridgette turned around. Hermione heard the scrape of a
chair and knew Bridgette had sat down.

“I wish I’d been there to see it,” Bridgette said in a sad voice.

“I’m sorry, Bridgette,” Harry replied. “I assumed that Jo told you about it.”

“No, you didn’t. You know very well that she never tells me anything. I’ve received exactly one
letter from her in the year and a half she’s been at Hogwarts.”

“And how many have you written to her?”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t. The point is that you purposely didn’t tell me about it. If it hadn’t been for
Katie’s owl, who knows when I would have found out that my daughter is a star Quidditch
player.”

“Believe what you want, Bridgette. You always do. But I didn’t purposely leave you out of the
loop.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Who’s the basket of food for?”

Hermione closed her eyes and cringed at the pregnant pause before Harry answered. “Dobby is
taking it to a sick friend.”

“Is he?” Hermione heard the creak of the basket opening. “Yum, all of his favourites. He must
really like this friend,” she said, the lid of the basket closing with a thump. “He’s never made
anything like this for me,” she said in a wounded voice.

“Well, he doesn’t like you, Bridgette.”

“Ouch,” she replied with a laugh. “Harsh, but true. So, how is your friend?”

“What friend?”

“The good healer. Katie said you all went to lunch after the match. How cozy.”

“She’s fine.”

*Come on, Harry! Don’t be so daft!*

Hermione heard a tapping sound and peeked through the door again. Bridgette’s perfectly
manicured and painted nails were drumming on the wooden table while the silence stretched on.

“It is interesting that you *happened* to forget to tell me about a Quidditch match that
your long lost friend *happened* to attend. It makes me think you didn’t want me there for
some reason. What would that reason be?”

Hermione could hear the sarcasm dripping from Bridgette’s voice and part of her wanted to rush
in to defend Harry. Another part of her wanted him to suffer for being such an dolt and not coming
up with a better response than, “She’s fine.”

“It’s nice to see your talent for fantastic stories is still in tact. I was so worried that you
would be out of practice now that you don’t have to lie to me on a daily basis anymore.”

*Good one!*

The chair scraped against the floor again. “What a relief,” Bridgette said. “I’m glad to hear
that your standards haven’t dipped. From what Katie said, the good healer is quite a dreary, plain
woman. Not your type at all.”

Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp of indignation. *I knew I didn’t
like that little swot.*

“Don’t be rude, Bridgette.”

“What was that?” Bridgette asked.

“What?”

“Did you hear something?”

“No. I only heard you being petty and spiteful about someone you know nothing about. And, for
the record, Hermione is not dreary and plain.”

“Katie’s description seemed spot on from what I remember. How she was able to snag the sexy
Spaniard, I’ll never know,” she said. Her voice lowered where Hermione could barely hear her. “We
both know what your type is Harry, and Hermione Granger hardly fits the bill.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and her fists clenched as she was overcome by the desire to run in and
kick the living shite out of that horrible woman. Hermione moved toward the door, all thoughts of
discretion regarding their relationship lost amid her fury. She stopped and jumped back to her
hiding place when she caught sight of the two of them. She saw Bridgette standing close to Harry
and stroking his cheek. “Care for a little roll, Harry?” she whispered. Hermione’s heart plummeted
to her feet as Bridgette kissed him. She pulled back and leaned against the wall, her heart
hammering wildly and her breathing laboured.

“Stop it, Bridgette,” she heard Harry say. “I’m not interested.”

“Well, that’s a switch,” she said. “As I recall, you *were* a fortnight ago …”

Hermione apparated to the bedroom, dropped her bag and ran into the loo, covering her mouth to
stem the flow of vomit that was escaping. When she’d emptied her stomach, she sat back against the
wall, the happiness from earlier floating in the loo with every last bit of food and bile from her
stomach.

She got up and rinsed her mouth with water and went into the bedroom to retrieve her toothbrush
and toothpaste. She was cleaning her teeth with entirely too much vigor when Harry walked in and
leaned against the doorway. She glared at him and spit, rinsed her mouth and turned off the water.
She grabbed the towel.

“Is she gone?” she asked, wiping her mouth.

“Yes,” he replied.

Hermione reached over and flushed her happiness down the pipes before brushing past Harry. She
grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder, heading toward the door.

“That’s it? You’re leaving without a word?” Harry said.

“What would you like for me to say, Harry?”

“I don’t know, Hermione. Something. This is what happened last time.”

“What?” Hermione huffed.

“Not talking. Thinking one thing when the reality was another. What do you *think* you
heard downstairs?”

“Let’s see,” she said, dropping her bag again. “I heard her making implications about the two of
us and you doing a horrible job of coming up with a believable lie.”

“Merlin! I’m so sorry that I can’t lie convincingly! That is really something I have to work
on!”

“Don’t get shirty with me.”

“Well, you’re overreacting.”

“Am I?” she asked, stalking toward him. “Is it overreacting to be upset that the man that just
spent the night making love to me, *declaring* his love for me, has been shagging his ex-wife
on the side while sending love letters to me? Hmm?” she said, raising her eyebrows in
challenge.

“I have not been shagging Bridgette. I haven’t touched or even thought about another woman since
I saw you at Kings Cross in September.”

“And before that?” Hermione challenged.

“Have I been with Bridgette since our divorce? Is that what you’re asking, Hermione?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Yes, I have.” he said, throwing his arms up in surrender. “Forgive me for being a man. It isn’t
like I have a lot of options, you know. I could go into Muggle London, pick up some girl at a club
and get God knows what kind of disease. Or maybe I should date a witch so my picture could be on
the front of the Daily Prophet and they can use me for their fifteen minutes of fame. Oh yes, both
of those options are *so* appealing. So, yes. I’ve fucked Bridgette since our divorce. I
figured that it was better than the alternatives, and she was more than willing. There. Are you
happy?” He stood before her, arms crossed, an angry expression on his face.

“No, I’m not happy,” she said. She stood there, facing him trying to force down the bubble of
disgust that was rising in her throat. She covered her mouth and bolted into the bathroom, slamming
the door behind her and barely making it to the toilet yet again. After coughing up a miniscule
amount of water, she suffered dry heaves, her stomach clenching in response to her mental anguish.
She leaned back against the wall, pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head in her arms,
trying to pinpoint the exact reasoning behind her revulsion to what Harry had told her.

“Hermione?” she heard Harry say through the door over a light knock.

“Leave me alone.”

She heard the door open and her anger rose in her like a phoenix. She stood up and turned on
Harry. “Can’t you leave me the fuck alone for one minute?”

“Jesus Christ, Hermione. Get a hold of yourself.”

“Get a hold of myself? That’s what I was trying to do until you barged in. I guess you’d rather
hear what I think about you and your recent revelations.”

“Hermione, you’re acting like she and I have been shagging like rabbits every other day! It’s
only happened a handful of times, more than likely when she had no one better to shag.”

“You know, Harry, I didn’t think you could sound any more pathetic, but I was wrong,” she said,
trying to push past him.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing her arm. “I don’t have to take this.”

She looked at his hand grasping her upper arm and then back at his face.

“So you will take abuse from a woman you can’t stand for thirteen years but you can’t stand a
little criticism from me? It’s nice to know the limit of your understanding so early in our
relationship,” she replied, twisting her arm from his grasp on the last word.

“What’s going on here, Hermione? Am I again the beneficiary of two years of pent-up frustration?
Has it been too long since you’ve had a good row? Am I just the lucky bloke you get to sink your
claws into?” he said.

She whirled around. “Don’t you dare belittle how I feel about this.”

“Then tell me, *please*,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What is the issue here? I
haven’t cheated on you. I haven’t lied to you. Is it that I’ve had sex since my divorce, or that
I’ve had sex with Bridgette?”

She crossed her arms and stared at him. “How would you feel if I’d been sleeping with Andres?”
she asked, finally.

“I would hate it. It would drive me mad. But I would understand.”

“What would you understand?”

“That you’re human? And you know, sometimes people just need a good fuck.”

“That is the problem! Right there!” she said, pointing at him. She turned her finger toward
herself and poked her chest. “I don’t see it that way. It means more than that to me. I had plenty
of opportunity to have a ‘good fuck’ as you say, but I didn’t. Trust me, I needed one and I wanted
one. But I refused to do that with someone I didn’t have feelings for. You on the other hand, have
been fucking someone that you hate. Someone that makes you cringe every time you say or hear her
name. I understand about *‘needs,’* Harry. I have them to. But for you to do that…”

Harry stood there, staring at the ground, hands shoved into his pockets. The silence stretched
out between them like a chasm. “If you want me to apologise for being weak, I will. If you want me
to apologise for not being perfect and living up to some unreasonably high standard you have set
for me, I will.” He met her eyes. “But I’m not going to apologise for something that has nothing to
do with you — something that happened before we got together. I won’t.”

She gave a bitter laugh when the truth of Harry’s words hit her. She wasn’t angry at what he
did, but at the loss of her ideal of Harry’s perfection. His humanity had been laid bare before her
and she responded with bitterness and ire. She sat down on the edge of the bed, completely drained
of every single one of her emotions.

“She knew,” Harry started, “or at least suspected you were listening which…”

“…is why she said all of those things,” Hermione finished. “Goddamn her!” she exclaimed,
standing up and turning away from Harry. “I can’t believe I fell for it,” she murmured more to
herself than anyone. “I should have known.” *That bitch*.

“Please don’t be angry, Hermione,” Harry said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “She is the
master of manipulation. There is nothing she can do that will ruin what we have. I won’t let her,”
he finished, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. “What we have is
special; you know it.”

She leaned into him and let her head fall back onto his shoulder. “I’m not angry with you,
Harry. I’m angry with myself for letting her get to me and not seeing through her.”

*I have got to get control of myself.*

“You are a terror when you get angry,” Harry said.

“That was mild, too.”

“Please tell me you are joking.”

“No, I’m not, unfortunately.”

“Merlin, help me,” he teased, turning Hermione around to face him. “I meant it when I said I
haven’t thought of another woman since I saw you again. That is one thing you need never worry
about, Hermione.”

“I hope so. That’s the one thing I couldn’t forgive.”

“Me, either.”

She wrapped her arms around him, placed her head on his shoulder and hugged him. “Sorry for the
overreaction,” she said.

“If it makes you feel any better, I would have reacted the same way.”

“Do you think she will tell the girls? About us?”

“No. She just suspects. Anyway, I’m sure she’d rather hold the threat of telling them over my
head.”

“What a lovely person.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Do you still want me to come Saturday?” he asked timidly.

She turned to look at him, seeing him completely, with faults and all, for the first time. She
placed her hand on his cheek, “Of course I do,” she said, pulling him forward for a soft kiss. “I
love you,” she whispered. “That will never change.”

***

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the boy who lived,” Ron said, plopping down on the bench beside
Harry. “Of course, I was beginning to wonder about that seeing as I haven’t seen hide nor hair of
you for…let me see,” he said, placing his finger on his chin and looking toward the sky, “at least
two months now.”

“Ha ha,” Harry said, strapping on one of his leather shin guards. “It hasn’t been that long and
you know it.”

“It hasn’t? When was the last time you were here? The first week in October?”

“Okay, I’m going to look past the slightly creepy fact that you remember to the day the last
time I was here,” Harry said, slapping the shin guard with his hand to test its protection.

Ron began pulling his keeper gear out of his bag. “I know for a fact it was before Theo’s letter
about your lunch at the Three Broomsticks because I’ve been waiting to talk to you about it for
weeks.”

“You could always drop by. I haven’t moved, you know,” Harry said, starting on the other shin
guard.

“Yes, well, you know. Work and life and all that. Besides, I kept thinking, ‘this week I’ll see
Harry.’ And, I knew that my *best friend* would let me know if anything note-worthy was going
on.”

Harry grinned at Ron, but stayed silent, shrugging his shoulders.

“Hey, Harry!” Ernie Macmillan called.

Harry stood up and shook Ernie’s hand. “Hiya Ernie. How are you?”

“Good, good. Haven’t seen you around lately.”

“I’ve been busy. How’s Susan?”


“Good. Talk about busy. They never let her have a day off it seems.”

“I reckon that comes with the territory,” Harry said.

“You’d think there weren’t any other capable Healers at St. Mungo’s,” Ernie said irritably.
“I’ve almost got her convinced to give private practice a go.”

“That would me nice. Tell her I said hi, would you?” Harry said, sitting back down.

“Will do.” Ernie turned to Ron and shook his hand. “All right, Ron?”

“All right, Ernie,” Ron said. When he was out of earshot Ron turned to Harry. “If you aren’t
going to tell me right out then I’ll just have to ask. Is it a coincidence that you became scarce
right after Hermione came home for a Quidditch match?”

Harry said nothing for a moment. “What do you think?” he replied with a smirk.

“You wanker! It is true! I told Tonks! I told her! I love it when I’m right!”

“It happens so rarely,” Harry teased.

“Oy, be nice,” Ron said, punching Harry in the arm. “So, you and Hermione are seeing each other.
Blimey. I can’t believe it. After all these years.”

“Better late than never, I guess,” Harry said, standing up. He leapt up and down a few times,
pulling his knees to his chest with each leap, loosening up.

“Well?” Ron said.

“Well what?”

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s to tell? We’ve been seeing each other.”

“Good lord, Harry! I can’t go home with ‘they’ve been seeing each other.’ Tonks would have my
head!”

“You can’t go telling everyone, Ron,” Harry said, pointing his finger at Ron. “Tonks is fine.
But not Ginny, not your mother, not Theo or anyone else! We haven’t told the kids and we don’t want
them finding out before we tell them.”

“Okay, okay!” Ron said, holding up his hands. “I get it. We’ll keep your secret. Well?”

Harry shrugged, wanting to keep what he and Hermione had private and unspoilt for a while
longer. But looking at his best friend, Hermione’s best friend in school, he knew he couldn’t hold
back.

“I went to see her after we saw her at Kings Cross. Something just clicked. All those old
feelings came back. I wrote her and told her…”

“Hang on. Stop right there. You told her? Told her what?”

“That I felt something and wanted to see her again.”

“You didn’t!”

“Yes, I did.”

“But…that’s so unlike you!”

“I’m too old to beat around the bush,” Harry said. “So, I went back and things progressed a
bit.”

“Did you…,” Ron made a fist and punched the air with it. “You know.”

“No,” Harry said. “This is Hermione. She hasn’t changed *that* much,” Harry lied.

“Right. Hermione. Go on.”

“She came to the Quidditch match, then she stayed the night. I’ve been going to Spain every
chance I get ever since.”

Ron sat there nodding, a look of expectation on his face, clearly wanting more details. When
they didn’t come, his face fell and he replied, “That’s it? That’s your idea of details?”

“Well…I thought for a second the next morning that it would be over before it began.”

“Why?” Ron said, completely enthralled with the story.

“Why do you think?”

He got a look of complete disgust on his face. “Bitchette.”

“Yep.”

“She went over for a romp, did she?”

Harry touched his nose in assent. “I don’t think that was what she intended until she figured
out that Hermione was there. Then she played it up. ‘Care for a roll, Harry?’” he said in perfect
imitation.

“Bitch. How did she know?”

“Katie sent her an owl, telling her about Jo’s match.”

“And just happened to mention that Hermione was there.”

“Yep.”

“She is so much like Bridgette it’s frightening.”

“She has lots of good qualities, too,” Harry defended.

“Yes, well, she hides them well. So what happened? Was there a cat fight?” Ron said, eyes
shining.

“No. But Hermione took a pound of flesh from me, let me tell you.” Harry waved at the referee
who was calling for the next group of players. “It’s fine now,” he continued to Ron. “We’ve gotten
past it. But let me tell you, I never, *ever* want to be on the receiving end of Hermione’s
ire again. Ever. It is scarier than Voldie. Bar none.”

“Blimey, I could have told you that, Harry! So,” Ron said, looking around before leaning forward
and whispering. “How is it?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“How is what?” Harry asked.

“You know,” Ron said, casting a furtive glance around.

“Are you talking about,” Harry mimicked Ron’s glance around, “the sex?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, eyes lighting up.

Harry put his leg up on the bench and leaned on his knee. Ron leaned forward and Harry said, “As
if I’m going to tell you.”

“Bloody hell, Harry! I’m a married man! I have to live vicariously through you.”

“This isn’t some tart we’re talking about here, Ron. It’s Hermione. I’m not going to give you
the details.” The dejected look on his best friend’s face thawed Harry a bit. “I will tell you
this.” Ron leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the information. “It is fucking incredible.”

Ron leaned back, a mixture of admiration and disbelief on his face. “No kidding? Hermione?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Best I’ve ever had.”

Ron sat there, stunned. “Bloody hell.” He looked up at Harry. “Is it serious?”

“Ron, I’m 37 years old. Do you think I’d be traveling to Spain every chance I get if I wasn’t
serious?”

“Is Hermione serious?”

“I think so.” Harry paused. “Yes,” he said with more conviction than he felt.

“Why don’t you think she is? Have you said, you know, the words?”

“I love you? Yeah, we have.”

“Then what makes you wonder?”

Harry sat down and leaned toward Ron. “She still wears her husband’s wedding ring.”

“What?” Ron said, taken aback.

“Not her ring. His band, on this finger,” he said, wiggling the right middle finger of his
hand.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

“You need to. That’s mental, that is.”

“I know she loves me,” Harry said. “I know it. I just don’t know that she will ever love me like
she loved Miguel.”

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron said, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Yeah,” Harry said, the feeling of dejection that these thoughts brought on weighing on him. He
slapped his knees and stood up. “I can deal with it if the alternative is not being with her.”

“I bet that there is a simple explanation for the ring, Harry,” Ron said bracingly. “Just ask
her about it. The Hermione I knew wouldn’t lead you on just to tell you she’ll never love you like
her dead husband. I’m sure she created lists of pros and cons and analysed a relationship with you
from every angle before she shagged you.”

“Thanks, Ron. That makes me feel so much better.”

“Glad I can help,” he said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go play Quidditch.”

**

“Good God, what a day,” Hermione said, walking into the library and plopping down on the sofa
next to Harry. She kicked her shoes off and propped her feet on the coffee table. “Have I told you
that the only thing that keeps me going most days is the knowledge that you are here, waiting for
me?”


“Yes, but tell me again.”

“I just did,” she said with a grin.

“Right you are. Bad day, I take it?”

“Horrible. I don’t even want to relive it by telling you about it. Let me just say that I am the
only sane person at St. Jordi’s.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Harry said, kissing her on the temple. “Are you hungry? Dobby sent a feast, as
usual.”

“I love Dobby. I haven’t had to cook in two months.”

“What? Is this Hermione Granger, Champion of the house elf? Founder of the Society for the
Promotion of Ethical…Welfare thingy saying she is grateful for the fruits of a house elf’s
labour?”

“Yes, it is, and I can say that because I know you pay him well. Don’t you?”

“Very well. Although he doesn’t know it. He thinks he gets a galleon a week. I have a super
secret fund for him at Gringott’s, though.”

“My little philanthropist,” she said, kissing him on the lips.

“I try. You know,” Harry said, looking sideways at Hermione, whose head was leaning back against
the sofa, her eyes closed, “we could make it so you never have to cook again.”

“I know. If Dobby keeps this up I won’t have room in my freezer for all the leftovers.”

Harry sighed, his hope that she would get his hint lost amid his dejection. “That isn’t exactly
what I was talking about.”

She lifted her head and gave him a grin. “Are we about to have the ‘where is this going’
conversation?”

Harry bristled. “Maybe,” he replied, wishing that for once he could catch her off guard. “Want
some wine?” he asked, bolting up from the sofa. “If you are going to take the mickey, I think I
need to be drunk.”

He walked out of the room and toward the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of Ribera del Duero and
was starting to open it before she walked through the door.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t taking the mickey, Harry. I’ve just been wondering when this subject was
going to come up. I’m a little punchy from work. I didn’t mean to put you off I promise.”

“Want a glass?” he said, pouring the dark red wine into a goblet for himself.

“Sure,” she said.

He poured her a glass, then walked out to the terrace, leaving the door open for her to follow
if she wanted. He settled into the same chair he’d occupied three months earlier on his first trip
to Spain and waited for inspiration on how to start the conversation and steer it in the direction
he wanted. His stomach was tied up in knots. He knew he wasn’t good at manipulation and didn’t see
much hope for him getting what he wanted out of the conversation. With nothing to lose, he decided
to jump right in.


“Why do you still wear it?”

Hermione nodded, as if expecting the question. “So this is the conversation?”

“Yes, I guess it is.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “Why do you think I wear it?”

“Damn it! Don’t do that!”

“Do what?”

“Ask a question in answer to every fucking question I ask! It’s infuriating.”

“I didn’t realise I did that.”

“You do.”

“Okay. Sorry,” she said. “You don’t have to curse at me, you know. Why do I wear it? I assume
you are talking about Miguel’s ring,” she said, holding up her right hand. She held it out,
wiggling her fingers while she admired it. “I took it off of his finger at St. Jordi’s, when he
died. I put it on my finger without really thinking about it. I didn’t realise until he was buried
that I still had it on. It was a little like the pyjamas at first — me trying to be closer to him,
wanting to hold on to anything I could that reminded me of him.”

She dropped her hand and took a drink of her wine. “Then it became a *‘Symbol of Our
Love,’*” she said, miming quotation marks. “All this time, I was still wearing my wedding ring,
too. One day, about a year after he died, and after a particularly violent crying jag in the
shower, I was looking at my hands and I knew. It was time to decide. On the one hand was a symbol
of my commitment to Miguel. On the other was a symbol of his memory. There really wasn’t a choice.
I slipped off my wedding ring, put it in my jewelry box and never put it back on.” She held her
right hand out again. “But *this*…this I can’t take off. Not yet.”

“Why not?” Harry managed to croak out.

“I’m not ready.”

“You don’t love me enough,” Harry interjected.

She leaned forward and took his hand. “No, that isn’t it.” She tilted her head to the side and
said, “Do you think this ring symbolises love?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s Miguel’s ring. You loved Miguel. It seems to fit.”

“I did love Miguel. Totally. Completely. But Miguel is dead. It is because of this ring that you
and I are here today. It is because of this that I was able to return to you, a better person, a
more complete person, ready for a relationship with you. Without this ring we would have never made
it as far as we have.”

Harry stared at his glass of wine, moving it in small circles, sloshing the rich, red liquid up
onto the sides, and said nothing.

“You want me to take it off, don’t you?” she said, releasing his hand and sitting back.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Every time I see that ring I’m reminded of my failure. Of how you had thirteen years with the
love of your life because I was too big of a git to tell you how I felt when I had the chance.” He
took a sip of his wine. “I see you staring at Miguel with a look of total and complete adoration
and I remember how seeing you so in love tore my heart apart.”

She propped her head on her hand and looked at him. “Harry, do you honestly think that if we’d
been honest with each other 15 years ago we would have lived ’happily ever after’?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think we would have. I wasn’t ready for you. You and everything surrounding you were so
intense for me. Our experiences together, our feelings for each other. It was all to the nth
degree. It was all or nothing. I would have been consumed by you. I would have *gladly* been
consumed by you. It was what scared me the most. The loss of myself and how I was ready to give it
up with just a word from you. You would have ended up hating me. More importantly, I would have
ended up hating myself. I look at this ring and see the circle that brought us back together.” She
drummed her fingers on the table, the ring clinking against the glass with every third thump. “I’m
not going to take it off. Not now. Maybe I will eventually, I don’t know.”

She leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of her wine and looking out over Barcelona. “We all
have to make adjustments in relationships. Things, personality quirks, we have to live with that we
don’t particularly like or agree with. But we do it because we love each other and that is larger
and stronger than anything else.”

Harry’s gaze moved from the view of Barcelona in the nighttime to Hermione’s profile. He knew
exactly what she was talking about, the issue they’d been skirting for the last few weeks. “Is that
what this is about? You getting back at me for Bridgette?”

She laughed. “That would be rather petty of me, wouldn’t it? No, Harry, this isn’t about
Bridgette. This isn’t me showing my independence, either. This is about me wanting to wear this
ring because of what it means to me. Not what it means to you, or anyone else for that matter.”

Harry sighed, resigned to losing the battle, a small part of him understanding and respecting
her stance on it. He shifted in his chair, moving it to face her. “Okay, I’ll make a deal with
you,” he said grasping her hands.

“What?” she said.

He rubbed his thumb across the smooth gold band. “You can wear Miguel’s ring on this finger, as
long as you wear mine on this one,” he said, lifting her left hand and kissing her ring finger.

He felt a flicker of satisfaction at the shock on her face. He was able to surprise her after
all.

“What are you saying?” she gasped. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Not technically, since I don’t have a ring. And I haven’t asked Daniel’s permission just yet,”
he finished, to a chuckle from Hermione. “But, I do want something more permanent. Whatever that
means. Marriage, living together, at the very least living in the same country. What we’ve been
doing isn’t going to work in the long term. You and I both know that.”

Hermione sat there, staring off into space. “Hermione?” Harry said as fear crept into his heart.
“Do you not want it to be long term?”

“No, of course I do,” she said, shaking herself out of her reverie. “I’m just thinking about
what it means.”

“That we love each other?” Harry offered.

She placed her hand on his cheek and gave him a warm smile. “That’s a given, Harry.” She tilted
her head to the side. “Do I not tell you how much I love you enough?”

“Yes, it’s just that…”

“I do, Harry. I love you more than I ever thought possible. I’ll have to remember to tell you
that more often when we see each other every day.”

“‘When’?” Harry asked, hope blooming in his chest.

“Of course…*when*. I was just thinking before about logistics. Which of us is going to
uproot our life for the other?”

“Well, I’m the man, you’re the woman. It’s obvious that you would follow me.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock and indignation. “It most certainly is not obvious!” she
said.

Harry tried and failed to keep the grin off his face and broke out laughing before she finished
the sentence. “I’m kidding, Hermione. I just wanted to see you get your knickers in a twist.”

Hermione punched him in the stomach. “That’s not funny.”

“Yes it is. You, my dear, are predictable.”

“Can we please get back to the topic at hand, here?”

“And what is the topic at hand?” Harry asked, trying and failing to keep the joy out of his
voice.

“Logistics.”

“Oooohh! This sounds like a fun conversation.”

“You sure are giddy tonight,” she said with a grin. “I wonder why that is?”

He pulled her up into his arms. “You haven’t sent me packing yet. I’m beginning to think you
aren’t ever going to.”

“No, I’m not. I hate to tell you, but you are stuck with me for a while. Are you sure that’s
what you want?”

Harry sighed. “I guess I’ll suffer through.”

“I’m sure you will survive,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “You know the first thing we have
to do?

“What’s that?”

“Break the news to the sprogs.”



6. Chapter 6 part 1
-------------------

**Chapter 6**

“You’re *what*?”

Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour was crowded with after Christmas shoppers taking a break
from raiding the offers that each Diagon Alley shop had going. Kids and adults alike were laughing
and talking, their cheer from the previous day’s celebrations buoyed by the impression that they
had just gotten great deals on merchandise that, two days earlier, they would have bought at twice
the cost. Amid the cacophony, Hermione had just told Daniel that she was dating *Super
Wizard*. Daniel was clinging to the slim hope that he’d misheard her.

Hermione cleared her throat and stabbed and withdrew her spoon into her large dip of Strawberry
Cheesecake Ice Cream. “Harry and I have been seeing each other.”

Daniel watched his mother’s spoon continue to pierce her ice cream. “You mean dating?”

She placed the spoon in the bowl, the clink of it settling against the glass rim loud enough to
eclipse the din surrounding him. She wiped her clean fingers on her serviette and placed them in
her lap. Daniel resisted the urge to look under the table to see if her hands were folded; he knew
they were.

“Yes. We’re dating.”

Daniel stared in disgust at his Super Fudge Sundae, which only moments before had been the most
beautiful sight in the world. He would never again crave or eat chocolate.

“Great,” Daniel said to himself. He looked up at his mother, who was watching him with a
concerned look in her eyes. “When?”

“When did we start dating?”

“Yes.”

She cleared her throat. “He came to Barcelona on business in September. And, he came back for Le
Merce…”

“You took him to Le Merce?!” Daniel said.

“We didn’t stay long,” Hermione said hurriedly.

Daniel snorted. *As if that is supposed to make me feel better*. “We always went as a
family,” Daniel sulked.

Hermione looked down. “I know Daniel. But you agree that Le Merce is a great way for someone not
familiar with Barcelona to see it. You even mentioned it to Jo and Theo!”

“That’s different,” Daniel said. “You’ve been dating since then?”

“Yes, I guess you could say that,” she said, picking up her spoon and beginning to poke her ice
cream again.

Scenes from his mother’s visit flitted through his mind — the look that passed between the two
of them during the Quidditch match, glances between the two at the Three Broomsticks, her fidgeting
during lunch much as she was doing now.

“You were dating when you came to Hogwarts,” he stated in a dull, flat voice.

She cleared her throat again. “Something wrong, Mum? You have something in your throat?”

“No,” she said, picking up her glass of water and taking a sip.

“You were going to tell me then, weren’t you? When you visited Scotland?”

“No.”

“But, you chickened out.”

“No, I was there to see you; that’s all.”

“No, you were there on a date with Super Wizard,” Daniel accused.

“Daniel! What did you just call him?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring at his ice cream that had turned from a majestic mountain of
decadence to a mound of unappealing goo.

“You may not like the fact that I’m dating someone, but you will not be disrespectful. And you
will not call Harry, or any adult for that matter, names.”

*Super Wizard, Super Wizard, Super Wizard*, Daniel chanted inside his head.

“Daniel!” his mother said, raising her voice. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured. *Super Wizard, Super Wizard, Super Wizard*…

“Now,” Hermione said, straightening up, “for the record, I came to Hogwarts to see you. I was
not coming to tell you about Harry. We’d only seen each other a couple of times at that point. It
was hardly worth upsetting you if it wasn’t serious.”

*Super Wiz*…Daniel’s head snapped up. “If it wasn’t serious?” He narrowed his eyes. “Does
that mean…” He stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

Hermione studied Daniel for a moment before pushing her ice cream to the side and leaning on the
table. “I’m not going to lie to you, Daniel. It is rather serious. I care for Harry very much.”

Daniel’s stomach lurched, and for a thrilling instant he thought he was going to vomit all over
his mother. The idea was so appealing that he considered doing it. It wouldn’t take much; just the
thought of vomit and its tangy, bitter taste and smell was enough to make it happen. His
unconscious aversion to making a public spectacle was stronger than his desire to humiliate his
mother and the bile that was forming in his throat was forced down. The ill feeling from the
knowledge that his mother was betraying his father remained.

“Care for him,” Daniel repeated. “But you don’t love him.”

“Daniel…,” Hermione started.

Daniel broke in. “Why are you telling me here?” he said, gesturing toward the bustling crowd of
the parlour. “Now? Why not tell me while we were at Nan and Pop’s?”

“I wanted to wait until after Christmas and Boxing Day. I know how much you love the holidays.
So, I decided to tell you today. I was going to wait until the end of the day, until we’d gotten
your birthday present, but I just couldn’t. I’ve been sick with worry about telling you.”

“Great. Now we both can feel sick,” he mumbled, flattening his ice cream.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, stabbing the handle of his spoon into the ice cream so that it appeared
to be a silver tree. He pushed back from the table and said, “I’m ready to go.”

His mum appeared shocked. “Don’t you want to talk about this?” she asked.

“No, not really,” he said, turning to walk out of the shop.

He got into the alley and took a deep breath, the cool air a refreshing change from the stuffy
atmosphere of the crowded shop. He felt his mother stand beside him, but didn’t look at her,
instead turning his head to look in the opposite direction. She put on her gloves and said,
“Daniel…”

“Let’s go to Gringotts,” he said and turned to walk in the direction of the large white
building, not looking back to see if his mother was following — not caring if she was or not.

“We need to talk about this,” she said, walking alongside him.

“I don’t want to,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders.

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like,” Hermione said.

Daniel rolled his eyes and muttered, “Please.” He waited, knowing that she would continue no
matter what he said.

“This hasn’t been easy for me either, Daniel.” His snort of derision was lost amid the noise of
Diagon Alley. “I loved your father very much, you know I did. I still love him.”

*Yeah, right.*

“But, I…” She paused and Daniel strained to listen, genuinely curious as to how she would
explain herself in a way so that he wouldn’t hate her. “It isn’t as if Harry is a stranger.”

“He is to me,” Daniel said.

“I’ve known Harry my entire life,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. They were weaving in
and out of the crowd, Hermione struggling to keep her voice low enough so others couldn’t hear.
“Come here,” she said, pulling him into a doorway by the sleeve of his cloak.

Daniel stared at the door, the cracking green paint and rusty door knob giving it an abandoned,
derelict air. He reached out for an ornate knob in the middle of the left door and was surprised
when it turned. He heard a faint buzzing through the door that stopped and started with every twist
of the handle.

“Daniel, stop fiddling and listen to me,” Hermione growled, slapping his hand away from the old
fashioned doorbell.

Daniel glared up at her. “What?” he snapped.

She looked abashed. “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Bloody hell,” she
said as she expelled the breath. She opened her eyes and knelt down to look at him. “I’m going to
be straight with you, Daniel.”

“Meaning you haven’t been?”

She took another deep breath in an obvious effort to keep her anger in check. “Daniel, you have
to hush and listen for just a minute. Can you do that?”

He stood there, mute.

“Can you?” she asked, impatience creeping into her voice.

“You just asked me to hush and listen, so I am.”

She stood up and glared down at him. “You are trying to irritate me, aren’t you?”

He restrained a smirk. “Maybe.”

“Go ahead and gloat. You are thoroughly irritating me, so much so that I’m considering buying
you *Hogwarts: A History* for your birthday present instead of an owl.”

“That’s fine. I’ve always wanted to read the *updated* version,” he sneered.

“You are one cheeky swot, you know it?” She crossed her arms. “I’m trying to treat you like the
mature kid that I thought you were. I’m beginning to think that I should treat you like a petulant
11 year old and tell you to get over it. Which would you prefer?”

“It doesn’t matter. You are going to do what you want anyway.”

“You’re right, I am. I was hoping I could explain it so that you would understand. It would make
it easier on everyone.”

“You mean easier on you and *Super Wizard*,” Daniel retorted.

“I will *not* have you calling him that,” she said, pointing her finger in his face.

He looked down and began his silent chant again. *Super Wizard, super wizard, super
wizard…*

“Do you want me to explain it or not?”

“No.”

“Fine. Then get over it,” she said, stalking off toward Gringotts without a second glance at
him. He turned and followed her, trying to keep sight of her curly brown hair in the crowd. He saw
her start to walk up the steps and stop to wait for him without turning around. He kept his eyes on
her back and didn’t see the two people coming down the steps toward her until he was standing next
to her.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Good Healer.”

Daniel’s mouth gaped open at the sight of the tall, beautiful woman standing three steps above
them. Her long blonde hair cascaded to her shoulders, resting lightly on her cerulean coloured
robe. Her face reminded Daniel of the porcelain dolls he’d seen in his mother’s childhood room at
his grandparents’ house: flawless ivory skin, clear blue eyes and shiny red lips.

“Hello, Bridgette,” his mother replied in a cool voice.

At the sound of the name, Daniel tore his eyes from the woman to the girl standing next to her
and his stomach lurched at the sight of Katie Potter sneering at him. *And I thought the day
couldn’t get any worse.*

“What brings you to London,” Bridgette asked, “ as if I didn’t know.”

“We are here visiting my parents for the holidays,” Hermione replied.

“Oh yes. Muggles, aren’t they?”

Daniel watched his mother, noting the muscle working in her jaw. She turned her attention from
Bridgette and attempted a pleasant tone of voice. “Hello, Katie. How are you?”

“Fine,” she replied.

“Have a good holiday so far?” Hermione continued.

“No.”

“That’s too bad,” Hermione said. “Here to do some shopping?” she continued, trying to be
nice.

Bridgette scoffed. “Merlin, no. We’re just here to get money for our trip to Paris. Surely you
knew Harry was sending us to Paris.”

Daniel watched with mounting glee as he saw his mother’s eyes narrow. “Of course I knew you were
going to Paris. But the owl you sent me with all the details must have gotten lost in transit.”

Bridgette smirked and Daniel could tell she was enjoying the game, whatever game it was the two
of them were playing.

“Harry is such a sweetheart,” Bridgette continued, flipping her mane behind her shoulder. “Just
last night he told me to spare no expense”

Daniel saw Katie’s eyes dart to her mother, a look of confusion on her face. “He wants to make
sure his little girl has everything she wants,” Bridgette finished, placing her arm around Katie’s
shoulders.

Daniel could tell that his mother was holding back, just as she had done not ten minutes before
with him. He felt a sudden surge of shame for acting the way he had.

Hermione looked at Katie, plastering a smile on her face. “I hope you have a lovely time. Sorry
you won’t be coming to Barcelona this weekend.”

It was Daniel’s turn to be surprised. Barcelona? Harry was coming to Barcelona? Was Jo coming?
And Olivia?

Bridgette turned to Katie. “I’ve been to Barcelona and it is positively dull. You won’t be
missing a thing.”

“Well, you will have *plenty* of chances to visit another time,” Hermione said to Katie,
while staring at Bridgette. “Come on, Daniel. Let’s go get your owl,” Hermione said. “Have a nice
trip,” she said over her shoulder to the two blondes.

As they walked up the steps, Daniel thought he saw steam coming out of his mother’s ears.
“Harry’s coming to Barcelona?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, he is. Please don’t give me grief about it just now. You can berate me later,” she said,
yanking the door open.

Neither said a word to each other while in Gringotts. Daniel watched his mother out of the
corner of his eye, concerned that she was about to explode from stress. He capped his curiosity,
waiting until she had cooled down to ask the barrage of questions he had.

“That might be the most beautiful owl I’ve ever seen,” Hermione said to Daniel as they left the
pet shop. “What are you going to name him?”

“I don’t know,” Daniel said with a grin, holding the cage up at eye level. His owl, a large grey
barn owl with yellow eyes, gave a long low hoot. “He is great, isn’t he?”

“Yes, you chose brilliantly,” she said with a smile, placing her arm around his shoulders. “Now
you have no excuse to not write me every week,” she teased.

Daniel was relieved that his mother appeared to have calmed down since her confrontation with
Katie’s mum. It had been so long since he’d seen his mother worked up that he’d forgotten how
disconcerting it was. Usually so logical and unflappable, her swings into emotions, whether it be
anger, fury, sadness or happiness, always made him feel like he’d been dropped into a Salvador Dali
painting.

“How about an early tea at The Leaky Cauldron before we go back to Nan and Pops?”

“Sure,” Daniel replied.

After ordering their food at the bar, they settled into a booth in the back corner of the pub,
his mother being greeted by a surprising number of people along the way. He could tell that she was
as surprised about this as he was; most of them didn’t know her personally, only through her
reputation and tales of what she’d done with Harry and Ron twenty years ago. Her mixture of
confusion and amusement couldn’t hide – at least from her son – her pride in being remembered so
fondly by so many.

“I never knew you were so famous,” Daniel said once they were seated.

“Oh, I’m not famous,” she said, removing her cloak and placing it beside her on the bench.

“Seven people you don’t know just stopped you. How can you say you aren’t famous?”

“Harry’s the famous one. Ron and I just rode his coattails.”

“How did they recognise you anyway?” Daniel asked, the idea that she’d been coming to London
more than he thought creeping in.

“I haven’t changed that much, you know,” she teased. When she saw he wasn’t buying it, she
continued. “Our pictures were all over the papers, Daniel. For years. I’d imagine that Harry’s
image is burned into the wizarding world’s mind the way Winston Churchill’s is for muggles.”

“Who does that make you? The Queen?”

“No,” she said with a grin. “Maybe Princess Diana.”

“Who’s that?” Daniel asked.

Hermione chuckled and waved her hand. “Never mind.”

“Why don’t you ever talk about it? Defeating Voldemort?”

“I doubt that Harry or Ron talk about it either. It’s in the past.”

“But, it’s so cool!” Daniel said, eyes shining.

“No, it wasn’t cool, Daniel. It was terrifying. Every day I woke up afraid that this might be
the day that my best friend would be killed. It was the worst two years of my life.”

“Were you two…you know, boyfriend and girlfriend?” he asked, looking down at the table and
blushing.

“For a little while after Voldemort was killed, yes.”

“You broke up?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Before I answer, who am I talking to here? My mature son
or the petulant 11 year old.”

“Almost 12,” Daniel corrected.

“Okay then, my petulant almost 12 year old.”

“Mature 12 year old,” Daniel said.

“I don’t know how much of this you will understand, Daniel.” She leaned forward across the
table. “Remember that this all happened before I met your father, okay? It has nothing to do with
him.”

“Okay.”

She leaned back. “I loved Harry very much. I didn’t realise how much at the time. That’s not
entirely true. Maybe a part of me did, which is why I ended it.”

“*You* chucked *him*?”

“Yes. The reasons are all rather stupid now, but at the time they made complete sense.” She gave
a wry smile. “You will find that many things you do when you are younger seem stupid as you get
older.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “Trust me, you’ll see.”

Daniel watched the condensation on his glass roll down to puddle on the table. “So, you’ve
always loved him?” he asked. “But what about Dad?”

“I loved your father very much. Never in our 13 years together did I wish I was married to
someone else or love anyone else.”

“But, you just said…”

“I was 18 when Harry and I stopped seeing each other. I had no idea what love was, what it felt
like, what it meant to be in love. I know now that I was in love with Harry. I didn’t know
then.”

“How could you fall in love with Dad if you loved Harry?”

She chuckled. “I never realised this would be so difficult to explain.” She leaned forward
across the table again. “Harry and I hadn’t been together for years when I met your father. We were
friends, but nothing more. Love, romantic love, isn’t something that is everlasting. People tell
you it is, but they’re lying. It is something that has to be nurtured, protected and cherished. It
takes more than the flippy feeling in your stomach for a relationship to work. Those warm fuzzies
diminish over time.”

“Huh?”

Hermione sat back and laughed. “I guess I went a little overboard there.” She glanced at the bar
and waved. “Food’s ready. Be right back.”

“How’s your shepherd’s pie?” she asked a few minutes later, popping a chip into her mouth.

“Good,” Daniel said. “Not as good as Hogwart’s though,” he continued, washing it down with some
water. He opened his mouth, ready to ask her about Harry’s trip to Barcelona, then clamped it shut.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know about it. And part of him hoped that if he didn’t mention it,
Harry wouldn’t come. He caught the eye of a man who was walking through the pub. He was tall and
dressed from head to toe in black. His blonde, or was it gray, hair was tied at the nape of his
neck, allowing the sharp features of his face to dominate his appearance. His cool eyes flicked
over him, and the back of his mother’s head as he scanned the room. He stopped, his eyes returning
to Daniel, and turned away from Daniel toward the bar.

“Daniel, I asked you a question.”

“Sorry,” Daniel said, returning his gaze to his mum.

“Do you like Hogwarts?”

Daniel gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

“What exactly does that mean?”


“It means it’s okay.” He looked back to the man at the bar, who had turned around and was
leaning against the brass rail holding a drink with a smirk on his face. Daniel looked back at his
shepherd’s pie. He heard his mother sigh.

“Is there anything else you need to get while we are here?”

“A broom?”

“A what?” she asked, choking on her drink.

“A broom. Jo is teaching me how to fly and I’m teaching her Spanish in return.”

“No kidding?” Hermione said. “How is she doing?”

“Pretty good. Her accent is horrible, but she’s trying.”

“How are you doing on the broom?”

“Probably not as well as she’s doing in Spanish. She tells me I’m doing good, but she’s positive
about everything.”

“Even Snape?” Hermione asked with a grin.

“Well, maybe not everything,” he replied.

“You know you can’t have a broom in your first year.”

“Yes, but Theo can.”

“Doesn’t Theo have his own broom?”

“No, he doesn’t fly. He has vertigo.”

“Really?” Hermione said. “Huh.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “What kind of broom are we
talking about here?”

Sensing a weakening, Daniel went in for the kill. “Nothing too fancy. Maybe a Cleansweep
340?”

“You know the model number?” Hermione asked, amused.

“I may have been looking in catalogs with Jo.”

“Uh-huh. How much is this not too fancy broom going to set me back?”

“Ten galleons?”

She made a hissing sound and said, “An owl and a broom…well, let’s go take a look. Maybe I can
be swayed.”

Daniel bolted up from the booth and ran smack into a sea of black robes.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Hermione Granger,” he heard a drawling voice say. Daniel looked
up to see the man from the bar blocking their path. “I thought it was you. Although I’d have
thought after twenty years you would have been able to do something with that bramble you call
hair.”

“Malfoy. What an unpleasant surprise,” Hermione replied. She looked him up and down. “I see you
are going for the middle aged Death Eater look.” She made a great show of looking at his hands.
“Ah, yes. There it is. The serpent topped walking stick, just like your father. Funny. I thought
you would have had a bit more originality than that. But, of course, that would have required a bit
of independent thinking on your part, which we all know isn’t your strong suit.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. Was this really his mother talking? He’d never in his life heard her talk
to anyone like she’d talked to Katie’s mum and now this man. He had to admit, he liked it. He tried
his best not to shrink back as the man’s eyes landed on him. “This must be your son, the
Spaniard.”

“Interesting that you’d know that, Malfoy. Been keeping tabs on me?”

“The wizarding world isn’t that large, Granger. Plus, I have a son who is at Hogwarts. Don’t
flatter yourself that I care one way or another about anything to do with you.”

“You stopped us, now, didn’t you? I would have walked past you without a second glance. Which is
why we are leaving now,” she said, propelling Daniel forward with a hand in his back.

When they got into the alley, Daniel turned to his mother. “Who was that man?”

“A reprehensible man that I was at Hogwarts with. His parents were Death Eaters and died in the
final battle.”

“Wow,” Daniel said. *Malfoy, Malfoy*, he thought. “I think I know who his son is.”

“Yes, well you should probably stay away from him if at all possible.”

“He’s in Slytherin.”

“Shocking.” Hermione turned to Daniel. “What do you think of Katie? Are you around her
much?”

Daniel got uncomfortable immediately. “Not much,” he replied. “We have a couple of classes
together, but she does her best to ignore me.”

“I get the impression that she’s a lot like her mum,” Hermione said.

“They look alike,” Daniel offered.

“Let’s just hope she doesn’t act like her,” Hermione said, opening the door to Quality Quidditch
Supplies.

Thirty minutes later, twenty galleons lighter, a broom and broomstick servicing kit heavier,
they left the shop. “If you break your neck on that thing, I’ll kill you,” Hermione said putting
her gloves on.

Daniel couldn’t wipe the silly grin off his face. “That would be redundant, wouldn’t it? If I
broke my neck…,” he said, trailing off, a huge grin on his face.

“Cheeky whatsit,” Hermione said, punching him on the arm. “We have to leave now. I’m out of
money.”

“I think I’m starting to like this shopping thing,” Daniel said, carrying Panza in one hand and
his broom in the other. He didn’t know which to admire first.

“I’ll bring you next time I shop for knickers. That should cure you,” Hermione replied. Her grin
froze on her face as she stared at a newsstand.

“Mum, what’s wrong?” Daniel asked. She walked over to the newsstand, grabbed a Daily Prophet and
tossed a knut onto the stack remaining. Her face had gone pale in spite of the brittle cold that
surrounded them. Daniel looked down at the stack of remaining papers and saw a picture of Harry in
the upper left hand corner, under what appeared to be a society column. He was obviously at a
party, the dress robe and bow tie was a giveaway, as was the woman with long brown hair standing
next to him in formal shimmering green dress robes. They were laughing and looking at each other,
appearing to have the time of their lives.

Daniel looked back at his mum, his scathing remark about Harry dying on his lips at the stricken
expression on her face. Instead, he had the urge to beat the shite out of him. The last time he’d
seen his mother look so upset was after his dad died.

“Mum?” he said.

She shook her head and looked at him. Folding the paper in half and sticking it under her arm,
she gave him a fake smile and said, “Ready to go?”

He nodded and they made their way through London back to her parents’ house without speaking a
word.

**

“Welcome to Barcelona,” Hermione said with a smile, gesturing for Harry and Olivia to enter her
home.

“Wow,” Olivia said, looking around at the Spanish style home. “This is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, turning her cheek toward Harry’s advancing lips. He gave her a quick
peck and whispered, “Hi,” while his hand rubbed up her back.

“Hi,” she replied, not quite meeting his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he continued.

“Nothing,” she replied, turning her attention to Olivia. “How was your trip?”

“Uneventful.”

“My favourite kind,” Hermione said. “Daniel!” she called. “They’re here.”

Harry watched Daniel skulk down the hall toward them, his hands shoved in his pockets and a
glare directed toward Harry.

*This is going to be fun.*

“Hiya, Daniel,” Harry said with a wave.

“Hi Daniel,” Olivia offered with a smile. She looked back and forth between Hermione, Harry and
Daniel and said, “Daniel, why don’t you show me around your house.”

“Okay,” he said, looking down as his cheeks pinked up.

“I’ll make us drinks,” Hermione said, walking toward the kitchen without a backward glance.

“I’ll just stand here and look stupid,” Harry mumbled to himself as everyone walked away from
him. He walked into the kitchen to find Hermione filling the kettle with water. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied. She looked up at him, gave him a forced smile, and returned her
attention to her task.

“I never received the owl you promised to send after talking to Daniel,” he said, inching his
way around the island to stand beside her.

“I forgot.”

“Hmm,” he said. “I thought the one you received from me would have reminded you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So have I.”

“Yes, I know. How was the St. Mungo’s benefit?”

“Dreadfully dull. But we raised 20,000 galleons.”

“You looked like you were having a good time in the picture I saw.”

“What picture?”

Hermione turned and grabbed the paper from the counter behind her and dropped it in front of
Harry. “The one on the front page of the Daily Prophet.”

Harry picked it up and rolled his eyes. “God, I hate this rag. It’s been twenty years and I
can’t go to a public loo without it being front page news.” He stared at the picture and gave a
small smile. “Tonks looks pretty, doesn’t she?”

Hermione stopped, a spoonful of tea leaves hovering in her hand over the yellow ceramic tea pot
her mother had given her for her wedding. “Tonks?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “She really looks good in green. I guess I should say this version of her
looks good in green. Did you know, she picks the dress then stands in front of the mirror changing
her look until it fits? Ron says it’s how she unwinds.”

Hermione dumped the tea into the pot and snatched the paper from his hands and studied the
picture. “This is Tonks?”

“Yeah, who did you think it was?”

“I didn’t know,” Hermione said blushing. She put the paper down and turned away from Harry under
the guise of needing something from a drawer behind them. Harry looked at the picture then at
Hermione’s back and it all clicked into place.

“I didn’t tell you, did I?” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She shook her head.

“I take Tonks to all of the formal fundraisers I have to go to. She changes her appearance for
each one and goes as my date so I won’t be bothered.”

“That’s nice of her,” Hermione said in a small voice.

“She looks forward to them, unlike me. If it wasn’t for her, I would skive off of half of them.”
He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Were you jealous?” he asked.

“Maybe a little.”

“Angry?”

“Maybe a lot.”

Harry pushed her hair away from her shoulder, exposing her neck. He ran his lips up her neck and
to her ear. “You are a possessive little thing, aren’t you?”

She tilted her head away from his lips exposing her neck even more, closed her eyes and sighed.
“It’s not one of my more dominant qualities, but yes, I am.” His hand moved up to squeeze her
breast as his lips danced on the curve of her neck. “Harry, we can’t do this,” she said, without
conviction. “Daniel…Olivia…”

“You’re right,” he replied, stepping away from her. She turned around, shock and frustration in
her eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows and smirked at her.

“You are a tease, Harry Potter,” she said.

“You know, we could solve this problem.”

“What problem is that?” she asked. “Here. Make yourself useful,” she said, motioning for him to
pour the now boiling water into the tea pot.

“Move to England and you can go to the dreadfully dull fundraisers with me.”

“Is that one of the perks?”

“After you’ve been to a couple I doubt you’ll call them perks.”

“That’s not the way to convince me.”

“Convince you?” Harry said, mid pour. “I thought we’d decided.”

“We did,” she said. “It’s just…”

“Daniel,” Harry stated, resuming his task.

“He didn’t take it very well.”

“I guessed as much from the glare he shot me when we arrived.”

“He doesn’t understand how I could fall in love with Miguel if I loved you, or maybe it’s how I
could fall in love with you when I loved his dad. It’s all very confusing. He’s eleven,” she said,
stirring the tea. “Would you grab the milk?” she asked. Harry opened the refrigerator, grabbed the
milk and returned to stand beside Hermione. “How did the girls take it?”

“Olivia was fine with it, which I expected. She’s 15, after all, and thinks she understands
everything. She at least pretends to understand everything. Jo seemed stunned and a little hurt.
She gave me a hug before leaving the room rather quickly. Olivia told me she was crying.”

“Crying?!”

“She and I have always been close. She’s a little concerned about you taking me over, I
think.”

“Did you talk to her?”


“Yes. I tried to tell her that it’s different, loving your child and loving someone else, but
she just looked at me like I’d lost my mind, so I gave up.”

“I tried that, too. Daniel’s response was, ‘huh?’” Hermione said laughing.

“She’ll come around,” Harry said. “Jo loves everyone; she’ll love you, too.”

“What about Katie? How did she react?”

“She told me, after Olivia and Jo left, that she knew all along.”

“What?”

“Katie is very, very good at reading people. She could tell that day at the Three Broomsticks
that something was going on.”

“That’s impressive for an 11 year old,” Hermione said.

“I knew an 11 year old like that,” Harry replied, looking at her out of the corner of his
eyes.

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, you. Need I remind you about the time Malfoy tried to get us in trouble in first year? You
saw right through his duel challenge.”

“Speaking of Malfoy, Daniel and I saw him at The Leaky Cauldron.”

“Trying a bit hard to look like Lucius, isn’t he?”

“You think?” she asked with a laugh. She paused and looked at him. “What were we talking
about?”

“Katie.”

“Right. Was she upset?”

“No. Well, check that, if she was upset she wouldn’t let it show.”

“That’s unhealthy.”

“That’s Katie.”

“Dobby would go wild in this kitchen,” Olivia said, walking in ahead of Daniel.

“Yes he would,” Harry replied.

“Who’s Dobby?” Daniel interjected with a glare at Harry.

“Dobby is Harry’s house-elf,” Hermione said, handing a cup of tea to Olivia and Daniel.

“You have a house-elf?” Daniel said to Harry. “And you don’t care?” he shot at his mum.

“Dobby is a special case,” Hermione said, grinning at Harry.

“I pay him,” Harry replied to Daniel.

“Harry will have plenty of time to explain to you about Dobby,” Hermione said walking around the
counter. “I need to get to the hospital. Are you ready Olivia?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, I can’t wait!”

Hermione went over to Daniel, kissed him on the forehead and whispered something in his ear.
Daniel gave a patented adolescent eyeroll and shrugged himself free of his mother’s grip. “You two
have fun,” she said with a furtive glance back at Harry. He gave her an encouraging smile that he
didn’t feel and watched them leave the kitchen. He heard the door close and silence descended over
the house.

Daniel was looking everywhere but at Harry. “Dobby was…”

“I don’t care about Dobby,” Daniel snapped, his eyes boring into Harry.

“Okay,” Harry replied. “It’s a boring story anyway.” Harry shoved his hands in the pockets of
his trousers. “What would you like to do?”

“Nothing with you,” he replied.

“You look like you want to ground me to a pulp.” Harry raised one eyebrow when Daniel didn’t
reply. “Well, now we’re getting somewhere. Reckon you could?”

“Could what?”

“Ground me to a pulp?”

Daniel scoffed. “No.”

Harry stood up straight and flexed his arms in front of him. “My muscles are intimidating,
aren’t they?”

“In your dreams.”

Harry pretended to deflate. “I’m a puny Limey, aren’t I? Go on, you can say it. I’ve seen these
macho Spaniards around here.” He leaned forward a bit and said in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Frankly, they are all a bit scary.” Harry saw maybe a little crack in Daniel’s tough façade and
hurried forward lest his progress be lost. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stick
around here and be glowered at all day. Why don’t you and I get our brooms and go flying. You can
send me hateful looks the entire time and I won’t care.”

“You don’t have your broom.”

“Don’t I?” Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows and walking past Daniel. He didn’t look back,
confident that Daniel would follow. Hoping he would follow, more like it.

He opened up his duffle and pulled out a toy broomstick, barely six inches long. Daniel watched
as Harry made a great show of waving his wand.” The broomstick enlarged to normal size and hovered
just in front of Harry. He could tell that Daniel was impressed in spite of himself.

“Jo told me that you are quite good. I thought you could get some practice in since I know your
mum won’t go flying with you. Jo’s really sorry she couldn’t come, by the way. She and Theo have
had this Quidditch match planned for months.”

“I know,” Daniel said.

“That reminds me,” Harry said, pulling a letter out of his back pocket with Jo’s neat block
script on the front. “She wanted me to give this to you.”

Daniel took the letter with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

“So, how about it? Want to grab your broom?”

“Okay,” Daniel said. He turned half-way down the hall and said, “You want to owl Olivia and Mum
to meet us for dinner after?”

“Sure, that sounds like fun. I’m not too familiar with restaurants around here.”

“I know just the place,” Daniel said with a smile. “We can use Panza, my owl.”

“I’ll start the note while you get your broom and Panza.”

Harry went into Hermione’s library and opened the drawer to her desk where he knew parchment and
quills were located. He started the note then called out to Daniel. “What’s the name of the
café?”

“Javier’s. It’s Mum’s favorite,” Daniel said, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, didn’t realise you were right there,” Harry said with a smile. He finished the note,
returned the quill to its drawer and closed it. He folded it and looked up to see Daniel standing
there, staring at the desk with a peculiar expression on his face.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked.

Daniel shook his head and replied, “Fine.” He leveled a stare at Harry. “Everything is just
fine.”

**

It all seemed like a good idea a few days ago.

Daniel stood outside Javier’s, feeling like a nest of snakes was slithering inside his stomach.
Harry was holding the door open, broom in hand, hair wind-tossed and cheeks flushed from exertion.
He gave Daniel an encouraging, friendly and – bloody hell! - nice smile before saying, “Well, come
on,” and nodding at the open door.

Daniel marched in, feeling as if he was going to his death. No, he wished he were dead.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he’d had a great day with Harry. He understood Jo’s hero
worship because, damn it, the guy was cool. Which just infuriated Daniel even more. Besides the
fact that Harry was stealing his mother from him, Daniel couldn’t find a fault with the guy. He
held onto that one thing, and it was a big thing to an eleven year old, to stoke his ire just a
bit. He couldn’t give in this easy. *Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan.* His mantra worked
and he regained a bit of the sullen attitude he’d had upon Harry’s arrival as they sat down at a
table, although not enough to inure him from the guilt he would feel later.

“Nice place,” Harry said, looking around.

Daniel grunted in response, unable to look at Harry.

*Stick to the plan. He doesn’t deserve Mum.*

“What’s good?” Harry said, looking at a menu.

*Stick to the plan. He’s not good enough for her.*

*Well, he was all right to you. I didn’t see anything wrong with him.*

*Shut up. He’s not Dad.*

*Neither is Andres.*

*Shut up. Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan.*

“Here’s Hermione and Olivia!” Harry said, half raising out of his chair and waving.

“Hi you two,” Hermione said as Harry kissed her on the cheek. “You look rather windswept,” she
said, looking at the two brooms propped against the wall.

“We went flying,” Harry said.

“Obviously,” Hermione replied. “You smell like it, too,” she continued, wrinkling her nose.

Harry elbowed Daniel, jostling the snakes around even more. “She thinks we stink.”

“She’s right,” Olivia said, sitting down beside Daniel and holding her nose.

“I’m surprised you chose this restaurant,” Hermione said.

“Really?” Harry said, clueless. “Why? I thought it was your favourite.”

Hermione cocked her head. “Didn’t Daniel tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Harry said, looking at Daniel.

“This is where Miguel and I met. It was his café.”

“No kidding,” Harry said, looking around. Daniel wanted to sink into the floor.

“No kidding,” Hermione repeated. “He moved into a larger space a few years after we married. His
sous chef stayed here and opened his own café.”

“Let me guess,” Harry said. “His name is Javier.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned at him. “You are too quick. We’ve been coming here for
years. There are, of course, sentimental reasons, but mainly because the food is so good.”

“Great to hear. I’m starving,” Harry said, looking at the menu.

“Daniel, you’ve heard it enough, why don’t you tell the story of how your dad and I met.”

He shook his head, staring at the grain of the wooden table.

“No, I think you should,” his mother’s voice said, taking on an edge. “Isn’t that why we’re
here?” He looked up at her and saw through the good humour in her eyes to the irritation lurking
beneath the surface. He knew he was in for it when they left. “You obviously wanted us to re-live
the memory. I think it should come from you.”

Daniel looked over at Olivia, who was studying her serviette, embarrassed for him. Harry sat
back and folded his arms across his chest in a guise of interested nonchalance. His mother was
sitting bolt upright in her chair staring straight at him.

“Mum came in here for lunch on the first day she was in Barcelona. Dad offered to take her
around as her tour guide. She said okay.”

Harry sat up and clapped his hands together. “Nice story. Let’s order,” he said, waving at the
waiter.

“What, Daniel? No embellishment? No talk about how we fell madly in love over *A*
*Magical History of Barcelona*?”

“Hermione, it’s okay,” Harry said. “So this is where you met your husband. Big deal. Let’s just
drop it.”

Hermione unfolded her serviette and put it in her lap. “Really, Daniel. This is immature even
for you.”

“Hermione, drop it,” Harry said.

And to Daniel’s surprise, she did, but not before giving Harry her best death stare which Harry
returned, before giving her a wink. Daniel’s eyes volleyed back to his mother and he saw that her
stare had cracked into a challenging smirk.

“So, what’s good?” Harry asked Daniel.

For a moment Daniel felt a surge of affection for Harry, one he hadn’t felt for an adult other
than his mother in a long time. That feeling was cut short by the arrival of his
co-conspirator.

He didn’t have to turn around to know the moment Andres walked into the café. For one, the
patrons at the bar all began chattering and greeting him like the long lost son that he was. The
second giveaway was the way his mother’s face turned to stone.

“Hermione! Daniel!” Andres said.

“Hello, Andres,” Hermione said glaring at Daniel

“Olivia,” Andres said, nodding in her direction. “Good to see you again.”

“Hello, Healer Duran,” Olivia said, a pink tinge colouring her cheeks.

“Call me Andres,” he said, pulling a chair from an adjacent table, placing it between Hermione
and Harry and sitting down. He looked at Harry and said, “How’s the dragon fighting business,
Harry?”

Harry sat back and placed his ankle on his knee, grabbing the back of Daniel’s chair, forming a
bridge between the two of them with his arm. “Excellent. Never better.”

Andres’ eyes moved between Daniel and Harry and back. “Daniel, what did you do today while your
mami was giving Olivia a tour of St. Jordi’s.”

“We went flying,” Harry said.

“Did you, Daniel?”

He tried to talk, but the knot in his throat was too large. Somehow he managed to nod his head
and grunt in assent. He took a drink of his water and said, “Yes, we did.”

“Did you have fun?” Hermione asked in a bright voice.

“Yeah, we did,” Daniel said looking at Harry. “It was fun.”

Harry gave him a smile and continued. “I brought a snitch and we wasted about two hours looking
for the bloody thing,” he said laughing. “Daniel finally caught it.”

“He let me catch it,” Daniel said.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Jo was right when she said you were a quick study.”

“I agree that you don’t give yourself enough credit,” Andres interjected. “Your father was a
very good flyer. I’m sure you come by your talent naturally.”

“I’d hoped that you wouldn’t like flying,” Hermione said. “It was bad enough watching and
worrying about Ron and Harry flying around like madmen. I can’t imagine the nervous wreck I’ll be
watching my only son dodging bludgers.”

“I doubt I’ll ever be good enough to make the house team,” Daniel said.

“Sure you will,” Andres said. “I seem to remember a five year old boy practicing for hours until
he learned how to write his name perfectly.”

“Wonder where he got that trait?” Harry said with a grin at Hermione, who promptly stuck out her
tongue at him.

“Jo told me you were doing well in flying, which you are, but she wouldn’t say how well she is
doing with her Spanish lessons,” Harry said. “So. How is she doing?”

“Very good,” Daniel said, embellishing a bit out of loyalty to his best friend. He felt for her
letter that he’d stuffed in his front pocket. He had the sudden urge to read it, any excuse to
escape the table. “Excuse me,” he said standing up abruptly. “I need to go to the…” He trailed off
at the sight of Olivia looking at him with a look of amused expectation on her face. He turned on
his heel and walked as fast as he could without running to the lavatory.

He latched the door and turned around, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A boy, his
olive skin paler than normal, with dark curly hair spilling across his forehead met his gaze.
“Bastard,” he said.

He pulled the wrinkled parchment out of his pocket and broke the seal, opening it for the first
time.

Daniel –


Bit of a shock, eh? Our parents are dating. What do you think about it? I think it’s just weird.
They don’t see each other for years, or really even speak, then all of a sudden they are the love
of each other’s life? Obviously, they aren’t telling us something. Even **I** know you don’t go
from one to the other that quickly. Maybe they don’t think we will understand. Maybe we won’t.
Maybe they don’t understand. Honestly, I don’t think I want to understand. Don’t get me wrong, your
mum seems really nice. Much nicer than mine, that’s for sure.


I’m sorry I’m not there. Well, that’s a lie. I want to be there to talk to you because I think
we probably feel about the same about this. But, I don’t really want to see my dad making goo-goo
eyes at your mum. I’m not quite ready for that. Plus, I can’t pass up seeing Pride versus the
Cannons. Anyway, Dad said that you and your mum are invited to the Weasleys’ New Year’s Eve do, so
I guess I’ll see you (and the goo-goo eyes) in a few days anyway.


Be nice to my dad. I think he’s nervous about you liking him. He asked me all kinds of questions
about you. It was really kind of funny, honestly.


Know the first thing that went through my mind when he told us? That you and I are going to be
brother and sister. Weird, all the way around.


Jo

Daniel folded the letter and returned it to his pocket, relieved that he wasn’t the only one
concerned about this match. There was one difference in Jo’s reaction, however; it had never
occurred to Daniel that this would move past dating. Either Harry had told them something his
mother hadn’t told him, or Jo was jumping to conclusions. He hoped it was the latter.

He walked to the sink and washed his hands, splashing cold water on his face. He ran his dried
hands through his hair and took a deep breath, resigning himself to returning to the table, hoping
that Andres had left.

He hadn’t.

“We were beginning to wonder about you, Daniel,” Andres said when he returned. “Thought you
might have fallen in.”

Daniel gave him a weak smile and wished he would leave. He felt horrible about this entire
scheme. Thinking on it now, he didn’t even see the point. What were he and Andres trying to prove?
Either Harry was an excellent actor, or he was unaffected by Andres’ arrival. He was still sitting,
relaxed and laughing at something Olivia said, acting as if Andres didn’t exist.

“Well, I’d best be going,” Andres said. “I’ve imposed long enough.” He stood up and looked at
Hermione. “I’m glad I caught you. I was going to have to send you an owl. I need you to come in
early tomorrow. Five a.m.”

“What?” Hermione said. “Why?”

“Healer Sampedro had a family emergency. Couldn’t be avoided.”

“And of all the healers…,” Hermione started. Andres looked at her, eyebrows raised in challenge.
She narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”

“Have a nice evening,” Andres said. He bowed to Olivia and gave her a wink, prompting her to
blush once again and Harry to sit up in his chair.

A waiter materialized from thin air. “Are you ready to order?”

Hermione smiled at him and replied, “Yes, we are.”

After a tense meal, peppered with overly cheery talk, they paid the bill and were standing on
the sidewalk in front of the café when Hermione said, “Harry, would you take Olivia and Daniel back
to the house? I have something I need to do.”

“Sure,” he said, a puzzled look on his face.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips before saying, “I love you.” She looked directly
at Daniel for the first time since before Andres’ arrival. “We’ll talk when I get home,” she said
before disapparating.

The three of them walked away from the café, leaving Daniel’s heart splattered all over the
sidewalk.

**

“Hola, Hermione,” Andres said as he opened the door to his flat. “I was wondering if you might
show up.”

“You knew very well that I’d be here.”

“You *are* predictable.”

“As are you, Andres. The difference is you are predictable in an immature,
I’m-not-getting-what-I-want, sort of way.”

“Meaning you’re the epitome of maturity?”

“I certainly wouldn’t encourage an 11 year old’s feeble plan to sabotage a relationship,
no.”

“Who said it was Daniel’s plan?”

“If it was yours that’s even worse. What were you thinking?”

Andres shrugged. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“If you wanted to talk, all you had to do was ask. Need I remind you that you’ve been the one
avoiding me for the past few months?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Continue to delude yourself, Andres. I don’t care
anymore.”

“Did you ever?”

“Not in the way you wanted.”

“If you don’t care, have never cared, then what are you doing here?” Andres said, taking a step
closer to her. “Why aren’t you with the dragon slayer?”

“Because this has to stop.”

“What is that?” he said, moving closer still.

“You telling yourself that you feel more for me than you do.”

“And, how do you know what I feel for you?”

He was standing barely a foot from her, invading her personal space, exuding a raw energy that
she remembered from his brother, his glittering eyes staring at her lips.

“You’ve been giving me longing looks for years, Andres. I may not be the most outwardly
emotional person on the planet, but I’m not an idiot.”

“You married my brother, didn’t you?”

Hermione stepped back from him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Andres shrugged again. “I’ve always held you in the highest regard, Hermione. You know that. You
are almost everything I could want in a woman. Except, you married my brother. You fell for his
charms in less than a week. It is, honestly, the one inconsistency about you.”

“I loved Miguel.”

“You loved how Miguel made you feel. We both know that you and I are the more compatible
pair.”

Hermione laughed. “So what are you saying? That I was married to Miguel while secretly wishing
I’d married his vain and arrogant brother?”

“I know you’ve thought about it. Don’t deny it. All those times that Miguel didn’t live up to
your expectations and I was there, commiserating with you, encouraging you, the thought went
through your mind that you should have married me.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but no, that thought never entered my mind.” She crossed her arms
over her chest. “Tell me. What are you hoping to accomplish here? Do you think that by insulting
and berating me that I’ll suddenly realise my love for you?”

“No, the question is, and has been since you walked through that door, what are you doing here?”
He moved closer to her. “Why did you come if you hold me in such low regard?” he whispered.

“I came to put a stop to this nonsense.”

“Really?” he asked, running his finger down her jaw. “You see, I think you want me to kiss you.
I think you are still not sure about the dragon slayer. You tell yourself you are, but if you were,
you wouldn’t have walked through that door.”

“There are two things I am sure about. One is my love for Harry. The other is that the only
reason you want me, that you’ve *ever* wanted me, is because you can’t have me. Why now?
You’ve had plenty of time to make your move and you chose now. I’ll tell you why; because I’m
unavailable. You, Andres, are a coward.” She pushed past him, toward the door.

Later she would laugh at the melodrama that unfolded. In fact, she would read the exact scene on
page 292 in Lavender Brown’s twenty-first romance novel and wonder if Andres had a penchant for
trashy romance that he kept hidden.

He grabbed her hand and yanked her back into his arms before capturing her mouth with his. It
wasn’t a sweet kiss or even a passionate kiss. It was a kiss full of anger and frustration: the
kiss of a petulant boy who wasn’t getting his way. She felt the ridges of his teeth through his
lips. His tongue had forced its way into her mouth and was darting around before she realised what
was happening. Her disgust abated as she tasted a hint of Miguel and a pang of hidden longing for
her husband stabbed her heart. She clamped her jaws together, her teeth coming down hard on his
slippery tongue. The next thing she tasted was blood.

“Son of a bitch!” he said, pushing her away and dabbing at his tongue with his hand. A streak of
red painted his finger and dribbled down his bottom lip. “That was uncalled for.”

“You are a fool, Andres. I don’t want you. I never have and I never will. It ends right
here.”

“It ends when I say it ends,” he yelled.

“You have a choice,” Hermione continued. “You can let this go or not. But what you choose will
determine whether or not you see Daniel again.”

His face went ash white. It was a low blow, she knew it, but it was the only thing she had. “You
can’t do that.”

“Watch me.” Hermione crossed her arms. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life worrying
about how you are going to try to sabotage Daniel’s and my happiness.”

“Daniel will never accept Harry as his father,” Andres said with scorn.

“I don’t expect him to, and neither does Harry. But, they won’t be able to have any kind of
relationship if you are standing in the middle trying to exert a hold on him out of a sense of
responsibility to Miguel.”

“I do have a responsibility to him. And you! Miguel was my brother! I promised to take care of
you as if you were my family.”

Hermione paused a beat before saying, “We’re moving to England.”

His eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“We’re moving.”

He stared at her with a blank expression of disbelief on his face before dropping heavily into a
nearby chair. “You…you can’t.”

Hermione sat down on the adjacent sofa and crossed her legs. “I have to. This isn’t my home. My
friends aren’t here. My family.”

“I’m your family,” he said, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “You are my family.”

“Andres, listen to me. I have no friends here. Our friends were Miguel’s friends. You are my
only friend. You have been great, wonderful, but nothing more will come of it. We will always be
what we are, brought together by marriage, but with no real connection. I need more. You need more.
I’ve found more,” she whispered.

He covered his mouth with his hand and looked away. His anguish, and that was the only word for
it, took her by surprise. For the first time, Hermione wondered if she hadn’t read the situation,
his feelings, incorrectly. She didn’t doubt her feelings for him, but this wasn’t the reaction of a
man that simply wanted something because he couldn’t have it. She didn’t know what to say.

They sat in silence, each avoiding looking at the other. “Does Daniel know?”

“That we are moving? No. I wanted him to get used to the idea of us dating first. I suppose I’ll
need to tell him now.”

“I won’t tell him, Hermione. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thanks, but I might as well get it over with. Maybe it will be better if he has a few months to
get used to the idea.”

He turned to look at her. “Would you be moving if it wasn’t for Harry?”

She nodded. “I’ve wanted to move since after Miguel died. I waited because I knew Daniel didn’t
need any more drastic life changes. Being with Harry has made me realise how much I miss England
and my old friends.”

He nodded and looked down. “When?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a job there, or a place to live.”

He turned to face her. “Won’t you live with Harry?”

It was on the tip of her tongue, to tell him the extent of their plans, but instead she said,
“Eventually.”

He nodded and she knew that he understood. “Well, I will give you a perfectly dreadful
recommendation.”

She smiled, relieved that he was at least attempting to resume his usual bantering demeanor with
her. “I expected no less.”

She stood, grabbed her handbag and walked to the door. Her hand on the knob, she said,
“Andres…”

“Don’t say it. We both know you don’t mean it.”

She opened the door and heard him continue. “I lied about Healer Sampedro.”

“I know,” she replied, walking out the door and closing it with a soft click.



7. Chapter 6 Part 2
-------------------

**Chapter 6**

**Part 2**

“Up for a game of wizard chess?” Harry asked as soon as they walked through the door to Daniel’s
house.

“No, thanks,” Daniel replied, walking down the hallway to his room.

He closed the door and fell face first onto his bed.

I’m dead.

He turned over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, willing his mind to shut off. When that
didn’t work, he concentrated on turning back time so that he could suggest another restaurant. He
rolled over and stared at his clock and watched the minutes slip by, unaffected by his plight.

He was more than a little scared of his mother. Formidable was the term his father used to
describe her, but always with an admiring grin, as if she was a challenge to overcome. He was too
young to understand at the time what ‘formidable’ meant, or why it made his father smile, but it
made sense all of a sudden. He’d seen the same grin on Harry’s face at the café. He didn’t
understand the appeal. Daniel thought she was rather frightening when provoked and much prefered
the easygoing mum he’d grown accustomed to.

He listened to the noises of the house as he lay there, predicting his doom. He heard the door
to the lavatory open…

*His mum threw open his door, hair wild like Medusa’s, eyes glowing yellow and rimmed in
black, lightning erupting from her fingertips…*

Running water, followed by footsteps going past his door…

*“You have no idea how formidable I can be…,” she said, her voice a deep growl echoing around
his room as she raised her hands in front of her…*

Olivia’s laughter, joined by Harry’s.

*“They are laughing at you, you know,” his mother said, walking toward him. His hair stood up
on his head as the electricity emitting from her fingertips got closer and closer. “They think you
are a silly little boy, and so do I!” she cried, pointing her hands toward his broom, which was
discarded on the floor.*

*“No!” he said as he watched his broom erupt into flames.*

“Daniel?”

He bolted upright in bed and looked around, dazed, expecting to see his evil mum standing in
front of him. Instead, he saw a darkened room. He looked at the clock and saw that two hours had
passed in the blink of an eye.

He heard a knock on the door and heard his mum’s voice. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and replied in a stronger voice. “Sure.”

He was relieved to see his normal, non-intimidating mum standing in the threshold of the door.
“Hi,” she said, closing the door behind her.

“Hi,” he replied staring at his doomed broomstick. “Where did you go?”

“Where do you think?”

Daniel bit down a flare of irritation. He hated it when she answered a question with a question.
But, seeing as how he had been a complete prat for the last few hours, he thought it best to bite
his tongue. “To see Andres.”

She nodded. “And I walked around for a while.” She sat on the opposite edge of the bed. “Daniel,
I understand why you did it.”

*Good. Then explain it to me*, he thought.

“I guess I never realised that you…” She paused and cleared her throat. “Daniel, Andres and I,
we aren’t ever going to be *together*. He’s been a great friend to me, but he can’t take the
place of your dad. No matter how much he looks like him, he isn’t Miguel.”

“I know,” Daniel murmured. He tipped over and lay on his side, pulling his knees to his chest.
He felt tears sting his eyes and his heart constrict. Hermione kicked her shoes off and lay down
behind him, draping her arm across his chest in a comforting embrace. He swallowed, not wanting his
mum to know he was crying.

“I’m sorry, Daniel. I know this isn’t easy for you. You’ve had to go through so much in your
short life,” she whispered. “You know I’d do anything in the world for you, don’t you?”

He nodded his head, sure that he couldn’t talk just then.

“Everything I’ve done, everything your dad and I did before he died, we did with you first and
foremost in our mind. It’s strange,” she said in the voice of someone voicing private thoughts
aloud. “Being a parent makes you realise how selfish you are while at the same time you completely
give yourself up for your children.” Her voice became stronger, but no less tender. “This is one
time that I’m going to be selfish Daniel. I love Harry. It amazes me every day. I never thought I’d
feel this way about another man.”

Daniel sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out what she was saying.

“You have to be mature for me here, Daniel,” she said, pulling him to her chest. “I need to be
able to tell you this and for you to try to understand it, even if you can’t completely accept it
just yet. Can you do that for me?”

He nodded in response.

“Thank you,” she said, kissing the back of his head. “What I feel for Harry will never change
what I feel for you. It is two completely different kinds of love. And, it will never change what I
felt for your dad. It won’t make your dad’s memory less important. It will never keep us from
remembering how perfect our family was.” When he didn’t respond, she squeezed him against her
chest. “You still with me?”

“Yeah.”

“I used to hate it when my parents said this to me, but it’s true. When you get older, you’ll
understand. When you fall in love, this will all make much more sense.”

Daniel held his tongue but silently agreed with her; he did hate it when she said that.

“Harry said you two had fun today. Did you?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“He likes you very much, you know.”

“Did he say that?” Daniel asked, excitement blooming in his chest.

“Men don’t come out and say that kind of stuff, you know that. But the look on his face when he
was telling me about what the two of you did today was pretty easy to read. He did say that he’s
looking forward to spending more time with you. The question is, what did you think of him?”

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. “He was okay.”

“I’ll tell him you gave him a glowing review,” she said with humour evident in her voice.

“Okay,” he said. Daniel threaded his fingers through his mother’s, and tightened his grip on
her. He remembered how, when he was very young, and then again after his dad died, that this had
been the way he’d fallen asleep every night. He knew he was too old for this, but he didn’t want to
let go of her hand just yet, the inarticulate thought in the back of his mind that these moments of
solitude with his mother would end once they became a part of Harry’s family.

“Jo wrote me a letter,” he said.

“Did she?”

“She said the first thing that went through her mind was that we would be brother and
sister.”

“Hmm,” Hermione replied.

“Are you and Harry going to get married?”

“We’ve talked about it.”

“Oh.”

“This all seems fast to you, doesn’t it? You leave for school and everything is one way, and
when you come home for the holidays your world has been turned on its ear.”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Do you think I’m old?”

“What?” he asked, letting go of her hand and turning onto his back.

She propped her head in her hand and looked at him with an amused expression. “Compared to you.
Do you think I’m old?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No, and I won’t get angry if you say yes. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

“Then no, you aren’t old,” Daniel said suppressing a grin.

“Liar,” she said, tickling his stomach. “To you, all this has happened in only a few months. But
I’ve known Harry since I was your age. That’s a long time — over twenty-five years.”

“You *are* old,” Daniel replied.

“Watch it,” she replied, poking him in the chest. “When I started spending time with Harry
again, it was like no time had passed. This relationship has been on hold, waiting, biding its time
until we were both mature enough to accept it.”

Daniel stared at the ceiling, trying and failing to imagine himself, Jo and Theo twenty-five
years from now. Hermione lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling with him. “Hard to fathom,
isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

She moved from side to side. “I don’t remember your bed being this cramped before. I guess
you’re getting too big for this.” She looked at him. “I refuse to believe that I’m the one getting
bigger.” She nudged his shoulder with hers.

He grinned and rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying a word,” he said.

“Good boy,” she replied. She tucked her right arm under her head and stared at the ceiling
again. “There’s something else we need to talk about.”

“Okay.”

“I want to move back to England.”

He was too stunned to speak. What was most surprising to him wasn’t his mum’s revelation; a part
of him expected something like this. Later, when thinking on it, he would realise that the seed had
been planted after he read Jo’s letter. No, what surprised him the most was his lack of reaction to
it. He didn’t feel a stab of anger or jealousy or animosity toward his mother, Harry or any other
adult that he’d ever met. His mum obviously thought his silence was a bad sign and she immediately
began her explanations.

“I know this is a shock, but England is my home. When you are in school, I’m here, alone in this
big house. Merlin, it’s awful. It isn’t as if we won’t come back to visit. We can come for holiday
in the summer, and I’m sure that Andres would love for you to visit at Christmas.”

He could tell she was getting some momentum behind her justifications and knew that if he didn’t
head her off soon he’d be listening for a while. “I get it, Mum. I understand,” he interrupted.

“You…you do?”

“Yeah. Why would Harry move here?”

“We aren’t moving because of Harry,” she said.

“Mum, come on. You just spent thirty minutes explaining about you and Harry.”

“Well, yes, but I’ve wanted to move back to England for a while.”

“And now you have a reason to,” Daniel finished for her. He started to ask where they were going
to live, but stopped short. He decided that he didn’t really want to think about the fact that he
might have to live with Katie Potter in a few short months. He swung his legs off the bed and stood
up. There was only so much sharing she could expect from an 11 year old. “What’s my punishment?” he
asked, catching a glimpse of his broom.

“Your punishment?” Hermione asked, befuddled with the abrupt change in subject.

“Yeah, for…you know, Javiers.”

“Oh, that,” Hermione said standing on the other side of the bed. “Well,” she said, her eyes
following his to his broom. “I reckon you had a bit of encouragement for the whole thing from
Andres. I’d like to delude myself that you wouldn’t have gone through with it alone.” She walked
around the bed and picked up his broom. She hefted it in her hand and held it out to him.
“Here.”

He reached out for it and she pulled it back. “From now on, talk to us; don’t try to manipulate
us. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it,” he said, taking the broom.

She walked forward and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him so tight he almost couldn’t
breathe. “I love you so much. Nothing and no one will ever change that.” She pulled away and held
him at arm’s length. “Ever. Do you understand me?” she challenged.

Daniel looked at the ground, guilt from his earlier stunt washing over him, and nodded his head.
He looked up at her familiar, comforting face. “I love you, too, Mum.”

One corner of her lip curled up into a smile. “Good. Now, you need to get to bed, after you take
a shower. You stink,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said,
opening the door to his room. “Good night.”

“Night, Mum,” he said with a small wave and watched as the sliver of light from the hallway
disappeared when the door closed.

**

“Merlin help me,” Hermione said walking into the parlour where Harry was sitting on the sofa
waiting for her. She twirled around and plopped down, kicking her feet up on the arm of the sofa,
her head landing in Harry’s lap.

“How did it go?” Harry asked, running his hand through her curly hair as was his habit.

“Better than I expected,” she said, eyes closed. “It’s true that nothing prepares you for being
a parent.”

“Nope,” Harry said, watching her face relax as he continued to stroke her hair. “But the good
times outweigh the bad.”

“Hmm,” she said, holding his hand that was resting on her stomach. “I’m ready for some good
times.”

*That can be arranged*, Harry thought, looking down the length of her body. “Give it some
time,” he said instead. “Tired?”

“Exhausted. Mentally, physically and emotionally.” She opened her eyes. “I told him about
England.”

“What did he say?”

She smiled. “He said he understood.”

“Did he?”

“I was as surprised as you are.”

“Do you believe him?”

She gave her shoulder a slight shrug. “Yes and no. I think he’s trying to make up for tonight.
But I also think that he likes you in spite of himself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, affronted.

Hermione sat up, tucking her feet under her bum. She picked up Harry’s arm and draped it around
her shoulders and nestled into his side before placing her head on his shoulder. “I’m sure he tried
very hard to hate you. Luckily for us you are a very likeable bloke. When I figured out what was
going on at Javier’s, I saw how mortified he was about it all. If he still disliked you, he
wouldn’t have cared. He definitely wouldn’t have run off to the loo.”

“I am likeable, aren’t I?” Harry said.

“And so modest, too.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Can I tell you how much I love
you?”

“By all means,” he said, studying the little golden flecks interspersed in her dark brown
eyes.

She squinted one eye and looked up as if in thought. “More than all the books I’ve ever
read.”

“Not more than all the books in the world?”

“Same thing,” she said with a grin.

“Wow,” he said, eyes wide. “That’s a lot.”

“I have a great capacity.”

“For reading or love?”

“Both. But here I’m talking about love.”

“Good.” He traced her jaw with his fingertips. “Think it’s safe to kiss you?” he whispered.

“Where’s Olivia?” she said, eyes on his lips.

“She grabbed a book from those shelves,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the professional
books, “and disappeared into her room a little while ago. Where’s Daniel?”

“In the shower or in bed,” she replied, placing her lips on his.

*Let them walk in on us. If she doesn’t care, I don’t either*, Harry thought before losing
himself in her. He pulled her closer, the sensations and feelings that were part and parcel of his
daily fantasies becoming real and urgent. His hand ran down her neck and across her chest, pausing
to trace the outline of her breast, before moving across her stomach and down her thigh, resting on
her knee for a beat before continuing back up. His fingers traced the seam of her trousers between
her legs, pressing down harder on each pass. Hermione groaned before nipping his lip between her
teeth and pulling away.

“We can’t do *that*,” she said, breathing heavily. “Not yet, anyway. Let’s give him a
little longer to get to sleep,” she whispered. “And move this from the parlour to the bedroom,” she
finished, wiggling her eyebrows.

He moved his hand and kissed her again. “Here’s hoping he falls asleep quickly.”

“No kidding,” Hermione replied with a grin, settling her head on his shoulder once again.

They sat in silence, watching the fire and enjoying the luxury of being together. Their
separations were becoming more and more difficult for Harry to handle. When he wasn’t with her, he
thought of little else. When he *was* with her, he was so distracted by their looming
separation and his unquenchable desire to have her that he rarely enjoyed the mundane everyday
aspects of their relationship. As a result, he missed these times when he was away from her —
sitting with each other, not talking…just being. A restless energy would overtake him and he would
spend hours on meaningless tasks, trying and failing to occupy his mind until he realised that it
was useless; until she was there, with him day in and day out, he would never be content.

“Hermione, I need you with me, all the time.”

She sat up and looked at him. “What?”

He was as stunned as she was at his revelation. Not at the idea, but the fact that he’d voiced
it and in such a direct way. Now he struggled to explain, knowing that he would most likely fail
and sound like a needy boy. He resigned himself to giving up any power he had in the relationship
by laying bare every insecure desire he possessed.

“I’m miserable when we aren’t together. I’m constantly thinking about you and what you are
doing, wondering if you are thinking about me, fantasising about what I’m going to do to you when I
see you. I’m scared to death that something is going to happen to keep us apart, that you are going
to wise up and dump me for someone more intelligent or handsome, or someone who’s better at
Quidditch.”

“Yes, Quidditch ability is high on my list of attractive qualities.”

“Don’t take the piss,” he said. “I’m serious. Okay, maybe not about the Quidditch, but
everything else. I don’t want to be separated from you anymore. We’ve told the kids, now what? We
never got past this point in the plan.”

“Why the sudden urgency?”

“I just told you why. I’ll do whatever I need to do, but the couple of days together each week
isn’t enough anymore. At least for me.” He watched her face, recognising the look of concentration
she’d worn so many times during their years at Hogwarts. “Maybe it’s enough for you,” he said when
she didn’t speak.

Her gaze darted to him. “No, don’t be silly. Of course it’s not. I don’t have a job in England
and, as much as I love you, I can’t move without a job.”

“Is it about money?”

She laughed. “No, it isn’t about money.” She turned to face him fully, crossing her legs in
front of her. “Here is the thing. I don’t mind living together without being married. I’m not that
conservative. But I can’t move in with you without having a job. Everyone would think that I was
moving just to be with you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asked. “Or do you not want people to know how much you love
me?” He tried to shift away from her but was caught between her and the arm of the sofa.

“No, Harry, it’s not like that,” she said, with not enough conviction for Harry’s taste.

“Then what’s it like?” he asked crossing his arms.

“For one thing, I can’t imagine not having a job, even if it’s only for a few months. Working,
being a healer, is too much a part of me, of who I am. I would feel incomplete without it. So even
if I take time off between, which I plan on doing by the way, I have to have a job lined up in
order to enjoy the time away.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“Other thing?”

“You said, ‘for one thing.’ What’s the other thing?”

She furrowed her brow in concentration. “I don’t know that there is another thing,” she thought
aloud. “No, that’s pretty much it. I have to have a job. I can’t move to England without a job. It
has nothing to do with what you said. We’ll be living together, won’t we? You can’t get much more
public about our feelings than that.”

“How long is this going to take?” Harry asked.

“No idea. I can make inquiries now that the kids know about us.”

Harry nodded, looking at the fire, lost in thought. “Then I’ll move here in the meantime. I’ve
always wanted to be a kept man,” he said with a grin.

“You’d do that?”

“Be a kept man? Sure,” he replied, shying away from the playful punch she delivered to his arm.
“I can work from here. Ginny can owl me whatever I need. She does most of the work anyway. She just
asks my opinion to humour me.”

“Won’t you be bored here, without your friends?”

“It’s only going to be temporary. We are looking at a couple of months at the most, right?”

“Right. Most likely.”

“I imagine I can find a pick-up Quidditch game somewhere here.”

“Uh-oh, it’s already happening. You’re going to abandon me for Quidditch.”

“Not for a few weeks, at least.”

She grabbed his face and pulled him into a dramatic, smacking kiss. “Thank you for
understanding,” she said, a beaming smile on her face.

“You’re welcome.” He looked over her shoulder and out the door. “Reckon he’s asleep yet?”

“Doubt it,” she replied.

“Damn.”

“I’ll go check,” she said, standing up.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap. “Not yet,” he said. “I have an idea.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll just bet you do.”

“No, get your mind out of the gutter. About finding a job in England.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Okay, what?”

“I get the impression from what Ernie’s been saying that Susan is getting burned out at St.
Mungo’s.”

“Or maybe Ernie is getting tired of Susan spending all her time at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione
interjected.

“Could be. Regardless, what if you talk to Susan about opening a private practice?”

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she stared off into space. “That’s a thought. I always
liked Susan.”

Encouraged, Harry continued. “That way, you could have more flexibility with your hours, being
your own boss and such.”

She gave him a sly look. “And what would I do with all this free time?”

He shrugged. “Spend it with me?” he asked hopefully. “We have twenty years to make up for, you
know.”

“Yes, I know. Maybe we should start right now,” she said, kissing him.

He peppered her lips with kisses. “If you insist.” His hand, which had been resting on her thigh
traveled up to her breast, and she immediately pushed it away. He moved it between her legs and she
picked it up and placed it on her waist, all the while running her tongue around the inside of his
mouth. He continued to move his hand around and she continued to thwart his every move.

“Harry,” she said, laughing. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he asked, in all innocence while his hand moved between her legs again.

“That,” she said, picking his hand up and threading her fingers through his. “You randy
fellow.”

“Please. As if you aren’t just as anxious as I am.”

“I’m not. I’m a woman. We don’t like sex, you know. We just suffer through to satisfy our
men.”

Harry gave a hearty laugh. “Now, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say. This from
the woman who isn’t happy or satisfied until I’m exhausted and incoherent.”

“Are you complaining?”


“Hardly.” He smiled at her and let his eyes roam over her face, one he’d never get tired of
looking at.

Her expression grew serious before she said, “Harry, I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

She took a deep breath and looked away to gather her thoughts. Her eyes widened and she said,
“Daniel!”

Harry looked to the door of the parlour and saw Daniel standing there, in his pyjamas, a stunned
look on his face. Harry felt Hermione tense in preparation to stand, and he tightened his grip on
her to keep her in her seat. She relaxed, understanding his gesture and the reasoning behind it.
She stayed seated. “Can’t sleep?” she said to Daniel.

He shook his head. “I…,” he started and stopped to swallow. He looked at Harry and said in a
small voice. “Still want to play wizard chess?”

“Sure,” Harry said, stunned at the gesture.

“Okay,” he said, moving into the room.

Hermione moved from Harry’s lap and he stood, thankful that there were no lingering signs of
where his thoughts had been a little while before. Daniel and Harry began setting up the chess set
on the table while Hermione settled on the other end of the sofa. “Care if I watch?” she said.

Daniel hesitated before saying, “No.”

Two things became obvious to Harry after a few games. One was that Hermione couldn’t keep her
eyes open. The second was that Daniel wanted Hermione to leave the room. He kept looking up at
Harry as if he wanted to say something before looking over at his mother and clamping his mouth
shut. After Harry lost the third game, quickly and on purpose, he said, nodding toward Hermione who
was asleep on the sofa, “I think she’s done for the night, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Daniel agreed, re-setting the board.

Harry went over to the sofa and crouched down in front of Hermione. He nudged her shoulder.
“Hermione,” he said softly.

She inhaled and forced her eyes open before looking around in a daze. “Huh?”

*Merlin, she’s cute.* “Why don’t you go to bed? Daniel and I are going to stay up a bit
longer.”

She looked from Harry to Daniel and replied, “Right,” in a voice laden with sleep.

Harry stood up and stepped back as she rose on wobbly legs and staggered out of the room, almost
knocking into the frame of the doorway as she went. “Night,” she said over her shoulder.

They started game four, Harry trying to tamp down the disappointment of not getting to be with
Hermione. He focused instead on Daniel and trying to figure out how to get him to say what was on
his mind. Four moves into the game, after Daniel had been staring at the board for five minutes
Harry said, “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

Daniel’s head snapped up but he remained silent. “Or maybe you wanted me to do the talking,”
Harry offered. Daniel shrugged his shoulder in response.

“How about some hot chocolate?” Harry said, standing up.

“Okay,” Daniel replied, following Harry into the kitchen.

“You’re mum taught me how to make hot chocolate the way you like it,” Harry said, waving his
wand at the cupboards, which immediately sprang open to allow two mugs to float down to the counter
while he was getting the milk out of the refrigerator. “You know, so I can try to get on your good
side,” he continued with a grin towards Daniel. A thick, white ribbon of milk poured from the jug
into the saucepan, which began to shake itself gently over a low flame. “Is it working?” Harry
asked.

“Depends on how it tastes,” Daniel replied.

“Fair enough.” Harry broke two chunks of chocolate from a larger bar and dropped it into the
warming milk. “Leave it to your mum to use real chocolate. I’ve always used powder.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“Well, yes, I know that now. She’s ruined me for anything else.” Harry looked at Daniel from
under his eyelids. “I’m glad you couldn’t sleep; I’ve wanted to talk to you.”

Daniel squirmed in his chair and avoided Harry’s eyes. Harry placed a warm mug of hot chocolate
in front of Daniel and waited. Daniel blew on it and took a tentative sip. He nodded. “Good.”

“But not as good as your mum’s,” Harry stated.

“No. But it’s good enough.”

“I’ll settle for that.” He took a drink of his chocolate and looked at Daniel. “For now.”

He took perverse pleasure in watching Daniel squirm. It had taken all of his willpower to not
punch Andres in the nose when he showed up at Javier’s. Hermione told Harry when she returned from
confronting Andres that the plan had been his, but Harry had his doubts. It was exactly something
an 11 year old would think of; it was innocuous enough, but the intent to harm was there. His
pleasure faded when he saw how truly uncomfortable Daniel was.

“I imagine Hermione explained everything to you.”

He shrugged and said, “I guess.”

“What are you most worried about?”

Daniel studied his chocolate and gave another shrug. “I don’t know.”

Harry leaned forward. “I imagine it has got to be strange seeing your mum,” Harry paused, trying
to find the right words, “with someone besides your dad.”

“Yeah, a little.”

Harry straightened up. “I wish I knew how to make it easier on you. Or even what to say. I
don’t. I can’t imagine what you are going through. I’ve tried, but it’s hard for me.” Daniel’s eyes
narrowed. “Not because I think you shouldn’t feel weird,” Harry added. “It’s just, I never had…”
Harry coughed into his hand. “That’s not the point. This isn’t about me. I guess what I’m trying to
say is that as much as I, and Hermione too, would like to make this easier on you and the girls,
the fact is we don’t know how. It is going to be uncomfortable for a while, I suspect.” Harry gave
a nervous laugh. “Thank goodness for boarding school, huh?”

Harry groaned inwardly as he realised how badly that had sounded. “Not that we are wanting to
get rid of you or the girls. It’s just…it’ll be easier on you to get used to the idea if you aren’t
around us together all the time.” Harry ran his hands through his hair. “Shit, Daniel. I’m making a
rotten job of this, aren’t I?”

Daniel nodded. “Yeah, you are.”

“Now you see why Hermione was always the brains of the outfit. So, since I’m doing so horribly,
why don’t you ask me what you wanted to ask me.” Harry grinned when Daniel almost choked on his
chocolate. “You okay there, Danny?”

“Yeah,” he said, wiping chocolate from the counter. “What makes you think I wanted to talk to
you?”

“Let’s just call it a hunch. Fire away. Ask me anything. Or maybe you wanted to tell me
something?”

Harry saw Daniel gather his courage and raise his head to look him straight in the eye. “Have
you asked my mum to marry you?”

“Get right to the point, don’t you? You *are* your mother’s son.” Harry leaned on the
counter again. “I haven’t technically asked your mum to marry me. We’ve talked about it, but as far
as getting down on one knee with a ring? No. Haven’t done that.”

“When?” Daniel asked. “When are you?”

“I don’t know. I was waiting on you, I reckon.”

“On me?”

“Your approval.”

Daniel considered this. “If I didn’t approve, then you wouldn’t ask her?”


“I’d just have to work harder to get your approval. You’d approve eventually.”

“You think so?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I do. You probably haven’t noticed since she’s been a mite tense about how
you were going to react to us, but the last couple of months your mum has been…happy. I know I’m
happier than I’ve ever been.” Harry felt a silly grin spread across his face. “Just thinking about
her makes me giddy. I feel more like myself than I’ve felt in years. She’s done that for me. She
brings out the best in me. She’s the love of my life. I can’t imagine spending even a day without
her.” He looked at Daniel who had a grimace of incredulity on his face. Harry laughed. “It’s
incredibly cheesy, but it’s the truth.”

“When are you going to ask her? To marry you?”

“I don’t know. What do you think? Valentine’s Day?”

“*That’s* cheesy.”

“Yeah, it is. The key is catching her off guard,” Harry mused. “I’ve always wanted to catch her
off guard.”

“Good luck,” Daniel lamented. “She always knows what I’m thinking or doing or planning.”

“Sounds familiar,” Harry said, leaning on the counter and resting his chin in his hand.

Daniel drummed his fingers on the counter. “Do you have a ring?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. It was my mum’s.”

“Did Bridg…your other wife wear it, too?”

“No,” Harry said, straightening up. “When Remus, a friend of my parents, gave me the few things
they were able to salvage from our house – I guess he gave them to me when I was about 16 – I saw
that ring and immediately thought of Hermione. It was quite a shock, truth be told. I was in what
you would call the denial phase of our relationship. We’d been best friends for so long, I couldn’t
admit to myself that what I felt was more than friendly. And I was also worried that Ron fancied
her.”

“Theo’s dad?” Daniel asked.

“Yes. It’s a long story, and I’m tired. Another time. Back to your question. I never even
thought about giving my mum’s ring to Bridgette. Looking back on it, I guess that should have been
a clue, eh?” Harry shook his head. “Just to let you know from my own personal experience, the
cliché is true: beauty is only skin deep.”

“What about New Year’s Eve?” Daniel asked, eyes lighting up.

“I don’t think I could wait that long,” Harry said.

“That long? It’s tomorrow,” Daniel said.

“OH!” Harry said, excitement ballooning in his chest. “You mean this New Year’s Eve? I thought
you meant next year.”

Daniel shrugged. “If you are going to do it whether or not we approve…”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Harry,” Daniel said, sounding a lot like Hermione, “neither of us are very sure of what you
said earlier. But I get the point. You love my mum and want to make her happy.” Daniel rested his
head in his hand, his eyes drooping. “What about Jo and Katie? Are they going to care?”

“Yeah, they’d probably be blindsided if I ask Hermione to marry me in the middle of a New Year’s
Eve party. So scratch that.” Harry took Daniel and his mug to the sink. “Knowing me, I’ll probably
blurt it out one evening when we are sitting on the sofa.” He turned to face Daniel. “One thing you
will learn about me is I’m not very smooth. I try, but somehow it just doesn’t work.”

Daniel smirked. “Yeah, I kinda got that impression.”

“Already being cheeky with Super Wizard, eh?” Harry said with a sly grin. Daniel’s face
immediately erupted into a fireball of red. Harry laughed. “It’s okay, Daniel. I thought it was
hilarious. I may not be smooth, but a sense of humour, I have,” he said, slapping Daniel on the
shoulder. “Come on, time for bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

When they reached the door to Daniel’s room he stopped and turned to Harry. “Thanks,” he said.
“For the chess games,” he added quickly.

“No problem. I let you win, you know.”

“Yeah, right,” Daniel said. “I was being easy on you,” he said with a grin before closing the
door to his bedroom with a click.

**

Harry undressed without a sound, eyes fixed on Hermione’s form lying in the bed. Her hair was
pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, a peculiar habit that she’d explained weeks
ago with a simple, ”I’d suffocate under all this hair if it wasn’t controlled. So would you,“ she
finished, with a sly grin thrown over her shoulder.

He lifted the blankets, sliding under them in one quick movement and crossing the cold expanse
of the bed to reach the warm river of her body. His body melded to hers, and he kissed her
shoulder, resting his hand on her hip. She didn’t move, and he didn’t expect her to. He closed his
eyes, content in being beside her and falling asleep with her in his arms.

“Are you just going to lay there?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I know you’re drained.”

“Hmm,” she said, pulling his hand off her hip and moving it between her legs. “Why do you think
I took a nap?”

Harry smiled as she directed his hand beneath her knickers. His fingers slid through the wiry
patch of hair and down to her warm center.

“Your fingers are cold,” she said.

“Sorry,” he replied, pulling his hand out of her knickers. She grasped his hand, and pushed it
back down.

“I’ll survive.” She turned onto her back and looked at him. “Everyone asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said, sliding his boxers down his hips. She closed her eyes and grinned as Harry’s
hand moved up and down, warming with every stroke. She reached out to stroke him with one hand,
while she used the other to stroke herself. “This is so much better,” she said with a sigh.

“Better than what?”

She opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. “Doing it all myself.”

Harry leaned down and kissed her. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you being so forward in
bed,” he said, pushing his fingers farther into her.

She caressed his cheek with her free hand. “Are you complaining?”

“Hardly,” he replied.

“Nice,” she purred, lifting her hips into his hand and closing her eyes again. Harry watched her
face move through her different expressions of pleasure with her eyes closed the entire time. Once
he saw the Cheshire grin, her top teeth biting her bottom lip, always leaving a little indentation
below her lip when her mouth opened as she gasped, Harry knew that they had found it. Her eyes
would open, glassy and vacant with pleasure, and her breathing would become shallow. This was
usually when his eyes would close as her hand’s rhythm increased to such a pace that he had to
focus on control. There was no way that he could control anything while watching her.

She moaned and he covered her mouth with his. “Shhh,” he said, when he pulled away.

She gave him the Cheshire grin again and cried out, “Oh, Harry!”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “What are you doing? Have you forgotten who is on the other
side of that wall?”

She smirked at him and licked his fingers, still wet from being inside her. He lost track of
what they were talking about as her scent wafted up into his nostrils and her tongue traced the
outline of his fingers. “I put a silencing charm on the room before I got in to bed,” she mumbled
before sucking on his fingers.

“Of course you did,” he said, ripping from her body the scant amount of material that she passed
off as knickers. “Foreplay’s over,” he said.

“Hey! I liked those knickers,” she said, watching them fly across the room.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he replied, entering her in one fluid stoke. He closed his eyes and
sighed. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for,” he said, burying his head in her shoulder. “God, I’ve
missed you.”

She wrapped her legs around him and tilted her pelvis into his, pushing him deeper into her. She
lifted his head from her shoulder. “I love you. More than anything in the world,” she
whispered.

“Good,” he said as he began to move inside her. His tongue delved into her mouth, making itself
welcome. He tasted a mere hint of what she’d licked from his fingers, triggering his appetite for
more. As it happened every time, an insatiable thirst for her bloomed within him. It pressed
against his chest, stealing his breath, muddling his mind. His lips and tongue consumed her mouth,
tasting – feasting – capturing every last bit of the only flavour that would satisfy him.

“This will never do. I have to taste more of you,” he murmured, pulling out of her and
descending to the source.

She stopped him. Her phrase (“I’ve got a better idea”) had barely pierced his befuddled brain
before he was on his back and she was kissing her way down his body. He propped himself on his
elbows and watched her kiss down his right hip, his glistening dick erect in anticipation. Her
thick, red tongue spilled out of her mouth, falling…falling…falling to the base of his cock, where
it rested, warm and wet before flowing up his shaft. Mesmerized, he watched as it swirled around
his head lower…lower…lower, until his cock was sucked into the warm wet whirlpool of her mouth. His
arms collapsed underneath him and he thanked heaven for Hermione’s silencing charm. “Fuck,
Hermione!”

And she was there, hovering over him looking like the cat that ate the fucking canary. “Is this
what you wanted?” she asked before shoving her tongue down his throat.

…and it was.

He flipped her over onto her back, the visual of her tongue replaying over and over in his mind
as he sucked every last morsel of what she’d licked off his dick into his mouth. He was in her,
moving back and forth, frenzied with the taste of her, the thought of her, the sound of her, the
feel of her. Her heels dug into his arse, pushing him further and further in as she lifted her
hips, again…again…again…she clenched around him and with a great thrust from each of them they came
— sweating, gasping, hearts pounding, minds reeling.

Neither moved or spoke for minutes, Hermione enjoying the pleasant sensation of Harry’s weight
on her, Harry enjoying the feel of his diminishing dick still sheathed within her. A quick kiss on
her shoulder and he moved off of her, flopping onto the bed in exhaustion. His hands fell onto his
chest with a thud. “And that was you, drained physically, mentally and emotionally,” he said. “You
really are going to be the death of me.”

She rolled onto her side and gave him a sweet, almost innocent smile. He wondered vaguely how
two such divergent personalities could live within the same package. He was more than a little
curious to know what brought on the transformation, if it was something he did, so he could be sure
to do it more often. He was on the verge of asking her when she said, “I need to tell you
something.”

“That that was the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Andres kissed me.”

A flood of cold water engulfed him, paralysing him with anger and freezing all thought. He sat
up automatically, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stood with his back to Hermione.
*Why am I standing?* he wondered, looking around.

“Harry?”

He turned to see Hermione sitting halfway up on the bed, the sheets in a puddle around her, her
face full of apprehension and fear. His anger came rushing toward him, overpowering the cool façade
he’d worn all day.

“Andres kissed you,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“And why are you telling me now?”

“I tried to tell you earlier, but Daniel…”

“So, you decided to fuck me first, hoping I’d be so blissfully happy that I wouldn’t care?”

“No! That’s not it at all. I was half-asleep when you came in. I wasn’t thinking of anything but
you.”

“Bollocks,” Harry said, pacing. “You could have told me this when you got home, before you went
to talk to Daniel.”

“Harry, Andres was the least of my concerns…”

“He was a big enough concern that you abandoned me to bring the kids home while you chased after
him.”

“Now wait a bloody minute,” Hermione said, standing up. “I did not chase after him.”

“Oh, really? Sure seemed like it to me.”

“Harry, you are overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting? That’s fucking rich, Hermione. This from the woman who a few hours ago
practically threw a Daily Prophet at me. Oh, and let’s not forget the scene you made the morning
after the first time we made love. That’s a great memory right there. Care to talk about that?”

“Sure. We can detail each and every one of my insecurities as soon as you own up to yours.”

“Fuck you, Hermione. I think I’m allowed an insecurity or two when you chase after a man that is
the spitting image of your dear, dead husband.”

“He isn’t my husband! I seem to be the only person who can separate the two! He doesn’t
understand why I just won’t fall into his arms because he looks like Miguel. Daniel wants him to
step in and pick up where Miguel left off two years ago. Hey! We won’t even have to change the
family pictures! And you! You strut around, bowing your chest out every time he comes around as if
you are marking your territory.”

“I do not.”

“Oh, please. ‘Ever fought a dragon, Andres?’” she said, mimicking Harry’s voice. “What do you
call that?”

“A legitimate question,” Harry countered, crossing his arms over his chest. Hermione’s eyes
moved up and down his body and she suppressed a smile. “What’s so funny?” Harry asked.

She twisted her mouth to stifle her smile. “It is difficult to have a heated argument when
you’re standing there, starkers.”

“Fine. I’ll get dressed,” Harry said, bending down for his trousers.

“No, Harry, wait,” Hermione said, walking forward and placing her hand on his arm. “Wait,” she
said, more softly, prying the trousers from his grip and tossing them on the bed. “Don’t you want
to know what happened? How I reacted?”

“No,” Harry said, not ready to release his anger just yet. He caved under Hermione’s
understanding stare. “Yes.”

“I bit his tongue.”

“He got his tongue in your mouth?!”

“Harry,” she said in warning.

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me. How did he get his tongue in your mouth?”

“It wasn’t some long passionate kiss before I came to my senses, if that’s what you’re thinking.
He took me completely by surprise. It was quite ridiculous, truth be told. He swung me around as I
was leaving and planted one on me. He’d barely kissed me before I bit him. If it makes you feel
better, I think it was the tip of his tongue. That’s where the blood was, anyway.”

“You made him bleed?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” she said, grimacing.

“Good. The next time I see him I’m going to make him bleed, too.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Why not? He deserves it.”

“He knows where he stands now, Harry. He isn’t going to bother us.”

“He still deserves to have his lights punched out.”

“You have to realise that we are his family, his only family. He loves Daniel and Daniel loves
him. I want them to have that.” She slipped her hand into Harry’s. “But he’ll never have me. You do
and always will.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Harry lightly on the lips before pulling him
toward the bed. “Come on, cuddle with me for a bit before you have to go to your room.”

He allowed her to lead him to the bed and invite him in. He laid there, his hands crossed over
his chest, staring at the ceiling, still not completely free of his anger. Hermione turned on her
side to face him, propping her head in her hand. “Harry?” He turned his face towards hers. “I trust
you, you know that, don’t you?”

Harry nodded, not sure where this was coming from or going.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about my outburst regarding Bridgette. And now I see that my
reaction to the picture was the same. It isn’t that I don’t trust you. I do. I don’t trust
Bridgette or any other witch out there when it comes to you. I know everyone wants you; everyone
always has.”

“They don’t want me, Hermione. They want ‘Harry Potter.’”

“Most importantly,” she continued as if she didn’t hear him, “I don’t trust my ability to keep
you happy.”

“What?” he said, sitting up to face her. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been.”

“And you make me happier than *I’ve* ever been,” Hermione said, giving him a meaningful
look.

“But,” he started. It all became clear as he stared into her eyes. Her loyalty to Miguel, her
heart, her need to know that the last 15 years of her life meant something, made it impossible for
her to vocalise what Harry was reading in her eyes.

“I think that both of us are worried, because of our history, about our ability to make this
work, to keep the other happy. But the fact that we’ve found each other again should tell us what
we were too stupid to realise twenty years ago.” She rested her hand on his heart. “I’m meant to be
with you, and I always have been,” she whispered. “Nothing and no one will ever get in the way of
that again. I promise.”

He covered her hand with his. “So do I.”



8. Chapter 7
------------

**Chapter 7**

It never fails that on the days you can sleep late nature conspires against you. Daniel had been
lying awake in his bed for thirty minutes, trying to fall back under the spell of the dream he had
been having. He couldn’t remember what it was about, but he did remember there had been a beautiful
woman in it.

The house was quiet as he opened the door to his room. He looked up and down the darkened hall,
hoping to hear sounds from the others. He expected to hear his mother; she had always been an early
riser. He’d never known his mother to sleep past seven o’clock. He padded down the hall toward her
room and opened the door without a sound, although he anticipated finding it empty with the bed
made. His jaw dropped to the floor at the sight that greeted him.

Harry and his mum were in bed together, sleeping. Harry was on his side, his arm thrown
protectively across Hermione’s waist. She was twisted in a position that Daniel knew was one she
often slept in (and he thought looked terribly uncomfortable); her hips and legs were stacked on
top of each other, her back flat against the mattress. Her head had fallen to the side just enough
that her nose threw a small shadow onto her cheek. Her right arm was thrown over her head, her left
hand rested, intertwined with Harry’s, on her waist.

He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. He wasn’t shocked,
repulsed or angry about finding them in bed together. He was mesmerized by the expressions on their
faces. Years down the road he would fully understand what he was seeing, but now, as an 11 year old
boy, he merely thought they looked happy and at peace.

“Daniel?”

He jumped and turned at the sound of Olivia’s voice. His face flamed as she looked at the scene
over his shoulder. “Come on,” she whispered, leaning across him to close the door. “Let’s let them
sleep.”

Daniel followed her into the kitchen. “Want something to eat?” he asked, moving to the
refrigerator.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “I thought you’d be angry.”

He shrugged his shoulders but didn’t look at her, too embarrassed about the scene he’d been
responsible for at Javier’s.

“Are you?” she pressed.

“No,” he said. He paused, surprised that he wasn’t angry at all. “I’m not,” he finished, shaking
his head.

“It’s got to be a shock seeing your mum in bed with a man other than your father.”

Daniel pulled the kettle for tea out and placed it on the cooktop. “Direct, aren’t you?”

She gave a half-shrug. “Why beat around the bush. You’re a big boy.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “I think.”

She gave a throaty laugh and he blushed again. “You’re cute, Daniel. I’m a little disappointed
we’re going to be related. I’m *very* disappointed that you aren’t older. You are going to be
quite the catch.”

His eyes widened and he turned away from her, an unpleasant mixture of pleasure and
mortification in his stomach. Just then, he was saved by a bleary eyed Harry walking into the
kitchen. He stopped dead at the sight of Olivia sitting at the island and Daniel holding the tea
strainer with identical looks of curiosity on their faces.

“Erm,” Harry said, looking out the door of the kitchen as if he’d like to escape. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Olivia said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

If Daniel *had* been angry, it would have dissipated when he took in the sight of Harry.
His hair was sticking out in all directions, more unruly than normal, which Daniel thought was an
impossibility. And the look on his face! His eyes were as round as his glasses and Daniel could
swear that he heard the gears turning in his head.

“Did you…?” he asked, directing the question to Olivia.

She nodded.

“Right,” Harry replied. He chanced a peek at Daniel who just nodded in response.

“Right,” Harry said again. “Well, you see,” he began.

As much as Daniel wanted to see Harry struggle through an explanation, he didn’t want to think
about what he’d seen more than necessary. “Harry, it’s okay. Don’t explain, really.”

“You’re not mad?” Harry asked.

“No. A little squicked maybe.”

“Squicked?” Harry asked, looking to Olivia for translation.

“Grossed out.”

Harry nodded his head. “Right.”

“Want some tea?” Daniel asked.

“Sure.”

Twenty minutes later, Hermione walked into the kitchen, fully dressed. “Good morning,” she
sing-songed. Daniel watched Olivia hide a smile with a sip of tea. “Morning, Harry,” she said. “I’m
surprised to find you two up,” she said, shaking the tea kettle. “How long have you been up?”

“Longer than we have,” Harry said.

It took a moment for what he said to sink in. When it did, she stopped, placed the kettle on the
cooktop and turned around. She looked from Daniel to Olivia to Harry who shrugged his shoulders and
nodded. Her eyes returned to Daniel and rested there for a moment. He held her gaze, wanting to
prove to her and to himself that he could be mature about this. After what seemed like a long time,
she straightened up, flipped her hair behind her shoulder and said, “Who wants breakfast? We have a
long day ahead of us,” and the four of them continued on as if they were a completely normal
wizarding family.

******

“Dad! I’m home!”

Katie walked into the parlour, face flushed and beaming, arms laden with brightly coloured
packages and bags. Hermione put her book aside on the sofa and rose to greet Katie with a smile.
“Hello, Katie.”

The transformation in her face happened so quickly that Hermione wondered if she hadn’t imagined
the beaming happy girl. “What are you doing here?” she spat.

“I was invited,” Hermione stated. “Need some help?” she asked, motioning to the bags.

“Not from you,” Katie replied, putting the bags beside the door. “Where’s my dad?”

“He took Jo and Daniel flying.”

“Where’s Olivia?”

“With Anne Weasley helping them get ready for their party.”

Katie crossed her arms over her chest, cocking one leg to the side. “I guess you and Daniel are
going to the party with us?”

“Yes, we are. Ron and Tonks invited us.”

“And you’re going home when it’s over?”

Hermione clasped her hands in front of her. “No. We are staying here tonight. It seems pointless
to travel to Spain and back when Daniel returns to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“I’m sure there is somewhere else in England you can stay for a few hours.”

“We want to stay here,” Hermione said.

“There’s no where for you to sleep.”

“Jo’s going to sleep with Olivia and Daniel is taking her room for the night.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

Hermione sighed and looked at her hands and back up at Katie, her patience for the insolent girl
stretching thin. Katie shrugged. “Oh well, it isn’t as if we aren’t used to a different witch in
Dad’s bed every other night.”

Hermione had an overpowering urge to throttle the girl. Instead she gripped her hands together
even tighter and said, in a falsely bright voice, “So, did you have a good time in Paris?”

Katie flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “We had a great time.” She started to leave the
room. “I wonder where Dobby is, I need help with my packages.”

“Here, I can help you,” Hermione said, moving to pick up a bag.

“No! Dobby can help me,” she said.

“Dobby isn’t here. I told him to take a couple of hours to himself.”

“You told him? Like he would listen to you. He isn’t your house-elf.”

“Dobby and I have a special relationship.”

“Oh, that’s right. You are the house-elf liberator, aren’t you?”

Hermione nodded and grinned. “You like to read, do you?”

“What?” Katie said, nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”

“You like to read, it’s obvious. Harry doesn’t talk about our time at Hogwarts or any of the
things we did. Olivia told me as much.”

“That doesn’t mean someone else hasn’t,” she retorted.

“True,” Hermione said, picking up the bag. “But ’The House Elf Liberator‘ is the subtitle of an
aside about my role in aiding the house-elves in *The Defeat of the Dark Lord*. Want these in
your room?” Hermione asked, walking toward the stairs.

When Katie didn’t respond, only stared at her unflatteringly, Hermione shrugged and walked up
the stairs to Katie’s room. When she’d deposited the bags on the bed, she turned to find Katie in
the doorway, sans packages, staring at her.

“I really like your room,” Hermione said, looking around. “And what you did to Jo’s and
Olivia’s. You have real talent, Katie.”

“It isn’t going to work, you know.”

“What isn’t?”

“You trying to make me like you.”

“What makes you think I care one way or the other if you like me?”

She huffed. “Oh, I’m sure you and Dad picture us as one big happy blended family. All sitting in
the parlour playing games and sharing,” she said, miming quotation marks on the last word.

“That sounds dreadfully boring,” Hermione replied.

“Please. That probably sounds like a wet dream to you.”

Hermione laughed out loud. “What in the world do you know about ‘wet dreams’?” she said,
mimicking Katie’s quotation marks.

“More than you think.”

“I can assure you that I’ve never had a wet dream about parlour games,” Hermione said.

“Then you are even more boring than I thought.”

Hermione wondered if the girl realised that in her effort to be so belligerent and cruel she was
making no sense whatsoever. “I think spending time with the people I love sounds like the perfect
day.”

“Oh, please. You love Daniel and Dad. You don’t love us.”

“I don’t really know you well enough to say, now do I? But I’d like to get to know you.”

“I know all about you,” Katie spat.

“And what did the books tell you about me, Katie?”

“I don’t need a book.”

“Okay, then. Your own personal assessment.” Hermione sat down on the edge of Katie’s bed,
crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap. “Lay it on me. Psychoanalyse me.” She waved her hand
encouraging Katie to begin. “Go on. I won’t get angry. Unless you call me a bitch. Then, I might
get angry.”

Katie’s eyes widened at the profanity. She opened her mouth to start when Hermione interrupted.
“Of course, there is one catch.”

“What’s that?” Katie asked.

“I get to psychoanalyse you when you are done.”

Hermione could tell that Katie was debating whether or not to proceed. The opportunity to
lambaste Hermione won out.

“You may be the smartest witch of your age but you use that as a shield. Deep down, you are
always trying to prove yourself, to make up for your muggle parentage, the one thing that you think
keeps you apart from everyone else. You’re a people pleaser and you always want to be liked,
whether you admit it to yourself or not.”

Hermione nodded and raised her eyebrows. No matter what Katie said, Hermione knew that she’d
been doing homework on her. There was no way she would know all of that with the amount of time
they had spent around each other. “Impressive analysis.”

“I may be eleven but I’m not an idiot.”

“Obviously,” Hermione said. “My turn?” she asked.

Katie furrowed her brows and stared at Hermione, trying to hide her apprehension behind a mask
of unconcern.

“Being the third child, you’ve always had to compete for attention. Early on you realised you
would get that attention if you were naughty so that’s what you do. You also want to be liked by
everyone, but you put up a façade of disinterest in everyone and everything. That way you don’t
open yourself up for disappointment if people don’t like the real you.”

“You are way off base,” Katie retorted.

Hermione shrugged, standing up. “Maybe. But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, just
in case. What makes you think I don’t admit that I want to be liked?”

Katie shrugged. “I imagine you were the type in school to raise their nose and walk by when you
were teased.”

“And who are you? The one doing the teasing?”

Katie remained silent.

“Hmm, interesting theory: the teaser and teasee really just want to be friends. I might buy that
about anyone but one person.”

“Who?”

“No one you know,” Hermione said. “So, why don’t we just cut the song and dance of not liking
each other and not getting along and see what happens? We are obviously meant to be friends, since
our deepest desire is to be liked by others.”

“My deepest desire has nothing to do with you liking me, trust me,” Katie replied.

Hermione sighed and started to leave the room. She stopped as she passed by Katie in the
doorway. “By the way, you can’t run me off by being rude to me. I’ve faced much more frightening
wizards than you and lived to tell the tale.” She walked out of the room and down the hall. “We are
leaving for the Weasleys’ at seven, by the way,” she said, over her shoulder, concealing a smile of
accomplishment from the stunned girl standing in the doorway of her room.

**

Hermione was surprised to realise that she was nervous. She knew why, but she was too
embarrassed to admit it, even to herself. The physical symptoms were too difficult to ignore:
clammy palms beneath her winter gloves, cheeks burning hot against the bitter cold, and her stomach
was twisted in such a knot that the smell of food wafting from Ron and Tonks’s house almost made
her physically sick.

Of course, Harry had no idea. One thing Hermione was sure of was her ability to sell her
confident demeanor. After all, she’d spent most of her school years mastering the skill of
appearing calm and collected on the outside, all the while paddling like mad on the inside to stay
one step ahead of her insecurities.

Ron opened the door, a bright green, sparkling bowler sitting perched on top of his flaming red
hair. The message “Happy New Year” was running in circles around the base of his hat, pausing at
the front to flash three times in colours of blue, purple and gold, returning to white and running
around the base of the hat again.

“Nice hat,” Harry said with a wry grin as the kids pushed under Ron’s arm and through the
door.

“Thanks,” Ron said. “It’s from the shop.” He stepped forward and gave Hermione a huge hug,
lifting her off the ground in the process. “I’m so glad you are here!”

Hermione laughed and grasped onto Ron’s shoulders for dear life as he spun her around. “Thanks
for inviting us,” she replied as Ron put her feet back on the ground.

“Standing invitation to visit anytime you want now that you are…” he paused, looking at Harry
for direction. Harry shrugged his shoulders with a grin. “…back.”

“Back from where?” Hermione said with a sly grin.

“Your sabbatical. Although a fifteen year sabbatical is a new one for me,” Ron said, leading
them into the house.

“Yes, well, you know me. I like to do everything 110%,” Hermione replied, taking Harry’s
hand.

Ron threw his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. “We aren’t going to let you leave
this time,” he whispered.

Hermione looked up at her friend, snaking her arm around his waist and giving him a squeeze.
“You’re stuck with me. Trust me.”

“Good.” He gave her a wink. “Before you leave tonight, you both have to eat at least three
pounds of food. Otherwise, we will be eating leftovers for months,” he said, gesturing toward the
table groaning under the weight of all the food.

“Goodness,” Hermione said.

“Yes!” Harry said, picking up a roasted chicken leg and taking a bite.

“Harry, get a plate,” Hermione scolded, rolling her eyes.

“Good lord, she hasn’t changed a bit,” Ron said, following Harry’s lead and grabbing a piece of
chicken.

“Nope, not a bit,” Harry said, taking another bite of chicken as he grinned mischievously at
Hermione.

Hermione rolled her eyes again. “Boys. I’m going to find Tonks.”

Harry grasped her hand and pulled her back to him. “Give me a kiss first,” he said.

“Not with food all in your mouth,” she replied, trying to wiggle away from his descending lips.
He swallowed dramatically and she relented, letting him give her a peck on the lips. She wrinkled
her nose. “I still tasted chicken.”

He pulled her closer and whispered in her ear. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Would you two stop it?” Ron asked.

“No,” Harry said, giving Hermione a private smile, one that was easy for her to translate. His
arm was firmly around her waist and she had no desire to leave his embrace. She didn’t care that
they were in the middle of a crowd of people, she didn’t care if everyone was staring at them. All
she cared about, at that point in time, was that they were together – finally.

“Do you two mind not doing that?” Daniel said, walking by on his way to the table of food.

“Yeah, nobody else’s parents are acting gooey,” Jo said, taking a plate that Daniel offered
her.

They separated with an unspoken promise for later. Hermione went off in search of Tonks,
throwing “Eat some vegetables” over her shoulder to Daniel. She heard Jo giggle and Daniel say, in
three syllables, “Mum!” as she exited the room.

Once alone, her nervousness returned in full force. She had expected to know quite a few people
at the party, but as she walked through the house she was met with more curious stares of strangers
than with familiar greetings from old acquaintances. She smoothed her hair out and dipped her head
with a small smile when an unfamiliar woman caught her eye. She had almost decided to hunt Harry
down and stay glued to his side when she found Tonks, leaning against the kitchen sink, gesturing
wildly with a tall drink glass in her hand.

“Hi, Tonks!” she said, walking into the group with a confident smile.

“Hermione!” Tonks exclaimed, giving her a one-armed hug around the waist, spilling half of her
drink down Hermione’s back in the process. “Oops. Sorry,” she said, as liquid trickled down
Hermione’s spine. “Here,” Tonks said, turning Hermione around and waving her wand. The wet
sensation vanished immediately. She turned Hermione back around and gave her a smile. “Being a
klutz, I’ve mastered all types of cleaning and repairing charms.”

“No problem,” Hermione laughed. The two witches Tonks had been talking to were eyeing Hermione
with apparent curiosity, one even going so far as to let her gaze travel up and down Hermione’s
body in assessment. Hermione disliked her immediately.

“Hermione, this is Phoebe,” she said, motioning to the tall brunette that was staring at
Hermione in an unflattering way. “She works at the Ministry with Ron. And this is Sarah. She’s,”
Tonks craned her neck looking around the crowd, “Robert’s wife,” she said, pointing to a short,
balding wizard talking to Ernie Macmillan. “He plays Quidditch on Sundays with Ron and Harry.”

Hermione offered her hand to Sarah and Phoebe in turn, receiving a warm smile of understanding
from the short witch. “Hello,” she said to Phoebe. “Nice to meet you,” she replied to Sarah.

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed at the vague slight. “Who are you here with?” she asked.

Hermione straightened up and leveled her with a stare. “Harry,” she replied, sure that no last
name was necessary. From the look on Phoebe’s face, she was correct.

“Oh!” Sarah exclaimed. “You’re Hermione Granger! I thought I recognised you!” she said, clearly
excited. “I was at Hogwarts with you. Well, I was a first year when you were Head Girl, and I was
in Hufflepuff. I tried to stay out of trouble so you didn’t really know me.”

“No, Sarah, of course I remember you,” Hermione lied. “I don’t remember your last name,
though.”

“It’s Crocker now,” she said with a smile. “Robert was a year above me. Hufflepuff, too,” she
said with a high pitched annoying laugh. Hermione nodded and smiled in response, her hands clasped
in front of her. A short, awkward silence followed before Tonks said, intertwining her arm through
Hermione’s, “Let’s get you a drink,”

“Sure,” Hermione replied. “Nice to meet you both,” she said before Tonks led her away.

Tonks leaned close to Hermione and said, “Phoebe’s been trying to get Ron to fix her up with
Harry for months now. Poor girl looked crushed,” she finished with no amount of remorse. She handed
Hermione a drink like hers and took a new one for herself. Hermione took a drink of the bright
green concoction while scanning the crowd for someone, anyone she knew. The tang hit her tongue
with a jolt and she struggled to swallow the liquid she wanted desperately to spit out. It was,
possibly, the worst drink she’d ever had.

“Know anyone here?” Tonks asked, scanning the crowd with her and appearing to not notice
Hermione’s plight.

Hermione shook her head, unable to talk. Her eyes grew wide as she realised that her tongue was
stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Hermione? Are you okay?”

She shook her head and grunted, pointing to her mouth. Tonks’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell!
THEO!!!” she screamed, looking around for her wayward son. She started to walk off and Hermione
grabbed her arm, frantic. Tonks, focused on meting out punishment on her prankster son, gave her a
confused look. Her face cleared and she said, “Oh, don’t worry. It’ll wear off in a few minutes.
It’s from the joke shop. Theo obviously spiked a drink or two. Little bugger. Wait until I get my
hands on him,” she said, walking off leaving Hermione alone, mouth cemented together with the
mortar of a foul tasting drink.

She cast around, looking for Harry and saw only people she didn’t know and had no desire to talk
to, even if she could. Phoebe was walking toward her, a glint in her eye, and Hermione placed the
drink back on the tray whence it came, hoping Phoebe would pick it up, and walked in the other
direction. She found her way to the loo, latched the door and sat on the toilet, waiting for the
effects of whatever harebrained concoction the twins had cooked up to wear off.

She propped her head in her hand and stared at the tile on the wall, wondering when she became
anti-social.

*I’m not anti-social. I don’t like chit chat. There is a difference.*

*So, you only want to have deep intelligent conversations fraught with meaning?*

*No, I want to talk to people I care about. Not people that I’ll see once a year at a
party.*

*Face it. You expected to be able to come back to* *England* *and pick up where you
left off 15 years ago. It’s not that easy.*

She heard a knock on the door followed by Harry’s voice. “Hermione?”

She unlatched the door and he entered, concern on his face. “What’s wrong? You’ve been in here
for a few minutes.”

She tried to separate her mouth but couldn’t, a flare of anger at the twins and their bloody
pranks rushing through her. She stamped it down, pointed at her mouth and shook her head.

“You can’t talk? Why not?”

She mimed raising a glass and drinking before clapping her hands together.

“You drank something that…,” he looked confused as she kept her hands pressed together, “locked
your mouth shut?”

She shrugged and nodded yes, thinking that was a rather accurate description of what happened.
Hermione narrowed her eyes as Harry struggled to keep from laughing. “I’m sorry, love,” he said,
kissing her on the cheek. “But it’s pretty funny.”

Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a glare. Her tongue was loosening a bit as saliva formed
in her mouth. She was thankful that her lips were cemented as well so as to keep from drooling. The
thought went through her head that she should suggest an alteration to the formula to the twins to
promote drooling. After all, if it was going to be a prank, it should be the best…as long as it was
never done on her again.

“I’m stopping now, I promise,” Harry said, his laughter petering out as he wiped his eyes. His
smile remained and he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. His eyes darted to the door, then
back to her, the adoring smile replaced with a mischievous grin that worried Hermione more than a
little. He moved forward, arching his left brow. “You can’t talk, can you?” He moved her around so
that she was leaning against the sink and pressed his body into hers. “Can’t make any noises
whatsoever.”

Hermione tried to say “yes I can” but it came out as a three note hum. “So you can still moan in
pleasure,” he murmured in her ear before his lips began trailing kisses down her neck. “That’s
good,” he said, pressing his erection (*that was quick,* Hermione thought) into her pelvis.
One hand was on her breast, the other at the button of her trousers.

She forced her mouth apart. “Harry,” she croaked, her tongue dry and chalky.

“Damn, you can talk,” Harry said.

“You want to do this here? In the loo?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“We can’t. Everyone will see us leave together.”

He was still kissing her neck, opening the ‘v’ of her shirt wider and kissing down to the hollow
between her breasts. “I’ll apparate outside somewhere. No one will ever know,” he whispered, moving
his way back up to her jaw.

“You seem to know what you are doing. Have you done this before?” she asked, a pang of lust
flaring within her.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to,” he said, staring at her with darkened, hooded eyes.

She arched her eyebrows, one corner of her mouth curling into a smirk. “So have I.”

**

Harry walked up the steps to Ron’s house for the second time that night, this time on wobbly
knees. He paused at the door, trying to collect himself, the image of fucking Hermione in the loo
too raw and recent for coherent thought. He was amazed by the woman. Every time he thought he’d
figured her out, she did something else that shocked him. He never in a million years thought she’d
go for a quickie in the bathroom of his best friend’s house. The most he’d hoped for was a hand
job, for both of them. When her lip curled, just one side (damn, that look killed him every time;
he’d jump off the cliff if she asked him with that lopsided smile) he knew she was about to fuck
him within an inch of his life.

Had she ever.

He turned around and sat on the steps, his legs finally giving out. The freezing cold of January
was no match for the warmth coursing through his body as a result of what he’d just experienced. He
could still feel the heels of her feet pressing into his arse, pushing him into her as she sat on
the edge of the sink, touching herself, staring at him with those intense, brown eyes – *don’t
forget the flecks of gold* – biting her lip to keep from making a sound. He remembered the
weight of her head as she laid her cheek on his shoulder, how in that moment he’d almost asked her,
when she kissed his neck lightly and whispered, “You are a bad influence,” before gently pushing
him away and hopping off the counter.

He stared at the snow-covered ground, it’s blank slate enabling his mind to fill with a jumble
of thoughts and feelings that no man would admit to unless under the influence of a stout helping
of Veritaserum…or love. Disappointment that he hadn’t asked her to marry him, embarrassment that
he’d actually considered it after a quickie in the loo. She would have laughed or been offended if
he had. He snorted in laughter to no one. Talk about catching her off guard. He didn’t even want to
imagine telling that story to Daniel, not to mention the girls.

He rubbed his hands over his face, realising that this was all going to be much harder than he
or Hermione had anticipated. Harry thought that Daniel was accepting, but holding back judgment
until he was sure Harry wasn’t going to break his mum’s heart. Olivia had told Harry flat out that
he’d better ask Hermione to marry him before she realised what a a bunch of nutters his family was
and chickened out. He’d seen Jo observing Hermione and being polite to her, answering questions
when asked and at least attempting to hold up her end of the conversation. He knew that Jo would
love Hermione. After all, she was just like Harry and Harry loved Hermione. He knew it was only a
matter of time.

Then, there was Katie.

“She hates me,” Hermione told him when they were getting ready for the party.

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Harry assured her, but silently thought that Katie probably did.

He didn’t know if Katie’s obvious disdain for Hermione was good or bad. Considering that Katie
usually kept everything bottled up inside her – unless she could use her emotions to get what she
wanted, that is – he thought her apparent hatred of Hermione may be interpreted as Katie being a
step closer to accepting Hermione.

He sighed, knowing that he was fooling himself. Of the three girls, Katie was the only one that
was close to their mother. And she was the only one of the three that held on to the hope that
Bridgette and Harry may reconcile. Harry doubted that she would ever give that dream up. Taking a
deep breath, he stood up, the idea that he wouldn’t ask Hermione to marry him because of Katie’s
feelings never entering his mind.

“Where have you been?” Ron asked, looking at the door closing behind Harry. “I thought you went
to check on Hermione.”

“I did. She’s fine.”

Ron pointed at the lavatory, then turned to point at the front door with a confused look on his
face. “Did you apparate outside?”

“Yeah. I needed some air. Hey, popkin,” he said to Jo, who was walking by.

“Hi, Dad,” she replied without stopping.

Harry continued to Ron, “Hermione was rinsing her mouth out. Not sure if it was the drink or the
potion, but she had an awful taste in her mouth.” Harry tried, and thought he was successful in
concealing his smirk.

“Did you get a first hand taste?” Ron asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“No! What kind of couple do you think we are?”

“The kind that kisses?” Ron asked, scanning the crowd with a snort.

“Right,” Harry said, blushing and looking away. He saw Hermione greet Susan Bones with a quick
hug. He was about to leave Ron to talk to them when Ron punched his arm.

“Wait just a bloody minute! Did you…” he started looking at the loo and then the front door.
“Why were you outside, Harry?”

“I needed some air.”

“But *why* did you need some air?” Ron narrowed his eyes. “You did, didn’t you? I can’t
believe you,” he lowered his voice in a harsh whisper, “just shagged in my lavatory.”

“Ron, I don’t know what you are talking about. It’s stuffy in here and I needed some air. End of
story. Just because you and Tonks shag in the bathroom doesn’t mean everyone does.”

“I wish,” Ron said sullenly, taking a pull on his ale. “Maybe we’ll try that tonight,” he said
almost to himself.

“You do that, mate,” he said, slapping him on the shoulder before walking over to Hermione.
Harry kissed her on the cheek and greeted Susan. “Feeling better?” he asked Hermione.

“Much. I gargled. Nothing feels quite so good as a quick gargle,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“Guess what Susan and I have been discussing?”

Harry listened as Hermione and Susan discussed the pros, cons, challenges and benefits of
opening a Healer practise together, all the time suppressing the urge to ask her to marry him.

**

“He went outside to get some air,” Jo said, plopping down on the end of Theo’s bed. Daniel was
sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed, one leg outstretched, the other bent,
his arm resting on the knee. Theo was propped up against the headboard, his hair finally his normal
shade of red and his normal texture, soft and flopping over his eyes. Katie was leaning against the
wall next to a poster of the Chudley Cannons.

The four of them had been watching to see who would pick the spiked drink up fifteen minutes ago
from the relative safety of the hallway. Theo had gasped, then groaned when his mother picked the
drink up and gave it to Hermione. Daniel had lurched up to stop her before it was too late, but was
yanked back by Katie.

“Let me go!” he said through gritted teeth, wrenching his arm from her.

“Too late,” she said with a smirk, looking over Daniel’s arm. He’d turned to see his mother’s
face contorting in disgust.

“Let’s go!” Theo said, pulling him down the hall, his mother’s voice calling his name over the
crowd noise.

Katie was laughing hysterically, Theo was as green as the drink they just spiked, Jo had a
worried look on her face and Daniel was furious.

“My mum is going to kill me,” Theo said when they made it to his room.

“You should’ve spiked the kids’ drinks, not the adults,” Jo said.

“That was hilarious!” Katie said, holding her stomach.

“No, it wasn’t!” Daniel said, rounding on Katie.

“Oh, shut up, Catalan. You’re just angry it was your mum. If it was some stranger, you’d be
laughing, too.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” she said, leaning against the wall.

At that time, the door to Theo’s room burst open and his diminutive mother stalked in, buoyed by
anger and taking up much more room than usual.

“Theo! What in bloody hell were you thinking?”

“Sorry, Mum,” Theo said, not trying to get out of trouble.

Tonks looked around the room. “Were you all involved in it?” Their silence and averted eyes
answered her question. “You will all four march right back in there and apologise to Hermione.
Then, you will drink the rest of the drink you spiked, Theodore Weasley. See how you like having
your mouth cemented shut.”

“But, Mum! It’s got alcohol in it!”

“Not enough to get you drunk, unfortunately for you. Let’s go.”

They saw Harry go into the bathroom as they left the room before Tonks. Jo gave Daniel a puzzled
look and he shrugged his shoulders in return. “Wait here until she gets out,” Tonks said. “How many
drinks did you spike?”

“A couple,” Theo said.

“I’ll show you which ones,” Jo said, leading Tonks to the bar.

Daniel, Katie and Theo were still standing, waiting for Hermione to exit the loo, when Jo
returned. “She still in there?”

“Yep,” Theo said. “It shouldn’t take this long for the effects to wear off. Uncle Fred said five
minutes, tops.”

“Where’s Dad?” Jo said, looking around the room.

“Still in there,” Katie said, staring holes through the door.

Daniel’s stomach twisted, the vague knowledge of what might be going on behind the door making
him a little sick.

Hermione exited and the four of them went to apologise. Hermione was shocked to see Jo, Katie
and Daniel owning up to the prank, too, but Daniel was surprised how well she took it. “I guess I
need to get used to this if I’m going to be in Fred and George’s circle from now on,” she said,
ruffling Theo’s hair. “Next time, spike someone else’s drink though.” She walked off, four shocked
faces following her. Before she left the hall, she turned to Theo and said, “Oh, by the way, you
should suggest to Fred and George that they alter the potion to make sure the person drools. That’d
make it much more embarrassing.” She winked at Theo, who turned bright red, and walked off with a
smile. Daniel turned to Katie, whose mouth was hanging open in shock, and gave her a large grin
that said, “Take that! My mum can take a joke!”

Jo walked off to find her dad and Tonks returned with a spiked drink for Theo. He drank it down,
grimacing the entire time. “To your room,” Tonks said, taking the glass from him.

Which is where they were when Jo returned with the news that Harry had been outside.

“And you’re an idiot if you believe that,” Katie said. “Which means that Daniel will.”

“Katie!” Jo cried.

“You don’t have to work so hard for me to hate you, Katie. I already do,” Daniel retorted.

“Daniel!” Jo cried.

“I’m crushed,” Katie replied.

Jo looked at Theo. “Yeah, we’re going to be one big happy family. I can’t wait for the summer
hols.”

“We all know what they were doing in the bathroom,” Katie said, glaring at Daniel.

“If Dad says he was outside, I believe him,” Jo replied.

“Oh, I’m sure he was outside for a minute. He had to apparate somewhere, didn’t he?”

“Why not just walk out of the bathroom?” Daniel said.

“After fifteen minutes? With Hermione? Do I have to spell it out for you, Catalan? They were
having sex.”

“Katie!” Jo said, sounding scandalised.

“Well, they were. Want me to explain it to you?”

Theo, his mouth cemented shut banged on the wall to get everyone’s attention. He gestured wildly
at Katie, his face contorting in faces of disbelief and grunting sounds coming from his throat.

“Write it down, Theo,” Jo said, nodding to a piece of parchment on the desk. He did and handed
it to Jo, who read, “*What makes you the expert?”* Jo looked up and added, “Yeah, what makes
you think you know so much about it?”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say I read it in a book and leave it at that.”

“Where did you get the book?” Jo persisted.

“Jo, drop it,” Katie said.

“She’s lying,” Daniel put in. “She doesn’t know a thing about it.”

Katie raised her eyebrows. “And you do?”

“More than you.”

“Really? Did your mummy sit down and have the talk with you?” she said in a mocking voice. When
Daniel didn’t respond, she laughed. “She did, didn’t she? I bet she used terms like vagina, penis
and love, didn’t she?”

Daniel felt the heat from his face rush down his neck, but he was determined to stand up to
Katie. “Yes, she did. So what?” he replied, leaping to his feet. “You’re just jealous because your
mum couldn’t have an intelligent conversation if her life depended on it. I’d love to have heard
the scintillating conversations the two of you had on your shopping trip. *What do you think of
this colour, Mum? Oh no honey, that washes you out. But, let’s talk about me*,” he said in a
high-pitched voice, placing his hand in a feminine gesture on his chest on the last word. Katie’s
face fell for a split second before she resumed the disdainful look from before. “What’s wrong,
Katie? Hit too close to home? Not so fun when you are on the receiving end, is it?”

He walked over toward her and stuck his finger in her face. “I’m warning you, Katie. If you
terrorise my mum, you’ll regret it.” He gave her a final glare and stalked out of the room, feeling
better than he’d felt in months.

**

“Are you having fun?” Harry whispered in her ear.

“Eh,” Hermione replied. “It’s okay. Honestly, I’d rather be home alone with you.”

“Don’t forget about the kids,” Harry added.

“Of course, and the kids.”

“It’s almost midnight. Let me get us some champagne.”

“Sounds good,” Hermione replied.

She watched him weave through the crowd to the bar and felt a tug on her shirt. “Hey, Daniel,”
she said, draping an arm over his shoulder. “You are getting so tall,” she said. “When did that
happen?”

He shrugged. “Sorry about the prank,” he said, averting his eyes.

She gave his shoulder a hug. “That’s okay. No harm done. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Hey, mate!” Harry said, handing Hermione her flute of champagne.

“Hi, Harry.”

“It’s almost midnight. We’re going to leave not too long after,” Hermione said. “Better go find
your friends.”

“We are?” Harry asked.

“Okay,” Daniel said, walking away.

“Aren’t we?” Hermione replied.

“I usually stay to help clean up,” Harry replied.

“Oh, okay,” Hermione said. “I didn’t know. That’s fine. I’ll help.”

“We can go. I’m sure Ron and Tonks will understand.”

“No, let’s help. It’s the least we could do for having us over.”

Harry kissed her on the cheek. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she replied, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“You’re supposed to save that for midnight.”

“Right. I forgot.”

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, and closed it again. Grasping her hand, he pulled
her out of the crowd to the corner of the room. She looked around in the semi-dark corner and said
with a grin, “Romantic, Harry.”

“It’s too crowded over there,” he said gesturing to the centre of the room which was, in his
defense, filled with drunk witches and wizards.

“You aren’t trying to bring me over here and feel me up?” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“No, I’ll save that for later.”

She leaned her back against the wall and watched him. Harry was looking around the room,
scanning the crowd, but not really seeing anything. One hand was holding his champagne glass, the
other was in his trouser pocket, jingling his keys and change.

She traced his profile with her eyes: the messy hair that still fell across his forehead, his
straight, thin nose, the dip in the center of his top lip, his pink lips that his tongue was
running across at that moment, his chin that was just strong enough to add an exclamation point on
his features.

She heard, as if in a well, the distant sound of Ron and Tonks telling everyone that it was
thirty seconds to the New Year…

Harry adjusted his stance, removing his hand from his pocket and running it over the features
she’d just been studying, and around to rub the base of his neck. He gave her a quick glance, a
half smile and returned his attention to the crowd.

She tried to pinpoint, but couldn’t, why she loved Harry. If asked to name specifics, she wasn’t
sure she could. It was the entire package she loved, warts and all. She wouldn’t want to take his
faults out of his character; they were part of who he was. His legendary guilt complex was tied to
his capacity to love. His impulsiveness was tied to his fun-loving nature. His jealousy was tied to
his insecurities about his worth. She didn’t want the good without the bad…

*Fifteen seconds, Ron called out…*

…he wouldn’t be Harry, then…

*Ten seconds…*

…the man that she loved,

*nine* *seconds…*

the complete man,

*eight* *seconds…*

that she’d always loved…

*seven* *seconds…*

He turned to look at her. She watched his lips mouth, ‘six,’ when she heard herself say…

*“Will you marry me?”*

…at the same time he did.

*Four…*

“What?” they asked in unison, looking at each other in shock.

*Three…*

“Will you marry me,” they repeated, together again.

*Two…*

They grinned and fell into each other’s arms…

*One…*

Their question already answered.

**

“Some party, eh?” Tonks said, waving her wand to send a stack of paper plates and serviettes
into the rubbish bag that Ron was holding open.

“Yes, very nice,” Hermione replied, supervising the self-washing dishes in the sink, her wand
ready to catch any rogue champagne flutes.

“It always is,” Harry said, bringing food in from the other room and placing it on the kitchen
table.

“We are never going to eat all this food,” Tonks lamented.

“You forget we have Theo, the human garbage disposal,” Ron said, tying the bag and opening a new
one.

“You forget he returns to Hogwarts in,” she looked at her watch, “ten hours.”

“Oh, right,” Ron replied, looking sad. His face lit up and he continued, “That just means more
for me!”

Harry and Hermione laughed as much at the expression on Tonks’s face as they did at Ron’s
statement.

“Of course, you two,” Tonks said, looking at Harry and Hermione, “could come over for dinner
every night for the next month if you like. Give Dobby a little holiday.”

“As nice as that sounds,” Hermione said, wishing they could, “we’re going back to Spain tomorrow
afternoon.”

Tonks and Ron stopped, mid-task, and stared at Harry and Hermione, who continued their chores.
“We?” Ron asked, looking at Harry.

“What?” he asked with the air of someone who had only been half listening to the exchange.

“Is there something you need to tell us?” Tonks asked.

Hermione cast a look at Harry, who said, “What do you mean?”

“I thought you went to Spain on Hermione’s days off. Just surprised you have time so soon after
Christmas,” Ron said looking between the two.

“I don’t have time off,” Hermione said.

“I’m going to be spending more time there,” Harry interjected.

“Oh,” Ron said, trying to hide the disappointment from his voice. “I thought you’d both be…,” he
trailed off. “Never mind,” he said busying himself with again with the rubbish.

Hermione went over to Ron and put her hand around his waist. “Ron, it’s just temporary. I’m
moving back to England.”

A huge grin broke across Ron’s face. “Are you really?” Hermione grinned at him and nodded.
“You’re really coming back? To stay?”

“As long as Harry’ll have me,” Hermione said.

“Oh, he’s not thick enough to lose you twice.”

“Oi!” Harry said. “I’m standing right here!”

“I don’t care. You were bloody stupid and you know it.”

“Yes, well you don’t have to remind me so often.”

“Are you two going to get married or just live in sin?” Tonks asked.

“Live in sin. At least until the kids get out for the summer. We’ll get married then, I guess,”
Hermione said. “We haven’t gotten that far. I just asked him to marry me an hour ago.”

“No, I asked you to marry me,” Harry interjected.

“Wait, hang on!” Ron said, holding up his hand. “Tonight? You asked tonight?”

“In your parlour, yep,” Harry said.

“You asked Harry?” Tonks said to Hermione.

“Yes,” she said.

“No,” Harry interjected.

“Technically, we asked at the same time.”

“Who gives a rumpled horned snorkack? What counts is your going to be here, in England with us
where you belong,” Ron said, lifting Hermione off the ground in a hug.

Tonks was walking past Harry and said in a stage whisper, “If I didn’t know better, I’d be
jealous of that,” nodding toward her husband twirling Hermione around in a circle.

“Think we should be worried?” Harry asked her in mock sincerity.

“Nah,” she said with a dismissive wave.

Ron placed a laughing Hermione back on her feet. “I had no idea you missed me so much,
Ronald.”

“Me either, truth be told. Now that you’re back, I don’t know. It just seems like everything is
right. Does that make sense?”

“Okay, now I am worried. That almost made sense,” Tonks said on another pass by Harry.

“I know exactly what you mean, Ron. And I agree.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss
on the cheek. “I didn’t realise how much I missed you, either.”

“Time to break this little love fest up,” Harry said, laughing and pushing in between the two.
He gave Hermione a kiss and walked her backwards away from Ron.

“Jealous, Harry?” Tonks said, with raised eyebrows. “I have seen you this jealous in, oh let’s
see…15 years or so.”

“Shut it, Tonks,” Harry said around Hermione’s lips.

“Save it for later, tiger,” Hermione said, stepping out of Harry’s embrace.

“Oh, good lord. They are going to be gooey and mushy, aren’t they?” Ron said in a pleading voice
to Tonks.

“Bloody newlyweds,” Tonks said in an undertone.

“Here, Tonks. I have a tip for you,” Hermione said, walking over and whispering in her ear.

Tonks’s eyes lit up and she said, “Really? Never tried that.”

“Guaranteed,” Hermione said with a smug look.

“Be afraid. Be very afraid,” Harry said to Ron.

“Not bloody likely after what you’ve told me,” Ron said.

Hermione turned to Harry, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “And what have you told him?” she
asked.

“Not nearly as much as he wanted to know, I assure you,” Harry said, walking towards Hermione,
who had crossed her arms over her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and said, “I just said it’s
the best sex I’ve ever had.”

She stared at him for a minute, and he thought that she wasn’t going to forgive him, that she
was going to make him pay when they were alone. He was going to kill Ron.

She cut her eyes toward Ron, who was looking rather frightened. “You do know what this means,
don’t you, Ron?”

He gulped. “No, what?”

“That Tonks and I are going to talk about you, too.”

“Yep, she’s right,” Tonks put in, before reaching up and slapping Ron on the back of the head.
“Git.”

“Oww! That hurt!”

“It wasn’t supposed to tickle.”

“Are you angry with me?” Harry asked while Ron glared at Tonks and rubbed the back of his
head.

“Furious. I’ll show you how much later,” she said.

Harry narrowed his eyes, not sure if she was furious or flirting. She hadn’t uncrossed her arms,
but she hadn’t moved away either. He took a flyer and gave her a long deep kiss.

Definitely flirting, he thought as her tongue ran along his teeth before she nipped his bottom
lip.

“If you two keep going at it like that, we’ll be hearing another announcement soon,” Tonks said,
directing dishes into the cupboard with her wand.

Harry and Hermione pulled apart and resumed their tasks. “What announcement would that be?”
Hermione asked.

“Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top,” Tonks sang.

“Oh, no,” Hermione said at the same time Harry replied, “Maybe.”

The shocked silence these two responses brought to the kitchen were interrupted immediately by
Olivia, Jo, Katie, Daniel and Theo. “Parlour is clean,” Olivia announced.

Tonks took the platter of food from Harry, who was still staring at Hermione in stunned silence.
“We can get it from here,” she said, nudging Harry into action with a soft push from her shoulder.
“You lot take off. We’ll see you at King’s Cross tomorrow.”

“Right,” Harry said, his mind reeling. Hermione wasn’t looking at him, instead handing the
dishes she was holding to Ron and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Okay, kids. Let’s get our cloaks,” she said, herding them out of the kitchen. Harry followed
and took his cloak from Olivia, trying the entire time to catch Hermione’s eye, with no success.
“Thanks, Tonks. It was so much fun,” Hermione said, giving the small witch a hug. “See you
tomorrow.”

“Right. Eleven comes bright and early tomorrow. Don’t be late,” she said, embracing Harry.

“We’ve never missed a train,” Harry said.

“You’ve come close,” Ron said.

“He hasn’t had me around,” Hermione said with a smirk. Harry saw Katie roll her eyes behind
Hermione’s back. He shook his head and gave her a glare.

Ron picked up an old, deflated quaffle out of a basket by the door. “The last one, it must be
yours.”

“Yes, the ratty old quaffle is always mine,” Harry said, grasping the portkey.

Ron pulled out his wand, tapped the quaffle and said, “Portus. You might want to bring it
tomorrow. Just in case you miss the train.”

“Think I have enough pull with the Magical Transportation Department to get a last minute
portkey?”

“I’m sure you can bribe me some way,” Ron said, slapping Harry on the back.

The family all placed a hand on the quaffle and were transported to the entrance hall of their
home in Godric’s Hollow. The energy from the party apparently didn’t travel by portkey; all six of
them trudged up the stairs, each thinking a variation of the same thought. *I don’t want to get
up early tomorrow.*

Half-hearted, murmured goodnights were exchanged; even Katie was too tired to glare or complain
about the sleeping arrangements. Harry and Hermione changed and readied for bed in silence, the
scene from the kitchen in both of their minds, but neither knowing how to broach the subject, or if
they even wanted.

They crawled into bed and lay side by side, not touching, both staring at the ceiling. Hermione
broke the oppressing silence. “I guess we haven’t talked about everything, have we?”

“No.”

Silence. Harry didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to know if she’d thought about having
children with him and dismissed the idea outright. If so, why? Or had she not even thought about
having children with him at all? He didn’t know what would be worse, considering and rejecting the
idea or not loving him enough to even consider it. How do you ask a question when you know that any
answer given will break your heart?

So, he stayed silent.

She turned onto her side to face him, placing her hand in the center of his bare chest. “Have
you thought about us having children?” she asked in a soft voice.

He placed his hand over hers, reflexively. “I haven’t been sitting around picking out names, if
that’s what you’re asking. I guess I just assumed that we would try. Or that we would at least
consider the possibility.” He turned his head to hers. “You haven’t?”

“The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind, Harry.”

He returned his gaze to the ceiling and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Why?”
he croaked before he could stop himself. “Why don’t you want to have my baby?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, turning his face back towards hers with the light touch of her hand
on his cheek. “That’s not it at all. Don’t even think that. Just because I’ve not thought of it
doesn’t mean I don’t want to have a baby with you. In fact, I rather like the idea.”

“You do?” Harry said, his heart buoyed by her words.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why haven’t you considered it before now?”

“Really, Harry, we’ve had enough to be going on with, don’t you think? We’ve only been seeing
each other since September, sleeping with each other since October, we just told our kids mere days
ago that we are dating, and tonight we proposed. Not to mention that we’ve had our jobs and lives
going on in the background of our drama. There is only so much I can think about at a time.”

“Wait a minute. There’s a limit to what your brain can do?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Hermione said.

“Right. What is the subject?”

“You. Me. Children. Child.”

“You only want one?”

“We already have four Harry. I think one more is plenty.”

“You’re probably right. Although I wouldn’t mind having three or four with you.”

“Stop right there. I’m 38 years old, Harry. One more. That’s it.”

“Why didn’t you and Miguel have more children?”

She flipped over onto her stomach, burying her hands beneath the pillow and closing her eyes.
“He didn’t want anymore.”

“You aren’t going to sleep, are you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What about your promises from earlier?”

“Harry, we shagged not three hours ago in a bathroom.” Her eyes popped open. “Since when are you
Mr. Stamina?”

“Since we started talking about making babies,” he said, running his hand under her shirt and
over the warm skin of her back.

She moved to her side and propped her head on her arm. Harry ran his hand along her side and
around to cup her breast. “Harry, I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm,” he said, running his thumb across her hardening nipple.

“It may take a while to get pregnant. I had a difficult time getting pregnant with Daniel.”

“That’s fine. We’ll have fun trying,” he said, grinning and leaning down to kiss her.

She pulled back and put her hand over his mouth. “You say that now, but it is stressful trying
and failing to get pregnant. Stressful on the relationship.”

“How long did you two try?”

“A year.”

Harry shrugged. “We can handle that.”

“What if it takes longer?”

“We can handle it,” he replied. “Let’s not worry about it just yet. We’ll just go on how we
were, but without contraception. If we get pregnant, we get pregnant. We’ll do all the plotting and
planning when we get married, okay?”

“Okay,” Hermione replied. “You didn’t have to stop, you know.”

“Stop what?”

“What you were doing before,” she replied, putting his hand back on her breast.

“You mean, this?”

“Yes. That. Right. There.”

**

Hermione and Daniel were sitting on his trunk in the middle of the entry hall of Harry’s house
watching the scene before them with a mixture of horror and awe. Panza was in his cage next to
Daniel, his amber eyes wide in amazement, his neck swiveling on his body trying to take in the
entire scene. And what a scene it was.

Harry, Olivia, Katie and Jo were flying through the house, trying to get everything together for
their impending departure on the Hogwart’s Express. Dobby was popping into the scene here and there
with various lost articles: quills, spellbooks, cloaks, shoes, toiletries. He seemed to be the only
person that knew where everything was. Why he hadn’t used this knowledge to get everything packed
and ready the night before was beyond Hermione.

So distracted by what was going on, Hermione and Daniel didn’t realise the door had chimed until
Dobby appeared out of thin air to open the door.

“Really, Dobby. Changing the wards so I can’t apparate straight in is a little petty, don’t you
think?” Bridgette said, breezing past the house-elf and into the hallway.

“Dobby didn’t do it, ma’am. Master Harry did,” Dobby said, bowing a little and looking under his
arm in Hermione’s direction. Bridgette followed Dobby’s gaze and froze. Her mask of aloofness
cracked, revealing a hard, cold stare, reminding Hermione of the Veela’s transformation twenty-four
years earlier at the Quidditch World Cup.

“You,” Bridgette spat out.

Hermione felt Daniel tense next to her. She patted his knee as she stood to face Bridgette.
“Hello, Bridgette.”

“Godric’s Hollow is a rather large detour from Spain to King’s Cross,” she said, yanking at each
finger of her glove before ripping it off and starting on the other.

“It wasn’t a detour.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and stared Bridgette down, which is how Harry found
them when he rushed through the hall a minute later.

“Bridgette!” he said in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking the children to King’s Cross of course.” She tore her gaze from Hermione’s. “Why are you
so shocked? Have I ever not gone? I am their mother,” she said, returning her glare to Hermione on
the last word. “The surprise shouldn’t be that I’m here, but that she is. I thought you would have
tired of her by now, Harry.”

“Bridgette,” Harry said, warningly.

“It’ll happen soon, I’m sure. Just like all the others,” she sighed, giving Hermione a pitying
look.

“Bridgette,” Harry said again, stepping forward.

Hermione laughed and walked toward Harry, placing her arm around his waist. “Oh, Harry, don’t
bother. As if I’d believe a word this lying, manipulative…witch said,” she said, giving him a kiss
on the cheek. Hermione saw Daniel’s eyes widen behind Bridgette and Hermione stifled a laugh at the
shocked expression on his face.

“MUM!” Katie shrieked, rushing through the entry hall and running to embrace her mother.
Bridgette opened her arms and smiled. “Princess, how are you?” she purred.

“Better now,” Katie said.

“I’m sure,” her mum replied, smoothing down her hair and glaring at Hermione.

“Are you ready, Katie?” Harry said. “We have to get going.”

“I’m ready.”

“Hi, Mum,” Olivia said, following her levitated trunk down the stairs.

“Hi, Mum,” Jo repeated, descending behind Olivia.

“Hi girls!” Bridgete said with enthusiasm. She went over and hugged Olivia, who looked shocked
and then Jo, who look disgusted and wiggled from her embrace to stand beside Daniel. Bridgette
noticed Daniel for the first time. “And you must be Daniel,” she said, oozing with charm. Hermione
wanted to strangle her.

“I’m Bridgette,” she said, holding her hand out to Daniel.

He took it, reluctantly and murmured, “Nice to meet you,” while blushing a dark shade of
red.

“Aren’t you cute?” Bridgette cooed. “You resemble your father, I’m sure,” she said, throwing a
look Hermione’s way.

Hermione felt Harry’s hand tighten around her waist before he said, “Let’s go.”

The trip to King’s Cross was tense, and crowded. Harry, Hermione and Daniel were in the front of
the car, while Bridgette was in the back, trying to keep a lively conversation going between her
and the girls. The only one remotely interested in participating was Katie.

“When is your next game, Jo?” Bridgette asked.

“I sent you the schedule. Don’t you know?” she asked, looking out the window.

“Of course, I know.”

“Then when is it?” she asked, glaring at her mum.

Harry was staring straight at the road and Daniel was looking down at his hands, trying not to
overhear what was going on in the back.

“You can be sure that I’ll be there,” Bridgette said, avoiding a direct answer.

“Why? You hate Quidditch.”

“Because you are playing, darling. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

Hermione heard Jo give a derisive snort but remain silent.

“Mum, did you have a good New Year’s?” Olivia said, trying to break the tension.

“Yes, I did, darling. I went to a fabulous ball last night. All of the most important people in
the wizarding world were there. Where were you, Harry?”

“With people I give a toss about,” Harry replied, staring at the road and clenching his
teeth.

“What did you wear, Mum?”

Bridgette’s voice took on an animation that Hermione hadn’t heard before. “I wore the strapless
red ball gown. You know the one.”

“Did you wear the necklace we bought in Paris? And the earrings?” Katie said.

“Of course I did. And I thought of you while wearing them all night,” she said, tweaking Katie’s
nose. Hermione saw Katie beam at her mum.

“I bet you were the most beautiful woman there.”

“Yes, well…” Bridgette said, trailing off with a smug smile on her face.

“We’re here,” Harry announced.

*Thank God*, Hermione thought. *Any more of this and I might be physically ill.*

Tonks and Ron were waiting for them on the other side of the barrier, tapping their watches and
grinning. Theo and Anne were no where to be seen having already boarded the train.

“You aren’t as late as last time,” Ron said, stepping forward to help with the trunks. “I guess
Hermione being with you is a good influence.” The smile dropped from his face when he saw Bridgette
step through the barrier with Katie.

“Hello, Ron,” she said, breezing past him with barely a glance.

“Bitchet,” he sneered.

A flurry of goodbyes later and the Hogwart’s Express was on its way. Ron and Harry, who’d been
helping the children with their trunks were a little farther down the platform and Tonks was
talking to a witch the Hermione didn’t know. She looked to her right and saw that Bridgette was
standing beside her, watching the train pull out of the station.

“Don’t even think about trying to turn my children against me,” she said with a fake smile on
her face.

Hermione scoffed. “It looks to me like you’re doing a good job of that on your own.”

Bridgette looked at Hermione. “Maybe you are perfect for Harry. Now he has another woman to
dominate him, just like I did.”

“That’s the difference between me and you. I wouldn’t want to dominate him.”

“You should. It’s pathetically easy.”

Hermione turned to Bridgette and, keeping a pleasant look on her face, said in a dangerous
voice. “Let me tell you something. Your days of manipulating Harry, and this family, are over.”

Bridgette arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Isn’t this an interesting pair,” a drawling voice said. “Beauty and the beast,” Draco Malfoy
finished with a sneer.

Bridgette batted her eyelashes and smiled up at the tall wizard. “Draco,” she purred.

“Bridgette,” he said, looking her up and down. “You look lovely as usual. Not quite as beautiful
as last night, but close.”

She bowed her head slightly and said, “Thank you.”

“Why does it not surprise me that you two know each other?” Hermione said.

“Well, it’s because you are so *clever*, Granger,” Malfoy said sarcastically.

“Malfoy, shove off,” Harry said, walking up.

“And here comes the boy who lived to protect his women from the big bad Slytherin!” Draco said
with a sneer.

“I don’t need to protect Hermione. And Bridgette’s on her own,” Harry said.

Malfoy feigned shock. “My, my, haven’t we dropped in the pecking order?” he said to Bridgette,
who was glaring at Harry. “And to a Mudblood, no less,” he finished.

Ron, who Hermione had forgotten was on the edge of the group, leapt between Harry and Hermione
to get to Malfoy. Draco stepped back out of harm’s way and Harry caught Ron.

“And, here is the trusty sidekick to fly off the handle.” Malfoy shook his head and made tutting
noises. “The more things change, the more they stay the same,” he said, before walking off.

With an angry flourish of her cloak, Bridgette disapparated and the tension evaporated with
her.

“I still hate Malfoy,” Ron said, glaring at the back of their life-long enemy.

“Don’t waste your energy on him,” Harry said.

“I wish I had faced him in the battle and just accidentally performed…”

“Ron,” Hermione warned. “Don’t even say it.”

“You know, Harry,” Tonks piped in, “Freud would have a field day with the fact that you married
someone almost identical in temperament and looks to your arch enemy.”

Ron looked from Malfoy’s back to the place where Bridgette had been standing. “I knew there was
a reason I always fucking hated her,” he said, snapping his fingers.

Harry glared at them. “Thanks for making the last fifteen years of my life seem even worse.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The only reason it’s hard to see Bridgette’s good side is she doesn’t have
the benefit of Harry’s good influence on a daily basis,” Hermione said, putting her arms around his
waist. “If Harry married her, then there is good in there. I’m sure of it,” she finished, looking
up at him with an adoring smile and hoping she was a convincing liar.

Ron looked confused, then abashed. “Sorry, mate. She’s right, you know.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Tonks said, cottoning on. “I think her personality change is due to all of
those potions she puts on her hair to keep it blonde.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m sure you are right. There have been studies that have shown…”

“All right, all right,” Harry interrupted, covering her mouth with his hand. “I get the point. I
see the lengths my friends and the woman I love will go to to make me feel better.”

“When do you leave for Spain?”

Hermione shrugged. “Whenever we want, I guess.”

“You two have a good trip,” Tonks said, hugging Hermione. “Thanks for the tip,” she whispered in
Hermione’s ear. She wiggled her eyebrows and winked and Hermione grinned.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

They disapparated and left Harry and Hermione alone on the platform. Harry pulled Hermione into
his arms and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked innocently.

“You know. I appreciate it.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and replied, “Let’s go home.”