A/N: Erm, I don't mean to whinge but seeing that this story has only received three reviews, I am in two minds on whether to continue. I do want to as it's a plot that's been relentlessly swarming around in my head but I would appreciate some reviewing to give some direction to my decision.
I am working on the next chapter of NOG. However, I leave on Friday for India and while I have net access, I will also be working on my thesis and studying for exams. I will try my best to be regular about updating chapters!
To the reviewers that did leave their comments, thank you very much!
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It was suddenly cold, Harry realised with the slow clarity of one struggling between sleep and wakefulness. He reached out instinctively for Hermione, intending to share some body heat, after all, wasn't that the best cure for hypothermia, and cracked an eye open as his searching hands grasped at nothing but an odd assortment of cushions.
Worry and curiosity pulling him completely towards the land of the awake, he groggily rubbed his eyes and opened them fully to peer as much as he could at the surroundings. His hand fumbled for the glasses that he had dropped on the floor beside the couch the night before and putting them on, his gaze came to rest on Hermione, who was having a deliciously smelling breakfast combination on a tray and watching him lovingly.
He smiled in return as she made her way over to the couch, placing the tray between them. 'What is it? Why were you staring?'
She cradled his cheek gently and then ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes; her smooth strokes lulling him back to sleep effortlessly and opened them with difficulty at the sound of her voice, 'I love to watch you as you wake up. The way you rub your eyes, so much like a little boy, it's absolutely adorable.'
Harry wrinkled his nose, 'Cute and adorable? What about words like sexy and manly and handsome?'
Hermione rolled her eyes good naturedly and swatted his arm, 'Oh yes, like the other day where you told me the way I swing my legs when I sit on a higher level chair reminded you of how cute I supposedly was at eleven.'
Harry grinned sheepishly, 'Touché, Mrs Potter.'
'Go on now, eat. The kids will be getting up soon and you know the moment they do, they'll-…'
But she never got to tell him what the kids would do as the very individuals in question, came stampeding down the stairs and fell upon their father in a grand swoop, who was barely able to throw his glasses for safekeeping to his very amused wife in a move practiced over years of such war tactics. Similarly, Hermione salvaged the breakfast tray from the couch in the nick of time and placed it on the nearby table, when a lone, piteous wail reached her ears. Seeing that Harry was still valiantly battling the forces of terror, she shook her head and went up to get their youngest baby, two year old Hannah Hermione Potter, who was looking at her mother with an injured pout, as if demanding to know how on earth could she have been left out of the merry fracas below.
Hermione cuddled her, deeply inhaling the natural baby scent, and placing small kisses on the pink cheeks that steadily curved into a wide grin, much like her father's mischievous one. Holding Hannah securely to her chest, she went downstairs. Apparently the battle was over with the spoils of victory currently holding a hand over his heart, trying to bring it back to a semblance of normality.
'Getting old?' she softly teased. 'Feeling the pain are we?'
Harry snorted, panting at the same time, 'Don't you start, woman. You didn't have four kids piled up on you, each trying to pummel you good and proper.' Then turning towards their eldest, ten year old Hugh Sirius Potter who was now flat on his back, a triumphant grin on his face, he asked, 'Are you sure you guys didn't have any weapons with you? I think I have enough bruises in my side to last me the rest of my life.'
Hugh laughed loudly and sat up to face his father, green eyes mirthfully meeting green, 'Oh come on Dad. It wasn't all that bad, and that was because we had decided to be the ninja fighting force this time. If we were pirates or an Amazonian tribe, then you would have been in real trouble.' He plopped back in his earlier position and then rejoined in ominously, 'They do have weapons' and promptly went back to relaxing, his eyes closed in the contentment of a brave leader bringing his troops to victory.
Hermione settled back on the couch and gave a squirming Hannah over who was desperately trying to vault into her father's arms, over to Harry. She nodded knowingly, 'Ah, so it was the ninja force this morning was it? Hmm, so that was the yelling I heard, all those kung fu like cries… haven't seen the pirates for a while or the Red Indians or the tribe either…' she trailed off as eight year old Hazel Lily Potter, who had been sitting by the fire, rolled her eyes and spoke in an injured voice, 'Mum! Pirates is only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The Tribe fights only on Mondays and Saturdays. Sundays, Wednesday and Fridays are for ninja forces!' She huffed and shook her head while her twin Hailey nodded along for affirmation.
Hermione looked appalled to be seemingly receiving a patronising lecture from her children and narrowed her eyes at her husband who was busy smothering his giggles in Hannah's curly, ginger locks. He looked up and smirked unrepentantly, 'Cant blame them love, and you definitely cant pin this on me. I never used to lecture you or Ron that much.' Then he put a hand to his chin in an exaggerated gesture of deep thought, 'But I seem to remember a really annoying know-it-all who thought a homework planner would be a stupendous Christmas gift…'
She blushed at the affectionate twinkle in his eyes and raised an eyebrow. 'Alright, alright I get the point.' She clapped her hands to get the attention of all in the room, in varying poses and stages of repose and boomed in a manner the kids had learnt not to trifle with, 'Right then, everybody up, come on. Breakfast in ten minutes at the table and no excuses. Shoo!'
The kids instantly shooed and Harry went with five year old Hamish who still needed a little help with the pesky tasks of bathing and dressing much to his supreme embarrassment. Meanwhile, Hermione ducked into the kitchen in an attempt to rustle up more breakfast, at least this place was stocked. Suddenly, the circumstances that had forced them to come to this location pushed forcefully into her mind and she gripped the edges of the sink, trying to reconcile herself to the fact that she and the kids were going to be alone for God alone knew how long, while Harry -
A knocking on the door interrupted her thoughts and the anxiety morphed into fear. Oh God! They couldn't have found them! Didn't Remus mention that this place was untraceable and unplottable?
It didn't save James and Lily Potter.
Hermione had to keep herself from throwing up at the horrific truth in that innocuous remark and she tried to divert herself by calming the children as they were herded by Harry into the kitchen. They seemed to feel the tension in the air as they were subdued and silent, instinctively reaching out to clasp a hand or grab an arm for comfort. They crowded around Hermione who sat cradling a wide eyed Hannah in a chair.
She caught Harry's arms as he planted a kiss on her hair and made to answer the door.
'Harry!' she whispered frantically, hurriedly. 'Oh be careful, it could be anyone, but no one knows we are here, not even Ron and Luna or Remus and Mum, it could be him Harry, please just…'
She felt a pair of lips brush against hers, deepening the pressure for a second and then back away. 'Hermione' he said, a tight squeeze of her fingers belying the outward calm on his face, 'I promise I'll be careful, love. You know what to do.' He kissed her quickly again and turned to Hugh, clasping his shoulder, 'I am relying on you to help you Mum. Remember that you are the man of the house too and you should take care of your brother and sisters. Ok?'
Hugh fairly burst at the seams in pride at his father's confidence and resolutely nodded, 'Absolutely Dad. I'll take care of the girls and Hamish too and I promise I'll help Mum.'
Harry's smile at his son's innocent but steadfast declaration could have lit up the dreary day and he turned back to the door. Holding his wand within reach, he called, 'Who's there and who do you want?'
'It's me, Harry. It's Remus.'
'Prove it.'
'Your patronus is a stag after your father, Prongs. I myself am Moony because I am a werewolf. Padfoot died in the Department of Mysteries. We created the Marauder's Map along with Pettigrew. Hermione's patronus is an otter. I married Jane Granger thirteen years ago in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. You and Hermione have five children. Your youngest may be a seer. You were delivered by your father.'
It was the last two more than any other that convinced Harry as he made to open the door. The sliver of possibility surrounding Hannah and the own revelation about the circumstances surrounding his birth had been disclosed by McGonagall just a few weeks after Hannah's delivery when she and Hermione had been dangerously traversing the lines between life and death.
It had been what Harry safely considered the most harrowing time in his life. With three normal pregnancies, the expectant parents never considered the last to be so fraught with worry. Harry had quit his job as an Auror completely in the last few months to tend to Hermione who was ashen, sick, weak and ill incessantly from the beginning. To contemplate either the loss of wife or daughter while simultaneously caring for four children of which the eldest was only eight at the time, had played havoc and he was certain he wouldn't have survived without the constant presence of family and friends.
Hermione had been certified on the road to recovery a week after the painful delivery that had nearly killed her, but the verdict was still negative as far as Hannah was concerned. She remained in St Mungo's for an entire month - the longest month ever in their lives - and finally trained her green eyes on her parents' relieved and joyous faces, the spark of life beginning to glow, steadily but surely.
It was then that Hermione had christened her Hannah, a child borne of God's grace and Harry had promptly followed it up with her mother's name as well as a testament to the courageous war that both had waged.
It was on Hannah's first birthday that McGonagall had hinted at the 'extra' abilities that Hannah may come to acquire. Given his former professor's obvious disapproval of Divination, he knew that an appraisal of the same from her held a lot of weight. While Hannah hadn't exerted overly seer-ish abilities, she was uncannily perspective and could sense tension and unpleasantness in the air a minute before it actually manifested itself. For now, all they could do was watch and wait.
Remus brushed the water droplets pooling and running down his windcheater as he grinned tiredly, 'That last one's a real shocker, no? I cant believe James Potter actually delivered his own son.'
Harry laughed as he led the way to the kitchen where Hermione had gotten the breakfast ready after ascertaining no threat from their visitor. As they started to tuck in, Remus reached over and pushed an envelope in Harry's hands.
He spoke softly yet seriously, 'You both know what all this is about. But its become too much. Read that and tell me what you think. Harry, you may have to get ready.'
Harry breathed deeply and reached over to squeeze his wife's arm as he slit the envelope. A glance around the table revealed the children busily arguing over the efficacy of this morning's paternal attack, but Hannah's green eyes were disconcertingly boring into his own as she stared unblinkingly from her seat in the high chair.
Harry blinked and shook his shoulders. We really should talk about this to McGonagall.
He opened the envelope and scanned the parchment inside. As he read, his lips tightened and his eyes blazed.
What the hell did the idiot think he was doing?