Fate, My Friend, You Say the Strangest Things

"Thanks, again, Mrs. Weasley for watching Jamie," Hermione said, heading for the fireplace.

"It's not a problem, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling. "How long will you be in Paris?"

"I'll be back next Monday morning."

"Well, you have a nice time. Jamie won't be a problem."

Hermione nodded. "Just remember, he likes to read to himself before bed, he loves listening to the Muggle CD I have for him before his nap. The Strokes one. He doesn't like cheese or eggs, he-"

Mrs. Weasley laughed. "Hermione, I've watched him before. I helped you raise him practically! You don't need to worry."

Hermione gave her a big hug. "I know, I know. I'll see you next Saturday, Mrs. Weasley. Give Jamie another kiss for me when he wakes up." Jamie was napping upstairs in Ron's old room.

"Good bye, Hermione."

Hermione waved and Floo home.

***

Hermione had come home early on Sunday night, and she picked Jamie up from the Weasley's. He was exhausted, as was she, and he was fast asleep when she put him in his bed. It was storming that night, and normally, he would be up, watching the storm, but he didn't have the energy.

Hermione closed his door, and she went to the living room to watch a little bit of television. Her favorite, the American show That 70's Show, was on. She wondered what it would have been like if she had grown up in Muggle America in the seventies. She dozed off on the couch, and just as she was dreaming they were living in Point Place, Wisconsin in 1976, she was woken up by a knock on the door.

Hermione switched off the TV, grabbed her wand, and cautiously went to the door. She slowly opened it, and she wanted to scream.

It was Harry.

But not Harry the way she had remembered him. He still had his same round glasses, but his black hair was longer, shaggier. His clothes were purely Muggle- loose fitting, dirty washed jeans, a turquoise t-shirt that said "American Eagle" on in navy letters, a corduroy, dark brown jacket, and Doc Marten boots. She could also see he was tan.

"Ha-Harry?"

"Hello, Hermione. Can I...can I come in?"

She stepped aside to let him in. "Harry...what're..."

"I suppose you want to know where I've been, huh?"

Hermione closed the door. "Yes, that...that would be nice to know."

Harry sat down on her couch. "I don't want you to hate me, Hermione. I didn't want to be gone for so long. I did want to come back home to you, but I was on order to stay with a low profile for a while. Dumbledore sent me to America, and I got to see a lot. New York, Houston, southern California, and everywhere in between, but I hated the fact I wasn't here with you."

Hermione sat in the arm chair across from him. "Harry, why didn't you at lease write?"

"I wanted to. Really, I did, but there was the fear of it being intercepted. I couldn't come out of hiding until the Death Eaters were under control."

Hermione felt the tears well up in her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. Harry moved down to the floor in front of her. He was on his knees, and he put his hands on her knees.

"But I'm here now. Hermione," he said, whispering in her ear. "I still love you, and I hope there isn't another man in your life because I want to marry you."

"Oh, Harry..."

"Do you still love me, Hermione?"

She looked into his eyes. "Of course I do, Harry. I never stopped loving you, but this...I'm just...I'm in shock. It's really you, isn't it?"

He nodded. He cupped her chin in his hand, and he gently pressed his lips to hers. Hermione ran her fingers through his hair as she opened her mouth to let his tongue in. This is what she wanted: to be in Harry's arms, kissing him, holding him, being with him.

He pulled away slowly. "Wow. I've missed that."

"I've missed you."

Harry picked her up, and her carried her to her bedroom. Hermione knew she wanted that night to reunite with Harry, and she started to undress him. His jacket and shirt fell to the floor, and she lightly kissed his chest.

"I love you, Harry. Please don't leave me again."

Harry pulled her close. "I don't intend on it."

The room was filled with energy as they moved together. The sheets were tangled in their legs, and there were a few times they weren't paying attention and nearly fell off the bed, but they didn't care. They had each other, and nothing could have ruined that night.

Hermione rested her head on his toned stomach when they finished and heaved a huge sigh of relief. "It really is you," she said, assuring herself.

Harry ran his fingers through her hair. "It really is me."

***

The room was filled with the morning sun, and Harry was wide awake, looking up at the ceiling. Hermione was beside him, asleep on her stomach, her bare back visible below her mess of bed head, and the sheet was just barely at her waist. Harry was smiling. He was home. He was with Hermione. He-

"Mummy?"

Harry looked over at the doorway, and he saw a little boy, around two or three, standing there. His brown hair was the same color as Hermione's, and he was rubbing his eyes. He opened them, and Harry saw the brilliant green eyes, not unlike his own.

"Who are you?" the boy demanded.

"I'm...I'm a friend of your mother's," Harry said. "I'm Harry."

"I'm Jamie. Could you wake my mummy up and ask her to help me brush my teeth? I cannot reach my toothbrush."

Harry sat up. "Can I help you?"

Jamie nodded. "I suppose you could."

Jamie walked in the bathroom across the hall, and Harry got out of bed. He pulled on his boxers, and he went in the bathroom. He got Jamie's toothbrush and toothpaste, and Jamie brushed. Harry picked him up so he could spit in the sink, and he helped the boy to wash his face.

"Thank you," Jamie said. "May I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Are you my daddy?"

Harry looked at him. "What?"

"I asked if you were my daddy. I mean, you do have the same eyes I do, and you were in bed with my mummy."

Harry shrugged. "I-I don't know..."

Harry wanted to faint. Was this boy really his son, or did Hermione have other affairs? Surely not. After all, if Jamie were his son, Hermione would have mentioned it, right?

"Jamie, what's your full name?"

Jamie held his head high, as if announcing the king's name. "James Ronald Granger. I'm named after my uncle Ron."

"Anyone else you're perhaps named after?"

"No."

Harry looked at the boy, puzzled. He shook all his thoughts about the boy out of his head and said, "Would you like some breakfast, Jamie?"

"I am awfully hungry."

"What would you like? I learned how to cook pancakes in America."

"Those sound good."

"And would you like bacon and eggs?"

Jamie shook his head. "I don't like eggs, very much."

Harry found himself making a mental note on that. He let Jamie lead him to the kitchen, and Jamie showed him where everything was. While Harry cooked, Jamie read his Transfiguration book at the table.

Well, it's pretty obvious he's Hermione's son, Harry laughed to himself.

"Harry?" he heard Hermione ask.

He turned and saw her in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing only his t-shirt. Her eyes went wide when she saw Jamie in there with him, and she felt the blood rush from her face.

Dammit, I forgot about Jamie! she screamed to herself.

Jamie smiled. "Good morning, Mummy! Harry was going to make me breakfast."