A/N: Okay! So THIS is it! It, I tell you, it! Sorry it took so long, but I was stuck. I think there may be something about flying and unraveling writer's block, because "A Connection" was written on a plane ride to New York and this chapter came out of a flight from Vancouver! This chapter, the epilogue chapter, is a bit different from the rest of the fic. I was trying out a little first person perspective and kept it exclusively in Hermione's pov (which I admit was a little odd during the more fluffy parts). Please let me know what you think!
Disclaimer (this is my version of French, since I just got back from Canada): Non tendrois Harry Pottereaux, merci voe koo. Hehehehe!
Chapter 8~ Epilogue
The love that Harry and I grew to share did not come on gradually, like the warning symptoms of a fever or the foreshock tremors of an earthquake. Instead it lay peacefully dormant within us, hoping that we would someday take the time to notice. Which we did, eventually, finally, after nearly fifteen years of denial and near-misses. And while Fate proved herself capable of doing some good in regards to Harry and brought part of the story together-a toad, a troll, and a mad wizard bent on immortality-I'm proud to say that Harry and I handled the rest, thank you very much.
Six years have passed since that memorable morning in the kitchen of our flat. Ron moved out soon after, declaring Harry and I too "mushy" to live with, but our suspicions were confirmed that Ron was simply creating an excuse to move in with Luna when the news of their engagement was announced barely two days later. Now Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley live only a few houses away from Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter.
I sit and muse these things in my favorite room in the house. The young sun's rays shine in at a steep angle and for a while I watch it expand slowly about the room, each minute revealing new detail. I drink them in along with my morning tea and lament the one regrettable feature about this room: there was nowhere to relocate Harry's first token of affection-a massive mural declaring his feelings in Harry's endearingly boyish script.
With that thought I sigh and remind myself of my study's positive attributes. I magically modified all four of my rosewood bookcases to fit side-by-side in the hexagonally shaped room, leaving one complete wall for the door and a few photographs and another for a floor to ceiling picture window. Although it took significant, ahem, persuasion to convince my lawfully wedded husband to install a window seat beside this picture window, it has become my little sanctuary and the best spot in the entire house to do any serious thinking.
But my heart is light on this fine June morning and I glance fondly at the gently sloping hills with a small smile. Inevitably my gaze drops to the simple gold wedding band on my left hand and my smile widens of its own accord. It's been nearly five years since we were married and somehow I'm certain that this smile will never fade. My thoughts dwell briefly on our wedding day, possibly the best day of my life, although the doors of the Great Hall at Hogwarts were practically bursting due to the amount of reporters that had sneaked in.
And then it strikes me: this day is perfect. On this pleasant morning, I sit here alone-well, not entirely alone. For a moment I entertain myself with the idea of giving Harry a proper morning awakening, but a glance at my watch tells me to get a move on. No, seriously, it actually tells me this-a present from Ron, no doubt he thought it was humorous. Which it is, usually, except on occasions such as these when I am reminded that Harry and I are having he and Luna over for lunch today and I can't offer my wonderful husband any lingering wake-up calls. Apparently, this watch is supposed to be some mysteriously astute piece of magical machinery that informs whomever is holding it that which is most crucial to know at the time. I'm still waiting for that to happen.
With a sigh I rise from the window seat and exit my study, tidying up a little as I make my way up to our bedroom. The room is completely dark being on the west side of the house and I stumble with some minor cursing across the remnants of yesterday's attire, which due to last night's activities were not properly folded, hung, or otherwise disposed. I reach the nearest window with minimal injury and dramatically throw the shade, coaxing in what light there is, and expecting to hear stirrings of protest from the bed. However when I turn, I do not see my husband, and neither rumpled sheets nor squashed pillows could hide him.
The sound of running water gradually penetrates my worry and my slight frown is replaced by the sort of mischievous grin that would have elicited a brilliant blush had I worn it six years ago. Back when our relationship was still new, Harry delighted in my ever-constant blush, referring to it as my "companion." He insists that it is my most valuable accessory, although his favorite outfit of mine, as he is keen to remind me, is nothing but a smile.
For a moment I consider joining him, but the watch has grown adamant. Annoyed, I unclasp it from my wrist and tuck it in one of Harry's socks in his drawer. With the drawer closed the sounds fade to a dull hum, further pronounced by the absence of running water from the bathroom. I curse quietly to myself and sit on the bed to wait for my husband.
Harry emerges a few moments later and starts at first when he notices my presence. The room is still dim, save for the meager light from one of the windows and that from the bathroom, and it takes him a second to identify me without his glasses. I quirk an eyebrow at this.
"Do you have so many women in this room that it takes you this long to figure out who's sitting on our bed?" I tease.
He crosses the bedroom in two strides and promptly pins my upper body to the mattress. I'm trying to maintain my playfully stern expression, which is difficult enough without the stealthy approach of the object of my desire's lips, but I surrender and it'll probably be another twenty minutes before either of us are presentable for company. At the back of my mind is the vague registering that there is now a second layer of clothing on the floor, and that eventually we will have to hire an archaeologist to properly excavate the site of our bedroom.
I roll on top of Harry and am rewarded with his roguish grin and another good morning kiss. "You know, that was your best reply to anything I've said yet," I say with a sigh, settling in on his side.
He peers down at my face and laughs quietly, warming my heart with the sound. Today is perfect. Definitely. Why wait?
"Harry, I need to tell you something," I begin a little nervously.
"What is it?" he asks with a hefty amount of worry and concern.
I mentally smack my forehead with the palm of my hand for being so tactless-that phrase is hardly ever followed by good news. I hastily try to explain myself, but the doorbell from downstairs interrupts me.
Harry and I freeze as we realize the full magnitude of the situation. Simultaneously we both dive off opposite sides of the bed and practically scurry inside our respective wardrobes, emerging seconds later fully and appropriately clothed for a luncheon with two of our dearest friends. In addition we both wear identical guilty looks, but Harry waggles his eyebrows at me when he thinks I'm not looking. I counter by removing one of my lacy bras from where it adhered to the back of his shirt with static cling and send it to the floor to become the newest archaeological artifact of our bedroom.
"Let's hope they don't want to see our room for any reason," says Harry, grabbing my hand and dragging me to answer the incessant rappings on our front door. Neither of us has forgotten the last thing I said, but we know full well that it's impossible to bring up now.
Harry swiftly pulls open the door, much like a magician deftly removes a tablecloth without displacing the glassware, and Ron gracelessly pitches forward with the momentum of his pounding. An instant before his long nose might have met an ill fate, he freezes in place, still completely prone, inches above the wood floor.
Harry and I look up to see a dreamy Luna with her wand out. Wow, quick reflexes, I can't help but think. With a calm air of one who does it this on a daily basis, (which she probably does, what with that dolt of a husband), Luna sets Ron back on his feet with a steady hand and approaches to greet us.
"Hello, Harry, Hermione. Wow, that's a lot of H's," says Luna as if she's never noticed that not only there is no shortage of H's in our home, but Harry and I share the same initials as well.
The silent spell is broken and we all break out in a chorus in "hellos" and "all rights" that carries the four of us through to the outdoor patio. The weather is cooperating at the moment so I return to the kitchen to retrieve our first course. Luna is quick is accompany me and I'm grateful because I've been wanting to ask her something for some time.
I hold open the sliding glass door for her and shut the screen behind her. I contain myself for the next few feet, waiting until I'm certain to be out of earshot of Ron. Shutting the refrigerator door behind me, I place the four salads on the counter and round on her so quickly she widens her eyes in surprise. Oh no, her eyes are always like that. Whatever.
"Luna, what is going on with Ginny and Neville? Ginny's been late to lessons nearly every day, and as Deputy Headmistress, I can't show favoritism. She knows that, so why is she suddenly shirking her duties?" I demand, hoping Luna knows enough of the facts to illuminate this particular quandary.
Luna waits patiently for me to finish and smiled serenely. Her protuberant eyes seemed to pierce through me the way Dumbledore's sometimes did, examining me from within. But on Luna, I know that look. And I know that whatever comes out of her mouth next will test my ability to keep my eyes from rolling.
I'm so wrapped up in trying not to scoff that I misunderstand what she says.
"You're pregnant, aren't you?" she asks with the barest trace of excitement in her voice.
"Wha-at?" I splutter.
"Hermione, you're glowing," Luna says in the most matter-of-fact tone I've heard her use. "And unless you've been mishandling some Prussian Phosphorescent Plinglewoods, there's no other explanation."
She pauses, waiting expectantly, as I decide what to do. I've dreamt of telling Harry this news for the past six years, and as the father, I should tell him first, but I can't announce it in such a public setting and I'm going to positively burst if I don't tell someone soon…
With my mind made up, I hand Luna hers and Ron's salads and nod my head vigorously, biting my lip to hold back tears. Luna does an odd squeal thing and jumps up and down, salads and all. Oddly enough I join her and we hug each other for a moment before a sobering thought settles in my brain.
"Luna," I plead, panicking ever so slightly, "You can't tell anyone, all right?"
"You mean Harry doesn't already know?" she asked with wonder, trying to remove the salad dressing from my t-shirt with her wand.
I ignore her ministrations; there are much more pressing matters. "No, he doesn't. I've only just found out," I explain. "Promise not to say anything, Luna, will you? I'm just waiting for the right moment."
She seems to consider it. "Well, I can't just stop talking, can I? I mean, I will still have to speak, so I can't promise not to say anything," she says by way of reply.
I hold back a sigh of frustration. "No, Luna, don't say anything about me being pregnant all right? All right?"
She doesn't answer. Her eyes are trained on a spot just past my shoulder, and with a cold sense of foreboding I turn expecting to find Harry there, having just overheard the last bit of our conversation and possibly hurt to not be the first to know. Instead, I turn and see…nothing. There's nothing there. SHE'S STARING AT NOTHING AND I'VE NEARLY JUST HAD A HEART ATTACK!
"I'm all right, Hermione, why wouldn't I be?" responds Luna serenely. "And, yes, I promise not to say anything about that."
I sigh in relief, wishing for a split second that I had a time-turner to go back to Harry this morning and tell him before he got in the shower of something. Wait, maybe I did do that! I wouldn't know, I had been downstairs…
We grab the fours salads and Luna levitates a tray with our drinks on it ahead of us. I peer at Harry after I shut the screen door again and scrutinize his expression. Completely unaware. Well, it had been a good idea, though Merlin knows where I would have laid my hands on a time-turner.
"Wait, Luna!" I say, just realizing something. We take our time reaching the table. "You never answered my question about Ginny."
"Oh it's nothing. Ginny and Neville are back together again, and this time it looks pretty serious," Luna replies.
"It always looks pretty serious," I say, a little crestfallen at the idea of having to use "excessive shagging" as the reason why my fellow professor has been late in the report that I will undoubtedly have to draw up. I hate checking that box on the questionnaire, even if she is also my friend.
"Yes, but this time it's seriously serious," says Luna seriously.
I laugh as I set down my and Harry's salads, leaning in for a brief kiss. Gagging noises from Ron's end cause up to break apart, each of us rolling our eyes and probably wondering how old Ron really is, because he can't possibly be thirty.
The meal commences and the companionable silence is punctuated by compliments to the chef (moi) and mild small talk. It's during the men's Quidditch conversation that Luna offers me the rest of her salad. I politely decline, slightly puzzled. Did she not like it? No, she probably would have said so, or suggested an exotic spice or body part of a nonexistent animal to liven it up.
She smiles tranquilly at my furrowed brow and says, "I just thought you might need to more to eat."
I panic and look sharply at Harry and Ron, but their talk has not yet derailed from sports. And she makes comments like that throughout the meal and I swear I'm only about two seconds from strangling her. Somewhere beneath my paranoia is an appreciation for her care, but it has yet to surface, and I don't fully relax until the meal is over and Harry suggests we all go for a swim.
Luna and I shake our heads and the men head into the house to change. The bubble of panic within me deflates as Luna and I move to the reclining patio chairs and bask in the warmth of the mid-June sun.
"I'm so glad you and Harry moved out into the country, Hermione. You two really brighten up the neighborhood, but soon there will be more than just two," Luna says, winking at me. Her eyes mimic the blue of the pool water. "And thank you for having us over today."
I laugh at her sudden show of sincerity. "You don't have to thank us, we do this every Sunday!" I pause a little, getting lost in the memory that brings yet another smile to my face. "And Harry and I have sort of always known that we would end up in the country."
Luna turned her head, cocking it to the side in curiosity. "What do you mean?"
I'm about to answer when the screen door slams shut and Ron stomps heavily past, diving into the pool and dousing Luna and I in a huge wall of water. Harry's wave soon follows and now both Luna and I are on our feet, shouting obscenities for all the neighbors to hear. Harry and Ron try to look innocent by giving surprisingly identical playful grins. These quickly fade when I whip out my wand and point it in their direction. They give each other a sideways glance, both wary of any use of my wand.
Careful consideration yields the ideal incantation. With the wave of my wand, the pool water vanishes and both men wobble precariously at the sudden addition of gravity to their bodies. Ron, who had been standing on a deeper part of the pool's slope than Harry, lunges sideways unsteadily, but before he can do any harm, I restore the water in the pool and he comes up, sputtering indignantly. The rest of us, Harry included, are laughing by now, and, rather reluctantly, Ron joins in.
These are hardly the jokes of our Hogwarts days, and aren't nearly the same caliber as Fred and George's pranks, but they are enough for these warm, summery afternoons.
A few hours later, the sun begins to set and Luna hurries Ron out the door, winking at me conspiratorially. I can hear Ron protesting about having to walk home still wet and carrying all of his clothes in a bundle.
Having been the good hostess and sent the guests to the door, I return to my husband in the backyard. The waves in the pool are calming and I see Harry casting about for a towel. I spot one on my chair and walk over to hand it to him, a feeling of de ja vu strengthening with every step.
I realize what Harry is about to do only a fraction of a second before he does it and am thus helplessly swept into Harry's soaked arms. I offer weak protests to his strong hold, and suddenly, as realization strikes us simultaneously, we freeze and pull back somewhat to look at each other. Harry, without glasses, squints slightly to see me better, but I'm fairly certain that my look of shock is perfectly mirroring his own.
How often in life does a dream literally come true? 'We've done it!' I want to scream, but my vocal chords are on holiday at the moment. And it's true. Harry and I have come a long way from our unsure, insecure selves of the past. We have our country house, we have our pool, we have each other, but now we have even more. I want to cry with the sheer simplicity of life, and I realize that this is the moment that I've been hoping for since I learned the news.
Harry is still looking into my eyes and seems to be getting alarmed that I'm crying. 'What's the matter, Hermione?" he asks concernedly, wiping some of the fallen tears with the pads on his thumbs in a familiar endearment.
I shake my head, not bothering to hide the grin that seems to be taking up permanent residence on my face. Not even minding that my words are coming in gulps or that I'm beginning to sound like a blithering idiot, I say, "No, Harry! Don't you see? Nothing is the matter!"
Now Harry just looks confused. Tentatively he asks, "Are you all right, sweetheart?" while putting the palm of one of his hands on my forehead.
"Never better," I answer articulately, despite the onslaught of tears. Harry smiles in relief and holds my gaze. Adopting the sort of instructive tone I normally save for my lessons, I carefully steer him the right direction. "Harry, I know you're thinking of the same dream as me. Now tell me, what's missing?"
Without dislodging our embrace, he swivels his head in every direction as though it will identify itself if he looks hard enough. His eyes alight on an area near the pool and when he turns back to face me, I spot a glint of something like triumph in his eyes and I think he's got it.
"Ron's sign about peeing in the pool?" he asks, expecting praise for his perceptiveness.
"No-well, yes. Anything else?" In my head I fervently plead for Harry to see where I was going with this. Please, please, please, please.
I allow his thirty seconds of an earnest search before I interrupt. I'd like to just say it, but I want him to figure it out on his own. I want to watch his facial expressions change as he realizes that he's a father. "No, Harry, search here."
I placed my right hand over his heart and he closes his eyes.
"And here."
My left hand reaches down to grab his right and I hold it a few seconds before placing it carefully on my abdomen. The muscles in Harry's face tense slightly as he tightens his jaw, but then he relaxes completely. Opening his eyes, he asks the silent question and I answer with a nod and a hopeful smile. I can tell he is torn between squeezing me profusely and kissing me tenderly. He opts for the second and we stand there in the backyard, the backyard only wanting of some certain signage and the laughter of children. We stand there, in our dream, in our beginning.
And as the sun sets on this perfect day, we lay beside one another and give our thanks for all the circumstances that brought us together. Together we've made it happen.
That night as we dressed for dinner, Harry reaches for a pair of socks from his drawer, coming away with something extra.
"Honey," he calls to me in the bathroom. "I've found your-" He stops, peering at the words on the face. He shakes the watch a bit and holds it up to his ear, as though checking that it still works. This was how I find him when I exit the bathroom, struggling with the stubborn earring in my favorite pair.
"Harry, what's the matter?" I ask with concern, for he has gone paler than I've seen him in many years.
Soundlessly he holds the watch out to me, as if I could verify its authenticity. As I reach to take it from him, one of the watch's phrases rings out, filling the otherwise silent room.
"Happy Father's Day!" it shrieks in its mechanically shrill voice.
Harry and I look at one another, and just like that, we begin to laugh. We laugh until we're clutching our sides and crying with mirth, every once in a while stopping to make sure that we'd heard it correctly.
Harry stands and draws me into a firm embrace, cupping my cheek with his palm. "Thank you, Hermione," he says quietly but with a startling intensity. I can feel my cheeks beginning to burn. I place my palm on his cheek and wish him a happy Father's Day for the first time.
The watch lays forgotten as we relax into each other. We never did make it to dinner that night.
A/N: So? Like the new style? I'm a little torn on it I suppose. Not used to writing in so much present tense. I keep catching little bits of past in there and having to fix it. Anyway, thank you to all those who took the time to read and review this little bugger of mine. Anyway, I have another little plot bunny stuck in my head. Maybe I can write it on the drive down to Los Angeles tomorrow? Luckily, school has yet to begin and I've finished working, so I'm FREE! Vacation! Reading! Reviewing!