Die With Me

A/N: As the quote beneath mentions, there is madness in this fanfic. I mean, it makes no sense of any kind, madness I tell you. And yet there is reason to this madness. I was bored.

Disclaimer: Sometimes I wish I did own this, but then I remember all the delusional militants walking around after HBP… not exactly a good thing. JKR can keep it.

*****

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

Die With Me

“Well… what do you think we should call him?”

“What?”

“Don't tell me you weren't listening, he needs a name, what do you think we should call him?”

“Harry, I'm not sure that we can keep him…”

“Bollocks, now what's a good name? Um… how about Ron or Harry or George, no Forge, yeah… hmm, nah, I know… Tooth, to match Fang,”

“You are not serious…”

“Why, because I'm concerned that he needs a name?”

“No, because you know we can't keep him.”

“We can, and we will, nothing is going to take him from us, I'm not going to let anyone or anything hurt us.”

“But Harry… he's going to need food, a place to sleep, attention for goodness sake! There's going to be medical visits… are you yawning at me?”

“Yes, now quiet woman unless you are offering up a name… how about one from that book you were reading, I saw you circled… Alastair?”

“Harry…”

“Hermione…”

“You are impossible!”

“Yes, and you're stuck with me in the dead of winter while we hide out at Hagrid's hut in Hogwarts, which is closed due to the profound stupidity of Ministry wankers like Percy, with a large, black, shaggy puppy, who needs a name so cough it up.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Yes, and again, you're stuck with me.”

“Ah… I give up!”

Harry, from his vantage point on a bench beneath one of the hut's windows, smirked at her. How he loved just sitting there teasing her for hours, it always brought an unwilling smile to her face, such as the one she was sporting now. But when her view travelled to the subject of their conversation, it faltered and vanished.

She frowned.

“Harry… this is dangerous.”

“I know.”

“We could die.”

“I know, which is why we need a survivor, do you really think Voldemort would kill him? Wait, scratch that, who am I kidding?”

“It's just a baby.”

“What is it with you and babies?”

“If I recall correctly, according to Neville's account, one saved me in Fifth Year.”

“If I recall correctly, according to my own eyes, it was a grown man with his head stuck in a jar of Time, technically he wasn't a baby.”

“Why didn't you stun him then?”

“You would have stunned me after.”

“No I wouldn't.”

“Woman, who are you trying to fool? You would have forgotten that we were trapped in the Department of Mysteries and stunned me!”

“You are a fool.”

“And proud of it too, don't forget that part.”

“I don't think I'll ever forget you, I may end up in Azkaban for killing you someday.”

“Ha, that's Voldemort's job, and I doubt he'll succeed, us prophecy-bound heroes are like the Hydra, cut one of us down and another comes up in his place.”

“Oh my, someone was listening in class once.”

“I was worried that Voldemort would have used one, I had to make sure that no more existed.”

“Oh Harry, what am I to do with you?”

“Oh Hermione, nothing, now find a name, he's getting restless here.”

She rolled her eyes and threw the book in her lap at him. He deftly caught it with one hand and grinned, “Have you forgotten I was a Seeker?”

She shook her head, rolled her eyes again and looked out the window at the snow falling silently around them.

She had forgotten about that.

But then stuck here with him it was easy to forget everything and that they were still trying to find that elusive last Horcrux before heading off to Voldemort himself. This was to be their last times together, once they found it, Voldemort's beloved Nagini, Harry would be off on his own and she would have to go back to the Burrow or Grimmauld Place.

She did not want to go the Burrow though, not like this.

She looked away from the window and tentatively placed her hand on her stomach buried beneath the thick woollen jumper. It was not thick enough to conceal it entirely, but it and her robes so far had managed to keep their little secret from the Death Eaters, and possibly even Voldemort.

It would not for long though.

Soon enough everyone would know, and as much as Harry had engaged her in that double-talk conversation moments ago, he knew they were playing with fire.

Or rather, they had already played, now they were just waiting to get burned.

How exactly did they think the world would react to another little Potter running around?

Harry had once humorously defined the reactions of various people around them. According to him, the Dursleys would each react differently.

Aunt Petunia, upon being made a “Great Aunt”, which was as close to grandmother she would get unless England decided to legalise rape, would throw her hands up, then clutch her heart and her mouth and scream. Uncle Vernon would go bright purple and possibly finally pop that vein in the back of his neck. Cousin Dudley would continue to eat, beat up a kid and watch television. In other words, not counting him, they would freak, and note the pun.

Their Wizarding acquaintances may be slightly different.

Professor McGonagall, though upset, would offer a smile and then go off to imagine the possibilities for the retention of both the Quidditch Trophy and the House Cup. Hagrid, having already discovered by accident, had burst into proud tears, though with a “stern” look at them both and did not count anymore here. Filch would probably go hang himself, and Snape would drink an entire pint of his worst poison potion at the thought that Harry had managed to “reproduce”. Voldemort would simply gather his skirts and head for the hills.

When she mentioned that he had forgotten the Weasleys, his countenance became sober, though he continued smirking.

Mrs Weasley would soundly scold them both, possibly not speak to either, especially Hermione, for days, while secretly boasting to all friends and family members of her newest “grandchild”. Ron would hit him, repeatedly, but he would come around eventually and strut about proudly calling himself “Uncle Ron” though he would always be “Uncle Won-Won” to them. Mr Weasley would agree with his wife's scolding but offer fatherly advice. The other Weasley sons would each offer congratulations and Fred and George would most probably start a pool on who gets godfather. Unfortunately, that honour would belong to Won-Won. And Ginny, well, she would be hurt, but maybe she would come around, until then, beware of Bat-Bogies, she's good at that hex.

When asked, after allowing each other a moment to acknowledge that this was not as funny as the others had been, what her parents' reactions would be, Harry asked if her father owned any hunting weapons.

They had not intended for this to happen. No, they had not planned on anything of this nature at all. Of course most people in their position never really did, and would spend their lives feeling sorry for it at times. But Hermione was not sorry, she would never apologise for her child.

Hide it for safety, well yes, but apologise, never.

And Harry, well, he could not be happier. She had been so scared, still was, but him, never. When she managed to tell him at last, about a week after she realised it herself, he just smiled. The brightest smile he could manage and then began a dance all by himself.

It never occurred to him the things that did to her. Like how were they to keep it safe, fed, healthy when they had to worry about those things for themselves. He never once really worried about Ron's reaction until that day. He barely seemed to notice that her hips had somehow filled in and that she sometimes felt fat and ugly. He just did his happy dance and kept her smiling, and pretended that if Voldemort ever found out they would be alright.

“Hey, are you daydreaming about Viktor Krum again? I know you do that you know? I've got an informant on the inside who happens to be an excellent Legilimens.”

There he went again, the absolute charmer.

“No I was not, and seeing that you're a horrible Occlumens and even worse Legilimens, I doubt you would.”

“Alright, take your low blows, you're entitled to them, but once this “hormone thing” is over you'll pay for every one.”

“You won't remember them and neither will I… by the way, once this “hormone thing” is over you better be alive, I have nine months of pay back waiting for you.”

“I'll never leave you, and if I have to, Alastair here will protect you.”

“I was not going to name the dog Alastair.”

“My son will not be called Alastair.”

“Oh? What name did you have in mind?”

“Harry James Potter the Second.”

“Absolutely not, I was thinking of something nobler, two troublemakers separately are enough, we do not actually want to give the staff at Hogwarts heart attacks now do we?”

“Fine, how about Ronald James Potter?”

“No.”

“What about Sirius Harry Potter?”

“No.”

“I know, Serious James Potter?”

“…”

“Hermes Albus Potter?”

“What?”

“Yeah I know, too weird, Cedric Julius Potter?”

“Hmm, that has potential… why Cedric?”

“Dumbledore said not to forget him, I certainly don't, and if there are still Death Eaters around in the future, I don't want them to either, he shouldn't have died.”

“Okay, then that's it, maybe not Julius- Julian's better- but I like it.”

“Finally, but seeing that we must be prepared we should have a girl's name too.”

“What's this? You're becoming the thoughtful one?”

“The surname would already attract attention; you want the first name too?”

“Very funny Mr Potter, I don't know, what do you think?”

“Lily Hermione Potter.”

“No.”

“Lillian Jamie Potter.”

“No.”

“Molly…”

“No.”

“You didn't give me a chance to finish.”

“Someone already has that name, Ginevra Molly Weasley.”

“Someone already has Cedric.”

“True, but like James, he is…” she hesitated before continuing, “dead, I want her to have her own name, Cedric Julian Potter is… new.”

“Fine then, Maia Harriet Potter.”

“Keep Maia; scrap Harriet, why is your name always in there?”

“Woman, you are difficult.”

“And where are you getting these names of months?”

“I don't know, Sirius' family had stars, my mother's were flowers, the Weasleys are kings and queens, I thought we should have months.”

“You've put a lot of thought into this haven't you?”

“Yes I have, down to when I'll first teach him to fly.”

“You do understand that that will be years from now right?”

“Absolutely… are you crying?”

“N-no… okay, I have one, Maia Alice Potter.”

“There is a living Alice Longbottom you know?”

“I know, but… okay, Maia Julia Potter.”

“You're worse at this than I am, too many months.”

“Maia also happens to be the name of a star.”

“Well, until we think of a better one, it's Maia Harriet…”

“No it isn't, it's Maia Jae Potter, no questions asked and don't give me that look.”

“…”

“I mean it Potter.”

“Seeing that it's a boy, we have nothing to worry about… now that that's done, let's get back to the dog; I'm thinking Alastair doesn't work here.”

“You have the attention span of a gnat.”

“Better than the emotional range of a teaspoon, I at least have a teacup.”

Hermione sank her face into her palm.

This bantering was childish, and yet… she loved it. This was nothing like Ron; it was always an argument with Ron, but with Harry… The closest they got to arguments were when Harry was determined to do something foolish, and that was few and far between these days. Not when they had to be extra careful, not when they once more had three lives to worry about.

She did not even want to think about that anymore. She had done enough of that in the past few months and she was tired of it. But it was always true; this was no time to be starting a family, though she doubted she could call this that.

Starting a family usually had something to do with marriage, a house, careers and then maybe, one or two children. Well, at least it had to her before. She never envisioned the euphoric hours after they destroyed Hufflepuff's cup, the last Horcrux they had found before winter set in, together with some silliness with Cheering Charms and the tickling spell, Rictusempra, and a strange request.

At some point in time in their celebration, he had told her, and a bit seriously despite the grin on his face, “You could have died you know?”

She had turned to him then and said point blank, “I would have died for you, as Ron almost did.”

“No!” he snapped, so fiercely that his eyes seemed to flash green fire, “don't die for me, my mother's already done that, don't die because of me, too many to count are already on that road, but if you must die, die with me, my equal.”

And for reasons only known to her heart she had replied, “Well then, if you say so, if I must die, I'll die with you.” And then somehow or the other they had ended up kissing.

After that, well, the rest was history. Memorable history as it was that was now growing quite safe and warm in her tummy under her jumper in Hagrid's warm hut on the grounds of her old school.

If she saw one stretch mark though, Harry would look back to that night with regret.

“You know, you worry me when you go off into your daydreams… and you're ignoring the dog, that's not a good start for a parent.”

“I do not find that funny.”

“I was not joking.”

“You drive me crazy.”

“I know, isn't it fun?”

“…”

“…”

From somewhere without she began to hear the sound of heavy footfalls in the snow and a half-drunken singing, their friendly half-giant host was returning. From the sounds of it too, he had had a wonderful time at that pre-Christmas feast that Professor McGonagall was holding for the Hogwarts staff and they had been promised food from. Perfect, she needed a saviour from this nonsense with Harry, but just before he did that she had one more thing to say.

“I meant what I said before you know?”

“What was that?”

“I will die with you if I have to.”

“…”

“Harry…?”

“I know Hermione, I know.”

“And you're not fighting me on it?”

“No… because every time I hear you say it, as strange as it is, as crazy as it sounds, I love you for it.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah…?”

“I love you too.”

A/N: If you're asking why I wrote this, and for that matter, am reading this author's note, that means you've gotten to the end. I am proud; I would have hit the back button a long time ago.

But, seeing that you're here, review please.

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