A/N: What can I say about this chapter? Well, long, didn't go as I thought it would, *hmm, interesting* and more importantly there's a bit at the end that seriously didn't go as planned. Oh well, this was rated R for something, and if it ain't violence, or obscene language… well, you'll see.
Disclaimer: Why should I even bother?
~*~*~*~
Home for Christmas
With horns blaring and a blast of white steam the Hogwarts Express at last pulled into the London station half-filled with students returning home for Christmas. Their anxious parents had been gathered for more than half an hour now, and breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was a cold afternoon out; the icy winds of winter mercilessly bearing down on the station, blithely slicing through woollen robes. It was already threatening snow; frost lined the train's windows and the ground round them, and the beginnings of icicles seemed to line the roof of the platform. To complete the image, the mocking sun had chosen to hide behind the pale grey clouds that covered the sky while a gentle mist hung low over the earth.
Normally, this would be a wonderful sign of a white Christmas, but when you were standing in the midst of it, there were only so many such Christmases you could stand.
Among those waiting, shuffling about to keep warm and whispering to each other, Hermione stood with Luna and Mrs Weasley. They had only just arrived, come to collect Ron, Philippe and the twins, and Hermione broke into an unwilling smile while Mrs Weasley and Luna just exchanged knowing looks.
The Hogwarts Express was almost always on time, there was no need to rush.
They were actually given a comfortable space at the front of the platform too, and nearest to where the doors had stopped. The other parents actually stepped out of their way as they approached, and a few gave looks that lingered.
It was clear that they weren't the only ones waiting for their family.
For Ron it had been like this since the first time he went off to Hogwarts. As best friend of the Man-Who-Triumphed and war hero he could always expect a welcoming party and throng of fans wherever he went. It was just too bad that for the past eleven years that had been a privilege most bittersweet.
Hermione could only hope though, that the faces of the children of the Man-Who-Triumphed wouldn't be plastered over all the papers the next day. She'd given them more than enough time to get used to them and her daughters hadn't been there (thankfully) when Harry finally faced off Voldemort. They deserved to have the normal life they had gone to war for.
She was distracted from that thought though, by Luna, and as usual, she was up to trouble.
"Anything special planned for them when you go home? I have dinner for Ronald, just him, me, and our children-you?"
Hermione gave her a warning look, and hoping Mrs Weasley had missed the hint, replied, "We'll just go home, the girls will probably be so tired that they'll just want to go to sleep when they get in."
"Pity their father couldn't join them," said Mrs Weasley, stiffly.
Knowing that Harry was alive and had intentionally kept his distance didn't go down too well with her. She was almost more upset than Hermione.
"How was that meeting you were supposed to have, by the way?" asked Luna, as if that was a cue to press on. "Weeks ago was it, you never mentioned anything? Was he there?"
Hermione looked at her with a narrowed gaze. She always knew befriending Luna Lovegood was going to do them no good. She was good if you needed a connection to the media, if you needed an extra in a fight, if you needed help every now and then, but for discretion at times….
You would probably do better to go ahead and tell everyone and get it over with.
Hoping Mrs Weasley would brush it aside too, was a bust. Molly Weasley loved to meddle, and mother, and with her curiosity piqued, she joined in, "Was he?"
The doors of the train had finally opened and the students, bundled for the cold so that they were almost unrecognisable, began to file out. All anyone could really see though were wisps of hair or the flash of a face peeking out beneath their scarves, or if they were lucky, the entire face of a brazen child. Unfortunately, Ron, Philippe, Maia and Aimee, weren't among them.
She replied, "No, he wasn't."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth.
"Did you go back after, to make sure that he wasn't just out?" asked Mrs Weasley.
Still no sign of the four, and the train was half-filled for the goodness sake!
"No, he… he kind of… came to see me…" said Hermione.
Mrs Weasley at once rounded on her, nearly forgetting that they were in public, "He came to see you, and you didn't say anything? Well it's true then, he's alive… but you didn't say anything. You saw Harry and you didn't tell us? I know you're upset with us dear, but don't you think this isn't a bit cruel?"
Hermione exhaled heavily and glared at Luna, "He wants to… I want… he needs to speak to Ron first. He has to, before anyone else-he does want to see the rest of you, of course, just not until he speaks to Ron…."
"Where has he been all this time?" asked Mrs Weasley, somewhat placated but still clearly upset.
Padma Patil left the train, with a curious look on her face when she spotted Hermione and the others, after clearly scanning the crowd for them. Hermione wasn't too bothered; practically everyone who left the train and those on the platform kept glancing over at them.
"All over the place, really… but he has a nice little house now-" explained Hermione, but she was cut off.
"He isn't living with you yet?" asked Mrs Weasley, surprisingly shocked.
"We're not… I'm not ready for… we can't just pick up where we left off, and Caspar… he isn't just going to fall in love with the idea of the twins' father living with us when his father can't," Hermione replied.
"That's not his decision to make," said Mrs Weasley.
"My son will not be made to feel out of place for others' mistakes, he did nothing wrong," snapped Hermione, coldly.
She felt no remorse for the colour that rose to Mrs Weasley's cheeks, and her next sentence began insincerely.
"I'm sorry but… when we work out what we're going to do, I'll have more to tell you. Until then, I just want to take my daughters home for the holidays and pretend that we're a nice normal family."
Mrs Weasley gave no reply, but Hermione had no time to wonder on it, or glare some more at Luna, for just then, finally, Maia, Aimee, Philippe and Ron appeared. And what was more, they brought company.
"Hello my beautiful wife, the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen," said Ron, coming up behind Luna.
She turned to greet him with a smile, but instead he drew her into his arms and dipped her for a deep kiss. A few people around them actually whistled, and while she and the children made a show of gagging, Hermione was aware of a number of brilliant flashes.
That was going to make a page in the paper, right up there with her greeting her daughters, she was sure of it.
Mrs Weasley gave no reaction, but when she had had enough, said, "Hello Ron, welcome home dear."
He broke the kiss to look at his mother, "Oh, hi Mum, Hermione, didn't see you there, vision was blurred for a moment… oh and I brought the sprogs-say hello to your respective owners."
Maia and Aimee immediately pushed past him to rush at Hermione and envelope her in a tight embrace. (The flashes were positively blinding now.) Their voices were muffled slightly by their clothes, but one squealed nevertheless, "Bonsoir mama, Joyeux Noel! Oh, how we missed you, we couldn't wait to get off the train!" <Good evening Mama, Merry Christmas!>
Hermione smiled and kissed their heads and cheeks, "Bonsoir, mes petites jumelles, Joyeux Noel! I've missed you two so much! Oh, how your brother just wished he could come out here with me!" <Good evening, my little twins, Merry Christmas!>
They grinned up at her and she looked over to Philippe being smothered and run over by his grandmother and said, "And Merry Christmas to you too, Philippe. You look absolutely handsome in that jumper."
He blushed crimson, but before he had to suffer more, one of the twins, Maia, pulled away from her and said, "Oh, there's someone we'd like you to meet. Mama, this is Rosalie, Rosalie Dursley."
Even Mrs Weasley froze as the small, plump girl appeared beside Maia. She looked slightly embarrassed at the sight of them, also buried in her winter clothes, but said kindly enough, "Good evening, hello Mrs Potter, Mrs Weasleys…."
Hermione was sure she had seen her somewhere before, but was rather pleased to find that her features-apart from the eyes and hair-bore little to no trace of her grandmother or father. What was more; she was a witch, which was surely something that hadn't gone down too well with the family. This child though, looked well-fed, well-treated and healthy, and Hermione surprised herself when she replied sweetly, "It's nice to meet you too, Rosalie… who's picking you up this evening?"
"My Mum, she can't wait to see me, but I can't wait to tell Dad all about Hogwarts, letters don't do anything justice," she replied, grinning broadly.
"He'll love that," said Ron, sarcastically and Luna surreptitiously kicked him in the shin.
"Well, we shouldn't keep you waiting then, it's time for us to go home too," said Hermione, glaring at him as well and hoping the child had noticed little.
It didn't appear that she had as she replied, "My Mum and Grandma are waiting for me on the other side-it's out the same way I came in right?-so bye. Bye Maia, Aimee… maybe I'll see you two for Christmas…."
The girls smiled back at her, Aimee waved slightly, and then she was gone, disappearing through the crowd to the barrier.
Hopefully no one had noticed that exchange; her family weren't exactly everyone's favourite Muggles.
Hermione looked at her go, and then turned back to her daughters, "What's this I hear… 'See her for Christmas'? I'm not so sure that that's a good idea."
"Oh, we don't have to go to her, she can come to us. She's really nice, and she's our cousin, our real cousin. It's good to know that we Potters aren't completely alone in the world," replied Aimee.
If only she knew the horrors behind that family…. But she didn't, and without her father to tell her about them it was perfectly logical for her to see the situation that way. Hadn't Ron told Hermione about sending a letter to Aunt Petunia reassuring her that she wouldn't have to see the twins and she thanked him for it?
But again, without their father….
"Okay, I'll think about it, but we really should be going, it's freezing out here," said Hermione.
"Oh, right, but wait-here's this for you Uncle Ron, I almost forgot," said Maia, and she dug into her pocket for a small folded note and handed it over.
He took it with a stiff, "Thank you."
When the others looked at the exchange puzzled, Aimee cut in, "Let's go, let's go, that's done, we've met, we're here and its cold out!"
Hermione tried to give her a stern look, but was interrupted by a familiar, albeit unwelcome, voice, "Well, look at this now, taking the children home?"
It was strange how she didn't have to look to know her enemies' voices as well as her friends.
"Beat it Parkinson, you have no children here," snapped Ron, coldly.
Hermione turned to find her former Slytherin tormentor standing behind her attached to a very pretty black girl in fairly expensive winter robes. She had a feeling she knew who that was, and then it came to her.
She had been the opposing Seeker in Maia's match, it was Rhiannon Zabini.
Funny, she thought him smarter than someone who would trust Pansy to their children. Even Draco Malfoy, Merlin forbid he have any, would probably think twice about doing it.
The girl gave no indication of embarrassment, but visibly tried to draw away from Pansy as she replied, "Doing a friend a favour, I'm surprised you didn't all those long years ago."
Ron's face immediately turned a dark, angry red.
When she spied the twins beside Hermione though, she added, "Oh, now I remember why. Raven-haired Weasleys just wouldn't convince anyone, Potter's brood through and through-hello again, girls."
Hermione drew her daughters behind her, "Leave us alone, Pansy, I doubt Blaise would be too grateful to you for allowing his daughter to freeze to death, the poor child looks rather cold."
Pansy glanced at her young charge, now sporting a rather familiar bored expression, staring off to the side. As Hermione mentioned her, she flicked them all a fleeting, albeit discomfited, look, and then turned longingly to the parting crowds.
Pansy turned back to them and said, "Oh, we're leaving, just saying hello and goodbye."
"Goodbye then," Ron prompted, impatiently.
She sneered, tightened her grip on the girl's hand and stormed away, Rhiannon looking murderous as she stumbled after her.
"I don't trust that witch as far as I could chuck her," said Luna, suddenly, surprising all.
Ron though, quickly agreed, "Me neither, but let the chucking to me, I've been waiting on my chance for years."
~*~*~*~
The sun had not yet properly risen before Caspar was awake and tip-toeing across the hall to the twins' bedroom. He had been asleep when they arrived from Hogwarts the night before, his babysitter having sent him to bed early after a bit of misbehaviour and boredom had done him in. He tried to stay awake then, until they did, but somehow the drive to Wiltshire took longer than usual and he nodded off just as they finally pulled up. So it was perfectly understandable now, that he was anxious to meet his sisters, and especially their first morning at Northbridge Manor.
With a start as if his alarm clock had gone off, he opened his eyes, sat up, threw off the covers and slipped off the bed. The carpet was cold to the touch against his sleep-warmed feet; he found his bedroom slippers and made for the door.
Out in the hall it was still. The house was so silent a clock on the wall at the end of the hall ticked deafeningly, his breathing sounded louder and he found it difficult to move without making a sound. It was a bit early to be out, again, the sun was yet to rise, but he had to be forgiven. After weeks of waiting his sisters were finally here for longer than one day.
This was no time to be wasting asleep.
Their door was shut but not locked, and gave with a soft creaking that temporarily halted his advance. Just because he was up and ready to go didn't mean that they were, and if he woke them when they weren't ready his mother was sure to be upset. But after a moment of silence had passed he decided that he had not and continued through the door in the dimly lit bedroom.
The girls were asleep in their double beds, wearing matching pyjamas and with their hair in loose ponytails. As they were he could not tell them apart, it was so much easier when they were dressed in different uniforms. But still, both looked rather peaceful, comfortable, and for that he was glad.
He didn't want them to not like it and leave; their mother would be very sad if they left and especially if they went back to Big Harry.
At the foot of one bed a silver-grey cat lay curled, on a cage near the window was the owl his mother had sent and on the floor before the beds were their school trunks. The room around them, chosen by him but mostly decorated by their mother, was filled with furniture taken from the Black house. Hermione had decided against letting them rot and since she didn't know the twins' taste found it easier than trying to fix it herself. He was sure they liked that at least, how could anyone not like something his mother had done?
There was a shuffling and a yawn and as Caspar began to back towards the door one of the twins opened their eyes, sat up and looked down at him.
"C-Caspar? Quelle heure est-il?" she asked, slouching a bit, still trapped in sleep with half-closed eyes. <What time is it?>
"Good morning," he replied, halting again but after a moment stepping forward.
"Bonjour, what are you doing in here? Did Mama send you to wake us?" she continued, turning to shake her sister awake.
He quickly shook his head, "Mum's still sleeping, I think, and I just wanted to see you, I didn't last night. Welcome home!"
She smiled, "Thank you, it's good to be here, and especially for the next three weeks. We can go skating, and skiing, and sledding… we couldn't do that in Nice… oh, and there's Tante Ginny's wedding…."
Her voice trailed off as she looked down to find him grinning broadly at her. She rolled her eyes and continued with dignity, "Well then, we should get right on that, help me wake up Aimee. I have to warn you, she doesn't wake up-"
Before she properly finished the sentence though, Caspar replied, "Okay," and suddenly broke into a run. With an excited whoop, pyjama-covered limbs and hair flying, he landed heavily atop the sleeping girl, who woke up screaming.
"-easy," finished Maia (as this twin had to be) and promptly burst out laughing.
Quite proud of himself, Caspar bounced upon the shrieking, writhing Aimee, and loudly sang, "Wake up! It's time to wake up! We have things to do!"
And it was a while before, between giggles, Maia managed, "Shh, you'll wake Mama."
That, of course, did nothing to stop Aimee's shrieks (no one had moved to free her of Caspar), which woke the cat that hissed and spat at them before diving off Maia's bed and hurrying out of the room. This woke the owl, which began hooting loudly and Maia had to abandon her efforts to calm her sister to let it out the window. The cold blast of wind that rushed in before it sharply reminded her that they clearly weren't in Nice anymore and she shrieked too.
And all this loud activity in what should have been a quiet house brought Hermione rushing into the bedroom to find out why.
"Maia? Aimee? Are you girls alright? What's going on? Did something happen? Who opened that window? What's all the noise for?" she demanded, alarmed, before spotting Caspar on the bed with Aimee. "Caspar… what did you do?"
He became solemn at once, the laughter dying in his eyes like a candle flame in the wind, but Maia quickly answered for him, "We were waking Aimee, she's a heavy sleeper."
"He jumped on me!" declared Aimee, scandalised.
"Well it worked, didn't it?" Maia pointed out.
Hermione frowned, "You shouldn't do that. You all gave me a fright; I thought something horrible had happened in here with all the noise."
Caspar apologised, "Sorry Mum, we didn't mean to, we just-I just… I'm sorry we woke you."
At the look on his face her expression immediately softened, and she said quickly, "Oh, don't worry about it sweetheart. I wasn't going to be able to sleep long anyway, we have so much to do today, and since you've met the family, it means that I have you all to myself!"
She gave them her most encouraging smile; it was a while before Caspar returned it.
An awkward silence descended then, and strange since this was not entirely how Hermione had imagined their first morning officially home. She honestly didn't mind coming in to see the three of them playing together, it was a hopeful sign. But when Caspar's face fell at her scolding, she thought she saw the flicker of something that looked like shame in his eyes.
This was definitely not what she planned.
But since she was not known for "winging-it", Hermione quickly began, and enthusiastically as she could manage, "Now, since we're all awake, we should get started on the first part of today: breakfast!"
"What's so special about breakfast?" asked Caspar, clambering off the bed to her and stubbornly
forcing himself into her arms.
"Yeah, what's so special about it?" piped in Maia, as Aimee sat up in the bed beside her.
"'What's so special about breakfast?' Are you kidding me? Three hours of sitting around, all three of us, eating cereal in our pyjamas while watching cartoons, me reading the paper and pretending I don't have to go to work? What's not special about it?" she asked with feigned shock.
The twins looked at her with arched eyebrows, but Caspar was smiling.
"Well, when you put it like that…" he said, happily, "I'll meet you downstairs, and I want lots of sugar!"
He bounded out of the room almost immediately, and Hermione rose to follow, but then stopped and turned to the twins, asking, "He's very happy to have you both here; you know that, don't you?"
"And we're happy to be… as long as he doesn't jump on me again, he's small but heavy!" declared Aimee, and rather seriously at that.
Hermione smiled, and then continued, "I know this is a lot to take in, but he just wants you two to accept him. I think he's afraid that you won't want him…"
"Why wouldn't we?" asked Maia, absently making her bed. "He's our little brother, and Papa's going to like him too."
"Maia!" hissed Aimee, and Hermione stifled a sigh.
She hadn't spoken to them about seeing Harry yet, either, and wasn't too keen on it. They clearly had high hopes for them though, and if she wanted to keep Harry at arm's length while she sorted things through, she would have to do faced with that. Why couldn't this be simpler, like only Caspar being the one to worry about?
But the mention of Harry reminded her of something and she asked, "Wait, what was that note you gave Ron yesterday, the one you said you'd forgotten? What was that about?"
There was no apprehension as Aimee replied, "Papa wanted us to give Uncle his address, so he could come see him, alone if he wanted to. He didn't think it would be a good idea if he just went to his house. You didn't tell us that he'd come here…"
Both girls stopped and turned to look at her, and Hermione, after two failed attempts at an excuse finally confessed, "I don't want you getting your hopes up; your Papa and I aren't exactly on stable ground right now."
"He didn't do anything wrong, he was protecting us," protested Maia, quickly. "He loves you, he told us."
Hermione sighed, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them, "I know, I love him too…."
"Then what's wrong?" asked Aimee.
Hermione chose not to answer, instead rising from the bed, saying brightly, "Come on, let's go, not a day for long faces. Let's go downstairs and prove that I'm not the boring swot Ron and everyone else thinks I am!"
She left the room without waiting for them, but didn't fail to catch Maia whispering to her sister on the way out, "I can't believe I'm going to say this but, Uncle Ron was right, Mama is mental…."
Despite herself, she smiled.
*****
Hours later, Hermione would find herself seated awake, the only one, in the living room of Northbridge Manor. The twins and Caspar were arrayed on the loveseat before the television-one of a few Muggle devices she had-the remnants of their breakfast and a half-hearted game of Wizard's Chess scattered with them. It was decidedly uncharacteristic of Hermione Granger to have a messy house, but every once in a while a girl had to be rebellious. Her children, all of them she hoped, were home with her, she could afford it.
But not everyone was home.
She didn't want to think of it but Harry lived just mere feet from her door. More than that, she hadn't quite forgotten Mrs Weasley's curious first question upon learning that she had met Harry. How could she just expect her to pick up where they left off?
She stopped that train of thought quickly. Her mind was being rather traitorous nowadays, and especially since her memories were still returning. The very thought of him brought an unnatural flutter to her heart that she was quite sure hadn't been there the first time they met. Her reason for going over to his house the second time over, hugging him, all of it was coming from somewhere deep inside her. Somewhere she just wanted to touch and hold and see him for no particular reason other than the fact that he was alive.
At least today with the children she had other concerns. As soon as they woke up she would get right into the next item on her list: baking cookies over long conversations in the kitchen.
At least that used to work at home when her mother felt left out of her life.
She shifted and settled herself into the sofa. Alternating her attention between the paper before her, ("Home for Christmas: Potter Twins Vacation with Family!") and the sleeping children, waiting for them to wake up, were not easy work. Worse still, she was very much on the verge of waking them intentionally (how on earth could they sleep now, lazy children) to get to the baking.
Okay, so maybe she wasn't into complete rebellion today, but is Hermione Granger ever?
And then she heard the knocking.
She rose and went to answer, wondering all the way who it was. She had told the Weasleys that she wanted all of today to her children. It was most certainly not Ron either, for he was so excited about the new baby that it was doubtful she would see him all holiday. Of course, they could have decided, in classic fashion, to disregard her wishes and come anyway. Honestly, Hermione didn't really expect them to listen to her, did she?
But when she opened the door she would stop cold, stunned, before quickly stepping out with the arrival, demanding angrily, "What are you doing here? I told you that I-"
"I want to see them. I haven't for almost as long as you. I made my mistakes, I know, but don't punish me like this Hermione," pleaded Harry, cutting her off.
He was dressed lightly, despite the weather and season, in just a coat and scarf over a jumper and jeans. He had clearly only intended to come as far as her house and back again, and irrationally, it irritated her. Was he so sure of himself that he believed she would just let him in if he came over?
"You can't be serious, you can't just show up here, I told you about Caspar-" she continued to protest.
"I know you did, I know, but maybe they can come out and see me, or come over today. Your son can stay here where he doesn't have to see me… and be bothered…" said Harry.
She was pleased to note that the last part came bitterly.
"I'm not separating them. You should have seen him this morning, he was so excited to have them here, if you want to see them you have to see all of them and frankly, Caspar is not ready for that yet," Hermione replied, stubbornly.
"Hermione, please, don't do this to me. If I had known for one moment that there was some kind of set-up, some kind of sick plan to keep you from them I would have done everything in my power to change that. I wish I could go back in time, go back to that day and never take the potion, anything to keep you all together, but I can't. So please, please Hermione, don't do this," he pleaded, his eyes intensely imploring her.
For some time after this plea, she said nothing, just standing there staring at him. He could see her internal debate, the warring sides danced in her eyes: should she let him in or not. And then finally, one side won.
Stepping away from the doorway she said, "They're your daughters too, but be quiet, they're all asleep."
Harry's worried expression changed into a brilliant, disarming smile and he quickly said, "Don't worry, I'll be quiet, I just want to see them."
He had come through the door and to the living room during this speech and halted just as he spied the three of them. The look of genuine astonishment, mingled with surprise and joy told that he hadn't been lying. Harry looked at the twins with a look that was surely an exact copy of hers weeks before. More than that, it was a perfect reproduction of one like it years gone when he first laid eyes on their tiny sleeping forms in the cradle.
She had been standing behind him then. She had been babbling, rambling ceaselessly about her own experience when she first realised that there were two of them instead of one. He said nothing all through her speech, and when he thought she had had enough, turned and kissed her into silence.
It was a kiss so filled with his joy, with excitement, fear, and passion, that she had no other choice. And then, when he was sure she could say no more, he whispered, "I love you, forever, I love you."
Somehow, she strangely wished he would do that now. That he would just turn her round and kiss her and proclaim that he loved her forever. But he didn't.
He just stood where he was staring at them, and then slowly, quietly, walked over to the closest twin, Maia, and knelt before her.
Well, a girl could dream.
With a gentleness that had once caressed the hair from her face while she pretended to sleep, he drew Maia's hair away from her face, exposing her forehead, and kissed it.
It was not a strange act, many parents did it, but for Harry, she knew, the sight of that bare, unmarked forehead was almost more precious than the life that bore it.
She stepped closer, and whispered, "I haven't… I haven't had much time with them since they got here, you know, they got in late and I just wanted to let them rest."
He gave no indication that he had heard her, but she knew he did. Whether he liked it or not, he had once told her, he always heard what she said.
"I… um, this morning… I thought that we should just stay in, spend the day in," she continued. "As you can see, they took advantage of my good mood. Thankfully, the sugar did the opposite of what it usually does and put them to sleep-not soon enough for the chess pieces though."
At this he turned slightly, looked over the chess board, and then turned back to the children, but this time stopping his gaze over Caspar.
She was suddenly, unreasonably nervous, and walked over to him whispering quickly, "He's warming to them so nicely, he's been crazy about them since the first time he heard they existed, but I… I'm a bit worried. He might think, he probably does think that you… that they won't want him if you-"
"Why wouldn't I want him?" asked Harry, turning away from the boy momentarily to look up at her. "I should be more concerned that he doesn't want me. Like you said, his father won't be coming back. I know what it's like to grow up without parents. It's worse when you have relatives like mine."
"I'm not saying that I'm worried, it's just… children can have the strangest thoughts sometimes. I would never push my son into the background because you come back into my life-if I let you-but to him that's a very real possibility. The twins liking him, you… that's all that matters right now," Hermione explained, not sure why she was still nervous about it and rather annoyed at herself now.
"It's mostly my fault that he's in that position, but I can assure you, and him, that I will raise and love him as my own. It's all I can offer, if I could apologise for what I've done, I would raise and love him (he turned back to Caspar and stroked his hair) as his father would… if he would let me, of course," he said.
Hermione smiled and knelt beside him before the loveseat. He shifted slightly, and she found herself wondering whether for fear of a violent reaction or that she still had the power to unsettle him.
That movement though, made her notice something that had her ask, "Harry… what became of our wedding rings?"
He looked at her surprised, and then reached a hand to his neck and drew out a chain on which dangled two solid bands of gold.
She reached for them immediately, drawing them over to her so that she could properly look and pretending not to notice when he choked slightly. When she spied the inscription, she twisted it over to properly read it and his head jerked uncomfortably.
"Concedere vita ipse ego, 'die with me', you made me promise and then you didn't give me the chance," she said, softly, her voice almost childlike.
He pulled them from her hands, and slipped the chain back into his shirt.
"Maybe I should have, but then you actually might have. Everyone I love leaves me-though this time I actually helped it along-I think I should have accepted that fact a long time ago," he replied.
To this she had nothing to say, instead looking down to her own hand and Viktor's ring. Not sure why she was doing it, she twisted it off her finger and set it down on the table.
Harry did not look at her as did this, but heard her when she said, "About time that I… that I took that off…."
Then, he replied quietly, "You shouldn't, if you don't want to… he was more husband to you than I ever was, than I could ever be."
"Not legally, can you imagine the furore when they find out you're still here, alive? Viktor's mother will have a heart attack, his father's not really my biggest fan, and to find out that his son married a married woman…?" said Hermione, with a mirthless laugh.
"That is not your fault or his, I will take it all for you," said Harry, seriously. "I've never really cared about what they thought of me, but you… I'll tell them anything you want. I will go to them and let them know that I'm responsible."
"They won't hear you," said Hermione.
"I'm Harry Potter, I don't care what they do or don't want to hear. I made a mistake that left my wife innocent of her actions, Hermione Granger is no callous adulteress," Harry told her, firmly.
She was sure she almost felt her turncoat heart flutter again. But before she had a moment to properly muse over it, Harry was rising from his place on the floor and heading for the door.
"Are you… are you leaving… already?" asked Hermione, suddenly flustered.
"I have to, you wanted the entire day for you and them and I'm… so I'll see you later, maybe…" he replied, securing his scarf and buttoning his coat.
He was out of the living room and had his hand on the doorknob before she called him, "Harry…?"
He stopped and looked back at her and her original reason, whatever it was, died away. The look in his eyes, one of purest pain, and knowing she had caused it, filled her with such guilt that it left her with the lame question, "Later, maybe…?"
"When we meet Ron, whenever he plans to," he explained.
"Oh," she said, and he turned back to the door again.
It was barely open before she called again, "Harry…."
He did not look back, but replied in a strangled sort of voice, "Hermione, if I… if I don't leave now…."
It was all the answer she needed.
She walked up to him, put a hand to his shoulder and turned him to face her. He moved with little resistance, barely flinched as her hands came to his face and responded eagerly as she drew his lips down to hers for a small, brief kiss.
But brief for them seemed impossible.
The moment his lips pressed hers it was as if a flame had ignited itself deep within him and he quickly deepened it, deftly slipping his tongue into her mouth as she took a breath of air. Instead of pulling away sharply, as surely her more rational side would have if it were in control; she tilted her head to allow him. Then her hands left his face, slid down his arms and went up to his back. He did the same to her, drawing her into him while fiercely resisting that part of his brain that told him he needed air.
Eventually, they stopped to gasp for it… only to plunge into another, more passionate one after while her hands went to his chest and began to force off his coat.
And then common sense hit him like a bucketful of ice water.
He had to stop her, had to stop this, they couldn't.
Not when their children were in the living room barely asleep merely feet away. Not when they were on shaky ground in their relationship and Ron had to be met. Not when, no matter how much he wanted to, he was sure she would regret it later.
He reluctantly drew his hands from her back, savouring the feel of her bare skin through the nightdress and dressing gown and gripped her own and then pushed them away. It was even harder to break their kiss.
But once he did, he knew he had done the right thing.
She looked down at her feet in shame, instead of him as he said, "We can't."
Then her question surprised him, "Why not?"
Temporarily disarmed, he actually had to search through his mind before coming to, "You don't want to."
She looked up at once, and said seriously, "I do, you're scared."
He almost could not believe it, but said quickly, pointing to the living room, "Our children are right there."
She looked where he indicated, suddenly snatched his arm, and Disapparated them to her bedroom upstairs.
"They're not up here," she replied.
He took a quick glance around the room, and was surprised at how much it looked very much as he had imagined it. Practical, neat, filled with books, and then just a little touched by her femininity.
There were pictures of her and Caspar everywhere in there, not one trace of Viktor, and then one of the twins she had obviously gotten from elsewhere. They were much too young in them for it to be recent. It was a soft pastel colour, like an eggshell, with no extra frills, not even on the bed, and the drapes on the tall windows were plain. Her St Mungo's uniform was neatly ironed and hung against the wardrobe, her clothes for that day were laid out on the chair nearby and the book she must have been reading the night before sat on her nightstand.
All it really missed were his shoes, his clothes, his pictures… him….
He snapped out of it quickly though, remembering where he was, to protest, "We really can't do this, what if they come up here? What if they wake up and look for you? What if you regret it?"
She looked away from him to the window and the now somewhat dull day without. Unlike the day before the sun was up and the sky was mostly clear, beautiful, but uninteresting compared to what was going within. But still, for a while she just stood there staring, before finally saying, and looking back at him, "I won't."
Without another word she drew the band from the waist of her dressing gown and let it slip free of her, crumpling at her feet. Kicking it aside, she stepped over to him, and slowly unwound the scarf from his neck, then removed his coat, and finally his wand, which she used to lock the door before discarding it to the rest of the pile.
And never once did she break the gaze she had held with him since looking back from the window.
Realising that further protest would end in failure, and no longer wanting to, Harry drew her close and gave in. With his hands on her shoulders to steady her, he brought his lips to her neck just below the ear for a first gentle kiss, letting his lips linger as he savoured her, before continuing on with a line of butterfly kisses to her jaw. She tilted her head to let him, but brought her hands from his arms to his neck and finally into his hair as he carried the line of kisses down again to the nape of her neck. Then she let her head fall back as he sucked at her throat, and released a sound that for the past eleven years had been relegated to his dreams, her first real moan.
He responded immediately.
Releasing her neck, he captured her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that effectively silenced her. Her hands dropped to his neck again but her fingers ran through his hair as she willingly allowed his tongue to explore the deeper recesses of her mouth. It was an action that made him want to get closer to her, much closer to her, and tightening his arms round her back just wasn't going to do it.
And then, almost exactly as it was more than twelve years before, he allowed himself to lose control.
He was no longer nineteen, but thirty-one. He was her husband now, the father of two of her children and just as deeply in love with her as he had been before that night long ago. He had every right to claim her as he wanted to, and was going to do right then.
And besides, at her first moan all blood had rushed south and was making a rather apparent bulge in his pants. Nothing short of Voldemort himself, resurrecting from the dead and charging into the room slinging curses right then, could stop him now.
His hands left their place at her back, slipping, slowly, purposely, down her sides and then up to her breasts. He could feel the nipples stiffen almost automatically beneath the material of her nightgown and he gently squeezed them. She groaned into his mouth, he groped them harder and then broke their kiss to suck at one through the shirt. She stopped him though, pushing him away tenderly, but firmly, before gripping the hem of his jumper, and with it the t-shirt beneath, before pulling both up and over his head.
And then she paused for real.
A remnant of a battle, a deep cut healed to a thin, somewhat diagonal scar traced a path across his chest. The memory of how it came to be there had come to her almost immediately and she froze. He was sure it was that memory that had come to her, because he remembered it too.
A dark forest, the sharp scent of pinewood, the biting cold winds of an autumn night, someone yelled warning, she screamed and Harry fell, blood staining his Weasley jumper. It was the night Ron got hurt, long before this whole fiasco began but almost a contributing factor to it. For more reasons than one neither of them would ever forget it.
Hermione looked up at his eyes then, away from the scar and ignoring the infamous one on his forehead, and saw the pain hedging their desire-deepened pools. He never really liked to think of that night never had and never would, but she could not help herself. Seeing that scar reminded her of all that had been taken from him, all he had had to give up, all he had and would continue to suffer for… and even though she had just cause, was perpetuating.
How could she say she loved him when she knew she was hurting him?
Almost unconsciously, she put her hands to the thin straps of her nightdress and drew them down, allowing the dress to fall to a heap at her feet. His eyes lost the pain, but gained a hunger as they consumed every inch of her, and strangely, she felt self-conscious. The cotton, boy-shorts didn't help either… not that her knickers had been anything fancy the first time they did this, but still….
Harry though, seemed to notice nothing wrong.
He reached for her again, and when she came into his arms he lifted her up and laid her out on the bed behind her. His weight was welcome, and for the fact that it indicated his apparent arousal. She was the thirty-two year old mother of three children and she could drive him wild with just a flash. The thought seemed so strangely absurd that she actually had to stifle a giggle… and replaced it completely with a gasp when she felt Harry's mouth close, warm and wet, around the nipple of her left breast.
She wrapped her legs round his hips and moaned softly as he assaulted her it with his tongue, chewing and sucking at the teat until it was stiff and aching, and then moving over to another. And when both had become reasonably taut, his hands once more replaced his mouth as he trailed hot, wet kisses down her sternum, stomach and just to the tip of her knickers. The sensation made her flesh twitch and she squeezed her thighs against his side. He kissed his way back to her mouth while his hands slowly began to roll down her knickers.
She brought up her knees then, put her toes to the tip of his pants and pushed down, trying to force them off. He stopped her, stood up and quickly discarded them, and his underpants, before coming again to rest flush against her. She almost instinctively bucked her hips as his warmth came to rest against her inner thigh and ran her hands up his sides into his hair.
Instead of reclaiming her mouth though, he began to line kisses again, down her jaw to her neck, from her neck to her stomach, from her stomach down the side to her hip and then finally the tip of her knee, all the while slowly pulling off her knickers. As before he kissed his way back up to her mouth and this time as she tasted him, along with the last salt of her own sweat, she did buck her hips. Every inch of her was primed and anxious for their union and the wait was severely testing her patience.
With mouths occupied then though, hands did the exploring, and it was as if they were lost territory being examined for change. But change was not easy to find.
The scars of war were thankfully few, and he was grateful that the only new one was the line from her navel down from where some barbarian had removed her son. She had gained some weight, but barely that it was noticeable and in just the right place so that it wasn't regrettable. She still gave a small gasp, as if surprised, if he sucked at the top of her shoulder, smiled when he finally removed his glasses (when they got in the way for the millionth time) and indicated her readiness with a determined look, though pleading look.
When he filled her centre, slipping in as if he owned her, he still did so with the tentative nervousness of a shy virgin. He still let her make the first move and each thrust, each grind, each movement in their performance of the ancient dance after was hers to lead.
She grunted into his ear, broke their kisses to flip him unto his back and then sat up bending backwards slightly and gripped his knees. He lazily opened an eye and was struck by the fact that she looked some exotic porcelain goddess atop her thrown. But more than that, apart from the rhythmic rocking of their hips, (put to sound by the bed beneath them) he almost could not tell where she ended and he began. They were complete, whole, as they were always meant to be, and now, more than the first time they ever made love, they could thoroughly enjoy every moment of it.
His hands ascended her chest then slid down as he rose with her to where their bodies were joined and stroked at her heated core. She gave a frighteningly audible groan, while her hands went to his shoulders and her fingers groped and released them with each push. Their pace quickened, she wrapped her hands round his neck as she fell completely against his chest, pushing him into the bed again, and broke a gasp into his ear. He rolled them over, raised her hands over her head and held them fast to the mattress as he took over the regulation of the rhythm.
She reached for his lips and he acquiesced, she freed her hands to run them through his hair and he brought their hips to almost painfully slow grind. She brought up her back as if trying to force him deeper and breathed against his mouth, "I love you, I have always loved you."
Almost as the words escaped her lips he felt her body shudder beneath his as she came, turning her head to the covers and burying her mouth in a sheet to stifle a scream.
No matter how many times he saw her do it he would never tire of it. As long as he knew he could make her do that, and believe that Viktor never could, he would never, ever tire of it.
But he was not done with her yet.
He could feel himself still tight within her, her body had not yet come down from its high and he was not willing to let it either. He slowed his movements, drawing each buck and thrust out for as long as he could, and almost desperately so. He moved as if his life depended on pleasing her, as if he could pour all the desire of the past eleven years into that one act, as if he would never have her again, and she let him. She tightened her arms round his back and squeezed her legs round his waist, curling her toes at his shin. He took her arms from her back and held them down over her head again, and descended to her breasts where he teased the nipples firm once more.
She groaned pleasurably, and whispered huskily, "Leave me alone, you sadist."
He grinned against her chest and kissed his way back up to her neck. The pressure at their junction was building though, the wonderful heat spurring his thrusts until he felt the beginning of the familiar wave. He quickened the pace, she stifled small cries and finally nearly bit his shoulder when finally he burst free within her and collapsed weary, sweaty and satiated over her form.
Her body fell limp too, though she was most certainly aroused once more, and her voice was strong as she whispered then, "I could never regret this… you owe me, Mr Potter."
"I owe you?" he asked, sensing the playfulness in her tone.
"Eleven years worth of debt, I'll count this as one, though you're not done here yet, and if you ever want to be on good terms with me again you best keep up with your instalments," she replied.
He looked down at her, at the glint of gold in the corners of her eyes, at the tangled mess of her bushy hair, of the pleasant flush of her face, and asked, "What about Ron?"
She frowned, though their still seemed a hint of a smile in them, and said, "No outside parties, he can't pay for you."
He narrowed his gaze, "I was talking about what he would think if he knew about this?"
She looked away a moment, again her eyes going to the window, before replying, "It's almost Christmas, a time when families should be together… he'll just have to get over it. Not that I've forgiven you, this is just a start, but I want, I need you all home for Christmas."
"Changed our minds have we…? But just for Christmas?" he asked, and dropped a kiss to her neck.
"Did you miss the part about your debt? No one, not even the Man-Who-Triumphed, can pay that back in a matter of weeks," she replied.
He slipped another kiss to her ear, and asked, "Is that a challenge?"
Almost on cue, he hardened within her and she smiled naughtily, "Do what you want, it won't work…."
"If you say so," he replied, huskily, and bent to kiss her neck.
But just as his lips closed onto her neck and he started bucking their hips again, a familiar and now rather annoying voice sounded from the hall, "Mum? Are you in there? Why is the door locked? We're done with breakfast, what are we supposed to do now?"
Harry whispered as he reluctantly withdrew from her, "How the hell did Molly and Arthur have seven children again?"
"Like this," whispered Hermione, before continuing louder, "I'm changing Caspar, why don't you and your sisters have a bath and you give them a tour of the house, you've been dying to ever since the first time they visited. I'll meet you all halfway."
"The house is not that big," protested Caspar.
"To us it is," replied one of the twins.
Harry turned to the doorway at the sound of her voice.
"Yeah, and you can show us the Quidditch collection, a little Weasley told us it's the best he's ever seen," continued the other.
"Okay, come on, we'll see you Mum, don't hurry, I'm the guide today," said Caspar.
Hermione grinned at Harry, "Don't worry sweetheart, I won't."
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