A/N: First, I must apologise for the increased rating of this story due to this chapter. Second, I must apologise for the reason for this increased rating as it most certainly stinks. Third, this is a double post as I am not sure when I will be able to post again.
Thanks for reading and reviewing, I may not be able to respond all the time but I do read all.
~*~*~*~
Remembrance
"Serpensortia!" was the cry and Ron turned to the young caster with an arched eyebrow.
He had seen many a duel, some good and some bad, since the restart of the Duelling Club of Gilderoy Lockhart's day after his return to Hogwarts. He had seen young duellists pull off many a nasty spell at each other in the name of victory. He had even had a few duellists sent off to the Hospital Wing for getting too rough with each other in the heat of it. But this was getting ridiculous now.
Clearly Philippe Weasley had missed the family handbook on behaviour, even Fred and George would not have gone that low to end a duel.
Just as quickly as the spell had been cast though, Maia aimed her wand at the snake flying through the air towards her and shouted, "Vipera Evanesco! How cute, Tarantellegra!"
Her attacker dropped to the ground legs tangled and flopping about. Despite this, and finally proving himself the son of Bill Weasley and not Draco Malfoy, he shot off "Engorgio!" towards her.
She hastened to finish him off then, "Petrificus Totalus!"
His body went stiff, his cherubic face displaying his shock, and he lay silent in his place on the duelling platform. Maia seemed momentarily startled at her victory, her mouth and eyes wide as she looked him over and to her sister. Aimee mouthed something to her, she recovered quickly then turned to Ron and asked cheekily, "Is this the best you can do?"
He gave his best impression of Snape, "Miss Black, do not let me deduct House Points for cheek."
She gave her best impression of concern.
He continued, "Finite Incantatem! Philippe here is a bit of a pushover, (his nephew glared at him) why don't you battle… Miss Zabini… instead…?"
Rhiannon standing amidst her friends, Slytherins Ron didn't care to know, protested at once, "She's a Hufflepuff; I don't want to hurt her."
Professor Theoden replied for him, "Very funny, get up there, Gryffindors are all generally pushovers, but she's beaten one… show her how Slytherins duel."
She kept her face expressionless but her eyes betrayed her annoyance. With a sigh she drew her wand, loudly whispered to her friends, "I'll be back, shortly," and took Philippe's place on the duelling platform.
Professor Theoden shook his head.
When Ron gave the signal, the two girls met each other at the centre and bowed. At the shout, "Present arms!" they raised their wands, Maia's fine ebony, long and slender, Rhiannon's a shorter, magnificent willow, and glared slightly at each other. No matter how many times he had seen that stance, it was eerie how it struck him that they looked the Second Year Harry and Draco.
"Ten paces!" was the second shout and they turned and marched back to their former positions.
The tenth pace was barely finished though, before Rhiannon suddenly turned and shouted, "Rictusempra!"
Maia turned immediately, ducked the flash of silver and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
Rhiannon ducked as well, but still had to tighten her grip on her wand as the spell tugged it away. Once she had settled it again, she shouted, "Incarcerous!"
Maia immediately shouted, "Protego! (The spell bounced harmlessly away) Petrificus Totalus!"
Again she missed her target; Rhiannon shot her nastiest look and called, "Stupefy!"
The Stunning Spell, and immediately all other duels halted. Rhiannon had just upped the ante. Protests from other Hufflepuffs, spectators, and Aimee-who shoved away her dueller to rush to the stage and her sister-were silenced by the calls of the Slytherins demanding Rhiannon kill Maia if she had too.
What was this, a blood sport?
She missed with this one though and Maia sent it back to her. She cast "Protego" over herself, and then sent over the Bat Bogey Hex. Maia glared as she shielded herself, and then hit her with the spell Ron had tried on Malfoy in Second Year. Unlike Ron's Second Year, within seconds Rhiannon had fallen forward and was belching slugs.
The Hufflepuff cheers drowned the Slytherin boos.
Triumphant, Maia petrified her and said, "That wasn't very nice."
Ron couldn't conceal his amusement this time, Professor Theoden concurred.
"Bravo, Miss Black, you're a natural," he applauded her, and then freed his student.
While Rhiannon, defeated, and angry, headed back to her friends, he said to Ron, "She's won four out of her past six duels… how about we put her up against someone… older…?"
Once more the other duellists, having resumed their own fights in light of the quick end to the match, halted. Padma, who had been seated quietly nearby observing the proceedings protested, "An older student? Professor Theoden, have you lost your mind? Just because she can fight off those in her Year and one above her doesn't mean she can take on the school. Someone in a higher year will automatically have an advantage!"
"Well yes, but I do believe Harry Potter, from Professor Weasley's accounts, has more than proven that knowing more spells alone can't help you. It takes skill," he told her with a charming smile.
Oh, if he only knew. Luck, was more an appropriate word.
She protested again, "Okay, skill is a part of it too, I'll accept that…. But she's already been in six duels, why don't you give Aimee a chance instead… let Maia take a rest, her sister's just sitting there."
Ron cut in, "Now that's unfair, we don't know how well she duels…"
Aimee spoke up immediately, "I can duel just fine."
"You're not helping yourself," Ron told her, and then added, "And you drew against Miss Corner over there, and lost to Mr Bennett…"
"And defeated Miss Phelps and Mr Ramsey…" she counted, "Maia and I used to duel at Beauxbatons, we had formal classes before we came here."
Oh yeah, he had forgotten, why did that school have to have a different way of doing things. Didn't they care that the girls had only been here six days and he didn't want them to get hurt? Didn't they care that he was a Weasley and they had a thing for orphans?
Before Ron could speak again though, a ringing from the doorway silenced the room. All turned towards it.
Standing there shaking a small bell was Professor McGonagall, who sternly announced, "I'm afraid that will be all for the evening, Professors, we have classes tomorrow."
The groans that followed this were muted, but she continued as if she had not heard them, "Now, all of you, bedtime!"
Reluctantly and muttering to themselves the students began recovering robes and wands. A few had to wait to be cleared of spells, others had to find friends and some had to procrastinate as long as they could to part from them. Ron was watching for the twins.
Maia hopped off the duelling platform and found her sister. The two never delayed their parting; in the four days of school they had had so far, Ron had learned this. Just as the other nights, they met each other before finding their friends, whispered something quickly in pig Latin, tonight Maia added a joke, they laughed and almost had to be dragged off by their friends.
Maia had so far befriended her roommate, Lixue Corner, the daughter of two Ravenclaws he regrettably knew well, in addition speaking to Rhiannon. As pretty as her mother, the Eurasian Lixue laughed with them as the joke was repeated, Ron wondered if it had anything with Philippe's defeat and then they left. Tonight Maia went out of the Great Hall with Lixue; Rhiannon was clearly still upset about her defeat, and had left earlier.
Aimee left with a Gryffindor girl, Sarmistha Thomas, who Ron just remembered would have been perfect to duel Maia.
She was an excellent duellist and since he knew her parents, Parvati and Dean, he was glad to see how she turned out.
He couldn't speak for her mother, but her father was always a good friend. Why didn't Padma suggest her
niece?
Well, there was always the next Duelling Club meeting.
When the girls slipped out of sight, Ron spied a small blonde Ravenclaw slip off a stool and go out alone, Rosalie. He had not even noticed her come in, not that she could join in anyway, the Duelling Club was open to Second Year and above. He was at least glad to see that she had come; he seriously doubted any Dursley would impart whatever little they knew of the Wizarding School to her anyway.
All those he knew gone, (Philippe limped away with a friend) Ron turned his attention to the approaching Professor McGonagall who began when she stood with the other teachers, "Professor Theoden, if you wish for the Duelling Club to maintain its presence in the school, I suggest you do not pair older and younger students with each other. No excuse would do for a parent with a severely injured child at the end of it."
Professor Theoden bowed in apology, and said, "My apologies, dear madam, but I was only going to suggest putting her up against Mr Christensen, the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain. He's not a good duellist; she could have taught him a few things."
Professor McGonagall offered him a faint smile, but said, "Still, students are only supposed to duel those in their year or of matched ability for a fair fight, I don't want this to turn into a passage way to the Infirmary."
He bowed again, and Ron decided him determined to show up every male teacher at the school. Taking over, he said, "Speaking of parents… did you find anything on the Puckles?"
Padma asked then, "Who?"
"Puckle is the name the twins gave me of their mother's Muggle family," Ron told her. "We're looking for them to make sure the twins have a place to go for the summer… did you have any luck?"
Professor McGonagall shook her head, "Without their mother's name it's a hopeless search, and their names aren't helping… when did they say that their father went to school here?"
"They said they don't know," replied Ron, "but I don't believe it."
"Why not?" asked Professor Theoden. "Not every child in the world can exactly tell you their parents' histories, not even a few adults… it's not that difficult to see."
"I know that," said Ron, "but I think they're lying… and considering one of them let it slip that their father often spoke of going into the forest here when many of us wouldn't…"
"Amend that statement, Mr Weasley," said Padma, daring to mimic Professor McGonagall, "the correct line should be `when many of the other students wouldn't'. If I'm not mistaken you and your friends spent a lot of time in it as well."
He narrowed his eyes at her, "Harry and Hermione spent a lot of time in that forest. After First and Second Year, I tended to avoid it unless I had to."
"Nevertheless," cut in Professor McGonagall, "the little Misses Black, are still here alone. Keep an eye on them."
Ron had to wonder what she thought he was doing. Since their first conversation he had been watching the twins.
Apart from learning how they parted and their friends, he had come to know that Aimee liked Potions (Professor Theoden told him) and Maia liked Arithmancy (this he got from Padma) and both liked his class. (Okay, so he wasn't really sure about that one, but he liked to think that all the students liked his class.) He now knew that Maia was a talented duellist, both disliked Philippe and both seemed to know more about the school than was available in their Hogwarts letter. More than once they had enquired about teachers, Deathday parties, the now belated Mrs Norris and on one occasion, to his surprise, Dumbledore's Army.
But also, maybe it was just the Weasley weakness for orphaned children too; he watched them for their loneliness. Even though they had friends now and were settling into the school, there were times, and especially in separate classes, that they withdrew from the world around them. They would not answer even if they knew it, they would not volunteer-not that the rest of the students did ordinarily-and they would not speak. In their eyes he could almost see a sadness that definitely had nothing to do with missing each other.
Honestly, their father had not properly thought out his plan before he signed them away to a babysitter.
So if Professor McGonagall wanted to know, he had been watching the twins. He was in loco parentis when it came to them. Luna would be proud, he smiled despite himself.
Professor McGonagall was speaking again, "So, now that that's done (he hoped he had not missed something) I think we should all retire as well, tomorrow is another day."
The three teachers nodded, bid her "Goodnight" and departed to their separate offices.
~*~*~*~
"Cheerio!" was the whisper of a memory that came to him as he finally sat down on his bed and listened to the sea. The house was dark, he, as always, was alone. Hedwig was off hunting, age not slowing her need to feed.
"Cheerio!" was the soft voice, filled with amusement, and drunk of the false euphoria of the charm and the real one of their victory.
"Cheerio!" their daughters' letter lay nearby on the nightstand, fuelling the memory. He looked away from it but the memory remained.
"Rictusempra!" was the reply, "No!" was the squeal and he tumbled head-first into the past.
Hufflepuff's Cup was carelessly thrown aside. Its Horcrux destroyed it was once more a drinking utensil.
They were seated on the floor, or rather; she lay on the floor on her back, him seated nearby and levelling the wand that would later destroy a monster, harmlessly at her, watching the effects of the Tickling Charm.
There they were, both nineteen, still innocent of what was about to happen, unaware of the ramifications that would come when it did, safe in the thought that they were one step closer to bringing down the Dark Lord. Ron was forgotten tonight, as were the rest of the Weasleys, those were thoughts too painful. Voldemort was pushed to the back of their minds, for the second time since he knew her Hermione had decided off work feeling "rebellious". A pact had just been formed between them in this small, dingy flat in Muggle London, later to be inscribed in Latin on their rings-both he now wore round his neck-"Concedere vita ipse ego": "Die with me".
And then, finally tired of using his wand, he cast it aside and allowed his hands to take over, tickling her mercilessly till her eyes watered and her squeals begged for release. He took his hands away, but on impulse leaned over and kissed her.
It was over in an instant. He sat up and backed away while her eyes widened in surprise and she slowly forced herself to sit too.
The question, "Why did you do that?"
The answer, "I don't know."
She didn't like it though, she could have never settled for it, "Why did you do that? It can't be `I don't know', you had to have a reason."
All rebelliousness gone, she was Hermione again.
"I just wanted to… I guess," he told her.
He didn't have a proper answer then, but it was still the truth now, he just wanted to.
She sat there a moment, then came over to him, and said, "Then if you just wanted to… do it properly… don't just do it and run."
He looked up at her surprised, and in her eyes he could see that she was still Hermione. Who else would she be? Hermione never liked anything done halfway or incorrectly.
She was kneeling beside him, and dared to lean downwards to kiss him back. He rose on his side, met her halfway and kissed her as properly as he thought was possible.
But it wouldn't do. For some reason or the other tonight, it just wouldn't do. Well, there was a reason, but they would come to that later. For now, he didn't know why her kiss-that turned to kisses-were so greedy, so hungry, and so full of things he hadn't even begun to think of. All he had wanted was a kiss, one kiss.
When he couldn't stand it anymore he put trembling hands unto her shoulder. They slid to her back as she came closer to him, into his embrace and pulled her mouth away for air. He barely took a breath before, spurred on by memories and the other boys' talks of what should be done now, he began to spread kisses along her cheek to her ear and then down her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him as close as their bodies would allow.
But her greedy actions of earlier had inspired him. He wanted more than this, much more than this. Scary as that thought was.
The floor was cold, stiff, uncomfortable and uncompromising. With his arms on her back he lifted her up as he stood and they both tumbled unto the couch nearby. She looked up at him, surprised by this action, but he silenced any coming protest with a kiss and slipped his hands free of her back to climb her skin beneath her t-shirt. When his fingers grazed a hint of some other contraption beneath, he recoiled as if burned.
She caught his hands, holding them to her waist as he broke their kiss and tried to sit up.
In her eyes was the question, "What's wrong?"
He dropped his eyes, ashamed, "I… we…"
She seemed to know what was wrong, and released his hands… only to grip the bottom of her t-shirt with her own trembling hands and pull it off over her head.
He looked away from her at once, never had he seen so much of her flesh… he had never dreamed he would.
Really, he never had.
But she was not finished with him, she took his hands, which, despite his somewhat irrational fear, went willingly, and placed them on her shoulders where he could feel a pair of thin cotton straps. She did as before, coming into his embrace, his face still turned away, and let his hands fall unto her back, but she held them upon the contraption. He turned to look at her again, her cheeks deepened to magenta, but her eyes held his gaze and let his hands feel the clasp on her back… and break it.
The moment it snapped open he pulled away from her again, but she wouldn't let him. She came to kneel, lean forward and kiss him again, capturing his lips with her own, exploring his mouth with her tongue and allowing his hands to travel the newly bared skin of her back while her own hands began to ascend his chest beneath his shirt.
He lost control.
His kisses became fierce once more as a new desire, foreign and pleasing, overtook him, and the couch was now very uncomfortable too. He drew her to straddle him and with his hands beneath her stood up and walked her to the small bed-hers, in their little hiding place-and lay her out on it before descending over her.
She did not protest, she let him, she wanted him, all of him and took her hands out from beneath his shirt and began to unbutton it. But she was taking too long, almost as afraid… and then as excited as he.
He helped her, tearing it off like a t-shirt, buttons popping away and threw it aside. But the odd contraption was still in the way… as was everything else.
He pulled away from her, breathing heavily, and held her hands down when she protested this action. She looked into his eyes and stopped struggling at once. He released her hands and went to her jeans, unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled them off of her. Once more, more flesh than he had ever dreamed of seeing but he was too far gone to stop and think about it. He did the same to himself and climbed back over her on the bed. And finally, just before returning to their kiss of before, he took hold of the straps of her top and pulled it off.
He didn't look, he couldn't, irrationally, he didn't want her to think him a pervert. With the flat well-lit as it was, despite its dinginess, and the half moon out tonight he did catch a glimpse though. But with their bare chests against each other he let his hands do what his eyes wouldn't. And for the first time since this started, her heavy breathing broke into a moan.
The noise, so unnatural coming from her, made him open his eyes again and stare at her. Her head went back, her face flushed deep red, and all blood in him rushed determinedly south. She gasped and opened her eyes as well, but instead of the revulsion he had expected-in spite of their current activity-they were dark with desire.
Staring deep into her eyes he kissed her again, then broke that to jump to her neck, his hands left her breasts and slipped to her waist, his mouth took their place. She wrapped her legs around his hips and grinded against him, he groaned, and nipped at her. She moaned, drew her legs up and began pushing down his shorts with her toes. He took his mouth from her breasts and began to trail kisses down her stomach, his hands gripped the waist of her underwear and drew it down. He stopped his kisses just under her navel, where her warmth grazed his neck and ripped her underwear free of her thighs.
Eyes wide, she stared at him, he pushed off his shorts completely, and then climbed over her again to capture her lips. There was no turning back or slowing down now, they were going too fast and couldn't stop even if they weren't.
She grinded against his hips again, he gave a grunt and she giggled. His hands went to her knees and pushed them apart then slid down to her hips and he waited until she looked at him. The look in her eyes was all the permission he needed. A second later he found her centre and filled her, her eyes shut, she scrunched her face and her hands gripped the mattress in agony and pleasure.
And then she whimpered.
He stopped, but her hands left the mattress and gripped his side and she drew herself up-eyes still shut, face still twisted-so that she sat on him and he slipped deeper. It took only a moment after, for her body to tighten round him and she grinded as before. This time though, the sensation drove him wild.
He forced her down again and took over, pushing himself slowly-for she still whimpered slightly-in and out of her. She tightened her legs around him again, her breath on his neck hot, and when she took to his lips again she nearly bit him. He was startled, almost amused by this, but said nothing as his hands found her breasts, he kneaded them a while and then they slipped down to where their bodies had come joined.
He had never felt anything like this before. The sensations that ripped through him, the wonder at the fact that they were once very separate beings, the thought that they could have done this before… so many times before… he speeded his pace. She clenched her teeth, almost on his tongue and he felt himself full in her. His pace went faster though, she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she clenched and unclenched her fingers, but he couldn't stop himself.
Sweat, heat, salty kisses, electric touches, her breath in his ear, her hands in his hair, moans, grunts, fiery passion he had never dreamed existed, possible. Ron, Voldemort, Ginny, neighbours, the world, forgotten. He didn't need to think of them now; he didn't want to, not went she drew his head up to her face and made him kiss her again.
She wanted so much more than he could give, and yet he was sure he could give it to her. If he could lie with her like this forever he would. If he had to die, he would die like this with her, he was dying like this in her. He never wanted it to end.
And then much too soon it was over.
In a wave of… something… that spread from their centre to the tips of his toes and under his scalp, he felt himself spill into her and he collapsed over her body.
And then he was ashamed again.
She said nothing. She just lay there beneath him, their bodies still joined and his head resting on her chest, and said nothing. He had a feeling he was the only one to whom that had happened.
He asked timidly, breathily, "Did you feel that?"
She shook her head, still saying nothing and let him rest there for a while, as the shame continued to spread.
Eventually though, she moved his hands away from her side and made to pull free of him. The movement ignited his passion, he held her fast, and staring her straight in the eyes he held her hands down and bucked their joined hips.
He moved slowly, almost painfully slowly, allowing each movement to flow through her until she began to moan and writhe beneath him. The sight of her like that made him draw it out for as long as he could each time. The insatiable desire building in him meant that she had to feel what he did, she had to.
He would do this over and over again with her until she did.
Eventually he slipped her arms free of his hands, flipped him unto his back and held him there as if to give him a taste of what he was doing to her.
The bed shook slightly; he dragged them up a bit and she fell over him, her hair tumbling into his face while her hands found his and their fingers intertwined.
And then she rose up again, her back arching almost as Sirius' did as he slipped into the veil. She gave a gasp, that turned to a cry and he speeded his pace again until he felt that wave coming again. As she collapsed over him, finally feeling what he did, he spilled afresh into her and let his body relax.
"Did you feel it now?" he asked.
She nodded and his shame was gone.
It didn't take long after this then, for him to claim her again. After that, thoroughly exhausted, he drifted off to sleep with her in his arms, their bodies entwined. He never wanted to part from her again.
He would not know though, when she would start from him hours later, just as the sun broke the horizon, and scamper off the bed anxiously to find her wand. He would not know when she would frantically try a spell she had found while reading through books at school some years before. She did it twice just to be sure, and then went to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. He would not hear her fretful whisper all the while, "Please work, please… how could we forget… what was I thinking? Oh gods… please work…"
He would know though, over two months later on Hallowe'en that it didn't work. Their night together was never repeated for Hermione did her very best to avoid him after, much to his frustration. His reply of "I don't care" to her protest "Something could happen", and stolen, heated kisses whenever he could, not moving her an inch.
For two weeks before Hallowe'en though, she had actually begun to act rather guarded. Tasks she would have rushed into were now done gingerly, she began to watch her food and eat more of it than necessary, strange, non-War related books began to appear, he caught expanding her jeans once, but she was mostly herself. And then that night, in the pouring rain as they made their way to the orphanage of Voldemort's childhood, Hermione told him simply, "I'm pregnant."
He stopped his advance at once, swung round to face her and she opened her robes to reveal a barely visible paunch through wet clothes.
He looked up at her and found, even through the blinding rain, that she was crying.
"I don't know what to do… I… I realised it two weeks ago… the spell… I tried it… but it didn't work… it was supposed to but it didn't… I…. I can barely hide it really, that was my first clue… when I started to gain weight… but I'm getting big so fast… I… oh gods…. That night… I don't know… I wanted you so much… I was… I was…. Oh gods, we're in trouble."
In reflection, maybe breaking into dance right then was not such a brilliant idea, but the way she looked at him… how could he not? Her expression of fear was so deep, her eyes pleading for help when she was the one who usually had the answers… he smiled and started to dance around her in the rain in the street.
He wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't hex him, her expression changed to one of concern and then something like annoyance, but he didn't stop. He pulled her with him too, Voldemort forgotten, his arms round her and they spun in the street. And then he sang, "We're going to have a baby!"
A passing man in an umbrella shook his head. A car slowed down a moment, and then continued on its way, the driver no doubt wondering if they had gone mad. And the rain just kept falling.
He stopped dancing only when, on spinning her a third time, she gripped his shoulders and said, "I think I'm going to be sick."
He knelt then before her and put his head to her stomach where he could feel the rise of it against his face.
"We're going to have a baby, the two of us, a baby," he said, and he grinned.
"I'm going to have a baby," Hermione corrected.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah… details…" he waved it aside and hugged her waist and kissed her stomach.
That was the night he made the decision that he would do anything for them, that he would give them the world, that they would be their little secret. He even got to sleep with her again, another little secret.
They kept it a secret too, for six months.
Six months in which Hermione managed to change little other than her size. Six months in which the world didn't matter as long as he could return to a hiding place and find her asleep, or humming to her stomach or busily poring over some books, Hedwig nearby and a hand gently massaging their child through her robes.
Six months that ended the moment Mrs Weasley's letter came in stating that Ron had finally woken and wanted to see them.
With winter almost over, Hermione's robes and jumpers couldn't conceal their secret for long. Apart from her stomach and breasts, her face, arms and hips had filled out too. Her lack of illness aside, she was in every form or fashion a pregnant woman and the moment they met with Ron and the others they would know too.
That's how Hagrid had found out hadn't he?
Selfishly, he didn't want anyone else to know what he knew. He went off to visit the Weasleys while she was resting one afternoon, (leaving the puppy which had been with Hagrid guarding her) told them that she wasn't well and exhausted and returned just before she awoke. He had a feeling she knew what he had done though, not that he answered her questions about it. He would do anything to keep them together, anything.
Mrs Weasley was determined to see Hermione though. In retrospect, he had a feeling that the moment Hermione stopped making appearances with him in battles and that he began to team with Aurors and Order members, she got suspicious. The reported absences were further fuelled by an encounter with Snape who stared at Hermione a little too long for his liking and left without a word. Mrs Weasley sent a letter that she was coming; Hermione was seated at the kitchen table when she did with Fleur and Lupin.
She took one look at her, looked up at him coming out of the bathroom and asked, "Is it Ron's?"
Hermione looked out the window, ignoring the gazes of Fleur and Lupin.
He shook his head, "It's mine."
Mrs Weasley allowed a moment for fury to wash over her silently, and then said, "Fine then. Get your things, we're going to Grimmauld Place, it's not safe here. In the morning we'll discuss the marriage…"
"What…? We can't… not now… not like this" said Hermione, turning back into the room.
Mrs Weasley narrowed her gaze, "This child is not going to be born out of wedlock, you two have… I don't know… but we have to fix this. And if this has anything to do with your size I'll remind you that you're carrying a child, there is life growing inside you, you're not fat."
They did not say another word, gathered what little they had and left quietly. She soundly ranted at them once safely within the old house, and Hermione cried for hours. If ever he was mad at Mrs Weasley, and he was quite sure that he had never been, it was then.
The next morning Mrs Weasley made them breakfast, but all the while detailing the wedding they would have the next afternoon: Fleur was off to find a dress, Lupin would get the rings, an Order member would officiate, and they would sign the documents and make this affair legal and then deal with the other problems of their "misbehaviour".
They still said nothing to this, allowed her to take full control.
The funny thing was that at no point did anyone mention where Snape got into the picture. Or the decision to change their daughters' names, or to give them up for safety, or even, after it was all over, to leave them. All of that would come later.
Fleur got Hermione a plain white dress: scoop neck, sleeveless, satin top, empire waist, lace, floor-length skirt with a small train and enough girth for her "condition", and a bandeau veil that came to her waist, and did her hair and make up. He wore a new pair of dress robes, and a nervous smile. Lupin had the rings and gave her over, Hermione cried again, her father was still alive, Mrs Weasley was her matron and Fleur and Snape witnessed it. The officiating Order member, smiled at them both, married them and then was Obliviated. He took Hermione up to their room, carried her in and spent the night watching her sleep.
That was the last happy day they would have.
The birth of his daughters, though it pleased him to have them, to hold them, as he would with Hermione for the next seven months until they were weaned, was much too short-lived an experience to bring a smile to his face. He had missed it entirely in the first place. Voldemort, Ron, Ginny, Death Eaters, the War, all played a part, and unconsciously too, in taking it away from him. He was Harry Potter, why should he ever have something to be happy about?
He should have run with Hermione when he had the chance.
The sound of tapping at the window, drowned by a wave embracing the sandy shore, brought him out of his reminiscence. He was back in his darkened house, alone, his wife the widow of another man, his children raised without them; the world convinced he was dead. He fingered the rings round his neck absently a moment and then looked to the window when the tapping started again.
A familiar owl hovered behind the glass; he rose from the bed and went to let it in.
Just as before though, it deposited a plain envelope into his hands and flew away without waiting for a treat.
Snape had trained it well.
He did not hesitate to open the letter then, and read the simple short message. Hesitation never changed whatever he wrote.
But tonight, unlike those of before, instead of crumpling and discarding it, Harry fell unto the bed and re-read the words until they blurred.
"Mrs Weasley has made a decision. Your wife will know of it soon enough. Return immediately, you will be needed once the truth is out. Be prepared for the backlash.
DO NOT HESITATE!
By the way, your daughters have been sorted. A Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff, congratulations, you should be proud."
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