The Restlessness of Time by Hysterical Hystorian

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 06/02/2006
Last Updated: 06/02/2006
Status: Completed

Harry reaches his 50th birthday. Hermione helps him forget the horror. Smut with a bit of
plot--kids, a dog, and a dash of humour.




1. The Restlessness of Time
---------------------------

A/N: Still exploring Harry and Hermione of the future and AU since Dumbledore is still alive
(and I’m holding out hope that’s the way it’ll be.) Written for my good buddy mononwalker on the
occasion of his 48th birthday in 2004.

*~*

*Fifty years*, he thought ruefully.

*Not such a long time for a wizard. Look at Dumbledore. Well into his second century and still
going strong. A little slower on the uptake than he used to be, but still considered the most
powerful wizard of his age.*

*Hell, I’ve beaten the odds and made it to fifty. Not to bad for a guy marked for death as a
toddler.*

He blinked. A rogue shaft of sunlight stole viciously through the part in the curtains to hit
him squarely in the face as if to challenge him to a duel. Harry rolled over to escape the cretin,
burying his face into a soft, bushy puddle.

“Good morning, my golden husband,” Hermione giggled quietly.

“Yeah, you had to go and remind of that first off, huh?” Harry groused in mock disgust.

She turned to take her partner in her arms lovingly, planting a kiss on his forehead where a
thin, silvery, jagged scar and a worry wrinkle marred the creamy skin. Harry wrapped his arms
around her waist and burrowed his head into her neck. He kissed her and sucked that wonderful spot
just beneath her ear lobe that never failed ---

“Ooh, frisky this morning, are we?” She laughed again. “And just when I thought you were getting
too old to do this.”

”Never,” came his muffled reply. He pulled his head back to face her and kiss her more soundly on
the lips. “You’ll never fail to arouse me.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hermione said, disentangling herself from him. She sat up and pushed back her
unruly hair, tying it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. “Don’t think I want to consider
life without sex right now.”

“Me neither. Let’s not consider it.” He slithered a hand up her silky camisole to cup a soft
breast.

At the same moment, the door to their room burst opened with a bang. In came twelve-year-old
Sirius, carrying a tray of steaming, fragrant food, followed by his older sister Cassie, and
Raphael, the large enthusiastic black Labrador retriever.

“Happy Birthday, Papa,” chirped Sirius as he headed for the bed.

Harry quickly removed his hand from under Hermione’s shirt, though he caught Cassie’s smirk.
*Damn kid. When did she become so observant? Or smart alecky?*

“Oh, honey. How thoughtful!” Hermione exclaimed. She got out of bed and pulled on a robe. Cassie
came around the bed to give her mum a kiss. “When did you arrive?”

“Early this morning. Sirry and I have been planning this since last week,” the twenty-four year
old Auror explained. “And, I have the entire weekend off so you can whisk Dad off to some fabulous
50th birthday celebration. I can stay here with Little Git.”

“Shhh! As a matter of fact –“ Hermione whispered.

But she never completed her thought, as the two women turned back to the bed in time to witness
a disaster in the making.

Raphael gave a mighty bark, and jumped onto the bed with Harry just as Sirius was lowering the
obviously heavy tray to Harry’s bedding-covered lap. “Raphael, NO!” Harry exclaimed.

Too late! The large dog enthusiastically bounced, barking and licking Harry’s face. As if on
cue, just as the tray landed in Harry’s lap, he stepped on the edge of the tray--hard.

The tray flipped, sending its contents—a stack of buttered pancakes, a small pitcher of syrup, a
bowl of sweetened strawberries, and a large glass of fresh orange juice—all over Harry, Raphael,
and the bed.

The dog acted as if God had reached down from heaven and presented him with the realization of a
dream. He gobbled up one of the pancakes and started lapping at the sticky syrup that was puddling
in the middle of Hermione’s pillow.

“Oh, nooooo,” Hermione yelped. She raced to the bureau for her wand.

Reaching, Cassie grabbed the hungry dog and hauled him off the bed by the collar. Raphael whined
as he hit the floor; Cassie whipped her wand out of its back holster and performed
“*Scourgify!”*on him. The syrup and droplets of orange juice disappeared much to the beast’s
great disappointment.

Sirius stomped his feet. “You stupid dog!” the boy yelled. “Look at what you did. Dammit to all
buggering hell, I’m never gonna throw sticks for you again!”

Harry sat immobilized for the greater part of the disaster in the midst of the ruins of his
carefully prepared birthday breakfast. As Hermione magically cleared off the remains of the syrup,
pancakes, and strawberries, he moved the tray off of his lap and slid out of bed.

“Sirius Remus Potter! That is enough,” he said loudly. The boy looked at his father
sheepishly.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. Then, his furious countenance fell into one of abject
disappointment. “Look at what Raph did,” he whined.

“Yes, he was a very bad dog.” Harry looked sternly at the now-cowed beast, who knew exactly what
was unfolding. “Cassie, please take him downstairs and put him in the kitchen.”

“Sorry, Dad. I wasn’t fast enough,” the young woman said sadly. She led Raphael out by the
collar, castigating him, saying, “You are one wicked animal! Bad, bad dog! Leaping into bed with
Daddy like that, eating….” Her scolding voice trailed off down the hall.

Harry reached out and took his youngest son in his arms. “It’s all right,” Harry said. “I really
was surprised. Thank you very much for your gift. And, there will be no more of that language in
this house, understood?”

Sirius sighed into his father’s bare chest. “You’re welcome, and yes. I’m sorry I lost my
temper. But um…Papa, you need a shower.”

“Why? Do I stink?”

“No, you have syrup on your chest.”

Harry looked down to find the boy was right; syrup dotted his chest hair and other places. He
laughed, and held Sirius out.

“I guess you’re right. How about you and your sister make another round of pancakes and we’ll
all eat together in the kitchen?”

“Great! We had loads of batter left over.” Sirius paused. “Happy Birthday, Papa.”

With that the black-haired boy scampered off out of the room and down the hall to his appointed
task.

“My dear, you did get quite a showering,” Hermione said, as Harry took stock of himself.

“Anything in my hair?” he asked, bending over so that his shorter wife could inspect.

“Doesn’t seem to be.”

“Good. Guess we ought to check the bed and make sure everything got cleared up before I—“

“I took care of the bed,” Hermione said, untying the belt of her robe and slipping it off her
shoulders. It pooled in a soft heap around her feet, revealing her bare legs and arms. “It’s fine.
But you…you’re still a mess.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed. “Nothing a shower won’t handle.”

“True.” Hermione put her arms about his waist. “But there are other ways. Much more fun ways to”
– she tentatively licked one nipple –“take care of” – then, licked the other –“a sweet mess” – she
sucked on a small patch of hair in the middle of his chest – “on your body.”

Harry shivered. “Oh, Hermione,” he moaned.

“Mmm?” She looked up at him as her tongue laved yet again his right nipple.

He gulped. “I think we should lock the door.”

“Done.”

With that, she pushed him pushed towards the bed. His knees hit the edge and he toppled over
oh-so gracefully, taking her with him. Even in her falling, her tongue did not falter.

Lying back, Harry breathed a silent prayer. *Thank you for this wonderful woman. If turning 50
does this to her, just think what 60 will do.* “Um…not to discourage you from what is really
something quite wonderful,” he gasped as she bit his left nipple, “but two of our three children
are in the kitchen waiting with breakfast for us.”

“They are, indeed, but this won’t take long from the *feel* of things.” She gave his very
interested, very hard cock a squeeze as she kissed and licked a trail down the center of his
abdomen. “Mmm, found some more syrup.” She smacked her lips. “Yes, I did. Good thing I’m giving you
a cleaning.” She slid his loose boxer shorts off with a knowing and practiced motion, and then
looked at him with a feral grin. “Think this works on 50 year old men?”

“Are you kidding? We live for it! Of course, since I’ve only just reached fifty, I have no idea,
so I suppose in the name of research we need to …ungh…” Harry went mostly incoherent the moment she
engulfed him in her warm, wet mouth. Thoughts of food, syrup, two waiting children, and the anxiety
of having reached half a century of years of living flew out of his mind as his proper fifty-one
year old wife lavished her soft and talented tongue on him. He forgot about the aching knee and the
infuriating article in the *Daily* *Prophet* that paid tribute to the “All Grown-Up Boy
Who Lived” as she nibbled that little ridge between the slit and apex of the head. But when she
took him deeply and pulled harder than he thought was possible for witch or human that caused him
to come with a rush, he completely forgot everything in the world around him except for the abiding
love he held for this beautiful woman, the mother of his children, the mate of his soul, and his
much, much better half in all things.

Hermione gave his softened and sated cock one last, fond nibble and kiss before joining him on
the bed. He kissed her long and soft and deep, wrapping his legs around hers; he buried his fingers
into her hair, just a tad amazed they could kiss with the same passion as when they were young
lovers so many years ago. Or maybe he wasn’t amazed at all.

“As much as I would love to continue this,” Hermione said, “two of our three children really are
waiting for us in the kitchen. And the third will be here later in the day.”

“Jamie was able to get away from his seminar?” Harry sat up next to his wife as she reached for
a pair of jeans and light pullover.

“You don’t think he’d miss his father’s 50th birthday, do you?” She stood and pulled
on the worn jeans. Even at her age, Hermione’s arse could still turn heads.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Harry said.

“It is, and he’s coming, and we’re all going to Ron’s tonight, and you will be gracious. Then,
tomorrow,” she punctuated her dissertation with a kiss to his forehead, “I’m taking you to one of
your favorite places for the weekend.”

“No! Really?” Harry smiled.

“Morning Portkey to Prague. A room at the Old Stone Inn. Dinner at Basil’s. Front row spots at
the U2 concert. And a table at that jazz club you like so much in the American Quarter.” She
finished dressing and slid her feet into a pair of comfortable clogs.

“YOU are magnificent, you know that?” Harry said, shaking his head in amazement.

“Yes, I do. I married you, didn’t I?” And with that, she unlocked the door and left the
room.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, still stunned at the revelation of all Hermione had planned
for him. But his stomach growled, reminding him that he still had not had breakfast. He flexed his
knee. It twinged. So did the spot in his lower back, courtesy of the last pick-up game of Quidditch
at the Burrow. *Ah, well. The relentlessness of time and age. And I’m living it.*

As he limped towards the bathroom and a hot shower, he smiled.

*~*