A/N: Made a slight mistake in Chapter One. Harry doesn't live on London Road; he lives on Kennington Park Road. Also, there's something in here about the twins' schooling that I know that people will doubt, but it is very much possible as I know children like them.
Thanks for the reviews!!! And as for the questions and confusion, read on and everything will be clarified in due time. Harry and Hermione will not be stuck in the past forever, they have to start learning to live in the future.
Chapter Three
Baby Steps
Lily and Jane. Lily Potter and Jane Potter. His children. His children with Hermione. He had missed their births. He had missed their first birthday. He had missed their first words ("No!" for Lily and "Mum!" for Jane). He missed their first steps. The first time that they smiled. Their first day of school (last September. Hermione had managed to get them into a local primary school after several letters to the ministry and tests that were done because of their age). All the things that a father should experience in his children's first few years, Harry had missed and he'd never be able to get them back. All because he'd cowered away.
After Luna had revived Jane, it had taken another five minutes for her to calm down. The whole time, Lily sat on the bed, lips pursed as she gave Harry a dangerous glare. If she weren't obviously Hermione's child, he would have sworn her to be Ginny's. She had the Weasley temperament and if she ever came in possession of a wand, he was sure that the Bat Boogey Hex would be aimed at him. It was she who finally got Jane to calm down.
"Stop being an idiot, Jane!" She demanded. "He's not a ghost, see?"
Before Harry knew what was happening, she reached over and pinched him. To say that his skin was set on fire was an understatement. She had some powerful fingers. It worked though, because Jane stopped screaming and looked over at the two as Lily held his flesh within her tiny fingers and Harry felt his eyes water.
"That's enough, Lily." Molly warned.
Lily let go, but not before she delivered another Look and curled up with her mother. The fact that Hermione wasn't responding to her touch didn't seem to bother her in the least.
"I want to touch him!" Jane demanded.
"Are you sure that you won't scream?" Molly asked.
Jane nodded. "I want to touch him."
Molly looked over at Harry and he nodded, mentally preparing himself for another pinch. Molly put the girl down and she bravely walked over to Harry. When she reached him, she looked up at him expectantly and for a moment, Harry stared down at her confused.
"You have to lift her up." Lily informed him.
Oh!
Feeling stupid, Harry leaned over and picked up the little girl. He'd never held a child before and this was all too new to him. He was afraid that he'd accidentally drop her, that she'd scream once again at his touch, just plain scared for her. He also felt something else, and he realized what it was when he looked into her eyes and felt her shaky hand caress his chin. Love.
He didn't understand how he could love someone so much, especially when he just met her, but Harry knew what he felt. He wanted to protect her and make sure that nothing ever happened to her, and it scared him to know that he wouldn't always be there to do that. There was some hurt that he couldn't prevent, things that she would have to learn on her own. When finally, he looked up, it was to see that Molly and the others had left the room.
"Why are you crying?" Jane whispered.
Harry didn't realize it, but he had her locked in a fierce hug and her cheeks were pressed against his. She didn't seem to mind the fact that he hadn't shaved as yet and rubbed her face against his stubble.
"I don't know." Harry replied.
Over on the bed, Lily eyed him suspiciously. "I don't cry; I'm a big girl."
Harry looked towards her and if he wasn't mistaken, something resembling a chuckle emerged from his throat.
"It's not funny." Lily said rather crossly.
It wasn't, but Harry hadn't found anything to chuckle about in years and he'd thought that like everything else, he had forgotten how to. Maybe it was the new feeling that had somehow managed to make its way through his cold heart. Whatever it was, Harry knew how to chuckle and he took it as a sign.
"I'm not laughing at you." Harry replied.
She just stared at him.
"Leave him alone, Lily!" Jane said.
Leaning closer to Harry's ear, Jane whispered. "She's upset with you."
"I know." Harry whispered back.
"I know that you're talking about me." Lily remarked.
"Would you like to join in our conversation?" Harry asked. He could tell that Lily would be the hardest one to break.
"Where were you?" Lily asked.
He was right.
"Kennington."
"Why?"
Harry stared at her. How could he begin to explain? Would she understand what he was going through? Knowing that your best friend and your girl friend were dead and it was your fault? Knowing that so many others had died because of you.
He wished that she never had to know what it felt like to have the weight of the world on her shoulder. To know that the safety of the wizarding world rested in her hands. To wake up one day and realize that this is what you were born to do. Kill, and possible be killed. To have no other purpose but to destroy. To be scared to let others in because you didn't know if your time was short. To finally allow someone to love you and to love someone freely, only to have that person snatched up from before your eyes.
He remembered how Ginny died. He told her to stay at The Burrow. He was on his way to get the last horcrux. He was going to destroy it and kill Voldemort. For Ron. She promised him that she would stay, and then she turned up at his hide out. She knew that he was lonely, hurt and scared and she told him that she couldn't bear for him to be left alone like that. He should have pushed her away, been rude to her, anything to let her go back to The Burrow. Back to safety. But she was right.
He was lonely, he was hurt, and he was scared to death. Ron was dead and Hermione wasn't talking to anyone. The three of them had discovered the final horcrux the day before Ron died and Hermione had helped him locate it, but she didn't go with him to destroy it. He told her to stay and she did, too depressed to do otherwise. He'd been alone for the past two days and no one was there to help him get through the pain. He needed her and she knew it. So instead of sending her away, he allowed her to hold him. And when she started to kiss his jaw, he let her.
For the first time, they surrendered themselves to each other and for a fleeting moment afterwards, Harry felt as if everything would be okay---that was until he'd fallen asleep. He woke up early the next morning to Pigwidgeon picking at his ear, a note attached to his leg. Ginny had Apparated home as he slept. Because of the heavy wards that had been placed around The Burrow, she had to Apparate a few miles away from it and walk the rest of the way. Lucius Malfoy had been waiting for her and had performed the Avada Kedavra before she'd had a chance to react. She died because of him; just like everyone else.
Three days later when they buried Ginny, he went to Voldemort and he killed him. Killed him for all the lives that were robbed. Killed him for all the people that would never be the same. And strangely enough, once Voldemort was dead, he felt nothing. No relief, no joy; no emotion whatsoever. He was dead. And he was also lost. He no longer had a purpose, no longer knew who he was. And so before others had a chance to reach him, he Apparated. Went back to his hideout where he and Ginny had made love and promptly fell asleep. Harry couldn't explain to anyone what happened next.
He decided that he needed some time to think---some time to figure things out. And then when he could come up with no answers, he panicked. He was scared of the Weasleys rejecting him for stealing their youngest. He feared Hermione pushing him away because of what he did to her. He imagined the owls that he'd get from those who thought that he took far too long to get rid of Voldemort. Imagined the howlers from those who'd lost loved ones. Knew that he would be harassed and made some icon by the magical community. He didn't want to be a hero. Voldemort was dead, he wanted a normal life. He wanted to be Harry James potter, whoever that was.
That was how the first week went. Thoughts, panicking, fear. He decided that he needed to be alone for a while to see if he could fix things on his own. But you can't get rid of mental and emotional barriers by hiding away and so what needed to be mended only became worse. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into a year and then Harry became even more scared; scared of what would happen if he showed up after a year of hiding out. That was when he bought the house in Kennington and accepted defeat. There was no helping someone like him.
How could he tell her all that? Even if she wanted to, her little brain would never let her be able to understand.
"I needed some time to think." He said at last.
"Mum said that you died before I was born. That means that it's been four years. Do you still need to think?" She replied.
Jane looked on silently, but it was obvious that she agreed.
Harry took a deep breath and looked at his two daughters. He couldn't look at their innocent faces and lie. So he told the truth.
"I honestly don't know."
*~*
It was obvious that Hermione wouldn't be coming back to them tonight, and the twins had started to tire. Molly offered to take them home but neither would hear it, immediately grabbing hold of Harry's jeans and begging him to take them. Luna, being the brutally honest and oblivious person that she was, told them that the twins feared abandonment, specifically from their father. Since he'd done it once, what was to say that he wouldn't do it again? Harry never felt worse.
If he'd known about them, he would never have left but if truth be told, the reason why he hadn't known of their existence was because he left. What was done could not be undone (Harry had learned in his third year that time was a thing that was best left alone) and so he had to set about making things right. He had these same thoughts last year on December 31st, the day that he'd defeated Voldemort, but now that he stared at his scared daughters, he knew that he had to be more aggressive with his evolution.
"I'm keeping them."
Simultaneously, Molly, Luna and Arthur smiled. The twins were beyond elated and screamed for joy to let him know this. No one noticed that Hermione hadn't even so much as flinched.
*~*
Shock was the only word to describe what everyone felt when seventeen-year-old Hermione Granger broke the news that she was pregnant. Confusion was the look on their faces when she told them that the baby wasn't Ron's. Within a month of his `death,' Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Saved, had become the Boy Who Procreated.
Hermione offered no explanations as to how she could have possibly been carrying the Saviour's child (children as it turned out) and people knew better than to ask. Other than members of the Order of the Phoenix and her family, everyone else assumed that Ron Weasley had somehow managed to let himself live on. When the twins were born with black hair and tell-tale green eyes, they didn't need the birth certificates (which did in fact name the father) to know who he was. The media had a field day but Hermione refused to speak.
During her pregnancy, she studied for her NEWTS and after receiving the excellent results that everyone had expected, took a year off from school to raise her daughters. From a combination of the money that both her mother and grandmother left her, she bought a modest house in Hogsmeade, politely declining offers to live with her father or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. In order to avoid their complaints about her living alone with babies, she rented the spare bedroom to Luna, who was in fact their godmother. She was going to raise the girls on her own and everyone left her alone, knowing better than to argue with her. They would visit with the Weasleys and her father but Hermione refused to see anyone else or have them come near her children.
After a year of being ignored by Hermione, even Rita Skeeter stopped knocking. Oxford University had a branch for wizards and witches and a few months shy of the twins' first birthday, Hermione enrolled in their three-year programme. She took morning classes and Mrs. Weasley babysat for her. Those two years were the only ones in which she accepted help from others and it was only because it couldn't be avoided. She'd gotten a scholarship to Oxford, and only asked her father for money when Luna's rent wouldn't suffice. To no one's surprise, she finished Oxford in two years and when Minerva McGonagall came knocking on her door, she accepted the post of Charms professor. Everyone was stunned because the Minister of Magic had personally met with her to recruit her for work in his office. Still, Hermione gave no answers. She got her daughters into primary school before they were due to start (thanks to her home schooling when she wasn't at the university, they were placed in the second grade) and went off to Hogwarts every morning after seeing them off to school.
To onlookers, Hermione was an inspiration; an example of how a person could get through adversity with grace. If you knew her however, you'd know a different story. You'd know that she was really operating under autopilot mode and that she'd meticulously built up a wall around herself so that no one could get in and she wouldn't have to get hurt. You'd give up trying to set her up with nice fellows and you'd find subtle ways to suggest that she release the tight grip that she had on her children. You'd go out of your way to free the twins from her every once in a while and you'd fear the day when she finally snapped.
You can only pretend for so long that things are perfect and the time had come when Hermione finally snapped. Now all that they had to do was find a way to bring her back and when they did, find out what they needed to help her.
Hopefully it wasn't too late.
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