Firsts by DonovanPotter

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 21/10/2006
Last Updated: 22/12/2006
Status: In Progress

Their daughters are growning up and now its the turn for the children of Harry and Hermione to
make that first train ride to Hogwarts.




1. First Date
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**A/N – hi everyone.** **Sorry – this is very long but it just kept going and going. Full of
gentle fluff…enjoy!!**

First Date

Harry held up the dark blue collared shirt to his neck and peered at himself in the mirror,
frowning, before replacing it with the dark green shirt that he had in his other hand. The frown
deepened as he kept switching the two shirts in the attempt to make a decision.

“You look scrummy in both shirts dear,” the mirror told him helpfully, but Harry didn’t respond
as he spotted Ron walking past his door.

“Ron,” he called out, then more loudly as the redhead carried on walking, “Ron!”

“You bellowed?” Ron grumphed as he poked his head into Harry’s room. It used to be Fred and
George’s, but after the defeat of Voldemort, Harry shifted into the Burrow and made the twin’s old
room his own. Although still reasonably bare compared to Ron’s down the hall, it was a huge
improvement to what he had at the Dursley’s.

“Which shirt do you think is best, this?” Harry held the blue shirt to his chin, “or this?” then
the green.

Ron ambled in and sat on the clothes littered bed, barely concealing the smirk on his face.

“Considering I make my fashion decisions based on what’s clean, what’s available and does it
fit,” Ron stated seriously, “I don’t think I’m the best to ask about what shirt you look best in,
mate.”

“Just…pick a colour!” Harry cried in frustration, “I can’t choose! The mirror has it down to
these two shirts…”

“Why don’t you ask mum?” Ron suggested, then added with a grin, “or perhaps Ginny…”

“Because your mum is with Fleur and the baby,” Harry grumbled, “and Ginny still wants to kill me
so it’s up to you – which bloody shirt!”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss,” Ron continued, purposely ignoring Harry’s scowl,
“it’s only Hermione. It’s not like you have to make a good impression or anything – I mean, she’s
seen you in your pyjamas!”

“I know,” Harry suddenly sighed as he slumped down next to his friend, both shirts held loosely
in his hands, “but this is our first official date and I, well, I want it to be special.”

It had been over seven months since Harry and Hermione confessed that they liked each other and
although they had snuck a few snogging sessions in during that time, their budding relationship
took a definite back seat as they, along with Ron and the rest of the Order, fought and eventually
won against Lord Voldemort.

Harry had nearly died, but in the end, Professor Dumbledore had been right – it was love that
saved him. And the desire to go on that first date that he had promised Hermione.

Which was tonight.

And he didn’t know what to wear.

It was all rather pathetic.

“Mate,” Ron started with the air of extreme patience, breaking into Harry’s thoughts, “you’re
alive and you’re finally going out. You could turn up in Filch’s scrungy old coat and she wouldn’t
care.”

“I know,” Harry sighed again, “but…”

“…you want it to be special,” Ron finished for him, grinning, “well then, wear the green shirt.
It matches your eyes. Evidently girls love that kind of rubbish.”

“Thanks Ron,” Harry said enthusiastically, quickly standing, removing the t-shirt he was wearing
and replacing it with the green shirt, tucking it into the black slacks he already had on.

“When are you leaving?” Ron asked conversationally.

“In about fifteen minutes,” Harry replied absently, trying to make his hair a little bit more
tidy but failing miserably, causing a frustrated, “bloody hell,” to be exclaimed.

“Leave it Harry,” Ron smirked, “she likes it all messy. It’s part of your boyish appeal.”

“You’re not helping Ron,” Harry grumbled before stepping back slightly so he could see his full
reflection, “do I look alright?”

“You look very handsome,” the mirror replied.

“I guess,” Ron said a bit less enthusiastically, “for a bloke.”

“Right,” Harry sighed yet again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…maybe…oh, I don’t know!” Harry groaned, once more slumping down next to Ron and looking
dejectedly onto the floor.

“Harry, you and Hermione have been looking forward to this for months now…” Ron tried to
reassure.

“I know,” Harry came back, “but what if we go out and we’ve got nothing to talk about? Or I make
a real mess of things and she has a horrible time? Or her parents hate me? What if she’s realised
that she doesn’t really want me? Or she’s found someone else during her holiday…”

“Now you’re just being mental,” Ron interrupted with a frown, “she was in Ireland for two weeks
Harry, two weeks! Besides, this is *Hermione* we’re talking about – you’re it mate. No other
bloke comes close to you.”

Part of him knew Ron was right but Harry was still scared. He hadn’t seen Hermione for the two
weeks she’s been with her parents and the time away had fed the insecurities that were hidden
within him.

“But what if…” he started again before being quickly cut down.

“What if nothing,” Ron nearly growled, “what if you get to Hermione’s place, her parents love
you, you go out, have a great time and live happily ever after. Bloody hell Harry – get over
it!”

Harry looked at his friend and was slightly stunned to see Ron looking right back at him. Harry
could tell Ron wasn’t really angry, but was trying to get him to see just really how stupid he was
being.

“You’re right,” he said at last, smiling slightly, “I’m being an idiot.”

“That you are Harry, that you are,” Ron replied more jovially, “now, would you like me to
distract my sister so you can make a run for it? She really wants to kill you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry agreed, taking one last look in the mirror before grabbing his wallet and
the small bunch of flowers he had for Hermione, then headed out the door, “but she has to get used
to the idea of Hermione and I dating sometime so…”

He was expecting Ron to be right behind him so when he didn’t feel his friend’s presence, he
paused and turned back to look into his room where Ron was still standing, shocked.

“Harry,” he stammered, “what are those?”

“What?” Harry asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Those? In your hand?”

Harry looked down to is hands to see what could’ve possibly got Ron so rattled.

“You mean the flowers?”

“Flowers?”

“Yes Ron, flowers,” Harry explained with a mixture of sarcasm edged with a little bit of fear,
“these are Hermione’s favourites. I thought she might like them…”

“Hermione has favourite flowers?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry answered, holding the small posy up so he could look at them better, “she
mentioned last year that she liked the flowers of a traditional English garden – roses, lavender
and stuff. Why, do you think it’s too much? That she won’t like them?”

The two friends looked at each other for a moment, Harry waiting nervously to hear what Ron was
going to say. Ron, however, just continued to stare at Harry as if he was some sort of freak,
obviously thinking things over carefully before finally breaking into a grin, walking over to
Harry, draping his arm over the smaller boy’s shoulders and guiding him into the hallway.

“She’ll love them mate,” Ron told him somewhat proudly, “I just didn’t take you for a bloke who
gets flowers, that’s all.”

“It was pretty embarrassing buying them,” Harry admitted, starting down the stairs, “but I
wanted tonight to be…”

“Special. Yeah I get it,” Ron finished, laughing.

They headed to the kitchen in a comfortable silence, Ron grabbing an apple out of the bowl on
the table as they passed in transit to the back yard.

Where Ginny was waiting for them.

“So, you’re off for your *date,”* she snarled as soon as she saw Harry.

“Yep,” Harry replied, continuing across the lawn, Ron absently crunching on his apple at his
side.

“And you’re taking flowers? How quaint.”

“Thanks.”

“You never gave me flowers.”

“No,” Harry paused as he thought about the short time he and Ginny dated and realised he didn’t
really do many ‘date’ like things with her, besides snogging that is, “I’m sorry about that,” he
continued quietly, glancing at the scowling redhead briefly before carrying on.

Ginny seemed startled by his confession as instead of answering, she just watched him walk by.
When he reached the edge of the wards, he turned back to her and gave her a weak smile to which she
let out a small sob and dashed into the house.

“Don’t worry about her mate,” Ron advised as he threw his apple core over the hedge, “she’ll get
over it. One day. Just not used to not getting what she wants, that’s all.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Ron interrupted before whacking Harry hard on the back, his face breaking into a grin,
“you just go off and have a brilliant time with Herms. Just remember, if you hurt her – I will kill
you.”

“I think she’ll kill you first if she knows you call her Herms,” Harry laughed back.

“That’s why she’ll never know,” Ron continued, turning and making his way back to the house,
“have fun!” he added as he glanced over his shoulder for a final wave before entering into the
house.

Still smiling to himself at the idea of Ron maiming him for hurting Hermione (as if that would
ever happen) and Hermione hurting Ron when he accidentally called her Herms in her presence (more
likely to happen), he took a deep, calming breath, closed his eyes and remembered the Granger’s
garden shed. With a small ‘pop’, Harry disappeared from Ottery St Catchpole…

…and opened his eyes to an immaculately clean shed in the Granger’s garden in Oxford (where he
had been a couple of times before, escorting Hermione home during last year).

Making sure his flustered state hadn’t affected his Apparition skills, accidentally leaving
parts of him behind, he double checked he was whole, saw that he was, took another deep breath and
left the shed.

With his heart rate increasing with every step, Harry went to the front of the house and with
some trepidation, made his way up to the front door. Wiping his hands on his pants, trying to get
rid of the thin veil of sweat on them, he clutched the bunch of flowers tightly then rang the door
bell. Trying desperately to keep calm, it seemed like years before Mr Granger opened the door.

Hermione’s father was a tall, almost bald man whose eyes (which had been passed onto his
daughter) hid behind a pair of glasses. He had an easy smile and a friendly face, which was now
looking fondly down at Harry.

“Harry, my boy, welcome!” he beamed, letting Harry pass him into the house, “come on in!”

“Thank you sir,” Harry said respectfully as he followed Mr Granger into the living room, “um,
how was your holiday?”

“Brilliant,” the older man said, sitting back down in his armchair and indicating to Harry to
sit on the couch, which he did, “but I’ll let Hermione tell you all about that. Needless to say it
was fantastic to spend time with our little girl (who’s really not such a little girl anymore).
She’s still upstairs still getting ready, by the way. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry said nervously, clutching the flowers for dear life.

“So, how are you?” Mr Granger asked kindly, “you’ve had us all rather worried.”

“Um, I’m okay,” Harry replied with a small frown, “it’s just my leg that’s still giving me
problems. Something I have to get used to evidently.”

“Hermione mentioned your leg was quite a mess,” Mr Granger continued, “you’ve really been
through the wars haven’t you? Quite literally, actually.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry answered feeling slightly awkward and wondered just how much Hermione had
told her parents about him.

“Ah, a man of few words,” Mr Granger chuckled, “do you follow football Harry?”

“Er, no sir,” Harry said quickly, surprised at the sudden change of subject.

“I’m a big Oxford City fan myself,” Mr Granger told him, “though I don’t know why I bother. It’s
all just a big mess at the moment.”

“Oh,” Harry began, “that’s…”

“Harry!”

Harry stood up quickly as Mrs Granger walked into the room. She was an older version of
Hermione; her hair a mass of (greying) curls falling to the same length onto her shoulders, her
height and build similar and the intelligent glint to the brown eyes pretty much exactly the
same.

“Hello Mrs Granger,” Harry managed to stutter out before his eyes moved onto the girl that had
followed her into the lounge – and his world stopped.

Hermione walked shyly into the room, looking up at Harry with a tint of blush flushing her
cheeks. She wore a tan, beige coloured sun dress that exposed her shoulders with small straps while
the top half of the dress clung to her before flaring outwards to a skirt that fell just above her
knees. She had a slight chain around her neck which had a small diamond type jewel that sat in the
hollow at the base of her throat, made more noticeable due to the fact her half of her hair was
held back away from her ears and falling down her back. Her face was touched by a little bit of
make-up, some around her eyes and a gloss of some sort on her lips.

She looked beautiful.

Harry tried desperately to tell her this, his mind trying to come out with something that wasn’t
corny, that relayed exactly what he was thinking, letting her know that she was the most beautiful
girl he had ever seen.

“Wow,” was all he managed, making him blush as soon as he said it – especially when he heard Mr
Granger chuckling from behind him and saw both Mrs Granger and Hermione exchange a small look.

Immediately he began berating himself, knowing that he sounded so stupid, that ‘wow’ wasn’t the
most romantic, intelligent thing to say, that…

“Thank you Harry.”

Hermione’s words stopped him in his tracks, making him look back at her shyly, seeing that she
was looking at him, a blush also touching her cheeks. He gave her a relieved smile.

“My, what lovely flowers!” Mrs Granger exclaimed, reminding Harry that he was still holding
them.

“Oh yeah,” Harry blurted out as he held the bouquet out to Hermione, who took them gently, “er,
these are for you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed, sniffing the flowers.

“Um…the florist said they were the flowers you’d find in a traditional garden,” Harry tried to
explain, “the ones that are in season, anyway. I…hope you like them.”

“I love them,” she nearly cried, “they’re all my favourites.”

“I…I know,” he continued to stammer, “that is, the florist said there were some missing
but…”

“You remembered me telling you I liked flowers from old cottage gardens?” she interrupted,
looking at him intently, “from over six months ago?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied shyly, “I guess.”

“Oh Harry,” she beamed, shaking her head slightly, “you never fail to amaze me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, but felt his heart bursting with pride. He was glad he made
the effort that morning to go into town and get the small posy now, even though it had all been
rather embarrassing.

“How ‘bout I take those, put them in a vase and put them in your room,” Mrs Granger suggested,
taking the flowers from Hermione.

“Thanks mum,” Hermione smiled, grabbing a small cardigan and bag that her mother had been
holding, “I guess we should be off.”

Harry followed her as if dreaming, her parents behind him. Part of him wanted to reach out and
touch her, to see if she was real – to convince himself that ‘the date’ was finally happening. But
another part of him was too scared, making him keep a safe distance.

“Well, you two have fun,” Mr Granger told them as he and his wife stood in the door jam as Harry
and Hermione started down the front path.

“Thanks daddy,” Hermione said fondly, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Now, Harry,” Mrs Granger started, making Harry pause, “you are joining us for Hermione’s
birthday next weekend aren’t you?”

“Yes Mrs Granger,” Harry replied promptly.

“Brilliant,” the older woman smiled, “we’ll see you then!”

“Good to meet you again Harry,” Mr Granger continued in farewell, “take care of our daughter for
us, will you?”

“Daddy!” Hermione admonished.

“Yes Mr Granger,” Harry blushed before carrying on onto the footpath and waving good-bye to
Hermione’s parents, who were still watching them go.

The young couple walked in silence for a few moments, close – but not touching. Harry was
thinking of things to say, his fear that they had nothing left to talk about prominent in his
mind.

“So, how are you?” Hermione asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Fine,” Harry replied automatically.

“Don’t lie to me Harry,” she said quietly, glancing at him, “you’re limping quite badly, you’re
kind of pale, still way too skinny and you look tired.”

He looked at her and saw the familiar concern in her eyes. She had refused to leave his side
during the three weeks he was unconscious in St Mungo’s and it wasn’t until she was one hundred
percent sure he was going to be alright that she caved into the pressure given by both him and her
parents and went to Ireland for a family holiday. They had kept in touch while she was gone, but he
had found it easy not to tell her about the after affects of his injuries, not wanting to spoil her
time away.

But now he knew he couldn’t hide them from her any longer and although he had wanted ‘the date’
(as he had come to know it in his mind) to be happy and all talk of war to be forgotten, she
wouldn’t be at ease until she knew the truth about what was wrong with him.

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, took a deep breath, looked at the path before him and
then began to speak.

“My leg hurts,” he started, “and it will never work properly. They’ve tried everything but
nothing will make it better. So I just have to live with the pain, or take potions to numb the
pain, and limp, I guess.”

“So you can’t be an Auror anymore?” Hermione asked softly, knowing that was the only job he had
ever considered doing.

“No, I can’t,” he confirmed, “or play Quidditch. I don’t really know what I’m going to do
next.”

He half expected her to treat him with pity, like everyone else did, but wished with all his
heart that she wouldn’t. However, when she linked her arm around his (her touch sending shivers
down his spine) he knew that, like usual, she had read his mind.

“We’ll work it out,” she told him firmly, before adding quietly, “what else is wrong Harry?”

He was once again amazed at how she knew he hadn’t told her everything but instead of dwelling
on the wonder that is the connection he and Hermione seemed to have, he let the warm fuzz of her
words that she would help him even though he was pretty much useless envelope him.

And she was still hanging on to his arm.

“Well, er, I still have the nightmares now and then,” he told her, “though they are getting
less. And I’ve only been at the Burrow for a week so I guess Mrs Weasley’s attempts to fatten me up
haven’t taken effect yet.”

“Oh yes,” Hermione commented in a tone that Harry wasn’t too sure about and when she removed her
arm from his, he frowned, “how is it living with the Weasley’s?”

“Okay, I guess,” he said truthfully, looking at her and seeing her stiffen up slightly, “I mean,
when Mr and Mrs Weasley offered me a room, I thought it would be brilliant. I didn’t want to go
back to Grimmauld and really didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming on,” Hermione interjected, still not looking at Harry.

“But,” Harry confirmed, looking back at where they were walking, seeing they had reached the
township, “well, Mrs Weasley nearly bursts into tears every time she sees me or she tries to get me
to eat something,” Hermione chuckled; Harry carried on, “Ron spends heaps of time with Luna and
when she comes over, Ginny joins us which makes things rather awkward.”

“Oh. How is Luna and…and Ginny?”

“Luna is fine,” Harry answered, his frown deepening – he knew something was wrong but he really
didn’t quite know what, “she and Ron are practically joined at the mouth, it’s all rather
sickening.”

“I still can’t believe they’re getting married,” Hermione mused out loud.

“I know,” Harry allowed himself a smile, “Ron Weasley – Mr Responsible. But it’s true, he starts
work at the Ministry in two weeks so he can start saving for a place of their own.”

“Mrs Weasley must be going spare what with a new grandson, a wedding to plan…”

“And Remus and Tonks too,” Harry added, “don’t forget them. They’re getting married in a few
weeks! Mrs Weasley has Ginny making sure Tonks doesn’t spoil the plans, making Ginny crazy…”

“Ginny must be in a right state, what with one thing and another,” Hermione said quietly, “I
guess you two have been spending a lot of time together – I mean, she would need some support…”

“Hermione,” Harry grinned, finally realising why Hermione was acting so strangely, “Ginny hates
me, we’re barely talking,” he paused, making her stop and look at him, “she tried to ‘entice’ me
back and had a little tantrum when it didn’t work. All I could think of while you were away was
you.”

“So you didn’t get back together with Ginny?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“No.”

“I feel really stupid,” she groaned, dropping her head with embarrassment, “I was so sure that
you’d realise just how much prettier and perfect Ginny is, then dump me...” Harry’s chuckle made
her look up at him and frown, “what’s so funny?” she asked, slightly put out.

“It’s just that,” he answered, still grinning, “I was sure you’d find a charming, good looking
Irish bloke who was incredibly smart and you’d realise just how thick and dorky I actually was and
come back and dump me. You…you haven’t, have you?”

“No, no I haven’t,” Hermione sighed deeply, intertwining her hand with his before looking back
at him, “I think we both have some self esteem issues that we may need to work through.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he smiled back, “though I don’t know why you think you’re not pretty or perfect
because you’re beautiful and amazing.”

“Well, Mr Potter,” she grinned through her blush, “I think you are charming, extremely handsome
and very, very smart. Though, now you mention it, there’s nothing quite like the Irish accent…”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Hermione nodded as they started to walk once more, now hand in hand, “how else do you
think Seamus was so popular with the girls? All he had to do was open his mouth and say hello.”

“I never knew,” Harry mused out loud then fell silent. Comfortably silent.

Hermione’s hand fit perfectly in his own, and it felt so…right. His sweaty palms had thankfully
disappeared along with many of his fears. As they walked down the main street of Oxford, he
reflected on the first half hour of ‘the date’ and surmised it hadn’t gone too badly. So far, so
good.

“So where are we eating?” Hermione asked after a few more minutes of walking.

“Walters,” Harry told her, turning down a side street confidently, glad he had done a trial run
the day before so he wouldn’t get lost.

“Walters,” Hermione repeated, bringing him to a stop with a tug on his hand, “but Harry, that’s
awfully expensive!”

“Is it?” Harry shrugged then started to walk again.

“Yes it is,” Hermione continued, stopping him once more, “we don’t need to eat there Harry –
you’ve already impressed me with the flowers.”

“The thing is,” he tried to reason, “I went to the information centre and asked for
recommendations, they told me a few names so I went to the library, got the librarians
recommendations then checked them all out on the internet…”

“You used a computer?”

“I’m not totally daft Hermione,” Harry sniffed as if insulted, “besides, the nice librarian
showed me. Anyway, Walters had the best reviews and customer comments so, that’s where we’re
going.”

“You’ve really put a lot of thought into this date, haven’t you,” Hermione said after a moment,
her eyes searching his.

“You have no idea,” Harry admitted, then started walking again, “and if we don’t hurry, we’ll be
late for our booking.”

But they arrived at Oxford’s most exclusive restaurant on time and was escorted to their table
by a very well dressed maitre‘d. After ordering their non-alcoholic drinks, finding the menu nearly
totally in French (Harry giving Hermione permission to order for him) and noticing they were the
youngest people in the nearly full restaurant, the couple fell into relaxed conversation.

They talked about Ireland and the holiday Hermione had there, how she had told her parents
everything that had been going on in her life for the last seven years and why she had spent so
little time with them. They talked about the Burrow, about Jacques, Bill and Fleur’s baby son,
about Remus and Tonk’s up-coming wedding. While eating their dinners, they talked about how Remus
finally accepted Harry’s offer of Grimmauld Place as their home though insisting on paying rent and
how Harry was putting that rent into a trust fun for any children the couple may have.

Before Harry knew it, they had finished their desserts, it was now dark and it was time to move
on. After deciding they didn’t really want to go to the movies, but instead enjoy the beautiful
summer evening and continue to catch up.

When they left the restaurant, Harry took Hermione’s hand in his with confidence, enjoying the
little smile that played on her lips as he did so. They continued to talk about Remus and Tonks,
Harry updating Hermione on the many compromises that was being made for the very tom-boyish bride
and the attention-shy groom.

Hermione was taking him to one of her favourite places in Oxford, pausing in front of a amazing,
ancient building that she looked onto with awe.

“I always wanted to study here,” she said wistfully, “it’s one of my favourite
universities.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, looking away from the building and at her face, noting the mixture of
longing and sadness that was there, “why don’t you?”

She looked at him sharply, as if she had just woken up from a dream – maybe she had. She started
walking again, pulling Harry along slightly.

“Oh, many reasons,” she answered absently, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do now school’s over?” Harry asked, suddenly curious.

“No, not really.”

“You’re kidding!”

Hermione stopped and looked at him, her head tilted slightly to the side, but he recognised the
annoyed hardness in her eyes.

“Why are you so shocked?” she questioned, “you don’t know what to do with the rest of your
life.”

“Yeah,” he started, thinking hard, not wanting to annoy her any further, “but, well, you always
seemed like you had everything planned.”

“Actually,” she sighed, walking away from him and not waiting for him to follow, “I did. Then I
met you.”

“Me?” Harry asked, beginning to panic.

Hermione sat down at a bench that sat on the edge of a perfectly manicured lawn, ordered gardens
bordering the square piece of grass. Other couples passed by, often hand in hand and laughing, also
enjoying the perfect summer night. Harry quickly sat next to her and watched her worriedly.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a lawyer, fighting tirelessly for those who couldn’t fight
for themselves,” she began, her eyes looking down at her clenched hands in her lap, “or a doctor
and find the cure for cancer. I had it all planned – what exams I needed to pass, what university I
would go to, everything. Then I found out I was a witch, which of course changed everything,” she
paused briefly, a small smile touching her face, “then I decided I was going to bring equality to
all magical races, free the house-elves and other enslaved creatures. Or become a Healer and find
cures for all sorts of curses. Or perhaps one day become the Minister of Magic and make everything
right.”

“You don’t want to do any of those things now?” Harry ventured, “because you could, you know. I
mean, you’re so brilliant, you could do anything you want.”

“Thanks Harry,” she chuckled softly, glancing at him fondly, “the thing is, I *don’t* want
to do any of those things anymore. The idea of working at the Ministry after all they put you
through the last few years…well, it just doesn’t seem that appealing.”

“I know what you mean,” Harry agreed, “I think that even if I could be an Auror, I don’t think I
would be. I guess I’m too much of Dumbledore’s man to trust the Ministry. Ron actually asked for my
permission before he took the job working with his dad…”

“Really?”

“Yep,” Harry nodded, “he felt like he was betraying me. I told him to stop being daft, that it
was a great opportunity for him and that he and Mr Weasley could make some changes while they help
rebuild the Ministry’s structure.”

“It is the perfect job for him,” Hermione mused.

“But not for you,” Harry prompted.

“No, not for me,” Hermione sighed again, “and after all the time I spent in St Mungo’s with you,
I realised that a Healer’s life isn’t for me either. I don’t think I have the patience, to be
honest. Thing was, everyone expected great things from me – ‘brightest witch of my age’ and all
that. Goodness, I even expected great things from me! I needed to get the best marks in all my
tests, needed to be the best so I could do what ever I wanted once school was over.”

“You nearly drove Ron and I spare when we were waiting for our OWL results,” Harry added with a
chuckle.

“Yet now, I don’t care about my NEWT’s at all,” she said quietly, “last year, everything
changed. My whole focus was keeping you alive, beating Voldemort and nothing else mattered. I sat
my tests not caring what my marks were, if I passed or failed. It wasn’t important, not
anymore.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“I had never thought about getting married or having a family,” Hermione carried on, not looking
at Harry, but keeping her gaze steadily dropped to her hands in her lap, “in all my planning,
having a home life never featured. I was a career girl, determined to make my mark on the world and
succeed in whatever field I chose.

“Even after I met you and I began to think of you in a romantic way, I never thought of giving
up my career aspirations for you. Any man who wanted to be with me would have to accept my job,
whatever it was. That was one of the many problems with me and Ron – he would’ve been resentful to
any job I chose because there would be a great chance it would be more important than him.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you choose…”

“I know Harry,” she looked at him, “and I love you for that. I know that you wouldn’t be
threatened by my career and would be there for me no matter what. But I don’t want that any
more.

“I found myself watching you and seeing you as a man, five…ten years from now, playing with our
children. Harry – I had never thought of children and myself in the same sentence before, I could
never see myself having children! But I could see it, with you…”

“Children?” Harry spluttered, making Hermione laugh.

“Honestly, you don’t need to look so afraid,” she giggled, “this is our first date so I’m not
expecting a proposal anytime soon. And if it never happens, then, well, it wasn’t meant to be.”

Their eyes locked as Harry thought about the idea of marrying Hermione and having a family of
his own. He hadn’t really thought about it much, he had purposely kept thoughts of a future out of
his head until he was sure he had one.

But he had to admit, if only to himself, that the idea of settling down with Hermione had
crossed his mind while he had been laying in St Mungo’s. Especially after Ron had told him he had
proposed to Luna, who had said yes.

He knew witches and wizards got married earlier than Muggles did. And he knew that one day he
would marry Hermione. But not just yet. Well actually, not for quite a while. He was barely coping
with ‘the date’!

But as he sat there, looking at her, half her face in the shadows, her brown eyes large and
slightly wounded as she confessed her fears, he knew he had to reassure her that he pictured that
future as well.

“It will happen,” he told her softly, taking her hands in his. He saw her relief before she
dropped her gaze, took a deep breath and carried on talking.

“Watching you fighting for your life at St Mungo’s, not knowing if that family I had been seeing
would ever happen, not knowing if I’d have you…it was so difficult. The lists of friends we’d lost
kept growing and as I sat there, hoping and praying that you’d come back to me, I realised
something.”

“What’s that?”

“That money and career and proving myself because that’s what’s expected of me – all that isn’t
important,” she said, looking back at him once more, “family, friends, love, health and happiness,
they are the things that really matter.”

“Books and cleverness aren’t important,” Harry thought out loud, remembering a time when
Hermione had said those words to him, so similar to what she was saying now, “friendship and
bravery are.”

“Pardon?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“A certain young witch told me that, many, many years ago,” he grinned at her as the memory
returned to his friend, “it seems she was right. It doesn’t surprise me though – she’s pretty much
always right.” He could see her blush even in the half dark.

“I can’t believe you remember me saying that,” she smiled, “that was nearly a life time
ago.”

“Seems like it doesn’t it,” Harry mused, “but it was only seven years ago.”

“Do you understand then Harry?” she continued, sliding closer to him on the park bench, “do you
understand why I don’t really know what I want to do? I’ve had offers from all over and only a
couple really appeal. At the moment, I just want to spend time with you, mum and dad and all our
friends. That’s all that matters.”

“I understand,” Harry told her seriously, “but I also know you, Hermione Granger. You’re
happiest when you are achieving or reading a good book…”

“How ‘bout *writing* a good book…”

“Sorry?”

“I’ve been asked to write a book about what we’ve done the last seven years,” she said
carefully, watching for his reaction, “and when I was telling mum and dad our story, they thought
it would sell in Muggle bookshops as well…”

“Write a book?” he frowned.

“Only if you endorse it Harry,” she assured him, “if you don’t want your story told, then I will
say no.”

He thought about what he had been through, what people didn’t know about his life and the lead
up to his battle with Voldemort. He thought about the lies that had been told about him. He thought
about those who had helped him yet were forgotten by the Ministry and the press. He thought about
those who had died in the struggle between good and evil, and how they deserved to be remembered.
Maybe it was his story, but in reality it wasn’t all about him – there were other stories
intertwined with his and they deserved to be told.

“I think that’s a bloody brilliant idea,” he smiled, glad to see her smile in return, “if anyone
could give the truth out about what happened, it will be you.”

“You’ll read everything before anyone else sees it,” she grinned excitedly, “and then Ron.”

She paused.

“Is there something else Hermione?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Um,” she began somewhat nervously, “well, Professor McGonagall has…has offered me a trainee
position at Hogwarts. Teaching first and second years at Transfiguration., part-time for…for now.
I…I told her I’d think about it.”

“What’s there to think about, that’s perfect!” Harry enthused, just seeing her in front of a
classroom – a miniature McGonagall in the making, “you could teach and write at the same time!”

“That’s what I thought,” she agreed, “and it does really appeal…”

“But…”

“But, I’ll be barely older than the students…”

“Not first and second years,” Harry countered.

“And I’ve never taught anyone before…”

“Hermione, you’ve been teaching Ron and me for seven years,” Harry laughed, “we would never have
survived Hogwarts without you showing us what we were supposed to do!”

“I didn’t really teach you though,” she argued, “I just told you, or showed you…”

“You *taught* us. Anyway, you said it was a training position,” Harry reminded her, “which
means you’ll get trained. I think you’ll be great.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“There is another reason why I didn’t say yes straight away,” she continued, dropping her eyes
once more.

“Which was?”

“You.”

“Me?” Harry exclaimed for the second time that night.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d…whether you would stay or perhaps want to go somewhere.”

She looked up at him nervously and Harry could only imagine what was going through her mind. In
some of his darker moments during their Horcrux search, Harry had shouted that he wanted to leave,
to run away and just forget about it all. He never did, of course, but he could see Hermione had
thought it was an option he might which to take.

Strangely, even though he had never travelled, the thought of leaving his life behind and see
the world had never crossed his mind.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he proclaimed, “in fact, I had been thinking of helping Hagrid with
looking after Hogwart’s grounds. Knowing you’ll be in the castle makes that option even more
attractive.”

“Really?”


“Really.”

She smiled at him making Harry realise he didn’t want to talk any more. They were already only
inches apart and it only took a slight lean forward for him to kiss her.

At first, it was chaste and innocent but it didn’t take long for the intensity to increase to a
point where his mind went totally blank. Hermione, however, cast a few charms on their park bench,
making any other couples wanting to use it suddenly think of somewhere else they should be and not
notice the young couple furiously snogging away there.

After a steady session of kissing, a very flushed and breathless Harry pulled away from his
girlfriend, painfully aware that he needed to stop otherwise he soon won’t be able to. Hermione
looked at him briefly, but then understood, giving him an understanding smile.

“I think I should be getting home,” she said softly.

“Right,” he managed to choke out, his voice slightly higher than normal – he cleared his throat
with an embarrassed cough before repeating, “right. It’s pretty late.”

When he looked at his watch he saw that it was indeed pretty late as it had already become the
following day. Seeing they were alone, but retreating to the shadows just in case, they Apparited
to the Granger’s back garden where they held hands then quietly made their way to the front
door.

“I had an amazing time Harry,” Hermione whispered, “it was perfect in every way.”

“I was so sure I’d mess up,” Harry admitted.

“Well, you didn’t,” she assured him, “it was absolutely perfect.”

“Great,” he said, suddenly nervous, “I had a great time too.”

“So our first date was officially a success,” she smiled cheekily.

“I believe so,” he smiled back, “so, you’re coming over to the Burrow tomorrow?”

“Actually, later today,” she corrected, “and yes, I’ll be there. Slightly later as I think I’ll
have a bit of a lie in. But I’ll be there. It will be great to catch up with everyone.”

“Ginny might be a bit…”

“I can handle Ginny,” Hermione interrupted.

“Of that I have no doubt,” he chuckled.

“So, I’ll see you later then,” Hermione continued, looking at him expectedly.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” Harry confirmed before kissing her once more, relishing in the feel
of her mouth on his.

“Bye,” she breathed as she pulled away and opened the door, “thanks for a lovely night.”

Harry just smiled and watched as she closed the door, her eyes never leaving his. He stood there
for a moment, staring at the spot where she was although there was nothing now but solid oak. A
satisfied smile appeared on his face and he thought about the night, how it had been a mixture of
the seriousness of their lives plus the light-heartiness of just being. And then there was the
kissing.

Turning on his heel, he made his way to the back garden, and with a final look up at the bedroom
that was now lit as Hermione got ready for bed, he grinned and with a small pop, disappeared, happy
that ‘the date’ was over and his life with Hermione had finally begun.



2. First Time
-------------

**A/N – this took so long and this is the second version – I gave up on the first after about
6000 words and I had only got half way through. Now, although this is about the first time our
young couple make love, don’t expect smut (I hope your not disappointed) – this is more about the
journey, I guess. Anyway – I hope you enjoy and sorry it’s taken sooooo long.**

**Thanks for the reviews for the first part, by the way, they mean a lot.**

First Time

Hermione sat nursing a mug of tea, enjoying the feel of the summer’s sun on her face. If anyone
had seen her, she would seem the picture of calm – a young woman without a care in the world.

However, Hermione was anything but calm. Yesterday her best friend got married; Ron had
officially grown up.

The marriage of Ron and Luna wasn’t the cause of her discontent though and as she sat there on a
deck chair in her parents back garden, her mind swirled with the events of the previous day.

It was making her head ache.

“You were home early last night, is everything okay?”

The voice came from behind her, making Hermione look over her shoulder to her mother; she gave a
small smile and nodded in acknowledgement as her mum sat down in the chair next to her.

“How was the wedding?”

“Beautiful,” Hermione replied somewhat wistfully, “lovely. Luna looked incredible, Ron was
blissfully happy – everything went without a hitch.”

“Yet you were home by eleven thirty…”

“I know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione thought over her mother’s question – did she want to talk about it? Or more
importantly, did she want to talk about it with her mother? Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked
away from her mum and down to the cup that was held tightly in her hands, knowing that if she
didn’t talk to somebody, she’d explode.

“Do you remember Ginny?” she asked, “Ron’s little sister?”

“The one that had a thing for Harry for a long time?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, taking another deep breath, “well, I found out last night that she
had had sex with her new boyfriend, someone that she’s only known for about six months, even though
she knows that everyone in her family would kill her and him if they ever found out.”

“And that upset you?”

“I thought she would be the last,” Hermione sighed, “I thought I would lose my virginity at
least before Ginny. But no – idiot Hermione, who has this archaic idea that she wants to wait until
she’s married before having sex, is the last person on the planet to lose her virginity!”

“You and Harry haven’t had sex?”

Hermione turned to her mother smiling a wry smile, knowing she was blushing slightly but
shrugged it off.

“No,” she confirmed, “stupid huh.”

“Why is that stupid?” Mrs Granger asked, “I actually think that’s amazing – you two are so
close…”

“That’s just it!” Hermione interrupted, putting her cup down and turning to her mother fully,
“we’re so close, we know we’ll get married one day! So why wait? Why am I so hung up with staying
pure until my wedding day? No-one else does! Everyone I know has had sex and nothing horrible
happened to them, why is it such an issue for me?”

“I never thought of you as someone who did something just because everyone else did,” her mother
began gently, “the fact that you and Harry are so close yet you have the ability to stick to what
you believe in in situations where I know self control is at its weakest – you should be proud of
yourself, love.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed again, “it’s just difficult – yet another thing that makes Hermione
Granger different from everybody else.”

“What’s wrong with being different?” Mrs Granger asked with a smile, “why is standing up for
what you believe in wrong? Hermione, so many young ladies, myself included, regret their first
experience because they had sex for the wrong reasons or they just weren’t emotionally ready for
the impact of being so intimate with someone brings.

“You have read books that have taught you both the health and mental ramifications of having sex
young. You have asked your dad and I questions that most young people your age would never have
considered. Because of this, you’re cautious…”

“It scares me,” Hermione cut in, looking down at her hands, “the whole idea…it scares me
silly.”

“Then you’re right to wait,” Mrs Granger confirmed with a nod before taking her daughter’s hands
in her own and making Hermione look at her, “sweetheart, you’ll know when you’re ready because the
thought of sharing that part of you will no longer make you afraid…”

“What happens if I’m always afraid?”

“You won’t be. One day you’ll look into Harry’s eyes and know that you’re ready in your heart
and soul – don’t let yourself be pressured into doing something you’re not ready for. You’re lucky
because you have someone by your side that is willing to wait and take this journey with you, not
many women have that. Men can be selfish sods when it comes to sex but Harry loves you and…”

“I don’t know if Harry loves me. He’s never told me.”

Hermione felt her eyes begin to tear as her mother paused, understanding that this was the real
reason of the mornings anguish. Taking a deep breath as she tried to calm the mess of emotions she
was feeling, Hermione carried on.

“I think Harry was going to ask me to marry him last night,” she said, her voice barely above a
whisper.

“*Was* going to ask you?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded, “instead he asked me what would I do…you know, if he proposed. Would I
say yes. I told him that we were too young, that we weren’t ready. He didn’t take that very
well.”

“Oh Hermione.”

“I said that I loved him with all my heart but I didn’t really know if he loved me or not
because he’s never told me, that I needed to know for sure before…”

She couldn’t continue as her tears took over, her sobs the only sound able to be released.
Allowing herself to be enveloped in her mother’s comforting hug, she cried away the vision of
Harry’s hurt face when she had told him. After a few moments, her mother pulled away from her,
produced a hanky which she held to Hermione’s nose to blow into, just like she did when Hermione
was small. Taking the handkerchief from her mum, she did as was instructed and tried to wipe away
some of her tears.

“What happened sweetie?” Mrs Granger asked gently.

“We…we were having a lovely time,” she said sadly, “I even got him to dance with me a few times.
Ron and Luna had left so we were finally able to relax. He…he asked me if I had ever thought of us
getting married and I said that one day, when we’re a bit older. That I thought we weren’t ready.
Oh, I’m such an idiot!”

“And you told Harry you didn’t know if he loved you?”

“Yes,” Hermione whispered, her tears falling once more.

“You know, for some men it’s really difficult to express how they feel…”

“But daddy tells you he loves you all the time!” Hermione interrupted, her voice rising.

“Your father was brought up in an environment where expressing how you feel was natural,” Mrs
Granger smiled in remembrance, “his parents, your nanna and poppa, were married for fifty-three
years before poppa finally left us. And I think every day of those fifty-three years they told each
other how much they were in love. Harry didn’t have that.”

“No, he didn’t” Hermione admitted with a sigh, “and I know that. I know on some level that
expressing himself is so difficult because of his life and what he’s gone through – not just with
the Dursley’s but…but everything else. Yet there’s this part of me that wants the romance, wants to
hear him say it, even if it’s only once…”

“He loves you Hermione, he just doesn’t know how to tell you.”

“I know. I’m being stupid. And now he probably will never ask me…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t write Harry off yet,” Mrs Granger smiled, affectionately pushing a strand of
Hermione’s hair behind her daughter’s ear, “and he will tell you, you just need to let him do it in
his own time, when he’s ready…”

“Which may be never…”

“Hermione, you knew when you started this relationship that he wasn’t the gushy, romantic type.
If you wanted a man to shower you with ‘I love you’s’, long stem roses and gentle walks on the
beach, then you have the wrong fellow. You can’t mould him into someone he isn’t just like he can’t
mould you into someone you aren’t.”

Hermione didn’t say anything as she thought about her mother’s words. She was right, of course –
Harry *wasn’t* the gushy, romantic type and if he was, he wouldn’t be the Harry she loved. And
it wasn’t like he didn’t show affection, because he did. In fact, sometimes he was very, very
sweet.

She sighed.

“I don’t think you’ll be waiting long,” Mrs Granger continued gently, “I’ve seen the way he
looks at you, the way he is with you. Sweetheart, the boy is smitten and now he knows that you need
to hear the words…”

“So you don’t think I’ve made a terrible mistake?”

The two women looked at each other, mother and daughter – alike in so many ways. Hermione
searched her mother’s eyes for some much needed comfort and saw the love and understanding that she
desperately required along with a wisdom that she admired so much.

“No I don’t,” the older woman assured with a smile, which quickly grew into a grin, “you know
what I think you should do? I think you and Harry should go away together, just the two of you. Get
away from us, from the Weasley’s, from everything. Go off and have some fun!”

“Go away?” Hermione repeated, pulling away from her mother in shock, “but…but we have to make
lesson plans! Get ready for Hogwarts! We can’t go away…”

“You have three weeks before Hogwarts starts,” Mrs Granger countered, “you could go away for two
weeks and do the lesson plans when you get back. Besides, you already have yours done for the first
and second years because you taught them last year and I’m sure Minerva’s plans are more than
alright to begin with.”

“Harry has to start from scratch…”

“From what you’ve told me, Harry can think defence with little effort. And I know both of you
have been working on a new syllabus as soon as he was awarded the job of Defence professor. He’ll
have plenty of opportunity to finalise it all.”

“We can’t, I mean, me and Harry, it’s not right, you know, to be so alone…together?”

“Oh honey,” Mrs Granger chuckled to see Hermione so flustered, “it doesn’t need to be a holiday
of debauchery...”

“Mum!”

“You could have separate rooms,” her mother explained with a laugh, “it doesn’t matter. Just go
off, have some fun, relax. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Harry’s never been overseas,” Hermione said thoughtfully after a few moments of silence.

“Just another reason to go, show him the world!” her mother exclaimed excitedly, “I guarantee
that you’ll get closer, even if you don’t take things to the next level.”

“You really wouldn’t mind Harry and I going away together?”

“I really wouldn’t mind.”

Hermione thought about it for a few more moments, wondering if it was the right thing to do and
whether Harry would even agree to it. But it did appeal on so many levels.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” she said finally, standing and giving her mother a hug, “thanks
mum.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Mrs Granger smiled, watching her daughter head out to the garden
shed.

Hermione was halfway across the lawn when she turned back to her mother, serious once more.

“If…if I did give into temptation,” she began hesitantly, a blush tainting her face, “would you
be disappointed with me?”

“No my love,” Mrs Granger smiled, “not in the slightest.”

Hermione just nodded and continued her way to the shed. In moments she was standing in the
backyard of the Burrow, the remnants of yesterday’s wedding everywhere. She made her way to the
house and saw the dozing figure of Mr Weasley in one of the chairs, his face shaded by an
umbrella.

“Hello Mr Weasley,” she called out, startling him slightly.

“Oh, hello there Hermione,” he welcomed as he tried to sit up right, “having a bit of a lazy day
today.”

“I think you and Mrs Weasley more than deserve it,” Hermione replied fondly, “yesterday was
brilliant.”

“Yes, it did go rather well,” Mr Weasley nodded with a proud smile.

“Um, is Harry around?”

“You know, I haven’t seen him today,” Mr Weasley frowned, thinking hard, “but then again, I’ve
only recently been up. Try his room.”

“Thanks.”

With a parting wave, Hermione left the Weasley patriarch and made her way into the unfamiliarly
silent house. It seemed Mrs Weasley had also slept in, though she had got rather ‘merry’ as the
wedding celebrations had progressed so it may not only be sleep keeping her off her feet.

Hermione smiled at the thought before sobering up as she stood outside Harry’s closed door.
Wondering if he was still angry at her and knew there was only one way to find out, she took a deep
breath and tapped gently.

“Harry,” she called, “it’s me.”

She heard the scrape of his chair on the floor, indicating he was definitely in his room, and in
moments the door was opened. She gasped slightly as she saw his face, tired and pinched – like how
he looked during the last year at Hogwarts.

“Hi,” he greeted awkwardly as he looked down on her.

“Hi,” Hermione said with more than a little nerves, “can…can I come in?”

“Of course,” he blustered as he blushed, opening the door wider for her so she was able to enter
his room without touching him, “sorry.”

She saw he had been working at his desk on what looked like the syllabus for his classes. She
smiled. Hearing the door close, she turned to face him and saw that he hadn’t moved from his spot
in front of the now closed door. They looked at each other, an awkwardness between them that seemed
so foreign, so out of place. Her heart plummeted.

“I was going to ask you to marry me last night,” he said at last, his voice low and his eyes
dropping, unable to keep holding her gaze.

“I know,” she replied simply, her mouth dry, “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

“Don’t apologise,” he continued quickly, “you were right. We aren’t ready and…and you
deserve…”

“Stop,” she cut in, striding to him so that they were now just inches apart, “Harry, you are
more than I deserve and don’t you ever think otherwise! If anything, I don’t deserve you!”

“So, I guess we both don’t deserve each other,” he joked, finally smiling.

“Right,” Hermione agreed with a smile of her own, “do you forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive me,” Harry replied. She nodded her ‘yes’ and nearly cried when he kissed
her for the first time in what seemed like forever. It felt so good being in his arms again.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she said as she pulled away, taking his hand and leading him
to the bed.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned, leaning in for the next kiss as they sat down – with a laugh, she
stopped him, pushing him away.

“No, not that silly!” she admonished, “a holiday!”

“A holiday?” he repeated, sitting upright and looking at her quizzically, “what do you mean, a
holiday?”

“You and me going away somewhere, anywhere,” she explained excitedly, “you choose. We have a few
weeks before classes start and I see you’ve already begun your class plan so we have heaps of time.
What do you think?”

“I…I don’t know Hermione…”

“Come on Harry,” she urged, intertwining her hands with his, “we can go anywhere you want to –
Europe, America, Canada, China, Africa…”

“I don’t think you’re parents would be too pleased if we went away together…”

“It was my mother who suggested it.”

He looked at Hermione in shock before he nervously dropped his gaze non-seeingly to the floor
and thought hard, a frown creasing his forehead. Giving him the time to think things through, she
just sat there and waited. After a little while, he looked back up at her.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” she repeated, not sure if she had heard him correctly but knowing she had when he
gave her a broad grin, “you want to go?” Harry nodded.

Squealing, she drew Harry into a hug before kissing him squarely on the mouth. With her mind
going ten million miles a minute, she missed his amused look as he watched her begin to plan.

It wasn’t long before she found out that the preference was to travel as Muggles, to go to
France, Italy and Greece, to go as soon as the could and that they would get twin-share-bed hotel
rooms.

Two days later, they stepped off of the train onto Paris soil.

Hermione had been to Paris many times with her parents but Harry helped her see one of her
favourite cities in a whole new way. He was like a child, excited by everything and anything,
experiencing the new culture with wide, curious eyes.

Their first day was spent doing the major sights – the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. That night
they dined on the Champs-Elysées, watching buskers and street artists before retiring to their
separate twin beds.

The following day was spent soaking up the sights and sounds of Paris with Harry finally
convincing Hermione that he really wanted to go to the Louvre for the afternoon. Hermione knew he
was going there solely because he realised it was her favourite place, but was grateful for his
sacrifice.

That night they slept (in their pyjamas) in the same bed.

They made their way to Italy on the train, spending a night in Dijon then Lyon on the way. By
the time they reached Milan, they were totally relaxed and enjoying themselves immensely.

Hermione marvelled at the change in Harry – it was like he had come to life. His eyes had a
sparkle that she had never seen before, and he seemed to walk with an ease that came from the lack
of the constant weight of expectation he had been carrying for so long.

Voldemort’s demise had been over a year ago now, yet everyone still expected great things from
Harry and were confused when he had done nothing but help Hagrid out on the grounds of Hogwarts for
the past year. Only those close to Harry knew it was what he needed, time to figure out what he was
going to do with his life. His leg had continued to strengthen with the constant exercise, allowing
him limited broom travel now and the option to start Auror training had been given to him.

But he was the most happiest at Hogwarts and when he was offered the job of the newly formed
Defence professor position, he accepted it with little thought. The fact that Hermione would be the
new full time transfiguration teacher had been an added bonus.

There had also been official ceremonies and many, many funerals that Harry had had to attend,
his responsibilities never fully leaving him.

Until now. And he was loving it.

His smiles were genuine, his laughter unchecked and often. He would charm the old ladies selling
their traditional crafts from street stalls and on more than one occasion had him and Hermione
invited to join in a family meal, experiencing Italian life at its rawest.

He walked with a confidence that made people look at him and his natural paleness, thought to be
due to an inheritance of his red headed mother, turned out to be because he had hardly seen the sun
during his youth. Though drowned in sunscreen by the ever-cautious Hermione, Harry was turning a
lovely, healthy tan.

From Milan, they went to Venice and it was there that Hermione experienced the most wonderful
night of her life.

They had just finished their fantastic dinner at a restaurant not far from the main canal and
were now walking back, hand in hand, to their hotel. The day had been brilliantly hot, with the
early evening still comfortably warm though it was dusk and the sun had gone to bed. Both were full
from their pasta, contented silence wrapping them up in its embrace. They were crossing one of the
many stone bridges that were familiar throughout the Venetian canals, when Harry paused at the top,
looking out at the scene. Hermione stopped next to him, smiling at what had caught his
attention.

The setting sun’s glow was tinting the water red, gondola’s with their mainly tourist passengers
weaving through the darkening canals, their lights reflecting on the ripples of the water. There
were ancient buildings on each side, signs of everyday life – a pot plant here, a washing line
there – made the picturesque scene real.

It was magical.

Hermione had never felt so happy, so at peace. It was all so beautiful and perfect that she was
sure she could stay there forever. Her mother had been right, of course, and this trip had been the
best idea with her relationship with Harry the strongest its ever been.

The last few nights, they had shared a bed and although they had progressed to both sleeping
without tops, that had been enough. But she wasn’t sure how long she was going to be able to hold
out. Just his touch was enough to send her over the edge now – it was getting more and more
difficult to stop.

Just the thought of Harry touching her sent a shiver down her spine and in an instant, she felt
his arms wrap around her as he stood behind her and drew her into him.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his lips close to her ear.

“No, not really,” she answered truthfully, sinking into his embrace.

“Hermione?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you so much.”

His statement bolted her out of any form of tranquillity as she swivelled around in his arms so
they were now face to face. He seemed calm as he looked down on her, not at all startled by her
reaction.

“What?” she spluttered out.

“I love you,” he continued, smiling as he ran a finger down the side of her face and along her
jaw line, “more than I ever thought possible. This trip, with you, has proven to me just how much.
Every day with you has been amazing and every time I look at you, I realise just how beautiful and
wonderful you are and just how very lucky I am that you’re in my life. I couldn’t imagine my world
without you by my side. Which made me come to the conclusion that I love you, that I’ve loved you
for a long time and that you need to know.”

“Oh.” Her short answer made him chuckle as he leant forward to rest his forehead against
hers.

“I thought it would be difficult to say those words,” he breathed, “but you know what? It wasn’t
so bad.” With that statement, he kissed her, softly but with a passion that she felt with every
pore – she wanted him so badly right now. When he pulled away, she sighed with disappointment. He
smiled.

“It’s been so difficult, being with you, alone, in all these fantastic places,” he said, his
voice deep and arousing, “and not finish what we’ve started so many times. Because you are getting
harder and harder to turn down Miss Granger…”

“So are you,” Hermione whispered – his smile grew.

“Can you wait a bit longer?” he asked, his hands moving to her face, gently holding it so their
eyes were locked, “I know it’s stupid, but I want to be married to you before we…”

“It’s not stupid Harry,” she interrupted, putting a finger to his lips to stop him talking, “we
can wait.”

“I may need to sleep in a separate bed then,” he advised, taking her hand and kissing it gently,
like a knight with his princess (in all those fairy tales she had hated as a little girl), “I love
you Hermione Granger,” he grinned.

“And I love you Harry.”

They kissed again then restarted their walk to their hotel, though Hermione was sure she was
floating. The rest of the trip was as perfect as the first half – Rome was brilliant, Athens
amazing and the cruise around the Greek Islands was breathtaking.

But it was all a blur as the glow of Harry’s love overshadowed everything else. It seemed that
once the initial fear of saying ‘I love you’ to someone was overcome, it no longer was difficult
for Harry to tell her how he felt. Never showy, or, Merlin forbid, gushy, he would whisper it in
her ear as they looked out from the bow of the boat they were on. Or tell her before they slipped
into their separate beds and went to sleep for the night. Or when she was about to buy something,
making her forget her purchase as his words muddled her mind.

However, all good things must end and all too soon it was their last night of their holiday with
them due to fly home the following morning. They had decided to have a lazy day by the hotel’s
pool, reading and relaxing, enjoying the Greek sun.

When Harry excused himself mid morning, Hermione didn’t think much of it and went back to her
book. When she realised he hadn’t reappeared when it was ready to have lunch, she started to be
concerned. He turned up out of nowhere and told her he was organising a surprise for her which may
take the rest of the day, that she wasn’t allowed to find out what it was and that she should just
lay back and relax.

So Hermione did just that, thinking that it would be a special ‘last meal’ or something, and was
slightly confused when the meal, although lovely, wasn’t anything spectacular. Her curiosity was
piqued but she didn’t want to spoil his surprise so didn’t pry.

The following day, they were packed and ready to catch their flight from Athens back to London.
They got to the airport and Hermione immediately started to head to the check in counter until
Harry stopped her with a smile.

“Are you ready for my surprise?” he asked mischievously.

“Its here?” she frowned, confused, “at the airport?”

“No,” Harry chuckled, “but we aren’t catching a plane. Do you trust me?”

“Without a doubt,” she smiled.

Harry smiled back before taking her hand and leading her away from the throngs of people. He
discreetly cast a disillusion charm on them both and their luggage before making the luggage
disappear. She looked at him in surprise, wondering where all their stuff had gone – but he just
grinned at her in response. He then hugged her in close, her head resting on his chest, allowing
her to hear the steady beating of his heart.

In an instant she felt the unmistakable feeling of disapparation and when she opened her eyes,
it was to a dark, cold, damp, small room.

“Harry?” she questioned, but was sushed as Harry went to the only door in the room and gingerly
looked out. Their way was obviously clear as he opened the door wider and indicated for Hermione to
join him.

Walking to his side, she gasped in surprise as she recognised where they were. They were within
the halls of Trinity College, Dublin.

“Thanks Callum,” Harry was saying to the young man next to them, who it seemed had been guarding
the door.

“No problem Mr Potter,” Callum replied, his accent thick and unmistakeably Irish, “you know
where you’re going, now?”

“Yes, yes, Mr Flynn showed me yesterday.” The Irishman nodded his acknowledgement, then went on
his way, leaving Harry to look down on the flabbergasted Hermione.

“We’re in Ireland,” Hermione stated.

“Yep.”

“Oh Harry, this is a wonderful surprise,” she enthused, “I love Dublin!”

“This isn’t your surprise,” Harry told her as he took her hand and began leading her through the
nearly deserted corridors.

“It isn’t?”

“No,” he said cryptically.

They came out into the courtyard of the elderly university where they crossed the short cropped
grass and headed into the closed entrance way to the Book of Kells, where they met a dignified
looking gentleman.

“Ah Mr Potter,” he welcomed, “Miss Granger – this way.”

Opening the door, the gentleman guided them into the deserted information section which
described the making and history of the book that had survived since the ninth century. Hermione
had been there before, a year before in fact, when she came to Ireland with her parents, yet the
urge to take time to read the facts and figures once again slowed her. Harry just tugged at her
hand, making sure they walked quickly through the displays until they got to the glass cabinet that
housed the book itself. There, they paused and looked at the magnificently embossed pages, its
artistry nothing close to amazing.

“Come on,” Harry urged gently, “we kinda need to do this before the public are allowed in.”

She smiled and let herself be led up the stairs beyond the reverend Book, stepping into the
amazing library, the Long Room, that sat above the one of the oldest remaining books in the Muggle
world.

Hermione loved this place, as she did with any location that housed ancient and amazing tomes.
It was still early, a little after eight, and the sun shone through the arched windows. She left
Harry and their guide (who, unnoticed by her, left the couple alone) and went to the nearest shelf
where a leather bound volume sat, telling her it was printed in 1845.

She felt Harry come up behind her, gently taking her hand and leading her further into the
library. They rounded a corner into a reading nook where the morning sun left dappled patterns on
the carpet. There were bunches of flowers on the tables and a cooling bucket with a bottle of what
looked like wine within it. Her heart began to beat wildly as she thought about what this all
meant. She had never considered a proposal as her surprise – after all, it had only been two weeks
since she had ruined his last attempt. But when she turned to him, to ask what it was all about and
found him lowering down to one knee, she could stop the tears that began to fall.

“Hermione, you have always been there, always by my side even though I gave you no reason to put
up with someone like me. You were the first ever person to tell me you loved me and it took a slap
in the face for me to realise just how much I love you. I know I couldn’t love anyone the way I
love you and I want to spend the rest of my life by your side, showing you just how much.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said softly, her words choked by her tears.

“Sorry?”

“Yes Harry – I will marry you,” Hermione said more loudly, laughing when he grinned, stood,
picked her up and spun her around happily.

And for the next four months it felt like her feet never once touched the ground.

The news of their engagement and subsequent planned Christmas wedding caused much celebration,
joviality and more than a little panic. Hermione and Harry returned to Hogwarts and began their
careers as teachers in their old school, safe in the knowledge that after the wedding, there was a
home for them in one of the many towers within the castle walls.

The location of the nuptials was the first stumbling block as they needed to cater for both the
magical and Muggle worlds. The church at Godric’s Hollow was finally settled on with the
twenty-third of December available for the ceremony with the promise that the existing Christmas
decorations would not be disturbed. Once the location was sorted, things just fell into place.

Not wanting a grand affair, most of the time was spent in creating the security wards that
allowed only those invited onto the church grounds. The reception was to take place at the Three
Broomsticks with all the catering done by Dobby and his friends. The only flowers were for the
bride and her two attendants – Luna and Ginny – while the dresses were chosen off the rack with
Hermione falling in love with only the fourth dress she had tried on.

It all was simple and with little fuss.

As the day drew closer, the nerves finally began to affect Hermione. She was more than happy
when the students left for the Christmas break and she could retreat back to her home in Oxford. By
the morning of the wedding she hadn’t seen Harry all week, what with one thing or another, but in a
way she was glad. It made the longing to see him even greater and the desire to finally make love
to him stronger.

She was enjoying the fuss heaped on her by her mother, Molly, Luna and Ginny. Taming her hair,
doing her make-up and then the final assist into her wedding dress – it was like a dream. As she
left the comfort of her family home, wrapped in a brilliant white cloak that covered her dress, she
said her good-byes to her childhood and then flanked by Luna and Ginny, dissaparated to the church
grounds at Godric’s Hollow.

Her father was waiting for her at the church door, which he opened and allowed the three women
in. Ginny and Luna removed their outer cloaks of the deepest forest green before turning to
Hermione to help her. She knew every eye was on her, but there was only one she really cared
about.

Taking her father’s arm, she heard the music that meant it was time. With a comforting smile
from her dad, Hermione began her walk down the aisle.

It was then she saw him, handsome and striking, waiting for her. She saw him smile and smiled
back, barely aware of Ron and Neville standing at his side. The ceremony was a blur, though she
knew she said the right things at the right times, and before she knew it she was in his arms for
the first dance at the Three Broomsticks.

It had been perfect in every way but now all she wanted was him and as he looked down on her she
could see that the feeling was mutual.

It was early when the newly wed couple begged their leave, graciously accepting the wolf
whistles and lewd comments as their small party of guests knew why they wanted to make an early
get-away.

They arrived at their hotel in London still dressed in their wedding attire and was escorted to
their room by staff with knowing smiles. Hermione didn’t care. It was taking all her self control
not to attack Harry on their way to London and as soon as the busboy left them alone in the very,
very extravagant honeymoon suite, Harry and Hermione finally learnt the most intimate secrets that
only lovers can share.

**A/N – see, I told you. Hope you’re not disappointed!**



3. First Baby
-------------

**A/N – these are getting harder to write – maybe my muse has left me. I also think that I’m
reading two great stories here on Portkey (Shadow Walks and Vox Corporis) that my writing seems a
mere shadow next to them…sigh. Still, I hope you enjoy this. Thank you for your reviews, they do
mean a lot. Not as many reads with the last chapter (in fact the fewest I’ve ever had) but I still
have the faithful with me. Thanks heaps.**

First Baby

Harry opened the door to what was now commonly known as ‘the Potter Tower’ with a tired sigh. It
had been a very long week. But now it was officially the weekend and as he entered the portion of
Hogwarts that he called home, he felt some of the tension he felt leave him.

“Hermione!” he yelled, placing his cloak on the cloak rack and his bag on the table. When he got
no reply, he made his way to the bedroom that was situated up the staircase, a frown furrowing his
brow. His wife hadn’t been feeling too well the last few weeks and he was starting to get
worried.

He opened the door to their room and there she was, curled up into a ball, Crookshanks snuggled
into her. She looked asleep, which made Harry frown more deeply. It was only four in the afternoon
– she very rarely slept in the afternoon. Plus, they were planning to go to Ron and Luna’s for
dinner at five.

He stood watching her for a moment, considering what he should do. He wanted to leave her there,
let her sleep whatever illness she had off and insist that she’d see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow. But he
also knew she would be disappointed if they didn’t get to Ron and Luna’s.

Sighing, Harry went to the bed and gently shook her awake.

“Hermione,” he said softly, “sweetie, you need to wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on him – smiling and stretching her arms over her head,
she woke.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he copied as she sat, a disgruntled Crookshanks stalking off the bed and out of the
room.

“What time is it?”

“Just after four,” Harry told her, sitting down next to her, “how’re you feeling?”

“Like I’m going to be sick, but not quite. And tired,” as if to prove her point, Hermione yawned
and stretched once more, “think I might have a quick shower. Try and wake myself up.”

“Right,” Harry nodded but took her hands in his before she could leave the bed, “would you go
and see Poppy tomorrow? Please? This isn’t like you Hermione.”

“We’ll see,” she quipped evasively, kissing him as she got off the bed.

He watched her as she made her way to the toilet, his frown returning. They had only been
married three months, making a tower in the wing overlooking the lake their home. He was enjoying
married life, every day seeming to bring new joys. He loved being with her, laughing with her,
waking up next to her – there was no doubt in his mind just how much he loved her.

Yet lately Hermione had started to feel ill, with the last few days seeing her withdraw from
him, her mind obviously troubled with something she wasn’t wanting to share.

He heard the toilet flush which made him look up and see Hermione exit the smallest room of the
tower, lost in her own thoughts. She was scowling in concentration, totally forgetting that Harry
was there, watching her.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his concern returning ten fold – she didn’t answer, “Hermione,”
he continued, standing and making his way to her, “are you alright?”

“Huh?” she said, startled out of her reverie when he touched her arm, “oh, yes, everything’s
fine. Will be ready in a jiff.”

With that, she dashed away, grabbing the clothes she had already selected to wear and closing
herself into the bathroom. It wasn’t long until Harry heard the sound of the shower, and with a
resigned sigh, got ready himself.

Half an hour later, they stepped out of the hearth at Ron and Luna’s comfortable house in Ottery
St Catchpole. It was half-way between the Lovegood and the Weasley family homes, the purchase a
gift bought with money donated by friends and family. When not working, Ron was frantically doing
the necessary repairs and decorating so the place was a mix-match of completed and un-completed
rooms but it reeked of Ron and Luna’s style and personality. Harry loved the place.

“Hey guys,” Ron welcomed, his arms full of various random items – books, a broom, a bowl and
stuff Harry couldn’t recognise, “won’t be a mo. Luna said I should tidy. I told her we needn’t
bother, it was only you two, but she insists you’re guests. I told her she was barmy and well…I’m
tidying.”

“Good to know who wears the pants,” Harry joked with a laugh, “need a hand?”

“No mate,” Ron came back, piling his arm full of stuff in a corner and draping a blanket over
it, “I’m done. Want a drink?”

“Actually, I’ll just pop to the loo,” Hermione said in response to Ron’s questioning gaze, “a
pumpkin juice for me.”

“Right,” Ron shrugged as Hermione dashed away and once getting Harry’s order, yelled it out to
Luna then flopped down in the sole armchair, “is she alright? Hermione? She looks a bit peaky.”

“She hasn’t being feeling that well,” Harry admitted, sitting down on the couch and thanking
Luna as she handed him his drink, “and is refusing to see Poppy.”

“You need to force her to, Harry,” Ron instructed, snaking an arm around his wife’s waist as she
sat on the arm of his chair, “show her who’s boss.”

“Right, yes, that will work,” Harry said sardonically, “have you met my wife? Small, slight
woman, lot’s of hair and a will of bloody iron? I’ll tell you…”

“Tell him what, Mr Potter?” Hermione cut in, returning from the toilet, a smile dancing on her
face.

But the conversation didn’t continue as everyone turned to a squealing Luna, who had jumped off
the chair and made her way to Hermione in quick strides. She didn’t say anything, just held
Hermione out at arms length and studied her thoroughly, all the while grinning like a mad woman –
which, Harry thought to himself, she possibly was.

“Oh my,” Luna cried, holding Hermione’s face with her hands, “oh, look at you! You are
positively glowing! Your aura, your core – oh Hermione, how far are you along?”

“Along?” Hermione queried, confused, but Harry saw all colour leave his wife’s face.

“Yes, along,” Luna confirmed, tilting her head to the side quizzically, “oh, pumpkin pie – when
is the baby due?”

Harry was sure his heart stopped, literally stopped beating in his chest, because the silence in
the room was complete. He saw the look of shock on Hermione’s face and knew that there was a mirror
image on his own. Baby? What baby?

“No,” Hermione stated hastily, “oh no, there is no baby Luna…”

“But of course there is!” Luna countered as she watched Hermione break out of her touch and sit
next to Harry on the couch. Harry took her shaking hand in his, his mind going over the
evidence.

“You have been feeling unwell,” he ventured.

“No.”

“When…when was your last…” he was about to say ‘period’(already making the calculations in his
head and realising that she was late) but Hermione cut in frantically.

“Well, yes, I am a bit late,” she conceded half-heartedly, telling Harry that she had been
thinking the same thing, “but its only been a week. I can’t be pregnant, I just can’t!”

“Have you guys done the spell each time?” Ron asked with a grimace, “though the idea of you two
actually having sex is really quite foul…”

“Of course we do the spell Ron!” Hermione shot back before her eyes widened in shock, “oh
no!”

“Oh no what?” Harry asked, his mind now frantically thinking about the many times they had had
sex over the past months and whether there was a time when they had forgotten to use the
contraception spell – the expression on Hermione’s face told him she may have thought of one such
time.

“Valentine’s Day,” she muttered and immediately new images barged into Harry’s brain.

He had taken Hermione to a fancy Muggle restaurant in London where she tormented him all night
with little come-ons – a lick of the lip, crossing her legs to expose a bit more thigh, bending
over slightly to give him a glance down her cleavage – by the time they flooed home, he was horny
as hell. The moment they had stepped out of the hearth into their quarters, he had her against the
wall, his mouth locked onto hers as they both tried to get naked as quickly as possible…

“Harry!”

“Huh?” he mumbled, his mind returning to the present to see a smirking Ron, an amused Luna and a
very flustered Hermione all staring at him.

“Honestly Harry,” Hermione growled, “can you embarrass me any further?”

Before he could wonder what he had done to embarrass her, Ron spoke up.

“Would you like us to give you a moment mate,” his friend chuckled, “it seems you’ve got
yourself rather…excited.”

Ron made a gesture to Harry’s lap and as he looked down, he saw what had caused the various
reactions. Blushing furiously, he quickly grabbed a cushion and placed it over his…excited…groin
area.

“I think I’ll go and check on dinner,” Luna advised them, leaving the room.

“I’ll help,” Hermione added, following Luna without a second glance at Harry.

Ron and Harry sat there in silence, a smirk still covering Ron’s face.

“You know, Luna’s hardly ever wrong about these kinda things,” Ron said after a while.

“I know,” Harry replied, frowning, “it makes sense. Hermione’s been feeling sick…”

“You’re going to be a dad Harry.”

Harry looked up at Ron as his words hit home. He was going to be a father.

The rest of the night went without a mention of the impending parenthood as the two couples
caught up. However, Harry and Hermione’s distraction didn’t go unnoticed, with the Potter’s
returning to Hogwarts a lot earlier than normal.

They went to their room in silence, both going through the routine of getting ready for bed with
automatic precision. Harry was worried – his mind was going a hundred miles a minute, he’d hate to
think what was going through his wife’s.

“Hermione,” he began, stopping her as she went to the bathroom to clean her teeth, “are you
okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, continuing on her journey.

“Don’t lie to me,” Harry stated calmly, stopping her in her tracks once more.

He watched as her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. Slowly she turned back and
looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“This is all happening too soon, Harry,” she cried, making her way to the bed and slumping down
on it, Harry following, taking her hand in his as he watched her tears fall, “I mean, a few months
ago, we hadn’t even had sex! We’ve just got married! We’ve barely had time to get used to being a
husband and wife and now we’re going to be parents? I…this is too overwhelming!”

“Sure, we didn’t plan it this way…” Harry tried to reason, but Hermione cut in.

“I’ve just started a job! A job I love, that I’m good at!” She got off the bed and began to
pace, wiping away her tears as she did so. Harry frowned as a new thought, a thought that had never
occurred to him before, a thought that devastated him, crossed his mind.

“Hermione,” he started tentatively, “don’t you want this baby?”

“Oh Harry!”

She was at his side instantly, holding his hands once more – Harry carried on.

“I…I know we didn’t plan this or anything, that we were going to wait a few years. But…”

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “I didn’t mean…of course I want this baby! It’s just
that…aren’t…aren’t you scared?”

“Terrified,” Harry stated simply, giving her a weak smile – which she returned through her
tears, “I have no idea how to be a father.”

“But you’re great with kids!” Hermione exclaimed, her own fears forgotten for a moment, “when I
watch you with the baby Weasley’s – not like me. I don’t know how to handle children! How can I be
a mother? What if I’m awful?”

“Hermione,” Harry soothed, “I honestly don’t believe you’d be an awful mother. How can you be?
Besides, this baby – our baby – is going to be so well loved, and has brilliant grandparents who
will show its mum and dad what to do if we get it wrong. Plus Molly and Arthur. We’ll be fine.”

“You and me,” she added.

“Right, you and me,” Harry echoed, kissing her nose gently, “we’ll learn being great parents
together, okay?”

“Thank you Harry,” Hermione smiled, her tears now gone, “thank you for understanding.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled back, “and you’ll go and see Poppy tomorrow now, won’t you?”

Hermione nodded her ascent and the two of them finished getting ready for bed. But Harry was
still awake long after the lights were out, his assurances seemingly hollow to him as he mulled
over the notion that he was going to be a father. He knew then that he had lied to Hermione – he
wasn’t scared about becoming a dad, he was absolutely petrified.

The following day Madam Pomfrey confirmed that Hermione was indeed pregnant and that she was
only five weeks along. She gave Hermione some basic information like it was best not to appariate
much, that she should find an obstetrician (not having much experience with pregnant mothers
herself) and could recommend both Muggle and magical physicians, that miscarriages are most common
in the first trimester and to notify her if there was any sign of bleeding.

The decision was made to keep the news quiet for now until at least the end of the first
trimester, telling only Hermione’s parents. And they also decided that they wouldn’t tell her
parents until the next day, choosing to spend their Saturday getting used to the idea they were
going to have a baby.

Telling Mr and Mrs Granger was nerve wracking but went reasonably smoothly with Hermione’s
parents showing their support and love with hugs and tears all round. Madam Pomfrey had given them
the names of some obstetricians that were Muggles or squibs, aware of the magical world but not
part of it. Mrs Granger had recognised one of the names and it was decided they would make an
appointment with a Doctor Marie Stephens as soon as they could.

Harry was told he didn’t need to attend the initial consultation but wish he had as he spent the
whole of the time that Hermione was there wishing he was with her. Needless to say, his teaching
for that particular hour or so wasn’t the best. That evening, she told him what Dr Stephens had
told her, the things she could and couldn’t do and that she’d see her again in six weeks for a
scan.

Those next weeks were…challenging. Hermione seemed tired all the time and though she hadn’t
actually vomited, she felt constantly sick. Sex was pretty much out of the question and her need to
go to the toilet every few minutes was something Harry was getting used to.

As well as the mood swings.

Plus Harry was still working things out in his own head, how he felt about the idea that he was
going to be a dad. He found himself thinking about the future, where to raise his child, how to
provide for his family – all things that had been just passing thoughts were now discussed and
debated. He also found himself breaking out in a cold sweat as he thought about just how much his
life was about to change.

Before he knew it, the eleven week scan was due and with unexpected nervousness, Harry walked
with Hermione into the plush clinic in a suburb of Oxford. Clasping her hand, he watched with
interest as the friendly radiographer put the gel like substance over Hermione’s still flat belly
before running a strange device in seemingly random motions over her abdomen.

At first, the images on the screen in front of them meant nothing until Harry saw something that
looked scarily like a hand.

“Well, there’s a little surprise for you both,” the nice radiographer stated, grinning
madly.

“What?” Hermione asked, still peering at the screen, trying to determine what she was looking
at. Harry did the same, but something didn’t seem right. He could see a dark mass that was beating
rhythmically which logically seemed like the heart. Trouble was, there were two of them.

“Mr and Mrs Potter, it looks like you’re having twins. Identical twins. Congratulations.”

“Twins?” Hermione repeated while Harry understood now why there were two hearts – there were two
babies. Two babies.

“Twins?” he echoed, as his mind finally caught up.

“Yes, look,” the radiographer moved the device around on Hermione’s belly with one hand while
pointing at the screen with the other, “there is the head and heart of baby one, and there’s the
head and heart of baby two. Both look healthy and it seems we were right with the timing. Your
babies are due around the end of November.”

Harry couldn’t speak and was still dumbfounded as they made their way to Dr Stephens’ office,
where he heard the facts and figures associated with multiple birth pregnancies, how they were more
likely to be born early and that they will need to monitor Hermione more closely to make sure the
umbilical cords don’t tangle and damage one of the babies.

They also got the all-clear to start telling people.

The following Saturday was a belated birthday celebration for the twins, who had been on a fact
finding mission for the stores for the last month, missing their actual birthday. Harry and
Hermione decided to tell everyone then, get it over and done with at one go as everyone was going
to be there. If the reaction of Hermione’s parent’s were anything to go by, the knowledge that they
were going to have twins would be quite…teary.

The evening was full of hilarity as the Burrow was full to overflowing with numerous Weasley’s
plus friends. Winter was slowly losing its grip, letting the party take place in the cool, but
clear back yard. They waited until things had quietened down a bit before Harry nervously stood,
noticing Ron looking at him and grinning, knowing what was coming next.

“Er, everybody,” Harry called out, only getting a few people’s attention.

“Oi!” Ron yelled – the garden became quiet as they all looked towards the standing Harry.

“Thanks Ron,” Harry acknowledged, “um, it’s just that Hermione and I have some news…”

“I knew it! I knew it!” Tonks shouted triumphantly before Harry could get another word out,
“you’ve knocked Hermione up, haven’t you Harry?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it quite like that…” Harry mumbled, his embarrassment totally
unnoticed as Molly screamed with joy and engulfed Hermione in a huge hug with Harry following soon
after. Before he knew it, he was being congratulated by everyone in turn with manly whacks on the
back or bone crushing hugs and kisses.

“So, when are you due?” Ginny asked excitedly.

“In November,” Hermione replied, smiling, “but since we’re having twins, they think it will be a
bit earlier…”

This news brought a whole new set of congratulations.

May turned into the month from hell. What with the first set of final exams he ever had to
teach, Hermione yelling one minute then bursting into tears the next and spring turning out to be
extremely wet and gloomy.

They were well into the second trimester when Hermione no longer could keep her pregnancy a
secret as her tummy began to grow. By the time May turned into June, life in the Potter household
got a bit better. Hermione seemed more of her old self, plus she seemed to glow – radiate – with a
beauty that was accentuated by the knowledge she was carrying his child. Children.

The scans continued to show everything was going well with the babies looking more and more
human like each time they saw them. Madam Pomfrey saw Hermione on a weekly basis, making sure
everything was doing as it should, while the Muggle visits remained once a month.

Future plans were sorted out too. Minerva told them they could stay in the Castle as long as
they wanted, so after some discussion both Harry and Hermione agreed that Hogwarts was the best
place to be. The safety of the wards and the close proximity to where they worked meant that, with
a bit of planning and help, they could both teach and parent at the same time. With the current
year winding down, they sat with the headmistress and worked out a timetable that saw Hermione have
one full day free, Harry have one full day free while the Grangers looking after their
grandchildren one day a week, Mrs Weasley another left just one day where various teachers (plus
some trusted and responsible students) would look after the twins the times both parents
taught.

Harry’s twentieth birthday came and went without much fuss and by the time Hermione turned
twenty-one, she had had enough of being pregnant and was looking forward to the time where she
didn’t feel like a marooned whale.

As far as pregnancy with twins went, the experts assured Harry and Hermione that theirs was
going pretty smoothly. Harry had begun to relax – they had passed the crucial point where even if
the babies were born tomorrow, their chance of survival was very good. The months of watching the
development of his children through scans and appointments along with talks to other fathers had
also allayed many of his fears – it seemed being a first time father is a scary concept for
most.

A week and a half had passed since Hermione’s birthday and Harry was enjoying flying along side
the Gryffindor Quidditch team at one of their practices. Though, thanks to his damaged leg, he
couldn’t stay on a broom for long periods of time, he was glad that at least he could fly now.

Circling around and shouting out helpful hints now and then, Harry noticed Hermione waddling
down towards the pitch, her hand resting on her hugely protruding belly. Though he couldn’t see her
expression from where he was hovering, he was immediately concerned – walking was a chore for her
at the moment and the uneven surface of the path to the Quidditch pitch would be a nightmare. With
a frown, he started to make his way towards her.

Life seemed to stop the moment Harry watched Hermione crumple to the ground. He speed towards
her and was by her side in an instant, noting she was deathly pale and blood was staining her legs.
After ordering a student to go and warn Madam Pomfrey that Hermione had collapsed, he gathered his
wife in his arms and began running towards the castle.

Harry had slipped into survival mode. His wife was heavy, but he didn’t notice. His leg was
complaining, ready to buckle at any moment, but he ignored the pain and willed it to hold out until
Hermione was safe. He had to save his family.

Madam Pomfrey met him at the castle steps, Minerva at her side. They placed the still Hermione
on a floating stretcher and without a word, they hurried to the hospital wing. Harry helplessly
watched as the matron performed a number of diagnostic spells, trying to determine what was going
on while the stain of red that covered the hospital sheets around Hermione’s legs got bigger.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked frantically.

“I don’t know for sure,” Madam Pomfrey answered with a frown, “but she’s losing a lot of blood
and both babies are distressed…”

“Distressed?” Harry echoed, the horror that he may be losing his family in one foul hit starting
to enter his brain.

“Minerva,” the matron barked, startling Harry with her sharpness, “go to St Mungo’s and find
Healer Simmons. Tell him that Hermione is in trouble and he and his team need to get here
immediately,” Professor McGonagall nodded and left in a swish of robes.

Harry barely registered what was happening around him as he held Hermione’s cold, clammy hand in
his and watched her face, noting how her hair was now plastered to her forehead with sweat and how
she looked so…lifeless.

It wasn’t long before Professor McGonagall returned with a portly gentleman and half a dozen
mediwitches in her wake. With an efficient calmness, Healer Simmons began to examine Hermione as
Madam Pomfrey told him of her findings, her words technical and un-understandable to the listening
Harry. Around him, the team of medical professional’s began preparing the ward for an
operation.

Harry found his voice.

“What’s going on?” he asked the Healer.

“You need to leave,” was the brisk response.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry growled, holding Hermione’s hand tighter, “now, tell me what’s
going on with my wife!”

“Mrs Potter is dying from massive internal bleeding and if we don’t act quickly we will lose
both her and the two babies,” the Healer responded, looking Harry unflinchingly in the eye, “you
need to leave.”

“Come on Harry,” Minerva coaxed, guiding a numbed Harry out of the chair beside the bed and out
of the hospital ward. As the door closed he turned to it and stood stock still, waiting. His leg
was throbbing and he ached all over but that was nothing to the pain in his heart as the Healers’
words repeated in his head.

*Mrs Potter is dying…*

How could things go so terribly wrong? The pregnancy was fine! Hermione was fine…considering.
And now he may lose all of them.

So he stood waiting, staring at the door for a sign that his family was going to be alright.
When Ron came and stood next to him, he acknowledged his friend with a look, then returned his eyes
to the closed door. It was an hour before the door opened and Madam Pomfrey came out.

“Is Hermione alright?” Harry asked immediately, walking over to the school nurse in two large
steps.

“Yes,” the matron said wearily, “yes, Healer Simmons was able to stop the bleeding – Hermione is
going to be fine…”

“Can I see her?”

“In a moment,” Madam Pomfrey replied before gently leading Harry to a couple of chairs quickly
conjured up by Minerva, “Harry, Hermione is going to be unconscious for probably about a week. Her
body has gone through some major trauma and lost a horrendous amount of blood…”

“But she’s going to be okay,” Harry interrupted, frowning.

“Yes, but…” the nurse hesitated.

“But what?”

“The cause of the bleeding was from a tear in the uterus wall. It seemed that the curse she
sustained back in her fifth year had weakened her uterus wall in a way that it wasn’t detected in
any of the tests done during the pregnancy…”

“So what happened?”

“We think one of the twins happened to kick in the exact same spot as the weakness, causing it
to tear. Harry, we had to perform a hysterectomy. Hermione can have no more children.”

Harry thought about what he was being told – Hermione nearly bled to death due to an injury she
received over five years ago. They stopped the bleeding but had to remove the part of her that
enabled them to have children. Children!

“The twins?” he sputtered out, relaxing when he saw a smile cross Madam Pomfrey’s face.

“You have two perfect, darling little girls,” she told him, “congratulations.”

“Girls?”

“They’re in protective bubbles,” the matron explained, “as they are only in their thirty-forth
week. We will keep them there for another four weeks which is when they are full term. But they are
healthy and coping well.”

“Can…can I see them?”

“Of course.”

They got out of the chairs and headed for the still closed doors. Harry suddenly stopped, unsure
of what he’d find on the other side. He turned and looked behind him, seeing really for the first
time that Ron and his parents were there with him. Harry looked at Ron, asking an unspoken question
that his friend understood immediately and joined him as they followed the matron into the hospital
ward.

He saw the two golden bubbles that were keeping his daughter’s warm and monitoring their
breathing and heart rates. Clumsily, he began to make his way to where they were but saw instead
the still, prone form of Hermione.

Changing his direction, all thought of his children left him as he came to the bedside of his
wife. She was deathly pale, with black smudges beneath her closed eyes. Her hair was still mattered
and lifeless, just like her. Harry choked back a sob and sat down, taking her limp hand in his.
Silently he told Hermione to come back to him, that he couldn’t live without her, that he needed
her – that she couldn’t leave him. He hoped with all his heart that she heard his pleas.

“Harry.” Ron’s voice was quiet but it broke through the stillness of the hospital ward like a
knife.

“Not now Ron,” Harry instructed without much thought, his eyes never leaving Hermione.

“Harry, your daughters need you.”

He looked up at Ron then and saw the worry on his face. Knowing his friend was right, Harry took
a deep breath, squared his shoulders then followed Ron to the two small glowing spheres.
Tentatively, he looked down at the sleeping forms of his little girls and felt a rush of love like
he had never felt before.

They were tiny, so very tiny, but both had a mass of black hair and a pinkish, healthy look
about them. He and Hermione had been warned about premature babies from Dr Stephens and he knew
there would’ve been wires and tubes if they had been in a Muggle facility. Here, the bubble took
away the need for the multitude of monitoring wires while a sole feeding tube entered each baby’s
nostril, the only sign of their difficulties.

“They’re beautiful mate,” Ron whispered and Harry tended to agree with him.

It was a long week. Harry spent every waking hour in the hospital ward, splitting his time
between watching over Hermione and watching his daughters. Though unable to hold them, he was
allowed to touch them through the protective bubble, every little bit of contact precious.

Like predicted, it was a week before Hermione opened her eyes, luckily at a time when Harry was
by her side. Still weak, her initial introduction to her daughters was brief but happy, but things
weren’t right. They still couldn’t hold their little girls and the situation was more than a bit
frustrating for the new parents.

Hermione was instructed to remain in bed and rest for another week, which she did with little
complaint as the girls were placed right next to her. Harry went back to work but only part-time,
wanting to spend as much time as he could with his new family.

It was mid October by the time Hermione returned to the Potter Tower, finally deemed well enough
to leave the hospital ward. She still spent every day in there, however, watching over her babies
with a protective eye.

The girls were identical in every way and the only way they could tell them apart was by the
clothes they wore. But as the weeks wore on, their personalities began to emerge to the point where
it was obvious one was a bit more dominant than the other.

Hermione had been out of hospital for a week when she, Harry and Ron were making their way to
the ward for a visit. Ron was telling them of the rumours of a new threat that had the Auror
department on full alert. Neville, who was in his last year of training, had already been caught up
with the new dark force and was at the moment being treated at St Mungo’s.

All talk of possible troubles stopped as the trio made their way to the make-shift maternity
ward. Ron visited every weekend, sometimes with Luna and sometimes (like now) without. Harry
marvelled at the way his friend had bonded with the twins and the news of Ron’s own impending
fatherhood made the visits even sweeter.

The girls were still unnamed although Harry and Hermione had a short-list of possibilities. They
were waiting for the moment they could hold their babies in their arms and take them home before
choosing their names, wanting to *feel* their daughters first.

Harry was ready to follow the normal routine, to watch his wife feed the girls before he and
Hermione spend some time trying to bond with the protected babies. But this time it was different
as they finally heard the news they had been waiting so long to hear.

“Ah, there you are,” the matron gushed, smiling, “and Mr Weasley too.”

“Is everything alright Poppy?” Hermione asked with more than a little concern.

“Oh, I think so dear,” Madam Pomfrey answered, “although we would like to keep them here for one
more week, your little ones are strong enough to come out of the bubbles. Would you like to hold
your daughter?”

Hermione looked over at Harry who was sure he was mirroring her mixture of shock, hope, fear and
joy that flashed over her face. Together, they watched as the bubbles disappeared and the two
little girls became exposed to the real world.

The baby who had spent her early life dressed only in lemon, let her displeasure known by
screaming loudly. Her sister started to whimper and although her cries didn’t match the other baby,
she cried none the less.

Harry watched as Hermione reached for the screaming child, cradling the baby in her arms and
rocking her back and forth, speaking in low, loving tones. It looked so natural, so right that with
only a little bit of hesitation, he did the same with the other twin.

She was so tiny and light in his arms, her perfect little hand grabbing onto nothingness while
her face was screwed up with her cries. He reached out to stroke her face, rocking his arms back
and forth as he saw Hermione do and slowly the crying stopped. He looked down just in time for her
to open her eyes – and Harry gasped with shock.

Her eyes, and those of her sister, had been a dark blue but it seemed that had changed. Looking
back up at him was one green eye and one brown, the perfect mix of him and Hermione. He glanced at
his wife and an understanding passed between them before she returned her attention back to the now
gurgling child in her arms.

“Hey baby Erin Lily Potter,” she whispered, “I’m your mummy, and this…” she moved closer to
Harry so he could see Erin’s face – one brown and one green eye looking back up at him, “…is your
daddy.”

“Hello beautiful,” Harry said softly, “meet your sister, Kimberly Jane Potter. I hope you two
become firm friends.”

As Harry watched, Erin and Kimberly reached out for each other, their little hands trying to
touch. Something within him changed, and emotion a million times stronger than what he felt when
Hermione first told him they were going to have a baby pulsed through him. As he looked down on the
perfect faces of his daughters, he knew without a shadow of a doubt he would die for them, protect
them and their mother any way he could.

And for the first time in his life, Harry cried without caring who was watching.

**A/N – just to say, I have a nephew and two nieces, all born premature. Though I’m sure it’s
different when its your child you see so tiny covered with wires and tubes, it was pretty bad just
as an aunt. The strength of these little babies and the care of the doctors and nurses that take
care of them is amazing. Also – I went to school with a guy with one fully brown eye and one
emerald green eye so it’s not totally impossible. Whether it can happen with twins? I don’t
know.**



4. First Train Ride to Hogwarts
-------------------------------

**A/N – there will only be two chapters left in this series (after this one) but I’ve
introduced something in this instalment that may be a story on its own. I’ll see whether it can be
developed or not in my head (I have an idea but it means action and suspense, which I find really
hard to write…). Anyway, hope you enjoy this. Thank you for my reviews and sorry the chapters are
taking so long to come out (I actually have to work at work now instead of write – what’s with
that?). Merry Christmas everyone!**

First Train Ride to Hogwarts

Red hair clashing with black – the combination brought a soft smile of remembrance to Hermione
as she watched her daughter talk conspiratorially with Artie Weasley, the eleven year old son of
Ron and Luna. The two were as thick as thieves and seeing them together usually meant trouble –
they were both too much like their fathers.

Hermione’s eyes drifted over to her other child, quietly sitting off to the side of the garden
with eight year old Snow, the blond, blue eyed replica of Luna, and Henry, who was only four, the
perfect combination of both his parents, and who doted on his older sister with fanatic adoration,
following Snow everywhere.

Right now Kimberly and Snow were reading with Henry watching on curiously (something that
happened extremely regularly) and were therefore caught up in their own world of fantasy and
imagined adventure, totally unaware of what their siblings were planning just a few feet away.

Hermione, however, had some idea.

Smiling, she put her feet up onto the old bucket that was doubling as her footstool, and took
another sip of wine.

“Should we stop this now?” Luna asked from the other deck chair.

“Not too sure,” Hermione replied lazily, “do you think there’ll be tears?”

“Artie *has* been to Fred and George’s…”

Enough said.

“Erin!” Hermione called, chuckling to herself when both Erin and Kimberly looked up, “can you
come here for a minute darling!”

Noting the scowl on her young daughter’s face, Hermione put herself into mother mode and tried
to look stern. Erin Potter was eleven going on eighteen, with a mass of black, unruly, messy curls
that hallowed her head with reckless abandon. Dressed in her ever present jeans and a t-shirt, her
womanly curves still hidden in youth, she walked over with a confidence well above her years.

“What is it mum?” the young girl asked impatiently.

“Leave your sister and Snow alone,” Hermione told her.

“We weren’t going to do anyth…”

“Erin…”

Hermione watched Erin blush as she realised she had been caught; then her fight returned.

“But they’re just reading!” she exclaimed, “school starts tomorrow and all we’ll be doing is
reading! We just wanted to…”

“No.”

“Fine,” Erin conceded, her scowl returning, “we’ll leave them alone to read their stupid
books.”

As Erin stomped off to her waiting mischief maker, his disappointment that what ever they had
been planning wouldn’t eventuate already showing on his face, Hermione sighed a contented sigh
while Luna chuckled at her side.

It was August thirty-first and tomorrow Erin and Kimberly will be catching the train to
Hogwarts, along side Artie and his older cousins Jean-Luc and Marie, Bill and Fleur’s two children.
Since the Potter girls had grown up at Hogwarts and called the castle home, it was decided that
they all stay overnight at Ron and Luna’s, enabling them to catch the Hogwart’s Express just like
any other first year.

But Erin and Kimberly weren’t like any other first years, they were the daughters of Harry
Potter and Hermione Granger.

The smile left Hermione’s face.

Vengeance for the death of Lord Voldemort had begun almost immediately, with the Dark Side
understandably blaming Harry for their demise. The spurts of violence had been haphazard and seldom
over the years, the seemingly random attacks were quashed almost immediately without causing much
concern in the restored Ministry.

Then it all became more personal. Then threats were made against Erin, Kimberly and the three
Weasley children. That changed everything.

“When do you think the boys will be here?” Hermione suddenly asked.

“I thought they’d be back by now,” Luna answered with only the tiniest bit of worry tinting her
voice.

“I hate this,” Hermione grumbled, recognising her own worry.

“What?”

“Worry. Fear,” Hermione listed, her eyes never leaving the group of children playing in the back
yard, “it was supposed to be over, our children weren’t supposed to go through what we did…”

“It is different this time,” Luna stated strongly, “our little ones are prepared and capable. No
harm will come to them.”

“How can you be so sure, Luna?”

“Because they are *our* babies,” Luna said, looking at Hermione with a fire in the depth of
her large, blue eyes, before going back to watching the playing children, sipping on the strange
fruit cocktail she had in her hands.

Hermione didn’t say anything else, she didn’t need to, and instead took a long sip of her wine,
her own gaze looking and the five friends chasing each other around the garden.

The decision to catch the train wasn’t made lightly with the Hogwart’s Express being extremely
vulnerable during the long trip from London to Scotland. In the end, after major debate, it was
decided to let the trip happen – with precautions. The final argument had come from Harry himself,
that Erin and Kimberly would probably have it tough enough, what with their parents being teachers
at the school, and it was that first train ride where you got to meet the others in your year. And,
Harry reminded them all, it was that first train ride where he met Ron. And Hermione.

So now Harry and Ron plus various members of the Order were working on security.

And they were late. Hermione finished her wine.

“Maybe we should start dinner,” she suggested.

“Yes, lets,” Luna agreed, “I’m sure Ronald is one with all that is mighty when it comes to food.
As soon as it hits the table, he walks through the door.”

“Ron has always had a thing with his stomach,” Hermione chuckled as she stood.

“Sometimes it can be quite unnerving,” Luna smiled, also standing and making her way to the
house. Hermione went to follow, calling out to the children as she did so.

“Come on you lot,” she yelled, “time to wash up and help with dinner!”

Laughing as the hoard rushed past her to get to the house, Hermione tried to let her earlier
discontent disappear. Preparing the dinner went a long way to doing that. With all five young hands
doing something, the chatter and laughter put all thought of fear out of her mind. Hermione loved
this time, seeing her girls not think twice about helping out making the family meal all the while
laughing and joking.

It was established quite early on that Harry was the cook in the family and while they took
turns at attending the official meals in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, every weekend and out of term,
they had family meals where they all helped out in some way but Harry was the one that usually put
it all together. Ron and Luna did the same with their brood so when the two families got together,
the many hands made light work of the evening meal. And, by mutual group consent, Hermione never
got the job of the actual cooking. She didn’t mind, not in the least.

It wasn’t until the last plate of steaming hot food was put on the table that the worry returned
– Harry and Ron were still missing. She sat at her usual place, aware of the empty spot beside her,
but smiled reassuringly to her daughters at the other side of the table, knowing they were picking
up on her concern.

They were just about to say their prayer of thanks when the kitchen door swung open and the two
men they were waiting for walking into the room. Immediately the table erupted into cries of
welcome as the various children went to hug their fathers. Hermione just watched and smiled,
waiting for her turn as her husband gave their girls a hug and a kiss.

When order was re-established and the kids made their way back to their seats, Hermione returned
Harry’s kiss and touched his cheek briefly with a soft caress of worry.

“Is everything alright?” she asked quietly.

“As alright as we can get it,” he replied, taking her hand from his face and kissing it
gently.

“Ugh!” Erin exclaimed from across the table, “would you two just stop doing stuff like
that?”

“I agree totally,” Ron added from the head of the table, “it’s nearly enough to put someone off
their food…”

“But not you, right daddy?” Snow asked sweetly.

“No, not me,” Ron replied, looking at his daughter fondly as he reached for the bowl of
potatoes, “I’m famished!”

“Ronald!” his wife admonished, “not until with give thanks!”

“Right,” Ron mumbled, putting his hand back in his lap while Luna reached out and took the hand
of the still chuckling Hermione, who in turn held Harry’s hand to her right and waited for the
circle to be complete before bowing her head slightly.

“Artie,” Luna said softly, “it is your turn, little warrior.”

“Yes mum,” the small boy said, “to all that is light, thank you for the food, and for mum and
dad, and Snow and Henry, and Uncle Harry and Auntie Hermione, and Erin and Kimberly, and Grandpa
and Grandma, and Uncle Charlie and Auntie…”

“Son, if you go through the whole family, we’ll be here until next week,” Ron interrupted with a
smile.

“Oh,” Artie said thoughtfully, “yeah, you’re right. Okay, thank you to all the Weasley’s and
Grandpa Lennie and um, thank you for letting us go to Hogwarts tomorrow. Blessings.”

Hermione was adding her own thanks that her family were safe and hope that they remained that
way when she felt Harry squeeze her hand gently. She looked at him and saw her own fears reflected
in his eyes. She knew they wouldn’t discuss what ever had conspired that day until the children
were safe in bed and out of earshot, but something in his face told her there had been
developments.

All that, however, had to wait as the Potter’s and Weasley’s enjoyed their meal. Conversation
was dominated by the kids, telling their father’s how they had spent their day. It was near the end
of dinner, when bowls of ice cream were being finished off, that Ron brought up the subject of
Hogwarts.

“So,” the red head started, leaning back in his chair, “you lot ready for the Hogwart’s
Express?”

“Yep,” said Erin.

“Oh, yes. Definitely,” said Kimberly.

“It’s gonna be wicked!” said Artie with a grin.

“I wanna go!” wailed Snow, her eyes pooling with tears.

“Not yet snowflake,” Luna soothed from her place at the opposite end to Ron, “you have to stay
and keep Henry and I company.”

This seemed to placate the eight year old somewhat who went back to eating her ice cream in
resigned silence.

“Your dad was telling me about this rule book you two made up to keep your mum and dad in
check,” Ron continued, gently running his hand down his daughter’s head in comfort before looking
at the twins.

“That’s right,” Kimberly told him, her eyes shinning with enthusiasm, “it’s to make sure we’re
not treated any differently. I mean, this is hardly precedent – students going to Hogwarts when
their parents are their teachers…”

“Not to mention our dad is the head of Gryffindor…” added Erin.

“And deputy head!” concluded Kimberly with pride – everyone turned to Harry.

“Of course, we can’t forget that now, can we,” Ron smirked as Harry blushed slightly, “the
youngest deputy head in hundreds of years, after being the youngest teacher in hundreds of
years…”

“Don’t forget daddy was the youngest Quidditch house player in over a century as well,” Kimberly
chirped in eagerly – Hermione had to hide her smile behind her hand.

“I’m going to play Quidditch this year,” Erin stated defiantly, “just like dad did!”

The table went silent.

“You can’t play Erin,” Kimberly told her sister, “first years can’t have their own broom…”

“Dad did,” Erin countered, “Aunt Minerva bent the rules for him. You’ll let me try out for the
team using my own broom, won’t you dad?”

Hermione turned to her husband and waited for his reply. They had discussed the issues of
Quidditch many times. Though still not able to fly like he used to, Harry could now fly as well as
the next wizard and his love for the air had been passed down to his daughter. Hermione often
watched Erin and saw Harry’s recklessness in her that often terrified the land-bound mother on more
than one occasion. It reminded her of all the times she watched Harry play Quidditch and how her
heart had always been in her mouth until he landed safely on the ground.

Now she was going through the same thing with her daughter.

Trouble was, Erin was talented and it was something she loved to do. Those two things seemed to
counter-act the danger flying created and Hermione had found herself consenting to letting Erin fly
when every protective bone in her body told her she shouldn’t. At least Kimberly hated to fly as
much as her mother.

“You know he won’t!” Kimberly argued before either Harry or Hermione could say anything, “it’s
in the rules! Mum and dad aren’t allowed to treat us any different than any other student!”

“I know the rules!” Erin fired back, “but this is special! It’s Quidditch!”

“So? It’s too dangerous, isn’t it mum?”

Both turned to Hermione, identical expressions of anger masking their faces as they waited for
an answer. Hermione gave it.

“Erin is allowed to try out for the Quidditch team…” she started, pausing as Erin punched the
air with glee while Kimberly started to pout, “…on a school broom, just like any other first
year.”

“A school broom?” Erin moaned, “but they’re rubbish! Dad!”

Erin’s appeal to her father made Hermione turn to Harry once more and wait for his response,
hoping that he won’t give in to the look of longing on his little girl’s face and the added
knowledge that Erin on her own broom would be a real asset to the Gryffindor team (there was no
doubt in either parent’s mind that the feisty child would be a Gryffindor – her sister, however,
they weren’t so sure).

“We all agreed on the rules, pumpkin,” Harry finally replied, “and that means you can try out on
a school broom. No special treatment.”

“But…”

“Erin,” Harry warned and Erin held her tongue; Ron’s chuckle made the whole Potter family
remember they weren’t alone at the table – Hermione sent an apologetic look to Luna, who just
smiled back.

“What other rules are there?” Snow asked, interested.

“Oh, things like we can’t call mum and dad mum and dad but Professor,” Kimberly answered,
returning back to informant mode, “and they can’t hug us or anything parent like while we’re at
school. And they can’t single us out, or pick on us or tell cute stories about when we were kids or
anything like that.”

“And they can only help us out with other students if we ask for it,” Erin added, before
scowling and looking at Hermione, “I still reckon we should be allowed the invisibility cloak
though.”

Hermione inwardly sighed. Erin had been badgering about being allowed the cloak ever since she
was told that it would be staying in the Potter Tower.

“You are not getting the cloak,” Hermione informed her daughter.

“Dad had it at our age,” Erin argued for the hundredth time, “even you used it now and then with
dad and Uncle Ron! It’s not fair that we don’t get to use it!”

“Yeah, but mum and dad and Uncle Ron got into loads of trouble using the cloak,” Kimberly piped
up, “they could’ve easily been killed hundreds of times, or even worse – expelled!”

“Your sister is right, Erin,” Hermione started but paused when she heard a loud snigger from
Harry, “what?” she asked as she turned to him.

“Kimberly is so much like you sometimes, it’s scary,” Harry smirked. Hermione gave him a frown
as she looked between her husband and her daughter.

“Don’t you recognise what Kim just said, Hermione?” Ron chuckled, “come on! You remember
everything!”

“No…” Hermione said as she thought hard, trying to recall something that obviously Ron and Harry
remembered.

“You said pretty much the same thing to us,” Harry told her fondly, draping his arm over her
shoulders in a half hug, “the night we met Fluffy back in our first year.”

Hermione cast her mind back to the time before she was friends with Harry and Ron, remembering
their little foray into the forbidden corridor and their first encounter with Hagrid’s pet. They
were right, she had said nearly the exact words to the boys.

Her eyes began to tear as she looked back over at the twins, both watching her with concerned
interest. Tomorrow her babies were going to Hogwarts to learn, to start the journey she had started
twenty years before. Would her children have the adventures she did? Hermione hoped not. In her
head, she knew it wouldn’t be the same for Erin, Kimberly and Artie as it was for Harry, Ron and
herself but in her heart there were too many similarities – a trio of kids with a threat hanging
over them.

This time, however, they weren’t alone. This time it wasn’t an orphan, a poor boy and a
muggleborn struggling to work things out on their own. This time the trio had help.

She would not let any harm come to her babies.

By the time all the children were in bed, it was late. The news that Hermione, Tonks and Ginny
were joining them on the train was met with groans but accepted. It wasn’t until the adults were
alone that Hermione learnt what was going on and the security planned for the following day’s
trip.

Members of the Order would relay in groups of three, flying above the train to keep watch for
any disturbances while the three women patrolled the inner carriages. The head boy and girl, both
very capable young people, would tell the prefects to note any strange behaviour and to tell any
one of the adults on the train.

Hermione had followed Harry to their room both satisfied that every measure had been taken to
ensure the safety of the girls and every other student on the train and saddened that these
measures had to be taken at all.

With an unspoken understanding, the couple made their way to their daughters’ room that sat next
to theirs. Ron and Luna kept the two rooms especially for the Potters, who stayed on a pretty
regular basis. Harry cracked open the door and together they looked at the figures of the girls,
sleeping in their twin beds.

Retreating, Hermione smiled as she once more thought of the blessings that were their children.
They had nearly closed the door when one of the girls spoke.

“Dad?” she said quietly.

“Yes sweetie?” Harry answered, not sure who he was speaking to.

“Can we ask you a question?”

Harry and Hermione re-entered the room to see both girls were now sitting – Erin, with her curls
dancing uncontrollably around her head while Kimberly’s were held back by a plain band. They had
turned on the bedside lights and were looking back at their parents, a maturity within them that
sometimes scared Hermione.

“What is it?” Hermione asked as she and Harry sat down, one on each bed, “it’s way past your
bedtimes…”

“We know,” Kimberly started.

“But we’ve been thinking,” Erin continued.

“And talking. And we think we have the right to know…”

“…are we in danger?” they asked in unison.

Harry and Hermione shared a look that let Hermione know her husband was also amazed at just how
smart the twins were and a concern at just how much they should tell them.

“We’re doing everything we can to make sure you and everyone else on that train are safe,” Harry
said after a moment.

“But the Dark Side aren’t after everyone else, are they?” Erin questioned, “they’re after
us.”

“They are after all those that fought in the Last War,” Harry explained, “not just you two…”

“But you and mummy, you were the ones that killed Lord Voldemort,” Kimberly interrupted, “so
that puts you in greater danger!”

“We’re not stupid, you know,” Erin added with a frown, “we know why you’re spending so much time
away from home and why mum is worried so much. It’s because we’re in the greater danger. Because of
who we are.”

“Erin…” Harry began.

“We don’t want you and mum to die like your mum and dad did!” Kimberly spurted out, her tears
beginning to fall, “we don’t want you to die for us!”

“Oh, sweetie,” Hermione cried, going to Kimberly and hugging her tightly, seeing Erin crawl out
of her bed and snuggle into Harry, “we are doing everything we can to make sure it won’t come to
that.”

“You both need to understand something,” Harry started, his voice both soft but strong, making
everyone look at him, including Hermione, “we love you both very much and we will do anything to
ensure you are safe. But you’re right, you are in danger – we all are – because of what has
happened in the past. The trouble is, we can’t change what’s happened. We can’t stop these people
wanting to hurt us. What we can do is make sure they don’t win by being diligent, smart and doing
the best we can.”

“Which means no sneaking around the castle at night,” Hermione added, “no going out in the
grounds without permission, no showing off about how high you can fly…”

“And no invisibility cloak,” Erin conceded glumly.

“Right,” Harry confirmed, “no invisibility cloak. Until these bad guys are caught, we all need
to be careful. But your mum and I, we are a big part of this which does put us in danger…”

“…but you shouldn’t worry,” Hermione added, stroking Kimberly’s hair, “it’s not a good idea to
go through life worrying about things that haven’t yet happened…”

“You do,” Erin stated calmly – Harry let out a small chuckle.

“Well, I’ll make you two a deal,” Hermione said quickly, knowing Erin was right, “I’ll stop
worrying about the future if you guys do…”

“…until there is something to worry about,” Harry put in, “and then we’ll work through it all
together. Okay?”

The twins looked at each other and seemed to have a conversation without actually speaking. A
few moments later they came to an agreement.

“Okay,” Kimberly said, breaking away from Hermione and getting back into bed, Erin copying
her.

“Now, you two get some sleep,” Hermione instructed, tucking Kimberly in, “you both have a big
day ahead of you tomorrow.”

The twins did as they were told and said their goodnights for the second time that evening.
Harry and Hermione made their way to their room and got ready for bed in silence, the late night
conversation hanging in the air around them. It wasn’t until they were in bed and she was snuggled
safely in Harry’s arms that they talked about what had gone on, both falling asleep with the
knowledge that they would get through whatever was coming their way together, side by side. Like
always.

The following morning saw the Potter family packed and waiting patiently while the Weasley’s ran
around, getting themselves ready for the trip to Kings Cross. Artie was still looking for stuff
when the Ministry cars provided for them arrived, but it wasn’t long before they were all sitting
in the magically large cars and heading for London.

Platform nine and three-quarters was as busy as ever, with students and families saying their
goodbyes while various animals watched on from cages. Hermione held onto Kimberly’s hand tightly,
her eyes scanning the platform warily while she continued to fire back the many greetings said to
her by those she had taught the years prior.

They met up with Bill and Fleur and to anyone looking on, it seemed like a family catching up.
Except this family were talking about the first shift of flyers consisting of Fred, George and
Neville who would follow the train for the first leg before swapping with Harry, Ron and Remus.
Arthur, Charlie and Kingsley were the third shift with Neville, Dean and Ron seeing the train into
Hogsmead.

Hermione stood by as Harry said his goodbyes to the girls, telling them once more to take care
and that he’d see them at Hogwarts before kissing Hermione gently as she ushered the twins, Artie
and the other Weasley children onto the train.

It was the first time back on the train since her last trip home in their seventh year; it
hadn’t changed a bit. They found an empty compartment, settled in the various familiars (a Burmese
cat named Bungey for Kimberly, a barn owl called Hobbes for Erin and a strange ginger moggy that
looked scarily like Crookshanks but was named Shelley for Artie) then waited for Ginny and Tonks
.

Marie and Jean-Luc, Bill and Fleur’s two, were both prefects and left pretty quickly to attend
their meeting at the front of the train. It wasn’t long before Tonks stopped by, letting Hermione
know Ginny was at the prefects meeting and that they should start their patrols. Hermione left the
children and started to walk casually up and down the train, poking her head into some compartments
and always ending up outside the one that housed the twins.

After what seemed an exceptionally long time, the train pulled into Hogsmead. Hermione saw Ron,
Neville and Dean standing on the platform along side the huge figure of Hagrid. They were checking
out the station as the hoards of kids began streaming off the train, eyes still peeled for the
first sign of danger. Hermione held the trio back until the train was nearly empty and when Tonks
and (the heavily pregnant) Ginny arrived to escort them all to the awaiting boats, they finally
stepped off the train. Reluctantly Hermione handed the twins over to Hagrid who herded the first
years away with gigantic sweeps of his massive hands. Ron, Neville and Dean took to the air once
more to watch over the journey across the Black Lake while Hermione made her way to the castle, not
totally relaxed until she would see the girls walk through the doors and into the Great Hall.

She arrived along with many of the senior students and quickly made her way to the teacher’s
table at the head of the Hall. Harry was already there but ready to fulfil his role as Deputy Head
and begin the sorting ceremony. The fact he was talking to Ron and the others let Hermione know
everyone was safe on Hogwarts grounds.

With a relieved sigh, she took her seat and waited with everyone else as Harry left the Hall to
get the petrified first years (probably even more so, knowing that it would be the famous Harry
Potter collecting them). A hush fell over the Hall as the great doors swung open and Harry led the
group of eleven and twelve year olds through the massive House tables and to the front.

Her eyes fell onto Erin and Kimberly, Artie walking at their side, and a wave of pride flowed
through her. Her daughters had grown up in the castle, eaten in the Great Hall when school wasn’t
in session, played with those they would now have to call teachers, but they walked along their
peers looking slightly nervous and awe struck and without the arrogance Hermione had feared they
might have, considering their position within wizarding society.

Harry made the introductions and the hat made its speech then one by one, Harry called the names
of the new students up so they could be sorted into their new families. As they got closer to the
letter ‘P’ Hermione found herself getting more and more nervous. Finally

“Potter, Erin,” rang through the halls.

Erin walked up to the stool, her head held high with her mass of curls bouncing carelessly
around her head. Only those who knew her could see just how scared the little girl was and how she
relaxed just that little bit when Harry gave her a small reassuring smile. The hat touched her head
for only a second before yelling –

“Gryffindor!”

With a grin, she ran off to join the table of clapping Gryffindors.

“Potter, Kimberly,” was called next.

Hermione held her breath for her second daughter and recognised the nervous twitching of her
hands. Kimberly’s eyes sought out Hermione and this time it was Hermione’s turn to give an
encouraging smile. Kimberly sat down and Harry placed the old, wizened hat on her head.

The decision took a while as the hat had a little debate with itself, but in the end –

“Gryffindor!” was shouted out.

Hermione clapped loudly and Harry placed a congratulatory hand on his daughter’s shoulder before
she ran off to be with Erin. The twins would be together. Artie, of course, was also sorted into
Gryffindor.

The feast began and ended with Hermione casting her eye every now and then at the Gryffindor
table. The girls seemed to be fitting in well with the more boisterous Erin looking out for her
shyer sister. As she made her way to the Potter Tower with Harry at her side, it felt strange that
this time it would only be the two of them, for the first time in nearly twelve years.

She wondered around the Tower silently, ending up at the door of the girl’s bedroom and looked
at the twin beds sadly. They were growing up. Soon they would be leaving the Tower for ever to
start their own lives, raise their own children…

“We knew it would happen one day, sweetie,” Harry whispered in her ear as he cuddled her from
behind.

“I know,” Hermione admitted, “it’s just that…”

“You’ll see them tomorrow in class.”

“I know,” she sighed, “and I know I have it luckier than most parents – I get to see my children
throughout the term. It’s just, well, it feels empty here now.”

“Yeah, it does,” Harry echoed before squeezing her a bit more tightly, “but just think of it
Hermione, a house to ourselves. We can finally spend some time together, just you and me,” he
swivelled her around so they were face to face, “you can finish writing your book about what we got
up to when we were at school and I can, er, do nothing.”

“I think we could find some things to occupy some of your time, Mr Potter,” Hermione said,
somewhat seductively.

“What would that be, Mrs Potter?”

“You’ll see,” she replied, kissing him gently on the lips, “thank you for getting them here
safely.”

“We have to still keep an eye out,” Harry replied, a hardness returning to his eyes, “until
these bastards are caught…”

“You’ll catch them,” Hermione told him confidently.

“I know,” he agreed, before smiling slyly “so Mrs Potter, are you ready for bed?”

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it? It’s only…oh!”

Hermione finally recognised the twinkle in her husband’s eye and after a moment’s thought she
decided why not? With a very girlish giggle, she followed a very playful Harry to their bedroom
where they celebrated their freedom with enthused passion.