Epilogue - Finding Paradise
Harry pinched the stem of his wineglass and bemusedly wondered whether he should've asked for a pitcher of Butterbeer when some anonymous guest sent over the complimentary bottle of red wine. He wasn't a huge fan of it, for one, and for another, Hermione couldn't drink alcohol.
He looked up at her across the small dinner table, nursing her drink of apple juice and strawberry, and her eyes twinkled as she stifled a grin. The candlelight cast pleasant shadows on her face, and he thought her even lovelier this night.
Her face glowed with life, her hair a crowning mass of silky brown. Her shoulders were defined against the deep red dress that always looked so good on her. He wanted her very much right then, but they hadn't even gotten to the entrée as of yet. It would be a shame to waste their dinner reservations in this scandalously expensive and exclusive place-in Paris.
"What?" he asked, smirking.
She shrugged. "You have that look on your face again."
"What look?"
"That look that says you wish you were somewhere else."
He laughed quietly. She knew him too well. As much as he had wanted to bring her to this very fancy restaurant for their first night out in-well, ever, he found himself wanting nothing more than being in bed with her, doing unmentionable things to her. But that was beside the point. Really, she was almost always the only reason he liked to be anywhere.
Even living his Horcrux free life, his usual haunts, he realized, were actually quite few, usually having to do with the presence of his loved ones.
It wasn't so much the fame. To be sure, his sudden return, when it finally broke in the press, was months and months of mayhem. People had wanted to know where he'd been. Reporters wanted to interview the people he'd been with. They wanted to find things out that Harry knew they wouldn't want to know.
As Hermione so succinctly put it, "The whole Wizarding World will probably shit Dementors if you told them, `Excalibur fashioned a Horcrux out of my unborn child when I offed Goyle and Voldemort murdered me, but it all worked out in the end, you see.' It'll probably serve them right, the shock that would cause, but poor Angelica's going to have to deal with it, too."
He laughed, leaning over to twine his fingers with hers. The ring on her finger glinted and winked against the candlelight. If he touched it on her hand again and again, then maybe he'd eventually come to believe that this life of his was real.
The vintage make of molded white gold setting housed a solitaire diamond on the center with several smaller ones around it. He had found it in his vault a few months ago with his mother's things. It sat on a pile of scarves, without a case, and it was like a message from beyond. That same evening, after they'd tucked Angelica into bed and they'd gone back to the kitchen to make some tea, he had an overwhelming urge to ask Hermione to marry him.
As it was, dinner had been take-out, so it probably wasn't the most ideal of nights to propose marriage, and in one's kitchen, too. Harry had known for too long that proposals were done over candlelit dinners and serenades, but he felt an urgent need that night. He couldn't wait. It was as if he was still afraid that it would all suddenly go away, so he was spiriting away as much happiness as he could.
Hermione was waiting cross-armed over the stove for the pot to whistle when Harry, hopelessly in love with her, blurted out the words. "Marry me."
She looked over her shoulder at him, staring, like she misheard the first time.
Harry fumbled for the ring in his breast pocket (no case), and held it out for her to see. He realized perhaps he needed to phrase his proposal better. "I love you. Will you marry me?"
And so obviously, Hermione had accepted, with all the emotional enthusiasm that could be ascribed only to her. There was fierce hugging, and fierce kissing, and very fierce sex. The silencing charms earned their keep that night.
However positive that experience turned out, Harry sometimes harkened back to his conversation with Ron, that she deserved better, and this first date was a belated attempt of that. It seemed pointless to ask her to marry him again, so he wasn't going to. Instead, he planned to bring up a few things pertaining to their future. Something practical. Hermione would like that sort of thing, probably even consider it as nothing but romantic.
"Where do you think I'd rather be?" he asked in response to her observation.
There was a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Oh, I can think of a few places… anywhere but here?"
"Oh, I like it here. I like that people here send bottles of red wine over instead of themselves. Nobody has approached us once and the waiter didn't turn his nose up when I said, `medium' for the steak. But that's beside the point," he said, seating himself more comfortably without letting go of her hand. "It's your company I like. Perhaps more to the point-it's not that I'd rather be somewhere else per se, it's more of I'd rather be doing something else with you."
She didn't look put off by what he said in the least. "It would be a shame to waste our reservation here, wouldn't it? Would you think me a slag if I told you that their bathrooms here are suggestively private?"
"Never. I think the world of you, and your suggestion, I think, is one of the best ideas you've had. But at the risk of sounding uninterested, which I'm not, I'd like to talk about something that concerns our future-well, mine, mostly. Is that selfish?"
She grinned, leaning over. "Absolutely not." And she kissed him very engagingly to prove that there were absolutely no hard feelings, and that her offer did stand. "Tell me."
The way she said that last bit made him reconsider his decision of talking instead of shagging. On any other day, it would be a no brainer, but what he had to say was important.
"I've been thinking about what I'd do after we settle in. You know… after the wedding."
She had a dreamy look on her face. "Our very small, very private, and perfect wedding. Six days to go. Are you excited?"
It brought a smile to his face too. "Extremely. But I'm thinking after that. Yes?"
She grinned. "Any ideas?"
"A couple."
"Let's hear it."
He paused to gather his thoughts. "First, I'd like to put up a bookstore. Nothing fancy. Just a little shop in London with great books and story hour for kids every Thursdays and Fridays. It might have a little tea shop outside, if that isn't obnoxious. I'll call it Books & Cleverness-the shop, I mean."
She sighed wistfully. "Sounds lovely, Harry."
He nodded. "I wanted something that would let me spend time with you and Angelica, whenever you feel like dropping in. And I'm sure Angelica would love to just sit there and read. It will also be good for… well, people. They can come to the shop, talk to me…"
"… realize that you don't shoot lightning bolts from your eyes…"
"Yes. It was funny at first, but the charm of it is waning, you understand."
People have, in general, been skittish, perhaps even afraid when they managed to make eye contact with him. The few that have approached him that weren't reporters tended to be decent folk who apparently had some kind of perception of him, because they almost always seemed surprised about the things he said. The more mundane he sounded, the more surprised they were. They would've been less surprised, he supposed, if he said, "I have to run. I've got a three-headed Hydra to fight in Greece and then head on over to Ukrain to yank a tooth out of an Ironbelly-need it for my newly developed anti-evil potion. I'm short of time, considering how those Portkey highways can get tangled up," as opposed to what he, and every other human being usually said come three in the afternoon: "You'll excuse me, but I've got to go pick up the sprog from school. I'm late-again."
She laughed softly. "And so you figured if you made yourself more available to the public-"
"The reading public," he interjected pointedly.
"The reading public-then they'd eventually get that you're a regular bloke and not worthy of all this hero-worship nonsense."
"Well, it is nonsense."
She did not roll her eyes at this, but her eyes did twinkle, and she could barely hold the smile that was threatening to appear.
He shrugged. "Perhaps one day the Boy Who Lived will fade into obscurity."
"In about a hundred years, maybe."
"You can't tell a man who'd died and come back to life that anything can't be done," he said darkly.
She was completely unbothered by his macabre repartee. She'd probably grown tired of it at late-he'd been using it so much. "Harry, even I don't believe that you're a regular bloke sometimes."
He frowned. "Hermione…"
"Well," she said with a flirty hitch of her shoulder and a sultry wink. "How can I, when you can do such amazing things to me?"
He took a deep breath. Dessert was going to be very good that night, but he went on before he got too distracted. "So do you think my little plan won't work?"
"Not for a while, no," she said truthfully. "People will come to the shop and want to see you or talk to you, and it will be so for a long time, but I do like your plan. There's no beating your fame, Harry. It will follow you wherever you go. You just have to let it run its course and I think a bookstore is a wonderful way to try to get past it."
"As long as you approve…"
"Wholeheartedly. You're a wonderful man, Harry. I couldn't think of a better way to let the hungry public discover that. Besides… I'll make sure WizzHard books gives you special discounts for the sell-in."
He grinned. "You better believe I'll take advantage of that."
"Thinking like a shopkeeper already. I like that."
"Good, and so we come to the other ways I can take advantage of your expertise-no, I'm not talking dirty."
"Pity."
Smirking, he fished a folded manuscript from inside his coat. It was a few pages long. Certainly not of the length Hermione, as a book editor, was more accustomed to.
Luna had asked him to write a piece about Voldemort for the Quibbler. At first, Harry had recoiled at the idea. The thought that he would talk more about Voldemort in any way, committed to paper, no less, made him almost sick to his stomach. But that same evening, he found himself penning an essay on the man who put fear in people's hearts. He found himself writing about Tom Riddle, the Boy Who Could've Chosen Otherwise. He wrote about the mad man who was not as mad as people thought, and he wrote about addiction-something he knew about-to life, to power, and to things that were not good for you. He finished it three nights later.
As he stared across the table at Hermione, he felt a sense of trepidation. He trusted her explicitly. She would be the first, and if it was crap, the last to see his written work.
He handed her the parchment.
She took it, surprised. "What's this?"
"Something I wrote for the Quibbler. If you'll take a look and let me know what you think…"
Unfolding the parchment, she started to read. He could see her eyes moving, considering words and phrases in her mind. She went to the next page quickly, and then the next. By the third page, she looked up, her face serious, the way she looked after she'd just finished editing chapters of Malfoy's book in her office at home.
"Harry," she said. "With a bit of editing, this is really good…"
If she only knew what pleasure and encouragement her words had brought him. "Don't look so surprised," he teased.
"I'm not-well, I am, but only because you never showed an inclination to write anything past a letter."
He chuckled. "I hate to say this, but it's Malfoy's fault. I got to thinking that if that twat can write, so can I. Besides, you take him so seriously when you talk shop with him."
"Oh, stop sounding so jealous, Harry."
He smirked. "Who says I'm not? You're hot when you're intense. "
She obviously liked that, deflecting his wandering hands with a smug smile. "This is a feature for the Quibbler, you said?"
"Oh, I don't know if it's a feature, but it's for the Quibbler, yes. I found my voice, as you would say. Do you really think it's good?"
"I love it."
"Thank you."
She pressed her hand over his. "You need to write more. Be a contributing features writer for other publications."
"I intend to, but only if I find something else worth writing about."
"Wizard Weekly, the Gringott's Journal, hell, even The Daily Prophet would wet themselves at the mere idea that you'd write something for them." The seriousness of her tone elated him. "I'm surprised Ginny hadn't picked up on this. She'd sell her first born if you do a feature on BeWitch. You're going to need an agent."
Those were his dreams too, but he had other dreams to go with it. "I'd like to put up my bookstore in the meantime."
Hermione gave him a thoughtful stare. "Harry, is that something you really want to do?"
He wondered briefly what the sudden question meant.
"It's just that-" she went on hastily. "This freelance writing… features like this, where the research can take you places you wouldn't normally go to-it sounds more like what you're fit to do. Back then, you had plans of becoming an Auror or a professional Quidditch player…"
He laughed. "Hermione, we have a child, and we're going to have another one."
"Are we holding you ba--?"
"Lord, Merlin, no. Don't even think it. That never crossed my mind. You, Angelica, and the baby are the most important-the best thing that's ever happened to me. So yes, priorities change, and you realize what really matters to you. To me, it's to be with you all-happily and worry free."
She looked heartbreakingly hopeful. "Really?"
"Really. Come on now…"
She had the grace to blush. "It's just that…"
"Back then I might have wanted all that," he said gently. "But… I'm done fighting dark things. I'm tired of it and pretty much over all that. One round trip to hell and back is enough for a lifetime. And Quidditch… it was fun at the pitch, but I don't fancy everything else that comes with playing it professionally. I don't want the fame. I don't care about the money. I don't care much for the thought of travelling and being away from my family months at a time. Believe me, I've dreamed about my little shop in London far too many times. I want it to be a reality, and I want the simplicity that goes with it. I suppose writing those features would be my way of finding trouble when I hanker for it."
She smiled at that and he figured she was beginning to believe that he was in complete earnest.
"Besides," he continued more softly. "It wouldn't do for me to go haring off to everywhere in your condition. What if you have need of me?"
Hermione laughed. "Harry, I'm pregnant, not helpless."
"Call it overcompensating."
"Well, I rather like it… for now, at least. I'm sure I'll be utterly sick of you in a few months."
"I'll try not to hover too much by then, but I'm not telling Angelica to back off. You tell her."
Hermione sighed. "Your daughter gave me a twenty-page report this morning, about why we should name the baby Theseus if it's a boy and Aglaia if it's a girl. Single spaced."
"Why is it that when she does something unfunny, she's my daughter?"
"She told me she was going to discuss the baby shower with her Aunt Ginny. I can only imagine what Ginny's dealing with now. We haven't even gotten past twenty weeks. She's only going to get more obsessive."
Harry laughed. "You have no one to blame for that except yourself."
She leaned back on her chair, defeated. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
"If you ask me… I rather fancy the names Michael, or Leo, or Raphael."
"Michael is divine… so is Leo and Raphael. Every single one of them names of angels."
Harry ignored her. "Sophia if it's a girl. She's the angel of wisdom, you know. Ron agrees."
"Oh, as long as Ron agrees."
"I think it's an improvement from, `You just had to go and knock Hermione up again. Couldn't even wait until after the wedding?'"
Hermione frowned, making circles on the table with her apple juice. "At least he comes right out and says it. These days, I can't tell Fleur anything without feeling as if I'd stabbed her in the back."
He reached out and squeezed her hand.
"And it's not her fault," she continued hastily. "Merlin knows. I really shouldn't whine. She just lost her husband. If anyone knows how that feels, it should be me…"
Last month had been a sad time for the Weasleys. After surviving for seven years, Bill finally passed away quietly in his sleep. The Weasleys, even Fleur, took his death with quiet dignity, but Fleur was so obviously devastated, if her exile from the company of Hermione and Ginny was any indication. She would let Julien stay over with Angelica or with Ginny, but Fleur limited her time with her two best gal pals.
The only person she really talked to anymore was Ron, and Ron, even feeling unequal to the task, bravely took on the role of the shoulder to cry on. It was tough for him. Harry could tell, but as Ron jokingly said, "Grieving damsels seem to like my company."
"I sent over some pre-cooked meals the other day with Ron," Hermione said. "And she sent me a nice thank you note over through Hedwig and it read like her old self, so that's a good sign. Still, I miss her, but I don't want to go over there too much if the sight of me hurts her."
It gave Harry a pang, every time Hermione alluded to his death seven years ago. He could see such grief in her gaze. Hermione knew loss absolutely and completely. "Fleur will come to you when she's ready," he said. "Give her time."
Hermione nodded. "I know. I will. I'll keep sending her things and having Julien over when she needs the time alone."
"I'm sure she appreciates it. Ginny said that as soon as Fleur starts to feel better, she'll invite Fleur to a photo shoot. Being around beautiful people ought to boost her mood."
Hermione smiled. She seemed to like the plan. She looked hopeful.
Their food arrived, and they eased on to other things.
Harry relished every minute. Months after waking from his coma, he was still getting used to it-these moments of pure happiness or shared grief, the ordinary days and unusual ones, the days that seem to go by fast and the ones that felt like they would never end. What still amazed him was the fact that through it all he was completely and utterly himself, without fear or anxiety that letting himself go could mean being taken by another from within. There was no struggle of self or a question of whether or not he should take his potions. It was yet a life completely new to him, but if this was getting used to it, then he was loving every minute of it.
***************
Harry eyed the WizHard Books sales representative, Travis Hampton, sitting across him on his desk. On the table between them were brochures, giveaway items, and finished copies of Draco Malfoy's autobiography, Pure Blood, Dark Magic: A Intensely and Spectacularly Honest Account of my Life as a Death Eater and My Path to Redemption. On the cover was Draco's face, half of it superimposed with a transparent image of the Dark Mark.
The sales representative was a nondescript, easy-going man, only slightly older than Harry. He was charming and self-deprecating, clad in muted tweeds and a no nonsense briefcase. Harry liked him, and he could only assume that WizHard Books had intended that he would get along with Travis. Hermione wouldn't admit that they profiled the sales representative to fit Harry's supposed eccentricities.
Harry and Travis had a good relationship, as far as reps and booksellers went. Harry had been running his bookstore, Books & Cleverness, for a year now and married to Hermione for a little more than that. Harry, so far, has had spectacular sales, and he was sensible enough to realize that it was because he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived-twice, though the ones who knew about the second time were but a handful. He wasn't above taking advantage of the publicity, and it served him well from sell in, of which Travis was only too eager to meet him half-way, to sell out.
It helped too that he put out features approximately every month with various papers and magazines. His first feature on the Quibbler sent the paper's sales through the roof. His second article, Beauty Lost, Bellatrix Lestrange, was picked up by BeWitch. Ginny was over the moon.
For research, he had visited Bellatrix at her cell for two weeks, just engaging her in conversation which was never pleasant. She was full of hate and she was half-insane, but none of it had bothered him as badly as it once did. One thing he discovered from his second encounter with death and finally ridding the world of Voldemort was that he had exorcised more than his demons-he had absolute and complete control of his worse emotions, like anger, fear, hatred, and rage. He wasn't sure when he acquired the ability, but he could only figure that seven years fighting the overwhelming onslaught of these emotions and mostly succeeding had fortified him more than he could've imagined, and now that his feelings have become human, normal even, rather than the demonic storm that once possessed him, controlling those negative feelings had simply become easier to manage.
After that feature with Bellatrix, the invitations came pouring in from other newspapers and magazines. He got owls from the Wizard's Compendium, the W&W Weekly, the Sorceror's Mandate, Gringott's Journal, Owl Alley, Spinner's Wand, and The Magisterium, to name a few. Even the Daily Prophet grudgingly asked him to grace their columns.
The pay wasn't bad. They offered on average 16 sickles a word, which was fantastic, but that would mean he would have to do have at least 2 features a month, full time, to get decent pay, and that would be far too much work that would take time from his family, which was something he was unwilling to do.
He preferred to work for his bookstore, then turn in a feature every other month, maybe, more frequently if he felt like it, get paid for it which was a nice extra, and spend as much time with Hermione, Angelica, and Michael, who was probably the most demanding at the very young age of three months.
So it was with somewhat bloodshot eyes that he eyed Travis from his seat, tired but determined to get his point across.
"I've read the book, you know," Harry told him mildly. "My wife's Malfoy's editor."
Travis nodded. "Everyone knows that, Mr. Potter."
"I'd call it a pretty honest account."
"That's what the subtitle says."
"And I've read all these brochures," Harry said, gesturing easily to the paraphernalia on his desk. "Hermione brought all of them home, freshly printed. To prepare me, I'd wager. She knew the day was nigh, that you'd come knocking on my storefront, selling me a stock of this book. In fact, the day she came home and tried to get a quote out of me-and you better believe I made her earn every word of it-I knew this day would come and it would be between you and me."
"I've read your quote," Travis said, pointing to the jacket of the marketing brochure. "'As brutal in its honesty as Voldemort was in his delight administering his favorite Unforgivable Curse.' It's a good quote."
"Let it be on record that I told her this in a moment of great irritation. It was meant to be scathing, but she apparently thought it was perfect, so she wrote it down and told her boss it was my quote. I made her pay for doing that, not that she didn't enjoy it…"
That a bright red blush spread across Travis' face meant that he knew exactly how Hermione had paid for it. He didn't stand up and run away, though, which Harry thought did him great credit.
"I'd imagine," said Travis with a straight face, "that Mrs. Potter would be very pleased if you bought a great quantity of Malfoy's book for Books & Cleverness. You, selling his book will, ahem-make a killing."
"Yes. Everyone seems to think it's a either a huge event or a huge joke. I wager if I put up signs that Malfoy and I will have tea in my little tea shop out front, I'd have to sell tickets, what with the crowd that will bring."
"I always figured you for the enterprising sort. But just between you and me… has he been redeemed, Mr. Potter? I know the book says he is, but really, what do you think?"
Harrry thought about it briefly. "He's after my wife, you know."
Travis blinked. "Oh, so he's-er, not redeemed, you mean?"
Harry waved this statement away. "That's not what I meant. Redeemed, yes. Back then, Malfoy wouldn't touch a Muggle-born to save his life, but now he's completely gone on one, and I'd say that means he's turned his views around in that respect. I still think he's a complete ass, of course, but that's not the point of this conversation."
"What does Mrs. Potter think of all this?"
"The redemption?"
"No, Mr. Malfoy."
"Oh. Doesn't believe it, but whatever."
"And how sure are you he-"
"She's attractive, she kept his ass out of Azkaban, she made him a better man, and she saved his mum. If I were Malfoy, I'd be so gone on her that I'd steal her from her husband, too."
Travis' eyebrows wrinkled. He didn't look entirely convinced.
Harry sneered. "And I caught him checking out her bum."
"I see. So… does this mean it ruins my chances of getting a sell in?" He cast Harry a very worried, very anxious look. "I need this sale, Mr. Potter. Truly, I-"
Again, Harry shot him a look of irritation. "Merlin, Travis, take it easy. You needn't bring on the theatrics just yet. And for this book? Surely you'd have better books to show me that would be worth your official sob story."
Travis looked just as irritated. He seemed to have forgotten the extreme necessity of selling the book. "I bet Mrs. Potter would beg to differ."
Travis could be just as ruthless as any sales associate when it came down to it.
Harry pretended he didn't hear that last bit. "Malfoy doesn't hold a hair of a chance with Hermione, but I will have to ask a couple of extra things for this sell-in to work, mostly because he's Malfoy. It's the principle of the thing, you know? I can't ever make it easy for asshats, and the fact that he thinks he can steal my wife is fantastically irritating, you understand."
"Oh, boy," Travis groaned.
Harry raised his hand to appease him. "It's nothing horrible. I'm a man with two kids and a bookstore. I'm not twelve anymore… I'll buy a good number of copies for sale in this store, then he'll help me sell them by doing an author signing, a book reading, and he has to be friendly to my customers the entire time, especially the Muggle-borns. Then after that, I'd like him to write a check to the Muggle Orphan Fund, a charity I've been growing attached to these last few months."
Travis sighed tiredly.
Harry grinned. "It's not so bad. I only require all those things for the first sell-in. If sales go well, I'll put in a new order the usual way, without the circus hoops. How's that?"
"Merlin, the things I would do for you…"
"You're doing it for your company, but yes, partly for me, too."
"So how much are we talking here? With the check to the charity, I mean?"
"Oh, I'll leave that to him. Tell him to impress me."
Travis snorted and grumbled, "I'll tell him to impress your wife."
Harry frowned. "I ought to curse your arse."
Travis was completely unbothered by his threatening tone. "Let me take that back, then. You are the savior of the world after all. You're Harry fucking Potter."
"I don't know why I put up with you."
"Whatever. You like me this way."
Harry sighed. "True."
The best thing about Travis was that he didn't think of Harry as anything more than another shopkeeper. That was the main reason he and Travis got along so well.
"Will that be all then?" Travis asked.
Harry stood and pulled open his desk. He handed over a different form. "Just this-the quantities for the other titles."
Travis nodded and accepted the document. He bade Harry goodbye and they walked out of Harry's office together.
The sounds of a bustling business surrounded them as they emerged from the backroom. Aisles brightly lit by enchanted lamps, shelves filled with vibrantly colored books that stayed still, sparkled, sang, danced, floated, and flapped lined the walls, ceiling, and the floor. Stairs that reached the higher levels spiraled in midair. There were two associates on the floor and two at the counter. Another one ran the tiny tea shop at the front of the store. There were customers everywhere, and they turned to stare, nod, grimace, or give him a cheerful hello.
Harry smiled back, no matter what. He found it easier and more stress free that way. The grimaces were few and far between, anyway, and on occasion, there were customers who actually wanted to engage in normal conversation, which he liked.
A blur of wild black hair came zooming across the store and crashed right into him. He grinned, hoisting Angelica in his arms. She giggled madly, her hair getting in the way of everything.
"You took forever!" she cried dramatically.
"It was Travis' fault," Harry said.
Travis shot him a frown but waved goodbye as he headed out of the store. Harry gave him a final grin before giving Angelica his full attention.
"Ready to go?" Harry asked her.
Angelica nodded, a broad smile on her face, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Come on, then. Off to Diagon Alley we go."
*****************
There was a good crowd in Diagon Alley, but school wasn't going to start for another three weeks, so this wasn't quite the back-to-school crowd yet. The shop window displays were still relatively sedate and calm compared to the week before school, where windows blinked, bopped, and bellowed with life.
Harry liked this calm bustle, where he could walk the streets with his daughter without having to worry that she would get lost in the crowd. It was the perfect time to find that pet he had promised her if she didn't get in trouble at school for five months straight.
They had made a quick stop at the Cauldron shop where Chocolate Frogs were sold at the counter. Angelica did take her sweet time choosing which packet she was going to take home, even if they all looked the same on the outside and she had absolutely no way of knowing what trading card was insides.
Angelica ripped open the wrapper for her chocolate frog, bit off the frog's head to keep it from jumping out and hurriedly pulled out the card. She looked at it, frowned, and sighed. "Lovely. Another Snape." She miserably popped the rest of the chocolate frog in her mouth.
Harry smirked. "That's Professor Snape, to you." They walked past Eyelops Eye Emporium and the young man sweeping the front stoop stopped and stared at him. Harry tipped his dark plaid wool cap in greeting and walked on.
Angelica grimaced. "He was especially grouchy the other day. I think he wanted to take House points from me, just before he remembered he isn't actually a professor and that we weren't actually in Hogwarts. I think he'd like to teach there again when it's my turn to go, just for the fun of calling me names and taking points from Gryffindor."
Aside from Snape's general tolerance of the Priestesses in Avalon, the grouchy, surly professor hadn't really changed much. He was, perhaps, a lot less hateful, and Harry actually trusted him to be alone with Angelica, but other than that, Snape still spoke to Harry and his entire family with great disdain. Even Michael hadn't escaped his dislike of Potters in general.
"He drools," was the first thing Snape said when he saw Michael. "And he's got an insufferable look on his face."
The Priestesses lividly told him that whatever the infant thought of him was entirely his fault, but Harry had just shrugged it off. Michael would just have to learn how to contend with Snape just like the rest of them.
Harry ruffled Angelica's hair. "And how sure are you that you're going to be in Gryffindor?" He felt that familiar sweet ache in his heart that pinched whenever talk of Angelica going to school came up. They still had a little more than three and a half years to go before they sent her off to Hogwarts, but Harry felt that the days were going by faster than he liked.
"You and mum were in Gryffindor," she replied with utmost certainty.
"You'd fit in quite well in Ravenclaw. Maybe even Slytherin."
Angelica didn't look the least bit offended by that last insinuation. She shrugged. "I'll just tell the hat I'd rather be in Gryffindor, if it's all the same to him. You were able to choose."
"Not everyone got a choice. Your Uncle Ron didn't last a second with the hat before it yelled out `Gryffindor!'"
She scoffed. "That's different. He's a Weasley."
Harry thought that declaration quite hilarious, all the more for its truth. They finally came upon the Magical Menagerie. "What pet did you have in mind?"
"A cat. A nice gray one, I hope."
They browsed the shop with its cats, bunnies, rats, toads, parrots, and other exotic pets. Harry figured Crookshanks wouldn't have issue with a new kitty, so long as it stayed out of her way.
As Angelica picked up a rat and put it gently in the magical rat maze, Harry sat beside her and watched the rat go through the magical gauntlet.
"How are you sprog?" he asked her quietly as the shopkeeper rounded up the new supply of kittens for Angelica to see.
Angelica didn't answer immediately and Harry wondered if she understood what he was asking her, but a few moments later, she replied with a gravity of a child he'd only ever seen on her. "I'm alright, daddy."
"I know things have been difficult for you. We've given most of our attention to Michael since he first arrived."
She shrugged, keeping her eye on the rat. "Oh, he's such a tiny baby. He needs yours and mum's attention."
"I still feel bad for you. You've been such a good big sister and you know, that's no easy thing. "
"I don't really mind. I had everyone's attention for seven years. It's Michael's turn."
Harry smiled and kissed her forehead. "How about you and I go to the zoo this weekend? And then maybe the week after that, your mum could use a break, so you and she can go somewhere with Aunt Ginny and just have a girls' day out."
Angelica's grin broadened. "I'd really like that, but Michael can come if he likes."
"I think Michael and I will have plenty to do while you ladies are out."
"Really? He honestly doesn't look like he can do much yet. I think he'll be better company when he starts talking."
Harry laughed. "That'll be a while."
"A few months."
"We don't know if he's as smart as you are, sweetie."
"He ought to be. He came from the same parents."
Harry could only give a noncommittal shrug. Many times, he had to wonder if Angelica's mind wasn't a result of all the magic that went around while she was still in her mother, but Harry refrained from voicing his thoughts. Angelica still grappled with the fact that she was different, and sometimes that made her think she was different in a bad way.
"It was all your mother, then," was all he said. "You certainly didn't get your smarts from me."
Angelica giggled. "Oh, dad, you're loads smarter than you think."
"Thank you, my dear. You sounded like your mother just now-look, here comes the store manager. I reckon the cats are ready for your inspection."
Angelica jumped up and headed in the direction of the pets, which were lined up in their respective crates.
Harry watched as she visited each box, picking up every beastie and giving it her tender inspection.
He leaned back against one of the sturdy display tables, basking in this wonderful reality. There were still nights that he had nightmares of being in that place, that dark world he was trapped in once before, running away from demons in his sleep. He still remembered looking into the mirror and every day being terrified of what he would find there. He still felt overwhelming panic when, in a crowd, he would lose sight of his family for the briefest second. But each time he fell back on this fear and his feelings of inadequacy, Hermione and Angelica were there to assuage him. Now Michael added to that reassurance.
The birth of his son had brought joy like he'd never imagined. Both frightening and exhilarating, he had, for several weeks, stared into the eyes of his infant son and wondered how such a tiny, living thing could bring so much happiness by just being.
Michael would cry, cringe, and wake them up three times in the wee hours of the morning every day, and while Harry had complained once or twice about losing sleep, he had actually relished each waking moment, like what he really wanted was to tell everyone he had to wake up three times during the night, but then he had to come off as being grouchy about it, as opposed to loving it, like he actually did.
And when he wasn't taking care of Michael, he was spending time with Angelica. Shopping and eating out. It was bliss. And every time he thought to himself, "I'm a father to two kids," he was amazed.
This life was different. It was everything he had dreamed of and so much more.
He remembered Hermione, and how much he missed spending time with her. They'd been so busy lately with work, Angelica, and the baby. How he missed her that very second.
Angelica turned with a fluffy grey kitten nestling the crook of her neck. She had a wide smile on her face and her eyes were bright. "They're all lovely, but I want this one."
The kitten peeked over its shoulder to give Harry a look, before it scrambled back into its small cove beneath Angelica's ear and the mass of her black curly hair. It began to bat at her ear lobe then proceeded to tumble deeper into the nape of her neck.
Angelica giggled.
"She's very cute," Harry said.
"A he, actually," said the storekeeper, kindly.
"I'll call him Loki," Angelica declared.
"No doubt that should mean something to me," Harry said.
"He's the Norse god of mischief."
"Ah." Harry turned to the shopkeeper. "How much?"
The shopkeeper smiled serenely. "He's an American Chartreaux. He will cost you."
"Living up to his name already. Don't suppose the British version would be cheaper."
"The British Blue is strikingly similar in appearance to it, but so is its price."
Angelica gave him a pleading look. "Please daddy?"
"Lord… alright, hit me with it."
The shopkeeper gave him a sympathetic smile. "99 Galleons."
"Merlin…"
Angelica bounded towards him, Loki in hand. She shoved the kitten in his face. "Look at him, daddy. He knows. He knows we'll love him and give him a wonderful home. It will break his heart if I put him down now. He might never know love if we don't get him. Haven't you ever felt unwanted?"
Harry frowned and briefly wondered if his daughter wasn't too smart for her own good. It was an expensive cat, but he couldn't help but think that he did rather owe her seven years worth of birthday presents, at least, and while it wasn't her birthday today, better to start making up for it now. At least she wasn't asking for a pony.
"Fine," Harry grumbled, thinking that Hermione might have something to say about it but knew there would be little she could do.
Angelica gave a whoop, exciting Loki into scrambling up her hair and onto her head.
As Harry forked over the Galleons at the counter, he heard Angelica's giggle. He smiled to himself.
He relished every single moment indeed.
********************
Angelica had barely turned to wave goodbye to her parents as she rushed out of the door onto the porch to meet her Aunt Ginny who had promised that their slumber party would be the best one ever. She ran by so fast and so excitedly that Hedwig and Imogen, sitting prettily on the porch railing, ruffled their feathers. Ginny gave them a buoyant goodbye before letting Angelica drag her out of their front garden and out to the sidewalk towards the nearest Apparating point.
Minutes later, Hermione's mother, Rose Granger, arrived to pick up Michael. Rose didn't wave at all on her way out the door. An entire night with her new grandson was always a treat for her and she whisked the baby away in his basket, picking up his baby things as she went. Rose Granger efficiently buckled in the basket in its harness in her car and henceforth drove off lest Michael's doting parents changed their minds.
Harry and Hermione had no intention of taking back their children that night.
Now with the light of the moon shining through the slightly parted grey curtains of the balcony doors, he could taste the sweat of her skin on his tongue. His lips were pressed on her shoulder and his hand cupped her breast, while the searing hot embrace of her thighs had him asking for more.
The stroking press of their bodies upon tangled bed sheets and the lush warmth of her core made the calm pleasure spreading through him suddenly turn into a roiling tidal wave. In a heartbeat, he felt the fantastic sensations of an intense climax.
He held her and pressed deeper as he rose up on his knees. He felt her pressing back, feeling and hearing her coming with him. Her nails scraped down the skin of his arms and her back arched. He could hardly take the visual stimulation. They moved vigorously against one another, riding the wave of ecstasy, his moans vibrated against the hollow of throat and her cries filling the room.
For a brief moment of complete abandon, he only knew himself, then as he eased back to reality, his awareness began to return.
He was slumped against her and her legs were still wrapped around him, though loosely now. He could feel the sweat of his back and all the other places where they touched. He could smell the shampoo in her hair, felt the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. He could still taste her in his mouth.
He grew weak and aware of his weight upon her. Still catching his breath they shared a kiss of gratitude, passionate but quick, before he rolled over to her side to stare at the ceiling and ponder the fantastic sex.
Hermione shifted, and she was a pleasant weight draped across his chest. She sighed and they basked in the silence for several minutes.
He was already on the verge of dozing off when Hermione rose on her elbows. Her mass of beautiful frizzy hair fell over her face and shoulders. She had to flip it out of her eyes with a hand. "Alright, I hate to do this but you leave me no choice. What's going on with Fleur and Ron?"
Harry looked at her, confused, then it dawned on him that she was talking about other people-friends of theirs, and that she was asking something potentially explosive in the Weasley family saga. "Really? I can answer anything truthfully right now, I'm so sex stupid, and you ask me that?"
She laughed. "I already know for sure that you never slept with anyone while in Avalon, and really, that's the only compelling question I would've asked you. Now tell me what you know about Fleur and Ron."
"Ask Fleur."
"I can't without seeming nosy."
"Ron, then."
"I can't without seeming jealous."
He couldn't help but give a big, loud laugh. "You know, you ought to start giving the bloke more credit."
She pinched his shoulder playfully. "He tells you everything now, at least when it comes to his love life. I think he's afraid I would tell Fleur, or worse, Ginny."
"Will you?"
"I'd like to say I won't, but all those years that the Weasleys thought my love life their business-there ought to be a reckoning, you know."
"Now sweetheart…"
"Harry… the greatest of men tell their wives everything."
"That would really work if I had any illusions of grandeur. Unfortunately, I'm overtired by such illusions. Or is it `fortunately'? I can't think."
"Are they sleeping together?" Hermione asked him straightforwardly.
Harry pondered his answer. "Well, not that I know of."
She looked at him thoughtfully. "Do they love each other?"
"They probably don't know it yet, but I think they do."
Hermione sighed, propping her chin on her hand. "I hope they figure it out soon. I'd like them to be happy."
"Me too. It feels fantastic, being happy."
She smiled. "It does, doesn't it?"
He tangled his fingers gently in her hair and played with the curly strands. "Next week, we'll send off the kids to their aunts and grandparents again, then we should have dinner and go see an awful Muggle movie, for a lark, so we can just snog all night."
It took a moment for her to figure it out, and when she did, her eyes actually watered. "I can't believe you remembered."
How couldn't he remember? On his worse days in Avalon, it was those kinds of memories that pulled him through. On one of their darkest nights in the Island of Skye, when they were running away from their enemies, Hermione, while sitting with him in a dirty alley, dared to wish for a life with him. He remembered wondering how she can think such wonderful things in the one of the worse nights of their lives, but he was also in awe of that indomitable spirit. He couldn't forget that moment. Cherished it even when everything else about it was so grim.
"So do you like this idea?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she whispered in his ear. "Yes."
Her kiss said much more.
Tangled sheets. Light of the moon. Her body pressed against his. This night and many more, with her, and days with his children-it was paradise, finally found.
The End.
Author's closing notes: Well, that took a while, didn't it? But finally I'm done. I'd like to thank everyone who stuck by this fic and those in LJ who stuck by me. This is no doubt one of my favorite stories. I sincerely hope I could write more. Maybe I'll stick to one shots.
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