Author Notes: see Chapter One. Thanks for sticking with me for another round!
As to Dotty's age, and the fact that she's running around and talking: I used a little boy who lives next door to me as an example, developmentally, but perhaps it does stretch the limits of believability. Oh well, you'll just have to suspend your disbelief. :)
Someone asked if I have any other HP fics on LJ. The answer, unfortunately, is no. I got out of the fandom for a long time and I'm just returning now. I have a lot of issues with JK's treatment of her characters, so this is my way of putting some serious wrongs right.
Now, on to Chapter Two!
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Chapter Two
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Harry's mind spun, off-kilter, as it tried to absorb this new information and all its terrifying implications.
He had known that coming back meant accepting a heavy load of responsibility for having deserted his friends. But never, not in a million years, never had he ever thought he might have been deserting his own child.
"Hermione," he said hoarsely, feeling as if he was about to faint. "It can't be true."
Her face had closed off from him, her eyes anywhere but his.
"It is true," she said quietly. "I must have owled you a thousand times. Nearly every day after I found out, then once a week, then less and less. Then Dot was born, and my hands were full, and by then I thought you weren't coming back…."
Oh God, he thought, mind racing, feeling as though he was about to be sick. What have I done, what have I done, what have I done?
"I don't believe it," he tried. "I never thought-"
"No, of course not. Why would you?" Hermione's voice was trembling, despite her valiant attempt at composure. "We'd just had sex for the first time in nearly eight years of friendship. Unprotected sex. Why on earth would you have any reason at all to stick around?"
Harry felt the deep, enduring anger behind her words. He didn't know what to say.
"And now you're back," Hermione said with a dark little laugh.
"Now I'm back," he echoed, voice weak.
"Ron will be delighted," she said acidly. "He's spent the last three years terrified and depressed by turns, bombed off Firewhisky practically every night."
"He has?"
"Well," she amended, "sometimes it's tequila. You really ought to get in touch with him, he's here in London as well. Dotty?"
"Yes?" came the little lisping voice from the other end of the store.
"We're going, sweetheart. Did you pay for the book?"
"Mr. Yumbillo gave it! Free!"
Hermione gave the shopkeeper a reprimanding smile. "You shouldn't have done that, Mr. Umbrillo."
Harry didn't know how she could sound so normal.
"Nonsense," the elderly man protested. `You're my best customers."
"Mummy, can I go outside?"
"Sure, sweetie, but stay close," Hermione said gently. Dotty skipped out to the tinkle of the doorbell.
"Hermione-" Harry began, still in shock.
"Like I said, Harry, we're leaving."
"I have a daughter," he whispered.
"Yes," Hermione sighed. "You do. Dorothy Ann, as you heard. She's two years old. Her last birthday was three months ago."
"Do you two live near here?" he asked, buying time, desperate to keep her there in front of him.
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "A little flat off Grace Street."
"Will you let me come see you? Soon?"
She regarded him for a long moment.
"It's been a long time, Harry. Maybe too long. I don't know where you've been, or even why. I won't lie, I'd like an explanation. I deserve an explanation. But I'm not sure if I'm ready." She turned to look at Dotty, whose nose was pressed against the pane of glass, looking in at them. The clouds had parted, the sun had come out; it glinted prettily off her light brown curls. "I'm not sure if we're ready," she finished.
"She's beautiful," Harry said, voice low. "Hermione - you were only eighteen. How did you manage?"
Hermione's face told him there were a thousand things she wanted to say, and none of them civil. But she merely pressed her lips together. "This isn't the time or place, Harry. Owl me a way to contact you, and I'll let you know when you can come over."
Harry nodded, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. He hadn't expected anything more.
Hermione turned to leave, hoisting the forgotten groceries higher in her arms. Then, abruptly, she set them down again and pulled him into a tight hug.
"I'm very glad you're not dead, Harry," she said, voice catching. Then she hurried out of the store before he could catch her eye.
*
Harry returned to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, avoiding most surprised glances at his forehead by ducking his head, and hurried quickly through the bar, past all the noontime drinkers.
Throwing open the door to his room, Harry collapsed onto his bed in a flabbergasted heap. In his head he was already recounting every detail of seeing Hermione and Dotty just minutes ago. He hadn't had time to reflect on any changes in Hermione's appearance, given the astonishment of seeing her again so unexpectedly and discovering he had a daughter, but now he recalled that she had seemed a good deal older. A bit taller, perhaps, and thinner. Her hair, though pinned back, looked just as wild as ever.
And Dotty - God. The unbelievably adorable little girl that was half his. Her eyes were so like his own, he remembered. Other than that she looked the spitting image of Hermione: bright and curious, rosy-cheeked with those sweet brown curls.
His own beautiful daughter, the daughter he'd never known.
Harry lay there, feet dangling off the bed, head in his hands, mind racing. What was the next step?
Well, the next step was to see them again. But Hermione was the gatekeeper on that one, and, it seemed, a fiercely protective one.
He decided to owl his room number to her immediately. And tomorrow he'd start flat-hunting, not to mention job-hunting. With Ron and Hermione both in London, he wanted to be close.
Ron. That's right. Anticipation of what was sure to be another painful reunion flooded him. But it was inevitable, and if what Hermione had said about Ron's state of mind were true, the sooner the better. Now, how to go about it?
Harry rolled onto his side, thinking hard. Then his eyes fell on the copy of the Daily Prophet that rested on his nightstand.
"Great ghost," he said aloud, staring at his friend's name under the Quidditch article on the front page. "Well, that's it then."
*
The security guard on the ground floor of the Daily Prophet offices didn't bother to look up as a pair of heels clicked toward him. No one worth his attention came in until after hours, and he was absorbed in the latest issue of Playwizard Monthly.
"Excuse me," came an uncertain voice. "I'm looking for someone."
Annoyed, the guard looked up. Then he promptly dropped his magazine - and his hot coffee.
"Bloody hell," he whispered. "Harry Potter? So the rumors were true."
Harry glanced down wryly at the fallen magazine. "Quality publication," he said.
Flushing, the man stammered, "How can I help you, Mr. Potter?"
"As I said, I'm looking for someone. Ron Weasley."
"Of course, of course. Yes. He's on the third floor, Mr. Potter."
"Much obliged." Harry strode inside one of the waiting elevators.
"It's good to have you back, sir," the guard called out, and Harry nodded slightly as the elevator doors shut in front of him.
*
The Daily Prophet offices were a mess. People dashing about, yelling at the top of their voices, paper flying everywhere. Everyone was so preoccupied with their work, in fact, that no one noticed Harry slip down one of the hallways unobtrusively.
Luckily, Ron's tiny office was in one of the quieter corners. Harry approached the door slowly. Deep nervousness had settled in his stomach, but after all he had made up his mind. Come on, man, he kept telling himself. If you can defeat the most powerful, dangerous wizard in history, you can reunite with your best friend, no problem.
He paused at Ron's open office door. Thankfully, the desk faced away from him, so he had a moment to study his friend from the back. Ron, too, looked thinner, his hair shorn to maybe half an inch in length. The back of his neck was as freckled as ever.
Before Harry could open his mouth, before he could think to say a word, Ron spun around in his chair with a broken quill in his hand, cursing. He tossed it in the dustbin, then jerked his head up at the sight of someone in the doorway.
Like Hermione, his face went deathly pale.
"Harry?" he croaked.
Harry, at a loss for words, nodded.
Ron stood up like a man in a dream. Harry saw his face had also thinned out, and there were pronounced circles under his eyes.
"It can't really be you," he whispered.
"It is," managed Harry, past the lump in his throat. "I'm back, mate."
Ron strode over and drew him into a fierce hug. Harry returned it, feeling his friend's body trembling. After a minute, Ron drew back and examined him with plain shock.
"Where in the bloody hell have you been, Harry?"
"Away," Harry said simply, knowing there was no way he could explain it properly at the moment.
"For three bloody years? With no word whatsoever?"
"I'm so sorry," Harry said, quietly and sincerely. "I had to get away. And the longer I stayed, the harder it got to come back."
"We didn't know what happened," Ron said, still white as a sheet. "We owled you every week, thinking you just needed a bit of time. Hell, we all needed time. But six months went by, and then a year, and we started to think-"
"I was fine," Harry interrupted gently. "Just out of reach."
"I guess so," said Ron. He paused, and cold anger entered his face. "But now here you are, good as new. Three years later and you just show up at my office, completely unannounced. Calm as you please."
"I didn't know what to do. I had no idea how to go about it. But I had to see you."
"I can't handle this," Ron choked. "It's been three years, Harry. I know I keep saying that, but you have to understand-and so much has happened-and good God, have you spoken to Hermione yet?"
Harry bowed his head. "I have. I ran into her yesterday in Diagon Alley."
Ron closed his eyes, imagining Hermione's anguish. "Was she alone?"
"No. Dotty was with her."
Ron's eyes bore into his. "So you know."
"That I have a daughter?"
"That you have a daughter."
"Yes, I know." Harry's voice hitched. "I can barely believe it."
"Well, believe it. She's two years old. She likes books. And frogs. Ginny baby sits her a couple times a week. And every so often, she asks about her daddy."
Each sentence, spoken so matter-of-factly, felt like screws into Harry's heart. "What does Hermione say?" he asked softly.
Ron shrugged. "What can she say? Dot only asks since she started going to daycare around the corner. The other kids get picked up by their dads, and so she got to wondering. She's incredibly smart, you know."
Harry laughed softly. "How could she be anything else?"
"Yeah." Ron took a few shaky steps backward, and dropped into his desk chair. "Have a seat," he told Harry brusquely, gesturing to a chair on the other side of his desk.
Harry did, and they sat in silence for a moment.
"So. You report on Quidditch for the Prophet?"
"I'm a junior assistant editor," Ron confirmed faintly. "The managing editor likes me. Sometimes he lets me write when the Cannons get a win. So, not all that often."
"I saw your name on the front page yesterday. That's how I found you."
Ron nodded, rubbing his eyes with both hands.
"Hermione told me you're living in London," Harry ventured.
"Yeah. About nine blocks from her place. The flat's tiny, but cheap."
"I was flat-hunting myself today."
"Were you?"
"Yeah. I found a couple places near Diagon Alley that I can afford."
"So you're going to set up in London."
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure."
Ron paused again, then looked back at Harry from where his gaze had been fixed on the wall. "I need to know everything, Harry. Where you've been and why. I think we deserve an explanation."
"Yes," Harry said. "You do. As soon as Hermione agrees to see me, we can all three meet somewhere. Maybe I'll be moved in by then, and you can come by my new flat."
Ron nodded absently. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again. "I was in love with her, you know."
Harry's heart sank. "With Hermione?"
"Yeah. I know I never told you so, but you must have suspected."
"I did," Harry admitted. "That might even have been part of the reason I needed to get away. I knew you'd be hurt by what we did."
"Hermione told me, just a day after. She told me just because she thought I had a right to know."
Harry nodded, waiting.
"It's not that I had a right to know, I had no claim on her. But I appreciated knowing. She told me it was just a heat of the moment thing, pure adrenaline at having beaten Voldemort and survived-"
"She was right," Harry said hastily.
Ron looked unconvinced, but went on. "Then she was pregnant, and she wouldn't get involved with anyone. She was just…overwhelmed. Justifiably so." He paused, rubbing his eyes again. "I guess this is more Hermione's story to tell than mine. But my point is, I lost my chance. And I've moved on, I really have. I'm dating this great girl from photo editing."
Harry smiled a little. "That's good."
"But what you did with Hermione-shagging her, then up-and-leaving-it caused a lot of chaos, Harry. For everyone in our lives."
"I can only say I'm sorry, Ron. I'll keep saying it as long as I have to."
Ron nodded briskly. "Okay. And Harry, just so you know?"
"Yeah?"
"As mad at you as I may be, I'd much rather you were back than still missing."
Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks, mate."
Ron stood, and so did he. The cue seemed to be for him to leave. "Will I see you again soon?"
"Maybe we can grab a Firewhisky tomorrow night. I'll owl you. You're at the Leaky Cauldron, right?"
"Right." Harry's smile split into a wide grin. "Thanks, Ron. I'd like that."
*
End of Chapter Two. Thaaaanks for reading! *beams* And reviews are ALWAYS appreciated.
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