Let Me Come On Home

Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is my first fic in the HP fandom for several years. As this is a more character-driven fic, and my knowledge of the books is a bit rusty, you won't likely find many spoilers in here. It takes place about four years after the series will end.

I have a suspicion that this storyline may have been attempted before by other fic writers, because it's certainly a very intriguing one - to me at least. If that's the case, please know that I despise plagiarism in any form and I mean absolutely no disrespect.

If you're interested in reading a more aesthetically pleasing version of this story, check it out at my livejournal: http://louisalorin.livejournal.com/10241.html. You'll have to friend me first, but go ahead - I love new friends! :)

And with that, let's begin!

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CHAPTER ONE

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“Sir? Excuse me? Sir, aren't you—”

“Yeah,” Harry Potter said, with an embarrassed glance around him. He stood in a shady patch of Diagon Alley, doing a bit of window shopping outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. There wasn't much of a crowd on this cloudy Tuesday afternoon, but if the pretty young witch raised her voice any more she would start to attract attention.

“Cor,” she breathed, taking a step closer. She stared at his forehead, then at him, with frank curiosity. “Where have you been all this time?”

“On holiday,” he answered with a small smile. “Quite relaxing, actually.”

“But you're back now? In England, I mean? For—for good?” Her voice was shaky, as if she couldn't believe her own daring.

“Looks that way,” he said lightly, then strode off in the other direction. “Have a nice day!”

“You too,” the witch replied, her voice heavy with awe. “Blimey!” he heard her mutter after a moment. “Harry bloody Potter!”

Despite himself, Harry grinned. Being recognized on the street was the thing he missed least about the civilized world, but it sure made London feel like home again.

It had been quite a while since Harry had set foot in Diagon Alley. Three years, to be precise. After Voldemort's defeat he had found himself utterly worn down, sick with sorrow and fury and exhaustion. The very same day he'd taken off to the remotest spot he could think of, with absolutely no notice at all.

But not before he'd managed to spoil things spectacularly between him and one of his two best friends in the world, Hermione Granger. Or so he feared.

Harry stepped into an old bookstore, much more out of the way than Flourish and Blotts. Surrounded by large and imposing-looking tomes, the memory of Hermione weighed on him heavily. Harry ambled over to a display of Hogwarts: a History, the special 500^th edition, remembering with painful clarity those strange few hours after Voldemort's final downfall. Ron was off with rest of the Order, battling untold numbers of Death Eaters and dementors - but Hermione had followed him to his final confrontation, despite the danger, despite his fervent wishes, despite everything.

One upside to her stubbornness was that she was there with him afterward, to tend to his many injuries. They had to be stealthy, they couldn't just apparate back to London with the news that Voldemort was gone for good, because if any Death Eaters found out they'd either flee back into hiding, or promptly fake the effects of the Imperious curse, and slip through the Ministry's grasp once again.

With one hand wrapped around the thick spine of Hogwarts: a History, Harry closed his eyes. He found he could still smell the dry grass and burning wood, taste the metallic blood in his mouth, as Hermione half-walked, half-carried him back to their stronghold in the forest.

*

Come on, Harry, she had panted. Almost there, now. I'll heal you, you'll be good as new.

She was right. His injuries, though numerous, were remarkably superficial. He had a broken arm and collarbone, cuts or burns on every inch of his skin that was visible, but Hermione's considerable self-taught healing skills would take care of those in a jiffy.

Her support in walking was necessary not so much because of the injuries, but because Harry had descended into in a state of paralyzing shock. The actual fact that Voldemort was gone had overwhelmed the small part of his brain that was still functioning properly. The Prophecy had been carried out, and he was the one left standing. Barely standing, but standing all the same.

The overall cost to his psychological state, though, had been immense. Dear friends had been lost along the way. Harry himself had faced his worst demons a thousand times, had walked through hell simply to survive.

Not to mention save the world.

But, looking over at Hermione, whose arm was wrapped tightly around his back, Harry could push that all away and let relief flood through him. One of his best friends, at least, had made it through with nary an outward scratch. And Ron - well, Harry had a strong feeling that Ron was going to pull through too.

Hermione, he ground out in a voice that didn't sound like his own. You're okay.

They had reached the doorway to their tiny unplottable wood cabin. She turned to him and smiled, a smile that lit up her eyes.

And so are you, she said, voice thick. Oh, Harry.

He wanted to embrace her, but couldn't, what with the state of his arm. Hermione seemed to sense this, and helped him inside.

Lay down, she murmured, hurrying over to the makeshift sink and wetting some clean cloths.

A moment later she was kneeling by his side on the large, soft cot, muttering a charm to relieve the pain, magically setting his bones, pouring healing potion over the raw, exposed skin. After an hour of care, and a long, hot shower, Harry felt right as rain.

Madam Pomfrey's got nothing on you, he said, stepping out of the tiny shower stall, a towel wrapped around his midsection.

But Hermione wasn't immediately visible. Harry glanced around the small space and spotted her in the corner, curled up on the dirt floor, absolutely motionless. Her face was hidden by her arms and hair.

Hermione? he said gently.

She looked up. He'd expected her eyes to be red, but beyond her wild hair and the dirt still smudged under her eye, she looked fine.

Yes? she asked calmly.

Are you okay? He reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

Hermione took it, looking with wonder at his fingers interlaced with her own, and stood.

I'm fine, she said slowly. I just can't believe you're all right.

I am, he said. I really am. We both are.

They stared at each other, eyes wide, letting reality sink in. And then Hermione flung herself into his arms, heaving a sob that came straight from her soul.

Harry, Harry, you're all right, you're all right, you're all right—

Hermione. He took her face in his hands, raised her chin up to meet his eyes. Her lashes were damp, clinging together. Her chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths. She was so warm against him, so god damn alive.

They brought their lips together in the same instant, as if by mutual unspoken agreement. Pure joy at having survived, Harry thought, in the instant before raw desire pushed everything else from his mind.

Hermione's hands were all over him, and he returned the favor. He pulled at her clothing roughly, with all the raw strength he'd gained from living off the land and training in advanced battle magic for ten long months, and she let him. Encouraged him, even, with quick breaths and quiet moans.

Harry felt so damn human again with his lips against her neck, feeling the vibration of her growl through her skin - the feeling intensified when Hermione's hands went to his towel, the final piece of fabric that remained between them, and dropped it to the floor.

He backed her up against the large cot, intent on only one thing. Entering her body. Becoming one with her. Cleansing his rage and exhaustion and regaining his personhood through this most primal of human behaviors.

Thankfully, she seemed every bit as intent on the very same thing. Their bodies collided on the cot, stomachs and chests pressing together. A loud groan spilled from Harry's mouth as his erection met the giving wetness between her legs - Hermione whimpered as he skidded a hand across her breasts, their unbearable softness making him even harder -

And then he was inside her, and it was like no feeling he'd ever experienced before. The storm cleared from his head and it was just him and Hermione. As close as two people could physically be to each other, yet straining to get even closer. Her heels pressed into his backside, urging him on. He buried his face in her neck, smelling her Hermione smell, everything about her driving him wild with lust.

He thrust harder and harder. She welcomed every bit of it, bucking up to meet him and shouting her pleasure. It wasn't too long before she let out a long wail and laced their fingers together as she came apart, clenching around his cock.

It was too much, too much. Harry watched tears spill onto her cheeks, and felt a lump in his throat as his climax approached. Hermione, he rasped, looking straight into her beautiful brown eyes.

Harry, she moaned back. Oh my God.

He came inside her, buried as deep as he could go. Hermione whimpered again, the sound full of her tears.

Recovering, he looked down at her with concern, wiped away one tear that had made its way down to her earlobe. Are you all right?

Just…overwhelmed, I guess.

He nodded, and slipped out of her, flopping backwards onto the next pillow. That was intense.

Yeah, she agreed softly.

Harry watched as she regained control of herself, wiped the rest of her tears away briskly and sat up. She dressed efficiently, fixing each torn and ripped article of clothing with a quick charm.

On your way somewhere? he asked.

Azkaban, she confirmed. The fight's not over, Harry.

Harry wanted to protest, wanted to keep her from putting herself in harm's way after it had seemed for one blessed hour that they were safe. But he knew Hermione would never listen. I'll go with you, he said quickly.

No, she said, you won't. As soon as you show your face, the Death Eaters will know they've lost. They'll become desperate and even more dangerous, and most will probably escape. The Ministry will lose the chance to put them away forever.

Harry knew all this, so he could do nothing but sit in silent agreement, watching her dress.

Finishing, Hermione grabbed her wand and slid it into its holster. Her hair was a bit wild - she secured it with an elastic.

You'll be here when I get back? she said, her expression gentle. You won't get any mad ideas and run off somewhere dangerous?

He smiled at her reassuringly. But even then, as the haze of sex faded, the four cabin walls were already starting to feel stifling. That cloudy, desperate feeling was seeping back into his brain.

Hermione ran a hand through his messy hair, smiled, and disapparated with a loud crack.

*

That, Harry reflected, was the last time they'd seen each other in three years. He'd gone somewhere no owl could find him with nothing more than the clothes on his back, only waiting to leave for good until he heard, secondhand, that Ron and Hermione had made it through the war safe and sound.

Now, though, he was back. He'd returned to British soil ready to confront his life again. He hadn't meant to stay away for so long, but time had seemed to make returning harder and harder, especially when he thought of the two best friends he'd left behind.

Harry wondered, yet again, if the wizarding community had come to believe he was dead. He thought not, since there were magical ways to determine if someone had kicked the bucket, complex spells he was fairly certain would be employed in his case. But he'd taken up residence on the world's only unplottable island; perhaps those spells wouldn't function properly.

Aimlessly, Harry wandered toward the back shelves. The bookstore was empty of other patrons, and thankfully the shopkeeper had completely ignored him, sitting silently behind the register and peering at a book through wire-rimmed glasses.

Harry knew he had to contact Ron and Hermione. He was waiting, though, for an idea as to how to go about it. He knew Ron would be understanding in the end, even if he was initially - and rightfully - angry and hurt. But Hermione, well, she was another story.

What kind of man, Harry had thought to himself often over the past three years, shags his best friend and then skips town with not so much as a by-your-leave? Even if the circumstances had been extenuating, Harry knew that Hermione would make no excuses for him. Nor should she. He was convinced, therefore, that her good favor would be much more difficult to regain.

The strong need he felt to see her again did relieve some of his fears, however.

He'd been a boy then, Harry thought. A boy who had to grow up much too fast, but a boy nonetheless. And now, in many ways, he'd become a man. He just hoped he was man enough to fix whatever was left of his friendship with Hermione.

Behind him, Harry heard the faint jingle of the door. He was hidden behind the back shelves, but he could see the shopkeeper rise from his seat, old face crinkling up into a wide smile.

“Miss Dotty,” the man said, looking at a spot close to the floor. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

“Good,” came the cheerful voice of a little girl. Clearly this `Miss Dotty' had only recently learned to talk. “Mummy's coming too.”

“We have some new kid's books on the back shelf,” he told her kindly. “Want to take a look?”

“Where are they?”

“Right back there.” Harry watched the shopkeeper point in his direction.

He heard little feet skipping toward him, then watched as a blur of brown curls shot straight for the next shelf over. Right at her eye level were a bunch of brand-new children's books with bright, colorful covers.

As enraptured as she was by the books, it took the girl a moment to realize someone else was there. When she did notice Harry, she looked shyly up at him. Startled, he found himself confronted with the greenest eyes he'd seen since looking in a mirror that morning.

“Hello,” he said with a smile.

“Hi,” said Dotty uncertainly, eyes wide, mouth open a little. She was wearing a blue cotton dress and had a pretty, heart-shaped little face.

He knelt down beside her. “So you like books, huh?”

She nodded, still uncertain.

The door jingled again. Dotty spun around. “Mummy!” she cried, stretching out her arms.

“Dorothy Ann Granger,” came a harried woman's familiar voice. “What have I told you about running ahead of me down the street—”

The voice faltered, then broke off. Harry, knowing with mounting certainty who he was about to see, looked up at the new arrival.

Hermione stood there, mouth open in plain shock, her arms full of grocery bags. All color had drained from her face.

“Harry?”

Harry stood, feeling his body go numb. “Hello Hermione,” he said slowly.

“Mummy?” Dotty looked between the two of them, impatient. “Mummy, can I get this?” She held up her book for Hermione to see.

“Sure, sweetie,” Hermione said faintly. “Why don't you bring that to the counter and show it to Mr. Umbrillo?”

Dotty skipped away obediently.

“Where have you been?” Hermione managed, just as Harry said blankly, “you have a daughter?”

“Yes.” Hermione paused for a long moment, looking at him with a mixture of anger, apprehension, and deep sadness. “And so do you.”

*

End of Chapter One. Thanks so much for reading, and please review!

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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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Author Notes: for general story stuff, see Chapter One. In THIS chapter, we get a lot more character development. So read on for the longest chapter yet!

I've decided this fic will eventually be comprised of five chapters, perhaps an epilogue as well. And with any luck it'll be finished by the end of next week. So stick with me, everyone! And thanks so much for all the thoughtful reviews.

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CHAPTER THREE

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However angry with Harry Ron and Hermione might be, they had certainly spread the news of his return. The next day Harry received over sixty owls at breakfast alone. They came from friends, old Hogwarts classmates and professors, and even a few from people he'd never met before in his life, who could only have been alerted through the gossip chain. The wizarding world was really very small, Harry reflected for the hundredth time.

His guilt at leaving had been activated full force by his reunions with Ron and Hermione, and consequently Harry sent a prompt reply to every single owl that required one. The most important or most guilt-inducing ones he saved for last; therefore the letter at the very bottom of the pile was from none other than Molly Weasley.

Dear Harry, it began. I can't tell you how absolutely overjoyed I am to hear from Ron about your safe return to London. We've all missed you terribly over the three years that have passed, some of us worrying ourselves sick. But you're back now, and that's simply wonderful.

I also understand you've found out about dear little Dotty. I'm so glad. Hermione's had a hard time these past few years, even harder thinking you might be out there somewhere, entirely unaware you had a daughter. I know she must be furious with you, but she will forgive you eventually. The important thing is to keep trying. Same with Ron.

Harry, I have something else to say about Hermione, and it's of an extremely sensitive nature. It's also based on nothing more than a series of motherly hunches, so take it with a grain of salt, but I feel I must say my piece.

I believe Hermione had romantic feelings for you during the last year or so you were with us. She never expected them to be returned and so never mentioned them or acted upon them, but I saw something there just the same.

I watched Hermione as you interacted with Ginny during the short time you two were dating, and I paid careful attention to her dealings with my youngest son. I know she never had the same feelings for Ron that he had for her, though she might have thought she was supposed to and so wished rather than believed those feelings to be there. But your safety and happiness was always her first concern.

Hermione wasn't surprised when you left, Harry, but she was crushed. Everybody could see it. I know you two were together only once, and Hermione never described it as anything more than a spur-of-the-moment celebratory fling, but the pain was there in her eyes. Particularly once she found out she was pregnant, and you were nowhere to be found.

Harry, I know you had no idea about Dotty. I have my doubts as to whether leaving for three years was wise, but I know you would never have knowingly deserted your child. The one thing I don't know, however, was how you felt about Hermione before you left. Ron has made several mentions to me of a certain tension he used to perceive between you two, entirely different from the constant bickering unique to their relationship. And he has gotten over Hermione in time, as I knew he would.

Oh dear. I've been rambling for a while, and you must be growing tired of reading about concerns that may very well be baseless. I'll say only this, then: be kind to her, Harry. She's been through more than you can know, and she's done it all with a smile. Hermione is truly a strong person, but none of us knew just how strong until Dotty came into our lives.

I love you like my own son, Harry, and not knowing what had become of you frightened me terribly. I'm so happy you're back with us. Please come to the Burrow soon - we'll have a long overdue celebratory dinner.

With love and affection,

Molly Weasley

p.s. Arthur sends his warm regards.

Harry folded the letter shut, thinking hard. Yes, Mrs. Weasley's words had guilted him every bit as much as he'd expected - but the part that really shook him was her suggestion that Hermione used to, or still did, care for him as more than a friend.

In those last months before Voldemort's downfall, he, Ron and Hermione had been living in their unplottable cabin, receiving daily training from members of the Order. Life during that time was extremely tense. Looking back, Harry could see that now. All three of them were afraid to recognize just how much they meant to each other, for fear that they'd lose each other sometime very soon.

He and Hermione had grown closer, though, in an odd way. Sometimes when they were alone she'd give him a searching look, then walk over and just hold him, letting him sag into her arms and let go of his fears for a few blessed minutes. Because of how surreal and survivalistic their existence had become, he didn't think of it as anything more than basic human kindness. And Hermione was kind, maybe the kindest person he knew.

But what if it had been something more?

Searching his own feelings, Harry could admit he'd never liked the idea of Ron and Hermione together. Imagining it always felt…uncomfortable. But their relationship was like that on its own; it didn't necessarily mean Harry was jealous.

The memory of his one tryst with Hermione returned to him, as it often had over the last three years. Hermione had aroused him beyond anything he'd felt before or since, no doubt about that. His overwhelming desire for her had been painfully real.

But, as she herself had told Ron and as he'd assumed at the time, it could have been nothing but the primal joy of survival, the rush of adrenaline from having made it to hell and back again.

Harry closed his eyes, remembering every look that had passed between them, every touch, and an idea grew in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, while holding Hermione's face in his hands and looking into her eyes for that long moment, the staggering relief he'd felt at her safety and well-being had overcome him, had shattered through long years of denial. Long years of assuming it was going to be Hermione and Ron at the end of the story, years of fooling himself that he didn't care for her that deeply, because the implications were just too frightening.

Harry had wondered about that from time to time, though he tried not to. After all, during his years on the island, it was always Hermione's voice in his head that pleaded with him to come home.

They'd been close, no doubt. Whenever his mind had been too full, whenever he felt like he was going to go mad from the cacophony fears and doubts, Hermione was the one to pick up on it and to calm him. Conversely, whenever she was threatened or in danger, his mind emptied of thought and his body went icy with rage. His most devastating hexes, he realized, had all been cast in protection of her.

It was all starting to make sense in Harry's head. Puzzle pieces were coming together, falling into place with alarming speed. She'd been by his side during all his most harrowing adventures - and truthfully, he'd wanted no one else. They were best at attack magic when they hexed together, double-teaming whatever unfortunate Dark Wizard happened to be at their wands' mercy. And they constantly saved each other's skins, watching out the corner of their eyes to make sure the other was okay.

Never had Harry thought these things might hint at deeper feelings, a deeper compatibility, but now they all seemed startling in their clarity.

And to top it all off, she'd borne his child.

Love and compassion for Hermione swelled in his heart. If Mrs. Weasley was right, then what Hermione had gone through had been much more difficult than it seemed on the surface. Which was really saying something.

Frustrated, Harry dropped his fist on the desk. He needed to see her, needed to. Why exactly, he didn't know. But she said it would take time, and now he had to wait.

Harry let out a short laugh. If anybody deserved that kind of treatment, he thought, it was definitely him.

*

A week later Harry moved into his new flat. He'd wanted to settle in quickly, and of course the elderly female landlord had been more than happy to oblige the Great Harry Potter. Especially since he was willing to pay the asking price and then some.

His new flat was spacious, with two bedrooms, a large kitchen, and a sunny roof garden. It was nestled down a quiet wizarding alley quite close to Diagon Alley. All that put together meant it didn't come cheap, but circumstances had arranged themselves in such a way that Harry wasn't lacking for Galleons, and picking a nice place was important to him. He meant to rebuild his life the right way, and that meant finding a job he liked and having friends over often to fill the empty space in his flat.

He'd had a couple of evenings out with Ron since their first meeting, catching up on his friend's life and slowly easing into the social scene. But he hadn't yet heard from Hermione. This didn't really worry him; Ron had spoken to Hermione, and told Harry he didn't think it would be much longer.

All told, Harry thought, surveying his mostly-empty flat, he had hardly any belongings. Some serious shopping was in order. He groaned at the thought.

A knock came at the door. Had to be Ron, he figured, since Ron was the only one who had his new address. So he was utterly unprepared to open the door and find Hermione standing there, wearing a royal blue overcoat and looking very anxious indeed.

“Hey,” she said quickly. “Ron gave me your address. I thought about owling you first, but I decided it would better to just talk in person.”

He nodded, opening the door wider. She walked inside, taking in the empty flat.

“I'm glad you came,” was the first thing he said. “Where's Dotty?”

“With Ginny.”

“Ah.”

“I suppose you have a lot of questions,” Hermione said in a rush. “And so do I. So let's get to it. Er…do you have anywhere to sit?”

Harry smiled. It was her old nervous way of talking - she twisted her fingers together, looking down at the floor. “Not really,” he said apologetically. “I haven't any furniture. There's a sleeping bag in one of the bedrooms, and my old Hogwarts trunk, but that's about it.”

“Well then.” Hermione turned to face him, and he was relieved to see her smile. “I guess we'd better venture out of doors.”

*

“I'd planned to show up today in a right strop,” was the first thing Hermione said when they sat down at a nearby café, coffees on the table in front of them. “But I'll be honest, Harry. The more I think about it, the more I'm just plain glad you're back.”

She smiled at him hesitantly, and Harry felt his heart fill.

“You don't know how happy I am to hear that. But really, Hermione, you've got every right to yell at me, and then some.”

“I know that,” she said frankly.

“Well, good.” He ventured a smile of his own. “As long as you're aware.”

Hermione grinned widely, shedding her blue overcoat - and Harry felt a shock to his system. It had been three years since he'd seen her, yes, but even longer since he'd seen her smile like that. The months before he left weren't happy times.

“As much as I'd like to pretend otherwise - and I'm sure you would as well - we do have some serious things to discuss, Harry.”

He nodded.

“I'll go first,” she offered, “since I'm sure Ron would like to hear your end of it. So go ahead, Harry. Ask me anything you'd like.”

He sat for a minute, thinking. “When was Dotty born?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

Hermione looked startled, but smiled. “March third.”

“Did everything…go okay?”

“It was an intense time,” Hermione said slowly. “By then, of course, I was big as a house and ready to get it over with. But during the pregnancy I would switch from being happy, to being angry with you, to being terrified. All in the course of five minutes.”

Harry nodded, watching her face carefully.

“She was born at the Burrow.” Hermione paused, lost in the memory. “My water broke and it was happening so fast, there just wasn't time to make it to St. Mungo's or anywhere else. I wasn't in a condition to apparate, and you know pregnant women aren't supposed to Floo.

“We got word to my parents and they made it there just as she was born. I won't lie, Harry, it hurt like hell. Second only to the Cruciatus curse. But the feeling in my heart was indescribable as they handed her to me. This might sound trite, but she was perfect.”

A million reactions were flying through Harry's brain. Pride. Belated worry. Sorrow that he hadn't been there with her. “How'd you pick the name?” he asked.

“I've always loved the name Dorothy. Ann was my grandmother's name.” She tilted her head, smiling a little. “Do you like it?”

“I think it's beautiful,” he said truthfully. “What's she like?”

“Wow. Tough question.” Hermione clasped her hands over her knee. “She's tough. Doesn't cry when she falls down. Very independent, she's always running ahead of me down the street. I guess you saw that last week. Obviously she can't read yet, but she loves for me to read to her - she loves when anyone reads to her, really - and she follows the words with her finger along the page.”

“Sounds like you,” Harry said softly. God, he thought. He'd missed too much.

“My mother tells me she's exactly like I was, except less stubborn. She must get that from you,” Hermione mused. “You were probably a very sweet-tempered little boy.”

“Hermione,” Harry said then, his voice thick with emotion, “I can't tell you how much I wish I'd been there. For your sake, to help you through it, but also for my own sake.” He paused, then went ahead and said it. “I want to make up for lost time.”

Hermione's eyes locked with his, staring straight into him. “I want that too,” she said. “But you've been gone so long. Do you think it's possible?”

“It's got to be,” he said firmly. “I feel such an idiot, Hermione. If only I'd stayed another couple of weeks, I'd have known about the baby and I never would have left.”

Hermione sighed. “I want to believe that's true, Harry—”

“It is,” he said fiercely, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “You have to believe me, Hermione.”

Again, she seemed to look straight inside him. “I believe you,” she said finally. “But really, a couple of weeks wouldn't have made any difference. I didn't find out for a month and a half. Besides, your mind was made up. There was no way you could have hung around for even half that time.”

She had a point, Harry thought. “I was in a bad place,” he said simply. “The world felt suffocating.”

“Because the last few years of your life had been hell, Harry. For us too, but you most of all. That goes without saying.”

He shook his head firmly. “No excuses.”

“It's not an excuse, it's just a fact. Your entire world had fallen apart. You had no foundation, nowhere to go. Not even the people who loved you most could help you. However much they might have wanted to, or wished they could.”

She gazed down at the table as she said this. Harry looked at her keenly, but she didn't meet his eyes.

“Tell me more about Dotty,” he said after a moment.

Hermione sipped her coffee, thinking. “She loves frogs, she's got about seven of them in an aquarium in her bedroom. She's always wanting a new one every time we go to Diagon Alley. I despise the things myself, I'm terrified they'll escape into the flat. I always ask her, `Dotty, how about a nice kitty cat?' But she never takes the bait. And when I try to convince her that frogs prefer living in the wild to living in aquariums, she sees right through it.

“And my, does she love her Aunt Ginny. Uncle Ron, too. Her favorite is when I have to work late and they both come to baby sit. But for the most part, she's a momma's girl.”

“I bet she is,” Harry said, watching Hermione's animation in talking about her daughter. Their daughter. “I want to spend time with her.”

Hermione examined him seriously. “She'd love you, Harry.”

Harry was acutely aware that it wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no, either.

“She's been asking about her daddy lately,” Hermione said carefully.

“I know that,” Harry said, sighing. “Ron told me.”

“You have to understand, Harry. I can't introduce Dotty to her father without knowing if—without knowing for sure if—”

“Hermione?” he said gently, and waited till her eyes met his. “I'm not going to leave again.”

Hermione examined him, just as she had before. She'd already said it, she didn't have to say it again. I want to believe you, Harry, but….

“So,” Harry said, to break the tense silence, “I've decided you and Ron ought to come over for dinner sometime soon. Ginny too, and the rest of the Weasleys if they can. I've contacted Remus and Tonks - they're not far from here. We'll make a night of it. And maybe you two can come a bit early, so I can explain what I've been up to.”

“Hmm.” Hermione tapped her chin with her hand, while Harry tried not to look too anxious about her answer. “I've got a problem with that, Harry.”

He swallowed. “And what's that?”

“You don't have any furniture, you daft git.”

Hermione grinned at him; he laughed loudly. “You're absolutely right,” he said. “I've got to do some shopping.”

“You mean we have,” she said firmly. “You need a woman's touch.”

I could kiss her, Harry thought to himself, looking at her generous, smiling face - then fell to wonderment as he realized it was really true.

“So,” he said, desperate to distract himself. “Tomorrow?”

Hermione nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon. And I'll bring Dotty.”

*

End of Chapter Three! Chapter Four coming soon - one can only hope! Also, reviews are love.

Oh, and in case you missed the note on Chapter One, you can find a more aesthetically pleasing version of this story on my LJ: http://louisalorin.livejournal.com. But you'll have to friend me first. :)

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Author's Note: Yet again, this new chapter is the longest chapter so far. Insanely long, in fact. It answers some big questions and there is serious development. Plus we get to see some old friends.! Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. I'm still thinking five chapters with an epilogue, but I may have to push it to six at this rate.

As to the reviews, they've been extremely helpful. Thank you so much for the input. And I can't tell you how big I smile when I see a kind word about my writing. You guys are the best!

Aaaaand we're off!

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CHAPTER FOUR

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“Dot? Honey? Stay close, okay?”

The little girl paid her mother no mind, skipping ahead and singing a wizarding kid's song at the top of her lungs - something about an owl and a rat getting married. Harry and Hermione followed more slowly, Harry watching Dotty with more fondness on his face than was probably allowed.

“That girl is going to be the death of me,” Hermione sighed. “She's brave as a lion. But thankfully she's still wary of strangers.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “She looked a bit scared when I said hello in the bookstore.”

“She's nervous around men in particular. I hope you didn't take it personally.”

“I didn't,” Harry assured her.

They'd spent the afternoon shopping for furniture and other amenities for Harry's new flat. Hermione had watched with wonder as, the instant she pointed something out and declared it was rather nice, Harry paid in full and gave the shop clerks orders to deliver it later that same afternoon.

“You're relying very heavily on my taste,” she'd warned him.

“Even if you've got bad taste,” he told her with a grin, “it's better than the taste I've got, which is none.”

All in all, it had been a nice enough time. They kept the conversation deliberately light, not touching on serious subjects that were still hanging between them. Hermione told him about her job at St. Mungo's as an assistant healer, and how she hated her flat - that it was cramped and pricey and Dot's bedroom had no sunlight whatsoever.

But mostly their attention was taken up by Dotty, who had the boundless energy that all toddlers seem to possess. The little imp was already perilously close to having Harry wrapped around her little finger, but he'd heeded what he suspected were Hermione's wishes and tried not to act in any way fatherly. It seemed he'd thoroughly won Dot's affection, however, when he offered to buy her an ice cream cone just after lunch and she spun in circles, shrieking with wild joy. Hermione arched an eyebrow at him - the daughter of two dentists, after all - but he just shrugged and grinned at her.

Now they'd finished their furniture buying spree and were strolling to a nearby park. The late spring weather was really very lovely. Dotty was in denim coveralls with a polka dot t-shirt, chocolate ice cream still smeared generously around her mouth. Hermione wore a khaki skirt and a white cotton blouse. Despite the possible tension of the outing she seemed happy enough, and Harry was finding her unexpectedly pleasant to look at.

“You guys come here a lot?” Harry asked, as they stepped onto the playground woodchips and Dotty dove headfirst into one of the swings.

Hermione nodded. “A few times a week. She's made a lot of friends here. Tends to boss them around a bit, actually.”

Harry looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

Hermione grinned and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by an earsplitting shout: “PUSH ME! PUSH ME! PUSH ME!”

Laughing, Hermione started for the swings, but Harry stopped her. “I'll do the honors,” he offered.

Hermione twisted her mouth up, but nodded. Harry knew she still felt very cautious about his time with Dotty. But she couldn't really complain about an innocent push on the swings, now could she?

Harry came up behind Dotty, smiling. “Do you want me to push you high?”

“YES!” she cried.

“I don't know,” he said doubtfully. “Only big girls are allowed to go high. Are you a big girl?”

“YES!” she screamed again.

“All right then,” he said, and gave her a good strong push. Not too hard, because Hermione sat a little ways away, shielding her eyes from the sun to see them better, and he didn't want to worry her.

Dotty laughed, one of those spluttering kid laughs of pure joy. “Higher!”

Harry obliged. Dotty laughed again - and he saw Hermione smile in spite of herself.

After a while they slowed down, and Dotty hopped off, racing for the slide. Harry went to go sit by Hermione on the grass.

“I've had fun today,” he offered. “Thanks for helping me.”

“No problem,” she smiled.

“Ron's going to come over later and help move furniture around. Would you like to—”

“Can't,” Hermione said quickly. “No one to baby sit.”

“Right.”

They fell into silence, Hermione watching Dot's gleeful progess across the playground as she conquered everything from the tiny slide to the tire swing that was entirely too big for her. She clung to it as if she were drowning and it was a life preserver, her little body draped over it, chubby arms grabbing on for dear life as she drifted in the slow circles she apparently found thrilling. Harry, for his part, glanced periodically at Hermione. She seemed deep in thought, and he wondered what she was thinking about.

Hermione was, in fact, remembering a very specific time from her pregnancy. She hugged her knees to her chest, unaware of even the warm sun beating down on her.

The lowest point in the entire ordeal, she thought, must have been when she was visiting the Burrow with Ginny one afternoon when everyone else was out. This was midway through her second trimester, when she was just starting to feel really huge and her emotions were getting the best of her.

*

I don't want any more chocolate, she almost sobbed, turning away the piece Ginny had offered her. I want Harry to get his arse back here!

Ginny didn't bother to hide her concern. Hermione, what can I do?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You're sweet, Ginny, but there's nothing anyone can do. Hermione let her head drop into her hands, feeling utterly exhausted. I'm completely alone in this, and it terrifies me.

Ginny moved around the Weasleys' kitchen table to sit next to her. I understand, Hermione. You have every right to be terrified. But you are far from alone in this.

Hermione looked up to see Ginny smiling at her gently - but instead of feeling comforted as usual, she just felt her spirits sink lower. You're being far too nice, she said bitterly. Honestly, Ginny, I know you're monumentally hacked off. Not only did I sleep with your ex-boyfriend when you weren't anywhere close to over him, but he got me pregnant. I dare say that put a snare in your plans to get back together with him.

Ginny looked some combination of surprised, confused, and hurt. My feelings for Harry are my own business, she said. I'm more worried about you at the moment.

Oh, please. You can't tell me you didn't hope I would get cold feet and decide not to have the baby after all. Now when Harry comes back - if he ever comes back - he has an obligation to me. That's just killing you, isn't it?

Even as she was speaking, Hermione didn't recognize her own voice. It was dark and angry and paranoid and a whole host of other things she would never normally be. But these desperate, scared feelings had been brewing for months, and they were starting to overwhelm her.

Ginny, for her part, had closed her eyes, one hand covering her face. Please don't say that, Hermione. It's not true.

I'm right, Hermione said, her voice growing hysterical. I know I am. And you want to know the stupidest thing? *I* don't want him to feel an obligation either.

Why? Ginny asked, genuinely puzzled. It's his child, Hermione. If anyone ought to feel obligated—

No, that's not what I mean. I don't want him to feel an obligation because I - because— Hermione hesitated, her voice cracking with strain. If he wants to be with me and raise our child, I want it to be because—

She broke off, heaving one loud sob, and buried her face in her arms. Ginny's eyes widened. Hermione hadn't finished, but she didn't need to. Her meaning was painfully clear.

Hermione, she breathed. I had no idea. Are you in—

Don't say it, Hermione begged her. You weren't supposed to have any idea. No one was. And now I've gone and told the one person who'll hate me the most for it.

I don't hate you, Hermione, Ginny said softly.

There was silence, as Hermione won the battle against tears; her face stayed dry. But she didn't dare raise her head and see the look on Ginny's face.

There's nothing wrong with having feelings for Harry, Ginny told her. Out of anyone, I ought to sympathize most.

I'm so sorry. About everything I've said. Hermione looked up, anguished. I'm making you out to be some catty, Machiavellian, man-obsessed trollop. And you're none of those things.

Ginny seemed to ignore her apology. Hermione, can I tell you something?

Sure. Anything.

I had a lovely time with Harry, when we were together. But throughout, I was….

Ginny trailed off, losing her nerve. Hermione looked at her curiously.

Okay, I'll just say it. I was jealous of you.

Jealous…of me?

Sure. I mean…you and Harry and Ron were the famous trio and all that. The cool Gryffindors. You must have known how us younger students looked up to you. You guys started the DA, and you took on Umbridge, and then there was all the Voldemort-related heroism. That didn't hurt. You all were pretty legendary by the time Harry and I got together.

But I'd seen it all up close. Closer than most. I saw that when the battles got tough, something would invariably happen: Ron would fall to the side, and you and Harry would go it alone. That includes the Triwizard Tournament, rescuing Buckbeak and Sirius, when we battled those Death Eaters at the Ministry, and so many other times. By accident or by design, you and Harry were always side by side. Just the two of you.

I know you love Ron like a brother, and I know he loves you just as much. But your bond with Harry…how can I put this? You two have a deep love for each other, you worry about the other's safety, but most of all you respect each other's opinions. It was you who convinced him to start the DA. No one else could have done that. It was you and only you who could get through to him when he got all barmy in Fifth Year. You're the head and he's the heart and together you just…work.

Hermione just sat there listening, mouth slightly open. She'd never known Ginny felt this way, never.

Now, even all that wouldn't have been enough to make me jealous. Not Rita Skeeter's articles, not Parvati and Lavender's frequent comments - none of it. I know you've been approached about this sort of thing before and you've both had to insist that you two are only friends till you're blue in the face.

But Hermione, I've seen the way he looks when he's afraid for you. Remember my first year, when you got frozen by the basilisk? I was young, not to mention off my rocker from being repeatedly possessed by the darkest wizard in history, but I wasn't blind. He was going crazy with worry.

And that goes all the way up to six months ago, when I was traveling with the Order and the four of us got attacked near the safe house. A Death Eater hexed you pretty badly, remember? Harry just about went purple from rage. I heard that Death Eater was had to recover in St. Mungo's for a full month before going into custody.

He and Ron will rush to defend you at any moment you're threatened or in trouble, but just get a good look into Harry's eyes and you'll see what I'm talking about, Hermione. Anyway, said Ginny quietly, looking embarrassed to have said as much as she had, I was jealous.

Hermione's eyes fell shut as a wave of exhaustion gripped her. It was too much to bear, quite literally, being pregnant and having to process all this. Having to beat back the hope that Harry might care for her the way she cared for him. But first and foremost, the hope that he would come back at all. And she had to do all this in front of Ginny, who wanted Harry for herself and who probably had a far more legitimate claim to him.

Hermione said nothing. Neither of them did. But Ginny seemed to understand, from the way she rubbed Hermione's back in gentle circles as they sat in the quiet kitchen.

*

“Knut for your thoughts?” Harry said gently after several minutes.

“I'm remembering something that happened during the pregnancy,” Hermione said vaguely. “Not my finest hour.”

Harry bit his lip, clearly feeling awful once again. “Hermione, if there's ever anything I can say to make up for that - for not being there—”

“Here's an idea,” she interrupted in a low voice, looking at him straight on. “How about you stop bloody apologizing? You can't apologize for something you know nothing about, Harry. It was hell, and when you apologize you take away my power to be angry with you.”

Harry's eyes went wide. “I don't mean to—”

“I know you don't mean to,” she snapped. “But right now you're being Mister Sensitive, and it's driving me crazy. Owling my parents and apologizing, owling Mrs. Weasley and apologizing, asking to spend time with Dotty and get to know her, pushing her on the swings and buying her ice cream….”

“Hermione, I don't know what to say.”

“Well, Harry,” she hissed, “it's not my job to tell you what to say. Maybe you have to figure that out for yourself. For once in your bloody life, eh?

“You know,” she went on, warming to her topic, “I always helped you out with girls. Always helped you see what they were thinking and feeling, and told you what the right thing was to say. I knew how you felt about Cho and I knew how you felt about Ginny and I nudged you toward both of them, I clued you in. Like the best bloody friend that I was.

“But I'm me, Harry, so there's no one to tell you what I went through to have Dot. How I stayed up nights, crying from the cramps in my lower back. How I had to live in my parents' basement for a year and a half and they drove me absolutely batty. How I could barely get my favorite boots on because my ankles were so swollen. How my skin went bad and I was exhausted twenty four seven and I almost lost my job at St. Mungo's because I was cranky all the time. Because you're you, Harry, you can't understand any of that on your own.

“That's not entirely your fault. You've had enough to deal with your whole life that you've had to focus on yourself. Relative to what you could be, you're remarkably unselfish. And, of course, brave. You saved the world, after all. But you deserted me, Harry. You deserted all of us. Even though you didn't know, couldn't know about Dot - what you did was bad enough.”

Looking at her, Harry felt as low as he ever had in his life. Clearly it was hurting her to say all this, to be fully honest with him, because she knew it would cause him pain. That was just how good a person Hermione was.

But he was glad. Because once again, she was helping to guide him. Without even knowing it.

“Move in with me,” he said.

Hermione just gaped at him. “What?”

“You gave me an idea just then, Hermione. There's nothing I can say that will make up for what I did - but I can do this for you. I know you're struggling to pay for rent and daycare both, even with your parents' help. Move in with me, there's more than enough space. It doesn't have to be permanent, just until you find some stability.”

But it could be permanent, he wanted to add.

“Harry - I don't know what to say—”

He ventured a grin. “Excellent. Then the tables have turned at last.”

Hermione's face remained serious, though she looked as if she were trying not to smile back. “I'll think about it, Harry. You're right. It is a good offer.”

Dot was trotting up to them, her face and arms a little pink from the sun. “I wanna go home,” she sighed, snuggling up to Hermione's front. “I'm tired.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Hermione gave Harry a look over Dotty's shoulder, wordlessly telling him she'd be in touch. “Let's go.”

Harry watched them walk away, Dotty holding Hermione's hand and trotting along at her side.

*

After a good deal of back-and-forth correspondence, or what Harry had taken to calling “owl tag,” it was decided that the first gathering at his flat would be held the following weekend.

Mrs. Weasley arrived ahead of time, of course, to cook massive amounts of food and to hug him so tightly he thought he'd stopped breathing. She even brought her own groceries along. “Arthur, Ginny and some of the boys will be along shortly,” she told him briskly, getting out all his new pots and pans. “My, who decorated this place? It looks professionally done.”

It did look very nice, Harry privately thought. The plush sofa and armchair near the fireplace were strongly reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room. His bedroom, too, had a four poster bed, but without the heavy curtains. Everything was in nice, muted shades of blue, red and brown, which suited the wood-paneled rooms.

There was also some greenery. After Hermione and Dot had departed from the park, Harry had gathered up an armful of plants from the nearest flower store and set them everywhere in his flat. It was just the season for it, and they were starting to flower brilliantly.

The kitchen was the only space that still seemed rather bare. That, however, was changing dramatically as Mrs. Weasley filled it with the sights and smells of good cooking. Rather hopeless at it himself, Harry had ordered take out almost every night since moving in.

“I've got some old tidbits packed away that would spruce this kitchen right up,” Mrs. Weasley was saying. “Clippings of recipes and things. Stuff I already know by heart. Would you like me to send them over, dear?”

“Huh? Oh, sure. Of course. Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”

“And I hear Hermione might be moving in as well.”

It was quite the non-sequiter, but Harry had been expecting it. He knew that Hermione would tell Ron and Ron would tell his mother, who wouldn't be able to resist bringing it up given the smallest opportunity.

“Well,” Harry said, “there's a huge amount of space. The bedroom Hermione and Dottie could share is more than big enough for the two of them.”

Mrs. Weasley gave him a beady look. There was no way Harry could know for sure, but he suspected she was thinking that wasn't how the sleeping arrangements would necessarily work out. This suspicion was essentially proven correct in the next moment, when Mrs. Weasley asked, “What did you think of my letter, dear?”

“Pardon?”

“The things I said about Hermione, I mean.”

“Oh.” Harry felt a bit shifty. “The bit about—”

“Yes,” Mrs. Weasley said impatiently. “The bit about her feelings for you.”

“If it's true,” Harry said, heavily emphasizing the if, “how could I ever know for sure?”

“Sweetheart, you'll just know. If it sounds right and it feels right you'll just know. Now,” she went on, turning businesslike, “you should set that lovely new dining table of yours. How many of us will there be?”

“Twelve,” Harry said, counting swiftly in his head. All the Weasleys were coming but one - Percy still had his head so far up his arse he couldn't see the light of day - plus himself, Hermione, Remus and Tonks.

“You have all the supplies?” she asked him dubiously. “Plates? Cups? Silverware? Everything?”

“Yes, yes, yes and yes,” Harry said. “Hermione took care of all the purchasing, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Don't you get shirty with me, boy. I'm trying to help you throw a decent party!”

“Yes ma'am,” Harry said, cowed. But he grinned to himself. Interfere though she might, he had definitely missed Molly Weasley.

*

By the time everyone arrived, the party was really quite lively. Harry had greeted everyone with fond hugs - especially Fred and George, who looked much older, and Ginny, who seemed close to tears as they embraced. Hermione and Ron were in a corner, chatting with Tonks and Remus and looking relatively relaxed. Dotty was moving from the arms of one adult to the next, equally infatuated with all of them.

When it came time for a toast, the task somehow fell to Fred and George. All the females at the table looked distinctly nervous as the twins clinked their glasses for silence.

“We won't lie, Harry, we've no idea where you've been and it makes us a tad upset,” Fred began.

“But we're more than willing to forgive you,” George went on, “because of your most generous nature. You financed our business in the beginning, after all, and we've just consumed a great deal of Firewhisky in your flat for absolutely no cost.”

The whole table laughed as the tension of Fred's first remark flew out the window.

“It's a good thing you're in London, Harry, not only because you're likely to get more press this way, and we all know how much you love that—”

“—but also because there are some serious babes in the city. We know this for a fact, although they seem to go into hiding whenever we come out.”

Though she couldn't possibly understand this remark, Dotty burst out laughing and clapped her tiny hands - probably mimicking the table's earlier response. This caused another round of hearty laughter.

“In conclusion, Harry, we wish you the best of luck in reentering the Wizarding World. You won't be sorry.”

“And even if you are,” George added, “it won't matter because you're not going anywhere, we'll tackle you to the ground before you can say `disapparate'.”

“So welcome back,” the twins said in unison, and the rest of the table chorused it, knocking their glasses together. Harry could only smile, wondering how he could have possibly stayed away for so long when there were people in the world this dear to him.

*

The evening seemed to pass by very quickly. Soon everyone was filing out the door, hugging and shaking hands, agreeing to get together again soon. “Next time at the Burrow,” Bill insisted. Charlie nodded, chiming in: “We can have a proper Quidditch match, Harry. What do you say? Seeker versus seeker.”

Ginny smiled at Harry with significant eyes, telling him not to be a stranger. Remus clapped him on the back, his eyes looking suspiciously misty. Tonks bid him goodbye with her usual clumsy enthusiasm. Ron and Hermione both lingered behind, however, sensing an opportunity to talk seriously at last.

It was the first time the three of them had been in one place together since Harry returned, and they were all painfully aware of it. Dotty had fallen asleep an hour and a half ago on the couch, so by unspoken agreement they wandered into the kitchen, taking seats at the smaller, circular table.

Ron spoke first. “Tonight was good, Harry.”

“It was, wasn't it?” Harry asked. “It's so quiet in here now everyone's gone.”

Hermione said nothing; her arms were folded across her chest and she was staring off into space. This was the first time Harry had seen her since the afternoon when he'd asked her and Dotty to move in, and they hadn't had much of a chance to chat until now.

Harry thought she looked lovely this evening, though tired. Her dress was the same blue her coat had been, knee length with a rather complicated collar Harry couldn't put a word to. It looked nice, though.

“So I suppose this is as good a time as any to finally talk,” Harry ventured.

At this, Hermione came to attention. She nodded; so did Ron.

“When we were at the café,” he said to Hermione, “I got to ask you questions. Same with you, Ron, when we went out those evenings. Now I guess you get to ask me some questions.” He sat down between them, putting his palms face up in a gesture of welcome. “So go ahead, I can take it. I'll answer every question I can.”

“Where?” Hermione demanded immediately. “Where were you all this time?”

Harry sighed. Their very first question, and he couldn't answer it fully.

“I'm not allowed to give specifics,” he said slowly, “but I can tell you a few things. First, it's the world's only unplottable island.”

Ron gave a start. Hermione's eyes widened. “I had no idea such a place existed,” she said.

“Almost no one does,” he answered. “That's why it's so hard for me to talk about it.

“After Dumbledore died and Scrimgeour finally turned out to be halfway decent,” Harry went on, “he told me that if things got too bad and there was anything I needed, anything at all, to consult the enchanted parchment he then handed me. I was so distracted at the time I barely gave it a thought.

“As it happens, each new Ministry of Magic becomes a secret keeper for the location of the island. It's an ancient, powerful spell—”

“It must be,” Hermione interrupted, the old academic light shining in her eyes, “to be able to encompass an entire island. It must be well nigh unbreakable.”

Harry smiled at her. “I should think so. Anyhow, one night I finally consulted the parchment. It contained the incantation necessary to apparate to the island. I'm guessing he meant it as a safe haven in case there was no longer anything standing between me and death. But after Voldemort went down and the dust cleared, I began to think of it as the only place I had left. I knew it was a world away, intensely private, and that was enough.

“When I apparated to the island I was immediately surrounded by a pack of fierce-looking wizards whose first instinct was obviously to kill me. My deeply confused expression - and my scar - probably saved my life at that point. They dragged me to headquarters, where I explained to the people that live there who I was and how I'd gotten there.”

“They didn't know who you were?” Ron asked, nonplussed.

“I was just as surprised,” Harry said. “But I won't lie, it felt good. Anyway, of course they'd heard of Voldemort and the bit about the prophecy, they'd just never seen my face. So they let me stay for a few days in some spare quarters, which I don't mind telling you were rather lacking in basic comforts.

“After a few days I came before them again. They told me they'd discussed my heroic deeds and they had a proposition for me. Then they finally explained who they were.”

Harry paused, tipping his head thoughtfully. “This part, well…I can't promise you won't forget about it immediately afterward. Because of the whole Secret Keeper business. That's what I mean when I say I have to be vague. It's not that I'll be punished, it's that it won't do you any good, you won't remember any of it. But I'll tell you anyway and I guess we'll see.”

They both nodded quickly. Harry could tell they were intensely curious.

“Turns out they're a very ancient, powerful society of witches and wizards, nameless to anyone who happens to know about them but not be a part of the group. Yeah, they're that protected. Oh, and they have absolute control over the flow of magic on this planet.”

Hermione gasped aloud. Ron's jaw dropped. They all waited in silence for one long moment.

“I'm not forgetting,” Hermione said slowly.

“Me either,” said Ron. “I think this might be okay.”

“All right, good. There's probably some caveat in the secret-keeping thing about hostile intent, I dunno.

“Anyhow, when I say they control the flow of magic…well, that's oversimplifying it. There's ancient rites surrounding the whole thing, but it's a very raw connection to the primal magical force. I can't tell you much more, or it would become an issue of punishment.

“So, this ancient society needs certain representatives in every nation. Ambassadors, I guess you could call them. Their purpose is to keep the society abreast of political tensions and things like that, but also to directly power-check each Minister of Magic. Mad-Eye Moody was an ambassador, may he rest in peace - which perhaps partially accounts for his deep paranoia - and I'm guessing he's the main reason Fudge was ultimately sacked. They weren't very friendly, Moody and Fudge. The society seemed to be under the impression that Fudge tried some serious sucking up early on in Moody's tenure - Quidditch box seats and the like - and Moody wouldn't have any of it.

“There's a strict balance required when it comes to magic, you see. It's not so much about good or evil, light or darkness, but intent. That's why a good, strong leader is so necessary during hard times. Motives have to be pure, or else your magical energy is tainted and it contributes to a worldwide imbalance. Fudge was okay during the intermittent periods, and Scrimgeour got the job done with the Death Eaters, but you can see how neither is an example of sterling morality.”

Hermione snorted. “Understatement of the century.”

“So, as it happened, they'd been looking for a new ambassador for Britain. And my name had come up in some vague talks, though they had little idea of who I really was. Usually they don't go for someone so young. But it turned out they were interested.”

“Wow,” Hermione said. “So that's a big deal, right?”

“It is, a bit,” Harry admitted. “Usually they want to put you through some rigorous test, see you perform a few gusty and courageous acts, but they gave me a pass on that one. Given that I'd just put Voldemort in his place and all.

“So I was signed up. It's highly ceremonial, and three times a year there's a big ceremony with lots of robes and spells and chinese gongs. Same with the initiation rites. But I also feel very strongly about the position and its importance in the Wizarding World. The society could see this. When I explained my relationship to Dumbledore - also a former ambassador - they were pretty much salivating. Another big draw for me was the stipend.”

“Which is?” Ron asked, goggling.

“Ample.” Harry gestured around him. “It's why I felt comfortable signing for this flat. I would have been uneasy otherwise, even with my inheritence.”

Hermione sighed. “So you're all rich and stuff.”

Harry shrugged. “Guess you could say that. Those guys don't have too good a sense of the Galleon exchange. They deal strictly in ancient gold coins that are extremely valuable, so the pay probably ends up being more than they think it is.”

Ron chuckled. “Works out well for you, though.”

Hermione leaned forward a bit, folding her arms on the table. “So these initiation rights or whatever, they took three full years?” she asked him directly.

Harry shook his head slowly. “No. But the thing is, they didn't need me to start right away. They had someone in the interim and she was doing fine. But the maximum term allowed for that kind of thing is, well, three years.”

“And of course you made sure she used up the maximum term.”

Harry winced a little at Hermione's tone. “Well, yes. She wanted to, and I didn't mind. Especially because the longer I was away the harder it got to came back, as I've told you.”

Ron nodded. “And that also explains why you didn't get our owls. Since the island was unplottable, the owl couldn't find it unless the sender knew of its existence.”

“Right.”

“We thought…well, we didn't know what to think,” Hermione said.

“We thought you just weren't responding.” Ron smirked half-heartedly. “Either that or you'd taken up with some veela. But time went on too long. We really started to lose hope, Harry.”

Harry hesitated. “Well…I won't lie. The island was also a big draw for me for that resaon. If I'd gotten your owls I wouldn't have been able to stay away. Certainly not as long as I did, but probably not more than a week. And I had to be alone. I had to leave it all behind.”

Ron's throat worked. “You needed to be away from us that badly?”

“It wasn't us, Ron,” Hermione said, surprising them both. “It was about Harry, he'd been through hell.”

Harry looked moved at her protest on his behalf. But she held up a hand.

“Just because I understand,” she said. “Doesn't mean I forgive. That will take time.”

Ron nodded slowly, staring at the tabletop, and again Harry realized the magnitute of what he had done. The extreme selfishness.

He dropped his head into his hands, feeling more terrible than words could express. They all sat there for a while, silently sharing their pain as only best friends could.

“I should get home,” Ron said after a while, standing stiffly. “Tomorrow's Monday, after all. Another day at the Prophet.”

“And you, Hermione?”

She shook her head. “I don't have to be in early. The good thing about Mungo's is that the hours are dependable, far more so than in Muggle hospitals. So I work every hour that Dotty's in daycare, and for emergencies I ask Ron or Ginny to sit. The pay isn't bad,” she said, “but I'd do better if I could get more hours in.”

Ron hurried out the door, giving his friends quick, distracted hugs. Harry knew Ron needed to think about all he'd learned. Hermione, however, paused in the doorway, a sleeping Dotty gathered in her arms.

“Yes,” she said to him in a low voice.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, we'll move in with you.” She looked determinedly at the floor. “I think it's best for everyone. Dotty will get used to your presence - and we can get to know each other again.”

Hermione did look up then, to gauge his reaction. Harry was deeply and dizzyingly happy and didn't mind if it showed on his face.

“Thank you,” he said roughly.

Still cradling Dotty in her arms, Hermione smiled at him. Her guard seemed to have lowered a bit, and there was an expression in her eyes that threatened to take his breath away.

“I'll tell my landlord, all he needs is a week's notice.” She smiled at him. “Goodnight, Harry.”

*

End of Chapter Four. Sorry it was so bleeding long, everyone. But I hope it was satisfying for those who had questions about Hermione's side of things.

Chapter five will bring family bonding, and a bit of a catastrophe. As I've said, it may or may not be the final chapter. Only time - and my muse - will tell. :)

Reviews are not only loved, they're cherished.

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Author Notes: okay, okay, I'll stop apologizing for the long chapters! *grin* I'll take it as a compliment that you guys like me when I'm wordy. I agree that more fanfic is better in theory, but you never know when you're boring someone to tears.

Some reviewers have said that Harry should be less apologetic, some have said that Hermione should less forgiving. Personally, I love hearing everyone's opinion and knowing all of you are invested in what's happening. I can only hope the opposing viewpoints mean I've found some sort of balance in the middle.

Oh, and to clear something up: the version of this story that's on my livejournal (http://louisalorin.livejournal.com) isn't any different content-wise, just prettier-looking because of the formatting. So don't worry if you don't have a livejournal, you're not really missing anything. :)

And now, to the fic!

---

CHAPTER FIVE

---

“Is that it?” Harry asked, watching the last levitated moving box go zooming up the stairs.

“I think so.” Hermione dusted off her hands and started up the staircase. “Come on, Dotty! Let's go see our new flat!”

Harry's flat was a third floor walk-up. The stairs were rather rickety and steep, but charmed to be safer for the younger tenants, so Dotty skipped up ahead of them with ease.

Ron and Ginny were sitting cross-legged on the living room floor when the three of them entered, busy unpacking Hermione's boxes. Dotty greeted them both with hugs. Since it was Sunday and neither had to work, they'd come over to help with the move.

It wasn't strictly necessary; Hermione didn't have much. Most of the boxes she did have were full of Dotty's books and toys. Their beds they had left behind, as they needed new ones anyway. But Ron and Ginny had made sandwiches and put music on the Wizarding Wireless, determined to make a fun afternoon of it.

“Bedroom!” Dotty cried, entirely uninterested in the living room and kitchen. “I wanna see the bedroom!”

Ginny grinned knowingly. “You're gonna love it, Miss Dotty.”

Harry led them around the corner, to the doorway of their new room. He gestured with a flourish. “Here you are, ladies.”

Hermione gasped. She'd expected to find the room entirely empty, like the last time she'd seen it, but instead it was beautifully furnished with a queen sized bed in one corner and a smaller twin bed in the other. There was a handsome desk, bookshelves, and a little sitting area with a circular rug. Everything was decorated in pretty shades of blue and cream.

“You like it?” Harry asked anxiously. “Ginny helped me pick out some stuff. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I love it,” Hermione said truthfully. “It's gorgeous, Harry.”

Harry smiled, drinking in her awestruck expression. They both looked over at Dotty, who was already jumping up and down on her new bed with wild excitement.

“Do you like it, Miss Dotty?” Hermione asked her.

Dotty nodded joyfully.

“Then say thank you to Harry.”

“THANK YOU HARRY!” Dotty shouted, and bounced straight from the bed into his arms.

Hermione gasped; the distance was a good five feet. But Harry caught her securely.

“Careful, Dot,” he warned her. “Wouldn't want you to break a leg, now.”

“I won't!” she assured him. “The carpet is very soft! Look!”

Harry nodded solemnly. “You're right, it is soft.”

“All the same, darling,” Hermione told Dot, “you have to be more careful. Now, do you want to go unpack your books?”

“Yes!” Dotty began to wriggle out of Harry's grasp. He laughed, and set her down.

Hermione and Dot walked back out into the living room - but Hermione looked over her shoulder at him as they went, a touched expression on her face. Thank you, she mouthed.

Harry followed, feeling extremely gratified. He paused in the doorway, then cast a cushioning charm on the floor - just in case of future mishaps.

*

After Ron and Ginny had gone, and Dot went down for her afternoon nap, Harry and Hermione sat down for some tea and a much-needed break. In wordless agreement they split up sections of the Daily Prophet and read them at the kitchen table. Harry turned straight to the Want Ads.

“Job hunting?” Hermione asked him with some surprise. “I would have thought you didn't need to work, seeing as you're Mr. Big Shot Ambassador Moneybags and all that.”

Harry laughed. “It's actually kind of a part time thing,” he told her. “It requires extensive weekly communications via their special breed of invisible owl, more frequent if necessary, but that's about it. I have certain contacts at the Ministry that give me daily updates, and of course I have to meet with the Minister biweekly. But I'll go crazy if I haven't anything to do the rest of the time. So I'm job hunting.”

“What's your impression of Ogden so far?” Hermione asked him. Tiberius Ogden, an elder of the Wizengamot who'd resigned in protest during the Umbridge fiasco, had been appointed Minister after Scrimgeour's death with a near-unanimous vote by the Oligarchy. This was widely viewed within the Order as fantastic news.

“Oh, smashing. He's very passionate, obviously. He has a lot of good ideas and loads of energy. He was next in line for Chief Warlock if he hadn't resigned from the Wizengamot.”

“And may I inquire as to his position on Elf Rights?”

Harry glanced at Hermione warily, but she was grinning at him over her cup of tea.

“I can't believe I haven't asked him about that yet.” Harry donned a look of importance, pretending to scribble down a note in the newspaper margins. “I'll put it first on the agenda for our next meeting.”

“So what kind of job are you looking for?”

“Anything, really. I'd prefer something less visible, but beyond than that I'm open.”

“Hmm,” Hermione said. “I'll think on it.”

“Are you going to the Burrow next weekend?”

“I don't know, are you?”

“I was planning on it, yeah.”

Hermione turned a page in the entertainment section. “I suppose since we all live in the same flat now it would make sense to go together.”

“I suppose so,” Harry smiled.

From the direction of their new bedroom, Hermione heard the fretful sounds of Dotty waking from her nap. “Oh, there she goes. Be right back.”

Harry thumbed through the Want Ads, circling jobs here and there. He looked up, though, when Dotty and Hermione reentered the room.

Dotty was obviously still half asleep. Her hair was mussed and untidy and her cheeks were rosy, one side of her face creased from the bed sheets. She was wrapped in one of the small quilts Mrs. Weasley had sent over, head tucked against Hermione's shoulder, whimpering lightly. Bad dream, Harry thought instinctively.

“Do you want some water, sweetie?” Hermione asked in a soothing voice. Dotty nodded, rubbing her eyes.

“I'll get it,” said Harry, starting to stand up.

“No, that's all right, I'll get it. Here, you take her.”

Sleepily, Dotty reached out her small arms to Harry. Hermione handed her over and Harry set her gently on his lap. She was quite warm from being under the quilt, and she snuggled against his shirt front, still whimpering in slight distress.

“Shhh,” he found himself murmuring. “It's okay, it's okay. You're awake now.” He cradled the back of her head with one hand, stroking her hair. She calmed down considerably.

Hermione rounded the corner with a glass of water and stopped in her tracks. Harry was holding Dotty, gazing down at her with an odd expression on his face. It was an look that Hermione immediately recognized.

“I'll take her,” she said quickly.

Harry nodded, and Hermione gathered Dotty up and carried her over to the living room sofa. Dotty took the glass of cool water, only needing a little help to drink it. Harry quietly returned to his Want Ads. But Hermione kept staring at him over the top of Dot's head, shaken by what she'd seen.

On the day Dotty was born, the Grangers had turned up in the delivery room just as Hermione and the baby were finished being cleaned up. Hermione's father had a Muggle camera, and he snapped a photo of Hermione as she held her daughter for the very first time.

The look on Harry's face while holding Dotty had exactly mirrored Hermione's face in that photo.

He's her father, Hermione thought heavily. How long can I go without telling her?

*

Sunday afternoon at the Burrow was lovely. Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley sat inside for the most part, chatting about womanly things. The boys had the promised Quidditch game, but since Charlie was absent the two sides weren't as competitive as they might otherwise have been. Harry was forced to play chaser after several minutes, since without Ginny playing there wasn't anyone who could match him as seeker.

Dotty ran around the yard beneath them, playing her own little toddler games. She picked flowers and gathered them in a heap at the front door. She found some twigs and made them talk to one another, pretending they were people. After a while she began to get interested in the Quidditch game, as the women had come outside to watch and Ginny had Dotty on her lap, explaining what was happening as best she could.

“Now until you're old enough to play,” Ginny was saying, “you've got to cheer for the one you like best.”

Dotty screwed up her little face, thinking hard. Then she stood up on Ginny's lap, waving her arms.

“GO HARRY!” she shouted at the top of her voice.

Harry was busy passing the quaffle back to Bill, but he heard Dotty and waved down at her, grinning. Dotty waved back furiously.

Hermione, watching this scene, felt a sharp tug at her heart.

Eventually everyone flocked inside for dinner. Mrs. Weasley's cooking was, as always, excellent. “So Harry,” Fred said, around a giant mouthful of roast chicken - Mrs. Weasley glared at him, but did not tell him off for talking with his mouth full as she might have done three years ago. “Found any work yet?”

“Not yet,” Harry said mildly. He'd decided not to tell anyone else about his work with the society, and had informed Hermione and Ron as such. They'd even offered to undergo an Unbreakable Vow, knowing how serious he was about it, but Harry had assured them of his trust in them.

“There's got to be something at the Ministry,” said Molly. “Isn't that right, dear?”

“I can certainly make an inquiry,” Arthur agreed.

Since Ogden's appointment as Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley had been promoted to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was a more bureaucratic job than one might expect - the Head of the Auror Division, for example, was considered to hold much more power, even though he or she was technically outranked by the department head - but it was a huge title bump, and Arthur seemed to be thriving in the job.

“That would be great, Mr. Weasley. Thanks.” Harry and Arthur exchanged a look, and he knew they'd speak privately later.

“How are you settling in at Harry's, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked Hermione.

“Oh, it's a lovely neighborhood,” Hermione answered. “Our bedroom is gorgeous, Ginny helped with it. And the closest daycare is much better than Dot's old one.”

Mrs. Weasley seemed to notice that Hermione had said nothing substantive, least of all about her new roommate. But she let it pass, and the cheerful conversation moved on.

*

Three weeks later, life had settled into a pleasant enough sort of pattern. Hermione, and especially Dot, filled his flat with noise and activity, which Harry relished after so much time away. He'd decided to put off the job hunt until he got more used to his official duties as ambassador - which wasn't his official title, of course, but he didn't want to risk revealing it to anyone outside his official Ministry contacts - and the hours he spent alone in the flat had started to seem oddly quiet.

Having Hermione as a flatmate was wonderful. He'd always enjoyed her company, but there seemed to be a new kind of energy now when they were all three together in the flat, even when they were each in separate rooms. While Hermione still seemed cautious about his role in Dotty's life, she'd allowed him to pick Dotty up at daycare a few times and each time the little girl seemed delighted to see him, introducing him to all her new friends and showing him the macaroni projects she'd made.

On this quiet Friday afternoon Harry was loitering around the flat, absently picking up after himself. As was typical for this time of day, Hermione was at work and Dotty was at daycare. Tonight's plan was for Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Bill, Fleur and himself to go out for dinner and drinks later. But before dinner Harry had his first official appointment at the Ministry.

He checked the clock above the mantle: time to disapparate.

The next thing he knew he was standing in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. Arthur Weasley was waiting for him by the famous gilded fountain, which no longer depicted the preposterous scene it had before the war. Now it was several inoffensive unicorns, enchanted to frolic in the fountain and spout water from their horns.

“All right, Harry?” he said in a low, casual voice. “Come along then, I've found a good place to talk privately.”

They'd decided his office was too obvious a place to meet on a regular basis. Their time together had to go unnoticed if at all possible.

It turned out that Arthur had chosen a Muggle diner several blocks away. “Now then,” he said, as Harry sat down across from him, “what has Ogden told you?”

“Just that you're my Ministry contact,” Harry replied. “And I couldn't hope for a better one.”

Arthur grinned. The wizard chosen for this task was specially selected by the Oligarchy, the small elite body that chose each new Minister of Magic. Typically it was someone who'd shown great integrity throughout their career and had no particular political aspirations of their own.

“I must say, Harry, this whole business shocks me immensely. I never knew a thing about any hidden island or secret society. But it makes sense, doesn't it? The balance of magical intentions and all that.”

Harry agreed. “We shouldn't have our hands too full, should we?” he asked then. “Ogden seems a decent fellow.”

Arthur nodded soberly. “He is. I've known him many years, he has a deep sense of civic duty. It's his Senior Undersecretary, though, that I have certain concerns about.”

Harry looked startled. “That's the position Umbridge used to fill. It's Dawlish now, isn't it?”

“Yes. Scrimgeour promoted Dawlish shortly before his death - and unfortunately, the new minister can't turn over the staff for several years without a legitimate reason for dismissal. I know Dawlish to be a hard, ambitious man, and he has consistently demonstrated contempt for anyone involved with the Order.”

“We'll keep an eye on him, then.” Harry nodded briskly; his tone had become decisive. “Do you think you'll be able to watch him closely enough?”

“Between your meetings with the Minister, and my not infrequent dealings with his office, we should be fine.”

“Okay. But if a serious need for surveillance arises - well, we'll make that determination when the time comes.”

“When's your first meeting with Ogden?”

“Three days.” Harry fidgeted. “I'm a bit nervous.”

Although Harry was technically his superior in these dealings, Arthur gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “You'll be fine. From what I know about the position, Harry, you're perfect for the job.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks.”

“Oh, speaking of jobs. I put in some inquiries with different departments about your possible employment. I tried to keep it quiet but when word got around that Harry Potter was looking for a job with the Ministry…well, it sort of blew up in my face.”

Harry sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it's no problem, I wanted to keep it low key for your sake. The less pressure, the better. But the good news is that any of the departments would be delighted to have you.” Arthur paused, his voice taking on a note of significance. “Particularly the Auror Division, Harry. Gawain Robards had visited my office at least five times since he got wind. He's even prepared to overlook the fact that you missed your N.E.W.T.s in seventh year.”

Harry made a thoughtful noise, but said nothing.

Arthur looked at him quizzically. “I thought that might catch your interest a bit more, Harry. You used to want to be an Auror, or so I thought.”

“Things have changed a bit,” said Harry. He was considering the many dangerous aspects of the job, which wouldn't have bothered him - except that now there was Dotty to think about. Looking at his face, Arthur seemed to understand.

“Anyway Harry, if you figure it out what it is you'd like to do, just say the word.”

“I will. Thanks so much, Arthur.” The two shook hands, and Harry hurried off to find a spot to disapparate, hoping he wasn't late for dinner.

*

Harry was the last to arrive at the small Indian restaurant in Diagon Alley. When he walked inside, Bill's jovial voice rang out.

“Harry! Jolly good. I was starting to think we'd have to send Fred and George after you, to make good on their threat.”

Remembering Fred and George's promise to tackle him to the ground lest he attempt another escape, Harry smiled sheepishly. Ron and Hermione, he was relieved to see, were laughing.

He took the empty seat across from Hermione at the end of the table, and she smiled at him in greeting. She must have changed after work, Harry thought. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress and earrings that glinted him in the low light. She looked relaxed, and very pretty.

“Ron and I are both here,” Ginny pointed out, “so who's baby sitting?”

“Luna Lovegood,” Hermione answered. “And apparently Harry has some reservations about that.”

“I like Luna, I really do,” Harry protested. “But we all know she's a bit nutters and to think of leaving Dotty with her—”

“She's great with kids,” Ginny reassured him. “She's sat for Hermione a few times before.”

“All the same, it makes me nervous.”

Talk flowed easily from that point on. Harry felt he really was beginning to catch up with all that had happened in his absence. Bill and Fleur had two children, both sickeningly attractive, and Fleur was every bit as beautiful as ever. Bill had some lingering scar tissue from the werewolf attack, but he'd retained his original handsomeness - plus it lent him an air of toughness he hadn't had before.

Percy, Harry learned, was still the same as ever, working diligently in the Minister's office. Word was that Ogden couldn't stand him: sniveling and power-hungry were some of the kinder adjectives he'd used thus far.

Harry was deep into a three-way Quidditch debate with Bill and Ron when he overheard his name in a quiet conversation across the table. Fleur and Hermione were talking in low voices. He didn't turn to look at them, but his ears perked up all the same.

“You are much too forgiving, 'ermione,” Fleur was saying. “If Bill had done to me what Harry did to you, 'e would have been lucky to avoid castration.”

Hermione winced at the graphic image. “It's different, though,” she said in a low voice. “Harry was my best friend first and foremost before he left. It's not as if he could have foreseen me getting pregnant. The most important thing is that he's back in my life, Fleur. And if Dotty can have a father - well, isn't that worth trying for?”

Harry was deeply touched by her words, but couldn't give away that he was listening in. He threw in some comment about the Falcons' offense, and the debate between Ron and Bill raged on.

“I suppose I understand,” Fleur said. “But still, I think you let him off too easy. You must make him beg from now on, Hermione.”

Hermione looked puzzled. “For what?”

Fleur laughed. “Sex, of course. You are - how you say - intimate, are you not?”

Hermione flushed all over. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw her glance at him nervously. He listened carefully to her response, which was even quieter than before.

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“But you want to, no?”

Harry froze, again waiting for her answer - but at that moment Ron addressed Hermione with a healing question, as their Quidditch debate had extended to players on the disabled list, and the moment was gone.

*

Despite Fleur's embarrassing questions, Hermione was enjoying herself at dinner. She felt pretty in her favorite black dress, and was happy to see Harry sitting across from her, looking especially handsome. When it looked for a while like he might not show up she'd felt oddly disappointed.

Having consumed several bottles of wine, they were getting punchier as the evening went on. Laughter drifted over them all like a healing tonic, pushing the hurt and uncertainty of the past three years into the realm of distant memory, little by little. It was while they were reminiscing about their first trip to Hogsmeade - when Harry had snuck in through secret passageways under his Invisibility Cloak - that Hermione had a startling revelation: she, Harry and Ron were interacting much as they had before Harry left.

“So Dad's getting you a job at the Ministry, eh?” Ron said, grinning. “Has the Great Harry Potter decided which department he'd like to seize control of? As a jumping off point, of course, with the potential for promotion to Minister of Magic within six months.”

“Hey, I'd make a great Minister. And my first official act would be to fire all three of the Cannons' starting chasers.”

Bill, overhearing this, laughed. “Hear hear!”

“Oh no,” Hermione protested. “No more Quidditch talk, please. It's enough that I get it every morning at the breakfast table, when Harry tries to read me all the headlines.”

“Only because you wake me up with your singing in the shower,” Harry accused her. “I can't get back to sleep so I have to come out of my room and bother you!”

“Please,” she laughed. “You only get up so I'll make you eggs and toast, seeing as you can't cook to save your life.”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it like a fish, unable to respond. The table erupted into laughter.

The talk moved on to Ron's latest article in the Prophet. Hermione leaned forward, addressing Harry a little more seriously. “Harry,” she said, “you don't mind my singing, do you? Seriously, I don't want to be a horrible flatmate.”

He grinned. “Sometimes you're a bit off key, but otherwise I love it. You're an excellent flatmate, Hermione.” He took a sip of wine. “But maybe you ought to stop parading around in those short nightgowns, it's causing me some problems.”

Harry blinked as he realized he'd just spoken those words aloud. But Hermione was already responding in kind.

“Oh yeah?” she demanded. “How about you, parading around in your boxers with no shirt on? How's that fair to me, huh?”

They stared at each other, grinning. Then they seemed to realize what had just happened, and looked away quickly.

Desperate for a distraction, Hermione glanced down the table - and she found that Ginny had been watching them. Their eyes met, and Ginny's emotions were bare before her: sadness and resignation. She gave Hermione a wistful smile, and turned away.

Oh no, Hermione thought. I have no idea what is happening here.

*

Harry and Hermione arrived home a little after eleven to relieve Luna. Harry offered her some Galleons - which Luna declined - while Hermione rushed into the bedroom to check on Dotty.

“I hope everything went all right,” Harry said.

“Oh, it was just lovely. We watched out the windows for a winged caladrius right up until Dot's bedtime, but we didn't spot anything.”

“That's too bad,” said Harry politely.

“Quite all right,” said Luna, sounding cheerful. “Next time I'll bring omnoculars!”

Hermione came out of Dot's room just after Luna had gone, looking tired but content. “Dot's fast asleep,” she sighed.

“Good.”

Harry was standing there, hands in his pockets, looking at her carefully. It was all over his face that he needed to say something important.

“What is it?” she asked, walking up to him. Harry looked at her, breathing in deeply.

“I'm leaving this up to you, Hermione,” he said in a rush, “but listen. I'm happy here, living with you. I want you to know that. And I also want you to know….”

Here he paused, staring at her intently. Hermione looked into his face and felt hope dawning inside her, the kind of hope she'd scarcely allowed herself to feel for all four years she'd been fighting against it. There was something alive in his expression, something that put a riot of butterflies in her stomach, and she waited for him to finish without realizing she was holding her breath.

“I'm ready, Hermione. At least I think I am.”

“Ready for what?” she asked him softly.

“Ready to tell Dotty that I'm her father. I love her, Hermione, and I want to help you raise her. I want to hold her hand when she crosses the street and protect her from all the scary things and I know I'm young, I know we both are, but I really believe that we can do this together.”

“Oh.” Hermione's mind abruptly shifted gears, stifling the selfish part of her that had wished to hear something entirely different. “Yes,” she said matter-of-factly, “I think you're ready too. I was going to bring it up with you this weekend, in fact.”

Harry grinned. “You were?”

“Yeah, I was.”

He shuffled his feet a bit, looking pleased as all get out. “Well,” he said, “how should we tell her?”

Hermione sighed. “I don't know. I've been wondering about that. Have you got any bright ideas?”

“Not a one.”

“Well then,” Hermione said, “let's think of something by tomorrow.”

*

End of Chapter Five. I suppose you all have figured out by now that this is *not* in fact the last chapter. The story will have to extend a bit longer. I seem to have stumbled upon an actual plot along the way, fancy that!

In all seriousness, though, I don't mean for it to go beyond one more chapter and an epilogue. I'll resolve the Dotty stuff and give you a peek into the future. But I *am* seriously considering a sequel, so let me know what you think about that. I have all these ideas about Harry's new post and Ministry politics and Draco entering the story and Percy coming around and so on and so forth….

Oh, and yeah, Scrimgeour kicked the bucket. I'll go into that later, I promise, even if it has to be pushed back until the sequel.

Thanks again for all the feedback, my lovelies. Makes the time spent writing totally worth it. :)

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Author's Note: Sorry no update yesterday, I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of a new work week. Here's the last chapter, and I do hope you enjoy it! You'll find plenty more notes at the end, but for now: FIC TIME! :D

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CHAPTER SIX

---

Behind all this, some great happiness is hiding.

-Yehuda Amichai

*

Harry stood in front of his bathroom mirror, shaving. From the direction of the kitchen he could hear the bangings of pots and pans, and a child laughing: Hermione and Dotty, cooking breakfast. These noises had already become typical of his Saturday mornings.

Last night he and Hermione had stayed up well past two, brainstorming a way to tell Dotty the truth about him. It was very tricky operation: they had to be honest, but couldn't risk overwhelming her, or expecting her to understand that which was beyond her. Dotty couldn't feel pressured to feel a certain way about Harry right off the bat, but she had to know it was okay to call him “Daddy” if she wanted to. A difficult balance to strike, especially with a child so young.

After an hour or so and a few more glasses of wine, neither had come up with any bright ideas. So they agreed to table it until the moment felt right or until one of them had a brainwave. Then, somehow - sprawled on the couch, still dressed in their dinner clothes and gazing into the merrily-crackling fire - they'd begun talking about everything and nothing at all.

Harry felt as if time had reversed itself. It was just like being back in the Gryffindor common room, he thought, almost eerily so - and yet it was different. Because after a while he noticed that whenever Hermione would tilt her head back, laughing at something he said, the firelight hitting her just so….

Well, words failed him.

Harry had quite enough on his plate without worrying about these odd feelings that kept popping up when he was near Hermione - but they were getting harder to ignore as time went on. Oh well, he thought. He'd deal with it on the fly, just like everything else. And probably, knowing himself, muck it up royally.

The indistinct sound of voices in the kitchen suddenly grew clearer. “Now can I get Harry?” Dotty was asking impatiently.

“Yes, sweetie. Go tell him that breakfast is ready.”

The sound of running feet, then Dotty was crashing through the bathroom door, bursting with excitement. “Harry!” she shrieked. “Breakfast tiiiiime!”

He laughed. “I'll be finished in a second, Dot.”

“What's that on your face?” she asked him, looking puzzled. Harry realized she must not have seen a man shaving before.

“It's shaving cream,” he told her.

Dot pointed to the razor. “What's that?”

“It cuts the hair on my chin, so I don't grow a big beard like Father Christmas.” He brushed his finger under her chin, tickling her, and she giggled. “But it's very sharp, so don't touch it.”

“Can I watch?” she asked.

He smiled. “Yeah, sure.”

Dot climbed up onto the counter next to the sink. She held onto his arm to steady herself as she stood facing the mirror, looking in at their reflections.

Harry's mouth fell open a little when he saw them in the mirror together. Dotty's hair and features were quite similar to Hermione's, but the expression on her face - watchful, calmly inquisitive - was all him. Not to mention her eyes, which were downright arresting when viewed next to his: a brilliant emerald framed by long, dark lashes, just like his own.

“Your eyes look like mine,” Dotty said suddenly, as if reading his thoughts.

Harry was surprised to find himself a bit choked up. He wiped away the last of the shaving cream with a washcloth. “Yeah,” he said softly. “They do.”

Dotty looked thoughtful. “Nobody else has eyes like mine,” she said.

“So this is where you got off to,” said Hermione, appearing in the bathroom doorway. She walked in, and her reflection joined theirs in the mirror. “Dotty, I thought you were going to fetch Harry for breakfast. Harry,” she added in a lower voice, grinning, “what have I told you about not wearing a shirt?”

Still dumbstruck by the sight in the mirror, Harry said nothing.

Then it happened. “Are you my daddy?” Dot asked.

A panicked silence fell. Harry's eyes darted to Hermione's in the mirror; her face had gone slack with surprise.

No one said anything for a good ten seconds. Finally Hermione opened her mouth - but Harry spoke first.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.” Standing on the counter, her face was level with his, and he looked right into her eyes. “I'm your father, Dotty.”

Dot's eyes went wide, her mouth making a little `O' of astonishment - then she leapt onto Harry, her arms wrapping around his neck, and hugged him fiercely.

Harry's relief was staggeringly deep. She was happy, thank God. He dropped the washcloth and hugged her back, holding her little body tight.

“I have a daddy!” she yelled. “And his name is Harry!”

Harry laughed, a bright, happy sound. “I have a little girl,” he whispered to her. “And her name is Dotty.”

Dotty leaned back and touched his face with her hand. “How long have you been my daddy?” she asked him very seriously.

“Your whole life, Dotty. But I didn't find out for a long time, just like you.”

“Did Mummy tell you?”

Harry gave a start - he'd been so caught up in his moment with Dot, he'd nearly forgotten Hermione was standing right beside them.

He glanced over at her swiftly. Hermione's eyes were full of tears, but upon closer examination they looked to be of the deliriously happy variety. He relaxed considerably.

“Yes,” he said. “Your mummy told me.”

Dotty reached an arm out to her mother. Hermione stepped forward and joined their hug, shaking with her silent tears. Harry bowed his head, still clasping Dot in his arms and wondering if it was possible to die from happiness and relief.

Both Harry and Hermione could have stayed like that forever. So it was Dot who eventually pulled back from the embrace, and declared, in a completely normal voice, “Mummy! Daddy! Breakfast tiiiiime!”

*

“So you told her?” Ron demanded, goggling at them across the kitchen table at the Burrow.

“Yeah,” said Harry. He'd been smiling for twenty four hours straight and it didn't feel like he would ever stop.

“And how'd she take it?” Ginny asked.

“Remarkably well,” said Hermione. “She adores Harry, she really does. And I think she suspected it all along. After we moved into the flat, she stopped asking me who her daddy was.”

Ron laughed. “Ruddy smart, that one.” Harry nodded proudly.

Dotty came dashing into the kitchen at that very moment. She had an armful of sweets in colorful wrappers. “Uncle Ron!” she shouted. “Try a piece of candy!”

Ron narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Where did you get it from?”

Dotty shrugged innocently. “Not telling,” she said.

“Around here,” Ron told her, “you don't put food of any sort in your mouth without knowing where it came from first.”

At this, Fred and George walked in, shaking their heads in disappointment. They had clearly been listening at the door. “We thought it was a foolproof plan,” said George.

Fred kneeled down to take the candy back from Dot. She handed it back, but asked, “Can I have a piece?”

“That depends,” George said. “Do you want your ears to turn blue and grow rabbit fur all over them?”

Dotty thought about this for a moment. “Sure!” she said.

George laughed. Harry reached out, picked Dotty up, and set her on his knee.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Dot,” he said.

She looked at him, nodding intently.

“If Fred and George ever offer you any candy,” he said, “you come and tell Daddy about it, and he'll hex them into next Tuesday.”

“Okay!” she said brightly. She turned to Fred and George, and stuck her tongue out. “My daddy's gonna hex you!”

“We'll just see about that,” Fred grumbled. “Harry, Charlie's just arrived. You said you'd play seeker next time he was here, remember?”

“That I did.” Harry put Dotty down and stood up. “Why don't you ask Uncle Ron to read you a few books, sweetie? I bet he's just dying to.”

Dotty started toward Ron, a predatory gleam in her eye. “Uh, sounds great!” he said quickly, and they went into the library together.

That left Hermione alone with Ginny, who was looking down at the table with a guarded expression. Hermione had been both hoping for and fearing this moment. She wracked her brain to think of something to say that would break the strained silence when suddenly Ginny spoke:

“We had a weird moment at dinner last night, didn't we?”

Hermione was relieved. At least now it was out in the open. “Rather,” she agreed.

“I'm sorry you caught me watching you.” Ginny chuckled humorlessly. “I must have looked downright pitiful.”

“You didn't look pitiful, Ginny.” Hermione squeezed her hand. “Just tell me what's on your mind.”

“Whew, that's a tall order. Okay.” Ginny folded her arms on the table, gazing at some spot over Hermione's shoulder, as she began to speak in a low voice. “You already know how I felt about Harry - remember that conversation when you were still pregnant with Dot, when you admitted you had certain feelings for him? I know you felt guilty saying it out loud, as if he still belonged to me.

“Well,” Ginny said, “he didn't. I know that now.”

Hermione looked at her curiously.

“When Harry broke up with me after Dumbledore's funeral, I understood his reasons perfectly. I even respected them. And I wouldn't have dreamed of taking up with another boy in the meantime - I just assumed that once the war was over, if we both made it through in one piece that is, there'd be some grand shiny reunion chock full of snogging and happiness.

“But instead,” Ginny concluded flatly, “he slept with you and then took off for three years. My heart was pretty well broken.”

Hermione winced, feeling a stab of guilt. But Ginny didn't seem to notice.

“I should have known better,” she continued quietly, “I should have realized he didn't feel the same way, couldn't feel the same way. Like I said, I understand why he broke up with me - but if it had been you he was dating…well, things would have been completely different.

“You would have stayed together, Hermione. Not because Harry didn't want to protect you - he'd have tried to break it off with you just like he did with me - but because you wouldn't've let him. And he would have loved you enough, and respected you enough, to keep you by his side no matter what.

“You're a brilliant witch, Hermione, but you're no more gifted at battle magic than I. And yet you were there with him until the very end. Perhaps he did want me at one point, but he needed you.” Ginny said this with no trace of resentment, only a touch of sadness. “And he still does.

“Hermione, think about everything that's stood between you all this time. First the whole `we're only friends' bit, then the prophecy and the war, then Harry taking off for three years. And most of all,” Ginny added, staring down at her hands, “me and Ron. There were too many other places to look - that's why you haven't seen what's right in front of your face. But I've seen it, and it's undeniable. You have to trust me, Hermione, it's there. It's what I saw last night at dinner.”

Hermione's breath had caught. Hope, that pesky feeling, was surging forward in her chest again, dawning like the sun. “What do you see, exactly?”

“I see the way you interact. The way he looks at you when he doesn't think anybody's watching. I see how sorry he is for having left you. He didn't know then what he was leaving behind; now he does.

“And you, Hermione. You haven't so much as looked at a man in four years. You can't tell me it's because of Dotty; you're young and pretty, and plenty of single mothers with young children find ways to date.”

Hermione didn't know what to say. She just sat there, staring at Ginny, who was looking down fixedly down at her hands.

“I won't lie, Hermione, I'm not entirely over it. But I'm well on my way. I've even started seeing someone.” Here Ginny's lips quirked in a small, private smile, and Hermione was instantly curious. “You just worry about yourself, and your family.”

Ginny stood, and walked to the front door. Hermione could see shadows of boys on broomsticks drifting over the front lawn, could hear their voices and laughter.

“Speaking of that,” Ginny said sincerely, “congratulations. I'm so glad Dotty has a father now.”

And she walked outside to join the Quidditch game.

Hermione sighed deeply, dropping her head onto her folded arms in the silence of the kitchen. She wanted so much to believe that every bit of what Ginny had said was true. But years of dead ends and broken dreams had taught her to expect the worst, and to prepare for the worst. Ginny has her own perspective, she thought to herself, and it's biased.

But if nothing else, Hermione was finally prepared to admit the truth: she loved Harry. She loved him so much that it hurt. She loved his smile and his beautiful, serious eyes. She loved the littlest details, like his posture and the way he held his fork when he ate. She loved him for his soul, which had withstood so much yet still remained so pure.

But most of all she loved him for his heart: good, and strong, and infinite in its capacity for caring.

Sitting there alone, face pinched with conflicting emotions, Hermione could only close her eyes and pray that Ginny was right after all.

*

Though they lived in the same flat, Hermione and Harry proceeded to go nearly a week without seeing each other at all.

Taking the opportunity to work more hours at St. Mungo's was a no-brainer for Hermione: since Harry could now pick Dotty up any day of the week, she worked three eighteen-hour days in a row, returning home each night after Harry and Dot had gone to bed.

After that, Harry spent four days and three nights away on the “super mysterious unplottable island,” as Hermione had taken to calling it, for his official initiation rites. They could keep in touch with the invisible owls while he was gone, so she sent him daily updates on Dotty, and he sent back notes with some vague details about the initiation process. They were short, but she knew he was telling her as much as he could. Just seeing his handwriting on paper again after three years made Hermione smile.

She missed him terribly.

For it seemed that ever since she'd finally admitted to herself the depth of her feelings for Harry, they were confronting her in every corner of her mind. When she went to the supermarket with Dot, she wondered what she could buy that Harry might like. When she dressed in the morning, she wondered if Harry would like what she'd picked out. When she listened to the Wireless, all the lyrics of every song reminded her of Harry.

All in all, she'd turned into every single mushy love cliche she'd always found abhorrent.

Harry apparated home late on Saturday evening as planned, having missed Dotty, who was having a sleepover that night with Bill and Fleur's children, by several hours. He appeared in the living room with a small pop, and Hermione, who'd been reading a healing text on the sofa, looked up with a gasp.

“Oh, Harry,” she laughed. “You startled me.”

She stood up and walked over to him as he shed his cloak, feeling a deep sense of happiness at his return. It wasn't that she'd feared Harry wouldn't come back; she knew he would. But all the same it was a deep relief to see him again.

Harry seemed to be acting rather bizarrely, she realized as she drew closer. He'd dropped his cloak and traveling bag limply onto the floor and was standing there, arms at his sides, giving her a very odd look indeed. The line between his eyes hinted at some hidden tension.

“Harry, are you all right?” she asked him anxiously, taking a step closer.

Harry just stared at her. And stared. And then, as she stood right in front of him, barely two feet away, his eyes dropped to her lips. The world turned to slow motion - Hermione knew what was about to happen but her brain refused to believe it - as his thumb traced down her neck, a touch so gentle she thought she might be imagining it.

“I missed you,” he whispered, with a breathy laugh. “I missed you so much, and I was only gone for three days….”

He leaned down, still giving her that heartstopping look, and Hermione realized she should be shutting her eyes right now but there was no way she was going to miss seeing this. His head found the perfect angle and then he was kissing her, kissing her with every ounce of him, and it wasn't five seconds before Hermione's knees turned to butter beneath her.

*

Harry felt her begin to fall, and caught her securely within the circle of his embrace. He was glad of it. Touching her, tasting her, was a shock to his system that he couldn't get enough of and the closer he held her, the easier it was.

Harry wasn't quite sure what had happened, exactly. All he knew was that he'd apparated into the living room to see her sitting there, somehow looking insanely gorgeous in just jeans and a tank top, and realized, with a feeling like he'd been hit in the back of the head with a bludger, how much he'd missed her.

So much, apparently, that he'd completely lost his head and started kissing her senseless. But, wonder of wonders, she was kissing him back, and he wasn't going to question it.

Time lost all meaning as they stood there in the living room, clutching each other as if they were drowning. Hermione's mouth opened under his and he gasped with arousal, cradling the back of her head with his hand. Her hair was ridiculously soft and she smelled like heaven and suddenly there was no longer any time to think about anything because she was pulling his shirt over his head.

“Hermione?” he gasped.

She pulled back away from, and the look on her face shut him up so effectively it could have been a Silencing Charm. You really want to talk right now? she seemed to be asking him.

The answer, of course, was a resounding no.

Harry's mouth dove for hers again. The pause had been just long enough for her to remove her tank top, and when he felt her smooth skin against his he thought he might die. He had her against the arm of the couch now, and their bodies pressed together fully - she made a gasping, moaning sort of noise as his erection brushed against her.

“Bedroom,” she muttered against his lips - then there was a loud crack! and she blinked as she saw they were standing next to his bed.

“Must have apparated by accident,” Harry mumbled. His lips were against her collarbone now, utterly engrossed in their task.

Hermione laughed, a giddy, tinkling sound. “I guess you were a bit eager.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “Guess so.”

Then Hermione's jeans were on the floor, and Harry's joined them, and they were most definitely done talking. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. She released her hair from the clip that held it in place, throwing it aside, and her brown curls spilled onto the deep red comforter.

The only other time they'd done this, Harry realized, he hadn't taken the time to really look at Hermione. Seeing her now was breathtaking. She was naked except for her knickers, a black scrap of fabric so tiny it barely deserved the name, and every inch of her was beautiful. His hands itched to touch her - not to mention other parts of him too.

In an instant he'd climbed onto the bed beside her, and his hands were sliding over her proud, firm breasts, his ears hearing the sweet music of her moan. His world was reduced to a series of sensations: the velvety texture of her skin; her keening cry as he bit her gently on the neck; the dampness of her knickers as he slid them down her legs; the wet heat of her sex that called to him like nothing else ever had.

He finally slid inside her, feeling her body tense with pleasure beneath him, and nothing in the world had ever seemed so right.

*

The Next Morning…

Harry woke with a start, eyes shooting open.

His first thought was that Hermione wasn't lying next to him as she ought to have been. There was a slight indentation in the mattress where her body had lain, and her scent faintly lingered, but other than that she was nowhere to be seen.

He slipped out of bed and pulled on his jeans from the night before. “Accio t-shirt,” he mumbled, then pulled that on too and went to brush his teeth.

He peeked into the bedroom she shared with Dotty, thinking she might have gone off to sleep along at some point, but it was empty. So too were the kitchen and the living room. Where can she have gotten to, Harry wondered, at six thirty in the morning?

*

Hermione returned from the supermarket with a million thoughts flying through her head. She knew it was ridiculously early to have left the flat, but she hadn't been able to sleep. Wandering about the lonely rooms while Harry slept soundly had seemed impossible, and Dotty wouldn't be home for another three hours at least.

Hermione rounded the corner, and felt a pang of surprise: Harry was sitting outside on the steps of their building. He had his chin in his hands, apparently waiting for her to return. He looked rumpled but adorable in his clothes from the night before.

She wasn't sure if it was because he'd waited for her, or just a reaction to the simple sight of him, but Hermione felt a rush of warmth in her chest. Then, just as abruptly, anxiety gripped her. He did look rather pensive - maybe he was about to tell her last night had been a colossal mistake. Or maybe he would slide an arm around her and kiss her and ask her what was for breakfast, and all would be well.

Either way, she thought, bracing herself, I'll find out in a moment.

“Harry!” she called, taking care not to let her voice shake.

Harry looked up, saw her, and stood. “Walk with me?” he asked her as she drew nearer, tilting his head in the opposite direction.

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, worrying her lower lip. It wasn't a hug and it kiss, but it wasn't the grimace of someone bearing bad news either. She didn't know what to think.

“You weren't there when I woke up,” said Harry quietly. “Where did you go?”

“The supermarket.” Then she realized he was looking at her empty hands. “I didn't buy anything, I just wanted to walk for a bit.”

“I see.”

They began climbing the slight hill that led away from Diagon Alley, in the direction of more residences. An uneasy silence had fallen between them.

“Are you angry at me?” Harry asked her finally.

“Angry?” Bewildered, Hermione shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Because I thought…since you left….” Harry broke off, and said with a self-deprecating smile, “I know I'm not one to talk about leaving. But you don't usually get up this early, Hermione. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing's wrong,” she said slowly.

He seemed to steel himself, then blurted out the question: “Are you—are you sorry about what happened last night?”

She looked up at him quickly. “No, Harry, of course not. I'm not sorry at all, but—”

Hermione broke off, pressing her lips together - and then all at once she was talking, her worst fears spilling out of her mouth in a rushing torrent of words.

“—but I need to know something, Harry, or else I think I'll go mad. I need you to be totally honest with me. Last night…it wasn't because you felt sorry for me, was it? You didn't feel some obligation to act all romantic just because you got me pregnant and then stormed away for three solid years of Me Time, did you? That wasn't why you kissed me, was it? Tell me it wasn't.”

Harry blinked, processing all she'd said - then, to her great surprise, grinned. “`Me Time?'” he repeated.

Hermione fought an answering smile. “You know what I mean,” she said softly.

Harry was silent for a moment. Absently, he swung his foot and kicked a pebble. It bounced ahead of them, skipping on the concrete, as he finally turned to face her.

“I'm in love with you, Hermione,” he said.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. Without realizing it, she stopped walking.

“I have been for a long time,” he went on, coming to a stop as well and staring down at his shoes, a look of grim determination on his face. “It sounds a bit stupid to stay that I have been forever, that I just didn't know it, but…I have been forever, I just didn't know it.

“We have a daughter together, Hermione. Even if you and I aren't involved romantically, we'll still be a family forever. But that would kill me, because I'm in love with you and all I want is to be near you all the time. I want to raise our daughter together, yes, but more than that I just want you. I need you,” he corrected himself, finally looking up and meeting her eyes.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, in a voice rough with tears. “You don't know - you can't know - how long I've wanted to hear you say that - how I've hated myself for wanting it but gone on wanting it all the same—”

Harry's eyes went wide. Then he seized her by the shoulders, right there in the middle of the street, and kissed her, hard. Long seconds passed - then something occurred to Hermione, and she pulled back.

“But I haven't gotten to say it yet!” she protested, ignoring the tingling of her lips.

Harry grinned, knowing exactly what she meant, but he played dumb. “You haven't gotten to say what?”

“Say that I'm in love with you. I'm completely, utterly in love with you.” Hermione slid her fingers through his black hair, messy as always, and watched as his face spread into an impossibly wide smile. He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers. “Thank you for coming home to me, Harry,” she whispered.

“Thanks for letting me come home,” he whispered back.

Their lips met again. Harry's fingers, chilly from the cold, traced down her cheek and she shivered.

“Dotty won't be home for another few hours,” she murmured to him.

Harry arched an eyebrow, grinning. “Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?”

Hermione winked at him. “Why don't you apparate me into your bedroom again and find out?”

The sound of their mingled laugher rang through the quiet neighborhood. Harry swung her up into his arms - and then, with a crack, they disapparated.

*

End.

*

Well, I though I'd have lots of notes, but writing this last chapter seems to have left me a little drained and so I'll just inform you all that the epilogue will be posted very soon; if not tomorrow than certainly the day after. You'll find more details about the planned sequel at that time.

I can tell you now that it's certain to be more of an action/adventure sort of story, set at some point in the future. Maybe a month, maybe six months, maybe two years…who knows? You could drop a line and let me know what you'd most like to see, if you so chose. Help get the ol' idea machine up and running!

Thank you all for following me through this rather surprising journey. I had a whim to write Harry/Hermione again, so I picked up the pen - so to speak - and this is what came out of me. I do hope you enjoyed it. H/Hr was my first ship ever and it will always stay my favorite.

To all who have reviewed and to who all who plan to review, thank you so much. I love every single piece of feedback I get.

<3

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Author's Note: I've got to stop posting at such a late hour, I know. But I'm prone to such unmerciful writer's block, and so I'm constantly afraid that if I don't write it now, I'll never be able to. And I always want to post as soon as I've finished writing. Hee.

So here is the epilogue. It contains several lovely, mushy scenes that I've just been dying to write since this whole thing started. And you're going to see a few little setups for the sequel. Nothing too cliffhangerish, I hope, just enough to keep your interest piqued.

On a more serious note: I need a beta. A smart, thoughtful person who adores Harry/Hermione and doesn't care for fan fiction cliches and ideally is something of a writer themselves, i.e. knows grammar and spelling and punctuation and how to put a nice-looking sentence together. I'll be ten times more likely to get a sequel off the ground if I have a trusted consultant, who can both brainstorm with me and tell me when my writing sucks (and just generally goof around with me, because that's most of what I do anyway).

So if you think that sounds like you, and you're interested, please leave a review with your email address and a few reasons why you'd like the job or why you think you'd be the perfect person.

Thanks so much, everyone. I've almost got this one put away - now let's get to it! :D

---

EPILOGUE

---

Spring had turned into summer, deep greens and bright sun-drenched flowers and long, lazy weekends. They didn't have a backyard but they did have a private roof garden, and it was very nearly as good. It got lots of sun, anyhow, and the views of the surrounding neighborhoods were very picturesque.

Hermione was bent over a potted tree, examining one of the many delicate white flowers that had sprung from its branches. “Figure it out yet?” Harry asked idly, from where he lay in the warm shade with Dot.

“Not yet.” She made a little humming noise of frustration. “Herbology was never my subject, unfortunately.”

“Nor mine,” Harry sighed. “But I bet little Miss Dotty here will turn out to be a sight better at it.”

“What's Herbology?” Dotty asked him.

“It's where you learn about plants and flowers.”

She perked up. “I like flowers!”

Harry just smiled at her. He was lying on his back and she on her stomach, her little arms folded on top of his chest, playing with a leaf she'd picked from a nearby bush. They'd brought a stack of books up to the roof but had already gone through them all - when it came to books, Dotty's appetite was as bottomless as her mother's.

As he looked at his daughter in the shade, Harry's heart melted for what seemed like the thousandth time since he'd first laid eyes on her. He could scarcely believe how beautiful she was, and how smart. That's the wizarding blood in her, Harry, Hermione had explained when he first commented on Dotty's cleverness. Magical children develop much faster than Muggles, speech and cognitive processing and all that.

Even with the wizarding blood taken into account, Harry privately thought she had inherited a little something extra from her mother. Certainly they had the same devastatingly beautiful smile - with just the faintest traces of dimples, like little dents in cream. But Dotty's real beauty, like Hermione's, was the bright intelligence that showed through her eyes. He'd never get tired of seeing it, not if he lived ten thousand years.

Harry stroked Dotty's hair gently as she chatted to him about the leaf - for of course she'd assigned it a name and personality and a life history all its own. Midway through her lengthy story, Harry glanced up to see Hermione watching them.

He'd caught her doing this frequently over the last few months, looking at them together with an awed expression in her eyes like she could barely believe it. Each time before he'd given her a reassuring little smile; and he did so again now. She walked over and sat down beside them, running her fingers through Harry's black hair just as he was doing to Dotty.

Their eyes met as Dotty went on talking, her voice full of childlike sweetness. They communicated wordlessly, tender looks on both their faces.

I'm so happy.

Me too.

Can you believe this?

No. Can you?

No. But I'm so glad.

“Well,” came an amused voice, interrupting their deep reverie, “don't you three make a sickeningly sweet picture.”

Harry recognized the voice before he even looked up; nonplussed, he raised his head to see Draco Malfoy standing there on his roof. Even more surprisingly, Ginny Weasley stood beside him, her shoulder touching his.

“Hello, Malfoy,” he said slowly, as Hermione jumped to her feet.

Harry knew Malfoy was no threat to them. Very near the end of the war, both he and Snape had pulled off a brilliant last minute switching of sides - in fact, it had been thanks to Draco that Harry had tracked Voldemort down and achieved the element of surprise that was so critical to his victory. Malfoy had done them a great service.

That didn't mean, however, that he was to be trusted implicitly. Hermione would be polite, Harry knew, but she, like him, felt uncomfortable seeing him in their home.

*

“Can I help you?” Hermione asked Malfoy shortly. Next to her, Harry slowly stood as well, holding Dotty in his arms.

“Not really.” Malfoy looked composed, she saw, but there was a flicker of anxiety and discomfort lurking in his grey eyes. “But Potter can. I'd like to speak to you privately,” he said to Harry.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance. “Up here?” he asked.

Malfoy shook his head. “We'd better go inside.”

“What's this all about then, Malfoy?”

“As I said,” Malfoy repeated slowly, as if speaking to someone rather dim-witted, “it's private.”

Harry gave Hermione a shrug. She could tell they were both thinking the very same thing. It was a little suspicious, but if Ginny was there too….

Harry set Dotty down, stepped forward, and he and Malfoy disappeared down the stairs that led back into the flat. Hermione immediately turned to Ginny. “What on earth—”

“It's all right, Hermione,” Ginny said quickly. “He's here on some official business that has to do with Harry. I doubt I know any more about it than you do - it's top secret.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Ginny had been standing rather close to Draco, and she remembered Ginny's words nearly six weeks ago: I've even started seeing someone.

“Ginny,” Hermione choked, “is Draco Malfoy your boyfriend?”

Ginny looked thoughtful. “I wouldn't say `boyfriend' exactly, we're not exclusive. But yes, I'm dating him.”

Hermione goggled. “And you came here with him because…?”

“He thought Harry would be more inclined to talk if I was here.”

“He wasn't wrong,” Hermione said faintly. “Ginny, does your family know about this?”

Ginny raised her chin defensively. “Of course they do, Hermione. Why woudn't they?”

Hermione just looked at her, waiting.

“Well, some of them know.” Ginny paused. “Actually, just Charlie, really,” she amended.

“Ginny….”

“What?” Ginny snapped. “I've got nothing to answer for, Hermione. He's a good man.”

Hermione thought of a dozen things to say, but few of them were fair and none of them were kind. “You're right,” she said instead, managing a smile. “I'm sorry.”

And they sat down together in the shade, where Dotty was still playing happily with her leaf.

*

Later That Evening….

“You haven't told me yet,” Hermione gasped, as Harry kissed his way down her throat.

He and Malfoy had holed up in his bedroom for several hours. When they'd finally emerged, Harry looking resolved and Malfoy looking rather tired, Dotty had already gone to sleep. Harry showed him straight to the door, then strode over to where Hermione was sitting on the sofa and looking intensely curious. He'd grabbed her and kissed her - and there they were still, necking on the sofa like the teenagers they so recently had been.

“Told you what?” Harry asked, his breath warm against her neck.

“What you two talked about for so bloody long!” Hermione said impatiently. “Ginny left after a while - I guess she didn't need to wait for him - but you two were in there for almost four hours!”

“And Dotty's asleep, is she?” Harry asked, giving her a mischievous smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Yes, she is. But don't try to distract me, I'm curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he informed her breasts as he brushed her nipple through her blouse.

“Harry! I'm - oh my - I'm serious.”

“And I'm serious too. Serious about getting to the bedroom immediately. Do you want to apparate, or shall I?”

Hermione couldn't restrain a grin. This had become a running joke between them, ever since the first time they made love in their flat. But she was still dying to know.

“Sorry, Love,” Harry murmured, seeing her dissatisfied expression. “It's work stuff. If I told you, you'd just forget it anyway.”

Hermione sighed and nodded. Harry had been right that first time, when he'd revealed his line of work to her and Ron - strong magic protected the society from anyone revealing its innermost secrets. If he told her something that crossed the line, she'd forget it completely less than two hours later. Several times she'd asked a question of him, only to see him smile and inform her that he'd answered it three times before with no success.

“I understand,” Hermione said, and meant it. It gave her a little unease to know there was a part of Harry's life she was cut off from - mostly because she wanted to know for sure that he was safe. “Now, what were you saying about the bedroom?”

Harry smiled widely and stood up, taking her hand.

They undressed together in the dim light of the bedside lamp, watching each other with desire that was barely contained. It wasn't the explosive passion of six weeks ago, but Hermione didn't mind at all. This was more intimate, almost sacred in her view. They trusted each other to go slow, knowing they'd be there the whole way through.

“I can't believe Dotty's starting preschool in the fall,” Harry murmured as he drew her close.

“I know.” Hermione sighed as she felt his nude body press against hers, warm and firm and every good thing. “Time passes too quickly.”

Looking into Harry's eyes, she saw the now-familiar twinge of regret. “You're right,” he whispered, “and I've already lost three years of it. I'm a fool, Hermione.”

Hermione put her hand to his cheek; he kissed the inside of her wrist. “Things might not have turned out like this if you'd stayed, Harry,” she said softly. “Who knows? You might have taken up with Ginny again, or even Cho Chang, heaven forbid.” Harry snorted dubiously. “Then again, maybe not, but I wouldn't like to risk it.” She exhaled breathily as his fingers skimmed her bare breast. “Perhaps - perhaps it was for the best after all.”

Grinning, he kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her jaw. “That theory of yours rather lets me off the hook, doesn't it?”

“Nope.” Hermione brushed a finger down the most sensitive part of his ear, and felt him shiver against her. “You are most assuredly still on the hook.”

Harry gave her a look so loving that she felt it right down to her toes. “As long as I don't have to be anywhere but here,” he whispered.

“Nope,” Hermione said, smiling. “That's the good news. The hook means you never get to be out of my sight again.”

Harry smiled too. “Then the hook is where I belong.”

Hermione had been running her hands over his back, touching the smooth skin there - now she brought one hand around to grasp his growing erection. Harry sucked in a breath, aroused by more than just the feel of her hand. It had been just six weeks since they'd started sleeping together, but he already knew that when she grabbed him like that, it meant she was ready to get down to business.

They tumbled onto the bed together. A brief but silly fight broke out over who got to be on top. Hermione won, but she suspected it was because he was in the mood for that as well.

Balancing herself above him, Hermione started to sink down on his shaft. The familiar feeling of desperate desire gripped her and she moaned loudly, stretching to fit him, easing lower until he was buried to the hilt. Harry's hands reached up to cup her breasts - his eyes were hooded with lust - and both of them began to move at the same time.

Like always, Hermione felt as if the world was coming down around her. Pulses raced, fingers intertwined, gaps and sighs escaped their mouths like some quiet language more eloquent and refined than words could ever be. Hermione hadn't been a virgin when she and Harry slept together for the first time, and she certainly wasn't for the second time three years later, but something about having him inside her always felt…new. New and amazing and wonderful.

Hermione arched her back, feeling orgasm approaching like a train about to slam into her. When she was with Harry she didn't even have to think about it - it simply came to her, just like loving him did. She gasped, and then she was clenching around him and he was groaning, holding her hips tightly in place, as he reached his peak at the very same time. Hermione's head fell back, her mouth open. Behind her eyelids, she saw stars.

For a long moment they remained still, the pleasure washing over them in waves. Then, having recovered, Hermione leaned down. Harry met her lips with his halfway.

She shifted off him and lay on her side, kissing him leisurely; they had just managed to catch their breath when they heard the faint sound of crying from the other room.

“Dotty,” Hermione sighed. “Poor thing. Probably a bad dream.”

Harry looked alarmed. “You don't think she heard us, do you?”

“Harry, you daft git, I cast a Silencing Charm on the bedroom weeks ago. Remember? You reminded me to do it about fifty times.”

He sank down onto the pillow, relieved. “That's right. Thank God.”

Hermione slid out of bed and he followed, both pulling on the nearest pajamas they could find. “I'll get Dotty this time,” she said.

“I'll warm some milk on the stove,” he murmured back.

“Find her stuffed bunny, will you? He's—”

“On the sofa,” Harry finished. “I saw him while we were snogging earlier.”

In the hallway now, she grinned. Harry squeezed her hand. “Love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Harry.”

And they went to their separate tasks.

*

END

*

So there you are. A nice bit of epilogue smut to tide you over until we meet our heroes again. I figured I should really make that NC-17 rating count before it was too late, tee hee.

I know I've said it many times, but I find I must say it at least once more: thank you so much for reading my story. I put a lot into it and I truly hoped you enjoyed it.

And don't forget: if you're interested in beta reading, leave me your info!

Love and thanks,

llorin

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