Disclaimer: See 'All He Ever Wanted'.
Author's Note: This might be the fluffiest episode in this ongoing series. Definite cavity alert! For eric_bowling, because he requested a fic where the kids are newborns.
Portrait of a Marriage
The Women in His Life
Harry Apparated into the little alley beside his flat, glancing around as he always did now for anything at all that looked even remotely threatening.
It wasn't something he'd mentioned to Hermione-mostly because he knew he didn't really need to and partly because he felt he was being ridiculous-but having Emily had changed his outlook in ways he could not have predicted and one of those ways was that now he looked at everything in the light of a potential threat to his baby daughter.
He remembered asking Ron, teasingly, what it felt like to be a "daddy", soon after Ron's son, David, had been born.
Ron's answer had been, "You worry a lot more." And while Harry's question had been teasing, Ron's answer had been serious, thoughtful.
Harry had smiled in response, in the blithe ignorance of a young man who was not a father.
But it was only now, thanks to Emily, that Harry understood what Ron had meant. He did worry a lot more, worried about everything now. Worried about Emily's safety-about every possible thing that could happen to hurt Emily in any way, from the mundane-Emily tripping or scratching herself on any rough or uneven surface-to the more serious-one of those enemies of Harry's who might choose to attack him where it would hurt the most; worried about Emily's health; worried about Emily's future. He worried about her because she was so tiny, seemed so fragile, but at least, she was also never left alone right now. He worried about when she would grow up and could be alone and all the things that could happen to her.
He hated going to work every morning because he hated to leave Emily, even if he was leaving Emily in Hermione's capable hands. (It occurred to Harry that, entirely aside from loving her, he couldn't possibly have married anyone but Hermione because he couldn't imagine trusting anyone but Hermione with his children, when he was working. Only Hermione, who he knew would be as capable and as clever and as devoted to their children as she'd always been to anyone she loved-as she'd always been to him.) And that was nothing to how he felt in the few times when either he or Hermione took Emily anywhere. Moody's phrase of 'Constant Vigilance' came to mind, and didn't sound nearly as amusing anymore.
He could just hear Hermione's voice in his head talking about his "saving people thing" and his protective streak; yes, he admitted it. Hard to not admit it when just the thought of anything remotely dangerous even coming close to Emily made him crazy.
The last thing before he opened the door to his flat was to check the wards around it-as always-and make sure they were all solid and unchanged.
He pushed open the door, hanging up his light cloak on the hook beside the door, and then ventured into the family room only to stop short, his mouth abruptly going dry, his heart rate quickening, in automatic reaction.
Hermione was feeding Emily, one breast bared, and it looked as if she might have dozed, as her head was lying against the back of the couch, her eyes closed.
But then, even as he looked, she blinked and straightened as if she'd sensed his gaze on her, and looked over at him, giving Harry a quick, if somewhat weary, smile. "Hi."
"Hi," Harry said softly. "How was your day?"
"Okay. Emily just woke up a couple hours ago."
Harry nodded. "That's good." He bent and brushed his lips against Hermione's, drawing back, but she caught him by his shirt, holding him in place.
"That's all the greeting I get?" she asked, a slight teasing smile curving her lips.
He gave in-as always, even though he knew that it wasn't the wisest thing to do at the moment-- kissing her more thoroughly, before drawing back slowly.
"There, satisfied?" he asked in something of a husky whisper.
"For now." Hermione's smile was tinged with a mischief he hadn't seen often in the last few months and he couldn't help but smile, an involuntary thrill of reaction streaking through him.
He touched his finger to Emily's soft cheek in a light caress before moving around the couch to settle next to Hermione.
An easy silence fell over the room, broken only the faint sounds of Emily's suckling, and Harry felt himself relax, his body once more under control.
When he thought about his life, he remembered a number of times where he'd thought he was especially happy: when Hermione had said yes to his proposal, his 22nd birthday-and the "special gift" Hermione had given him, their wedding day, their first anniversary… But he rather thought that all those times paled in comparison to this, to being able to sit here and watch Hermione feed Emily.
(It was probably the only time when he could see Hermione's bare breast without feeling a flash of lust-okay, so that wasn't true. He still felt the flash of lust. That was always, still, his first-and oh hell, his second and possibly even his third-thought but afterwards, when he'd managed to tamp down his automatic reaction, that was when the contentment settled in.)
He loved these moments, loved to be able to watch his wife and his daughter.
Hermione, too, was looking down at Emily, the fingers of her free hand lightly straying over Emily's head, smoothing her brown hair. The expression on her face was one of remarkable tenderness, an expression he couldn't quite remember having seen on her face before Emily had arrived. He knew, better than anyone, the depth and strength of Hermione's love but he also knew that it wasn't something she showed in her expression very easily or often. Now, looking at her, it was as if he could see all her heart, all the love of which Hermione was capable, plainly written across her face. And it caught at his heart, filled his chest with a surge of emotion, and he was shocked to realize that tears were actually stinging his eyes-tears which he hastily blinked back, abruptly irritated with himself.
God, she was beautiful. They were both beautiful. He couldn't decide whether to admire his wife or his daughter more and easily settled on simply admiring both.
Hermione let out a little hiss of breath, flinching a little, and he abruptly straightened. "What is it?"
Hermione glanced up at him with a slight, rueful smile. "She just sucked a little too hard. I don't think we need to worry about her appetite."
He smiled, his gaze dropping to focus on Emily's head and addressing his baby daughter softly. "You should be more careful not to hurt your Mummy like that, Emily."
Predictably, the baby ignored him, continuing to suck in blissful ignorance.
He gave an exaggerated sigh. "I hope she doesn't grow up making a habit of ignoring what I say."
Hermione gave him a laughing glance, opening her mouth to reply, but then was distracted as Emily's suckling slowed and then stopped.
She reached for the little cloth she always kept near, to find that Harry was already handing it to her, and she gently wiped Emily's mouth before cleaning herself up.
"Here, let me take her," Harry said, suiting his action to his words and reaching over so Hermione could transfer the baby into his arms, before he stood up with Emily in his arms.
Harry paced back and forth, gently patting Emily's back. He never got tired of the feeling of holding her little weight, feeling her tiny, warm body braced against him. It amazed him and touched him, to know that this little creature was so completely dependent on him, made him resolve-for the umpteenth time-that he would do everything he possibly could, would move heaven and earth if necessary, to make sure he never let her down, to keep her safe and healthy and happy.
As usual, it didn't take long before Emily burped-only this time, a little milk splattered onto Harry's collar and Harry felt a drop hit his neck.
Hermione bit back a laugh at Harry's expression as she took Emily from him.
"Gee, thanks, Emily," Harry quipped as he used the cloth to wipe at his collar and his neck. He turned to Hermione. "I'm going to go change my shirt since Emily clearly doesn't like this one."
Hermione laughed softly, even as she began to pace in her turn, gently rocking Emily in her arms. Emily was a surprisingly methodical baby-Harry claiming that already she must be taking after Hermione in that respect-and so, now that she'd been awake for some hours and had been fed, it was about time for Emily to sleep again.
Hermione gently laid Emily into her cradle, turning to see that Harry was standing watching her.
He gently tugged her to stand in front of him, bending his head to kiss her softly, lazily.
He drew back slowly, just enough so he could see her somewhat-dazed eyes, but then the tender moment was abruptly ended as Hermione yawned.
His lips quirked into a grin. "That's nice. Flattering to know that my kisses put you to sleep."
"Sorry." Hermione's slight smile belied the apology, as did her light tone.
"You should rest," he said more seriously. "You were up half the night. Go take a nap."
"But…"
"Go to sleep, Hermione. I'll be here if Emily wakes up."
Hermione gave in (with a rapidity that testified to how tired she was, since normally, Hermione never napped), reaching up to brush a kiss against his cheek, and then going across the hall to their bedroom. She was asleep almost instantly.
Harry spent the next hour or so hovering in the hall that separated his bedroom from the room they'd converted into a nursery where Emily was sleeping. He didn't know when he'd turned into "that guy"-on second thought, yes, he did; it had happened the moment the midwife-Healer at St. Mungo's had handed him the red-faced bundle of new-born baby and he'd fallen head over heels in love at first sight-but here he was, almost two months later, quite content to spend his time doing nothing more than watching his daughter sleep.
(In his own defense, Harry could only say he could hardly do anything else when he had the most beautiful baby daughter in the history of the world.)
So Harry hovered.
Hermione was sleeping soundly, which he was glad of. She had been up half the night since she had awoken every time Emily made the slightest sound, fed Emily once more, and then stayed up, holding Emily until Emily had fallen asleep again.
And as usual, he loved to watch Hermione sleep. Loved to see her expression smoothed out, so she looked younger and more vulnerable; when he watched her sleep, he could see her as the girl she'd been years ago, the girl he'd first fallen in love with… She was the girl he had loved all his life, the woman he would always love, and now, the mother of his child-and there were times when he looked at her that he felt his heart swell, his chest filling, with so much emotion it almost hurt, an emotion so strong and so deep he couldn't put a name to it (love seemed too weak a word.)
He only left off his hovering in order to quickly make some pasta for his and Hermione's dinner, keeping his ears peeled for any sounds from the nursery. He figured Emily would sleep for a while yet; Emily generally only slept for 2-3 hours at a time before waking again.
He finished the pasta soon enough and set it aside where it would be ready to be quickly heated up and then served and then headed over to the desk in the corner of the family room that served as a makeshift office, where he opened up the latest report on Dark activity around the world and read it.
Or, to be more accurate, he tried to read it. But what with his constant getting up again to check on Emily mingled with his equally constant putting down the report to listen to any sound that might break the silence, it took him all of an hour or more to get through two pages and even so, he wouldn't have testified to any of what he'd just read. He could hear Hermione's mildly chiding voice in his head, telling him he really did not need to be quite so vigilant, but in all honesty, he couldn't seem to help himself-and didn't really want to.
At any rate, when he finally did hear the quiet fussing noise that always heralded Emily's having woken up, he was out of his seat and into the nursery in a flash, to see Emily just blinking her eyes open and beginning to make small whimpering noises-as she usually did as a prelude to tears.
"Hello, sleeping beauty," he greeted her softly, carefully keeping his voice low enough that it shouldn't wake Hermione up. "Did you have a nice nap?"
Emily abruptly ceased her fussing as her mouth gaped open and then shut, in something that Harry chose to interpret as a yes, in answer to his question.
"Oh yes, you did, didn't you? That's my good girl," he crooned, picking Emily up and settling her comfortably in his arms as he left the nursery, still talking softly. "You slept for almost exactly two and a half hours, did you know that? How did you learn to be so methodical and time your naps like that, Emily-kin? You must take after your mummy in that, I can tell."
Emily wrinkled her little nose and made a gurgling sound, followed by a little cry.
"Hush, sweetie. You don't want to wake your mummy up, now, do you?"
Emily closed her mouth and waved a tiny, closed fist. And Harry decided-for at least the thousandth time-that his daughter was the smartest and the sweetest baby in all of Great Britain, possibly even all of Europe. He didn't think it was entirely out of the realm of possibility that she was the smartest and sweetest baby in the entire world.
"Of course you don't, pumpkin, because you know, your mummy's very tired. I'll tell you a secret, Emmie; your mummy doesn't really like to take naps so when she does, you know she must be really tired. So we're going to let her sleep a little while longer, aren't we, sweetie?"
Harry nuzzled Emily and then narrowly avoided Emily's tiny fist from knocking his glasses askew. "Now, Emily, haven't we taught you that it's rude to try to hit daddy like that?"
Emily opened her fist for a moment and then closed it again, in a gesture that Harry chose to interpret as an apology and he smiled, dropping a kiss on Emily's soft hair.
~
Hermione woke up slowly and then sat up, looking at the clock and was surprised to find that she'd slept for several hours and that it was nearly dinner time.
She could just hear the murmur of Harry's voice as he talked quietly and smiled to herself as she walked quietly towards the family room.
She paused, staying just out of sight but where she could see into the room, enjoying this view of Harry, who was lounging on the floor in an utterly undignified position as he played with Emily. She sometimes thought that these were the times she loved him most, when she watched him with their daughter, when she could see all the care and all the tenderness in him.
Harry was playfully batting at Emily's tiny, waving hands and Emily made a soft gurgling sound, her mouth opening into something like a smile.
"Why, sweetie, did you just smile at me? Where'd you learn to do that? Smile for Daddy again, Emmie, will you?"
Emily gurgled again and Harry's smile widened. "There. You're beautiful when you smile like that, love, the most beautiful baby in the world. You know that? You, Emily-kin, are the most beautiful little girl in the world."
Hermione suppressed a laugh as she stepped into the room. "Really, Harry, I think we're lucky she doesn't understand you or she's going to develop the most frightful ego."
Harry's head shot up to see the smile playing on her lips before he gave her a look of mock horror. "How can you say such a thing? I'm quite sure Emily understands every word I'm saying." He addressed the baby with a playful smile. "Don't you, pumpkin? Yes, you understand everything that Daddy's saying."
Hermione smiled and bent to brush her lips against Harry's ear. "You're hopeless."
He gave her a quick smile, reaching up to grasp her hand with his, before he returned his gaze to Emily. "Did you have a nice nap?"
"You shouldn't have let me sleep for so long," she responded mildly, indirectly answering his question.
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug before he met her eyes. "You were tired," he said simply.
Amazing how those three words could melt her heart and yet, they did.
"Besides," he added, "Emily only woke up about half an hour ago herself."
"Oh, of course. She is very good about timing her naps, isn't she?"
"Well, you know she takes after you in loving a routine schedule so much. Very irritating of her," Harry grinned at Hermione as she gave him a mock-offended look.
Hermione knelt and picked Emily up. "Come on, Emmie, we'll leave your Daddy here since he's being so silly and see what's for dinner."
"I am not being silly," Harry protested without a particle of heat, as he stood up and followed his wife and daughter into the kitchen. But then proceeded to belie the words as he made silly faces for Emily's benefit as she peered at him over Hermione's shoulder.
The rest of the day passed quickly enough in the usual routine. Harry cleaned up the kitchen quickly while Hermione played with Emily.
Later, Hermione gave Emily her bath. (Harry wasn't allowed to bathe Emily; the one time he'd volunteered, he had ended up taking more than twice as long as Hermione usually took, a large puddle of water had formed on the bathroom floor, and Emily had begun to wail because of some soap that had gotten into her eyes, before Hermione had come to the rescue and finished the task.)
Afterwards, it was time to feed Emily again and then put Emily to bed and not long after that, it was finally time to go to bed themselves.
Harry watched with a mixture of sympathy and mild amusement as Hermione half-crawled, half-fell onto their bed after completing her usual bed-time rituals. "You're not going to try to get some work in tonight?"
Hermione shook her head without opening her eyes. "No. I managed to do a little work earlier this afternoon during one of Emily's naps."
Hermione was on maternity leave from St. Mungo's, of course, but she'd begun to look over some files and read the latest reports in the Healer's journals in preparation for going back to work in a few weeks. She never ceased to amaze him that way, Harry thought, as he bent to brush his lips lightly against hers.
Her eyes opened to look at him before she pushed herself up until she was sitting up, moving until she was sitting next to him as he automatically slipped his arm around her. "What do you suppose are the chances that she'll learn to sleep the night through sometime soon?"
Harry smiled a little. "I don't think I'll hold my breath waiting for that to happen."
She sighed extravagantly. "Maybe we could run away and leave Emily with Ron and Luna or my parents for a week or two."
He laughed softly. "You'd go crazy with worrying over Emily if we left her for a full day, let alone a week."
"As if you wouldn't," Hermione retorted teasingly.
He lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. "Guilty as charged."
She smiled to herself as she rested her head against his shoulder. He was, as she'd always known he would be, the most doting father and it was, she had to admit, decidedly sexy. Which reminded her…
She turned, lifting one hand to his cheek, as she leaned in to kiss him, slowly, and then deeper, her tongue lightly flicking at the corners of his lips before sliding inside his mouth to tangle with his.
He made a soft sound in the back of his throat as his arms came around her, tugging until she was lying fully against him. He slanted his head, taking the initiative in their kiss in his turn, as the kiss grew lush and immodest, a heated tangle of lips and tongues, as she felt her skin heat and her heart begin to pound.
He was the one to break the kiss on a sharp gasp, his breath coming quickly. Unperturbed, she moved on, stringing a series of soft kisses down his jaw and then, deliberately, letting her teeth lightly graze his ear lobe, loving his reactive shiver. She trailed kisses down his neck while her hands were busy pushing his shirt up to bare his chest and she only paused in her ministrations to lift his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside, and then removing his glasses as well.
He just had time to let out a strangled gasp before she kissed him again and her hands returned to caress and explore his chest with as much thoroughness as if she'd never touched him before.
And then she was the one to break off their kiss but only so she could move further down his body, her lips scattering kisses across his chest and shoulders, following the path her hands had already taken.
He groaned and abruptly seized her hands in his. "Stop, please, Hermione." His voice was almost hoarse with strain, sounded unlike himself, as she broke off her caresses to look up at him. His eyes looked almost wild as he stared at her, his breathing labored, and she could see his struggle for control before he managed to say, "We need to stop. We can't-I-you-we can't," he repeated, rather less than coherently.
But she understood and was abruptly filled with tenderness before she sat up and then deliberately straddled him. His eyes widened and he sucked in his breath sharply before she cupped his cheeks with her hands, making him meet her eyes. "Harry, Abby said six to seven weeks." She paused, letting him read the sensual message in her eyes, before she finished deliberately, "It'll be seven weeks day after tomorrow."
"Are you sure you'll be okay?"
She smiled. "Ye--"
He was kissing her even before she could finish the word, his lips flattening on hers with almost explosive force, his hands roaming over her body in a heated caress.
She slid her arms around his shoulders, shifting until she could feel the bulge of his arousal pressed intimately against her, her fingers running through his hair and then down, to caress his shoulders and back.
His hands found her breasts and she tore her mouth from his on a sharp gasp, her head falling back, as she arched into him. She could swear her breasts were more sensitive now than ever, her nipples hardening almost instantly as he cupped and fondled her breasts through her pyjama top. His lips slid down, tracing the vulnerable curve of her neck and throat before his mouth fastened on one nipple, laving it through the cloth of her pyjamas.
His lips left off their ministrations but only so he could tug her pyjama top up and over her head before his hands went to her pyjama bottoms, pushing them down until she abruptly pushed herself up so she could finish undressing, her hands almost trembling in her haste, while he did the same, almost tearing off his pyjama bottoms and his boxers.
They came together again on their bed, their hands greedy and reaching for each other, feverishly caressing each other's bare skin, as they kissed again, heatedly.
She let herself fall backwards until he was lying on top of her and felt a slight tremor of delight go through her at the familiar weight and feel of his naked body lying above her, his hands on her body. It had been so long-too long-4 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days, some tiny corner of her mind supplied.
(Oh, they had engaged in some heated kissing sessions, especially in the past couple weeks, and a few times, she had kissed and caressed him into bliss, giving him pleasure since they couldn't actually make love, but he had generally touched her with as much gentleness and care as if she might break with too much passion. And in the other times, he had, she knew, become accustomed to taking cold showers.)
But no more. Now, he was kissing her and touching her with as much intensity, as much focused passion, as she'd ever felt from him, and she gloried in it, gloried in once more being the recipient of his unbridled lust.
He fastened his mouth on her nipple, suckling, until she cried out at the wet, tugging sensation she could feel shimmering through her entire body to pool between her legs, while his hand cupped, kneaded, her other breast, his fingers flicking over the hardened tip.
She let out a moan of protest when he paused in his ministrations, her eyes flying open to see him as he stared at her, breathing hard, his eyes dark and dilated with lust.
His eyes lowered to watch as his hands slid over her body, exploring all the changes in it from the past couple months. Her breasts were noticeably larger, her stomach more rounded and softer than it had been-and Hermione felt something inside her melt at the look in his eyes, the mixture of love and passion and desire and something almost like awe. And the last vestiges of self-consciousness at the changes in her body vanished forever.
She reached up to curve one hand behind his neck until she could kiss him again, her lips teasingly feathering over his until he made a sound in the back of his throat and kissed her hard, his lips and tongue taking possession of her mouth as his hands laid claim to her body, caressing every curve from her breast to her waist to her hips to her thighs.
And she responded, gave him back his passion with her own, her hands sliding over his shoulders and down his back and then further to caress his butt before she let her hands move forward, until she could touch his erection, one hand wrapping around him.
He groaned sharply, his entire body jerking, as he abruptly grasped her wrist in one hand in one swift movement. "Hermione," he gasped, the expression on his face something like pain, "I can't wait--"
She felt her lips curve slightly, her body shifting under his, her legs parting further, until she could feel his arousal at the apex of her thighs. "Harry," she breathed and didn't need to say anything more, couldn't say anything more, as he understood and surged inside her with one smooth thrust.
And they both cried out sharply at the eroticism of the moment, the delicious intimacy of it, as he paused, fully buried inside her, filling her as she hadn't been filled in so long. It felt… it felt like the first time, she thought half-fancifully, in the power and the significance of the moment, somehow.
He moved his head to kiss her ear and then her cheek and then her lips. "I missed this," he groaned. It had been so long, too damn bloody long. Merlin, he'd missed this so much, missed the utter rightness of it, missed the feeling of coming home. She was his home…
She let her hands stray over his back in a light caress, deliberately shifting beneath him, tightening her muscles around him until he groaned. "I missed you," she breathed.
She arched beneath him, her body sliding slickly around his in the most erotic caress, and the last thread of his control snapped just like that and he began to move, his hips withdrawing and then thrusting again. And it wasn't at all controlled or gentle; it was hard and fast.
But she welcomed it, her legs wrapping around his hips, urging him deeper into her, her hands cupping his butt. Her body moved with his as they came together in the most elemental of ways, giving and taking, and at that moment, they were no longer parents or even husband and wife, but were just man and woman, Harry and Hermione, equals in love and in lust.
Harry could feel the building explosion, knew he was close, too close, and at the last moment, deliberately moved his hand so he could touch her soft, wet flesh where they were joined. Her muscles clenched around him and that was all it took, as he exploded inside her with a groan, only peripherally conscious of her stifling a scream in his shoulder as her fingers dug into his skin.
He collapsed on top of her, fighting for breath, feeling rather as if his heart might pound its way out of his chest. Great gods, he'd missed this, missed the passion of her so much, missed the utterly sated sensation of peace and exhaustion that he could only find with her.
It was some time before he managed to muster enough energy to roll over onto his back. As usual, she rolled with him, her body fitting itself against his with the naturalness that came from years of lying next to him like this. He could feel her head tucked against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest. He closed his eyes as he reached for her hand, lacing her fingers with his.
It was another few minutes before he regained enough coherence to realize how little care he'd shown Hermione, less than two months removed from giving birth, and knew a flare of guilt. He turned his head to look at her, his concern soothed at the sight of her face, her expression with her eyes closed, the peace of satiation plain to be seen. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, automatically, even if he could see she was.
She made a soft, utterly contented sound, somewhere between a purr and a sigh, as she opened her eyes to meet his. "Mm, wonderful," she breathed, her lips curving.
He could swear his heart skipped a beat at the look in her eyes, dark and filled with languorous pleasure. Merlin, she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world, especially when she looked like this, drowsy and fulfilled, her face flushed. He loved to see her like this-oh, how he loved to see her like this! When she was all soft, yielding, feminine warmth against him… He loved her for her strength and for her cleverness and her determination-but there were times when he thought he loved her best at moments like this, when she was softened and sated, deliciously drowsy-and completely his. As he was hers.
He lifted his head with an effort, just enough so he could brush his lips against hers.
"My 'Mione," he breathed, the endearment slipping from his lips. He didn't call her that often and never, ever when anyone else was around and he knew he was the only person in the world who was allowed to call her "Mione" since Hermione, as a general rule, disliked nicknames. And even he only called her "Mione" occasionally, in particularly tender moments, the moments when even the words, I love you, seemed inadequate.
He saw her eyes soften even more, saw her lips curve ever so slightly, before she closed her eyes and fit herself more snugly against him.
It hardly took any time at all before her breathing deepened, her body relaxing yet more fully against him. Evidence of her lingering tiredness, in spite of her nap, and no wonder really, given how little sleep she'd been getting in the past few days, thanks to Emily's sleep schedule. But she was sleeping soundly now.
And so, closing his eyes, he, too, let himself drift into sleep.
He woke up to the sound of fitful whimpers and turning his head, saw that Hermione was still sleeping-for once, he had woken up before her in response to Emily's fretting. Carefully, he slid out of bed and hastily threw on his boxers and shirt and grabbed his glasses. He was just leaving when he heard Hermione stir and then her sleepy voice mumbling, "Is it Emily?" He returned to the bed, bending over her to brush his lips against her cheek. "Go back to sleep, it's okay." For a fleeting second, it looked as if she might protest but then her eyes closed and he knew she'd given in. Yet more evidence, as if he'd needed it, of how tired she was.
He padded across the hall to the nursery and picked Emily up, holding her against his chest as he paced back and forth, making soothing noises. "Ssh, sweetie. Go back to sleep…"
He brushed his lips against her cheek, breathing in the clean, baby scent of her, and felt her small fist close around his shirt. Carefully, he moved one hand to her fist, gently prying her fingers from his shirt (the last time she'd gripped his shirt, she'd nearly strangled him before he'd managed to loosen her grip and he wasn't about to repeat that). Fortunately for him, she seemed content to grip his finger instead. He smiled to himself, kissing her hair, as he kept on pacing back and forth.
It was some time before he felt her weight settle heavier against him as her breathing evened out and her grip on his finger loosened slightly and he glanced at her to see that her eyes were tightly closed. She was asleep. For at least another few hours.
Ever so carefully, he laid her back down in the cradle, brushing his lips against her soft cheek before he drew back. She moved a little restlessly, one hand finding and closing on her blanket, gripping it in her tiny fist. He felt a sudden surge of love swell up inside him like a tidal wave, so strong it almost left him breathless. This little baby-so tiny, so fragile-was his, his to protect, his to cherish, his to love-his and Hermione's.
His tender musings were abruptly-and inappropriately-interrupted when he yawned, suddenly realizing that it was the middle of the night and he was tired.
Obeying his body's wishes, he returned to his bed after a last glance at Emily and slid under the covers. Hermione stirred a little and mumbled "Harry" before she settled against him, seeking him even in her sleep as she always did.
He curved his arm around her and closed his eyes, yawning again, feeling himself slide into sleep. And his last conscious thought was that his life was perfect. Even if an uninterrupted night's sleep was a thing of memory and of fantasies rather than a reality. Sleep was a small price to pay for the joy that was his baby daughter.
~The End~
A/N 2: I should also add that what I know about babies could fit into a thimble; I will leave it up to those of my readers who know more than I do to tell me if I've written Emily as the most unrealistic baby in the history of babies.