Even After Time

Warnings: MAJOR OoC-ness, language, violence (maybe?), a horrible attempt at the British vocabulary/language. And so on and so forth.

Spoilers: All

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and company; JKR, Scholastics; and so on and so forth.

Author's Notes: I have a little, just little, problem with Hermione being older than Harry, by nearly a year. I don't know why, but I get irked off by it. So, in my story, she is younger than Harry. No, the epilogue will not be relevant in this story. (Honestly, Albus Severus? Hugo? Scorpius?) I pity them.

I think, from what I remember that Gringotts is the only Wizarding Bank in all of the Wizarding World. Don't you think that's a bit much for one bank, even if it is Magical? Well… *sigh,* whatever.

This is the Prologue. Ish…

Hope you enjoy.

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August 15^th, 2001 …

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Harry checked the rest of the flat. Sure, Hermione had made sure that everything was packed into their suitcases, but it didn't stop Harry from being sure. He checked the two bedrooms, making sure that everything was bare, and then moved to the dining area. Once making sure that everything was, indeed, bare, he made his way towards the once filled lounge.

His eyes travelled around the room. It wasn't extraordinarily large, but it wasn't small, either. A small giggling sound distracted Harry's wanderings. Seeing his eleven-month-old son waddling around the room, travelling around the suitcases, looking for his father, Harry had to admit that he loved his son very, very much.

Grinning, he picked up his little bundle. Young Andrew Harry Potter smiled, blowing bubbles from his mouth, his small hands moving upwards to tangle in his already unruly black hair. Bright green eyes met, and Harry gave his son a kiss on the forehead. Although the child was still small (even in weight and height), he had the stamina of a child at least two times his age.

Harry turned around, looking for his wife. She came from the loo a few minutes after, and was now gazing at Harry. Hermione smiled, walking towards her husband and son. Taking out her wand, Hermione shrunk all of the suitcases (save her large purse and the baby bag for Andrew) and put them into her jean pocket. She then turned to Harry.

“And how is our little Andrew doing today?” she questioned, her thin, yet firm arms, enveloping her husband and son.

Harry smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Running around and giggling, as usual.” After a moment, he asked, “Have you got everything?”

She nodded. “Yes. The furniture we've already sold and all of our books, clothes, and other essentials are packed away, into my pocket.”

He nodded, moving away from her. Moving towards the window, he saw the streets of California and the people walking down the sidewalks, going to their college classes. “Can you believe we're leaving California? As University graduates, no less?” he asked softly, patting Andrew's back, seeing as the young boy was getting sleepy.

She came behind him, leaning her head onto Harry's shoulder, “I know, it's so surreal. As if it were just yesterday we were arrived here, and now we're graduates, going back to our home country.” She emitted a soft sigh, careful not to awake her dozing son. “I just hope Mum and Dad are alright. They've been awfully worried that you and I wouldn't be able to handle going to Stanford and having a child, and with another one on the way,” she murmured, her hand absently going to her stomach.

She frowned, her eyes tearing up. “But now that their health is deteriorating, we have to go back.” Even softer than before, she whispered, “Harry, I'm scared. I don't want to go back to England. I don't want to see everyone again. It still hurts.”

“I'm scared, too,” murmured Harry, resting his head atop Hermione's. “I'm scared of what everyone's reactions will be. I'm scared, too, love.” He sighed, kissing her temple. “We'll get through it, Hermione. We will.”

She chuckled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Look at me, tearing up!”

“Well, when you're pregnant, you do tend to get a bit emotional over everything,” he said, chuckling softly, one hand holding Andrew firmly to his chest. “You were emotional while you had Andrew, and you're going to be emotional for another six months until this little one arrives.”

She nodded, her hand touching her stomach fondly. “And to think, we're going to have another son.” Her expression was dreamy and serene, a look Harry admired very much.

“You know it's a boy?”

She shook her head. “Not from the doctors, but I know it's a boy.”

Shrugging a shoulder, Harry wrapped a strong arm around Hermione's slim waist, and they went towards the door. Looking around their home once more—the same home that they lived in for nearly four years—Harry and Hermione Potter locked the door and turned around.

While Hermione was adjusting her purse and baby bag, she heard one of Harry's friends, Matthew, come up to them.

“I can't believe you're really going to leave!” said Matthew, his voice sad. The tall boy (much taller than Harry's five nine frame) with blond hair and black eyes slapped Harry on the back softly, careful not to wake Andrew. “It's gonna be so lonely without you two! And little Andrew and his giggling,” he added, gazing fondly at the slumbering boy.

Harry offered a feeble smile, knowing that they'd return when they had the chance. “Don't worry, Matt. Hermione and I will be back someday, perhaps even this year.”

“Yeah, but who's going to play Volleyball and Soccer for us? You're the best we've had since Spencer left!” he exclaimed.

Harry blushed. “Thanks, but I'm not that good.” Before Matt could retort, Harry continued. “And besides, I have to return to England—my in-laws are sick, and they need us.”

Matt nodded. “But you are going to be back to finish graduate school, aren't you?” he asked, looking at both Harry and Hermione.

Now it was time for Hermione to answer. “I really want to, Matt. I really do, but I'm not too sure we'll have enough time. Handling a child and University was hard enough—Harry and I had to compromise our schedules so much! And with another child on the way, I'm not too sure we'll be able to.” She held his hand loosely in a friendly gesture, “Don't worry, Matt, we'll visit.”

He nodded, dejected. “Yeah… Melissa is going to be so sad that they're losing their setter for Volleyball. She thought you were always good.” He grinned. “But hey, at least you won't have to run Cross Country anymore.”

Hermione shuddered, letting go of his hand. “That was the worst season of my life! Don't bring that up,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Harry checked his watch, seeing that they only had three hours until their flight left. “Well, Matt, I guess this is where we say our farewells.” He brought him into a loose hug, “I'll see you later,” he said, letting his friend go.

He nodded sadly, “Yeah. I'll see you later, Harry.” He kissed the back of Andrew's head, “And you too, Andrew.” Turning towards Hermione, he brought her into a tight hug, and then gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Hermione.”

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “Bye, Matthew.”

After giving each other a few more farewells, the small family finally left the apartment complex. While going down, they met a few other old classmates, and even ran into a Professor. After a quick discussion, and even a bit of hopeful persuasion to continue schooling, Harry and Hermione continued their way.

Once they went to the garage and found their car, Harry put Andrew into his car seat and then went to the driver's seat, while Hermione situated herself next to Andrew. Putting the car into ignition, Harry drove off into the warm California sun.

Hermione sighed, looking out the window. They were currently driving through the campus, watching the stadium pass by, the same stadium Harry proposed on, after they'd watched a football game. She smiled fondly at the memory.

“That was a wonderful game,” Hermione commented, her hand wrapped loosely around Harry's waist. They were currently walking back to their shared flat, hoping to get a good night's sleep before classes started again the next day.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “it was.” Nervously, the eighteen-year-old fingered the velvet box that was obscured by his loose, faded jeans. “Erm,” stammered Harry, hoping he wasn't going to mess this up, “Hermione?”

“Hmm…?” she hummed, making her way through the hoard of people.

Harry stopped walking, making Hermione raise her eyebrow in question. He nervously pulled the sleeves of his black long-sleeved shirt up, and took the velvet box out from his pocket. Getting on one knee, ignoring the fact that everyone was watching with interest, Harry asked, “Hermione… will… will you, erm, marry me?”

The crowd waited in silence, their eyes travelling from Harry to Hermione repeatedly. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Hermione announced, in a small voice, “Yes.” She had tears streaming down her cheeks as Harry whooped for joy, punching the air, and finally enveloped her in his arms, spinning around. The crowd cheered happily for the two freshmen, even if half of the crowd didn't know the two.

“I'm getting married!” whispered Harry happily. “I'm getting married!” he repeated.

They'd gotten married two months after, knowing that if they delayed, their class schedules, homework, and such wouldn't let them have the opportunity. They spent their summer vacation as their Honeymoon, never leaving their now shared bedroom unless absolutely necessary. Hermione smiled giddily and rested her head against Andrew's cushioned car seat, closing her eyes.

Harry looked behind him and saw that Hermione was dozing off. He smiled, hoping that she would be able to sleep on the plane. Because of that thought, the smile that adorned the twenty-one-year-olds face died.

After the war had ended, Harry was hoping to start his life. It had, in a way, but not in the way he imagined. Once the moved the Elder Wand to a secure place, Harry hoped that he would be able to go back into Ginny's arms and start his life. They dated for about a week, but then Harry realized that it just wasn't working. He was too busy attending funerals (for Tonks, Remus, Fred, and other casualties from the war) with Hermione and Ron to notice he had a girlfriend. Once he broke it off, Hermione had announced that she was leaving to Australia to renovate her parents' previous memories.

He was apprehensive and didn't want to let Hermione leave the country by herself, so he suggested that he go with her. After countless nights of insomnia (and near begging—courtesy of Harry), she agreed. She wasn't sure why, but Harry simply said that he needed to get away from the media and the Wizarding World for a while. They hadn't told Ron for fear of feeling betrayed by his best mate and girlfriend. They'd left during the night while staying at the Burrow, using the Night Bus to get to the Muggle airport, Heathrow.

It took them a week to finally take the needed charms and spells from her parents' minds. After realizing that they had a child, Mister and Missus Granger hugged their child like no tomorrow. Once they finished the necessary work, Hermione wondered what the rest of Australia was like. And for two weeks, she, Harry, and her parents travelled the great outback.

Harry smiled as one special memory came to his mind. May was just beginning and Hermione was just sitting on a rock, innocently reading a book.

Harry saw Hermione all alone, reading. Harry sat near her, looking over her shoulder. She was reading a book in Ayers Rock, and Harry grinned, shutting the book.

Calmly, Hermione said, “I was reading that.”

Cheekily, he responded, “I know. But you don't need to read on Ayers Rock; I bet you already know everything there is to know on the subject!”

She shook her head, and decided to change the subject. “Where are my parents?” she asked.

“Sleeping, I reckon,” he answered, resting his head on her shoulder. Ever since they left England, it seemed as though their relationship had, somehow, changed a bit. As if there were more than friends, at times. “It's beautiful, isn't it?” he asked, referring to the scenery they were looking at currently.

She nodded, resting her head atop Harry's. “Yes, it is.”

They simply sat there in silence, each enjoying the other's company. After a few minutes, though, Harry brought his head up and looked at Hermione.

“Have we owled Ron yet?” he asked, a bit worried.

She sighed. “No,” she murmured. “And, although I'm a bit ashamed to admit it, I don't really want to owl him.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Why?”

She sighed, turning away from him, “Because I'm afraid of what he'll say. I know he'll think we left him out, again, and I'm cheating on him. But… the thing is… I… I just don't have feelings for him,” she murmured. “I've started having feelings for someone else, and I'm scared Ron will find a way to find out. Maybe he'd find a way to track us, and yell at us. Just like when we were in the tent,” she said.

“If you fancy someone else, you shouldn't be ashamed to tell Ron, Hermione,” he told her, a bit uneasy that she fancied someone else. “If you don't tell him, you'll go back to England and Ron will think you two are still dating.”

“What if I don't want to return?” she asked quietly.

“Why wouldn't you return?” Harry retorted, just as quietly.

She snorted, finally turning back to Harry, “For the same reasons as you. Now that the war is over, I'm nearly as famous as you are! I don't want to face the public, I don't want to be offered jobs because I'm Hermione Granger, the brains behind The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort. I don't want any of it anymore, Harry. I want to get away from the Wizarding World. I… I just want to move on,” she whispered, her head hung low.

Harry saw a few tears drop, and now knowing what to do, he simply hugged her tightly. He ran his hand soothingly (or at least he hoped it was soothing) up and down her back, one hand cradling the back of her head. After a few moments, Hermione chuckled humourlessly and pulled back slightly.

“Look at me,” she chuckled, wiping a few stray tears. “I'm getting all emotional over nothing.”

Harry shook his head, using one hand to wipe the extra tears from her face. “It's not nothing, Hermione,” he whispered. “If you want to get away for awhile, you go.” After a moment, he asked quietly, “But… if you go, can I go with you?”

She smiled, enveloping Harry into a tight hug. “Of course you can, Harry. You don't even have to ask.” Pulling away slightly, she noticed that their faces were a few inches apart.

Normally, this wouldn't have bothered her; she'd been this close to Harry plenty of times! But, now that she saw Harry with tears pooling in his eyes, she couldn't help but see every feature of his face. His bright emerald eyes, the same circular spectacles that covered them, the same lashes that were (even though Hermione hated to admit it) thicker, longer, and curlier than hers. Her eyes travelled down his face, as if studying him. His nose wasn't long, neither was it short, bumpy, or off centre. She thought it was just perfect. She then saw his slight stubble beard, the beard he spent almost a month and a half trying to grow. (Sometimes she wondered if the only place he had hair was on his head.)

She hadn't noticed that while she was “studying,” her fingers had tangled themselves into his thick, soft hair, and that she was slowly leaning in. Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss.

He hadn't known that he was the one she fancied until Hermione's parents arrived later that day. At first, he thought that it was just a friendly kiss, one that close (very close) friends shared. A week later, Harry found himself telling her that he fancied her, too, and was willing to give the new relationship a chance.

Once Hermione's parents were back in England, the new couple found themselves applying to college. With a bit of persuasion to the American Ministry (they had admitted that they weren't fully ready to leave the Wizarding World, just the English Wizarding World) they found themselves accepted into Stanford University, ready to start in September.

They'd unanimously decided on living together (though they wouldn't be sleeping in the same room) and that dorm life was a bit too expensive with their current savings. Once they went to an American Wizarding bank, which instantly apparated them to Gringotts, and had paid enough money to let the goblins make a sort of credit card (that would also turn into various other cards, if needed), they were set. (By that time, Harry had already put Hermione's name on his bank account, not taking `no' for an answer. He didn't care that they'd just started dating; if something happed to him, he trusted her most with his money.)

He'd taken his major in Biology, while Hermione had taken French and Engineering. During that year, Harry and Hermione decided that they needed to get in shape. (They were nowhere near overweight, but they decided that some muscle would do them good.) So Harry had made the men's Volleyball and Soccer team that year. Meanwhile, Hermione, too, and tried her hand at Volleyball, and found that she was actually quiet good at it. Though Hermione only played Volleyball for a total of two seasons, her figure was slim and fit. After Andrew was born, she wanted to take of the extra weight, so she'd started Cross Country, in the hopes that she'd shed the extra weight.

Harry chuckled, remembering when she'd made the team. There hadn't been too many people trying out, and when she tried, she found out that she wasn't the best of runners. However, the coach had let her stay on, for lack of people. She'd even run a few times (successfully regaining her previous figure) and then vowed that she'd never run Cross Country again.

Sighing quietly, Harry took the exit to the airport. It's going to be hard… but we'll get through it, thought Harry. I just hope no one thinks we're dead, or something. Even though it had been four years, the married couple still had yet to write to the Weasleys. Though they wanted to, very badly, they just couldn't bring themselves to do it. They knew Molly held the delusion that he'd marry Ginny, and Hermione, Ron.

He shook his head, ridding those thoughts at the moment. He'd have plenty of time to think while on the flight. He drove slowly as the cars in front of him took their luggage out and went into the airport. Harry stopped the car, and saw that Hermione jerked awake, coughing when the seat belt was caught in her mouth.

“We're here,” he announced softly, knowing that his son was still sleeping. He saw everyone will luggage in their arms, and Harry thought that they'd look suspicious if they didn't have at least some luggage on board with them. They had an eleven-month-son, and he was bound to get him self dirty one way or another.

She nodded, taking Andrew out and holding him close to her chest. Opening the door, she got out and attempted to grab her purse and baby bag.

He saw Hermione struggle, and so he took Andrew from Hermione and put his small head on his shoulder, patting him on the back as he awoke suddenly. The young boy slowly went back to sleep, and Harry kept him close to his chest. He looked around and wondered what he was going to do with his car.

“What about the car?” Hermione asked, taking a small carry on and opening the trunk of the car. She muttered a spell and it went back to original size; Hermione took it out, hoping that no one saw her spell work.

Harry thought for a second, closing the door closest to him. But then, Hermione exclaimed, “I know! Wait right here,” she told him, taking the keys from him and getting into the car.

“Wait, what are you going to do?” he asked her before she could drive away.

“You'll see. Just take Andrew into the airport and I'll be there in five minutes,” she told him and drove off.

Harry rolled his eyes and took the black carry on and started walking inside the airport, making sure his hold on Andrew was firm. Once inside, he looked around for a seat. Finding one, he sat down and checked the time. Seeing that it was nearly three, he took out his cell phone (“You're going to need one if you're living in the Muggle World,” explained Hermione) and just toyed around with it. He'd turn it off once he got on the plane.

A few minutes later, he saw his wife—clad in fitting light blue jeans, a short-sleeved pale yellow shirt, and brand name trainers—coming towards him, seemingly looking for their passports and tickets. “C'mon, Harry,” she said, taking the carryon. “Our flight leaves in two hours.”

He nodded and got up.

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They still had to wait half an hour for their plane to arrive and they could board, so Harry and Hermione decided to simply wait. They were sitting near an old couple and a young couple, both staring at Hermione and Harry.

Harry never liked it when people stared at him, and when they started whispering (rather loudly, his mind added) about the three of them, Harry tried very hard to stay calm. Hermione was currently playing with a wide-awake Andrew, who was bouncing on his Mother's lap. He was giggling happily, teeth showing from his pink gums, and trying to hold on to Hermione's shirt so he wouldn't fall onto the cold floor.

Hermione chuckled, kissing her son on the forehead. “You're a silly little boy,” she cooed, sitting him down on her lap and giving him a biscuit to munch. Andrew tilted his head back so he could see his father, his head nearly hitting the armrest, and stuck his hand out, reaching for Harry's new square spectacles.

Harry laughed, making the two couples stare at him, and said, “Yes, he is rather silly.” He grinned, showing straight white teeth (something made his in-laws very happy), and gave Hermione a kiss on her temple.

Slowly, half an hour dissolved away. Their flight was called and they soon boarded the plane. After making sure everything was okay (Harry and Hermione turning their cell phones off, making sure Andrew wouldn't throw a fit when the plane took off, and securing their “luggage”), the two peacefully sat in their first class seats.

Harry smiled, giving Hermione a loving kiss. “What was that for?” she asked, as the kiss ended.

He shrugged and rubbed her stomach softly, then their son (who was resting on her lap), and finally rested his head on her shoulder, giving her neck a thorough kiss before answering. “Because I love you; and besides, do I need a reason to kiss my wife?”

She shook her head, resting it on top of Harry's. “No, I guess you don't.” Softly, she added, “And I love you too.” Slowly, she drifted off to sleep, holding Andrew securely on her lap.

The last thought to graze Harry's mind before he, too, drifted off to sleep was: I just hope the Weasleys won't be too mad.

Author's Notes: No, Andrew is not from my other story, “A Mother's Sacrifice.” Just thought you ought to know. (I just really love the name!)

I know I've just type-raped them, again, but I just really wanted to start this. I'm sorry if I got anything wrong.

Soo… what do you think?

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Author's Notes: That's a lot of reviews, dudes… Wow… THANK YOU!

Here's Harry and Hermione's car. Just pretend it's really safe (safety charms, spells, etc. come to good use) and black. If you're on Fanfiction.net and can't see the link, go on Portkey and click the link. (I have the same Penname.)

digiads.com.au/car-news/latest-SATURN-news/2007_Saturn_Aura_Green_Line_Hybrid_200611/photos_0.html

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August 15^th, 2001 …

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Harry groaned, bringing his head up and working out the cricks in his neck. He looked at Hermione's lap, and saw that Andrew was happily emerged in playing with his feet, and picked him up. Hermione stirred a bit, but didn't wake up. Checking his watch, he saw that it had been four hours since the plane had taken off, and that they had about four more hours until the flight would be over.

Looking over Hermione's shoulder, he saw that they had probably just left the United States, and were now flying towards Greenland, and then landing in London. Sighing, Harry sat back on his seat, knowing that it was better than trying to pinpoint their current location in the sky.

Taking Andrew's thumb from his mouth, earning a small `pop' from Andrew's mouth, Harry stood up. While he navigated his way to the restroom, Harry found himself face to face with the older couple he'd seen while waiting for their flight.

The man looked to be about fifty-seven, give or take a few years, with greying hair and fierce blue eyes. He was tall for his age (at least he seemed tall to Harry's small frame), and his build was large—not in muscle, but in fat, most likely, thought Harry. He wondered where his wife was, and then saw her emerge from the small restroom seconds later. She, too, had grey hair with a tall and sturdy build, and she looked at Harry disapprovingly before letting him enter.

They scare me, thought Harry. Placing his son on the floor, letting him stand and stare in awe at the silver walls, Harry took care of his aching bladder. Flushing the toilet made Andrew scared, since the sound was so loud, he fell and started crying. Quickly picking him up, Harry rocked him and patted his back. After a few minutes, he calmed down and Harry quickly washed his hands before making his way towards his sleeping wife once more.

Setting Andrew on his lap, Harry looked out of the window. Andrew attempted to stand up, using his father's shirt as support, and giggled when his head came in contact with Harry's slight stubble beard. Harry chucked, deliberately rubbing (softly, of course) his rough hair against Andrew's soft cheek. Still giggling, his son reached for his rectangular spectacles.

Harry shook his head and placed Andrew on his lap, patting his stomach in the hopes that he'd fall asleep again. He crossed his leg so his left ankle was resting on his right knee, ensuring that Andrew wouldn't be able to roll away. Patting the boy to sleep (who was currently babbling nonsense, though Harry could make out a few words like “Papa”), Harry thought back to the Weasleys.

When he and Hermione left for Australia, they hadn't intended on leaving for longer than necessary. That was the reason they hadn't told the Weasleys in the first place. After finding Mister and Missus Granger, their relationship budding into a promising romance, moving to America, they just couldn't find time writing to the Weasleys. And though he was ashamed to admit it, Harry liked the idea of leaving everyone out. It was as if it were a secret, something only he and Hermione could share.

They'd received numerous letters from the Weasleys, and they'd even read all, too. The ones from Ginny were mostly about her family life, and how she missed Harry “dearly,” and that she knew it was the post-war trauma that he was going through, and she knew that he'd come around one day. Her letters to Hermione were nearly almost all about Harry. She usually constantly asked if she knew where he was, and if she did, why she knew. Though most of her letters weren't hostile, she would usually irk off Hermione by asking how to snag Harry and get him “where he belongs.”

Ron, on the other hand, had barely sent the amounts Ginny had. He'd asked Harry and Hermione where they were (in different letters, respectively), and then go on telling them about the various Cannons games, how the Weasleys were doing, and how the Wizarding World was doing in general. He'd asked if he and Hermione were dating (which, Hermione would state with a firm, “No,” and proceeded to snog Harry senseless), if she was doing alright, how the media was treating him as if he were king, and how Ginny and Harry's relationship was “going strong.”

They'd never responded any letters. They only indication that showed they were still alive, were that the letters were open and the owls were fully refreshed by the time they arrived back to England.

But, even after six months, the letters had stopped.

Harry sighed and looked down; Andrew had fallen asleep with is thumb in his mouth. Gently taking his thumb out, Harry resumed his soothing, soft patting on his son's small, soft stomach. He looked around, noticing that half of the passengers were either on their Muggle laptops, or were drinking champagne. Harry rolled his eyes, what was the point of getting sloshed on a plane, anyway?

He looked at his wedding band, the shining silver gleaming in the light. He smiled fondly, remembering when he and Hermione had to go shopping for their wedding bands.

Harry and Hermione were currently in an expensive jewellery store, looking for wedding bands. It seemed as though they were the youngest couple there, but the two didn't mind.

Hermione saw a beautiful silver band for the groom and a thin silver band with diamonds in it for the wife. Smiling, she tugged on Harry's sleeve.

“Look, Harry,” said Hermione, pointing at the bands.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Those?” he asked. She nodded. “They're… erm… nice, I guess.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think they're beautiful!” she exclaimed.

Harry rolled his eyes playfully, wondering what was so beautiful about a piece of metal in the shape of a circle, but decided against voicing his question. He knew that Hermione would want something beautiful (like the engagement ring he'd gotten her, he internally gloated) and what Hermione wanted, Hermione got.

Nearly an hour later, after looking at countless rings, Harry saw the same rings. Forgetting which rings they were, he exclaimed, “Pretty!”

Hermione stood behind him, looking for the rings. Seeing that they were the same exact ones she'd picked an hour prior, she started laughing.

After ten minutes of figuring out Harry's ring size (“I have girly fingers?!” asked Harry, horrified, looking at his long, thin fingers. “No, they're just very thin… its how all men's fingers are these days,” explained the jeweller, chuckling silently, sending a dramatic wink in Hermione's direction), they'd purchased the rings and went to their flat.

He grinned; the “pretty” ring nestled on his finger. By the time freshman year was nearly over, Harry and Hermione had made a few good, close friends, one of them being Matthew, the ever ambitious Biologist Major that played Volleyball ever since his sister spiked him with one when he was seven.

They were married in a beautiful garden ceremony, with a few close friends attending. They didn't want a big scene out of it, but they didn't want it to be exceedingly private, either. They were married a month before the semester ended, and they planned on making the most out of their short summer vacation. (Which, for Harry and Hermione, meant spending the first two months basically living in their now shared bedroom—previously Harry's bedroom.)

He and Hermione were extraordinarily happy with their current living arrangements and lifestyle, and they never expected to return back to England. While living in California, they could enjoy the sun (which gave them a healthy tan) and stay active while living near their University. But once they were informed of Hermione's parents failing health (the American Ministry had informed them one night, telling them that Missus Granger was hospitalized, Mister Granger following a few hours later), they thought it necessary.

Truth be told, Harry was quiet feared to return back to England. Was it any different? Would anyone treat the two differently? Did they even know they were still alive? The Weasleys, how were they? So many questioned plagued his mind, but he could never bring himself to answer any of them. He couldn't even write to his best mate, the same friend he stole his girlfriend from. The one he was now married to.

Now, four years later, he found himself sitting next to his sleeping wife, his sleeping son cuddling to his shirt, returning to England. He shook his head, his short hair barely moving. (When he was nineteen, Hermione decided that a haircut and buying some product would be a good birthday present. Harry thought it was wonderful, but then he saw that his hair was now a small faux-hawk. He'd protested for about two hours, finally agreeing once she told him what his “reward” would be.) He took off his glasses (the rectangular specks as a gift to himself. He wanted to rid everything that reminded him of England—even if it included getting wire-rimmed rectangular spectacles) and rubbed his eyes underneath, suddenly tired. Placing them back onto his nose, Harry made sure Andrew was secure, and he went back to sleep.

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“Well, the technology is a bit more advanced, and at least the flights aren't delayed,” commented Hermione, walking through the airport, pushing Andrew in his plush black and red stroller. Carrying Andrew, even for them, got a bit tiring, but then Hermione enlarged his stroller while in the Women's restroom.

They were currently making their way outside, but it seemed as though Andrew was hungry, since he kept clutching onto his stomach and had his face buried in Hermione's chest. They made their way to the food court, hoping to feed Andrew in peace. Hermione took her son from his stroller and started feeding him, and a few minutes later—Andrew filled with fruits other food—they went back to their previous mission: get out of the airport.

Once they found themselves outside, Harry asked, “How are we going to get anywhere? We haven't a car.”

She smiled, rummaging through her purse. “Don't worry about that, Harry. Our car is right,” she plucked out a small, yet stylish, black car from her purse, “here!”

“That looks like our car, Hermione,” Harry pointed out, plucking the small car from her fingers. “But this can't be anything but a mere toy.”

She sighed. “This is our car, Harry!” she exclaimed, taking the car back. “I shrunk it before we went inside the airport in America.”

He nodded in understanding, and said, “Oh.” He smiled, giving her a peck. “Good job, then we won't have to spend anymore money on buying a new car here, in England,” said Harry, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you can be so cheap,” she muttered, walking towards an alley.

“Hey,” said Harry, keeping in step with her, “cars are not cheap! Our car cost a good thirty thousand dollars!”

She chuckled, patting his arm. “I know, Harry. I know.” She turned and found a near by alley, and she placed the car down. Taking her wand out, she muttered something Harry couldn't hear, and the car slowly became its original size. Once doing everything necessary, Hermione made sure Andrew was secure, and that her belt was on right, Harry stepped into the driver's seat and left the alleyway.

“Now, which hotel do you want to stay in?” Harry asked while driving.

“I don't want to stay in a Wizarding hotel,” she answered immediately, and Harry nodded. “Perhaps a nice hotel in London would be nice.”

“Okay,” he said, looking for hotels now. After a few minutes of searching, Harry found a large hotel by the Thames River. Driving in front of the hotel, Harry told his wife, “I'll be back in a moment, I just need to get our key,” and left. Minutes later, Harry came back and started driving once more, looking for a parking spot.

“What's our room number?” asked Hermione, taking the small packet from the co-pilot's seat.

“Five hundred twenty-three,” he answered. “I requested we have a suite, since we're going to be here for a short while.”

“True,” she murmured, looking at the pictures of the rooms.

Getting out of the car, Harry started getting their carryon bag and stroller, while Hermione took Andrew and her bags. Walking towards the luxurious hotel, Hermione absently laced her fingers through Harry's, offering him a soft smile.

Once getting into the lift, Harry and Hermione, with a giggling Andrew, proceeded to go to the fifth floor. After finding their designated room, they opened the door and walked in, marvelling at the sight. The room was nothing short of perfect. The living area was large, with a large television, plush settees and armchairs placed strategically around the television. Two rooms were on either side of the room; two bedrooms, Harry suspected. There was even a small refrigerator near the television.

Letting go of the carryon, Harry undid the belts to Andrew's stroller and let him down. Andrew instantly started wandering around, pausing to marvel at the television.

“He seems to have a knack for shiny things,” Harry commented absently, remembering that Andrew stared at the aeroplane's shiny restroom walls.

Hermione nodded, chuckling. “That he does. Reminds me of his father,” she teased, sending a wink in his direction.

He nudged her lightly with his elbow. “You know that I was just kidding when I saw our rings, right?” he asked.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Sure, Harry. Sure.” Sobering, Hermione brought some of the luggage from her pocket, the others finding their way into her purse. (She found that sitting on shrunken luggage for eight—nearly nine—hours was not comfortable at all.) Unshrinking it, she made her way towards their room. Taking out a fresh pair of jeans and her old Volleyball jersey, she placed them on the bed. She then found Andrew's carryon and opened it; maybe she'd give him a bath later.

“Harry,” Hermione called out, “do you think you could go in my purse and find Andrew's crib, and your carryon?”

“Sure!” A few minutes later, Harry came into the bedroom, a miniature crib in his hand, his black carryon dragging behind himself. “Here, love,” said Harry, placing the crib by the wall. Taking his wand out, he enlarged the crib back to its original state.

“Thank you.”

Nodding, Harry left the room once more, letting Hermione do whatever it was she was doing.

--------------

Harry stared at the blank piece of computer paper before him, a pen in his hand. He wasn't able to find parchment and a quill, so he decided that this was the best substitute. Currently, he was attempting to write a letter to the Weasleys, but he hadn't the slightest idea what to write.

At first, they'd planned to visit Hermione's parents, but then she decided that taking a break for one day wouldn't do any harm. She was instantly jetlagged, and after taking a long, hot bath, she went to sleep. Andrew, too, was sleeping in his blue crib, cuddling his small stuffed bear.

Staring at the paper, he debated on whom he should address the letter to. Ron? Ginny? Missus Weasley? Mister Weasley?

Finally, Harry shook his head and started writing.

Dear Weasley family,

Hello, this is Harry Potter. (Let's just hope you remember me, eh? Heh) I know it's been a long time—just over four years—and that I haven't even owled you since, but I have a very good reason. Or, at least, I hope it's good…

Hopefully you'll reply, and I'll be able to visit the Burrow shortly. I know I have a lot to explain, and I bet you're wondering where Hermione is, too. Well, she's with me, here. Well… not here, here, but in the — Oh Bullocks, look at me, stammering on paper! I guess it really has been a long time.

I know the letter is short, but please, give us a chance to see you again,

Harry

Shrugging at the contents, thinking they were acceptable, folded it. Addressing the front of the paper to “The Weasleys,” Harry then remembered that Hedwig had died four years ago. Sighing and putting his head in his hands, Harry wondered if there were various other ways to ensure that the letter was received by the Weasleys. He lost his Firebolt the same time he did Hedwig, so that was out of the question. There was always his invisibility cloak, but he didn't know the way to the Burrow.

“Perhaps… Perhaps I can take the Night Bus, take my invisibility cloak, deliver the letter, and leave without anyone knowing,” Harry plotted to himself, wondering if his plan even had a chance of working. “But don't they have a mailing system for Wizards and Witches that don't have owls?” he argued with himself. “If so, where?” he questioned himself. He shook his head. “Perhaps I should just buy a new owl—or at least find a way to rent it…” he trailed off. What was the point in arguing with himself if he knew he was going to get a headache?

Leaving the matter to be handled later, Harry stood up and checked around the rooms. The second bedroom wasn't being used, and Andrew was sleeping in his and Hermione's room. Deciding that it'd be good to know where his in-laws were staying—or in this case, which hospital they were residing in.

Going to the centre table and picking up his cell phone, then remembered that he didn't have any service outside the country. Putting the phone back down, he went over to the hotel phone and dialled the operator. Quickly asking for the numbers of the hospitals in London (which, if he remembered correctly, there should've only been two), he jotted them down, thanking the operator, and hung up.

Hastily, he called the first Muggle hospital, which was Lambeth Community Care Centre. “Hello…? Yes, this is Harry Potter… No, I don't need to call an ambulance… Yes, I need to see if my in-laws are here… Yes, Granger…? No…?” He sighed, nodding. “Alright… No, thank you… Yeah, bye.” Hanging up, he crossed the first number out. Well, there's only one other place they could be at, Harry thought, dialling the second number to the hospital, which was St Thomas' Hospital.

Seconds later, someone picked up. “Hello…? No, but I'd like to know if my in-laws, the Grangers, are here… Yes, they're Celine and Jeff Granger… Really? Oh, yes! Okay, yes! Yes, and can I have your address? Yes… Okay, thank you. Yes, goodbye…” Hanging up the phone, Harry put the piece of paper on the table.

Taking off his shirt and jeans, Harry made his way to his and Hermione's bed. Pulling the covers back, he quietly got into bed and snuggled close to Hermione. Happy that she didn't stir, Harry tenderly placed his head on the slope of her breast, his hand landing softly on her abdomen. Slowly, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Hours later, when the wedded couple finally woke, they found that it was already well past midnight. Harry noticed that Andrew was still deep in sleep, and facing away from them. Grinning, Harry started kissing Hermione's neck.

Hermione emitted a low moan, her fingers enclosing Harry's neck and bringing him up so she could kiss his lips. The two kissed leisurely, tongues rubbing against each other, lips pressing and pulling, their hands slowly roaming.

Once they broke apart, Hermione asked softly, “What was that for?”

Harry smiled, kissing her cheek softly. “I haven't had a proper kiss,” he whispered, trailing kisses along her jaw line and down her neck. “I've also been deprived of my daily triple shags,” he added, grinning as he pulled Hermione's shirt up slightly, caressing the bare skin of her stomach. “And I intend on having my shags, Hermione.”

She grinned, giving him a deep kiss. “And who am I to deprive you of anything, Mister Potter?” she quietly questioned, rubbing herself against her husband.

He grinned, taking her shirt off and pulling her—which were mine when I was a freshman, Harry vaguely noted—baggy sweatpants down.

And for hours during that night, Hermione and Harry ensured that they weren't being `deprived' of anything.

--------------

The family of three made their way towards Mister and Missus Grangers room. After navigating their way through London, finally finding the hospital, Harry and Hermione had asked where they were. Once getting the number, they were now on the lift to see them.

Opening the door, they walked in, the Grangers the first thing they saw. The two of them were in hospital gowns, both looking worn, but happy as they saw their daughter, son-in-law, and grandson walk in. Wordlessly, the Potters made their way to the middle of the room.

“Hello Mum, Dad,” Hermione greeted quietly, placing her hand atop her Mother's.

She smiled, giving her daughter's hand a squeeze. “Hey, Hermione,” she greeted softly, taking in her daughter's appearance.

She hadn't changed much over the years. Her hair was in layers, and reached her shoulders. It wasn't bushy, nor was her hair in perfect ringlets, but in soft curls with the promising flyways here and there. She'd grown a few inches, and now seemed as if she were only a few inches shorter than Harry. Her thin figure, covered by a modest blue sleeveless shirt covered by a striped button up shirt that was rolled up to her elbows was accompanied by stylish jeans that had Missus Granger thinking all of the young ones wore these days.

“You look beautiful,” she complimented, giving her a soft smile.

“Yes she does,” said a soft voice from behind Hermione.

Turning around, Hermione finally saw her father. His hair was greying, but he wore a proud smile. “My baby girl, all grown up,” said he softly. “She has a husband and a child, is there anything else I should know?” he questioned playfully, even in this state.

Hermione nodded, blushing. “Yes, Dad, there is something you two should know. I… What I mean to say is, Harry and I are having another child.”

Hermione's Mother let out a soft sob, while her father chuckled. “What's wrong, Mum?” Hermione asked immediately, alarmed. Quickly, she went to her side, ready to run and call the nurses.

“Oh, it's nothing, dear,” she said, wiping the tears from her face. “I'm just happy for you, is all.”

Hermione smiled, turning to her father.

Throughout the whole thing, Harry remained silent, kneeling beside Andrew's stroller and playing with him. Even after all of these years, he still felt slightly out of place while Hermione talked to her parents.

“Papa!” Andrew suddenly exclaimed, loud enough to bring Hermione and her parents from their tête-à-têtes.

Smiling sheepishly, Harry apologized. “Sorry,” he said quickly, hoping he hadn't disturbed them.

“Oh Harry,” said Missus Granger, extending her hands, “let me see my son and grandson.”

Blushing slightly, Harry stood up and took Andrew out. Grinning when the small boy giggled a loud “Papa!” again, he handed him to his grandmother.

“Oh my,” she cooed, playing with Andrew on her bed. “He's gotten so big!” she exclaimed, softly poking his squishy stomach. “The last time I've seen him was when he was just a newborn, and look at him now!” Suddenly, Missus Granger coughed, and on instinct, Harry scooped Andrew into his arms.

Hermione, looking alarmed once more, came to aid her mother. “Are you alright? Do you need anything? What can I do for you?” Turning to her father, she asked in rapid succession: “How about you, Dad? Do you want anything? I can just run and get a nurse, if you want. How about I just—” Quickly, her mother interrupted.

“No, it's alright,” she said, patting her daughter's hand lovingly. “This has been happening a lot lately, and I'm afraid this is the most they can do right now. It's old age, dear.”

“But you're not even that old, Mother!” she pointed out, her voice distressed.

“Hermione, dear, our health is failing,” Mister Granger pointed out. “We're getting older, our health is deteriorating quickly, but it's just the way life is.”

Sighing, she hung her head. Quickly, Harry ran to the other side of the bed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders while Andrew reached for his mother. Taking Andrew into her arms, she clutched on to Harry. Muttering nonsense, Hermione simply held on to her husband and son for a few minutes. Once she deemed herself sturdy enough, Hermione detached herself from her husband's arms and went back to her father's side.

“I… I just hope you two feel better,” murmured Hermione. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. “What if I took you to St. Mungo's? Would that help? I'm sure the Healers there would be able to fix you up in a nanosecond!”

Both of the Grangers shared a look, and when Mister Granger spoke, Hermione knew their decision was unanimous. “Dear, look, we aren't going to a Wizarding hospital. Your Mother and I want to spend our last days here.”

Tears instantly stung her eyes. “Last… days?” she stammered, her voice cracked. “I… I didn't think your health was that bad! I… I don't want you to die,” she told them softly, tears now freely flowing down her cheeks.

Andrew, seeing his Mother's distress, started crying. Hermione instantly wiped away her tears with her free hand, the other holding her son close, rocking him from side to side. After a minute or so, after hearing Andrew's sobs subside, Hermione shook her head slowly, still unbelieving to her parents' statement.

“Mister and Missus Granger,” said Harry softly, “how do you know - I mean, why are - I mean, why - err, your health, it can't positively be in such critical condition, can it?” he stammered, struggling to find the right words.

“First of all,” Mister Granger informed him in a soft voice, “it's Mum and Dad to you. You're our son-in-law, like the son we've never had, and I want you to think of us as the same. Second of all, yes,” he nodded slowly, “our health is that bad.”

“But that's now what you said on the phone!” Hermione exclaimed softly, knowing that Andrew would start sobbing again if she was too loud. “You said that it was slowly fading! Not that you could die any day now!”

Missus Granger sighed before she started coughing loudly. Once her coughing fit was over, she confessed, “Well, it started fading after Andrew was born, and we arrived back in England. It started slow enough, short coughing fits here, a small fever there, but soon, it became more frequent. And now… well, here we are,” she finished with a dry chuckle. “We didn't technically lie to you, but we didn't tell you the whole truth.”

Hermione sighed, a stray tear falling down her cheek. “I still can't believe it…” she trailed off.

Mister Granger smiled softly. “Please, dear, don't be too angry with us,” he pleaded. After a pregnant pause, Mister Granger, hoping to change the subject, asked, “Where are you three staying at?”

Harry answered this question. “The Durley House Hotel, in Knightsbridge,” he informed them.

He nodded, taking a piece of pen and paper, writing down the hotel's name. Once he finished, he said, “Well, I see that little Andrew is getting tired, and I suspect you want to wander around London once more, so who would we be to hinder you?”

Immediately, Hermione put her say into the matter. “Oh, you wouldn't stop anything! Really, you wouldn't!” she exclaimed. She sighed, “But Andrew is still jetlagged, so it would be best if we left.” She gave her mother and father a soft hug, each giving her a kiss on the forehead and cheek in return.

Harry repeated his wife's actions, receiving the same deeds in return. “I'll see you later… Mum, Dad…” he said, turning to each in-law. Looking over to his son, he saw that Andrew was sleeping, though he wore a small smile on his face. “And Andrew sends his love, through sleeping,” he joked, hoping to earn a chuckle.

They did chuckle, but all too soon, Mister Granger started couching. “I'll see you three later,” Mister Granger said a few minutes later, offering them a feeble wave.

Nodding, they gave each a hug and kiss once more. Hermione took hold of the stroller once more, and started heading out of the door. “Bye Mum, Dad,” and she left the room. Harry followed soon after.

While heading towards the lift once more, Harry placed his hand atop of Hermione's and offered her a small smile. Words weren't necessary, especially after eleven years of friendship, four and a half years of dating, and four years of marriage.

Hermione pressed the button to the lift, her other hand still entwined with Harry's. Soon, the lift arrived, and the doors opened.

Hermione nearly fainted, Harry gasped, and Andrew stayed sleeping. Standing before them, stood two people they had least expected them to be there:

Luna Lovegood and Dudley Dursley.

Author's Notes: Wow, I think this is the quickest I've ever updated anything! But I really like this story… *Goofy grin.*

Okay, now I know hospitals probably aren't like this, but just this once, they are. (Calling, asking if people stayed there, etc.)

“The Durley House Hotel” is a real hotel, but I didn't fully research it, nor did I have the energy to describe the hotel. I don't own it, obviously, but it is real. Oh, and the hospitals are real, too…

If I have gotten anything wrong, please don't hesitate to tell me.

-->

Author's Notes: About the car… Yeah, well, let's just pretend Harry and Hermione put temporary charms on it so it'd be like the ones in England?

Haha, like, not even a whole week and I'm getting PM's on Harry and Hermione's looks. I imagine Harry to be the seventeen-year-old Daniel Radcliffe (the stubble beard, looks, body—which is pretty hawt, etc.) with the David Beckham faux-hawk. (Well, when he had one :-P) With Hermione, she's just Emma Watson with curly hair. :-P

Enjoy!

--------------

August 16^th, 2001 …

--------------

The doors to the lift opened, and Harry and Hermione saw two people they'd least expect to see: Luna Lovegood and Dudley Dursley.

Though it had been over four years, Dudley still looked the same he had when he was seventeen. The large boy, now wearing a jean jacket with black trousers, had his hands stuffed in his trousers, unaware that he was being watched by his cousin.

Luna seemed to have grown a bit, though she was still much shorter than the wedded couple was. Clad in a purple sundress, a soft green jumper, she had sandals on that seemed to have a stuffed pygmy puff on it. Her hair, still long and wavy as ever, was put up into a messy bun, while the bottom half of her hair was put into a long braid. Looking up, she finally saw Harry and Hermione, their mouths open in shock, a small boy resting peacefully in a pushchair.

“Harry, Hermione!” she exclaimed, running from the lift.

Dudley lifted his face up and ran from the lift, facing Harry and Hermione. Hermione stared at the large boy, and instinctively pulled Andrew's stroller closer to her.

“Oh my, it's been so long,” she said, her eyes wide. “We'd thought the Blimbing Clinkers had gotten you,” she assumed, her voice calm. Looking down, she saw Andrew. “Oh, you have a son?” She smiled, her lips slowly moving upward as she reached for him. “He's adorable, just don't let the Humdingers get him! They like to play with a child, but then it'll just suck the hair from his skull!” she exclaimed.

Harry and Hermione blinked. Slowly, he looked from Luna, who was now playing with the hem of her jumper, to Dudley, who stayed oddly quiet throughout the whole thing. Quietly, Harry asked, “Dudley…? What… what are you doing here?”

Dudley raised his face slowly, looking Harry square in the eye. “Dad's here. Had a stroke, you see.”

“Oh.”

“You two are related,” Luna stated calmly, looking from Dudley to Harry and back again.

“Why do you care… small person?” asked Dudley hotly. How did this stranger know about him and Harry?

She shrugged, turning her attention to Hermione. “My father had started visiting the hospital in hopes of finding the leftovers from—”

“Mumma!” exclaimed Andrew, tearing up. “Papa!”

Instantly, Hermione went to aid her distressed son. Smelling his nappy, she knew that he needed changed. Quickly grabbing the baby bag from the small compartment under Andrew's chair, Hermione excused herself and went out in search for the restroom.

“What's a `diaper?'” asked Dudley, remembering the girl say that she needed to change his “diaper.”

“A nappy,” answered Harry immediately. “They call nappies diapers in the States,” he added nonchalantly. “But,” he asked seriously, looking from the two, “how do you two know each other?”

Dudley looked at Luna, arching a thick eyebrow, while Luna stayed oblivious. “I don't know her… She was just some nut I saw on the lift.” Shaking his head in understanding, he exclaimed, “Oh, she's one of your friends, isn't she?!”

“Err… she and I weren't too close, no, but we are friends,” said Harry, rubbing the back of his neck.

After a few moments, Luna suddenly exclaimed, “Well, father's calling, and I must assist him. Good-bye, Harry! Tell Hermione and your son goodbye for me!”

Before she could leave, however, Harry remembered that she could inform the Weasleys of their arrival. “Luna, wait!” She turned around, her eyes wide in question. “Do you think you could tell the Weasleys that Hermione and I want to visit them? They can just send us an owl, if they want.”

Nodding, Luna said, “Okay. I'll do that.” Smiling, she enthusiastically waved him goodbye and skipped off, leaving the nurses to glare at her.

Now turning to Dudley, Harry questioned, “So, erm, Dudley… how, how is life going?”

Dudley shuffled his feet. “I've finished University and plan on starting a Professional career in Boxing in a few months.”

Nodding, Harry rubbed the back of his neck, “O-Oh. That's nice,” he commented. After a hesitant pause, Harry asked, “Can… can I see Uncle Vernon, too?”

Dudley blinked in surprise, and Harry half expected him to say `no' and storm off, but it never came. Instead, a few moments later, Dudley acquiesced. “I… That wouldn't be too bad, no.” He gave a feeble smile, and said, “Dad's staying on this floor, and I bet Mum's already there.”

Hermione ran towards the two relatives. “Sorry I took so long,” breathed Hermione, holding a giggling Andrew. “I couldn't find a restroom!” She smiled politely at Dudley and handed Andrew to Harry, putting the baby bag into the stroller.

Forgetting that there was a woman there—a very good-looking woman, Dudley noticed—Dudley jumped when he saw Hermione hand over the baby to Harry.

“Oh… You're married, aren't you?” Dudley questioned, finally seeing the silver band gleaming on his left hand finger. “And… she's your wife, and that's your son!”

Harry nodded proudly, smiling. “Yep! She's been my wife since we were eighteen!” he stated proudly. Quickly sobering, he asked once more, “Are you sure it'd be alright if we saw him?”

Dudley nodded. “Yeah, c'mon, Potter. Let's go.” Chuckling, Dudley added, “I bet Dad's going to have another stroke knowing that you're married and have a child.”

Harry chuckled, holding Andrew and following Dudley. Hermione walked next to Harry, pushing the stroller, and asked, “Harry, where are we going? And why is your cousin being civil towards you? I thought you said the boy despised you?”

Harry nodded, moving his head away from Andrew's playful hands, and intertwined his left with her right. “He was, but then the Dementors tried to suck out his soul. Since then, he hasn't been too bad with me.” He grinned, pecking her cheek, and answered the first part of her question. “And, we're going to see my Uncle Vernon. Apparently, he had a stroke and has been hospitalized here.”

Nodding, Hermione only said, “Oh.” Pushing the empty stroller down the hospital corridors, Hermione noticed that when Dudley stopped, her parents' room was only a few doors down. Harry opened the door, seeing as Dudley was already inside, and Hermione ambled in, stroller in front of her.

She saw a rather large man, lying on a bed in a hospital gown, eating a few fruits. Next to him, was a woman with a long face, her expression one of surprise. Looking up, Vernon nearly choked on his apple.

“You!” exclaimed Vernon, pointing a large finger in Harry's direction. Turning his attention to his son, he asked, “Why did you let him here?” he enquired hotly. “And… and that woman, with that child!”

“Vernon,” Petunia placated quietly, “now, now, dear. You know what the doctor said.” Emitting a soft sigh, Petunia stood up and picked the tray away from Vernon and placed it on a near by table.

Vernon snorted. “Yes, I know what he said! But I don't care! They're here, and I don't want them to be!” His stare turned suspicious. “How did you know I was here, anyway?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “My wife and I were just mooching around,” he answered sarcastically. “Hermione's parents were sick, so we visited today,” he answered after, receiving a hard glare in return.

“Is that so?” he asked slowly. “Then why, pray tell, were you here, when you could've been with your brilliant in-laws?”

“Because we already saw them, and we were leaving, but then we saw Dudley,” responded Hermione this time, her voice steady.

His glare was now adverted to Hermione. “Did I say you could talk, you little—?”

“—I don't think you want to finish that sentence,” intervened Harry, stepping in front of Vernon's bed, his anger getting the better of him. “I can do magic now, remember? So can my wife,” he reminded the patient. “And I don't think you'd want to trouble us, we can be very dangerous when we want to be,” he nearly snarled, knowing that his son was still in his arms, still as ever, watching his father.

Vernon's eyes widened, and he instinctively reached for the sheets. “Just… Just go,” he ordered a minute later, his voice low. “I don't want to see you, ever.”

Sighing, his past anger ebbed away slightly, he turned and addressed Dudley. “I'm sorry, Dudley, but I think it was a mistake I asked to be here. I'm sorry.” He turned away from his cousin, and held his son close to his chest, knowing that he was scared. Going to the stroller, Harry strapped his son in, and got behind it, turning it around so they could leave. “Let's go, love,” Harry murmured, taking his wife's hand and leaving the room.

Hermione shook her head sadly as they left the room, her gaze lingering on the poor man in the bed. As they started their way through the halls once more, Harry absently wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her closer. She wrapped her arm around his waist, keeping one hand loosely on the handle as Harry pushed.

Reaching the lift, Harry murmured, “Funny, isn't it, how Dudley and Luna were here.”

She nodded, “Yeah, I guess.” Hoping to change the topic, Hermione asked, “Are we going to call Matt? A few weeks ago he made us promise we'd call him once we were back in England.”

They got out and headed for their car. “Yeah, but we'll need a calling card first. Or perhaps we could just use a pay phone, since our cells don't work.”

Hermione took Andrew out of his stroller and put him into his car seat, as Harry put the stroller into the trunk of the car. “Perhaps we could just use our cells, mix the signals a bit, and then call?” she suggested.

“Perhaps it'd work,” Harry said, leaving the hospital. “But how would we be able to mix the waves? We'd have to intercept the satellite's waves and somehow—” he was cut off by his wife's loud huff.

“Honestly, Harry!” she huffed. “You don't have to go that into detail about the subject!” She shook her head, “We're magic, Harry. We could do everything by magic!”

Chuckling he said, “Oh yeah.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione went back to playing with Andrew. “Mumma!” he squealed, playing with Hermione's pert nose. “Pay, pay!”

Smiling, she gave her son a kiss on the forehead and murmured, “Yes, Mumma will play.” Together, they both stuck their tongues out and stared at their nose.

Laughing silently, Harry looked at his wife and son. They could be so silly sometimes.

--------------

Though it took them half an hour to figure out how to transmit the waves from Hermione's cell phone satellite to one where they could get service, they were finally talking to Matt.

“Sheesh, it took you long enough!” exclaimed Matt as soon as he found out who was on the line.

“Sorry Matt, but we were visiting Hermione's parents today,” Harry apologized, sitting on the armchair.

Chuckling, Matt responded, “Ahh, the in-laws. By the way, how are they? I hope they're alright.”

“They're… they're… well, they're there…” Harry said softly.

“Oh man, I'm sorry,” Matt apologized. “Are they that bad?”

“Yeah, they are.” Hoping to change the subject, Harry asked, “So, are you ready for the next semester? Hopefully you'll still be able to play, with all of your majors, and stuff.”

“Yeah, I didn't think Biology, Latin, and Volleyball would be too hard to juggle,” answered Matt. “But man was I wrong!” After a pause, Matt asked, “So, I heard you're going back to the Magical community? Are you scared?”

Nodding, Harry answered, “Yeah. I mean, I'm not even too sure they want me there anymore. It's been four years, and I quiet like it in California, to tell you the truth.”

“Damn straight you do!”

“But yeah, it's going to be tough. Hermione had a boyfriend back there, and I bet you anything he still thinks they're together. And I had an ex there, too.” Harry knew Matt understood; he'd already told him the story when he arrived.

“Yeah, that'd suck. Just show up at their door and be like: `Hey! Guess what? I'm married, I have a kid, and I've stolen your girlfriend! You're still my friend… right?'” Matt teased.

“Shut up,” Harry said playfully. “Or I might just have to Portkey back to your dorm and jump you.”

“Hey, just because you're magical doesn't give you the right to jump a poor guy!” argued Matt playfully.

“Oh, I wouldn't be too sure,” said Harry playfully.

They went on for a few more minutes, just catching up. Soon, Hermione asked for the phone and called her friends, and after nearly half an hour, the phone was finally put back to its original spot.

Hermione stood up from her spot on the floor, and went to the telephone. “What do you want to eat, Harry? They don't have any burgers, so you won't be able to eat that.”

Harry groaned, “But that was my favourite!”

Hermione chuckled, patting his arm. “I know, love, I know.” Looking at the menu, she asked, “Do you want pizza or a club sandwich?”

“Just give me the sandwich,” answered Harry as he brought Andrew from his afternoon nap. Quickly, the small child nearly ran towards the television. Harry, seeing as his son was about to run into the thing, Harry picked him up, earning a loud squeal and lots of wiggling from Andrew.

“Oh no you don't, little guy,” said Harry, bouncing him on his shoulders. “You were going to run into the TV, and then you'd cry!”

Giggling, Andrew pulled on the longer part of Harry's faux-hawk, and pulled. “Papa pay!”

“Oh Papa's paying alright,” muttered Harry, taking Andrew off his shoulders and onto the couch. “You're a tricky little baby, aren't you?” he asked playfully, the small child bouncing on his thighs.

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, pointing at the window. “Look, there's an owl here!”

Harry stood up quickly, letting Andrew onto the floor softly so he could play with his toys, and went to the window. Opening it, Harry saw that the owl was none other than Ron's old owl, Pig. Letting the small bird in, Harry took the letter from his leg while Hermione went to the bathroom to get a cup of water for him. Andrew, upon seeing the bird, screamed and tried running away, only to trip and fall on his face.

Alarmed, Harry quickly forgot about the letter and ran towards his son. Picking him up, he saw that Andrew had a slight bump on his forehead, but was all right nonetheless. Bringing his son close to his chest, he patted his back and rubbed the back of his head, soothing his son, whom was crying freely.

Hermione came in, and seeing her son in distress, immediately went to go help. But since Harry had beaten her to it, and since Andrew was starting to calm down, Hermione went back to Pig. Taking the letter from the floor, she let the exhausted bird sit on the windowsill and drink from the cup. She laid the letter on the side table and sat next to Harry, threading her finger through Andrew's soft hair, murmuring words of comfort.

After a few minutes, Andrew calmed down. Each parent kissing his forehead lightly, lovingly, Andrew unfastened himself from his father and slid down his legs, going back to his toys, forgetting about the owl completely.

“Is he alright?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” answered Harry. “Just a little bump on his forehead. It'll clear up tomorrow,” he added.

She nodded and got up, picking up the letter. Noticing that Pig was still sitting there, she wondered if the Weasleys had told him to wait until he got a reply. Shrugging, she sat herself back next to next to her husband and looked at him. Getting his nod, she started opening the letter. She placed the open letter on Harry's thigh so the two could read the letter together.

You two,

Blimey, after years of isolation from the Weasley family, you finally decided to notify us that you're in the country? Well, it wasn't even you, was it? Looney Lovegood had to tell us where you were!

I don't think our family can express our feelings right now, so why don't you lot just come by this evening? At seven…?

Bloody Hell…

Ron

Harry turned the letter around, as if expecting more writing, but there wasn't any.

“That's it?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “Apparently not…”

“Oh my,” she mumbled, lying her head back. Harry rubbed her thigh, understanding. After a few moments, Hermione asked, “Well, since we're expected to write back, I suppose we should.”

Harry nodded and took a piece of paper and found a pen. Putting it on the desk, Harry wondered what he was supposed to write.

Hermione sat on his lap, taking the pen from his hand, and started writing. Simply telling the Weasleys that they'd be there, Hermione folded the paper and put it in Pig's beak. The owl flew off a few seconds later, and Hermione lied her head on Harry's shoulder, exhaling.

“What're we going to do now?” Harry asked softly, checking the time on his watch. It was five: thirty, and they had a short while until they had to leave.

Suddenly, Hermione asked, “What am I going to wear?”

Despite the current tense atmosphere, Harry couldn't help himself but start laughing.

--------------

An hour later, the small family stood on the curb near an alley. Harry—wearing a black suit jacket, a simple deep green button down shirt, and black jeans—groaned as he rubbed his stubbly cheek. Andrew had been playing with Harry and even stained three of his shirts, one of which he ruined merely ten minutes ago.

Hermione fixed her floral top, trying to tie the back of it. “Harry, do you think you could tie this?” she asked, standing in front of him. Wordlessly, Harry took the ties from her and tied it, giving her neck a soft kiss as he finished. “Thanks,” she said absently, picking up Andrew and taking his thumb away from his mouth.

Fixing his jeans and red shirt, Hermione asked Harry, “So, are we all ready?”

Harry nodded, and stuck his right hand out. A few seconds later, a bright red, Double Decker bus came into view, speeding towards them. A woman opened the door, greeting them. “Hello, and Welcome to the Knight Bus,” greeted the woman, clearly bored. “I'm Melissa—”

“—Yes, yes,” interrupted Harry. “We know about the Knight Bus. Now, are you going to let us on or just let us rot out here?” he asked.

She got off and looked around for luggage. Shrugging as she saw none, she went back on the bus, her hand out in expectation.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, “I don't have any money!” Turning towards Hermione, he asked, “D'you have any knuts or sickles in your purse?”

Shrugging, she gave Andrew to Harry and started searching for her purse. Since her purse was large, she spent a few minutes looking for it.

Fed up, the woman cried, “You know what? No money! You three go on for free! Now just get on the bloody bus!”

Getting on, Harry and Hermione sat near a corner, making sure Andrew wouldn't get hurt. “Where are you going?” asked the woman.

“Ottery St. Catchpole,” Harry answered.

She nodded, and soon, they were zooming through the streets of London. They made a few stops, one of which Harry nearly rammed into the window, and quickly zoomed through Diagon Alley. After passing the London Eye, the Parliament Building, and starting off into the country, Harry wondered how much really had changed.

Ron hadn't been too hostile, but he certainly hadn't been pleasant towards them. Although, since the letter was fairly short, Harry didn't think he would be able to analyse the meaning behind it. Oh, great, I'm turning into Hermione!

A few minutes later, they reached their destination. “Right, well, yeah…” the woman trailed off, pointing a bored finger towards the exit while filing her nails with her wand. “You guys can leave now. Don't expect me to be nice towards you, since you foreigners didn't even—” She suddenly stopped. “Oh. My. God.” She looked at Harry, her eyes wide. “You're—you're Harry Potter, aren't you?! Oh my! I hadn't even noticed! Oh my,” she stood up, walking towards them. “I'm so sorry! Here, do you need anything? Like, anything at all?”

Suddenly irritated, Harry muttered, “No,” and left. Hermione offered the young girl a feeble smile and wave before she adjusted her large, brown leather purse before following her husband.

As she stepped from the bus, she started remembering the fun times they had while at the Burrow. The times she watched Harry and Ron play Quidditch with the rest of the Weasley boys; the times where she read peacefully under the tree, Harry and Ron on either side of her, each snoozing peacefully; the times they would play in the summer rain, forgetting about the homework they had to finish; and so many more, she remembered.

Taking her husband's hand, the two strode towards the shabby home. It was still the same as before, if not more worn out, but it still held wonderful, and not so wonderful, memories. Slowly, as if scared, Harry and Hermione stepped onto the first step. Even Andrew seemed to be quiet, one hand fisting Harry's collar, the other in his shirt. Careful to be soundless, the two made it to the front door.

They knocked, and waited for someone to open.

Author's Notes: Oh god, not another cliff hanger! :-P, I'm sorry!! I really am! But hey, at least I updated quickly!

Did I mention I love Hermione's clothes? Man, I so wish I could buy the store Buckle! (Even though I own like half the clothes there. Heh) That floral top is to die for!

Sooo… how'd I do?

-->

Author's Notes: I don't know if I'll be updating as quickly, seeing as school starts tomorrow. But, hopefully between classes, homework, sports, and dance among other things, I really hope I'll be able to find time to write.

Well, I'm finished with my ramble, and I hope you enjoy!

--------------

August 16^th, 2001 …

--------------

Taking a deep breath, Harry and Hermione both silently waited for someone to answer. It seemed as though they waited for minutes, hours even, until someone finally opened the door. Mister Weasley, his hair greying, stood solemn, despite his usual calm, free personality. He didn't smile at them, nor did he speak when he opened the door farther, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the small boy in Harry's arms.

Quietly, their eyes downcast, the family made their way through the threshold. No one was there. Harry looked around the room, wondering where everyone was, but then saw a wisp of near white hair, running from the loo and in front of Harry.

“'Oo are you?” asked the small girl, not older than three years old. But, before Harry was able to respond, the little girl poked Harry's stomach, hard, and proceeded to do the same thing to Andrew, giggling as she skipped away.

Harry winced as he felt the girl's nail dig into his stomach, and wondered why she did that. Seeing Andrew's eyes tear up, Harry started rubbing his back where the girl had poked him, and started murmuring words to pacify the eleven-month-old child. Noticing Andrew wasn't calming down, Harry took the baby bag from Hermione and said, “I'll just calm him really quick. I'll be right back,” and left.

Hermione's eyes travelled around the room, vaguely noting that Mister Weasley, nor any Weasley for that matter, was here. Sighing, she walked towards the kitchen, half-hoping Molly was there. Once she got there, she finally saw part of the Weasley family.

Ginny, she assumed, since her back was to Hermione, was playing with the blond haired toddler, kissing her cheek as she went up the stairs, twirling a lock of her hair as she did so. Bill and Fleur were beckoning the young girl, oblivious to the fact that Hermione Potter was there. She could see George Weasley, absently munching on a biscuit, his gaze lingering on a random corner of the room. Ron was sitting at the end of the table, his hands covering his eyes, and it seemed as though he were groaning. It was only when Percy called everyone to attention, that someone finally noticed her.

Ron's hands moved away from his eyes, as if on fire, and his eyes looked for Hermione. He expected to see a girl with bushy hair, her hands full of books, wearing out of date clothes. What he saw, instead, was a thin, beautiful woman, wearing very pretty (though strange) clothes. She wasn't holding books, but rather, a large handbag, that looked very full. Her breasts were large and full, and Ron couldn't help but stare at them for a moment. Blinking, he then adverted his gaze to her face: she still had the same features, though she was wearing a bit of make up (he couldn't really tell what she had on, but her eyes were darker around the edges, making them look very smoky), and her hair was short and curly, nothing like the messy bush she had years ago.

“Her-Hermione?” he asked finally, standing up. “Oh Merlin, it's been so long!” he exclaimed, suddenly standing up and giving her a hug that could put hers to shame. He blurrily noticed that her stomach felt somewhat harder than usual, but quickly dismissed the thought, simply thinking that it was her toned stomach. (A stomach he really wanted to see; four years of isolation from his girlfriend was too much.)

Hermione stood there, frozen. She didn't know what to think. She was surrounded by Weasleys, one Weasley hugging her, and her husband wasn't here. She didn't even wrap her arms around him, since his hold on her was too tight. Fearing something might—could­­—happen to her unborn child, Hermione rasped out, “Ron… I… oxygen!”

Ron smiled sheepishly, detangling himself from his beautiful girlfriend. Looking down into her eyes (he was very tall, Hermione noted, must've been at least six feet tall), Ron leaned down to kiss her lips. However, Hermione moved her face subtly, so his lips hit her cheek instead. Shrugging slightly, Ron held her at arm's length.

“Where were you?” he whispered, rubbing her arms. “I was worried sick! I… I thought I lost you… I thought Harry took you away from me…” he whispered, dejected.

Hermione moved away from Ron, sincerely hoping he wouldn't touch her again. “I… Um… Let-let - Harry and I will ex-explain everything, once he get's here.”

Ron nodded slowly, and the Weasleys slowly went upstairs. Molly had come out while Ron hugged her, and was now sitting in a seat, glaring at the brown-haired woman. Only a few people remained in the kitchen: Molly, Arthur, Ginny, Ron, and herself.

“I'll be back in a moment,” Ginny said before she departed.

Ron sat down quietly next to his mother, an odd look in his eyes. While Molly was glaring at Hermione, Arthur's eyes were staring wide-eyed behind Hermione.

Hermione adjusted her purse on her shoulder, unconsciously obscuring her left hand, where the engagement and wedding rings adorned her slim finger.

Suddenly, a shriek sounded throughout the home, and Andrew came waddling in seconds later, crying and latching onto Hermione's leg. On instinct, Hermione brought up the small boy and brought him to her chest, patting his back, rubbing the back of his head, ignoring the shock in Ron's eyes, the glare hardening in Molly's, and the sudden realization in Arthur's.

Ginny stormed in, her eyes ablaze, her hair frizzing, and stopped in front of Hermione. “You… You, you scarlet woman!” she shrieked, and forcefully took Andrew away from her arms (which just made him cry even harder) and slapped Hermione across the face.

Hermione acted instantly. She pushed the younger girl against the wall, her head banging against it vehemently, and leaned in so their noses were touching. “Don't you dare, ever, take my child from my arms. Ever. Again,” she snarled before pushing Ginny once more and running back to Andrew, who was waddling towards Harry.

He came in less than a second later, and saw what Hermione had just done. Picking Andrew up, repeating what Hermione had done seconds before. Hermione didn't fail to notice the dangerously red handprint splayed across Harry's right cheek, nor did she fail to notice that Andrew hadn't calmed down. She ran towards Harry, taking Andrew from his arms and held him tightly, reassuring him that she was all right.

“You… What… How?” Ron stammered, looking from Harry to Hermione and back. “I… I thought you two didn't meet at all!” His eyes flashed dangerously. “This is why you left, isn't it? So you could bloody shag my girlfriend?!” he growled.

“Ron, it's not what it looks like,” explained Harry, holding his hands up. “Okay, well it is, but I can still explain!” he went on, and Ron could see a ring adorning his left hand finger. Who cared if it wasn't on his right hand? Either way, he was still probably married to his girlfriend.

“You stole my girlfriend, Potter,” Ron snarled, advancing on Harry. Andrew's cries simply got louder.

“I'm not going to forgive you for that,” he growled and punched him square in the face.

Harry, just as Hermione, acted instantly. He moved forward and punched Ron in the stomach, and as he staggered back, Harry took his right arm and twisted it so it ground into his back painfully. Ron opened his mouth in a silent scream, as he was slammed against the wall.

“ENOUGH!” shouted Hermione and Molly at the same time. Molly went to help her daughter, while Hermione still tried to calm down Andrew. Harry quickly went to Hermione's side, forgetting completely about Ron for the time being. His son was too important. Slowly, gradually, with Harry and Hermione both placating Andrew, he slowly went into a light sleep, tears staining Hermione's new shirt and his face.

“If you two are finished assaulting us, I'd like to explain why we've been gone for the past four years,” said Hermione, glaring at the Weasleys while she softly patted Andrew's back.

“You broke my children's hearts!” Molly exclaimed, seething, though her voice wasn't loud enough to wake up the sleeping toddler. “You two simply left without informing any of us! And then you show up, four years later, with a child, and you expect us to welcome you with open arms?” She shook her head, glaring at the three-person family. “No, that isn't how it works. I thought you cared about us! Ronald was supposed to marry you, Hermione! And Ginevra was supposed to marry Harry!”

“We weren't in love with them,” answered Harry, wrapping a loose arm around Hermione, his other hand resting on the small of Andrew's back. “We were in love with each other, Molly.”

“Call me Missus Weasley,” she told them, her anger getting the best of her.

“Whatever,” he muttered, but continued in a steady voice. “But if you just called us here to jump us, then I'll have you know that we're ready to leave at this moment.”

“What do you mean, `jump you?'” Ron asked suddenly, nursing his arm and stomach. “Is it some Muggle expression?”

Hermione nodded, “Yeah. Americans often say something like that when they beat someone up.”

“Oh.”

“Come back tomorrow,” Molly said stiffly. “Perhaps our anger will have ebbed enough to let you into the home without `jumping you,' as you so eloquently put it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Today, tomorrow, what's the difference? You won't be able to understand, anyway. You're—” He wanted to continue, but Andrew's soft voice cut through.

“Papa… hut… Mumma… owiee,” Andrew mumbled, his hands blindly finding his mother's shirt and turning his head so he could see his father. He sniffed, tears slowly making tracks down his cheeks as he and Hermione comforted him again. “Mumma, Papa…”

Sighing softly, Harry ignored the glares he was receiving from the Weasleys, and kissed his son's forehead. “Papa and Mummy are all right, Andrew,” he murmured, rubbing his back.

Hermione smiled, leaning her head on Andrew's briefly before turning her attention to the Weasleys. Her voice was crisp: “Since it's blatantly obvious that we're not welcome here currently, Harry, Andrew, and I will return tomorrow. Please, don't attempt to his us once more, or we'll be forced to use our wands.”

Harry picked up the baby bag, which he somehow flung near the corner while he hit Ron, and went back to his wife and child. They knew it'd be a waste of breath to say their goodbyes, so they simply left the dining area, through the hall, and left through the front door without saying a word.

As soon as they left, Hermione inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled it staggeringly, as if she were close to tears. Harry stopped walking and wrapped his arms around Hermione, murmuring words of nothing in her ear. Andrew was sleeping deeply, arms wrapped tightly around his mother's neck, as Hermione wrapped her free arm around Harry's torso, her breaking still unsteady.

“Shh,” he whispered in Hermione's ear, rubbing her back. “We'll be back to the hotel in a few minutes,” he promised, leading them further along.

She nodded, hugging Andrew closer to her. He'd cried so much today, and Hermione and Harry felt so much anger towards the two youngest Weasleys then.

Harry stuck his right hand out, awaiting the Knight Bus.

--------------

After Andrew was fed and changed, he was now in his crib, clutching his stuffed dragon for dear life. Harry and Hermione were in their bed, Hermione's arm wrapped loosely around his waist, her legs tangled with his, their arms around each other.

“I can't believe they acted like that,” Hermione said softly, her fingers playing with the very thin hair trailing from Harry's bellybutton downwards.

“I know,” he murmured. “I knew they'd be mad, I even knew Ron would punch me, but I didn't think they'd take it this far.”

“Same here,” she muttered, burying her face in the crook of her husband's neck. “I… it's just very unbelievable. And with my parents' health, this… this is just feels like too much.”

Harry rubbed her back, and whispered, “You don't want to stress yourself out, love. The baby, even though it's very early, could be in danger if you're in danger, or under a lot of stress. Speaking of which, Ginny didn't do anything but slap you, right?” he questioned, sincerely hoping that she hadn't.

She shook her head, giving Harry's neck a soft kiss, loving the fact that Harry was so concerned about her. “No. If she did hurt the baby, then Ginny would be in St. Mungo's by now. Trust me.”

He nodded, lifting up Hermione's loose shirt and caressing her slightly protruding abdomen. “Good, because this baby hadn't done anything wrong,” he murmured, kissing the top of Hermione's head.

Wordlessly, Hermione rolled on top of Harry, cradling his face in her hands. She looked at him in concern, her eyes wandering over his face. “Are you sure you don't want me to fix the bruise?” she asked quietly, lightly touching the injury that was the size of his right cheek.

“I'm okay,” he reassured her, one hand resting on the arch of her spine, the other entwining itself with her hand. “Really, I am. I just… I was worried when I saw you and Ginny… And Andrew—”

“She took him from my arms,” she interrupted. “And… she nearly threw him onto the floor.” Her eyes filled with tears once more and she wrapped her arms around him again, while Harry's did the same. “What… what if he was hurt? What would happen then?”

“Shh,” he murmured, though his anger was rising. Why would she even attempt to harm an innocent toddler? “Just… just be glad nothing happened to Andrew…”

She nodded shakily, and whispered, “Yeah.” She picked her head up, staring into Harry's emerald eyes, and leaned down slowly.

Their lips met slowly, and they took their time deepening the kiss. Their lips didn't move for a few moments, mainly because they loved the feel of them, but soon, Hermione applied a bit more pressure, pushing and pulling. Harry slipped his tongue into her mouth, searching hers, and when they touched, they simply danced around, slowly kissing.

Once they finally broke apart, Harry asked, “What was that for?”

“I just wanted to let you know I love you, and not Ron,” she informed him, giving him another peck.

“Same here,” he murmured.

She smiled, and leaned in for another kiss. After a few minutes of laid-back kissing, Harry finally started to reach for her shirt, slowly pulling it up.

Hermione could only comply.

--------------

“It's a rather warm day, don't you think?” Hermione asked while bathing Andrew. Andrew giggled, forgetting completely about last night's events, and threw some bubbles in his parents' general direction.

Harry laughed and wiped the bubbles off his bare chest, remembering this time that it wasn't wise to wear too many clothes while bathing a toddler.

“Yeah, it is,” Harry answered. “I mean, I got Andrew's jacket from the car this morning, and I was sweating when I came back into the room!”

She chuckled, giving Harry's bicep a squeeze. “You're going to need to work out then, Mister Potter. I fear two weeks without Volleyball and Soccer has gotten you into bad shape,” she teased.

He stuck his tongue out at her. “I am not out of shape!” he retorted, taking Andrew out of the tub and wrapping him in his blue towel.

Hermione picked up Andrew and took them to the bedroom, where his clothes were laid out on the bed. After putting his diaper on, Hermione put some baby powder over his body and then dressed him into his daily clothes—small, khaki shorts with a simply white shirt.

Harry walked to his carryon as Andrew waddled out, heading for his toys or to stare at the shiny TV, no doubt. Taking his boxers and baggy, torn jeans (he remembered when he first bought them; Matt and Hermione kept insisting that it was the latest fashion, and that he'd look very good in them—which, he had to admit, he did) and headed for the bathroom.

“Remember,” Hermione said suddenly, stopping Harry mid stride, “we're going to Diagon Alley today, Mum and Dad, and the Weasleys after that.”

Harry nodded, walking towards his wife, who was kneeling on the floor, picking out her clothes. “All right,” he told her, hunkering down next to her. “What are we going to do in Diagon Alley, anyway?” he asked, absently fingering Hermione's old Volleyball spandex shorts. He really loved those shorts. He shook his head, curing himself for distracting himself, while Hermione was answering. “Sorry, come again?” he said, hoping she wouldn't be mad.

She rolled her eyes, knowing what her husband had previously been doing. “Honestly, I don't see how shorts turn you on.” Shaking her head, knowing what her husband was going to say, she held her hand up. “But, we're going to Diagon Alley to convert some of our money into the gold, so perhaps we'd be able to buy things. Perhaps you want to buy a new broom, or I could buy a few books?”

“All right, that sounds good,” Harry said. “Perhaps we could even get a gift for Matt and Christina? I heard they're taking their new relationship pretty seriously now.”

She chuckled, remembering that Matthew and Christina had gotten together a few months prior. Christina, the ambitious Greek and Physics major had met Matt purely by accident. They were all shopping for suitcases, since Harry and Hermione were moving, and Matt was visiting his parents in Maine for a few weeks.

Matt chuckled as Andrew crawled towards the black carryon with purple, pink, and white polka dots. He picked his young godson up and poked his stomach lightly, grinning as Andrew giggled, opening his mouth and wiggling around.

“Excuse me,” said a girl from behind Matt.

He turned around, wondering who had interrupted his bonding time with his Godson, but then his eyes widened as he saw the girl. She was much shorter than Matt's six foot frame, only about five five, perhaps, and had black hair.

She arched an eyebrow, and Matt looked into her eyes. Brown, blue, hazel, he wasn't too sure, but they were wonderful, covered by glasses. “Um… did you hear me? Can you move, like, now?”

“Oh! Oh, yes! Yeah, sure,” he moved aside and outstretched his hand. “See? Now you can go.” He cursed himself for being so stupid.

Harry and Hermione arrived less than a second later, and saw that their best friend was staring at a young woman, while she wasn't moving either. Harry grinned, taking his son from Matt's arms, and chuckled silently when Matt didn't seem to notice. Hermione laughed softly, standing next to her husband and watching the two do… well, nothing.

“Do… do you wanna go get coffee, or something?” Matt asked after a few minutes.

She hazily nodded. “Yeah… coffee sounds pretty good right about now.”

He grinned, and the two went to the local Stanford café, forgetting completely about luggage.

Though they didn't know Christina too much, they knew she loved chocolate, animals, Volleyball (she was the team captain, and Hermione wondered how she didn't recognize her from the beginning), and reading. She didn't know Harry and Hermione were magical, so they thought it'd be very hard to give them something magical.

“Perhaps we should get her some Muggle things?” Hermione suggested.

“Probably. And we could get Matt something magical,” Harry added. He kissed Hermione's cheek softly, and stood up. “Well, I'm taking a shower now. We'll leave in an hour or two, sound alright?”

She nodded and stood up. “Yeah. Do you need any help washing your back?” she asked, her arms encircling his neck.

“I'm probably disappointing the whole male population right now, but I'm going to have to decline,” Harry murmured. “Andrew will get scared if he doesn't see one of his parents, and we won't be able to leave for hours if you join me in the shower.”

She sighed. “Fine,” she grumbled. She let him go, but not before giving him a quick peck. “Go take your shower.”

He grinned and gave her bottom a swat before heading towards the bathroom. Perhaps a shower that was slightly on the cold side would do him good.

--------------

Harry, Hermione, and Andrew were at the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron. It took them a few minutes to find the place, shrink the car, and change Andrew, but now as they stood there, they half hoped there was something else they had to do. How much had changed? Were there new shops; were the Death Eaters still on loose? Suddenly, the pit of Harry's stomach lurched. What if they followed his family to America when they left for it again?

Oh Lord, thought Harry, glancing at Hermione and Andrew, who was staring at everything around him in awe. I can't let my child, soon to be children, get into danger! Oh shit, what do I do?

“Hermione, I-I think we should put some glamour charms on ourselves,” Harry suggested to Hermione.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? Are you afraid of the fame? Scared people will hound you? Frightened that—Oh Lord,” she stopped, comprehension dawning her features. “Death Eaters,” she whispered, her eyes widening and her hold tightening considerably on Andrew.

“You're right,” she agreed, walking by a near by alley, pulling Harry with her. “We need to put a glamour on each of us, if not for us, at least for Andrew. Oh Lord, Harry, I'd completely forgotten about the Death Eaters!”

“I did too,” Harry murmured, taking his wand out. “I did too.”

“Papa?” murmured Andrew, his bright emerald eyes widened in question. Harry knew Andrew rarely saw his wand.

Harry grinned, kissing his son's forehead lightly. He turned his attention back to his wife, “Okay, I'll just change your hair a bit, since no one was able to recognize you a lot anyway.” She nodded, and Harry muttered the charm. Her hair became longer slightly, and it became blond. Since her body had changed over the years (she'd become thinner, her breasts filling out, and had grown a few inches), she wasn't very recognizable.

“Now, your turn,” said Hermione, giving Andrew to Harry for a few quick moments. She looked inside her purse and found the wood quickly, taking her son back into her arms. “I'm going to change your eyes, since only you—and Andrew, of course—have those colour eyes. And I'm going to change the colour of your hair.” He nodded, and she cast the charm, and she chuckled as she saw Andrew's eyes widen in slight fear as Harry's hair changed from coal black to light brown, the style staying the same. His eyes changed from the beautiful emerald green to shining silver, and Hermione smiled, appreciating her wand work.

“Now,” said Harry, stretching his arms so he could hold his son, “time for this little guy.” He knew Andrew was a little fearful, seeing his father's looks change before him, but he didn't stop Harry from holding him. His eyes suddenly changed to the same exact ones Harry's had—his slightly long, unruly hair turning light brown, his bright eyes turning silver.

Andrew looked from his mother to his father, still a bit hesitant, but Hermione took Andrew from Harry's arms and started patting his back, hoping to lull the boy to sleep. If he was asleep, he wouldn't know whom he was with, since he probably thought he was with strangers rather than his parents, and that would mean the two could do their shopping in peace.

After nearly ten minutes of standing there, with Hermione singing softly to Andrew, he finally fell asleep. After making sure no one was there, Harry pocketed his wand; Hermione put hers in her pocket, obscuring it by her half-sleeved red shirt.

“Do you think we should've brought our old robes with us?” Harry asked as the three made their way towards The Leaky Cauldron once more. “I mean, don't you think we'll look strange wearing Muggle clothing?”

Hermione shrugged, opening the door. “I suppose, but we threw our robes away years ago, remember? And besides, since when haven't we been strange?” she asked playfully, hoping they wouldn't be recognized as they strode through the bar.

“Wow, the bar is even more worn down than I remember,” Harry muttered.

“Try to use British words, Harry, otherwise they'll think—”

“—we're foreigners,” he interrupted. “Because in all reality, we are, technically.”

“Not really,” she told him.

“Oi, look `ere!” shouted a man. Harry and Hermione stiffened noticeably. “We got couple'r foreigners `ere! Tom, why don't ye get `em a pint?”

Tom, who was wiping a table top, looked up, and saw the three-person family. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, walking behind the counter.

“Nahh,” Harry answered, trying his best at the American accent. Even after four years, he and Hermione hadn't lost their British accent. “We're all right. We just need some stuff for the family, you know.”

Tom nodded. “Okay, but come back for another pint!”

Harry and Hermione nodded before they nearly ran towards the back room. Hoping he remembered the right combination, he took the tip of his wand and tapped the bricks. It wasn't the right one. After a few failed attempts, he finally got it, and the bricks separated, forming a passageway for the three to enter Diagon Alley.

In the large crowd of people, Harry and Hermione earnestly hoped that no one was able to distinguish their glamour from their actual looks. So far, no one had done anything but give them peculiar looks, wondering why they were wearing such odd clothing.

Harry looked around, and saw that there was no sign that Harry Potter even saved the Wizarding World. Even though it'd been a few years, Harry thought that they'd still be cheering. Apparently not, he thought as he saw pictures and posters of various other people. Two people brought his attention, however: Ginny and Ronald Weasley. Ginny was wearing a rather tight uniform zooming around on her racing broom, elegant writing underneath her feet: The Holyhead Harpies, Ginny Weasley, Seeker.

“Figures she'd play Quidditch,” Harry mused as he and Hermione looked at the posters.

“Oh look,” murmured Hermione, pointing at a poster of Ron. He, unlike his sister, wasn't wearing a Quidditch uniform, but rather, an expensive looking dress robe, giving everyone that looked at his picture a smile that was worthy of Gildory Lockheart. Underneath his picture, said the words: Ronald Weasley, Most Eligible Bachelor of 2001.

Harry chuckled. “Sure, Ron, sure…” He turned his head, and saw that Ron actually had many pictures, posters, even a book or two put out on the shelves. “Wow…”

“Oh my,” murmured Hermione, following Harry's line of sight. “He's really loving the glamorous life, isn't he?” she asked, looking at everything.

“Yeah… he is,” Harry answered absently, taking Hermione's hand in his and walking further along the streets. “Look: Most Eligible Bachelor; Charming Smile,” he chuckled, “and the list goes on!”

“I think Ron had taken our absence better than we'd expected, then,” said Hermione as they opened the door to the Quidditch shop. “Almost as if we've been erased from the Wizarding World,” she murmured, noticing people were staring at them again. She groaned, adjusting Andrew again.

“Here, I'll take him,” said Harry, taking his son delicately from his wife's arms. He stirred, and Harry started to pat his back to get him to sleep again. “But yeah, it is almost as if we've been… you know.”

She nodded, looking and rolling her eyes as she saw the various books she saw the two youngest Weasleys in. It was absurd, really, to see these two here while the Saviour of the Wizarding World wasn't in anything. It wasn't as if she wanted to see her husband in every book she laid eyes on, but she expected there to be at least some recognition in her husband's achievements.

She sighed, turning towards him and walking close to him. He hadn't bought the newest broom—the Thunderbolt, which was supposed to be ten times faster than the Firebolt, had extra charms to ensure that it wouldn't break, be stolen, or crash—but was looking at it as if he would give his right arm for it. She looked at the broom, and had to admit that the broom was a real work of art. It looked like the Firebolt, but not exactly, with a few lighting bolts on the handle, with extravagant details.

“Are you going to buy it?” she asked, leaning on his shoulder slightly. He shook his head. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I really want to… but what am I going to use it for? Andrew is too young to ride, and you're pregnant so I can't take you out on it, so…” he shrugged again, turning around.

She smiled, “Don't worry, in a few years, Andrew and this little one will be begging for a ride on the new broom!”

He smiled, “Yeah, and I can't wait. But this broom can.”

“C'mon Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly giddy. “We have to go to Flourish & Blotts! I have to get a few books!” she exclaimed, taking his hand and dragging him out of the store.

Harry smiled, letting his wife lead the way. Perhaps this wouldn't be too bad, and besides, he did have to get his friends some gifts. Perhaps Andrew would like some new toys?

Author's Notes: Wow, that ending was so stupid!! But whatever, I needed to give them a bit of a break. Harry and Hermione will visit the Weasleys again next chapter. I seriously doubt they'd be that violent towards the two, three, to an extent, but they're a short-tempered family. *Shrug,* whatever, I guess.

(Did I mention I hate Ginny? No? Whoops! Well, I want her to die a slow and painful death, and in my book, that death is seeing Harry and Hermione loving each other truly, just as they were meant to be.)

Mmm… I don't know how long this story is going to be. I really don't… Hmm…

Well, what did you think?

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Author's Notes: All right, now when Christina talks, she'll be talking in vernacular. I don't really know if the people in California talk different than I do here in Pennsylvania, but I'm just going to try and make her sound like a normal, young adult. Well… yeah. Or something. :P

Enjoy!

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August 17^th, 2001 …

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As soon as Harry opened the door to their hotel room, Andrew strolled in and sat in front of the TV. His new blanket, pastel blue and green, with a Snitch zooming around, was balled up in his small hands, while he dragged his new toy along with him. He giggled and snuggled up to his blanket, while thrashing the other toy around, giggling as it made contact with his other toys in the room.

The two came in, a few bags in their hands, and put them onto the floor, unshrinking them. When they were in Diagon Alley, no one had recognized them, and Andrew only woke up a few times, so they shopped in peace. After they went to the Quidditch shop, they went to Flourish & Blotts, buying several books. (Harry remembered that Hermione was very close to squealing when she saw the little picture books she knew Andrew would love.) After buying a book on Quidditch, for Matt, they went to several other stores.

Harry smiled, remembering when he found that his card, that he'd gotten several years ago from the Goblins, actually came to very good use.

“That'll be fourteen galleons,” said the man, putting the books in a bottomless bag.

Harry nodded, taking his wallet out from his back jean pocket. There wasn't any gold in there, nor was there silver or bronze. Oh god… he thought. The goblins said that the card could be used in any way I wanted, right? So why not give me galleons. Shrugging, he tried it. Opening the middle part of the wallet, he saw fourteen golden coins sitting there. He grinned, Wow, I love magic!

Once they finished their shopping in the Wizarding World, they went to Muggle London and bought their Muggle friends (the ones that didn't know about Harry and Hermione being magical) gifts. For Hermione's friends, she bought them simple souvenirs, as Harry did with his male friends. For Christina, they got her a pink Volleyball, a pair of stylish jeans, and some of her favourite candies. (Even though they suspected they had a while until they left for America again, they placed some charms on it so it'd stay good until then.)

“Harry, can you help me with these clothes?” Hermione asked, taking out a few pairs of new clothes that she bought.

Do girls ever stop shopping? wondered Harry. Hermione already has three large carrions' full of clothes! “Sure,” he said. Taking her new clothes, he went into their room.

Hermione picked up her cell phone, checking the time. It was nearly three, and they had yet to visit her parents.

Suddenly, Hermione's cell phone rang. Wondering who was calling, she gasped when she read `Matt - cell.' She instantly flipped her phone open. “Hello?” she said.

“Hermione!” shouted the voice of Christina. “Matt! Us! Oh. My. God.”

Hermione's eyebrows knit together, and Harry came in, eyebrows arched in question. “Christina,” she mouthed to him. He nodded and went towards Andrew, sitting and playing with his son.

“Okay Christina,” said Hermione, “just breathe, all right?” She heard loud inhaling, and slow exhaling, repeating the notion several times. “Okay, now tell me what happened,” she urged.

There was a slight pause, but then Christina said, “I might be pregnant!”

Hermione's eyes widened. “R-really? Wow…”

“No, not wow! I don't want a child while in college! I'm not ready! Matt's not ready!” She moaned, and the cell phone gave a dull thud. Hermione wondered if she just hit her head against the wall. “Oh God, what am I going to do? How did you do it?” she asked suddenly, her voice sounding hopeful. “How did you and Harry get through the pregnancy? I mean, it couldn't've been that easy!”

Hermione sighed, situating herself on the couch, watching her husband and son play with toys. “It wasn't easy. It wasn't easy at all. We weren't expecting Andrew, but we somehow made it through.” She shook her head. “Listen, did you take a test?”

“No.” Her voice was small. “I'm scared. I didn't even tell anyone except you and Matt. That's why I called you, Hermione! You've had a kid during college, and you know what to do!”

“Just… just take a test,” advised Hermione. “If you're pregnant, call me again. And if you're not, well, still call me.” She smiled. “Don't worry, if you are pregnant, I'm sure you and Matt will get through it.”

“O-okay…” After a slight pause, she finally said. “Well… I… I guess I should get that test. Wait, scratch that, it's too late. I'll just get it tomorrow, and tell you about it later.”

“Okay,” said Hermione.

“Thank you, Hermione, for listening. I know we're not the best of friends, but it still means a lot to me that you're actually talking to me, more than just a little `hey' here and a `what's up' there.”

“No problem,” said Hermione, smiling.

“Well… I, um, gotta go. I'll talk to you later. Bye,” she murmured.

“Bye,” said Hermione, and heard her hang up. She closed her phone and placed it on the table. Taking her spot next to Andrew on the floor, Hermione chuckled as she saw him attack Harry with his blanket.

Harry laughed, falling on his back as Andrew came tumbling down on him. Hermione stayed like that for a few moments, just watching father and son bonding. After a while, though, Andrew had gotten bored with his blanket and started playing with his various new toys, abandoning his father and mother. Harry laughed again, wrapping his arms around his wife and leaning his head on her shoulder.

“So,” he said after a while, “who called?”

She leaned her head on his, and answered, “Oh, just Christina. Apparently she thinks she might be pregnant, and so she was having a nervous breakdown, so to speak.”

Harry chuckled, his hot breath ticking Hermione's neck. “That's what happens when you don't use protection,” Harry muttered playfully.

“Just like us?” she teasingly wondered, giving his hands a squeeze.

He nodded. “Yeah, just like us. We fuck—”

“Language,” Hermione corrected instantly. “I don't want Andrew to learn those words.”

“We shag like horny bunnies, so it's no surprise you ended up being pregnant,” he pointed out, giving her side a squeeze.

Hermione rolled her eyes, sniggering. She took hold of Harry's wrist and checked the time. “Oh God, Harry! It's almost two!” She stood up quickly, and Harry lost his balance, his head bouncing off the couch. “C'mon, we should visit my parents now!”

Harry groaned, rubbing his head, and got up. “Didn't have to hurt me,” he muttered, going into the room to freshen up. After a few minutes, he left the bathroom and saw that Hermione had changed, and was now changing Andrew, who was chewing on the bottom side of his bottle.

“Almost ready?” he asked, sitting on the bed and flipping the bottle so Andrew could drink the water inside.

Hermione nodded, putting baby powder on the lower half of his body and then putting the diaper on, his pants coming on next. “Yeah,” she told him. “After we see my parents, we're going to have to buy more diapers for Andrew. We don't have too many left.”

Nodding, Harry made sure there was a fair amount of money left in his black, leather wallet. Stuffing it back into his back pocket, Harry picked up a hungry Andrew and stood up.

“Well, once we feed our little man, let's get going, shall we?”

Hermione nodded. Andrew did need food, after all.

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“So how is our grandchild doing today?” asked Missus Granger, smiling softly. Her skin seemed a bit paler, and she had several machines next to her bed, but she tried acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Her daughter, son in law, and grandchild was there, after all.

“Hyper,” answered Hermione, holding Andrew. “He's eaten, and so he's full of energy.” She smiled, poking his stomach lightly, making him giggle and squirm, begging for release.

Harry grinned, staying slightly behind next to the stroller and watching his family. “Oh yeah, but don't worry, he'll be out like a light in five hours, tops!” he exclaimed playfully.

Mister Granger smiled, stretching out his arms. “Let me see Andrew, Hermione.” Once Andrew was laid on his bed, he made an endless effort to stand up, falling when he found that he was standing on a squishy mattress, and didn't have any support to hold onto. “Oh, quite the ambitious one, are we now?” He smiled, his hands under Andrew's arms, letting him stand without the risk of falling of the hospital bed.

“Never gives up,” commented Harry, smirking. “Reminds me of someone,” he went on, glancing at his wife.

“Oh, I wonder who?” questioned Hermione's mother playfully. “Certainly not the only woman Potter, right?” She chuckled, but then started coughing.

Hermione instantly went to her side, and gasped as she saw blood on her hands. “I—I'll get help!” she exclaimed. “The-the nurse should be somewhere, right?” she asked frantically.

“No, Hermione,” insisted her mother in-between coughs. “It's alright, dear. The nurses already know our condition, and the doctors do, too.” She tried to smile, but couldn't since she closed her eyes, and passed out.

Hermione's eyes widened, heard Andrew say, “Uh oh!” and heard her father and Harry gasp softly. “Mu-Mum?” she called softly, hoping she wasn't dead. She touched her shoulder. “Mum?” she said again, touching her shoulder.

“Call the nurse, Hermione,” said her father, his eyes wide.

Hermione nodded, and basically ran from the room. Harry went to Hermione's father, taking Andrew from his arms, and asked, “Are you alright?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. “I'm all right, son. I'm just… feeling a bit weak.”

“Ar-are you sure you don't want me to do anything?” he asked again, trying to keep Andrew's flailing arms at bay.

He nodded, his eyes still closed, smiling. “Yes, I'm sure.”

Hermione came back seconds later, a nurse trailing behind her. “Sh-she just passed out!” she exclaimed, tears flowing down her cheeks. Harry immediately went to her side, wrapping his free arm around her in the hopes to comfort her, but she didn't seem to notice. “I-I didn't know what happened! She just passed out!”

The nurse nodded absently, knowing exactly what was wrong with the patient. Checking her heart rate, she turned towards the couple. “Haven't your parents told you what's wrong with them?” asked the nurse, arching a thick eyebrow at them.

She nodded. “Old age,” she stated, her form still despite her husband's attempt at comfort.

She nurse laughed softly, knowing that Hermione's father was resting in the bed on her side. “Old age?” she shook her head. “They aren't older than fifty-three!” Shaking her head again, she told her the truth. “Your father has been suffering heart problems for almost a year now, and he had a heart attack a few weeks ago. He'd been hospitalized here, because we needed to keep an eye on his heart. It's failing, and it's getting weaker by the day. The doctors say it's from years of stress, but I'm not too sure.”

She then looked at Hermione's mother. “Your Mother, however, is a different case altogether. She had a near fatal case of pneumonia, and the virus still hasn't left her system. The doctors are trying their best, but they just can't seem to get your mother healthy again.” She sighed softly, her fingers going into her front pockets, and heading towards the door. “I don't know if there's much more the doctors can do, but the Grangers insisted that they try for two more weeks, and—”

“What?!” cried Hermione incredulously. “There's no way! My parents aren't… No… they can't…” She shook her head, her hand covering her mouth. “Oh Lord,” she murmured, now only standing up because of her husband's strong hold on her. “You've got to be kidding me.”

The nurse shook her head. “No, I'm not.” And without bidding goodbye, she opened the door and left.

Harry's eyes were wide open in shock, holding on to his wife and son. Pneumonia? He remembered studying the illness a few times while in Stanford, but they'd never gone too deep into it. And Hermione's father… heart failure?

Before he could think further on the topic, Andrew's voice was sounded. “Mumma, Papa?” He looked around the room, his emerald eyes watering just because Hermione's were leaking them. His forefinger was hooking his lower lip, and he looked about ready to cry, one hand fisting Harry's shirt.

Hermione shuddered, finally wrapping her arms around Harry's torso, and letting out a sob that was only muffled by Harry's shirt. “Shh, love,” he murmured, rubbing the back of her head. “Please, don't do this to yourself. Your parents don't want you to be like this. Imagine all of the tension you're putting on the baby,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

She suddenly stepped out of his embrace, and he saw that her eyes were flaring. “The baby?!” she nearly shouted, her eyes wide. “The baby, Harry?! That's all you can think about, right? Oh, don't do this, it'll hurt the baby! Don't do that, it'll endanger the baby!” she mimicked, her voice harsh. “Harry, these are my parents and they're dying! Not the baby, my parents!” she shouted, failing to notice Andrew holding on to Harry for dear life, afraid of his mother at the moment.

Harry lowered his eyes, hurt. “I'm sorry,” he muttered. “I didn't think you cared so lowly of our unborn child. I just didn't think your parents would want to kill your child.” He straightened up, holding Andrew close to his chest.

“Get out,” said Hermione, her anger getting the better of her. “Get. Out,” she growled. “I don't need you here right now. Since you don't give a damn about my parents, I'll just let you leave. Take the car and go back to the hotel. I'll just apparate there.”

“You can't apparate; you're pregnant,” Harry said automatically, unmoving.

She sighed, trying to keep her emotions in check. Sometimes she loathed being pregnant; whenever she felt an emotion, it seemed to flare ten times the limit she could handle. “There you go again,” she muttered. “The baby, again.” She shook her head, and walked towards Harry until she was just one foot away from him. “Get out, I'll find my own ways of getting back to the hotel.”

“No,” he replied simply. “I'm not leaving unless you're leaving,” he went on.

“Get out,” she snarled.

“You don't own the hospital,” he replied wittingly.

“I said get out!” she shouted, but before she could do any further, a nurse came in, looking quiet angry.

“Miss, I suggest you and your husband evacuate the hospital. You must be quiet here, and you're quite the opposite.” She shook her head as she saw Hermione's mouth open for a retort. “No. No arguments. I suggest you leave, now.”

She let out a guttural growl, grabbed the stroller, and stormed out of the hospital room. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling for a few moments.

“Sir,” said the nurse.

He nodded, opening his eyes. “Yes, I know. I'm leaving.”

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Throughout the ride home, Hermione hadn't spoken a word to Harry. Once they got back to the hotel, she simply grabbed her purse and left the car, giving a death glare to anyone that dared look her way.

Once they were back in their room, Hermione muttered a simple, “I'm taking a shower. Don't you dare try and join me,” and left, not even taking any fresh clothes with her.

Harry sighed, setting Andrew down and letting him play with his toys, and sat on the couch. What have I done wrong? Harry wondered. She wasn't like this when she was pregnant with Andrew, but then again, her parents weren't dying. I just hope she isn't angry with me when we visit the Weasleys again.

“Papa?” called Andrew, his voice small. He toddled over to Harry, and held his arms out. He picked him up wordlessly, suddenly too tired to say anything. Andrew placed his head on his shoulder, letting out a soft yawn, wrapping his small, thin arms around Harry's neck.

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around his son, wondering how he was so blessed to have this child. He smiled, and strode over to the extra room. He knew that there was probably no chance that he'd be able to sleep in the bed, and since Andrew was sleepy too, he decided that it wouldn't hurt if they had a short nap.

Walking into the second bedroom, Harry didn't dwell on the furnishings. It was exactly like the other bedroom, and so Harry quickly lifted the covers and slid himself and Andrew onto them. Placing Andrew, who was already half-asleep, onto the spot next to him, Harry moved on his side and started patting Andrew's stomach lightly, lulling the small child to sleep. Smiling as his breaths became even, his eyes finally closing, his arms and legs wide apart, Harry finally allowed himself to sleep.

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Hermione growled, stripping her clothes and stepping into the burning hot shower. How dare Harry accuse her of not loving their child! She snorted, it was absurd! As she angrily washed herself, she vaguely noted that she and Harry had to meet the Weasleys again.

She sighed. Hopefully Ginny and Ron wouldn't try to harm them, or Andrew, again. After what she'd seen at Diagon Alley, she knew that Ron and Ginny hadn't waited for the two of them. Various articles and pictures were posted on the windows of shops, recording who could get more girl/boyfriends. So far, she snorted, calculating, Ginny had gotten more boyfriends in the course of four years than Ron had. She'd dated all of the players on three Quidditch teams (even including Oliver Wood), and had snagged a fair few rich men, though they only lasted for a month, two at the most.

Ron, however, she noticed, only dated blonde-haired women that seemed to think three plus four equalled fish. She saw several articles on the women, and remembered that half were at least two or three years younger than he was. She scoffed, as of he cared.

Nearly an hour later, Hermione turned off the shower, ignoring the fact that it was much colder than it was when she first entered. Wrapping a towel around herself, she exited the bathroom, going to hers and Harry's bedroom. Grabbing a pair of her old sweat pants from Stanford and a loose Volleyball shirt, she grabbed a pair of clean underwear and started changing in the bathroom.

After she finished dressing, she noticed that the room was eerily quiet, almost as if no one were there. Her eyebrows knit together. He didn't leave, did he? Her heart suddenly racing, she walked out of the bedroom and saw that the living room was devoid of beings. Her eyes widening, she looked around the room, finding no one there.

She opened the front door, half expecting Harry to be there, holding Andrew, looking incredibly sorry, but didn't find them. The halls were empty, and Hermione turned back around, closing the door behind her. She went back to the bathroom, making sure that Harry's things were still in the room, and sighed in relief when she found that it was indeed.

Looking at the room across from theirs, she wondered if there was a possibility that they were in there. Opening the door slowly, she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she saw the two. Harry was on his side, one hand pillowing his head, the other on top of Andrew's stomach, and she could see that Harry was sleeping deeply. Andrew, with his small arms over his head, had a look of content on his face, sleeping close to his father. She smiled, and walked into the room, her past anger suddenly ebbing away with an intense pace. She took hold of the blankets, which were pooled around Harry's ankles, and pulled them to his waist, taking the other side of the blanket to cover Andrew to his waist.

She didn't know how long she stared at them, but soon, she heard the rumble of her stomach, indicating that it was time to get some food in her. Taking off Harry's glasses, she lightly ran her hand over his hair, considering it was semi-hard due to the product he put in ever morning, and gave his temple a gossamer kiss. Going to her son next, she lightly ran fingers through his soft hair, giving his forehead a soft kiss before leaving.

Closing the door gently behind her, she went and sat on the couch, thinking. Had she been too harsh on Harry? She shook her head, though her hand absently went to her slightly swollen stomach. No, these were her parents they were talking about, not their unborn child. Sure, there was a slight chance that it could be in danger, but not really. Her parents were more likely to die before she even gave birth.

Lowering her head, she felt a lone tear slide down her smooth cheek. Trying to clear all thoughts of hostility towards Harry, the sinking, depressing feeling she held for her parents, she tried to cheer up and order some food.

A little later when her food finally came—something that would make her mother proud, since she always said she was too thin: a club sandwich, mozzarella sticks, and a small slice of strawberry cheesecake—her anger towards Harry completely diminished, she let herself enjoy her food.

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Hours later, when Harry and Andrew finally woke up, Hermione greeted them with a large, though healthy dinner for Harry, and her usual food for Andrew: soft fruits and baby food. Harry didn't give a thought about it, reasoning it was just food and that she was just being the caring wife she was, and dug into his salad and sandwich after.

Once they finished eating, Andrew started playing with his toys and walking around, too emerged in his toys to notice his parents. Harry sat on the bed, sitting Indian-style, and watched Hermione pick out her clothes for the next day.

“We're going to have to find an apartment if we plan on staying here any longer,” Harry announced minutes later, still looking at Hermione.

She stood up, pulling her short hear into a small ponytail, and turned to face Harry. “I suppose. But we aren't going to stay here for too long, only a month or two.”

He nodded, but then an idea popped into his head. “What if we stay at your parents' house?” he asked.

She shrugged. “If you want.”

Harry sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know we aren't on the best of terms right now, but you've got to listen to me.” He stood up and walked in front of her, until they were only a few feet apart. “Love, I know that your parents' condition isn't good, and I know that you're worried about them. I am, too! But that doesn't mean you can ignore everything and just mope around for your parents,” he told her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I… Whenever I say anything that regards the baby—or even Andrew!—I always get so scared,” he admitted, his eyes lowering.

Hermione listened quietly. “I just… I don't want anything to happen to your parents, or you, or the baby,” he went on. “I just… I don't know anymore.” He took his hand from her shoulder and turned around. He started heading towards the door, but Hermione stopped him.

“Harry,” she said quietly, “I don't want anything to happen to our baby, either. I - just, I got so worried! I mean, whenever you were injured, I knew you would be all right, because you always were injured. But… my parents… when they were in the hospital today… they looked just so—helpless!” she exclaimed, tears finding their way down her cheeks once more. Curse these wretched hormones, she thought angrily.

Slowly, Harry came towards her once more, and enveloped her in an embrace. Her arms automatically went around his waist, holding him tight, her nose buried against his hard sternum. “I know, Hermione, I know. I hate seeing them like this, too, but we can't change anything. It's up to the doctors, now,” he murmured, one hand on the back of her head, the other on her lower back, massaging both spots.

After a while, Hermione spoke up. “But what if they die?” she asked quietly, her voice muffled by his shirt.

He didn't answer immediately, but led her to their bed, tucking her in and giving her a soft kiss before leaving the room quickly to retrieve their eleven-month-old son. Once Harry put him in his crib (Harry knew he'd keep himself entertained with his feet, fingers, and stuffed dragon until he eventually became too tired and fall asleep), he slipped into the bed and spooned behind Hermione.

“If they die, then we have to go on with life,” he answered. “We can't go on brooding forever—Lord knows I've got the most experience in that matter. We'll just have to go on, though it'll hurt for quiet some time.” He rubbed her abdomen, where their child lay nestled safely in her womb. “It's not good for our health, and I don't want anyone to get sick right now,” he murmured, listening to Hermione's breathing starting to even out.

After a while, after assuming Hermione was asleep, he strained his ears to listen if Andrew was still asleep. He heard his soft, even breaths and guessed he was asleep, too. Smiling to himself, he kept his hand on her stomach, and started falling asleep, knowing that he was still wearing jeans and a shirt.

Though he knew that there was a probable chance Hermione's parents could die, Harry couldn't imagine what he'd do if Hermione ever passed away. And he sincerely thought that day wouldn't come for a long, long time. Slowly, his thoughts differentiating from his in-laws, to the Wizarding World, to the Weasleys (and he knew that they were going to have to visit them tomorrow for sure), and to his family, Harry finally gave into sleep.

Author's Notes: I think I just butchered this chapter. I really see no significance in it, and I was high on three Red Bulls so I was too hyperactive to think straight. I dunno, but… I just don't know. *shrug,* The Weasleys should, most definitely, be in the next chapter. Most likely in the beginning, too.

Another thing: in my family, no one, at least no one I know of that lives in the US, has died of pneumonia or heart failure. So, I don't really know how to write people who could die. Sorry for my ignorance…

God, I just raped this chapter. Sorry… Ahem… So, how bad did I do?

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Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay. While I was working on this chapter, I was also typing a chapter for Christina. (Does she sound familiar? Hmm…!!) It was for her newest story, The Real Potters: The Series (she's Christina-Potter-09 over on FF.N) and you should so totally check it out! (Shout out, Christi! :-P)

I wonder if this covers everything with the Weasleys. If not… tell me what I've missed, kay? I'd like to know what I've failed to cover.

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August 18^th, 2001 …

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Hermione pursed her lips, fixing her crisp black blazer, waiting at the door. Harry was next to her, stroller in the middle of them, where Andrew was content drinking his juice that was in the bottle. They knew that the Weasleys weren't going to be very happy since they'd skipped their `meeting' yesterday, but Harry and Hermione just couldn't make it. The fight they had last night would've just made the Weasleys something to gloat about (Harry could just imagine it now: “She'd be happier with me!” Ron would say) ad he didn't want that.

Harry nervously played with the tip of his boxers, which were peeking out from his jeans. Perhaps wearing his loose jeans, just for the sake that it actually matched his shirt, wasn't the best of ideas. Every time he'd get them so they wouldn't show, Andrew would tug on them, holding his bottle out, either ready to throw it at his head, or silently ask for more juice.

“I told you not to wear those jeans,” murmured Hermione, watching Harry tug his jeans again as Andrew pulled them once more. “Andrew loves those, and he's just going to try and get his fingers in the holes.” She rolled her eyes, knocking once more. Where are they? she wondered, getting frustrated.

“There aren't that many holes,” he muttered quietly. He sighed, gently prying Andrew's fingers from his jeans again, “Son, please stop?” He hunkered down to his height, and gave him a kiss, groaning afterwards as he hit him in the head with his bottle. “Fine, if that's how you want to play,” he muttered, getting up again and waiting for the Weasleys. “Where are they?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. (After he'd gotten his short faux-hawk, and had gotten used to styling it that way, he'd gotten into the habit of scratching the back of his neck, rather than run a hand through his hair.)

“Oi!” called someone from behind Harry and Hermione, and they instantly turned around. It was Bill, carrying a four-year-old girl, with his wife, Fleur next to them, her beautiful platinum blond hair flowing behind her. “Harry, Hermione, what're you doin' here?” he asked, making sure his hold on the girl (whom, Harry assumed, was his daughter) was tight.

“We weren't here yesterday,” answered Hermione, “and so we thought that we should be here today, rather.”

Bill nodded. “Erm, Harry, do you think you could move?” he asked politely. Harry nodded, and moved to the side. “Thanks,” he murmured, casting an `Alohamora,' and opening the door to the house.

That's why no one was answering, Harry rationalized, snorting, because no one was home. Walking in, he saw the little girl run towards the kitchen, giggling as she saw Andrew. Harry walked in and looked around: no one was home. “Where is everyone?” he asked Bill, taking the bottle from Andrew as he attempted to throw it at him again, making Andrew giggle madly.

Before answering Harry's question, he said, “Oh, why don't you come in? Fleur and I don't hate you, so you don't have to pretend as if we're about to bite your heads off,” he chuckled.

Harry and Hermione nodded, both smiling. “Thanks,” they murmured, though they weren't too sure why. Perhaps it was the mere fact that Bill didn't loathe them, but they weren't too sure.

“Oh,” Bill went on, “Mum is probably upstairs, and she just hasn't heard you. She's a bit hard at hearing right now,” he winked, making Harry and Hermione chuckle. “Dad's at work, obviously, so he should be floo-ing in a few hours; George is at the shop, and I suspect he won't be hope for at least a few more hours. Ron… Well, I don't know where Ron is anymore,” he shrugged. “Probably with his new girlfriend. Same with Ginny,” he finished, walking into the kitchen and fishing a few butter beers from the refrigerator.

“Oh…” murmured Harry.

“Yeah,” said Bill. He clapped his hands once, gaining their attention again. “Well, you can talk to Fleur for a bit, while I get Mum downstairs and freshen up a bit,” he said.

Nodding, just for the sake of politeness, Hermione and Harry started walking towards the sitting area. Once finding a couch for themselves to rest on, Harry and Hermione sat, Andrew's stroller right in front of them. Andrew started babbling things, though a few words, such as, “Mumma,” and, “Papa,” were understood, and clapping his hands, looking around and playing with the cushioned seat. Harry and Hermione both gave soft smile, seeing their son's innocence, and quietly took each other's hands.

Fleur came in less than a minute later, holding the little girl in her arms. Letting her go, she sat elegantly on the armchair nearest to the wedded couple, her lean legs crossed as she leant on the arm of the chair. “So,” started Fleur, smiling softly, “'ow are you?”

Hermione blinked. Wasn't Fleur supposed to be arrogant, obnoxious, and simply beautiful? Hermione didn't think she'd actually try to have a conversation with him.

“We're not doing too badly, actually,” she answered, looking at Fleur's beautiful, silver eyes. She saw the little girl come up behind the stroller, and try to scare Andrew, but she backed out at the last second, deciding that it'd be rather fun to play with her blond hair instead.

“How old is your daughter?” Harry asked, looking at Fleur.

“She eez actually almost four,” Fleur answered, smiling at her daughter. “Her name eez Victoria,” she added. “What eez your boy's name? Drew?”

“Andrew,” answered Hermione.

She nodded.

Just then, Bill came in. “Well, I see that you're quite cosy. Now, why don't we go into the kitchen and you can talk to Mum, Ron, and Ginny, eh?” he asked, grinning.

“Ron and Ginny are here?” Harry asked standing up. “I thought… they were with their, uh, boyfriend or girlfriends?”

Bill shrugged, leading the wedded couple, and his own wife, to the kitchen, where they were met with three angry glares. Ron, clad in fancy robes, and Ginny, wearing her Harpies uniform, were both glaring at the Potters with fierce glare. Molly was thirteen times worse, her glare backed up by her frizzing hair, tired yet flaring eyes, and her clothes in disarray. Harry and Hermione suspected she'd just woken up.

“Well?” deadpanned Ron, standing up.

Hermione instantly went in front of Harry, narrowing her eyes. “Don't even think about it, Weasley,” she hissed, her anger suddenly raging. Sometimes mood swings can be promising, Hermione thought, internally smirking as she saw Ron stop from where he stood.

“Don't try and defend Harry,” said Ginny, standing up, “you'll only—”

“—embarrass myself?” finished Hermione. She shook her head, “I'll defend my husband as long as I want to, and that will be forever.” She glared at the younger girl, arching her eyebrow, silently wondering if she'd caught on to what she'd said.

“Your… your husband?!” she asked incredulously. “When did you marry him?!” she asked, advancing on her.

“February third, almost four years ago,” answered Harry this time, his eyes shifting from Ron, to Ginny, to Molly, and back again.

“You're… four years ago?!” Ginny shrieked, and then stood in front of Harry, slapping him hard on the cheek. “You cheated on me, left with her, and then married her?!” she cried, raising her hand to slap him once more.

Harry caught her wrist before she could slap him again. “Don't abuse people whenever you can't have your way,” Harry told her, his eyes narrowed at her.

“I'll do whatever I please, Potter,” she hissed, snapping her hand away from his vice like grip. “Just as I sense you two have been doing,” she continued. “You two didn't even wait for us, see how we were feeling!”

“It's not like you waited for us, either!” shouted Hermione. “Ginny, shagging every rich guy that crosses your path,” she shouted at the younger girl. She then turned her attention to Ron, who just stared at the wedded couple in shock, horror, and sudden realization, “And you, Ronald, shagging every typical runway model!” she shouted, tears now streaming down her cheeks. Now is not the right time for hormones to kick in, she reprimanded herself.

Ron stubbornly folded his arms around his chest, his face forming a scowl. “You don't know what you're talking about,” he muttered, looking away.

“Ron,” said Harry, “it's Hermione. You've known her for seven years; has she once been wrong?”

“Shut up, Potter,” shouted Ron, suddenly aware that Andrew was looking at him. “Don't you look at me like that!” he shouted at Andrew, making the boy jump three feet into his stroller and nearly screaming in freight.

Unable to hold his anger any longer, Harry punched Ron square in the face, forgetting about his wand. (While living in the States, he'd gotten quite used to fighting the Muggle way, only using his wand if worst came to worst. Even after four years, he still hadn't used his wand, though he'd gotten into quite a few Muggle fist fights—and coming victorious in just about all of them, even if he had to sleep in the spare room afterwards.) Grinning as Ron staggered back, he grabbed him by the collar, so their noses were touching. “Don't you dare shout at my child,” he hissed, glaring into the sapphire blue eyes.

He threw him back, internally grinning as he saw him hit the table and clutch his lower back and face in his hands. Unsuspecting anything at the moment, he hadn't noticed Molly storm up to Harry and Hermione (whom was calming their son).

“Don't even think about it,” Harry alleged, knowing what she was going to say. “Don't you dare tirade on the supposed law that I was to marry Ginny, and Hermione Ron. No, it wasn't supposed to be like that. I married my true love, Hermione, and your son and daughter are lower than prostitutes!”

Hermione stood up, cradling her distraught son in her arms, and turned to face the older woman. “Misses Weasley, I honestly don't understand why you held that belief. Ron and I hadn't even started dating, and it seemed as though you were planning our wedding.” She shook her head. “And Ginny and Harry. Honestly, they dated for a month, and Harry told me they'd barely even made out! You expect a relationship to progress from that? A girl that fantasised over a boy since she was seven, and a boy that didn't even know if he was going to live to the next day?” She laughed bitterly. “Some match, that.”

“Don't you dare assume you know what's going in my children's lives, young lady,” was all Molly could manage. “My son and daughter are leading promising lives, without you two! What do you do, Potter? Stay at home while your wife works and supports the child? Harry, I treated you as my own! How could you betray me?”

Harry laughed. “If by stay at home, you mean I was a full time University student, on a scholarship, working a job—even though I have at least two billion dollars in American Muggle money—and trying to live a normal life, then yes, I stay at home.” He ignored the baffled looks of the Weasleys (though they didn't know how much money the Muggle money was worth in galleons, they knew that two billion of anything was a lot), he continued. “And we didn't betray you. We simply left—”

“—in the middle of the night, not reappearing until four years later, with a son!” finished Ginny.

“What is it with you people and our son?!” Hermione asked. “Really, our son hasn't done anything to you! And you go around, verbally and nearly physically assaulting him! He isn't even one year old yet!”

“I just can't believe that you two left without saying anything,” muttered Ron, still holding onto his face, where his cheek was an odd shade of black, blue, green, and yellow, and his lip where it was bleeding heavily. “You just left, and didn't show up.”

Harry snorted, leaning on Andrew's stroller. “As if you cared! Hermione and I went to Diagon Alley—seemed as though you two were doing just fine without Harry Potter and Hermione Granger,” he spat. “It seems as though we were just erased from history. The windows, shops, and everything is filled with Weasley this, Weasley that. What happed to Potter?”

“What, can't handle that someone else took the limelight from you?” sneered Ginny, her hands balled up in fists. “Just because no one cares about you anymore doesn't mean they don't have the right to move on to better things!”

Hermione sighed. “You think Harry actually cares that he was famous? Do you really think that, Ginny?” she shook her head. “I think it's quite obvious, then, that you don't know Harry at all.”

“Don't butt into our conversation, Granger,” she snarled.

“It's Potter, Weasley,” she countered nastily.

“Only because you seduced my husband into marrying you!” she retorted, stomping her foot. She looked like a little child, throwing her temper tantrum, but she didn't care.

“Your husband?” Hermione laughed. “Oh, that's funny,” she chuckled some more, putting Andrew back into his stroller, turning him around so he wouldn't be able to see anything.

“Yes, he would be my husband if you hadn't taken him! He'd been my first, and now you're depriving me of my destiny?” She glared at Hermione, daring to challenge her.

Harry chuckled. “Your first, Ginny? Your first what? I never shagged you, ever. My first was with Hermione, and that was our wedding night. Never before.” He shook his head. “You're unbelievable, Ginny, you really are.”

“Shut up, Harry!” she shouted, ready to slap him again, though she refrained.

“You know what, I think it's about time we leave,” announced Hermione. “But, before we do, I feel obliged to tell you what we've been doing the past four years.” She glared at the three. “Now, you have two options: One, you'll sit and listen to us, or Two, you'll let us leave and go on with our lives.”

No one spoke for a good five minutes. The room was silent, and the only sound coming was Andrew's soft noises that he made while playing with himself, or trying to reach for Harry's jeans again. Slowly, Ron muttered, “We'll go for option number one, please.”

Hermione nodded briskly, and said, “Well, sit.” Slowly, again, the three followed her instructions, sitting in three chairs facing Harry, Hermione, and the stroller.

Harry and Hermione chose to stand. “Now, where to start?”

“The beginning would be nice,” muttered Ginny.

Harry chose not to retort. “At first, we'd only intended on leaving for a month or two, travelling to Australia to recover Hermione's parents' memories. After taking a plane from Heathrow, and successfully finding and restoring their memories, we decided to spend two weeks simply travelling around the small continent. Hermione and I hadn't started dating yet, we hadn't even thought of each other like that until nearly a month later,” he explained, confirming that they hadn't cheated on anyone at any given time, at least not really.

“After that time period, Harry and I didn't want to return to England,” continued Hermione. “But we had no choice. We dropped my parents back to their home, and went to Diagon Alley—and before you ask, we had glamour charms on. We took all of his money out—and before you ask, again, Harry had two hundred million galleons, counting the wills from Sirius and his parents, which totalled in nearly three hundred million (“It's more than that now,” Harry muttered, letting her know) dollars.

“We applied to Stanford, a Muggle University, and were accepted a short time letter, thanks to the American Ministry. There, Harry majored in Biology and I majored in Engineering. We'd gotten married in our Freshman—that's our first year of University—year, and Andrew came along a few years later.

“We didn't plan on ever returning to England. He and I are quite content living in California, playing Volleyball and Soccer—that's football, Ron—with our friends and playing with Andrew while preparing for the new one. But, one night, Harry and I received a call from the American Ministry and they told us that my parents were hospitalized and they wanted to see us,” she stopped, tears suddenly threatening to leak from her eyes.

Giving a short smile, ignoring the Weasleys completely, Harry enveloped his wife in a comforting embrace and held her for a few moments. He decided to continue, knowing that his wife wasn't able to talk at the moment. “A few days after we'd received the call, we decided to visit them. A month later, we'd sold off our apartment—that's a flat, if you didn't know—and everything, and we flew here shortly.

“I wanted to write you a letter, but I didn't know how to send it. I didn't have my Firebolt and Hedwig, since she died and I dropped it. But then, we saw my cousin and Luna, we told her to tell you about us. And…” he shrugged, “here we are now.”

Ron rolled his eyes, while Ginny and Molly glared viciously at them. “Some story,” Ron muttered, slouching in his seat. “Went to University to get smarter, got married, had a kid, somehow managed to keep the grades up, and decided to pay the little people a visit.” He rolled his eyes. “How typical. But, what more can you expect from Harry Potter and Hermione Granger? Oh, I meant Hermione Potter,” he sneered, standing up.

“What are you insinuating, Weasley?” Harry asked, releasing Hermione, who went to Andrew to make sure he was all right.

“Oh you know perfectly well what I'm insinuating, Potter,” he growled, getting ready to punch Harry.

“Oh you son of a mother fucker,” he muttered. “If you're about to punch me, I suggest you don't. You'll just embarrass yourself,” he continued, glaring at Ginny.

“Get out,” Ginny muttered, pointing a slender finger at the door. “Get out and never come back. We don't need you people here.”

“Ginny,” said Molly, “now, don't you think they deserve something else? They've betrayed us, and that's all you can say, `get out?'” Standing up, she walked up to Harry, slapped him hard on the face. And then went to Hermione, who'd just stood up, and delivered another slap to her cheek.

Harry didn't even have the chance to move; it was too sudden for him. She'd simply stood up, and slapped him. He growled, noticing Hermione's eyes blazing, looking as if we were about to pull Molly's hair out, and stood next to her.

“Now, you get out,” Molly told them in a low voice. “Get out, and do as Ginny said: never come back.”

His eyes shifting from Molly, to Ginny, to Ron, and back again, Harry muttered, “Don't worry, we won't.” Placing his hands around the stroller's bar, he took Hermione's hand and they started to leave.

But, she turned around, glaring at everyone in the room. “If I wasn't pregnant, Ginny would be lying unconscious on the floor; you, Ron, would be sporting a bruise on the other cheek; and you, Molly, would have a rather large bald spot, along with a broken leg.” She glared at them, “You'd be amazed at what you can do with simple Volleyball moves.” And with that, she stormed out of the Burrow, Harry following her closely behind.

--------------

“How… how dare they?!” she screeched into her pillow, ready to start crying. Today was just too much for her. “They… they—” she stopped, and threw her pillow at Harry.

He caught it, giving a wisp of a grin. “Love, no matter how angry you are, please don't throw things at me,” he told her playfully. He sat on the bed, making sure Andrew was indeed taking his afternoon nap, and then scooted closer to his wife. He put his arm around her shoulder, laying her head on his shoulder, his hand softly running through her curly hair. “But I have to agree with you,” he murmured, rubbing her side with his other hand. “They were completely out of line, even though they said that they'd be calmer.”

“That was calmer for them,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around his waist. “They didn't bring their wands out, and you didn't kill anyone. I think that itself is an achievement.” She chuckled, remembering the time when Harry was a sophomore, and had gotten into a fight with a senior (though it was off campus) over Hermione, and Harry had actually landed the senior into the hospital for a week. (Though, no one knew that Harry had beaten up him, for they were a bit too scared. Even though Harry knew he risked expulsion, he didn't care; that guy deserved every broken rib he had.)

They sat in silence for a few minutes. “There are still a few questions I wanted answers from, though,” said Harry. “Like why neither you nor I are mentioned in anything. Again, it's like we were erased from the Wizarding World. I just… it's not right,” she muttered, but quickly tried to retain herself. “I mean, it's not like I want us to be in everything everywhere, but I needed to know that we were there for something. I mean, without you, Voldemort would be in control, and everyone would most likely be dead!” She shrugged with one shoulder, snuggling closer to Harry, overlapping one of her legs over his so they were nearly moulded together.

“I guess that's true,” murmured Harry, rubbing her thigh. “But… you're right. I never was one for recognition, but…” he shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

After a while, Harry's hand started travelling, from rubbing her thigh moving upwards, now rubbing her inner thigh. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, craning his neck so he could try to look at her.

She smiled, lifting her head. “Yes, I am,” she told him, giving him a soft kiss.

He smiled into the kiss, still rubbing her thigh, and parted his lips slightly, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She happily obliged, their tongues sweeping across each other's as her hands travelled to his stylish shirt. His hands started roaming, too, and all too soon, they found the hem of her shirt, and he started pulling up, just as she did with his. Not too much longer, Harry started pushing Hermione onto the bed, still keeping their lips in tact, their hands still roaming familiar territory.

--------------

“Look, this apartment isn't too bad,” said Harry, looking at the ad. “Two bedrooms, one bath, moderate sized kitchen and living room, perfect for us right now.”

Hermione nodded, looking over Harry's shoulder. “It sounds alright, but where is it?” she asked, holding Andrew and feeding him his food.

“Right here in London,” answered Harry, looking at other ads. “I mean, we don't need something like a penthouse or a double, do we? We're not going to be here for too long, and we're going to be renting, anyway,” he said as he looked at the other apartments that were on rent.

Hermione nodded. “True.” She looked at the paper, seeing the other choices. “The first choice sounds best,” she said.

“London apartment it is, then,” he affirmed, picking up his cell phone and dialling the number. “Hello…? Yes… Harry Potter… No,” he stood up, holding up his pointer finger, indication he'd be back in a moment, and left to go to the bedroom, probably to get information, she suspected.

“Papa can be so silly sometimes,” said Hermione to Andrew, smiling when she saw him clap, saying `Papa' over and over again. Taking the spoon of baby food, she tried to feed it to Andrew, only to have it come in contact with his cheek. She tried again, and received the same response. “You're full, then, aren't you?” she asked, knowing he wouldn't respond with words.

Andrew grinned, his mouth covered in baby food, and started crawling his way from his Mother's lap. “Oh no you don't,” she muttered, holding him. She took the soft cloth that was next to her, and started wiping his mouth. Once he was clean, she gave his forehead a kiss, and let him play with his toys.

Hermione stood up, brushing off imaginary dust from her old Volleyball shirt, smiling absently as she felt the bump of her impending motherhood, and ambled to the bedroom. Harry was still on the phone, seemingly affirming that they were only staying for a short while (he'd told them that they were tourists, but wanted to stay somewhere else rather than a hotel).

Nodding, muttering a, “Yes, thank you, bye,” he flipped the phone so it closed, and stood up. He smiled at Hermione, standing up. “Well, we've got an apartment now. We can move in tomorrow, or even today, if you want.”

She nodded, looking around the room. Her carriers, along with Harry's, were by the wall, open, ready for the clothes to be picked. She chuckled, seeing her three large carrions apposed to Harry's large two. Andrew had one large carryon for his clothes and one other for his toys. (Their other belongings—extra personal belongings, albums, old books from university, sports things, etcetera—were all shrunken and in other carrions, which were still shrunken, in Hermione's purse.)

“I think… we can start packing up today, and move in tomorrow morning. Sound all right?” She turned to her husband, seeking affirmation.

“Sure.”

“I'll start packing our belongings, and you can pack Andrew's things,” Hermione told her husband, picking up a pair of Harry's boxers (black silk, she noted, silently giggling) and folding them, putting them into his bag.

“All right, love,” he said, picking up one of Andrew's khaki shorts and putting them into his bag.

Harry sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Author's Notes: … Sooooo…

-->

Author's Notes: :'(

--------------

August 20^th, 2001 …

--------------

Harry smiled, looking around the bedroom. Now that they'd transfigured a few things to accommodate the room, like transfiguring a pen into a large bed, Harry smiled at his work. This was one of the few rooms he `decorated' without his wife's help. The walls had charms on them to look as if they were a soft yellow colour, the décor of the room matching the walls. Their carryon bags were aligned against the wall, since the two decided that it'd be better if they didn't even try to unpack. The large mirror on the wall, accentuated with the desk that Hermione put her make up on, and the extra little things they had.

He exited the room, wondering what his wife and son were doing. Walking into Andrew's room, he smiled when he saw that his room exactly like it did back in California. There were pictures and drawings of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh, and his blue crib nestled near the corner, his toys randomly scattered across the room, since he was currently playing with them. Hermione was baby-proofing the room, making sure that there was no way he'd be able to leave his crib if he awoke in the night (which, Harry remembered, he did that once) and alert the two adults if he was in any discomfort.

Andrew, seeing Harry, squealed and toddled over to him as fast as his legs would let him. “Papa!”

Harry smiled, picking his son up, and walked over to his wife. “So, how is his room?” he asked. “Do you need any help?” he continued.

Hermione shook her head without turning around, while making sure she'd covered everything. “No, Harry, I'm all right.” Turning around, she noticed that Harry didn't have a shirt on and that his khaki shorts were riding low on his hips, which gave her a very good view of his lean, nearly hairless chest, and tight abs. She arched an eyebrow, “And why, Mister Potter, are you shirtless?” she asked playfully.

He shrugged. “The apartment doesn't have central AC, apparently, like ours did, and I forgot the cooling charms when I started working on the room,” he answered truthfully, letting Andrew down again so he could play.

She nodded and walked out of Andrew's room, keeping the door open so Andrew could access the room at his pleasure, and went to their bedroom. She inspected the room, and nodded in approval. “Nice,” she murmured, especially when her eyes landed on the bed. “Very nice,” she murmured.

“You're too horny,” Harry said teasingly as he waved his wand, muttering the cooling charm for the bedroom.

“I don't see you complaining,” Hermione muttered, leaving the room to place cooling charms everywhere else.

Harry smiled. It was nice to have his wife on good terms again. Even though they rented the apartment two days ago, Harry had forgotten to ask for a slight `tour,' to actually see if the place even existed. Once they saw the place, they instantly re-agreed, vowing to move in the next day. They were put off by their plans for a day, because Andrew wouldn't stop fussing, and Hermione was feeling a nauseous. Finally the next day, when Hermione evaluated herself healthy enough, the three-person family `moved in' to the moderate sized apartment.

“What are we going to do for food?” Harry asked a few minutes later while in the kitchen, looking at everything. It was bare.

Hermione arrived a few minutes later, holding Andrew, who was happily playing with Hermione's dangling earring. “Well… it'd be rather unhealthy to eat out all day, not to mention it'd cost a lot of money.” Before Harry could intervene, Hermione held up her hand. “I know that money isn't an issue, but food from restaurants or eating fast food isn't quite healthy.”

Harry nodded. “True. How about we'll go shopping today?” he suggested. “We can get a few pots and pans, some food, and we can go from there.”

“That sound's all right,” she nodded. “But Harry, don't forget, we have to visit my parents soon!” she reminded him, though she knew there was no need to.

“All right,” Harry called back, going into the bedroom to retrieve a simple, v-neck white shirt. Going into the living room, sitting on a settee that they transfigured from a nail, Harry closed his eyes. The trip's events are finally catching up to me, Harry thought, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

He didn't know how long he slept there, but when he woke up, he found himself covered in one of Andrew's blankets, his cell phone ringing. He groaned, sitting up, wondering when in the day he'd taken his glasses off. Ignoring the thought at the moment, he picked up his cell phone and flipped it open. “'lo?” he mumbled, sleep still evident in his voice.

“Harry!” shouted the voice of Matthew.

“Mmmm…?” asked Harry, leaning on the arm of the couch, still tired. “Wha', Matt? Somethin' wrong?” he asked drowsily, though he was waking up slowly.

“Yeah,” answered Matt. “I mean, no. Yeah, no! Oh I don't know!” he moaned. “Christi said she might be pregnant… and, I got so scared… but then she said she took a test, and now… now apparently she's not…” He trailed off.

“Right…” Harry mumbled. “So she's not pregnant… and you're, what?” he asked.

“I don't know, Harry!” he told him, his voice desperate. “I… she's been crying since yesterday, and now… now, I don't know! She… she was like all sad… and then she said she was sort of getting used to being pregnant.” He took a long breath. “I mean, I know that she wasn't really pregnant, but she thought she might be… and now, she's like… like she lost the baby before she even had one.”

“Look,” started Harry, hoping to console his friend, “I remember when Hermione had several pregnancy scares. It's perfectly normal. I mean, yeah, sure, we were already married, but even when she said there was the chance she could be pregnant, we were so elated. I was ready to go to the stadium and announce we were having a child, but then we found out she was just late. Not pregnant, just late.” He sighed, “She was devastated, because she thought she was going to be a Mother… And, I bet you anything that Christina felt the same way.”

He heard Matt sigh. “Yeah… I mean, I love her,” he chuckled, “Yes, I love her, but… we're not ready for children yet!” he exclaimed.

Harry nodded. “But you should be happy that you're having a child! This kid is a bit of you, and a bit of her. The fruit of your love, the outcome of passionate love, and all that sweet shit,” chuckled Harry, glad to be fully awake now.

He heard Matt laugh, and Harry was glad he was fulfilling his job. “Yeah, I guess.” He heard him breath deeply, only to let out a rather loud sigh. “Great, Harry, now you've got me all sad!” he exclaimed.

“Sorry,” mumbled Harry playfully, “but it's what I do.”

After a short silence, Matt announced, “I think I'm going to propose to her.”

“Seriously?” asked Harry. “How, when?”

He chuckled. “Surely not like you! Seriously, proposing after a game?” Harry could nearly hear his eyes rolling playfully. “You are so romantic!”

“Shut up, Anderson!” Harry grinned. “You know I was never good with that romance stuff!”

“Don't I know it?” Matt muttered. “But anyways… I don't know what to do,” he confessed. “I mean, I know I wanna propose… but I don't know when or how.”

“Yeah, I was going through the same thing,” Harry confessed. “But then I thought, `just screw it all,' and proposed right then and there.” Harry chuckled, “You don't know how nervous I was.”

“Yeah, I remember when you told me you were going to propose. That was laugh.” He paused. “But… I don't know… I was thinking of doing something like you: just keep the ring in my pocket, pick a random time, and propose right then and there, hoping that she doesn't faint.”

“There you go!” exclaimed Harry. He heard Hermione enter the apartment, and arched his eyebrow when he saw her carrying a few grocery bags while pushing Andrew's stroller. “Anyway, I think I'm going to go. Good luck with Christina, and tell me when you've proposed, alright?” he asked.

“Sure. I'll see ya, bye.”

“Bye.”

He flipped the phone shut and stood up. Wondering how long he'd slept, he checked his watch. It was nearing two `o clock. Walking into the kitchen, he saw Hermione putting away food into the refrigerator. Andrew was eating cut up pieces of a strawberry that were in a bowl which was levitated in the air, just staring at his mother put food away.

Harry smiled at his small boy. Even at nearly a year old, the child was still so small. Perhaps it was because he and Hermione were always thin and short, also contributing to Andrew. He bent down and placed a soft kiss to his child's head, and then proceeded to help his wife with putting the groceries away.

After they finally felt that they were settled into their new apartment, hours later, Harry, Hermione, and Andrew were on their bed, just lying down. Andrew was on Harry's chest, happily resting there, occasionally reaching out for something and receiving Hermione's fingers in return. Harry smiled, snaking an arm under Hermione's head, wrapping it around her shoulder, and bringing her closer to her husband and son. Smiling contently, Hermione snuggled closer, overlapping one of her legs with his, placing a gentle hand on her son's back.

“I love you,” whispered Harry. “You, Andrew, and our little baby.”

“I love you three, too.”

A short while later, the three fell into a restful sleep, unmoving the whole night.

--------------

Harry and his family walked into the shop, looking for some flowers for Hermione's parents. He saw some beautiful tulips, but Andrew seemed especially fond of the sharp thorns of the pretty red and white roses. Harry chuckled, picking up the boy, and braced him on his hip, walking around and trying to make sure Andrew didn't hurt himself.

Hermione had gone to the back, already having picked out the flowers for her father and mother. A few minutes later, she came back, two beautiful bouquets in her hands. “Have you picked the flowers yet?” she asked, placing them on the top of Andrew's stroller.

“No,” he answered, still looking at the flowers. There were so many flowers, he realized. He didn't even know the names of some. “Err… how about these?” he asked, looking at the ones Andrew was staring at.

She nodded and picked out ten of the flowers. She then went to the back, arriving a few minutes later. Placing the bouquets next to hers on the stroller, Hermione absently placed her hand on her abdomen, rubbing it.

“Is something wrong?” asked Harry, concerned.

She shook her head, smiling. She gave him a soft kiss, taking his hand. “No, nothing's wrong. I'm just a bit hungry,” she informed him, blushing slightly.

He nodded and quickly went to the register, paying for the flowers, Andrew still in his arms. Arriving a minute later, he put Andrew into his stroller and took Hermione's hand, the family leaving the store. “Where do you want to eat?” he asked. “I never was fond of hospital food, myself.” He shuddered, remembering when he ate hospital food once when Hermione was in labour. He nearly choked on his salad when the doctors went into the hospital cafeteria and informed him of his new baby son.

She shrugged, though she led them to a nearby fast food restaurant. Once entering, she ordered her food, while Harry just ordered a drink. Andrew wasn't hungry, so he didn't need anything. After receiving the food, they paid and left, walking through the streets of London.

“Do you want some, Harry?” she asked, munching on a chicken sandwich. “It's really good.”

He shook his head, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “I'm all right, love.” He kept one hand on the bar of Andrew's stroller, making their way towards the hospital, which was only about a fifteen-minute walk from their apartment.

They entered the hospital, quickly walking into the elevator, pressing the button `3' and waited until they reached the floor. They manoeuvred themselves to the Grangers room, and once they got there, they noticed that there was a nurse in front of the door. They tried getting in, but the nurse wouldn't let them.

“Why won't you let us see my parents?” Hermione asked, her anger starting to flare.

Calmly, the nurse replied. “Because, Miss, your father, you say, is in critical condition. He—”

“Hurry up!” shouted someone from inside, and the door whipped open, nearly knocking the nurse off her feet, and very nearly hitting Harry on the side. “We're losing him fast, now move!” shouted the doctor, and started moving the stretcher that Hermione's father was on, towards the Emergency Room.

Harry quickly moved the stroller to the wall, and held Hermione tightly, knowing that if she didn't move, she was going to be rammed head on into her father's stretcher. Once they were out of view, not even ten seconds later, Harry addressed the nurse, who went inside the room.

“Wh-what happened?” he asked in a strangled whisper. Hermione followed him, her eyes wide, pushing the stroller along with her.

“Granger has just had a severe heart attack, and is now failing,” she answered, checking on Hermione's mother.

“Da-dad?” she whispered. “Oh Lord…” She shook her head, her knees starting to buckle.

Harry nearly ran to her side, leading her to a nearby chair. He sat on the arm of the chair, rubbing her shoulders. “What about her mother?” he asked, his voice soft.

“She's doing all right… for now,” answered the nurse, turning to leave the room.

“Wait!” Hermione said suddenly, standing up. “D'you… I mean…” She sighed, sitting back down. “Never mind…”

Arching an eyebrow, the nurse nodded and left.

Hermione closed her eyes, leaning onto Harry's side, ready to break down. “You've got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “He just… Oh Lord…”

Harry picked her up and sat down, cradling Hermione in his arms. “I'm so sorry, Hermione,” he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. “He'll be all right. He just has to be.”

He felt tears soak his red, long-sleeved shirt, and he saw Andrew staring at the two intently. “My father,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “He… oh Lord, he could die…” She shook her head, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“Hermione, please, don't think like that,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Think of the positive,” he went on. “Like pretty soon, your father will be out, and he'll be healthy again. The same with your mother.”

“You promise?”

He sighed, his hand falling to rest on her thigh. “You know I can't promise anything. I'm not a doctor, and I can't help them in anyway, except getting them a better doctor.”

“I doubt even that'll help,” she said helplessly. “They're… it's just…” she shook her head again, tears leaking from her eyes.

“Shh, love,” he whispered, rubbing her thigh. “Hopefully the doctors will help your father.”

“Take me home, Harry,” she murmured. “Take me back to the apartment. I don't want to be here right now. Just…” she trailed off, and slowly stood up. “Please,” she whispered. She felt pathetic, too dependent, though she knew she was the opposite. She was usually able to do anything on her own, without asking for her husband's help, but right now… she felt like her unborn child, depending completely on one person.

Sighing, he rubbed his face with his hand and stood up. “All right,” he nodded. He gave her a soft, sweet kiss, “Let's go.” Taking Hermione's hand in one, the other grasping onto Andrew's stroller bar, the family made their way to the apartment.

--------------

Harry dialled Matt's cell number, hopeful that the young adult was free. A few rings later, a deep voice said, “Hello?”

“Matt…” moaned Harry, laying on the couch and covering his eyes with his arm. “I'm sorry I had to call, but I didn't know what to do.”

“What's up, man?” asked Matt, concerned. “Is it about Hermione? Andrew? The baby?” He gave a soft gasp, “It's… it's not `bout her parents, is it?”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” Harry said dully. “Hermione's father just had a heart attack, and he's in critical condition.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I… Wow… Is-is he gonna be all right?”

Harry shrugged, though he knew Matthew wasn't able to see him. “I don't know, Matt.” He sighed. “Hermione is in the bedroom, taking a nap. Andrew's off playing with his toys in his room, but I'm so worried about Hermione…”

“What happened to her?” he asked, concerned about his friend. “Is she all right? I mean, I know this is probably taking a large toll on her, but… she can't just give up.”

“I know, man, I know.” He then proceeded to explain: “She… You know Mione's always independent and strong? Well, she's… she's like broken right now… And… I'm scared.”

“Wow, just… make sure she doesn't do anything drastic, like commit suicide or something.”

Harry sat ramrod at Matthew's statement. “Suicide?” he asked, his voice suddenly three pitches higher than usual. “She'd never do that!” he defended his wife, standing up.

“That's what my friend said, but her cousin died,” murmured Matt. “But look, don't get scared or anything. I'm sure Hermione would never do that!”

Harry started walking towards their bedroom and opened the door. He saw Hermione under the covers, seemingly asleep. But he wasn't convinced. He walked towards the bed, moving close to her, hearing her soft breathing, as her hand automatically curled around her stomach.

Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief and gratitude. “She's still living,” Harry assured Matt. Leaving the room, he hissed, “Don't scare me like that!” Andrew walked in less than a second later, latching onto Harry's leg, starting to chew on the jean material.

My little guy's hungry, thought Harry, picking up his son and supporting his on his hip as he stood up.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Listen, I got to go,” Harry informed him. “Andrew's hungry, and its really hard cutting fruits with one hand.”

“All right,” he said. “But wait!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Andrew's birthday is in a few weeks, and if you're still in England, do you think I could visit, too?” he asked. “I mean, I just want to see my Godson on his first birthday!”

Harry chuckled, letting Andrew down and looking for a knife. He went to the refrigerator and took out a strawberry and banana, setting it on the cutting table. “Sure, I'm sure I can Portkey there and come back. Do you want to arrive the day before, or some other day?” he asked, washing the strawberry and cutting it up.

“Maybe a day before his birthday, I guess,” answered Matt. “I don't want to intrude or anything, so I'll just stay a day later, too.”

“You couldn't be intruding,” he assured, moving to the banana next. Cutting the banana in half, he put it aside, and started cutting the other half into small pieces for his eleven-month-old.

“Okay, well, I'll just let you feed your child in peace.”

He smiled, “All right, bye.”

“Bye.”

Flipping his phone shut, he placed his cell phone on the counter and stuffed the half of the banana into his mouth. Quickly finishing, he took one of the three bowls they bought and put them into it. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered, pointing at the bowl. He put the bowl to Andrew's height, and watched in amusement as Andrew followed the floating bowl into the living room. In there, he placed it on the coffee table and saw his son eat.

A few minutes later, Hermione came in. She wore a pair of Harry's boxers and his old, tight (though it was a little loose on her) tank top. Her eyes were blood shot, and she slowly walked to Harry. She lay on the couch, placing her head on his lap, watching her child happily eat strawberries.

Harry placed one hand on her stomach, caressing it and started running his fingers through her hair. They didn't talk, but just watched their innocent child.

They didn't know how long they sat there, but soon, Harry's cell phone was ringing again. “Accio cell phone,” Harry murmured, and caught the phone when it zoomed into his hand. “Hello?”

“Mister Potter?” asked a deep voice.

This isn't Matt. He brought the phone away from his ear, and looked at the number. It was a London number. “Yeah, this is him,” he confirmed.

“This is Thomas Evans, a nurse from St Thomas' Hospital,” informed the man. “Your father in-law has just died of heart failure,” said the man. “Is it too late to come here? There are some details we want to go over,” said the man.

“Yeah, it's too late. My son is getting tired,” he informed the man. “I… We'll…” He sighed, looking down at his wife, seeing her still looking at Andrew. “Just… just give us some time. We'll… be there tomorrow, or something.” He considered buggering it all, but decided against it, knowing it'd be too much for Hermione. “Just… I'm going to go,” said Harry.

Shutting the phone, he let a tear slip from his emerald eye. This… Dammit! Hermione looked up, having felt the tear fall on her cheek. “Are you all right, dear?” She sat up, sitting next to him, cradling his face with her hands.

He shook his head, taking her hands in his. “I'm… Oh…” He wiped the tear away, shaking his head. “I'll tell you tomorrow, sweetheart. Just… let's got to sleep, okay?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I'm not a child, you know,” she smirked. “Just tell me.”

He shook his head. “Please, love, not right now,” he nearly pleaded. He internally cursed himself as he let another tear fall.

She looked worried, and it clearly showed in her voice: “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, standing up. “If you say so,” she murmured, taking Andrew's empty bowl and going into the kitchen.

Harry angrily wiped the tear away, but it was no use: another few tears fell.

Author's Notes: Wow, I feel like crying. (But I won't, `cause it'd ruin my eyeliner. Haha, I know, such a girly girl.) :'(

-->

Author's Notes: I know that usually people freak out when a death occurs, but sometimes this happens too. (I should know, personally.)

--------------

August 22^nd, 2001 …

--------------

The next morning, Hermione woke early. She held Harry's wrist, checking the time, and sighed as she saw it was nearing seven. Getting up, she gave Harry's bare chest a soft kiss and headed to her carryon to pick out her clothes. Deciding that, since the day was slightly on the cold side (she looked outside the window, and saw that it was foggy), she got a pair of snug jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a Stanford hooded sweatshirt, and went into the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later, she came out, noticing Harry was still sleeping (during college, he always took evening classes while Hermione took morning classes, that way one could always take care of Andrew), and started doing her hair and makeup. Once she finished, she went into Andrew's room, wondering if her son had awoken yet.

She smiled, seeing her baby sleeping peacefully. “Sleep well, love,” she whispered, touching his cheek tenderly.

Hermione walked into the kitchen, wondering what there was to eat. Seeing some vegetables and eggs, she decided that scrambled eggs would do. Ten minutes later, Harry walked into the kitchen, clad in only blue and white striped boxers. He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek, leaning on the counter.

“Morning,” she murmured, washing the plate so she could eat afterward. “Do you want anything to eat? I can just whip something up, if you want.”

He shook his head, remembering the events from last night. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, bringing her flush against him. They simply stood there for a few minutes, Harry occasionally giving Hermione's neck a loving kiss, and she giving his arms a squeeze, smiling all the while.

“What happed?” Hermione asked. She heard him sigh and turn in his arms. Instantly wrapping her arms around his torso, she arched an eyebrow in question.

“Please,” he whispered, “don't be mad.”

“I won't,” she promised.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yesterday… that-that call I got… it was from the hospital,” he informed her, keeping his voice soft. “They… they told me that… that your father died yesterday night.” He closed his eyes, ready for the oncoming anger, but it never came. He opened his eyes, seeing Hermione's eyes widened slightly, but they weren't filled with anger… but, rather, emptiness.

“Hermione, love?” called Harry softly, giving her neck, where his right hand was resting, a soft squeeze. “Are… I know I should've told you yesterday but I couldn't and I was worried that you'd breakdown and oh God Hermione—” he babbled, but Hermione interrupted him.

“You're babbling,” she murmured, her voice suddenly emotionless. She blinked and stepped from his arms, her eyes unmoving. “I… need to… do something,” she murmured, leaving the kitchen.

“Hermione,” he called softly. She stopped. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night,” he apologized.

She nodded and left again.

He groaned, punching the air. Its times like this I wish I had volleyballs to spike, he thought. He sighed, glaring at Hermione's untouched breakfast, scrambled eggs.

All too soon, he heard Andrew's cries that he needed changed, and Harry left the kitchen.

--------------

“Mumma,” giggled Andrew, climbing on Hermione's jean clad leg. “Mumma pay!” he giggled, grinning.

Hermione smiled and patted her child's head. “Not now,” she murmured, staring at the wall.

Andrew's grin faded, knowing that it wasn't good that she patted his head instead of picking him up. “Mumma pay?” he asked, hands up in question.

She shook her head, gently prying her son from her leg. “Not now, baby.”

Harry sighed, walking into the room. “Hermione, you've been like this all day. Please, don't do this,” he pleaded, picking Andrew up and sitting on the table, his son safely on his lap. “You haven't eaten all day, you've barely spoken more than five words, and you're starting to scare me.”

She smiled grimly, standing up. “Andrew, are you hungry?” she asked, almost dreamily. “Mummy will get you a banana. Wait here.” Silently, she went into the kitchen.

Harry looked at his wife, concerned. Andrew started scratching his stomach, a sure sign that he truly was hungry. He looked at Andrew and brought him close to his chest, simply hugging him. A minute later, Hermione came back, setting a plate on the table. The banana was cut unevenly, extremely rare since she was always precise with cutting fruits, especially for Andrew. A few pieces were too large for him to consume, and the others were much smaller, and some were seemingly cut into random pieces.

“C'mon Andrew,” she told him, “eat your food.”

Andrew happily slid from Harry's lap and trotted to the plate, and stared at the odd shapes of his food. He picked a large piece up, and Harry was close to taking the fruit away from him for fear of choking on it, but Andrew giggled and threw it onto the plate once more. He took another piece, this time much smaller, and stared at it again. Seemingly deciding that it was better, he placed it into his mouth and started chewing happily.

“Hermione,” said Harry, sitting next to his wife and wrapping his arms around her. “Are you okay?” he asked, bringing her close so her head rested on his chest and cradling the back of her head with one hand.

Hermione said nothing and didn't move.

“Baby, please talk,” he urged, rubbing her back. “You're… you're not yourself. Please, love, just… say something.”

Still, she said nothing.

He sighed and held her away at arms length. “Will you at least eat something?” he asked. “If you don't something could happen—to you or the baby.”

Her eyes finally met his. They were still brown, but they were empty, dull. “Baby,” she murmured, standing up. “I have a baby to feed,” she murmured, going into the kitchen.

Harry followed her. “Hermione, what's wrong?” he asked, standing next to her. She said nothing, but started getting some food and started cutting vegetables, while putting some water to boil. “Please,” he pleaded, taking her into his arms. She didn't move, but kept her hands by her side, her head falling feebly on his chest.

“Don't do this,” he whispered, tears starting to leak from his eyes. It'd been hours since he'd told his wife of her father's death, and she'd acted like this since then. “You're scaring me,” he murmured.

She moved away from him, turning back to her semi-cut vegetables. “I've got to make food for my baby,” she murmured, dropping the vegetables into the boiling water. After doing the task, she turned to Harry. “Do you want food?” she asked, her eyes uncertain.

“No,” he answered. “I want you, my wife,” he went on. “Please, just… what's wrong?”

Either she hadn't heard him or she was ignoring him. Turning the cooker off, she took the pot from it and drained it, the steamed vegetables falling onto the plate afterwards. Harry sighed, cradling his wife's face, and rested his forehead against hers. He saw that her eyes were lowered, staring in the general direction of his heart. He slowly let his lips descend on hers, sincerely hoping to get a reaction. His lips pushed and pulled, and he gently thrust his tongue into her mouth.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Hermione wasn't responding. Slowly, he took his lips away from hers, though their noses and foreheads were touching. He exhaled through his nose, his hands still around her neck, and muttered, “It's just shock,” to himself. She'll get through it, he thought, searching for her eyes. They were still lowered.

She moved from his arms again, going to her vegetables. She walked past him, going into the living room and sitting on the sofa. She absently munched on the soft vegetable, watching Andrew squish the banana and then eat the pudding like food, getting it all over his mouth.

A few minutes later, Harry came in, looking extremely tired. “We're going to the hospital today,” he informed her, knowing that it was going in one ear and out the other. “We're going to leave as soon as you're finished eating.”

Again, she said nothing but munched on her broccoli.

Harry sighed and went into the bedroom. He took off his shirt and threw it at the wall, his shorts following soon after. Dressed only in his silky green boxers, Harry rummaged through his carryon on for other clothes. He took one of his soccer jerseys and the pair of jeans Andrew loved so much. I really don't see what he loves so much about ripped and faded jeans, he wondered chuckling. Before putting his jersey on he took a white long sleeved shirt and put it on, the jersey coming after.

Going into the bathroom, he tried to keep his tears at bay. This wasn't his Hermione. His Hermione was strong, independent, able to get through anything. He knew he was acting like a baby, ready to cry any moment, but he didn't like this side of Hermione. God, I'm such a baby, he thought, picking up the razor and shaving cream.

Ten minutes later, Harry, newly shaven, walked back into the living room. Andrew was playing with the random splotches of pudding on the floor, though he wasn't eating it. Hermione sat there with her shoes on, her eyes staring off into the direction of Andrew, murmuring things Harry couldn't hear.

He walked closer to her, sitting next to her. She didn't stop mumbling, but kept going on as if Harry wasn't there. “Is my baby okay?” she mumbled to herself. “My babies need to be well fed and happy. If my babies aren't happy, Mummy isn't happy.”

Harry closed his eyes, his hand slowly wiping his face off something. Standing up, he picked Andrew up, took the two plates and went into the kitchen. He set Andrew onto the counter, bringing a clean wipe to his face. Andrew giggled, “Papa!” he exclaimed.

Harry smiled and finished wiping Andrew clean. Setting him down, he watched his son run off to his mother. Sighing, Harry started cleaning the plates. A few minutes later, Harry came back. Getting his wallet, wand, cell phone, keys, and Hermione's purse, he handed it to her.

She took it and stood up. Taking Andrew into her arms, completely forgetting about the stroller, she asked, “Is my baby happy?” Andrew grinned and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Hermione gave a small smile. “Good. Because if my babies aren't happy, I'm not happy.”

Harry looked at her. What the…? Shaking his head, he picked up the baby bag and opened the front door. “C'mon,” he urged, “let's go.”

Hermione wordlessly walked out of the apartment, lingering by the door. He started walking towards the stairs, but then noticed Hermione wasn't following him. “Hermione?” he called.

Blinking, Hermione slowly made her way towards her husband. Walking down the steps, they made their way towards the car. Getting in, she put Andrew into his car seat and sat there, watching him. “My baby,” she whispered, nearly in awe.

Harry looked at Hermione and Andrew. There was something wrong with her. He didn't know what, but there had to be something wrong. But what? Was there even anything? He shook his head. No, it's just shock… Or something, he thought, driving out of the lot. She'll be better… Just… I'll have to give her some time, or some space… He shook his head. Maybe I should ask the doctor about this… But… I don't know. He gave a frustrated sigh, the palm of his hand banging against the steering wheel.

A few minutes later, Harry pulled into the hospital lot. He knew there was no large point in driving there, it was just a few minutes drive and about fifteen minutes of walking, but he didn't trust Hermione enough right now to be in crowds.

He got out of the car, opening Hermione's door, waiting for her to get out. After waiting there for a minute, he started getting impatient.

“Hermione,” he said, “are you coming?”

“My baby is sleeping,” she whispered.

He arched an eyebrow, looking inside the car. Andrew was wide-awake. He looked at Hermione's slightly protruding stomach next, figuring she meant their unborn child. Sighing, he took Hermione's hand. “Love, the baby is going to be `sleeping' for a little bit longer.” She got out of the car and he sat in, unfastening Andrew from his seat. He held him close and got out of the car, handing Hermione her purse once more, holding her hand afterwards. “C'mon,” he whispered, closing the door with his foot and locking the car.

They walked to the hospital in silence, though Andrew was anything but. He seemed happy playing with Harry's styled hair, reaching for Hermione's hoop earrings, or trying to chew on his father's earlobe. They went to the secretary, whom was an elderly woman, staring at her nails.

“Um, excuse me?” said Harry. The woman looked up, arching her very thin eyebrow. “Where is Celine Granger staying?”

She sighed, looking into the book. “Celine Granger… was on the third floor… now residing on the second, in her own,” she informed them.

“Okay, thanks,” said Harry, fixing his glasses since Andrew tried taking them off. He took Hermione's hand, since he noticed she hadn't moved when he headed towards the elevator, and they went to the second floor. They made their way towards the rooms, but found that a doctor was waiting for them in a room.

“Mister and Misses Potter,” greeted the man. Harry shook his hand, while Hermione remained ignorant to the exchange. He raised an eyebrow, pulling his hand back as he saw Hermione wasn't going to shake it, and introduced himself: “I'm Dr. Evans, and I was the one who phoned you yesterday.”

Harry nodded, letting Andrew down. Immediately, however, Hermione picked him up, sitting on a nearby chair with her son on her lap. “Uh, should we sit, or something?” asked Harry.

“If you wish. I'll stand.”

Harry sat next to his wife, looking curiously at the doctor. “You… you said you wanted to talk to us?” he asked softly, taking Hermione's hand and entwining it with his. “About my father-in-law's death?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Jeff Granger had a heart attack at three in the afternoon yesterday, and only lasted until six that day. His heart failed, and there was no way we were able to save him. We've told Misses Potter's Mother, and she hasn't taken the matter lightly.” He sighed, continuing. “We'll need some information on Jeff Granger, and about you two, also, if you don't mind.”

Harry shook his head. “No, not at all. What do we need to do?” he asked curiously.

“Simply fill out some information,” he told them, though he noticed he was mainly talking to Harry.

Seeing Hermione sit there, ramrod, holding their son close to her, Harry asked, “Can-can I talk to you for a moment, in private?”

He nodded and the two went farther into the room. “My wife, Hermione… she's… she's been like that since I told her about the death yesterday,” he told him. The doctor nodded. “Is… is something wrong?”

He sighed, patting Harry's shoulder. “Young man, it is very hard on a person when there is a death in the family. Some people are depressed, some may be become extremely moody, others may even—”

“But she's… like, not in her senses!” Harry exclaimed, finding it hard to voice his concerns. “I mean, she's already pregnant, and we've come to England after years, and it's just too much for her! And now with her father's death… I'm scared something'll happen to her or the baby!” he exclaimed, feeling just like an unprepared father and husband in the real world.

Doctor Thomas Evans put a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder. “Listen, young people come here all of the time, with their girlfriend's in distress, but they recover. I'm sincerely sorry about your father-in-law—he was so young, and had a wonderful family, I'm sure,” he said, looking at Harry. “But you've got to let your wife know that she has a different life to attend to: her life. The life with her family.”

Harry nodded, feeling as though he were getting a lecture. “Yeah… But… but how can Hermione return to her normalcy? She's just so out of it,” he said in an anguished whisper.

“That, son, is something I can't help you with,” he said, putting his hands into his pockets. “Usually, when something dramatic happens, they snap out of it. It's not a condition or anything, but it's just something that happens sometimes.”

Harry nodded, feeling, once again, close to tears. He looked towards Hermione's direction: she was hugging Andrew close, one hand resting on her slightly swollen abdomen.

“Are you sure it's not a condition? Is there anything I can do? I mean, like anything at all? Money isn't an issue so you can tell me all of the options,” he asked, hoping that there was something.

He shook his head. “No. I already told you that it's not a condition, mental or physical. Some people go through depression, but it doesn't seem as though your wife is going through that,” he explained, seeing Hermione smile giddily as Andrew blew spit bubbles. “Some are angry, but again, your wife doesn't seem that way.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered frustrated. “She's… just…” He sighed. “I don't know. We've never had to go through a very close personal death since we were seventeen,” he told him.

“Did… did her Aunt or some other relative die?” the Doctor asked, knowing that he probably shouldn't have been asking, but was simply curious.

He shook his head. “No. A few of our friends died. But… we've gone through so many peoples deaths; I thought she might be able to handle it.”

“Well, when they're extremely close, they tend to hurt more.”

“I wish I really knew,” Harry muttered, but then he remembered Remus Lupin and his Godfather, Sirius. He realized that, though they weren't his biological parents, they were the closest paternal figures he'd ever, ever had.

Harry sighed a few moments later. “Where are the forms we need to fill out?” he asked.

“I'll get them in a moment,” he answered, leaving the room.

He walked towards his wife again and sat down. “My baby is hungry,” Hermione whispered, her eyes wide. “My baby wants food.”

“What does Andrew want?” Harry asked, taking Andrew from her arms and into his lap, playing with his son's very soft hair. Hermione's arms lingered on him, almost as if she didn't want to let him go just yet, but then slowly lowered them onto her lap, rubbing her stomach. “Do you want to hold Andrew?” he asked, seeing Hermione's actions.

“My baby wants food,” she murmured, looking from Andrew to her lap. “Do you need anything?” she asked Harry serenely.

He shook his head. “No. What do you want? Or Andrew?” he asked.

“Food,” she answered.

He sighed, getting up. “When Doctor Thomas Evans comes in, just take the forms from him, all right?” he asked. She nodded absently. “I'll be right back and see if I can get you a candy bar and see what Andrew can eat.”

Three minutes later, the door opened and the doctor came in, a few papers in his hands. He handed them to Hermione, who just stared at them. “This, Misses Potter, is for you and your husband to fill,” he informed her. “I'll just be leaving now, and return them to the front desk when you're finished, all right?”

She nodded and he left.

A few minutes later, Harry came back with a bag of chips in one hand and a happy juice drinking Andrew in the other. He handed Hermione her chips and took the papers from her. Letting Andrew sit on the floor and drink his juice from his sippy-cup, Harry looked for a pen around the room. Finding one, he started looking through it. There were various questions, personal, financial, and educational. He filled out the obvious, standard questions (Name: Harry Potter, DOB: 07-31-80, Height: 5'9'', Weight: 150 lbs, etc.) and started filling out the other questions. He wondered why they would want to know what degree he had in college, but shrugged and answered, writing it down. (He found that it was much easier to write with a ballpoint pen rather than a quill, which, somehow, made his writing messier on parchment rather than paper.) After about ten minutes of filling out questions (he seriously wondered why they wanted to know how many children he had, why they wanted his dental records, and what University he attended played any role in filling out medical forums), he was finally finished.

He looked to his left, seeing Hermione staring at the unopened bag of chips. Harry closed his eyes, exhaling. He reached over and opened the bag, taking one chip out and feeding his wife. After a few chips, she started eating herself. He smiled, giving his wife a peck on the cheek, though deep down he was still screaming in confusion and rage towards himself. If only he had told her yesterday, maybe her reaction would've been different.

He started filling Hermione's papers out, since he knew anything imaginable about her. (Especially after they were married, they decided to be open about everything to each other. And no matter how embarrassing the question was, they'd answer truthfully. She even answered the one question women dreaded: how much they weighed.) Quickly filling out the obvious questions, just like his (Name: Hermione Potter, DOB: 9-19-80, Height: 5'5'', Weight: 123 lbs, etc.) and started on the others. Again, after about ten minutes he was finished, stacking the few papers on top of each other.

Andrew toddled to Harry, wrapping his legs and arms around his jean-clad leg, giggling madly when he slid on to his name brand tennis shoe. “Papa!” he giggled.

Harry smiled, picking his son up, but then groaned as he was hit head on with his bottle. He stood up, picking the papers with the hand he was holding Andrew with, as the other went to take his wife's, since it seemed as though she wasn't going to stand anytime soon.

She stood up, still holding the bag of chips, which was mostly eaten, and leaned to Harry, reaching for Andrew. “Is my baby happy?” she asked in a whisper.

“Mumma!!” he squealed, banging his hands on Harry's shoulder. He grinned, showing his pearly white baby teeth.

Harry smiled and gave Andrew's forehead a soft kiss, squeezing his and Hermione's entwined fingers. Together, they went to the front desk and gave the woman their papers.

“You filled both out,” she stated rather than questioned.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. So?”

She shrugged. “Normally men don't know anything about their respective others,” she muttered before taking a call.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

--------------

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked from the kitchen, chopping some vegetables.

Hermione came in, wearing Harry's old sweatpants and her old sports bra, wearing nothing over. “No,” she answered, putting some black socks on. “Do you need help?” she asked softly.

Harry shook his head, putting the vegetables and chicken into the pan. From the Dursleys, he was glad that he at least learned something useful from them: cooking. After basically ten years of cooking for them, he learned many dishes—some exceptionally hard dishes, while some were as easy as boiling an egg—and was thankful that he'd taken the talent even when he went to America. While there, they never ate out too much, especially after Andrew was born. So Harry would usually cook, since it was his area of expertise. He smiled; it was one of the few things he ruled over Hermione in.

Wiping his hands on a cloth, Harry wiped his brow with his sleeve. He looked around the modest sized kitchen and through the doorway. Hermione sat on the couch, fondly gazing at Andrew, who was happily emerged in playing with his blanket and jumping around. He turned the heat down a little, so he would be able to leave the kitchen for a moment, and leaned on the doorway.

He stood like that for about a minute. But suddenly, his vision started blurring, everything going black. He felt a bit light headed, and tried to grab hold of something. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Author's Notes: Ooh, what happened to our beloved Harry? I know that he was acting like a sissy, but trust me, I'm almost positive you'd act like that if someone you truly loved were like this.

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Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay, guys! I had a major Bio test to study for, and I spent all my time into that. Now that it's over, hopefully I'll spend more time into this story again.

Oh, and Hermione's in distress. She's not thinking properly. When they're in distress, your brain basically takes a vacation to Cancun. Sometimes the Bahamas.

Hope you enjoy!!!!!!!

Oh, and before I forget:

Disclaimer: Don't own Old Spice, Tigger, or Herbal Essences. I mean, yeah, Old Spice smells soooooooo good (ohmygod it's so hot on guys!), the same with Essences (Eeee! It smells good, or at least the one I have… *grin*), and Tigger is just so adorable (it's T-I double g-err!), but that doesn't mean I own it! (But hey, it would've been Axe, too, but I don't think they had that back then…)

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August 22^nd, 2001 …

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Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Harry fell to the floor, unconscious. His body gave a `thud' as he hit the cold floor, his glasses flying off his face.

Hermione's head snapped to the source of the noise, her eyes instantly widening as she saw her husband was sprawled on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Her first thought was to scream and run for help, but then thought better of it, knowing Andrew would just be even more frightened than need be. Glancing down at her son, she saw he was standing ramrod, staring at the figure of his father. Standing up, she jogged to the kitchen, kneeling in front of him.

Don't let him be dead, don't let him be dead, was the thought running through her mind. She looked around the kitchen, not knowing what to do in this stage of distress, and saw that the food on the stove was overcooking, close to flaming. Quickly standing up, she turned it off and went back to aid her husband. Wracking her brain for a reasonable solution, she found that, in this state, she wasn't able to do anything but try and help Harry.

“Papa?” Andrew asked, toddling next to Harry, tears streaming down his face. “Papa?” he called again, when he received no response.

Hermione quickly took Andrew into her arms while cradling Harry's head in her lap. “Papa's all right, Andrew,” she murmured to him, kissing the top of his head. She glanced back at her husband, praying he'd awaken soon. What happened? Was it because of me? Did he eat anything? Has he been sleeping properly? Her mind whirled with questions she knew she could easily answer, but couldn't since she was stunned.

She brought her ear close to his chest, praying she could hear a heartbeat. When she did, she nearly started crying. She reached above Harry's head and grabbed his glasses, folding them and putting them into the pocket of her sweatpants. A tear escaped her eye, as she brought his head to her sternum, holding him close.

“Wake up,” she whispered. “Please, wake up. I can't loose you too. I just can't.”

A minute later, she heard a soft groan. She looked around, wondering if it was Andrew. He was sitting, his blanket bunched up into a ball, his arms woven tightly around the soft fabric. She heard the groan again, this time a bit louder, and looked down. Harry's head started moving a bit, his hands feebly moving up to rest on Hermione's upper thighs.

Harry moved his head back, wondering what had happened. One minute, he was watching Hermione and Andrew. And the next, he was waking up, on the floor, his face buried at the side of Hermione's breast. Normally, he would've loved this, and would've taken her clothing off too, but right now, he was too confused to even do anything but groan. The pain in the back of his head was dull, but it still hurt.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione whispered, taking his face back from her chest, to cradle it in her hands. “I thought something happened,” she whispered, bringing his head back to her chest. She cradled him much like she did with Andrew in his infancy months, playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He groaned out something. He lifted his head so it rested on her shoulder, and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. “I'm all right. Just… Syncope, I suspect,” he guessed, comparing the symptoms. He had been emotionally stressed out for the past few weeks, he hadn't had any salt or any type of liquid, and though he didn't know if he had low blood pressure, he knew the emotional stress he was going through, and the lack of water and food, was enough for him to collapse.

“Papa,” whispered Andrew, his tears staining his blanket. Harry's head snapped towards his direction and he opened his arms, inviting his young son. Andrew stood up shakily and picked up his dropped blanket, nearly running into his father's arms.

“Shh, son,” murmured Harry, cradling the back of Andrew's head, just as Hermione cradled his. “Papa's fine,” he continued, knowing Andrew couldn't fully understand.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, distressed. “Oh Lord,” she went on, holding him almost desperately, while slowly rocking from side to side. “I thought something happened. I didn't know what to do. I still don't know what to do.” She shuddered, closing her eyes, kissing the top of Harry's head, who'd unusually been silent throughout the whole thing. “I didn't even call an ambulance…” she trailed off.

He shook his head, straightening up, looking at his wife in the eye. “Hermione, you do know what you're doing. I just collapsed, and am all right.” He gave her a soft kiss, squeezing the side of her waist. “Don't say that. You…” he shook his head, “You weren't your—”

Andrew cut in: “Papa,” mumbled he, snuggling into Harry's side, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Sighing, he tried to stand up. He did so, but with a bit of difficulty, and cradled him as he did when he was an infant. He held out one hand, and Hermione took it gratefully, giving the smallest hints of a smile. “I'm going to sleep,” Hermione murmured, walking past him. But before she fully left the kitchen, she dug through Harry's old sweatpants' pocket, took out his rectangular glasses, and placed it on the counter.

With the hand that wasn't cradling his sleeping son, he put his glasses on. Blinking, he walked out of the kitchen and down the hall, toward Andrew's room. He opened the door, absently kissing Andrew's forehead, and went to his crib. Looking down lovingly at his son, forgetting about his collapse, he gave him another soft kiss and gently put him in the crib. Andrew instantly cuddled to his soft, fleece blanket, curling into a feta position, ignorant to his father placing his Tigger blanket on him, giving him another kiss, and leaving the room.

Harry slowly walked to the bedroom, feeling slightly dizzy, and shed his jeans, his jersey coming next. Clad in only his boxers, he climbed into the bed, wondering where his wife was. The answer to his question came out of the bathroom mere seconds later, holding her stomach and head, now wearing a pair of Harry's old boxers.

“Are you okay?” he asked instantly, getting out of bed and standing in front of her, his hands on her shoulders.

She nodded feebly, “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his torso, and murmured, “We're going to the hospital tomorrow. I need to know if it was Syncope, or something else. I can't risk loosing you. I lost my father, and I'm not loosing you.”

He tried to hide his surprise. Hermione was actually showing some sort of emotion, to him of all people. But, he still couldn't get rid of the feeling that she still wasn't fully herself. He shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts for the moment, and concentrated on his wife.

“Okay,” he whispered, his hands wrapping around her shoulders.

She sniffed, trying to keep her tears at bay. Shifting her head slightly, she gave Harry's sternum a soft kiss and detangled herself from him. She crawled into the bed, burying herself under the covers, and closed her eyes. Harry smiled, spooning behind her, his hand lying itself on her abdomen, and closed his eyes.

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The next morning, Harry woke early. He looked at his wristwatch, seeing that it wasn't even six yet. He rolled on his back, taking in his surroundings. Hermione was still sleeping in the same position as last night, her arm wrapped around the pillow, and the other around the blanket.

He slowly got out of bed, knowing that if he did too fast, there was a chance he could collapse again. He hadn't eaten anything yesterday, nor had he drunken anything. He was too caught up with Hermione's behaviour that he didn't even remember to eat.

He got up, feeling more exhausted than he did yesterday. Maybe the events of the trip was finally taking a toll on him, he wasn't too sure. Kneeling in front of one of his suitcases, he scratched the back of his neck and rummaged through it for a pair of clean boxers. Finding none, he went to his other one, searching. Again, he hadn't found any, and looked around the corners of the bedroom, looking for any errant boxers. Finding one with a cartoon on it (Hermione had playfully gotten it as an anniversary present), he picked it up.

He went back to his carryon and picked up a random pair of loose, yet stylish, jeans and a black shirt. Walking to the bedside table, he picked up his wand and cast a simple cleaning charm on his boxers. He brought them close to his face, sniffing them, and deciding they smelt clean, he went into the bathroom.

Stripping his boxers and socks, he took his watch and wedding ring off. Placing his towel on the counter, he turned the water on and stepped in. Letting his body and hair soak for a minute, Harry thought back on the past day.

After he'd told her Jeffery (though he usually preferred to be called Jeff, or, to Harry and Hermione, Dad) died, she'd seemed as though she was on autopilot, while her main focus was Andrew and their unborn child. She'd acted like that all day, only talking to him when he asked direct questions, and even then, often she wouldn't answer. He knew that she'd only been like this for the day, but still, he didn't like it.

He took his shampoo, which smelled like something familiar to Old Spice, his favourite product, and started massaging his head with it, now wondering what they were going to do today. Hermione said they were going to the hospital, to see if Harry really had Syncope, or if it was something more `sinister.' He chuckled, even at twenty-one, married and fathering, he still didn't have everything going great in his life. Sure, he'd married the love of his life, and had the most wonderful son a father could ask, and another one on the way just made it better, but there were still things Harry didn't like.

With the shampoo out of his hair, he then continued to take his body wash, one of many products from Old Spice, and wash his body.

First, there was the ongoing fact that Ron and Ginny were taking all of the spotlight, while he had disappeared. He didn't love it completely, but it was nice, he realized, to have at least some recognition. He knew all of that second bested other things (like Hermione, Andrew, Matt, their unborn child, etc.), but knowing he was at least there would've been nice.

He sighed, washing the last remnants of the liquid soap off his body, and turned the water off. Taking his deep green towel, he wrapped it loosely around his waist, and stepped out. The moderately sized bathroom was humid and foggy, making Harry feel suddenly dirty again. He took his wand again, and cast a simple charm, ridding the humidness. Before he did anything else, he put his wedding ring back on, and then looked into the mirror.

He shrugged, seeing himself. He didn't have his glasses on, and that made his emerald green eyes pop out even more, and his tanned, clear skin had the slightest hint of stubble. He groaned. It's been, what, three days since I've last shaved, and I barely have stubble, he miserably thought. Most guys have stubble by the end of the day, and I barely have anything. He shook his head, At least I don't have a hairy back, chest, or arse, he chuckled.

Slipping his boxers on, he heard one knock before the door opened, showing his wife of nearly four years come in, sleepily rubbing her eyes. She smiled, seeing him in only his boxers, and muttered, “Missed the show, I see,” before leaning on the counter.

Harry chuckled, putting his clear-gelled deodorant on, the same Old Spice brand. He closed the lid and walked in front of Hermione, his hands on either side of her, his lips nuzzling her neck. “How are you?” he asked, concerned, his hands now travelling up her arms.

“Fine,” she murmured, her hands absently wrapping them around his neck and entangling themselves in his wet strands of hair. She smiled, seeing the longer part of his hair plastered to his skull.

“Are you sure?” he prodded, massaging her shoulders. “You were… odd, yesterday,” he continued, looking into her brown, almost hazel, eyes.

“I'm sure,” she answered truthfully, one land falling to her stomach, where it rested comfortably. Last night, after Harry had awoken, he was too shaken to change from her sports bra, so she'd simply taken off her pants and took a pair of Harry's older boxers to sleep in for the night.

He nodded, giving her neck a soft kiss. Moving back, he murmured, “I'll just finish getting ready, then.”

She nodded. “Okay. I was just…” She shrugged. “I don't know anymore.” Giving a soft sigh, she turned and left.

He hung his head, giving a soft sigh. Knowing that putting product in his hair everyday wasn't good, he ran his fingers through his hair until it was styled into the faux-hawk. It was naturally messy, and especially since his hair was wet, it styled easily. He quickly threw his jeans on, smiling when he realized these were another pair Andrew would have fun pulling down, exposing more of his boxers than it already did. But then he grinned, It's better than nothing, though. Hastily throwing on his shirt, he put some body spray onto himself and, putting his wristwatch on, left the bathroom.

Hermione was lining up his and her underclothes, neatly folding them and placing them into their respective bags as they were cleaned. Harry smiled, remembering to cast a cleansing charm on his boxers, and threw it into his bag. After a minute or so, Hermione announced she was finished, grabbed a pair of khaki pants and a loose shirt, her undergarments, and went into the bathroom to take a shower.

Harry checked the time. Only thirty minutes to seven, and they still had the whole day ahead of him. He walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, deciding that it was best to get something into his system before blacking out again. Opening the fridge, he saw there wasn't much food left. The food he was cooking yesterday was still on the stove, though he knew it was now unhealthy to eat it. He took hold of the pan and threw the contents of it into the sink, frowning. A perfectly good recipe—gone to waste!

He took out one of their few bowls, adding one of the small boxes of cereal they had, and added milk to it. Grabbing a large spoon, he started eating. After just a few minutes, he finished it, putting the empty bowl into the sink and cleaning it, along with the pan from yesterday.

Walking to his son's room, he saw that Hermione was already there, one hand resting on his cheek, the other on her abdomen. “Don't worry, baby,” she whispered to the sleeping toddler, “Papa is all right now. Mummy, on the other hand… she doesn't know what's going on with her… Before Papa `fell,' Mummy was… I wasn't myself,” she continued, rubbing her stomach and staring at Andrew's peaceful, sleeping face.

Harry walked further into the room, his right arm slinging around Hermione's shoulder, the other resting on her stomach. “You weren't yourself,” he whispered. “And I was scared. I was scared out of my wits.” He turned his head so he could look into his wife's eyes. “I know you were stressed out with everything… but I was still so scared.”

She nodded. “I was just so stressed. With… with the Weasleys, Wizarding World, you, the baby, Andrew, and just everything; I was stressed. Then with my father…” Her lip trembled, tears threatening to fall.

He hugged her loosely, holding her head, letting it fall naturally to his shoulder. “We'll figure everything out soon, love,” he whispered to her, burying his nose in her hair. “One step at a time. We will,” he reassured. “We've been doing it for years, haven't we? You and me. The Platinum Duo,” he whispered in her ear, making her giggle (something she rarely did, only in private or when she was `playing' with Harry) madly.

“That is so…” She giggled, finding it hard to finish her sentence.

“Gay?” he added.

She nodded into his neck. “Yes. That.” She inhaled deeply, loving his musky scent. She loved it. It was like his own signature scent, since he always wore the Old Spice brand. She thought it was seductive and oh so masculine. I feel like I'm a stalker sniffing someone, she thought, smiling, burying her face further into Harry's neck.

After a few minutes, Harry remembered one person: Remus Lupin. He didn't know why he was suddenly remembering the deceased werewolf, but now, he was suddenly wondering about his son. Teddy Lupin should've been about four now, if he remembered correctly. He felt Hermione shift closer to him, and he could feel her stomach, slightly bumpy against his hips.

He wracked his brain for a reasonable solution. He suddenly wanted to visit the only Lupin member, but he hadn't the faintest idea where he lived. What if he moved, with Tonk's parents? What if he hadn't? Did he even remember where they lived? He could barely remember their living room, let alone address. Perhaps Teddy's grandmother could give them answers. Answers to what happened in the English Wizarding World during their absence; answers to the Weasleys; and answers on why they weren't mentioned anywhere.

“Teddy Lupin,” whispered Harry.

Hermione looked up, raising her eyebrows. “Teddy?” Her eyes widened in comprehension. “Teddy! Oh my, Teddy… He… They could give us answers!” she whispered, grinning.

He nodded happily, dropping a kiss to her lips. His face suddenly fell, and replaced one of slight confusion. “But, how will we find out where they live?” he wondered, his voice soft, thinking his son was still sleeping.

She shrugged, her hands now falling to his hips. “We… we could go to the Ministry,” she lamely suggested, feebly shrugging.

“But what about—?”

“Death Eaters?” finished Hermione. He nodded. “I… Well, we're fully capable. You've taken on the Dark Lord, and, well… I'm me,” she cheekily said. “But really, we are capable of handling ourselves. And besides, it's been nearly four years, and the Wizarding World seems very happy.”

“True,” he murmured.

“So then it's settled,” affirmed Hermione. “We'll go to the hospital first, and then we'll go to the Ministry and talk to Teddy Lupin.”

Harry nodded, leaning in to give his wife a kiss that made up for the lack of kisses they shared this morning and the day before. Their tongues duelled, each fighting for dominance. As their intense, open-mouthed kiss raged on, Andrew stood, bouncing quietly, seemingly waiting for the right moment to arrive.

Several minutes and many groans and moans later, Andrew giggled madly, causing his parents to break their kiss and stare at their child. Andrew, clad, apparently, in only his soft fleece shirt, was bouncing up and down, giggling. His pants were nowhere to be seen, and his diaper was near the corner of the crib. There was a rather large stain in the middle of the crib, right behind where Andrew was still bouncing.

“I swear I saw pants on him five minutes ago,” muttered Hermione, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Uh oh?” wondered Andrew, his hands up in question, giggling madly after. “Uh oh, Mumma!” he exclaimed, resuming his bouncing.

Harry, whose eyes had just travelled to the mess behind his son, started laughing madly.

--------------

“It was not funny,” muttered Hermione, putting Andrew into the stroller.

Harry, still chuckling, managed to form an answer. “Yes it is, Hermione. Our son, who isn't even one year old, just managed to do magic and shit his pants all in the same minute!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “If you're going to laugh, at least use appropriate language,” she reprimanded, taking her purse and opening the door.

He followed behind his wife, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. “Hermione,” he whined, “I'm a twenty-one year old man. I have the right to cuss!”

“When you're around Andrew, you're not,” she answered haughtily.

Grinning, Harry placed his hands on Andrew's stroller from behind. “What about when we're alone?” he asked, whispering in her ear, making her shiver.

“That,” she said, trying to get to the elevator without slamming Harry against the wall and shagging him senseless, “is not the point.”

Harry shrugged, walking past her. “Okay. Just making sure.” He winked, letting her and Andrew into the elevator. “Because, even if you said no, I'm going to swear… especially, when we're alone.”

Blushing, Hermione could only pity the elderly woman that had been with them in the elevator during Harry's statement. He can be so daft sometimes, she thought. But I love that about him.

Fifteen minutes later, the two were back in the hospital. They walked to the front desk, seeing the same woman they did the day before. She lazily looked up at them, her eyebrows rising dramatically as she saw the family. “You again?” asked she in mild surprise.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded absently. “Listen, can we talk to a doctor?” he asked, wondering if he was doing it right. They'd never have to go to a doctor. Usually, the doctors came to him. (Even in Stanford, he'd gotten quite a few injuries, two even fatal, and he'd be cured within a few days. “Almost like magic,” a doctor had said once.)

“Why don't you talk to Dr. Evans?” suggested the woman, not waiting for an answer. She started typing quickly, a little faster than the Potters could, and then picked up her phone. “Yes…” she said, ignoring the three person family. “Right now…?” She nodded. “Yes… No… Room 1034, yes. Thank you.” Hanging up the phone, she turned to address the family. “Room 1034. Dr. Evans isn't seeing anyone right now. You're lucky; he's always got patients,” she said.

Hermione nodded. “Thanks,” she said softly, pushing Andrew's stroller down the halls. Harry followed.

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“See, Hermione? I told you it was only Syncope,” said Harry, now pushing the stroller towards the car.

“Only Syncope, Harry?” she retorted, taking Andrew out of his stroller and putting him in his car seat. “Harry, you could collapse at any given time. And the stress is only a mild factor!” she exclaimed, watching as Harry folded the stroller and put it in the trunk.

“Do you want to drive?” asked Harry, changing the subject, handing her the keys.

She shook her head. “No. I haven't gotten my international licence,” she declined.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, getting into the car and putting it into ignition.

“And now…”

“To the Leaky Cauldron!” announced Harry, driving out of the hospital lot. “Only about… fifteen minutes, I'm assuming, until we reach.”

Hermione nodded, staring out the window. “Okay.”

As predicted, fifteen minutes later, they found themselves in front of the Leaky Cauldron, or, at least, a place Muggles thought was a closed pub.

Harry drove to a near by alley, ignoring the curious looks he was receiving from the Muggles. Getting out, he opened the trunk and took out Andrew's stroller, opening it so Hermione could put him in there. She came out seconds later, Andrew lying his head comfortably on her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her neck. She smiled, taking her purse and baby bag from the car and closing the door.

“I'll hold him for a bit,” she told him.

He nodded. “All right.” He turned around, making sure no Muggle was looking, and shrunk their car, dropping it into Hermione's purse after. “I'll look retarded with a toy in my back pocket,” was all he said when she'd raised her eyebrows in question.

The family walked inside, preparing themselves for the recognition. He had to admit, though, he was more than nervous. Terrified, really. Taking a deep breath, he held the door open for his wife and son. “Perhaps I should've worn my hoodie,” he muttered, wondering if he had his extra in the car. Too late now, he thought, car's already in Mione's purse.

“Let's get in quietly, and leave quietly,” Hermione muttered, taking his hand and trying to swiftly manoeuvre their way to the back room.

Harry nodded, and it seemed as though they were walking unnoticed. But suddenly, someone exclaimed, “Look! It's Harry Potter and Hermione Granger! And look, is that a baby in her arms?”

Harry and Hermione groaned in unison, stopping as they were suddenly surrounded by people.

Author's Notes: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I wrote this all in one day (yesterday) and I just had to leave it there.

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Author's Notes: Wow, I'm sorry for the delay, once more. Bio, Latin, dance, and so many other things have just made me so freaking exhausted. And then I have the worst insomnia during nights, and I can't type when I'm so tired—just can't concentrate.

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August 23^rd, 2001 …

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Harry, reacting quickly, swiftly took Andrew into his arms and buried his son's face into the crook of his neck. Andrew hadn't done anything but comply to his father's silent wish, and silently listened to all of the strange noise being sound around him. The young boy wrapped his arms around his father's neck, yawning when the arms wrapped around him tightened slightly.

Hermione, startled tremendously, only stood there, her eyes wide. There were so many questions and accusations being thrown at her and her husband, that she couldn't even open her mouth. One hand automatically went to her stomach, the other holding onto Harry's sleeve. We have to get out of here, she thought, looking around frantically.

“Harry Potter, is that really you?” asked someone from the crowd.

Harry gulped, looking around. He wasn't going to answer.

“Oh Merlin!” exclaimed a woman who was in the crowd closest to the group. “Granger is pregnant!”

Hermione squeaked, her nails digging into Harry's hard biceps. “Harry, we must get out,” she whispered anxiously.

He nodded. “Guys, just—just let me and my wi—Hermione get through!” he shouted, trying to make his way through without harming him or his son. They were slowly moving out of the way, probably because he had a small child in his arms, he suspected.

“Why return after so many years?” someone asked, following them to the back room.

Harry groaned and turned around, seeing many other people following them as well. He took Hermione's hand, making sure Andrew was still safe, and watched Hermione hurriedly take her wand out.

“Don't you think you've done enough damage?”

“What will the two youngest Weasleys say?”

“Have you kept in contact with anyone, over the years?”

The questions were coming in such rapid succession that Harry could barely comprehend them. The brinks to Diagon Alley began to separate, forming an entranceway for the Potters. They quickly went through, trying to avoid the people that were still following them. After walking for a few minutes, Harry and Hermione finally found an alley. They quickly turned and walked in the shadows, sighing a breath of relief when they saw the growing crowd of on-lookers pass by.

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,” Hermione muttered, rubbing her stomach.

Harry looked at her, watching her rub her stomach. “We can turn around, if you want. If this is causing too much stress, then let's go. I don't want anything to happen to you.” His eyes were sincere, looking into those of his wife's.

She smiled reassuringly, taking his hand. “Don't worry, I'm fine,” she comforted, giving his neck a soft kiss.

“Do you still want to go to the Ministry?” he asked.

“Yes.” She sighed. “Too bad we can't apparate,” she muttered, looking from the alley, searching for anyone that would recognize them.

“Love, you're pregnant,” he reminded her, though he knew no need to do so. Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. “What if we transfigure something into a pair of robes?” he suggested, wondering how he'd overlooked the thought prior.

Hermione looked thoughtful. “That'd work, I guess,” she acquiesced. “I've never actually considered the idea.” She shrugged, taking her wand out and picking up two random pebbles. Muttering a spell, the pebbles turned into two black, standard size robes. Putting on her robe, she handed him his and said, “Put your hood up, and hold Andrew close. I don't want to put him in his stroller, since Muggles use them. I can't hold him for long periods of time, since I'm pregnant, and you have the strength to hold an eleven-month-old for however long it takes.”

He nodded, giving their son to his mother for a moment so he could put on his robe, and took him back once he finished. Andrew had fallen asleep a short while before they entered Diagon Alley, and stirred slightly when he was transferred from one parent to the next, but went back to his slumbering state after he felt the hardness of his father's chest.

Harry covered Andrew with the front of the robe, rubbing the small of his back and kissing the top of his son's head, shifting him slightly so he was higher up his chest, and took his small hands and wrapped them around his neck so he wouldn't be uncomfortable. “Ready?” he asked his wife, who was currently putting the hood of the robe up, so it shadowed most of her face.

She nodded, but then commanded, “Put your hood up.” Seeing as his hand was occupied, and the other was holding his back, making sure Andrew didn't move, she walked over to him and put her arms behind Harry, taking hold of the hood and flipping it over his head. He smiled, though he could barely see her face.

“Now,” she said, looking from the alley, making sure no one was paying attention to them, “let's go. Remember, try to keep your face down, so no one will recognize you.” As an afterthought, she added, “Though, I suppose, it'd be rather suspicious for two adults to saunter around the Magical Community with their hoods up.”

He shrugged. “Oh well.” He walked out of the alley, shifting his eyes to see if anyone was paying them attention. They weren't, and so he turned around, silently signalling to his wife that the coast was clear. Soon, the two were making their way to the Ministry.

On their way there, they heard many loud whispers. A few were about the Weasleys, and their new respective beaux. Others were about the supposed sighting of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and the mysterious child in her arms.

“Merlin, you don't suppose Hermione Granger had Harry Potter's child?” wondered a random person that the Potters passed by.

Harry took in a small intake of breath, silently cursing the idiots that spread the word of seeing the two. He shook his head, manoeuvring his way to the Ministry. Hermione was by his side, holding the side of his robe, trying her best to keep her temper down.

Gossip spreads quicker here than it does Hogwarts, Hermione thought, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

“Merlin's beard,” gasped a person, next to the Potters. Thank fully the person hadn't noticed the two mysterious hooded figures. The person turned to the Potters, and raised his eyebrows. “Did you hear about Harry Potter and Hermione Granger?” he asked, addressing Harry, who covered his son a bit more with his robe. Andrew simply snuggled more into the crook of his neck, unconsciously wrapping his short legs around his father's waist.

“No,” muttered Harry, hoping the man would leave soon. If he kept this up, word would go around.

The man gasped, and went into full explanation, uncaring that he was talking to two complete strangers. “You haven't heard?” He shook his head. “That's a pity, really.” He put his hands into his robe pockets, following the Potters towards the Ministry building. “Well, apparently, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had been sighted about half an hour ago. I honestly don't see the reason why they had to return; they did a great deal of damage after he defeated You-Know-Who. You think after a man would kill a Dark Lord, that he'd try to live a normal life. But no—” He was interrupted by Hermione.

“Oh look,” she cut in, “but we've reached our destination. Nice talking to you,” she said sarcastically, and was pleasantly surprised when she found the man's expression hadn't changed. “But it seems as though we have to go.”

He nodded, smiling. “It was nice talking. But, I must say, having a hood up is doing nothing for your figure,” he commented, giving them a wave and walking off, but not before saying, “Ciao!”

Harry had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing. Who was this man, and why did he have no embarrassment while talking to two strangers? Oh whatever, he thought, giving the top of Andrew's head a kiss. We're here anyway. Let's just get this over with.

“C'mon,” murmured Hermione, leading the way.

Harry nodded and followed his wife.

After entering through the Ministry doors, Harry giving a soft smile when he saw the fountain he gave ten galleons to back in Fifth-Year, the small family found themselves in a crowd. People were buzzing around in many directions, no one giving them much attention. They moved around people, trying their best not to wake up their slumbering son, or give their temporary hidden identity away. They stepped into the lift, and waited for the other magical workers to step in.

Within a few minutes time, Harry and Hermione were in front of a secretary. She smiled kindly, though her eyebrows furrowed when she saw they had their hoods up. Standing up, she took her wand out. “Put down your hoods, or I'll call the Aurors,” she warned. Though in the past four years there hadn't been any serious Death Eater activity, she wasn't about to take any risks with these two strangers. One even seemed to be holding something.

“Not here,” Harry told her. “I don't want—”

“It doesn't matter what you want,” she cut in, her wand at ready. “I say remove your hoods now, or—”

“—Fine!” Hermione snapped, her emotions flaring. Removing her hood, she lifted her arm and quickly pulled Harry's down. She looked at the secretary, her anger still flaring. “Happy?” she asked sarcastically. “We're not Death Eaters or any of that rubbish. We're just here to get an address, and leave.”

Her eyes widened. “Harry Potter,” she murmured. “Hermione Granger…” Her eyes then travelled to the thing Harry was holding. “What's that?” she asking, pointing to Harry's torso.

Sighing, Harry moved his robe so it exposed his son. Andrew shivered, and Harry immediately started rubbing his son's back, hoping to provide warmth to the young child. “It's our son,” he answered softly, knowing it wasn't wise to lose his temper and wake his son up. Harry stepped in front of the woman, who seemed a few years older than his twenty-one year old age.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked, her tone hostile. “Aren't you two supposed to be trotting along somewhere, defeating someone else and claiming you did all the work?”

“What?” Harry wondered, clueless as to what was happening. What the hell is she talking about?

She rolled her eyes. “If this wasn't my job, I'd ask you to leave.” She impatiently sat down, looking at the two expectantly. “Well? What do you want?”

Hermione snapped. Sometimes the emotional roller coasters were a benefit of pregnancy. “We need an address. Give it to us, and we'll be on our way out.” She glared at the older woman, as if daring her to say something out of line.

“Who?” she asked, her gaze the duplicate of Hermione's.

“Teddy Lupin.”

She nodded briskly, and started looking through the multiple choices of names, until she finally found it. She waved her hand over the piece of parchment, which magically duplicated itself. Handing it to the only woman Potter, she said sarcastically, “Have a good day.”

She smiled, still glaring, and hissed at the woman. “Oh, I intend to.” She turned around, her robe flaring behind her, much like Snape's had back in their Hogwarts years, and said, “Harry, let's go.”

“Now I see who wears the pants,” muttered the secretary, loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry growled, following his wife. They had forgotten to put their hoods up again, and so the second people started crowding the lifts, the two were instantly recognized. A few people were silent, others staring at Harry's scar, wondering if it was really the famous, yet devious Harry Potter and Hermione Granger from their four year absence.

“Oh my,” whispered a man, near Harry.

“Yes, I'm Harry Potter,” he finally snapped, turning his attention to the man. “Though, I'm surprised you even remember my name, since I've seemingly disappeared.”

“So dramatic,” whispered a woman, next to the man.

Harry rolled his eyes, and he and his wife got off the busy lift, pushing their way out of the large building. They tried to ignore everyone around them, since slowly, the people stopped what they were doing, staring at the Potters, almost as if they were in awe. Before they could get out of Diagon Alley, however, a large group of reporters were surrounding the small family, throwing questions left and right.

“After so many years, why?”

“Is that your son, or have you another woman in your life?”

“How are the Weasleys taking this? Do they even know?”

“Have you taken the new style of clothing to feel unique, so no one will recognize you?”

“Please, stop,” Harry hissed, glaring daggers at each reporter there. “And just let us leave.”

“Miss Granger, who is this child in Mister Potter's arms? Is this your child?”

Hermione growled, lifting her hood up and over her head, and forcefully shoved her way through the reporters and throngs of cameras that were flashing madly. How could I have been so stupid as to think we wouldn't be recognized, she thought, making a beeline towards the exit. Its quite obvious Harry and I—mostly Harry, though—have been recognized, and are mad at us. She groaned, ignoring the looks of shock, anger, worry, and took her wand out and exited Diagon Alley, back into the backside of the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry was hot on her heels, glad that she'd taken care of the sudden publicity incident. He wasn't too sure how angry he could get with Andrew in his arms. Following his wife out of Diagon Alley, he too pulled his hood up, covering Andrew, who was slowly waking. “Please let them ignore us,” he muttered to himself, catching up with his fuming wife.

“Oi!” shouted the man from before. He was the same man that insisted Harry and Hermione, the last time they were here, to have a pint. “Who are `ye?”

Harry ignored him, and as expected, Hermione did too. They quickly made their way through the old pub, leaving with a slam of the door, courtesy of Hermione. Hastily making their way to the alley, Hermione rummaged through her purse for their shrunken car. Finding it, she took it out and placed it on the cold concrete floor, and muttered `Finite.' She got into the now full sized car, leaving the door open so Harry could her their son.

“Are you all right, love?” Harry asked, handing an almost awoken Andrew to Hermione.

She nodded. “Sort of,” she answered, putting Andrew into his car seat. “I'm just… too hormonal right now.” She smiled sheepishly, taking her husband's hand loosely.

Harry nodded, kneeling and giving her hand a soft kiss, her mouth next. They kissed for a few seconds, slow and sweet. Pulling apart, he murmured, “Okay.” Closing the door, he went to the other side of the vehicle and sat, letting out a heavy sigh.

“You okay?” Hermione asked, putting her seatbelt on.

He nodded. “My arms hurt like hell, though.” He smiled, taking out his keys from his back pocket, and putting it into the ignition. Putting the car into reverse, he pulled out of the alley, grinning as he made a few pedestrians angry. “Now, what's the address again?” he asked, shifting to drive.

She handed him the paper. “They live in Kensington,” she said.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Okay. So we'll be there in a while.”

She nodded, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze, and went back into her seat, looking out of the window, wondering if this encounter would be better than theirs with the Weasleys.

--------------

“Interesting place they have here,” commented Harry, parking the car outside of the modest sized home. The home was in a Muggle neighbourhood, and so Harry didn't feel the need to shrink their car, and wear their robes. He took it off, throwing it into the passenger side and pulling his jeans a bit farther down on his hips. While he was driving, they rode up so they were on his waist, and he wasn't comfortable with them at his waist. Usually they were on his hips, since he hadn't worn pants at his waist since he was in second year.

Hermione nodded, putting the baby bag into the small compartment in Andrew's stroller. It looked like the other homes on the street, all with trimmed hedges and beautiful rose bushes. Smiling, she pushed Andrew's stroller, entwining Harry's hand with her own, and went up to the front door.

Taking a deep breath, Harry knocked on the door. He squeezed Hermione's hand, and the two waited.

“One moment!” shouted a woman from inside the house.

A few seconds later, the door opened. An old woman, holding a four-year-old child, looked at the school. “Oh my…” She looked at the three, her eyes widened as she went to each person. Harry, Hermione, and then her eyes finally travelled to the small toddler staring at her, his tiny fist in his mouth. “H-Harry…?”

He nodded. “Misses Tonks?”

“Oh my,” she muttered, letting Teddy down gently, and quickly enveloping Harry, and then Hermione. “Oh its been so long,” she whispered. “Too long. Much too long.” She smiled, and said, “Oh come in, please come in!”

They nodded, and quietly made their way inside the house. Young Teddy Lupin stood still, watching the Potters in curiosity. “Gamma,” he whispered, running towards his grandmother and pulling on her long skirt. “Who are they?” he asked.

She smiled, picking Teddy up. “He's your Godfather, Ted,” she told him, pointing at Harry, who smiled hesitantly at the young child. “Why don't you say hello?”

He got down from her arms and walked slowly towards Harry. “Hi,” he said quietly, his bright yellow eyes, no doubt using his abilities of morphing, looking into Harry's bright emerald green.

He kneeled down to Teddy's height and said, “Hello, Teddy.”

Hermione stood quietly, watching Godfather and Godson exchange a shy conversation. “Do you Teddy would mind if he had a friend to play with?” she asked, addressing the older woman.

“Oh I don't think he'd mind,” Misses Tonks replied.

Hermione took Andrew out of his stroller, and set him down. Andrew giggled madly, finding his mother's jean holes hilarious. He trotted over to her jean-clad leg, and tried to stuff his fingers into the small, worn holes of Hermione's jeans. “Mumma!” he giggled, earning the attention of Teddy Lupin.

“Lookie!” he muttered, seeing the smaller child play with his mother's pants.

“Do you want to play with him?” Harry quietly asked Teddy.

“Can I?” he asked.

He nodded.

“Yes!!” he grinned, jumping up and down. “I show toys `n games `n movies `n lots `n lots a fun!!”

Harry grinned, gently prying his giggling son's hands away and picked him up. “Andrew, this is Teddy, your… cousin,” he said, looking at Teddy, giving him a smile.

“Eby!” exclaimed Andrew, unable to say Teddy's name. He started babbling some more nonsense, trying his best to pronounce his name.

Harry chuckled, knowing his son couldn't say much more than `Papa,' `Mumma,' and `pay.'

“Kin we go?” Teddy asked, taking Andrew's hand.

He nodded, letting his son stand. “Go ahead. But, do me a favour and stay where we can see you, okay?” he requested the young child.

Slowly, he nodded. “Kay.” He pulled on Andrew's hand and the two went into the dining room, which was adjacent to the living room, and started playing with the various toys.

Standing up, he saw that Hermione and Misses Tonks were already immersed in a conversation. His wife sat on the couch, one hand on her stomach, the other resting on the armrest. Misses Tonks was sitting on the armchair across from her, hands folded neatly on her lap.

“I don't believe it,” murmured Hermione, shaking her head. “It's horrid,” she muttered. “Ginny didn't even know what horcruxes were!”

She nodded. “I'm sorry, dear, but it's true.” Her attention finally went to Harry, who sat down next to his wife. “Oh, I forgot my manners. Would you like tea?”

Hermione smiled politely. “Thank you, I'll have a bit. Harry doesn't drink much tea,” she answered for the both of them.

She nodded. “All right. I'll be back in a moment.” She got up, smiling slightly when she saw the two children happily emerged in playing with magical trucks and airplanes.

“What was she talking to you about?” asked Harry.

“You'll see,” she murmured, patting his thigh. “You'll see…”

He nodded, though a bit sceptical.

A few minutes later, she came back with a tray. Setting it down, she poured tea into two china cups. She handed one to Hermione, who took a small sip, and set it on the table. They were in silence for a few minutes, Harry staring at the two children having a fun time, Hermione staring at her steaming tea, and Andromeda looking at the wedded couple.

Harry was the first to break the silence. “So, uhh, Misses Tonks—”

“Oh, Harry, please, call me Andromeda,” she cut in, smiling.

He nodded. “So, where… where is your husband?” he asked.

“Oh he's out shopping for the groceries,” she answered with a wave of her hand.

He nodded. “So… uh… I kind of wanted to know… What-what happened with us?” He shook his head. “I mean, what happened with us? We… we aren't in anything. I mean…” He shrugged. “You know what I mean…” He shook his head slightly, thinking, I never was good with this.

“I've already explained a bit of it with Hermione here,” said she, gesturing towards his wife. “And I'll have to explain it to you, too.”

They nodded.

“And after that,” she said sternly, “I want to know what happened with you two during your `absence.'”

Harry and Hermione nodded, silently promising.

Taking a deep breath, she started. “You see, it all started a few weeks after the two of you left…”

Author's Notes: Okay, I know this chapter isn't even good, but cut me some slack. I'm about to fall asleep here. (I actually did, when I was writing the part of the secretary and Hermione. :P) I couldn't write any more, because if I did, the chapter would end up being around 12 pages long, and not my usual 6-7. So forgive me for yet another cliffhanger.

Ahh… and the dude at Diagon Alley… haha, I love him. He's so awesome. And I don't even know why I made him sound gay. :P But he's awesome, and if you flame my guy, I flame your arse. :P jk

Thanks for putting up with this rant. *grin* Hopefully my update will be quicker, but I can make no promises.

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Author's Notes: SORRY, for the cliffhanger!!!!! And for the delay. AND, when I was writing, I totally forgot that Ted Tonks died (he wasn't going to be in any chapters anyway), and the Ministry isn't in Diagon Alley. I'm sorry I forgot!!!!! My book was upstairs, and I was afraid that if I went I'd fall asleep in my bed. Sorry.

I wonder if all of this is even believable… Ugh. (Haha, I'm sorry, I'm not really in a good mood, so don't think it unusual if I say I'm wanting to burn everything right now and it sucks and all this other stuff—I know its true, but yeah. PMSing… :-P)

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August 23^rd, 2001 …

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“Well, you see,” she started, “It all started a few weeks after you left.”

Harry and Hermione nodded, listening.

“It stared out odd enough. At first, we thought you two wanted to stay out of the press, but then two months passed, and no one had heard of you two.” She sighed, “That's when the two Weasleys—though it was mostly Ginny—started deceiving us.” Muttering, she added, “Though, I truthfully don't see how they believed all of this rubbish—I never did, myself. Ginny and Ronald claimed that you two ran away, the presses getting the better of you.”

“What do you—?” wondered Harry, but Andromeda interrupted.

“I'll explain at a later time,” she answered. “Anyway, they said you `went away' for a while.” She shook her head, chuckling. “That only lasted for a short while. They had to come up with something else. So, they claimed Ginny sat at home for those months you three were gone, and she waited impatiently for her beloved fiancé to return.”

“I never proposed to her!” Harry exclaimed.

She nodded, “We know. Or, at least, I did.” Sighing, she continued. “She was in the presses for a while, and rumours were going around that she was carrying your child—”

“I never had sex with her!” interrupted Harry again, aghast.

“Not even once?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, trust me,” said Hermione, grinning, “he was a virgin till our wedding night. Only an inexperienced man could've been as awkward as Harry.”

“Hermione!”

Chuckling, she shook her head. “No, dear, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Rumours were going around that she was with child, but Ginny never agreed nor denied those declarations. Ron came back two months later, though he only stayed for a short while. He looked hurt, sick, and very angry. He went back, only after a few days, and we didn't see him until after the war was over.

“Then you two left, not long after. Ginny was probably overcome with jealousy and hate, since you left with Hermione and didn't marry her at the first moment you saw her.”

“But I dated her for a week after,” he informed her quietly, his eyes trained on his child and godchild, who were currently blowing large bubbles with their mouths and noses. “And then we broke up.”

She nodded, “I know, and that was probably the reason as to why she did this.” She took a sip of her tea, letting her throat relax for a moment. “Ron was rather angry, too, but never acted too much on this. The two then went on saying—I think this was around a few months after you left—that you did nothing, and that they were the ones who actually did everything.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “I think I still have the article here, wait one moment.”

They nodded and she got up and left.

“You've got to be kidding me,” muttered Harry. “Ginny and Ron, claim they've—Oh. Wow.” He shook his head.

Hermione nodded, “I know,” she whispered. “It's not even possible,” she muttered angrily. “They didn't even do anything.”

“Calm down,” he murmured, laying his hand atop hers. “Once we hear the whole story, we're going to pay two Weasleys a special visit, without Andrew, okay?” She nodded, slowly calming down. “We'll go soon, love, maybe even today.” He kissed her temple and saw Andromeda come back.

She sat the article in her hands. “Here,” she said, handing the piece of paper over, “is the article.”

They nodded and started to silently read.

Potter & Granger: Frauds?

Article by: Rita Skeeter

Well, it seems as though our favourite `hero' has done it again. Harry Potter, 18, who has seemingly disappeared with long time friend Hermione Granger, have fooled the whole Wizarding World. Ginevra Weasley, a beautiful ginger-haired girl, and Ronald Weasley, a handsome young man training to become a Quidditch player, tells us now:

“They never did anything,” admits Mister Weasley. “Hermione usually sat, reading a book, while Harry kept guard out in the tent.” (More on the `tent' on page three) “I was always trying to figure out what was going on with You-Know-Who. Never did they try to solve the puzzle. That's why I left…” his voice is sad.

“And then my brother decided to be heroic,” Miss Weasley starts again, “and save Harry's life. He did so, and could've died in the process. You see, Ron was trying to save Harry, and a… a…” `Horcrux,' Mister Weasley provides his younger sister. “Yes, a… Horcrux. I can't tell you all of the details, but only that he saved it. But anyway, what did Harry do? Nothing. Not even a `thanks, chum.'” She shakes her head. `How sad,' I say.

Mister Weasley nods, his eyes downcast. “Yeah… I think it is sad, really, that the guy in the back round is never credited. The one that actually does the work.” Quickly, he tries to fix himself: “I mean, yeah, Harry killed You-Know-Who, but who showed him how? Who did all of the work? I did. Not Hermione, not Harry. I'm not as daft as people think I am. It's quite the opposite, really.” `But Miss Granger was nicknamed the Brightest Witch of Her Age, was she not?' “Yes, she was, but she's only smart book wise. Otherwise… it was all… me.”

Why have Harry Potter and Hermione Granger decided to steal everything from these two? One, the lonely fiancée and the unnoticed hero, who have done nearly everything to ensure the safety of the Wizarding World, while Potter and Granger take the credit. Is this right? Are these two worth crediting?

“They should be dishonoured,” says Miss Weasley.

`Perhaps they already have been,' I say.

(More on the `tent,' page three)

(Weasley-Potter engagement, with Granger-Weasley relationship, page two)

(More on the defeat of You-Know-Who, page five)

Harry and Hermione looked up. “How do they even believe all of this shit?” whispered Harry. “Ginny doesn't even know what a Horcrux is! God dammit!” he muttered, shaking his head. “This isn't true. It's not.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, scared that if she opened her mouth she'd start screaming. But she refrained from it, knowing that it'd be bad for herself and the baby, also her son and Teddy.

“I know,” said Misses Tonks. “But that's when your status started decreasing, while the Weasleys were reputable. There were many other articles published in various other magazines, papers, and even on the Wireless. After about a year or so, you two weren't even being published in books. The Wizarding World believed them blindly… It was horrible. No proof that Ron actually did all of the work, and Ginny didn't even have an engagement ring.” She laughed, remembering the words Ginny told her when she asked.

“Oh, it's in my room,” she had said. “I don't want to flaunt it about, so I kept it somewhere safe. It was his Mother's ring, you see.”

“I bet it was horrible,” murmured Harry, shaking his head. “It's just… wow. So… so blindly, too! Just as you said.” He sighed. “Is there anything else you haven't told us?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “No… I suppose this is all.” Looking down, she saw that the tea was cold. “I'll be back in a moment. I'll let you two talk, and then you can tell me your story.” She smiled at the wedded couple, picked up the teacups, and went back into the kitchen.

“Oh my,” she murmured, resting her head on her husband's shoulder. “It's… ghastly.”

He laid his hand on her thigh, rubbing the spot. “I know, love. It's horrible to think they'd pull this. They were our friends, especially Ron. But now…” He shook his head, “I don't even know…” He rested his head on hers, sighing.

Andromeda came back, checking on the children first. She smiled as she saw Teddy showing Andrew how to turn around in quick circles, in which the latter fell after two turns, giggly madly. After walking back to the wedded couple, she blushed. “Oh, I'm sorry,” she apologized, seeing Harry's head spring up, his hand moving from her thigh to his knee.

“It's all right,” reassured Hermione, lifting her head.

She coughed slightly, looking at the two young adults. “Err, so what happened while you two were gone? What's the truth?” she asked.

The eldest male Potter began first: “Well, a few weeks after the war finished, Hermione said she was going to Australia to recover her parents' memories. I asked to go along, because I didn't want to handle the press, so we set off a week later. We travelled in Muggle fashion, and found them a few days later. Once we finished restoring their memories and stayed for a short while, Hermione and I applied to a Muggle University named Stanford.” He smiled at the memory when the two were accepted.

Hermione continued this time. “Harry majored in Biology—an advanced Muggle science, while I majored in Engineering, which was sort of—but not exactly—like Transfiguration,” she informed her.

“That's nice,” murmured Andromeda. “You two are probably so intelligent,” she complimented.

She blushed and continued. “We got married in February, and I found out I was pregnant with Andrew exactly a year after that. He was born September second—”

“Oh, his birthday is arriving!” Misses Tonks exclaimed, smiling widely. “Oh, you must visit on that day!”

Harry smiled, and Hermione nodded. “We'll be sure to.” Harry then continued with their story. “We weren't ever thinking of coming back, actually. We were quite content living in California. Friends, sports, school, we had nearly everything there. But then one night we were informed that Hermione's parents' health was deteriorating…”

“And we had to come back,” Hermione finished, her eyes downcast. “My father died… and we're visiting my mother in a day or two, but…” she shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Harry wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder, letting her lean on him. “Her health is really bad, you see,” he told her. “She has pneumonia, which is a lot worse than the common Wizards Flu,” he provided. “And Hermione is so emotional, with all of the stress this is causing her, and with the pregnancy causing her hormones to overreact.”

“There's another one on the way?” she asked quietly, surprised.

Harry nodded, smiling, tightening on his hold on his wife, who seemed to be dozing off to sleep. She must be really tired, he thought. “Yes. She's a few months along,” he told her. “But anyway, we went to the Ministry today and were spotted. Now, the questions are finally starting to make sense.” He emitted a low growl, careful not to disturb his wife, and said, “I just can't believe they did this to us. We were their friends!” He shook his head. “Just… Hermione and I need to do something. We really do. Something that'll… I don't know… I'm just … so confused…”

She nodded, understanding. After a few moments, she said, “I think you should go. Hermione's already asleep, and it seems as though Andrew is getting hungry.” She smiled, looking over at the wall and checked the time. “Oh, you've been here for nearly four hours already! You must be so tired!”

Harry smiled, “We'll be sure to visit soon, Misses—”

“What did I tell you?”

He grinned sheepishly. “We'll visit soon, Andromeda. A little bit before Andrew's birthday and before we leave, too.”

She nodded and went towards the two playing children.

Gently, Harry shook Hermione's shoulder. “Hermione, love, wake up. We're going back to the apartment now,” he whispered softly. She groaned, slowly getting up.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, smiling slightly. “I fell asleep on you.”

“I'd never object,” he smiled.

“Mumma, Papa!!” Andrew squealed, running as fast as his short legs would let him. “Mumma!! Papa!!” In no time, he reached his mother's legs and tried to climb up them, only to have his father pick him up and plop him in-between the two parents.

“C'mon loves, lets get home,” said Harry, picking up Andrew again and putting him in his stroller. “Bye Teddy,” he said, giving the child's forehead a kiss out of fatherly instinct.

“Are you comin' back?” he asked quietly. “Andy's fun…”

Harry grinned, picking up the child. “Of course we'll be back.” Giving him another kiss on the forehead, in which he was mildly surprised he wasn't disgusted and squirming out of his arms, he let Teddy down.

“Bye bye,” he murmured quietly, waving to the small family.

“Bye,” they said, and Andrew said, “Eij!”

--------------

It'd taken the Potters around two hours to get home, since they were in desperate need of food for the apartment and some essentials for Andrew. Harry held some of the grocery bags, while the others were behind Andrew's stroller. Opening the door, Harry walked in and headed straight to the kitchen, unpacking them and putting the food in their rightful places.

Outside, Hermione let Andrew out, and he went straight for his room, getting his blanket and running around the house, babbling nonsense. Hermione chuckled, getting out the bags for Andrew and went into his room, putting them away. A few minutes later she was finished and looked around her son's room. This is something he gets from his father, she thought, looking at the randomly scattered toys. After cleaning his room (by hand), she smiled in satisfaction and went to look for Harry.

He was in the kitchen, cooking a late dinner for the two, since it was nearing nine at night. She smelled the seasoned vegetables and beef, and saw that he was cutting some bread for them. Vaguely, she noticed some fruit in a bowl, most likely for Andrew, she thought.

Andrew came squealing in, stopping in front of Harry. Smiling, he took a piece of strawberry and placed it gently in his mouth. Chewing for a few seconds, Andrew swallowed and then ran out of the kitchen, his blanket dragging behind him.

Finally, he noticed his wife. “Hey Hermione,” he said, cooking the food.

She smiled, walking close to him. She closed her eyes as she leaned on him, but then remembered what Harry had told her hours before. “Harry,” she murmured, “when are we going to see the Weasleys?”

“I thought we were going today,” he answered, “but we couldn't. Perhaps tomorrow,” he said, turning the stove off.

She nodded and started helping. “What about my mother?”

“Whenever you want to, love.” He took two bowls and distributed the food evenly, putting a large piece of bread on top. “Just tell me when, and we can go.”

She nodded, taking out two forks and handing him one. She took the bowl and said, “Okay,” before walking out of the kitchen and sitting on the sofa.

Harry stayed behind and washed the dishes before joining her, his and Andrew's food in hand. It was a quiet affair, each watching their son eating and playing. Before long, they were finished; Harry took the three empty bowls, put them into the kitchen, and yawned widely. Walking into the living room, he saw Hermione pick Andrew up and placed him on the couch, snuggling close to him. He smiled, sitting on the other side of Hermione.

“You tired?” he asked his wife, to which she responded with a nod. “Let's go to sleep, we have a big day ahead of us.”

“Okay,” she nodded again, standing up. “I'll see you in a few minutes,” she said, giving him a soft kiss.

He nodded and picked up Andrew. Walking to his son's room, he put him in his crib, giving him a soft kiss goodnight. “Night, son,” he murmured, threading his fingers softly through his son's hair so he'd sleep. After a few more minutes, Andrew was finally asleep, his arms spread over his head, which was facing his father. He smiled, giving him another featherlike kiss, and went to the baby table where he turned the baby monitor on. Smiling, he left his son's room and went to his own.

--------------

“You told her to call us if anything happens, right?” Hermione asked Harry. He nodded. “And she knows our cell numbers, right?” Again, he nodded. “And you did—”

“Yes, Hermione, I did!” he answered, turning to his wife. “I did everything, okay? Andrew is safe at Andromeda's and nothing is going to happen. The most will he'll faint from giggling too much!”

She frowned. “I was just making sure,” she murmured, turning away.

Sighing, he said, “Hermione, look at me.” She didn't, but the door opened.

“Harry!” George greeted happily. “How are you, mate? What are you doing here, anyway? And where's the little Potter clone?”

“I'm fine,” he answered, giving a small smile. “We're here to talk to your sister and younger brother. And Andrew is with Teddy.”

Nodding, George said, “Well, come in, come in! I'm not like my ickle siblings, I know the truth,” he told them quietly, leading them to the dining area. “I know you didn't propose to Ginny, and that Ron didn't do all of the work.”

The two Potters smiled. “Thank you,” Hermione said softly.

Immediately, after Misses Weasley had spotted them, she screamed and stomped inside the kitchen. Ginny, who was twirling her wand around, snapped her head towards Harry and Hermione. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here? Didn't we tell you to never come back?” she asked vehemently.

“You and your brother have some explaining to do,” Harry answered nastily. “About how Hermione and I did nothing, how I supposedly proposed to you and that Ron was the `hero.'”

Gulping silently, her eyes widened. “Yo-you - Oh… Ron!” she shouted. “Ron, get your arse down here!” she shouted, even louder this time.

Less than a minute later, clad in only pyjama bottoms, Ron muttered, “What, Ginny? I had a game yesterday and I was out late. What do you need?”

“Harry and Hermione are here,” she muttered quietly, but it was enough for Ron to wake up fully.

“Oh no,” he murmured quietly. Descending the rest of the stairs, asked Ginny, “Who let them in?”

“I did, little brother,” George announced happily. “Because I feel its time you explain.” Before Ginny or Ron could retort, he apparated away.

“Explain,” Harry hissed. He had enough waiting.

“Ginny made me do it!” Ron immediately shouted, pointing at the young woman. “She said that it'd just give us money for a short time, but then it went on for years, and when I wanted to stop it, it was already too late!” he shouted in rapid succession.

What? thought Harry.

“You were always a coward,” Ginny retorted, her gaze turned towards her brother. “Just spill everything once you're threatened by someone stronger than you,” she hissed.

“You know we're here, don't you?” Hermione asked. “And our son isn't here, so we could inflict some major pain if we want to.”

“Now explain,” Harry hissed again, temper getting the better of him. Perhaps it was a better idea if Andrew was here. At least then I'd be calmer.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Don't get your knickers in a twist.” Licking her lips, she asked, “What do you want us to explain?”

“Maybe why you did this?” Hermione retorted sarcastically.

Ginny shrugged nonchalantly, playing with her wand. “I loved you, but then you left with her. I was devastated, and then I thought of the opportunity to get some extra money for me, so I took it. I fed Ron some lies, and being the twit he is, he believed it and went along, even though he didn't sound convincing.” She rolled her eyes.

“You did this for money…?” asked Harry. “You turned the English Magical Community against us because you fucking wanted money?!”

“What's fucking?” Ron asked, murmuring to his sister. She shrugged, but knew it was probably something bad.

“And so what if we did?” asked Ginny nastily, raising a thin eyebrow.

“You don't go around doing that!” Hermione snapped, ready to beat her to the pulp. Calm down Hermione, you're pregnant and you can't hurt anyone… Remember the baby…

“Look,” Ginny spat, “we already did, and we're having fun living our life. We've never had this much fun before, and now that we have the chance, we're going to take full advantage of it.” She smirked, “I bet your life is so boring, being married to each other.” She chuckled, “Though, I wouldn't be surprised if Harry hasn't cheated on you.”

“I've never cheated on her! I've never even thought about it!” Harry immediately shot back, pointing a finger at her. “And don't you dare stray from the subject! Our marriage has nothing to do with your accusations!”

Ginny rolled her eyes, unfazed. Ron sat quietly, watching the three. It was harmless, really… I was so mad at the time, he thought, looking back and forth. Hermione kissed me first, loved me first, but went to you anyway. His eyebrows crinkled. But did she really love me first? Did she even love me? Or was I a passing fancy? His eyes widened, realization coming upon him. She never did love me, did she? She… Oh, Merlin… I ruined their reputations because of my jealousy… He sighed, shaking his head. This was too much for him. I didn't even think they'd come back…

“Why did you come back?” he asked quietly, though he caught the attention of the occupants in the room. “Why did you come back?” he asked again. “I mean, you were gone for four years, and then you pop up unexpected. You never even wrote to us.”

“So what do you care?” Ginny asked hatefully. “It doesn't matter. They're here, and they'll be gone in another week or two. The press already printed a picture of you three.”

Harry and Hermione groaned.

Ginny, having heard this, grinned. Quickly standing up, she leaned over the table and took the Daily Prophet and showed them the first page. “See?”

The photo was of them, for sure. Harry was on the right, looking around frantically, the press surrounding them. Hermione looked very angry, while Andrew slept peacefully in his father's arms. Under the picture, was the headline: Potter, Granger, and Child Spotted! Is Our `Hero' Back?

“`Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and an unknown child, though most likely their child, has been spotted yesterday, leaving Diagon Alley. Officials—'” she read, but was cut off by Ron.

“You don't need to read it to them, you know,” he said.

Hermione's eyes widened. “Ron,” she murmured, her hand going out.

He shook his head and stood up. “Look, I have practice in a little bit. I need to go. Bye.” With that, he ascended the stairs and disappeared from view.

Ginny smiled. “Might as well leave, you know. And I don't mean the Burrow. I mean leave England. Go back to where you came from,” she told them, her eyes narrowed. “We don't need you here anymore. There's no Dark Lord here, so you might as well go back—”

“What, is your problem, Ginny?” Harry asked impatiently. “You don't have to act like this! What did we do to you? We were your friends, and then you turn people against us!” he shouted.

“I loved you,” she shouted. “I loved you, for Merlin's sakes!”

“No you didn't!” he shouted. “You were obsessed with the titles I was haunted with! The Boy Who Lived and all that bullshit! If you really loved me, then you wouldn't look at me like I was a hero.” He shook his head. “You know, before I left, remember the closet? Remember where you said, right before you snogged me, that it was something to `remember you by?'” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you truly loved me and thought I loved you, you wouldn't have had to do that! It was pointless and just left me confused and distracted throughout the whole journey!”

“I thought you'd go off and shag Hermione!” she retorted back. “She was the only girl, and I thought that you'd be so confused and needed an outlet so you'd go to Hermione. I thought I was just doing my duty as your girlfriend—”

“We broke up years ago, Ginny!” he shouted. “We broke up in sixth year! You don't go around kissing random ex-boyfriends, Ginny! I only fancied you back then because I was too caught up with ever—”

“Stop,” she hissed, tears spilling from her eyes. “Just. Stop. I've had enough. Just leave,” she hissed.

Hermione, who had sat down sometime during their fight, stood up. “C'mon Harry,” murmured she, holding his black, long-sleeved shirt.

Sighing, he nodded. Turning around, they went towards the front door. They jumped when they saw George. “Sorry, mate,” murmured the older Weasley.

Harry and Hermione smiled. “It's okay,” Hermione said. “Maybe we'll stop by the shop one day,” she told him.

He nodded and opened the door. “Bye,” he murmured.

“Bye,” and they left.

Once they were outside, Harry flipped his cell phone open. Calling Andromeda (he was very thankful she had Muggle things in her home, such as phones), he made sure that Andrew was okay and told her they'd be there shortly, he hung up the phone.

“Andrew is having fun playing with Teddy,” he told his wife, taking her hand.

She smiled. “Andrew has fun staring at walls,” she retorted smiling.

“Who doesn't?” he asked teasingly.

Chuckling softly, glad that the mood changed from before, she squeezed his hand. “Let's go.” He nodded, and they went to get their son.

From his window, Ron saw Harry and Hermione depart. Though, he wondered why they didn't apparate. He sighed, a pained expression on his face. I realize now… And I'm sorry.

Author's Notes: *cough* I know I was suppose to update either yesterday or Friday, but I went to the mandir (temple), and I just couldn't type!

I don't know if this is really believable, but I'm really tired and I'm frozen (I think my fingers are numb) so it's like - sldkjf.

Heyy… my sister's and dad's birthday is on Saturday (and I have some volunteer crap I have to do), so I don't know if I can update next week. And, my birthday is on the 27^th, so I'll try to get the chapter out by then. (My birthday and I give you presents in the form of a chapter. Man, that's insane. Haha)

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Author's Notes: Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday happy birthday, happy birthday to meeeeee!!

Oh, and sorry about the length. I didn't know what else to write. I know it's very… choppy, I guess, but I didn't want to put too much in here. Sorry. :-P

Enjoy!

--------------

August 25^th, 2001 …

--------------

Hermione opened the car door, taking a deep breath. Taking Andrew's buckles off, she held onto her son, waiting patiently for him to let her arms wrap around him and his blanket, and got out of the car. She put him into the passenger seat, giving her the opportunity to grab her brown leather purse and the baby bag, and then smiled in appreciation as Harry opened the stroller for her. Putting him into his cushiony seat and securing him in, she absently caressed her swelling stomach and closed the door.

“Ready?” her husband asked while locking car. He hunkered down, making sure Andrew wouldn't throw his blanket onto the concrete floor.

She nodded, putting the baby bag into the back of the stroller, and adjusted the position of her purse on her shoulder. “Let's just go, Harry,” she said, and the three made their way towards the entrance of the hospital.

There was no need to ask where Hermione's mother's room was, so they simply went straight to the lifts. Soothingly Harry rubbed his wife's lower back, reassuring her that everything was all right. Not long after, the doors opened and they stepped outside, going towards Misses Granger's room.

Once they got there, Hermione found herself heaving in another large, deep breath. You can do this, Hermione, she told herself. Don't start bawling the second you see your Mother. Just because Dad died doesn't mean—

“It'll be okay,” her husband whispered to her. Harry smiled, his hand resting on her leather purse strap. “Don't be too tense,” he advised softly, opening the door.

She nodded. Yes, just listen to Harry. Standing straighter, she strode into the room, Harry following behind her. Celine looked to be sleeping, her breaths even and deep, her face away from them. She looked weaker, somehow, probably because of her husband's death. Suppressing a sob, Hermione made her way next to her bed and sat on the nearby chair.

She said nothing, didn't even look towards her husband and child, but looked at her Mother's peaceful breathing. Her features seemed relaxed, free of the tensions and worries she was going through. Mum, why did this have to happen? This wasn't suppose to happen… You and Dad were supposed to live to a ripe, old age. You weren't supposed to die before you even turned sixty! Andrew isn't even one yet, and our second child isn't even born yet… A tear escaped her eye, and she lowered her head, placing her hand on her stomach.

“Hermione…?” a soft voice called, and Hermione's head snapped up.

“Mum?” She instantly looked around for her hand, finding it and holding on to it.

She smiled, looking at her only child. “How are you, dear?”

Hermione chuckled softly, wiping the tear from her cheek. “Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?” She shook her head softly, and answered her Mother's question. “But I'm… coping,” she answered.

She nodded and turned to the two male Potters. “Harry, son, would you mind if you gave my daughter and I a few minutes alone?” she asked, hoping not to offend him.

He shook his head. “No problem. I'll… Andrew and I will just be outside, somewhere.”

She nodded, “Thank you.”

He nodded, and gave Hermione a kiss, whispering in her ear, “When you're finished, just give me a ring. I've got my cell with me.” She nodded and he stood up, taking hold on the bar of Andrew's stroller. Turning around, the two left with the sound of the door shutting softly.

--------------

“Harry where are you?” Hermione asked, walking down the steps. “I've just passed the second floor,” she went on.

“Andrew and I are in the cafeteria,” he answered, and she heard the faint sound of giggles in the background. “We'll meet you at the front desk in a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, hanging the phone a few moments later and dropping it into her purse. Descending the rest of the stairs, leaving her slightly breathless after having travelled four flights of stairs, she headed towards the front desk. Not long after, her husband and son came, Harry throwing away a drink in the rubbish bin next to the desk, and Andrew staring amazedly at his hands.

“How was it?” Harry asked, lacing their fingers together and leaving the hospital.

“Not bad,” she answered, her voice soft. “We were just… finishing some arrangements and finalizing some things,” she continued.

“Oh,” he commented. “You were there for a while,” he continued.

She nodded. “It was… Mum and I were just talking about when Dad's funeral would be, and where he was going to be buried.” Her eyes lowered, but her grip on his hand tightened considerably. She answered his unasked questions: “It's going to be held three days from now, since Mum has already, somehow, made the arrangements. And he's going to be buried in a cemetery from his old hometown.”

He nodded solemnly, knowing that the topic was still hard for her, though she seemed to be taking it fairly well. Well… Sort of, he thought, unlocking the car. He took Andrew out of his stroller and gave him to Hermione, who instantly strapped him into his seat. Taking the baby out of the back, he put it on the other side of the car seat, folded up the stroller after, and then placed it into the back of the car.

“Where to now?” Harry asked, getting into the car and putting it into ignition.

Buckling herself in, Hermione answered, “Let's get back to the apartment. Andrew needs his nap, and we need to make arrangements for my father.”

“But I thought—?”

“Oh, she did,” Hermione interrupted, knowing what her husband was about to say. “But I might tweak something here or there—add a few people to the funeral, or maybe take away a few. Mum said she'll ask her doctor if she'll be able to attend the funeral—which, I doubt will happen.” I just hope she doesn't die, too. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

He nodded and they headed home.

--------------

As Hermione and her Mother had decided, the funeral was going to be held on the twenty-eighth. It gave Hermione enough time to switch, add, or subtract things for the funeral. It wasn't going to be large, but a rather private gathering. A few immediate family members—his brother and sister and their respective children, and his aunt—and herself, Harry, and Andrew were attending.

Currently, Hermione was looking through her clothes, searching for a black shirt and pant, or a black dress she could wear. “You know,” Harry said, sitting on the bed, patting Andrew to sleep, “you don't have to wear black. It's not a rule. A dark blue colour would do just fine, too.”

She nodded, though it seemed as though she paid him no heed. Sighing, she shut her first two luggage bags, noting that there wasn't anything that would do for the funeral. She noticed she didn't have many black dresses, and all of her black pants were slightly tighter now, since she was going on four months pregnant. I wonder where my maternity clothes are, she internally questioned, her face scrunching up in thought. I'm sure I had some black pants… I had to wear those wretched clothes for months, anyways.

“Andrew's sleeping,” Harry informed her, bringing her out of her internal musings. “I'm going to take him to his room.” She nodded and gave him a soft kiss before letting him carry Andrew to his own room.

She sighed, having just gone through her third and final set of clothes, finding that nothing was suitable. She sat on the bed and started preparing for bed, and failed to notice Harry come in, take a pair of loose fitting black slacks, and a cream coloured shirt. He closed her bag, setting her clothes on top, knowing that it was just her hormones acting up again, so she wasn't able to pick anything. Silently he stripped himself of his jeans and shirt, and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers higher up his and his wife's bodies.

“Two days,” Hermione counted down. Two days… It'll be here before we even realize it, and Dad'll be buried right in front of my eyes.

He nodded softly, resting his head on the slope of her breast, his hand resting softly on her abdomen. He smiled, remembering what Hermione always used to say. “You always do that when I'm pregnant. You did that for months when I was pregnant with Andrew, and now that I'm having this little one, you're starting up again, aren't you?” She was two months pregnant with their second child when she'd said that, when she realized the pattern in his sleeping positions.

“Two days,” he murmured.

She stared at the ceiling, her hand resting on Harry's cheek. “Goodnight,” she whispered, finally letting her eyes shut. She heard a faint murmur, and assumed Harry was just saying `night.' The day's events catching up to her, she went off into a slumber.

--------------

Hermione finished putting on Andrew's diaper, and started pulling up his black jeans. “C'mon love,” she cooed, smiling at her nearly one-year-old son. “Papa is just getting out of the shower, and we'll be able to leave soon.” She smiled, pulling them the rest of the way up, blowing on his stomach and making him giggle.

One day… Tomorrow…

“Mumma!” he exclaimed, sitting up on the changing table. “Mumma, Papa!”

She smiled, picking him up for a minute before gently letting him on the floor. Immediately, he went towards his toys, sitting and playing happily with them. Kissing the top of his head, she left the room. Inside their room, Harry was just throwing his long sleeved shirt on and then his socks.

“Just give me five more minutes,” said Harry, pulling his jeans down until the tips of his boxers showed. “Almost ready,” he muttered, pulling his shirt down so it covered his boxers, and then gave Hermione a short, sweet kiss.

She nodded, leaving the room once more, making sure that everything was still in the baby bag. “D'you want breakfast?” Hermione asked Harry, shouting.

“We can just get take out,” he answered, walking into the living room, Andrew by his side holding his hand. “Though we might want to feed this little one, unless you're really hungry, too,” he said, going into the kitchen.

“I'm not too hungry, so I'll be able to wait,” she told him.

He nodded and started cutting a banana into small pieces. A minute later, he finished and dropped them into a small bowl, walking back out again. Andrew sat on the sofa, his head lying against his mother's chest, his eyes closed. Smiling softly, he looked into Hermione's eyes. Setting the bowl softly in her lap, he gave Andrew's forehead a kiss and got his wallet, cell phone, keys, and wand, stuffing them into his pockets.

“Stroller?” asked Hermione to Harry softly, nudging Andrew and patiently waiting for him to start eating. “Is it still in the car?”

He nodded, “Yeah. Forgot to take it out yesterday,” he answered. “Now, where are we going again?” he questioned a few minutes later, when Andrew was almost finished eating.

“To the funeral home,” she answered, feeding Andrew another piece of banana. “We need to make sure they have my father, and…” she trailed off, her eyes going downcast.

He nodded, “Okay.” Taking the empty bowl, he got up and put it into the sink, making a mental note to wash it later. “Ready to leave?” he asked.

“Almost,” she answered, pulling her flats on. Always comfortable, thought Hermione, and small enough so I can put them in my purse. “Just let me put Andrew's shoes on,” she muttered, putting his little shoes on. A minute later, he was ready to go out into the slightly chilly weather, and the family of three left their apartment.

As Harry was driving towards the address Hermione had given him, he remembered a few people: McGonagall and Andromeda Tonks. He'd already seen and talked to the latter, but the former he hadn't even thought of. I wonder if she's still teaching at Hogwarts. His eyebrows furrowing he wondered if McGonagall had said anything against Ginny and Ron. What if she hadn't? Why wouldn't she? Wouldn't she know that Hermione and I did do everything, and that they didn't? He shook his head, yet trying to keep his eyes on the road. Taking the exit, he wondered where she was right now. Hogwarts? It was a Sunday, so she didn't have to teach classes. Oh whatever, he thought. I'll think about it later…

“I think you just take a right here,” Hermione told him, interrupting his thoughts. “And then… Yeah, there… Now just go straight, and in about a mile—well, a kilometre, here—we'll be there.”

Nodding, he listened to his wife. A minute later, they found themselves in front of a funeral home.

Take a deep breath, Hermione… Calm down, you can do this… She took a deep breath, rubbing her stomach slightly, which was just barely starting to show. “Let's go,” she said, taking Andrew out and placing him on her lap before getting out. Harry already had the stroller out, so she simply put him in and put his buckle on and shut the door.

In no time, they reached the front door and walked in, looking for the man Hermione's Mother had described. He was supposed to be middle aged, with greying hair and brown/black eyes. It took them a few moments, however, to find the man. Once they did, Hermione tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said softly, getting his attention.

He turned around and smiled. “Oh! You must be Hermione Potter!”

She nodded. “Yes. Now, I just wanted to go over some things…”

--------------

It was nearing evening by the time the Potters reached back to their apartment. They'd eaten pizza (and had gotten a fruit salad from a near by grocer, for Andrew) and then headed home, discussing if it was safer for Andrew to eat small (“Very small!” he'd quipped in) pieces of it, or just stick to the fruits until he was able to consume larger food.

When they went inside, Hermione immediately started cleaning the apartment. She'd said that it was because the place was a mess (though, Harry noted, it really wasn't) and she needed to clean it otherwise she'd go mad. But Harry knew the real reason: she was still mourning her father's death, so she resulted to cleaning. But who wouldn't mourn? Hell, I'm still mourning, too!

Shaking his head for reasons unknown to him, he went into the kitchen and put the pizza into the refrigerator, and noted that they needed some milk soon. Looking into the sink, he remembered that he forgot to wash the bowl, and did so, grinning when he saw Andrew help out Hermione.

Is she even allowed to? Harry wondered. But she went to school when she was pregnant, so I don't see the point… He shrugged, drying the bowl and putting it on the counter, knowing Andrew—or someone—would be hungry later on.

“Harry, can you help me?” asked Hermione, trying to reach a small cobweb on the corner of the ceiling.

“Sure!” A moment later he was behind Hermione, holding the duster and getting the offending web out. He wasn't too much taller than Hermione, so he too had to go on his toes to reach it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the duster from him.

Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her from behind. “You're welcome.” He gave her neck a soft kiss, but then opened his mouth and tasted her sweet skin.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Andrew's watching,” she reprimanded, though her actions said otherwise. Letting her head fall to his shoulder, she gave him more access to her neck.

He paid her no heed, rather just kept kissing her neck, now moving the collar of her shirt so he could gain access to that area of skin, too. “You're still allowed to have sex, right?” he asked softly, now trailing kisses up her neck.

“Only for a little while longer,” she murmured, moaning softly.

Knowing that there were other ways to let her forget about her father—even if it was for a moment—he opted for this one, since it'd help him forget, too. Though he wasn't extraordinarily close to his in-laws, they were still his family, and he did love them. Hermione was just closer to them, having had them around for nearly twenty-one years.

“Love you,” he muttered, finally releasing his lips from her neck. There was time for sex later, since Andrew was sucking on his jean leg. He chuckled, “Andrew, you're a silly little imp.” Picking his son up, he gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, though he was grumbling inside. Just a few more seconds… Oh well, Andrew needs my attention, too.

She turned around, wrapping her arms around his waist. “After he goes to sleep,” she whispered, knowing he'd heard her.

He nodded, but one thought kept roaming his mind.

Tomorrow…

--------------

Tomorrow had come too soon. Before they even knew it they were ready to take off to the funeral home. Harry, in his black dress pants and silky black shirt with his black tie, was just putting on his watch, waiting for his wife and child to be ready. A few minutes later, Hermione came in, wearing the clothes he'd chosen for her, Andrew walking beside her, holding onto her leg. His pants were a little long for him, and his green shirt was already bunched up in his fist, which he was sucking.

“Little guy, you're going to need another bath if you keep this up,” Harry muttered playfully, picking his son up.

Hermione smiled softly, saying, “He's already taken two. That's why we took so long.”

Grinning, the family went into the lounge and started getting their things ready. Andrew sat by the shoes, banging them on the floor as if they were imaginary drums, while Harry and Hermione went to get their respective things. Chuckling when he saw Andrew playing with the shoes, Harry picked him up, and taking his small shoes with a cartoon on it (he didn't have any dress shoes), he put them on his son. Once they had their shoes on, they were finally able to leave.

When they reached the funeral home, they were one of the last to arrive. Immediately, Hermione spotted out a few of her cousins, some of which she wasn't too fond to see. Hermione, pushing Andrew's stroller, moved along to sit near the front row, Harry sitting next to her and holding her hand tightly.

“It'll be okay,” he reassured her softly, and that was all that needed to be said.

The speech on Mister Granger wasn't long, but kept it short, explaining the highs and lows of his life, and how he was strong throughout everything.

“—He was a strong man,” Harry heard someone say—he assumed it was his brother, considering the resemblance in their features. “Always helping everyone out, including people he didn't like. When he married my sister-in-law, he knew it was going to be a challenge. He would get sick, sometimes, but that didn't stop him from anything. Even after two miscarriages, he went on, trying to find the `silver lining,' if you will. Finally, after a few more years of trying to conceive a child, Hermione was born, and he was elated. Of course he would, who wouldn't be ecstatic about having their first child?”

He continued, but Harry wasn't paying too much attention. Hermione was next to him, sniffling, while Andrew was dozing off. There was a young woman next to him, sitting rather close to him, though he thought nothing of it. Looking around, he saw that many others were crying, too, mourning their brother-in-law, uncle, cousin, and brother. Without realizing it, he'd wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulder, a few tears trailing down his cheeks, too.

“—But now it has come for his end,” he continued, “for a loved man. He was loved, and loved just as much—if not more. We will miss him, I'm sure, and we need to do as he did—just try to move on, looking for that silver lining.” Quietly, he sat back in his chair, wiping a few tears away.

Wiping away what she hoped was the last tear, she inhaled deeply, rubbing her stomach. The bagpipes were playing softly in the background, a few of the smaller children trying to hum the tune. Standing up, knowing that it was nearly over, she lined up behind the others viewing the casket. Harry followed behind her, Andrew sleeping lightly in his plush stroller.

And for the rest of the time, the two stayed in solemn silence.

Author's Notes: I know, not very good chapter. So choppy. Forgive me: I was in the ER yesterday (long story) for nearly half the day, I have a mild fever, and I'm very nauseous. (And I fell asleep multiple times while writing, not to mention I had to throw up a good one or two times.)

Presents for the Birthday Girl? Like, in the form of reviews, or if there are any artists there, a picture of H/Hr???? *innocent, wide grin* Please? :D

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Author's Notes: Haha, I really need to set myself a deadline. That way, I can actually update on that day.

Now, I'm wondering if I should write a series of events that happened during H/Hr's absence. I think I'm going to do it, mainly because I do feel that you should know what events you missed (Andrew's birth, the two leaving England, their marriage, etc.). Well, as soon as I finish this story—which'll be about, oh, I dunno, 8 chapters?—I'll start that. (Just thought you ought to know.)

Enjoy!

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August 28^th, 2001 …

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“I'll just be back,” said Harry, moving aside so Hermione could take hold of the stroller. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

She nodded, giving his hand a soft squeeze, and watched him look for the restroom. Pushing on the stroller, she looked around for someone she could perhaps converse with or grab a bite to eat. She hadn't eaten since lunch—about a half hour before the funeral began—and she was starting to get hungry. And besides, Andrew would probably want something to eat, too.

Once at the table, she saw a few things her child could eat: a few fruits, vegetables, even some cheeses and rice. After making sure that Andrew was, indeed, awake, she took a small bowl and took a strawberry, a celery stick, a slice of Swiss cheese, and a small spoon of seasoned rice. She was thankful that he had most of his teeth already, because she hadn't bought baby food since they were in America.

Hunkering down to her child's height, she placed it on his dinner tray (something she was glad that came with the stroller) and kissed his cheek softly, standing up. Immediately, Andrew stuffed his hands into the rice and began eating, giggling as he saw his dirty hands. Grabbing her own small plate of food, she took a spoon and started eating, keeping an eye on her son.

“Granger?” asked someone, walking towards Hermione. She didn't pay any heed. “Hermione!” the girl said louder.

Hermione looked up, and saw one of her younger cousins, Eliza. Though she was only seventeen, she acted as though she was twenty-three, mostly by telling everyone that she `was an adult and could do everything they could.' She was always ignoring her, and Hermione wondered why she was suddenly being approached by her. Maybe she wanted money. Smiling softly, she answered, “Yes?”

“You didn't answer when I called you Granger,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Nonchalantly, she shrugged and answered, “I usually don't. I'm Hermione Potter, now.”

Her eyes widened. “That dashing man that you were with was your husband?” she asked. “No way,” she shook her head.

She smiled. “He is rather handsome, isn't he?” she asked almost dreamily.

She inwardly groaned. “So, I reckon this is your son?” she asked, pointing to Andrew, who was having a fun time eating his cheese.

“Yes,” she answered. “Andrew Harry Potter, our son.” She smiled fondly.

She nodded. “Well… I best be going,” she said after a while. “See you, Granger—I mean, Potter.”

“Bye,” she said softly, picking up a few various types of cheeses and putting it in Andrew's bowl. Immediately abandoning his strawberry, he picked up the cheese and started eating.

Not even a minute later did Harry come back, muttering things such as “not enough restrooms,” “funny smelling soap,” and “if Hermione was in there, she'd have a heart attack.” Putting on a smile, he slung his arm over Hermione's shoulder and stole a piece of cheese from her plate. “What'd I miss?” he asked.

She shook her head, leaning against him. “Nothing, love.” She sighed, and forcefully reminded herself that she was not going to cry. “I just miss him, is all.” She tried to muster up a smile, but it didn't come.

Harry nodded, giving her forehead a soft kiss. “I know, and I do too. You've known him since day one, and I know it's hard losing loved ones.” He smiled, giving his attempt at humour: “Trust me, I know how it feels.”

“It's not funny, Harry,” she mumbled, shrugging off his shoulder. “I know you've lost numerous loved ones: your parents, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, but it still hurts,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows and looking on top of Andrew's head.

Harry knew what she meant. Gathering her into his arms, for once glad that she didn't return the hug, he murmured, “Its tough, Hermione. I know it is, and we'll get through it, with each other. We will, don't worry.”

She nodded, her arms limp by her side. Slowly, she returned his hug, giving him a tight squeeze before letting him go. “Let me introduce you to my family,” she said, giving her plate to Harry so he could grab his own helping of food. A few moments later, Andrew, whose face and hands were being cleaned by his mother, and Harry, who, just as his son, was having a nice time eating the various styles of cheeses and seasoned rice, were ready to see the rest of the Granger family.

The atmosphere was relatively quiet, with the exception of the children, who were all running around and playing, oblivious to the death of Mister Granger. Andrew giggled, biting his index finger, “Uh oh!” he squealed, seeing the young girl throw a ball at a small boy and missing him by half a meter.

Hermione, seeing her uncle, walked over towards him and introduced Harry and Andrew. “Uncle Earl?” she wondered, raising a thin eyebrow. “Have you heard a word I've said?” she asked.

The middle-aged man blinked, turning to Hermione. “Oh, Hermione my dear, how are you?” he asked softly. “I'm sorry, I was just… thinking.”

“Understandable,” she murmured, nodding.

He nodded, giving a soft smile. “Now, who was this `Harry' and `Andrew?'” he questioned. “It can't be this dashing young lad and this adorable child,” he smiled.

Hermione and Harry both blushed. “Actually, Harry is my husband,” she explained, and then she pointed to Andrew, who was busy entertaining himself. “And this is our son, Andrew.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Oh? I never received the news, that or of Andrew's birth,” he said, frowning slightly.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, looking downwards. “Harry and I were in the States, and, well—it's hard to explain.”

He nodded, and finally addressed Harry. “Harry, nice to finally meet you,” he said, shaking Harry's hand.

“Same to you,” he returned, smiling and trying to look decent with the plate of food still in his other hand. Quickly putting it on top of Andrew's stroller, he straightened out his black shirt and tie, fixing his glasses after. “I'm Harry Potter—” he tried to introduce himself, but his in-law had already beaten him to it.

“Ahh yes, Harry Potter,” he nodded. “I know about you. Whenever she visited for the holidays, she was always talking about a boy named `Harry Potter,' and this one boy I don't remember very well… Rual? Ronald?” He shook his head, “It doesn't matter. I'm just pleasantly surprised you married him. Good match, you are,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” they murmured in unison, both blushing.

He nodded. “Well, Harry Potter, I suppose it'd only be right if I introduced myself. I'm Earl Granger, younger brother of Hermione's father, here. I'm married to a wonderful woman, and those two children playing with the ball over there are my children.”

Harry nodded, taking the information in. “It's good to meet you, err, Mister Granger.”

“Well, Uncle Earl, we'll be in touch for the next few days,” Hermione spoke up after a few moments. “Andrew needs a change,” she informed him. “We'll see you later?”

“See you then,” he said, shaking Harry's hand again and pulling Hermione in for a hug. “Oh!” he said surprised, pulling back. “Are you expecting?” he questioned.

She nodded, blushing. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I'm going on four months,” she told him.

“How wonderful,” he said, genuinely happy for his niece. “Well, I'll just need your number, and you three can be on your way.” She nodded, looking in her purse for a piece of paper and pencil. Meanwhile, he asked, “How is Celine doing? It's been a few days since I've seen her.”

“Mum's doing… well, after Dad's death, she's… she's coping,” she said softly, handing him the small post it note. “This is my mobile, with the `Hr' next to it, and Harry's is the one with the `H' next to it. Just give us a ring anytime,” she told him, dropping them back into her purse. “Well, we'll be going now. Bye, Uncle.”

“Bye,” he murmured, watching the family walk away without talking to anyone else. She's a good girl, he thought.

--------------

“Andrew's birthday is coming up,” Hermione murmured, lying on the bed, nearly on top of her husband.

“That it is,” he said, running his hand up and down Hermione's bare thigh lightly.

“Are we going to get him anything? This is a big day for our son.” She looked into his eyes, rolling on to her back. “And what about Matt? We need a portkey to bring him in, and I don't know how you're going to be able to get one from the Ministry at this rate.”

Harry shrugged, sitting up and pulling the covers up so it covered their bare bodies. “I can probably just… I don't know, make the portkey so that it travels back to the States. I mean, it doesn't take a lot of work, does it? The Ministry does it all the time, and they only reason they do do it, is so they can keep track of who is going where.” He shrugged again, settling himself in his usual position: his hand falling gently on his wife's abdomen, his head resting on the slope of her bare breast. “No big deal, sweetheart. If you could teach me University level math in just a few days, then it shouldn't be a hassle making a portkey to Palo Alto.”

“Okay, then,” she murmured, slowly falling asleep. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight,” he murmured, giving her breast a soft kiss before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

The next day, while Harry was giving Andrew a bath, Hermione was dressing for the day. While putting on her shirt, Harry and Andrew emerged, father holding his wet son—who was wrapped in a soft green oversized towel—in his arms. “C'mon Andrew, you don't want to see your Mummy without a shirt, do you?” He shook his head, and Andrew imitated his actions, smiling while he shook his head. “No, I didn't think so.” Grinning, Harry left to go to Andrew's room.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione left the bedroom, silently chuckling at her husband and child's antics. While making a simple breakfast for her family, she thought about last night, and what they were going to do in the near future. They were going to see her mother today, that was a positive fact, but she wasn't sure what they were going to do after that. Andrew's birthday was arriving soon, and the time was quickly approaching that she wouldn't be able to board the plane back to America. She certainly didn't want to stay until their second child's birth, but she didn't want to leave so soon, either. Perhaps a few more weeks, but nothing more, she thought.

But then there was the whole ordeal with the press and the Weasleys. She wondered if she should tell the truth, by means of pensive memories, or just leave it all behind and move on with their life in the United States. She was torn on two difficult decisions; on one hand, she yearned for the English Wizarding World to know the truth, but she knew that the Weasleys' reputation would probably plummet, even worse than theirs had. But they deserved it, she thought, putting their breakfast into three bowls, putting less in one.

Then there was the decision that they would just leave it all, again, and move back to the States. It was their original plan, and so far, they were sticking to it. She knew that they were definitely going back, but she just didn't know when. After they tell the press? Before? She sighed. She had no idea what she was thinking.

“Mumma!” shouted someone, crawling his way towards his mother.

He's crawling, she instantly noted while picking up Andrew and giving him a firm kiss to the cheek. Harry came in less than a second later, his hair messy, and glasses askew. “I never knew how fast of a crawler Andrew was,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “God, he hasn't crawled since he learned how to walk, and now he had the sudden urge to start speed crawling?” He chuckled. “He's a Potter, that's for sure. We Potters need a change every now and then.”

“Don't I know it,” she muttered playfully. “I'm glad parenting is keeping your mind off things,” Hermione murmured, pulling Harry in for a kiss.

“It is,” he murmured back, holding her close, keeping in mind that their nearly one-year-old son was watching them with a mix of delight and confusion. “Try playing with him for even a few hours, and your mind'll be clear from everything except this child.”

She smiled, “I know, love. I know. It's just…” sighing softly, she shrugged. “I don't know anything right now, Harry. I just… I don't know anymore. There are just so many emotions running through me right now that I don't know what to feel anymore.”

He nodded, “It happens, trust me. I've had enough mood swings and periods of confusion that I'd put an infant and pregnant woman to shame.”

“Don't tell me you're trying your attempt at humour again,” she mumbled, letting Andrew down and letting him crawl to the living room and wait for his food. “Because it's not working.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, giving her another soft, sweet kiss. “Even `till this day, I'm not good with girls and emotions, even though I happened to be married to a pregnant one.”

“Don't I know it,” she retorted, turning around and picking the three bowls up and walking into the living room. Putting two on the table, she handed Andrew his and immediately he started digging his hands into the brown-sugared oatmeal. Sitting on the armchair, she took her bowl of cereal, and shouted, “Harry, will you get two spoons?”

A few short moments later, Harry emerged from the kitchen, holding two spoons. Sitting down on the floor, he took his bowl and started eating. The family ate in silence (save Andrew, who occasionally giggled when he saw some milk drip from Hermione's spoon) for a while, and after a while Hermione finally broke the silence.

“Today,” she said softly, “we need to go out. First, we need to see my mother, and then we need to go shopping for groceries.”

“All right,” he told her, putting his empty bowl on the table. “We can leave soon,” he continued, plucking the empty bowl from Andrew and picking him up, standing up after. “Just let me clean Andrew, and we'll be on our way.”

Gathering the three empty bowls into her hands once more, she said, “all right,” before heading back into the kitchen.

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“Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry I couldn't make it,” Misses Granger whispered, stroking her daughter's hair. She was holding Hermione's hand, the other stroking her daughter's face as it lay on the hospital bed. They'd been there for a few minutes already, Harry sitting on the edge of his mother-in-law's bed, with Andrew sitting silently on his lap. “I wasn't feeling well, and I just didn't have the energy to leave the bed.”

“It's okay, Mum,” she murmured, lifting her head up. “I knew you wouldn't be able to make it,” she continued. “Everyone was wondering why you two had suddenly gone sick at the same time, but I didn't really know the answer.”

She nodded, squeezing her hand. “I thought I'd already told you, but I guess I haven't. Well, after Andrew's birth, your father and I went back to England. The winter that year was a bad one, and your father and I were working overtime for much of the season, and our immune systems aren't as strong as they used to be. Harry, you, obviously should know about that. And, well, his heart became weaker than it already was, and I had a cold, which then turned into the pneumonia. And… here I am today.”

“Oh,” she responded softly. “Why didn't you take any medicine, Mum? Why hadn't Dad gone to the hospital, maybe gotten a surgery, or - or, or do something. You've been in the hospital for weeks now, and Dad's already gone! Why can't anyone do any fucking thing about this fucking situation?!” she cried, emotions getting the better of her. Tears started streaming down her face, and Harry quickly put Andrew in his stroller and went closer to Hermione. Misses Granger laid there, knowing that she wasn't able to do anything for her daughter, so she saw her son-in-law gather her daughter into her arms and letting her cry on him. She knew, from experience, that her emotions were being overworked.

“Shh, love,” Harry murmured, rubbing her back.

She wrapped her arms around Harry, burying her face in his neck, letting the tears consume her. “It's not fair,” she said, her voice muffled by her sobs and her husband's neck. “If they would've just done something before, then perhaps all of this wouldn't have happened.”

“I know, but we can't do anything right now,” he murmured. “Sweetheart, please, you still have your mother here. Be glad, I certainly am.”

She nodded feebly against his neck. Slowly, her sobs started slowing down and eventually she started hiccupping, still sitting on Harry's lap. She pulled away from him, though she kept her arms wrapped around his neck. She turned slightly to see Andrew looking with a confused yet knowing face, and then looked to her Mother, who had the smallest of smiles.

“I'm sorry, Mum,” she said, wiping her cheeks and most of her makeup away. “I've just kept these feelings bottled up for so long now, that they've finally let go.”

She nodded. “I know exactly how you feel, love. I was just like that when my parents died, too.”

Standing up, she picked up Andrew and set him on the floor. He was quickly picked up by Harry, who then sat on the edge of the bed again, trying his best not to wince at the feeling of the large wet spot on his shirt. Times like this I wish I could do magic, he thought, bouncing Andrew slightly on his knee, watching Hermione and her Mother converse a bit more. I just wish it wouldn't interfere with the electricity around here. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he did use magic, and the electricity went out in the building. People's lives could be at stake, and some could even die within minutes, if they were on a ventilator.

“Papa,” murmured Andrew, twisting and turning his body so he could see the large wet spot on Harry's shirt. “Uh oh,” he giggled, covering his mouth with his hands.

Harry's eyes widened, feeling a part of his thigh get warmer. “Oh hell,” Harry muttered, picking him up and lifting him until he was level with his son. Oh yeah, just what I thought it was. He scrunched up his nose, quickly turning Andrew around and holding him close to his chest with one arm. “Hermione, I'm going to go, uh, change Andrew,” he told her, taking the baby bag.

She nodded, and he left.

--------------

Hermione chuckled, now in a much better mood than before. After Harry and Andrew had left, she said that it was time they had a `girl talk.' When she was younger, they'd never really conversed that had anything to do with boys, sex, or drugs. She'd never received `the talk,' but Misses Granger knew that Hermione would find out on her own. She never talked to her daughter about boys, knowing she wasn't interested in any, and shouldn't be until she was old enough, or at least in college.

Moments before the two male Potters came back, they were comparing who was lazier: Harry, or her father. It was a good thing, Hermione thought, that they were finally able to converse about things so soon after her father's death. She never thought she'd be able to get over it, but now her mother was talking to her as if they were teenagers again, while she was in the hospital? It was too good to be true.

“I am not lazy,” Harry retorted softly, keeping in mind that Andrew had started to get drowsy and soon fell asleep. “I get my own water and everything!”

“That's the exact same thing Jeff would say,” Misses Granger said, smiling. “But then a few minutes later he'd get angry because he wouldn't be able to find his trainers, so he'd wear his sandals with his socks. Quite funny, it was.”

Hermione smiled, and Harry chuckled softly.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, each listening to the youngest Potter's soft breathing. Andrew's seat was reclined, his body slightly shadowed by the cover on top of his seat. His trainers still, as his small hand was resting against his cheek, his eyes closed in contentment.

“So, have you visited your old school yet?” her mother asked later, closing her eyes.

Hermione blinked. She hadn't even thought about it. “N-no, not really,” answered she, a bit shaky. Why hadn't she thought about it before? Perhaps because everything that's been going on, she thought.

“Perhaps we'll go later,” continued Harry, sitting in a chair, leaning back. “Andrew's birthday is coming up, and things would get too hectic.”

She nodded sleepily.

“Harry, Mum's getting tired,” Hermione stated the obvious. “Why don't we go? Mum needs her sleep.”

Nodding, Harry stood up and started to stretch. Keeping his legs straight, he bent down and wrapped his arms around his thighs, touching his nose to his knees for a few seconds before letting go and stretching his arms. These chairs aren't comfortable at all, even if it has been for an hour, he thought, scratching the back of his neck.

“Ready?” Hermione asked, waiting patiently for her husband. He nodded. Smiling, she leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her mother's forehead. “See you later, Mum,” she whispered.

Walking towards his mother-in-law, he smiled, giving her cheek a soft kiss. “Bye.”

“Bye, children,” she murmured, slowly falling into her slumber.

Quietly, the Potter family left.

While they were in the car driving to the grocery store, Hermione thought about what her mother and Harry had said. She hadn't thought about visiting Hogwarts—it hadn't even crossed her mind—at all. Her main purpose for even returning to England was because of her parents, not because she wanted to see anyone else. She would've been quite content to leave without telling them. I sound so cowardly, she thought, resting her head on the back of the seat.

Perhaps McGonagall was the new Headmistress of the school, Hermione mused. Since Snape had died, there wasn't anyone else that really qualified for the job. Even though she disliked Snape with a passion, remembering that he was dead hurt. Even after time, it hurt. But when she remembered Snape, she remembered everyone else, too. All of the casualties of the war: Fred, Mad Eye, Remus, Tonks, and so many more. She bit her lip, looking down. She willed herself not to cry, though she knew she could blame it on her pregnancy.

“Are you okay, love?” Harry asked, having seen her from the mirror. “Do you want me to pull over?”

“I'm all right,” she told him, blinking away the tears. “We'll be there in a few minutes, right?”

“Yep,” he answered, though he knew that she wasn't fully all right. He'd question her at the store, he decided.

Slowly, minutes disappeared and soon Harry pulled up into the lot. Having calmed down, she took a deep breath and started to softly caress her son's cheek. He slowly woke up, though he frowned when he was fully awake. “Mumma,” he murmured, his tips twitching, as if he were about to cry.

“Shh sweetheart,” she whispered, undoing his buckles. “I know you don't like to be awoken, but don't cry, baby.” Taking him from his car seat, she set him on her lap for a minute, before the door opened and Harry's head showed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Ready?”

Handing him his son, she nodded. Quickly grabbing her purse, she got out of the car and shut the door. They joined hands after he buckled him into his plush stroller, and they went inside the store. They went towards the vegetable section first, getting various veggies.

“Hermione, are you sure you're all right?” Harry asked, opting to hold the stroller bar instead. “You looked like you were about to cry.”

“I was,” she answered quietly, knowing she could never lie to Harry. “I was just thinking about everyone from Hogwarts… from the war. It… it still hurts,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and upper body. “It hurts for me, too.”

Pulling away, she muttered, “People are watching.” Grabbing a few carrots, broccoli, and celery, they went towards the food section.

“Are we going to see McGonagall?” Harry asked, taking a little box of strawberries and putting it in the shopping cart.

She nodded, taking a few bananas and putting them in a bag before tying it and putting it in the cart. She knew he was aware that she wasn't talking, and that she clearly wanted to say something, but wouldn't. He knows me too well, she thought, picking up some milk for them. They finished their shopping fairly quickly, most likely because Andrew was busy lying down, staring at the black and red stripes on the underside of the pullover over his seat. As they put the groceries back in the car, there was only one thought roaming Hermione's mind.

We need to see McGonagall.

Author's Notes: Well, that was rather pointless, aye? Well, whatever. I'm moving soon, so I seriously have like no idea when I'll update. I'm still opting for Friday or the next Friday, but I'm not too sure.

Ooh, so how about, Saturday is my birthday on the Indian calendar? Isn't that insane?! But anyway, that doesn't really matter, does it? But it's still awesome.

So, what'd you think?

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Author's Notes: After many chapters, I realized that I (okay, make that a reviewer from chapter 8) had made a major mistake in calculating Harry's assets. He has about $2 billion according to the amount of galleons I gave him, not $300 million. (Keep in mind; I'm sticking to American currency because that's where they live, and not the British pound.) I changed it now, and I hope that you won't mind the mistake on my part, or the major jump in money. If I missed any part of changing the amount, don't hesitate to tell me, kay? (Don't mind me, I'll just go fall down a hole.)

Enjoy!

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August 29^th, 2001 …

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“Are we going before or after Andrew's birthday?” Hermione asked, taking off her shirt and putting on a loose fitting one.

Harry shrugged, sitting on the bed and putting on a pair of socks. His feet did tend to get cold during the night, and he never fancied getting up in the middle of the night, shivering, just because his damned feet were cold. “Doesn't matter,” he answered, watching his wife's every move. “Though, I guess, I see no major problem with visiting McGonagall before Andrew's birthday. We still have what, four more days `till he turns one?”

“Yes,” she murmured, climbing into the bed. “But, we still have a lot of things to do, you see,” she explained, waiting patiently for Harry to snuggle next to her. After he did, she started talking again. “We have to buy Andrew his presents, and then we have to get Matt's portkey, make sure he's all right, and then figure out how exactly we're going to Hogwarts.”

“All in the course of four days,” Harry chuckled, softly caressing his wife's abdomen. It felt somewhat lumpy, he noted, though it was just slightly. Back when she was pregnant with Andrew, he never slept in that position until she was nearly seven months along, and he could already feel his son kick and move around, rather than the funny feeling lumpy thing his hand was on right now. Wow, I must be really tired, referring to my unborn child as a `funny feeling lumpy thing.' He shook his head, yawning softly. “We'll start early tomorrow,” he murmured, making himself warmer under the covers, “bright and early.”

She nodded, softly caressing his left cheek, slowly lulling him to sleep. Andrew was the same way, she thought smiling, and still was. “Around eight or nine, I suppose, you'll go to the Ministry—hopefully in a glamour—to get the portkey to Hogwarts. Make sure it's safe for pregnant women,” she reminded him, and felt him nod against her. She continued, saying, “Then when you come back, Andrew and I will be ready and we can shop for Andrew, go to McGonagall, make the Portkey for you to go to California and get Matt.”

“All in the course of four days…?” he murmured.

“I suppose,” she answered softly, her eyes drooping.

“Ministry… Andrew… McGonagall… Matt. Right.”

She nodded sleepily, still absently rubbing his cheek. “Night,” she murmured.

“Goodnight, love.”

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It wasn't even eight in the morning, and Harry was all ready to leave their temporary home. He was making his breakfast, seeing as Hermione had just gotten up a few minutes ago, and Andrew was due to wake up within the next hour or so. He's like Hermione in that aspect, he thought, pouring a healthy amount of milk into his cereal bowl. Grabbing a spoon, he shuffled over to the nearest armchair and sat, turning on the telly to see the news.

Ten minutes later, he was finished eating—and updated to the current events happening in England and around the world. He cleaned the bowl, putting it away after they were properly cleaned and dried. Putting on one of his various types of name brand athletic shoes, he laced them up and put the other on, stretching for a few short moments before walking into his and Hermione's room.

She was almost fully dressed, save for the fact that her shirt was unbuttoned, something she was currently fixing. From Andrew's baby monitor, he heard that he was still sleeping peacefully, and Harry smiled softly. Grabbing his wand from the bedside table, he sat behind Hermione, who was currently sitting on her comfortable vanity seat, trying to apply a light amount of makeup.

“Morning, love,” he said, wrapping his arms around her middle, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Good morning,” she muttered, focusing on making sure that her blush looked natural enough.

He gave her neck a soft kiss, inhaling the intoxication scent of her soap and shampoo. It was some fancy perfume brand, he knew, from the smell. She changed it every few months, and it was hard to keep track of what she was using, since she never really used the same brand more than a few times. He thought it was oddly arousing. Ridding those thoughts for the moment, he smiled, leaning towards his wife a bit more and giving her neck another few kisses.

“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning her head on his shoulder, abandoning her eyeliner. “If you don't stop, you won't be able to go to the Ministry.”

“Ministry,” he murmured, flicking his tongue out and tasting her skin. “Right. Gimme a second,” he muttered against her skin, lightly nibbling.

“Harry,” she murmured, placing her hands on his thighs and spreading them farther apart so he'd get what she was saying. “You have to go.”

Giving her neck one last, soft peck, he got up and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I have my cell,” he told her. “I should be back in less than an hour or so, I guess.”

She nodded, and he gave her shoulder a soft kiss before leaving the room. Quickly walking towards his son's room, he saw that Andrew was still in a light sleep. Walking a bit farther into the room, he made sure that he was secure and warm enough before giving him a soft kiss on the cheek and leaving the room.

Stuffing his wallet into his jeans, he took his keys and left to go to the Ministry.

--------------

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, looking at his reflection. He had the tips of his hair glamour charmed blue, while the lower half stayed it's natural jet black. More over, only one of his eyes decided to change to the designated metallic silver, rather than both. “Must be the electricity around here,” he muttered to himself, getting out of the car. “I'll just go into an alley and do it, then.” He rolled his eyes, locking his car securely and went to make himself a bit more normal.

A few minutes later, with both his eyes now metallic silver, and his hair a shade of dirty blond, Harry started walking towards the Ministry. Quickly remembering that he'd stand out, once again, he took a random pebble and transfigured it into a robe. Putting it on and fastening it at the middle so his muggle clothing would be obscured, he made sure that there was nothing else he needed to do before walking into a magical building. After deeming himself clear enough (he snorted at the thought), he entered through the building doors.

It was crowded, more so than usual. Although, he and Hermione had only been there once, and it was with their son, so people had, sort of, stayed clear of them. But now that he was alone, people didn't pay much attention, for neither him nor his personal space. Trying his best to get to the front desk, where the same woman from before was sitting, he turned to his side and tried to basically slide through the throngs of the people.

It wasn't even fifteen seconds before he managed to get to the front desk. The woman, upon seeing Harry, smiled brightly. “Good morning, sir,” she greeted happily, eyes dancing around his facial and physical features. He felt oddly naked. “How may I help you?”

Harry figured that he'd give his try at the American accent, knowing that she'd ask more questions if she heard his British accent. “Uh, yeah,” he said, putting his elbows on the table and looking at her in the eyes. “I need a portkey that's a safe for a pregnant woman, and an international travel portkey.”

She started scribbling on her parchment, nodding as he said each word. “Name and ID?” she asked, still looking at the parchment.

Harry thought fast. “Michael Zeh,” he answered. “And as for my ID…” He took out his wallet, looking for his own drivers licence, and quickly put an illusion charm (he faintly wondered how he still remembered theses charms after nearly living as a muggle for the past four years) on a few things of it. Making sure that his picture had the current `improvements' and same with a few minor persona details, he handed it to her.

She looked at it oddly. “What is that?” she asked, holding it between her fingers.

“I'm Muggleborn, and this is what we usually use for ID,” he said, shrugging. “In America, that's what we used,” he half lied. “Just, look at the name and other things on there.”

“Right,” she muttered, only looking at his name and picture, making sure that it really was him. After shrugging—she still had no idea what this thing was—she handed it back to him and wrote her signature on the bottom of the parchment. Standing up, she took her wand out and muttered something, in which the quill floated in mid air, as if ready to write requests on command. “Okay, Mister Zeh, follow me.”

“Okay,” he said, following her to wherever she was going. He'd only been to the Ministry a few times, and currently he had no idea where she was going. They travelled up a few flights of stairs until they got to a semi-private room, where only a few people were roaming around, seemingly waiting for their portkeys.

“Mister Zeh, sit here, and wait for your request to be fulfilled. The portkey that'll be safe for pregnancy, however, will take a few minutes longer, but the international travel will only take a few minutes, after you fill out the forum.” Taking the form from under her few parchments, she handed him it and said, “A quill and table are over there, and when you're finished, just put it in the box over there, and wait until your name is called.”

“Okay, thank you,” Harry said.

She nodded. “Good day, Mister Zeh,” she said, walking away.

Grabbing a quill, he dipped it in the ink and started filling out the required areas. After a minute or two of filling out the area, time, and date of which the portkey was supposed to be activated and where it was going to travel, Harry put it in the bin, watching it disintegrate and supposedly go to the man—or woman—making the portkeys.

He sat on a nearby chair, absently drumming his fingers on the arm of the seat. He took his cell phone out, and then remembered it was nearly useless because of all the magical activity going around. Shoving it back into his front pocket, he resumed his drumming.

It wasn't long before he heard, “Mister Zeh!” Standing up, he walked through the door, where an old, ripped book was resting, next to a large slip of yellowed parchment. The man, who was dressed in a robe too large for him, started explaining. “The book, Mister Zeh, is the pregnancy safe portkey. It is safe for women still nursing, pregnant, and children under the age of two, in case you have a child under that age. It will activate at the time you had given, so I certainly hope you will remember what time you wrote down.” Harry nodded, the time clear in his mind, and glad that it'd be safe for Andrew, too. “As for the parchment, that is the international travelling portkey. This is not safe for pregnant women or children under the age of two, and if you're five minutes late touching the portkey, you will have to come back and pay a fee to reactivate it.”

Harry nodded, taking the information in. “Alright, then,” he said. “How much do I have to pay?”

“Four galleons and 7 knuts, approximately,” the man answered immediately. “Pregnancy safe portkeys are more expensive, sine you have to place extra charms on it, but the rest are standard price,” he explained.

Harry nodded, taking out his wallet. Smiling when he saw the exact amount in there—he still had no idea how that the one card he'd gotten years ago still worked—he took them out and handed it to him. Nodding, he put the money in different bins, galleons and Knuts and sickles were all placed in different ones, and said, “Good day, sir.”

“You too,” said Harry, gathering the two portkeys and leaving the room.

--------------

It hadn't taken him long before he left the Ministry again. Quickly turning to the alley he was at before, he charmed his hair and eyes to their natural colours. Getting in the car, the portkeys going on the seat next to his, he put the car in ignition, and turning the radio on to a popular rock station, he drove away.

Around fifteen to twenty minutes later, Harry pulled into the lot of the building, looking for his parking space. Finding it, he parked and made sure his car wasn't off centre before turning it off. Grabbing the two portkeys, he got out of the car and locked it, intent on getting back to his wife and child.

Once he reached their floor, he got out of the lift and went towards their door. Putting the key in the hole, he turned and opened, smiling when he saw Hermione feeding Andrew a slice of cheese. “Hey Harry,” Hermione greeted, though she made no move to lift her head.

He gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, then one to the top of Andrew's head, and then proceeding to place the portkey book and parchment on the table. Quickly kicking off his shoes, he sat on the floor, picking Andrew up and placing him on his lap, chuckling when Andrew squealed and lift his hands up high. Shaking his head, he gave him another kiss and pat his son's stomach, who was now being fed more easily by Hermione.

“He refused to eat the peas I gave him earlier, so that's why he's all messy,” Hermione told him, handing Andrew another piece of cheese. “So then I decided that it'd be better—and less messy—if I fed him today.”

Harry nodded. “The portkey is set to activate in two hours for now, to go to Hogsmeade,” he told her, pointing to the book, “So, about… 12:30.” She nodded. “The man assured that it was safe for you and for Andrew, and since I had to pay extra for it, I'm sure that the man wasn't lying. And the parchment is the portkey so I can go to Matt, back in Palo Alto.”

“I thought you were going to make the portkey yourself?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. “Changed my mind,” he told her easily.

She rolled her eyes, getting up. She extended her hand to Andrew, to which he held on and started giggling. “Andrew, you messy little boy, it's time to get cleaned.”

Harry grinned, jumping up. “He can't go three hours without having to get cleaned, can he?”

She shook her head. “Never. He is a Potter, after all.” She smirked and mother and child walked away.

“I, at least, last four,” Harry muttered playfully, taking the bowls and going into the kitchen.

--------------

The wait hadn't been that long, but after cleaning Andrew up, Harry eating some more, and Hermione cleaning everything, they were starting to get tired, and it was just barely past noon. Hermione had laid Andrew in his stroller, patting his stomach so he'd sleep. They felt that, though they weren't going to charm their hair and eye colours, they knew that it'd be best if Andrew was sleeping.

Harry had gone into his and Hermione's room and took a pair of his old, torn socks (I knew they'd come in use, he thought) and transfigured them into two standard size robes. He put his on and gave Hermione hers. “Don't want another repetition of Diagon Alley, do we?” he asked before she could ask.

She put it on, carefully wrapping it around her so that it didn't give even the slightest hint that she was expecting. Although she knew that she was barely showing right now, she never thought it was bad to be cautious. She walked over towards the door, where she had her flats (she found they were always a bit more comfortable and a lot easier to put on rather then her athletic shoes) and put them on, straightening out her shirt afterwards. The shirt is starting to get snug, Hermione thought mournfully. I love carrying Harry's child, but I hate gaining the weight.

“Ready?” Harry asked, kneeling by the stroller. He had one hand on Andrew's stomach and his elbow was on the stroller, while the other was holding the portkeyed book. “The portkey should activate soon.” She nodded, walking over and touched the book. Checking the time, she noted that it was quickly nearing half past noon.

They waited in silence for the few minutes. Soon they found themselves in the familiar sensation of being transported, though it felt less intense. In no time, they found themselves in the exact positions they were in, except they were in Hogsmeade. After making sure Andrew was still sleeping, he stood up and quickly put the hood over his head, noticing Hermione already had hers up. Taking hold of the bar of the stroller, he laced his fingers through Hermione's and they started their way towards Hogwarts.

The atmosphere hadn't changed much, though they hadn't expected it to. There were children—ranging from the young ones with their parents, from the elderly managing old shops—roaming around everywhere, happily playing around. There were a few people who stared at the Potters, but it didn't last long, because they adverted their attention to more interesting things.

Harry just whished people were more like that during his school days.

“Are we going the right way?” Hermione asked softly, furrowing her eyebrows. “I think we should've—”

“No,” he interjected gently. “This is the right way, trust me. This was a shortcut I used to take.”

She raised a thin eyebrow, but said nothing. Not long after, they reached the gates to Hogwarts. The gates were open already, perhaps because it was a Hogsmeade weekend, but he wasn't too sure. Ridding those thoughts from his head they made their way towards the large castle. There weren't many people out, probably because they were in class, or at lunch, he reasoned.

Walking around the halls, they were grateful that no teachers were roaming around. However, their luck was cut short when a prefect stood in front of them, glaring suspiciously at them. “Who are you and what games are you playing at?” he asked, his tone holding an edge to it.

“We just want to see the Headmaster,” Harry answered evenly.

“We're just paying a visit to our old Professor,” Hermione then provided.

“Show yourself,” said he, not believing a word they'd said.

“Why?” Harry shot back.

“I'll turn you in if you don't,” he replied.

“You would've done so the moment you saw us if you were taking your duties seriously,” the eldest Potter said, starting to get agitated.

Hermione took her hood down, pulling Harry's down a mere moment later, not even bothering to reprimand him for yelling at a teenager. The prefect's eyes widened dramatically, seeing Harry first.

“See?” Hermione muttered, shaking her head. “We're not Death Eaters or anything. We just want to see McGonagall.” Boys are so stupid, she thought. Lord, and I thought at twenty-one he would've matured slightly.

“Why should I let you two here?” he muttered.

Now Hermione started getting mad. “Listen, kid,” Hermione muttered, “let us see—”

“Hermione, sweetheart,” intervened Harry, wrapping his arms around her shoulders gently. “Don't kill the kid.”

She glared at her husband. “I was not going to `kill' him,” she defended, taking hold of the stroller bar and glaring at the fifteen-year-old prefect. “I was just going to tell him that I was pregnant, and my raging hormones were surfacing.”

“Tell me about it,” he muttered.

“What is this?” ordered a stern voice, and the two eldest Potters looked up. It was McGonagall. “One of my prefects complained of seeing a fake Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.”

“Professor McGonagall, we are Harry and Hermione,” said Hermione.

“Surely it cannot be,” she inaudible gasped, her eyes widening.

Harry nodded. “It is, Professor. Hermione and I have come to pay you a little `visit,' of sorts.” He shrugged, not too affected that she was still staring at them. “We have a few questions we'd like you to answer.” He grinned, “But we're not going to interrogate you.”

She nodded, faintly registering that this were her real students. But why after so many years? And the `questions,' as they say? Are they talking about what happened four years ago? she wondered, knitting her eyebrows together. She shook her head once, and then said, “Follow me, then.”

They wordlessly nodded and followed her.

--------------

Harry groaned. He found this very hard to believe. After four years, word of McGonagall's favour to the Potter's wasn't published anywhere at all. The papers and press had only heard Ginny and Ron's side of their tall tale, not the actual truth. She and Flitwick (who was currently Headmaster, much to the Potters surprise) had tried their best at getting anything that would set the rumours aside. But no such luck.

“So you're trying to tell us, that you couldn't do anything because you weren't being published?” demanded Harry, though his voice was soft.

Hermione groaned, rubbing her temples. This is so out of character for McGonagall. Sighing, she rubbed her stomach, hoping to calm herself down a bit.

“Look, Mister Potter,” sighed McGonagall, “your Professor and I did so much, but even we have our limits. We went to the headquarters of The Daily Prophet, they even promised us an interview, but they never published it. Instead, they printed more of the rubbish the Weasleys had been proclaiming.” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “The Quibbler hadn't published anything since Mister Lovegood's death, so that was obviously out of the question. He and I even considered making a public announcement, but the Ministry had intervened, threatening to cut our school's funding.”

“But I thought Hogwarts supplies itself?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” she answered evenly. “Where do you think we get our books? Our other school supplies? Potter, we aren't able to pay anything, and even the books need updating every once in a while. The Ministry has been giving our school some money for all of that, and if either Fillius or I tried to say anything about you, they said they'd cut our funding.”

“But you still have the tuition money from the students,” Harry retorted. “That's more than enough, isn't it?”

She shook her head. “You've got to keep in mind; there are teachers to pay, brooms to supply, the plants, animals,” she continued. “You've never controlled a school; therefore you don't know what or where or why the money goes.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing. “Okay, fine. Whatever, I guess,” he muttered, leaning back on his seat. “I don't want to get into arguments with you, but I'm just…” He shrugged.

She nodded, understanding. After a few moments of silence, she looked at Hermione. “Miss Granger, or should I say Misses Potter?” she wondered, smiling softly.

“Misses Potter,” Hermione answered, smiling.

She nodded, “Misses Potter, then. If you don't mind me asking, what happened after you left?”

“This is, what, the third time we've explained things?” she muttered to herself, raising one eyebrow.

“Second,” Harry answered, putting the blanket a bit more over Andrew. “The Weasleys didn't really count.”

“Right,” she murmured, sitting straighter in her seat. “Well, after the war ended, I decided to retrieve my parents. Harry suggested he go too, and I agreed. After we were in Australia and my parents remembered everything, they returned to the UK while we decided to go somewhere else. We didn't want to return.” She paused briefly. “Harry and I then applied to the Muggle University, Stanford, in California, USA. We got in shortly after, and started that same exact fall. We were married in February, 1999, and Andrew was born September second of 2000.” She paused, placing her hand atop of Harry's. He understood what she meant.

“Their health started failing quickly after,” he continued, looking in his old professor's eyes, “and they were hospitalized two months ago. Hermione's mother has pneumonia, while…” His eyes fell downcast. “While her father died of heart failure.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,” murmured McGonagall.

They nodded and said nothing.

“Mumma,” cried a small voice. Three heads snapped towards the young boy, and they saw Andrew sitting straight up, tears streaming down his face. “Ooww…” He sniffled.

Quickly, Harry unbuckled Andrew and held him close to his chest, patting his back. “What's wrong, son?” he whispered, alternation from rubbing and patting his back.

“Owww,” he cried softly, wrapping only one arm around his father's neck.

“Harry,” said Hermione, ignoring McGonagall completely and focusing fully on her son, “I think something happened to his arm.”

He nodded and gently held his son's left arm. Andrew winced and started crying louder. “Shh Andrew,” he murmured to his son. “Hermione, pull his sleeve up and see what's wrong. I think he hurt it while he was sleeping, or something.”

She nodded and quickly checked her son. He had a thin scratch near his elbow, and though it wasn't bleeding, she knew it must've hurt a small child of his age. “Oh Andrew,” she murmured, giving his back a soft kiss, frowning when he cried even more.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked McGonagall suddenly. “Perhaps a quick healing spell, or a salve or even a potion?” she suggested.

“A spell would be quickest,” answered Hermione. “If you don't mind, that is.”

She nodded and pointed her wand at Andrew's arm. Muttering softly, she saw the spell leave her wand. The Potters watched as his wound slowly shrunk and then disappeared. Andrew slowly stopped crying, and then stopped fully, taking a few moments to look at his arm. “Papa,” he whispered, two sets of emerald eyes meeting.

Harry smiled, giving his forehead a soft kiss. “You're okay, Andrew,” he whispered. “You're not hurt anymore.”

Smiling softly, Hermione gave Andrew's back and head a soft kiss before turning to McGonagall. “I'm sorry that we were cut short, but you know how things are with children.”

She nodded. “Yes, but be glad that he isn't able to run around and pull pranks, yet,” she smiled. “Well then, I suppose you'll want to leave. I'm sorry that we didn't have a chance to talk. Perhaps we can meet again sometime?”

“Perhaps,” answered Harry, still holding Andrew.

She nodded. “Well then, Mister and Misses Potter, I suppose you could see yourself out, unless you've forgotten the way? I have a seventh year NEWT class to teach, and I don't want to disappoint my students by being late.”

“We don't need a guide,” Harry replied, standing up. “I don't think we'll ever forget, actually.”

“Well, good day then,” she nodded, giving them a brief smile before fixing her crisp, emerald robe and standing up. She left her office first, leaving the door slightly ajar for the Potter family.

“C'mon then,” Hermione murmured, standing up.

“So we basically came here for no reason?” wondered Harry, also standing up, not letting go of Andrew. He was going to hold him right now, he decided. He didn't feel like letting his son go.

“No,” she responded, holding the stroller and exiting the office, knowing Harry was close behind. “We understood a little part of why McGonagall and Flitwick never did anything. It was because they couldn't,” she explained patiently.

Harry nodded and followed her. “The portkey will activate when I tap it three times,” he told her minutes later. Sometime during their walk towards the gates of Hogwarts, Hermione had managed to put their hoods up once more. He hadn't realized it at first, but afterwards he just shrugged it off, knowing Hermione would do something without him even knowing it.

“Ready?” asked Hermione, taking the portkey from his robe pocket and tapping it two times with her wand.

“Ready,” he muttered, making sure Hermione was holding the portkey and the stroller, and he the book and Andrew. She let go of the stroller but touched her foot to it instead, and tapped the portkey for a third time. Before they even knew it, they travelled from Scotland to England.

Author's Notes: I'm going bonkers, and I'm sleepy. Rawr.

How was it? Tell me ze good, ze bad, and ze corny.

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Author's Notes: Wow this chapter is… I don't even know what to say.

Anyway… Enjoy!!!!

--------------

August 31^st, 2001 …

--------------

Andrew giggled happily as Hermione placed a few toys in the shopping cart. He snuggled close to his blanket—the one Harry had gotten him from Diagon Alley—and looked all around himself. Harry chuckled, loving to see his child happy. This morning, he hadn't stopped crying (he guessed he didn't have a nice sleep) and fussed over everything. But when they arrived at the store, he'd quieted down and started smiling again, something that made his parents extremely happy.

He pushed the cart through the various aisles, stopping when Hermione looked at the toys (and read the hazardous warnings). She shook her head and turned, muttering words he couldn't hear. They went through the same procedure a few more times, but now with the occasional giggling when Andrew found something especially endearing.

While passing through the aisle with things for baby care, Harry's cell rung. “Hello?” he answered, knowing already who it was.

“I…” There was a small pause. “I proposed.” The words hadn't come out more than a whisper, but Harry heard him loud and clear. “And guess what she said!”

“No?” he teased, still pushing the cart with one hand while trying to follow Hermione.

“Yeah!”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No!”

Harry blinked. “Wait, what?”

He heard Matt sigh. “She. Said. No.”

Harry's eyes widened. “Why?” he questioned, stilling the cart for a moment. Seeing Hermione's questioning look, he mouthed, `Matt,' and she nodded, turning around once more and looking at the various things. “I mean, I thought you two were strong?”

“We've only been dating for a few months,” he told Harry. “And apparently she thinks that it's too soon. If I'd waited a bit longer, she surely would've said yes. We're `too young,' still `immature,' we're only in college,” he muttered. “Those are only few of the things she said.” There was a sigh heard, and his voice seemed much softer than it usually was. “I mean, you and Hermione got married in your freshman year, why couldn't we in our senior?”

“Look, mate,” placated Harry, “people are different. Hermione and I are mentally older than most of the University students at Stanford. Even some of the ones that are getting their Masters, we're still … I don't know, more matured.” He sighed, stopping the cart since Hermione stopped moving, looked at the soft, curly, messy mop his son had as hair. “We've seen things you wouldn't imagine of, and we've lived through a war. Hell, I even—” He shook his head. “Never mind that, but the point is—”

“We're not getting married,” he repeated, his tone mournful.

He shook his head out of habit. “No, you're not. Listen; just propose when you feel as though she's ready, okay? Perhaps when you've been dating for at least a year, not just a few months,” he advised.

“Okay, thanks, man. I really appreciate the help from a married man.”

He chuckled, which Andrew reacted by giggling. “No problem.”

“I see the junior is happy? How's the Misses?” asked Matt.

“Err… We're fine.” He saw Hermione looking impatiently at him, nearly all the way down the aisle, whereas he was only at the beginning of it. “Listen, I have to go. Hermione's looking a bit frustrated.” He suddenly remembered about Matt's visit for Andrew's birthday. “Oh, I almost forgot. You're going to be here for the night and day, so tomorrow at about eleven in the morning, be ready. I'll be arriving by portkey, so you'll only have a few minutes to make sure you're completely ready before we portkey back to London.”

“Okay. Eleven AM, tomorrow. Got it,” he repeated, affirming. “Well, I'll talk to you later. I don't want to die in the hands of Hermione, the second I arrive.”

He chuckled, pushing the cart, smiling hesitantly at his wife before telling Matt, “You and me both. Bye.” He hung up his phone, put it back in his pocket, and followed Hermione once more.

“Are you finished?” she asked, her tone a bit hostile.

He nodded. “Yes, dear.”

Smiling, she turned and walked ahead, not looking back.

Harry looked at his son. Andrew merely giggled softly, clutching his blanket.

--------------

Before they left the baby shop, they remembered that they were in need of wrapping paper, if they were going to give their son proper presents. They bought some nice coloured wrapping paper, knowing they could use it for something or another at a later time. Andrew had fallen asleep on the way back, but Harry and Hermione were quite awake.

While he drove, Hermione was in deep thought. The thought of revealing the truth seemed nice, but then they'd be in the limelight once more. And then there was the fact that they had to organize it, one way or another. Just because it was only she and Harry, didn't mean there weren't other things to worry about. Their child and unborn child were an issue, too. Andrew was still much too young to understand anything, so he would get frightened by everything. And they had to consider their unborn child, too.

She shook her head. “Harry, have you thought about the Weasleys lately?” she asked hesitantly, wondering how to broach her dilemma.

“I've been sort of preoccupied other things for the past few days,” he answered. “Why?” He sighed softly, stopping because of the traffic. Looks like we'll be here a short while, he concluded, looking around.

“Because I've been wondering about setting things straight,” she told him softly. “We'd probably be in the spotlight again, but at least the truth would be out. If the people choose not to believe it, then that's their choice.” She sighed softly, shaking her head. “Never mind, Harry. It was a horrible idea.”

“No it wasn't,” he said, looking at her for the briefest moments. “I think it's a wonderful idea—just like all of your other ideas—but, there's only one problem.” He saw her raise an eyebrow from the mirror. “The Ministry,” he answered her unasked question. “Love, the ministry hasn't been on best terms with me. They did this with McGonagall and Flitwick because they were trying to defend us, and look where it got them: nowhere. I guess that was just revenge for fifth and seven year,” he explained, shrugging, moving slowly with traffic. “Just imagine what it'd be like with you and I, Harry and Hermione Potter.”

“They still think I'm Hermione Granger,” she mumbled, though there was no point. Her eyes lit up with a new idea. “But Harry, what if we didn't have to make a public announcement? What if we told the papers! Surely everyone would know by the next day!”

Harry thought for a moment, smiling brightly the next. “I knew there was a reason I married you,” he said playfully, earning a playful smack on the shoulder from his wife. “The last time we were there, it was as if they were pulling teeth to get information out of us! Perhaps we could use it to our advantage; tell people about the truth.”

“But what about Andrew?” she asked, giving a sidelong glace to her slumbering son. “We definitely can't have him there,” she explained.

“What about Andromeda Tonks?” he suggested, taking their exit. “She said we should visit once before Andrew's birthday, and since his birthday is just two days away, I thought he could stay and play with Teddy for a few hours while the press has a little `meeting' with us.”

“Today? But Harry, don't you think this is a bit recent? Usually people would cringe if a suggestion such as this was casually thrown in, but you seem as though it's nothing.”

“Hermione, think about it: if they know what happened sooner, the better. I know we have a million plus three things to do, but that doesn't mean we can add something here or there.” He paused for a few moments, making a U-turn and heading into the lot of the complex. “But, I suppose if you want to hold off, then we can wait until his birthday is over.”

She thought about it for a moment. “No… I don't want to hold it off for a long time. Since Mum is starting to feel better, I don't really want to wait too long to go back to America.”

“I sort of want to put her in a nursing home,” murmured Harry, waiting for the door of the large garage to open. “I mean, at least she'd have someone taking care of her at all times.”

“I suppose,” she said. “But let's not get too far from the subject. What are we going to do?”

“I thought we've already established this?” he asked, turning off the car and turning around. “We can go whenever you want; when Matt arrives, today, or even next week. It doesn't matter, love.”

She nodded. “We'll talk about this at home, okay? I don't want Andrew's neck to hurt when he wakes up,” she said, lifting her son's head and softly rubbing his cheek. He stirred a bit, but didn't awake fully.

Harry got out of the car and went to the back seat, right next to his car seat. He started unbuckling him as Hermione slowly woke him up. “C'mon little guy,” whispered Harry, “wake up.”

Andrew groaned, rubbing his eyes. He blinked several times before looking around. Eyes settling on the one's of his mother, he held out his arms. Hermione sighed, wishing she could hold him, but knew she couldn't because she was pregnant. “Harry, please take him.”

He nodded, giving Andrew's forehead a soft kiss before taking him on his lap. He curled against his torso and held on to his shirt, giving a soft sigh of, “Papa.”

“We've been out for so many hours,” said Hermione, closing her eyes for a moment, “he's so tired.”

He nodded, holding Andrew close to him and getting out of the car. “Should we get the things right now, or later?” asked Harry, adjusting Andrew a bit so he was more comfortable.

“Now,” she answered. Opening the back of the car, she silently cursed as she saw the amount of bags they had. There weren't too many, but enough that would require both her and Harry to get them in one shot. Perhaps we could put Andrew in his stroller. She nodded, taking it out from the back.

“Harry, will you put Andrew in here, please? There are too many bags and I can't carry them all.”

“Yeah,” he said, coming over.

--------------

It'd taken about an hour, but eventually Andrew's birthday presents were wrapped and put in the master bedroom. Andrew was still sleeping in his crib, warm in his clothes and clutching his stuffed toy. Hermione went to the kitchen to make some lunch, and Harry announced that he was going to pay Andromeda Tonks a short visit, just to see if they could drop Andrew off for some time.

He came back thirty minutes later and confirmed that she was alright with it, and he should just drop him off whenever they pleased. He'd filled her in on the reason why they were going to drop him off, and she felt very proud of the two, that they were going to finally set things right.

During late afternoon (about three), Harry and Hermione discussed what they could possibly have to answer, and what time they were going. They sat on the couch, Hermione's legs on Harry's lap as they talked.

“I'd like to go really soon,” he put in, tracing random patterns on his wife's covered calf. “I don't want to wait too long, you see.”

“Neither do I, but this afternoon? I suggested the idea this morning,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Your point?”

“This is so fast,” she muttered, laying her head on the head of the sofa.

“Okay, we'll wait, then,” he shrugged, looking at his sock clad feet.

“That's not what I meant, Harry,” said Hermione, sitting up and holding his cheek, forcing him to turn towards her. “I just meant that this is going so fast for me, is all. I've just been stressed more than usual lately; with Matt, McGonagall, Andrew's upcoming birthday, my mum, the Weasleys, it's just so much.”

He nodded, putting his hand over hers. “I know what you mean. I just… I don't know. I just want all of this drama to end so we can go back to California,” he told her.

She nodded, knowing what he meant. Leaning in, she softly brushed her lips over his, laying her head on his lap. “We can leave in a few hours. I'm really tired, and I want to take a short kip.”

Sleeping on my lap, how nice. What am I supposed to do now, sit here and wait for her to wake up? He shook his head, caressing her cheek for a little bit. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn't sleeping yet. Her head was facing the table and she'd rested a hand on his thigh, her hair falling everywhere. He smiled, still caressing her cheek, and rested his head on the back of the sofa, hoping to catch a few minutes of sleep.

He was awoken a short while later from Andrews calls. Gently as he could, he held his wife's head and stood up, hoping not to wake her up. She didn't, but rather turned and kept on sleeping. Turning around, Harry made his way towards Andrew's room. He was standing up, holding the rail of the crib, a frown on his face. Harry walked over to him, stopping in front of him. “I see you're up,” he smiled, picking him up. Andrew fussed, wiggling in his arms. “Oh, don't tell me your diaper's soiled,” he muttered, walking to the changing table and checking his diaper. It was and he groaned. “You dirty little baby,” he murmured playfully to his son, laying him down and taking off his diaper.

Once Andrew was cleaned, with a new diaper, he didn't fuss. Harry carried Andrew to the kitchen, intent on giving him something to eat. He knew he was hungry, and so Andrew would be, too. He took some cheese from the refrigerator and gave it to Andrew, who started munching on it happily. He set his son on the floor (who proceeded to run to his room and—Harry guessed—play with his toys) and went to his room. He shut the door halfway and unbuckled his belt, taking it off a few moments later.

He sat on the bed for a few moments, simply toying around with the belt and thinking. Today they were going to reveal the truth, he knew. The press would have a field day, but he wondered if they were even going to print it. Before, they printed things about the Weasleys. But no one from The Daily Prophet was there, and they hadn't been told of other stories, so I suppose they would've believed everything. Besides, it was better than the usual `Boy-Who-Lived Saves Wizarding World' business. He closed his head, resting on the bed for a minute, sighing loudly.

“Bloody Ministry,” he muttered. “If it hadn't been for them and the Weasleys, Hermione and I wouldn't be hated right now.” But why was the Ministry taking their side? He wondered, knitting his eyebrows together. “They hate me that bad, then?” he asked himself, staring at the ceiling. “It has to be that,” he muttered to himself. “I guess this is their `revenge,' then.” He sighed, sitting up and going to where his clothes were. Shrugging—he found no point in taking a shower right now, though he was used to taking showers at random times—he put his belt back on and left the bedroom.

He went to Andrew's room, just to make sure he was okay. After finding he was happily running around (avoiding anything and everything that would injure him, he noted, thanks to Hermione's charms and spells) the room and everywhere else, giggling while saying words he couldn't quite understand, he was free to check on Hermione. She was slowly stirring, rubbing her eyes and her hand falling on her barely showing bump. She sat up slowly, blinking a few times before her eyes settled on those of her husband's.

“Why did you move?” she asked as he sat next to her. “I was quite content sleeping on your lap.”

“I'm sure you were, love, but Andrew decided to wake up,” he answered. “Now we've got to go to Andromeda and then Diagon Alley,” he reminded her.

She closed her eyes, remembering. “Did he eat?” she asked standing up and going into the kitchen.

“I gave him a little, but he'll probably want more,” he answered, following her. “Listen, I'll put my shoes on, you give Andrew his food, and we can leave after.”

She nodded, taking out some ready-made rice and cheese.

--------------

“I really hope you don't mind, Andromeda,” said Hermione.

“Oh no dear, not at all. Teddy and Andrew have such a good time, that I'd feel bad if I didn't let him stay!” she replied, smiling. “We don't get many visitors, you see. Teddy will start schooling next year, but until then I was the only one he had.” She smiled, turning around and looking at the two young children playing with each other. Teddy was showing Andrew his various toys, while the latter kept on bouncing on his heels and giggling, fascinated.

“I'm proud for you two, you know,” Andromeda murmured after a short while, looking at the two. “I don't know if I'd ever pluck up the courage to tell everyone what really happened, even if I really wanted to.”

They smiled, a faint blush creeping up their cheeks. “Thank you,” they muttered in unison.

She nodded. “Well, I suppose you'll want to go, so I'll leave you to it.” Ushering them to the door, she told them, “I certainly hope to see what the front page holds.”

“I certainly hope it makes the papers,” said Harry, scratching the back of his neck. “I don't know much else we could do if they didn't.” Shrugging, he said, “Well, we'll see you in a few hours. Bye.”

She nodded, watching the two get in the car and drive away. Closing the door, she sighed softly and went towards the kitchen, her intent on making a spot of tea (and perhaps take some aspirin, she internally added).

Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were driving towards the Leaky Cauldron. Since Andrew wasn't in the car, Hermione sat next to her husband. They drove in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. After about ten minutes, they finally arrived in front of the old pub. Parking (he didn't feel like shrinking it), and putting a fake parking pass (Hermione suggested he do it) on the mirror of the car, the two made their way towards the door.

“Ready?” asked Hermione, taking a deep breath.

He nodded, taking her hand and loosely intertwining it with his. Opening the door, the two went inside. They weren't immediately recognized, and they were happy for that. They received a few odd stares, but that was the extent of it. Quickly walking to the back room, Harry took his wand out and hoped he did the right combination. Thankfully, it had been right, and the bricks started to part.

They took another breath, readying themselves for the onslaught of questions. None recognized them. Either that, or they paid no heed. Hermione knit her eyebrows together, leading Harry a bit more into the area they use to shop at for school supplies. They walked around a little, but it was the same as the Leaky Cauldron: they had people staring at them, but nothing else.

They looked at each other, wondering the same thing. Why was no one paying attention? They'd been nearly chasing them before, but now it seemed as though they didn't care. But finally, someone snapped a photo of them, and the questions were finally arriving.

“Is that really you, Harry Potter?” asked a reporter. He looked no older than the Potters did.

He nodded confidently.

“Hermione Granger?”

Smiling hesitantly, she nodded. She would've like to tell them she was Hermione Potter now, but knew it would bring questions too personal, and get off the real topic at hand.

Before they knew it, more flashes were seen and the questions started arriving from different directions.

“Why show yourself, again?”

“Where is the child you had in your arms, Mister Potter? He is your son, no?”

“Do the Weasleys know of this?”

“Do you know what you've done?”

Harry quieted them down. “We will answer your questions, but only if they are relevant to what the Weasleys have done.” He started to explain, knowing everything he said was going to be recorded. “Ron and Ginny Weasleys have outsmarted the lot of you, and I don't know how you believed their rubbish. I killed Voldemort—”

“We already know that!” shouted someone from the crowd. He just noticed they were in the middle of a large (and growing) crowd. “But without Ron Weasley, you wouldn't have been able to `defeat' him!”

“That's not true,” he retorted, his voice hostile. “It was Hermione that helped me do everything, not Ron. He walked out on us half way through, and only came back because he felt guilty. That was weeks, maybe months, later.”

Hermione could see the charmed quills writing quotes and notes down, and she wondered if they were indeed going to be on the front page.

“If that is so, Mister Potter, then what role did Ginny have?” asked a reporter, eager to get the news.

“We broke up months before, but she didn't seem to get that through her head,” he admitted. “She and I also had a short `relationship'—if it even was that—shortly before Ron, Hermione, and I left.”

“So it was true she was carrying your child, then?”

“No,” he shook his head, mentally gagging. “I'd never been with her in that way, nor have I thought of it. She wanted the attention, so she told everyone she and I were engaged.”

“If that was true, why did you leave? The Wizarding World was convinced she and you were running away, ashamed.”

“That is a personal question, so we will not answer it,” Hermione voiced, standing confidently by her husband. “However, we can tell you that we did not leave because we were ashamed.”

“If all of this is true, why did Mister and Miss Weasley claim all of this?”

“Because they knew you'd eat it up,” they answered in unison, making many people (themselves included) raise their eyebrows. “They wanted the materialistic, superficial life: fame, fortune, people living under your feet,” explained Hermione.

Harry nodded. “They'd started all of this well after Hermione and I left. They thought we'd never come back, so they started all of this. They made you hate us. They schemed you all,” he told them, frowning slightly.

“Why did you come back, then? It seemed as though you had no idea of this until after you came back.”

They really want to know, thought Harry, a bit amazed. Usually reporters wanted the inside scoop—though this was that—and the gossip. They seemed as though they were actually paying attention (and, he guessed half-heartedly, they somewhat really were curious).

Hermione answered this one. “This is another personal matter, but it had to do with my family.”

“Are you two married? And do you have any children? There was a child in Mister Potter's arms last time!”

Harry and Hermione both refused to answer. Whispers instantly started among the people. The wedded couple looked at each other, and she gave the briefest of nods. “We will not be answering anymore questions,” he announced.

More flashes went off, and Hermione had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. Hand still holding each other's, the two tried to get through the throngs of people, not making eye contact and ignoring anymore of the questions that were thrown at them.

They tried to get out of the Cauldron as quickly as they could, but it seemed as though reporters and photographers were waiting there as well. They ignored them and left the building, knowing they wouldn't follow them to Muggle areas. Quickly getting into the car, Harry started it up and drove away.

They were in silence for a few minutes, but then Hermione decided to talk. “How far had you really gotten with Ginny?” she asked quietly. “You said you had a short relationship.”

“Not far at all, trust me,” he muttered. “I was too busy with Voldemort to even get a good snog in. When you caught us in the closet, that was the farthest we've ever gotten.”

“I thought she was ready to shag you,” she muttered.

Harry chuckled. “We weren't about to shag, trust me.”

I'm sure she was thinking it, thought Hermione, locking her jaw. I shouldn't be thinking of this. I married him. He loves me. She sighed softly, taking his hand loosely, which was lying on the stick shift.

“Sweetheart, I love you,” he reassured her, turning his hand over and giving it a squeeze. “Ginny was a distraction, nothing more.”

She nodded. “I know,” she murmured, letting go of his hand so he could focus a bit more on driving. “Just the questions made me a bit uncomfortable, is all.”

He chuckled. “Hermione, you were the one whole told Andromeda that I was so `inexperienced,' as you put it, on our wedding night, when in fact, we had some `fun' before our marriage.” He raised his eyebrows, giving her a playful yet questioning look.

“We didn't do that many times though,” she defended. “Just a few, when we were really sexually frustrated.”

“Mhmm,” he nodded, smirking.

Oh, how did it come to this? Hermione wondered, rolling her eyes. Oh, of course. Harry would want to defend his sexual behaviour.

Shortly, they arrived to their destination: Andromeda's home. Locking the car, the two made their way to the front door and knocked. A few short moments later, Andromeda answered, smiling. “I suppose everything is settled, then?”

“Hopefully,” answered Hermione, walking inside the home. “How are Andrew and Teddy? I hope they weren't too much of a hassle.”

“Oh, they weren't too much of a problem,” she answered, winking. “They're playing right now. Teddy!” she shouted.

Teddy came sprinting in a second later, Andrew following a second after that. “Ganny!” he shouted, running around in large circles. After a few rounds of running, he stopped right in front of his grandmother. “Yeah?” he asked, his bright purple eyes staring into hers.

“Say bye-bye to Andrew, Teddy,” she told the young child.

He stuck his lip out, pouting. “Does he, ganny? I want him to stay!”

“You can come back again on the second, okay, Teddy?” Hermione told the young boy. “That is, if it's okay with your grandmother.” She looked at her. “Andrew's birthday is on the second, and so we were wondering—if you didn't mind—if you two could spend the day at our place.”

“Oh, we wouldn't mind dear,” she insisted. “We'd be delighted, actually, to spend the day at your home!”

She nodded. “Here, I'll just give you our address,” she murmured, looking through her purse, finding a paper and pen she could write. She wrote it down and gave it to Andromeda, who folded it and held it in her hands. “There, now that's settled.”

“Hope to see you soon,” said Harry, holding Andrew, his shoes in hand. Hermione voiced the same thing, too.

“Bye, Andy!” shouted Teddy, his now sky blue eyes sparkling gleefully. “Bye Andy's Mummy and Daddy!”

“Bye, Teddy,” they both said.

Turning, they left.

Author's Notes: As I watch Radio City Christmas Spectacular in New York City. It's cool, but they all look alike. Odd.

Do tell what you think.

-->

Author's Notes: Okay, so this chapter doesn't even really fit with the story. Well, not most of the chapter, anyway. This is more of an interlude, I suppose you could say. They're exceedingly OoC, so please excuse me for that. This is, after all, Andrew Potter's birthday (well, you'll see). Oh, whatever.

I hope you enjoy. :-)

--------------

September 1^st, 2001 …

--------------

The clatter of talking and scolding was usual in the Weasley household. Arthur Weasley, now much older, simply tried his best to ignore the sounds of his children (and granddaughter) running about and making a ruckus. Calmly, he sipped his morning tea, marvelling at how, even after much time; his wife was still able to make his most favourite tea. After taking a hearty sip, he picked up the morning edition of the Prophet and unfolded it.

His eyes widened when he saw the front page. It was a picture of Harry—who was holding Andrew—and Hermione, with two close-ups of their hands, and an angled picture of Hermione's stomach. The first picture was the largest of the four, with the picture of Hermione's stomach and their hands with a medium sized frame. In the largest picture, the two were looking around, Harry seemingly trying to obscure their son from pictures, though it was of no use; Andrew was clearly seen.

Gathering himself, he sat up straighter and started reading the headlines.

POTTER AND GRANGER: THE TRUTH

Editors: Thomas Jenkins, Timothy Bradford, and William Fitzpatrick

It seems that our two “frauds” have finally decided to tell us the “truth.” Seen in Diagon Alley on August 31^st, Potter (21) and Granger (20) (supposed Potter, see bottom of page 1) explained that this was all a swindle.

“Hermione helped me with everything,” said Potter, referring to what the two youngest Weasleys had said - Granger didn't do anything, rather all of the work was actually Ronald Weasley. “He left us halfway through, an only came back because he was feeling guilty. That could've been weeks—maybe months—later,” he claimed. When asked about his relation to Miss Weasley, he said that they “ended” it long ago. Their short relationship hadn't progressed far, and it actually hindered his thought process while on the hunt for You-Know-Who. “No,” was his flat out statement when he was asked about the supposed child in his and Weasley's life.

They say all of this started months after these two had already left. Ginny and Ronald Weasley wanted the “superficial life: fame, fortune, with people living under you.” If they had showed up earlier, they never would've started this, claimed Granger.

When asked about the possibility of marriage, they remained quiet; however, the Prophet has evidence this is clearly true. There is a picture of a silver band on Harry Potter's left hand ring finger, and several on Hermione Granger's hand: one on her left hand thumb, one on her right hand ring finger, and two (engagement and wedding rings) on her left hand ring finger. A child was also seen with Potter (look at above picture) that is said to be their child. Also, suspicions of another Potter sprog are likely, though she might only be a few months along. Clearly, it seems as though the Potters want to keep their personal lives just that: personal.

Are they telling the truth, or do they just want to get back at the Weasleys? Why were they really back? And where is the little Potter heir? Hopefully, the Prophet will be able to tell you, the readers, soon.

More on the Potter/Weasley/Granger/Weasley quad on page 3

Defeat of You-Know-Who, page 3

Shocked, Mister Weasley looked at pictures and read the article again, and wondered when they had the courage to do all of this. Their Gryffindor courage, he mused silently, setting the paper down and picking up his tea. He certainly hoped that no one got hold of the morning paper, especially his wife and two youngest children.

He folded it and placed it on his lap, sincerely hoping that no one asked about the paper. So far he was successful, when everyone sat down for their breakfast and went on about their business. As Fleur tried to feed her daughter, Bill was heading out the door, having finished his breakfast early. George was picking at his eggs, while Ron was eating in his usual fashion. He smiled; some things never changed. Even Ginny seemed too preoccupied, choosing to drink her water rather than search around for the paper and look for the latest gossip.

His luck, however, was cut short when Ginny asked for the paper. “Dad, can I have the Prophet? I want to see what the scores were for the Harpies game yesterday, since I was out with Bradley yesterday.”

He coughed, thinking of an excuse he could give his daughter. He certainly didn't want any angry shouting this early in the morning. “They lost,” he told her, smiling softly, trying his best to obscure the newspaper.

“Really?” she wondered, her eyebrows knotting in puzzlement. “Parvati told me they won. Perhaps you were looking at the wrong team. Here, just give me the paper and I'll check,” she said, outstretching her arm expectantly.

“Sweetheart, I'm sure that Parvati—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Please, Dad, just give me the paper.” She sighed softly in frustration.

He knew he would regret his next decision, but he unhappily (though he didn't show it) handed the paper over to his daughter. She unfolded it and hastily opened it, not noticing the front page. She flipped it over to the Quidditch section, locating her team. Within a few moments she'd found the Harpies and exclaimed, “See, I knew they won!” She shut the papers, and froze.

“What?” wondered Ron, looking over Ginny's shoulder, at the headlines. His eyes widened considerably. “Oh, Merlin,” he whispered.

Ginny skimmed the article quickly, dreading every word and quote Harry and Hermione said. This was going to destroy them, she knew. “We're ruined,” she muttered to herself. Looking at the pictures, noting that Hermione already was expecting, and the child really was theirs, she crumpled it up and threw it on the table forcefully.

“How could they do that?!” asked Ron, outraged.

Ginny gave a low growl of frustration, dreading what was to come next. Howlers, papers publishing more of Harry and Hermione's truth? She wasn't sure. She closed her eyes, hoping to calm herself a bit in front of her niece.

“Now, now, Ginny,” placated Arthur, “calm down, sweetheart. I'm sure this'll pass soon enough.”

“Dad,” she shouted, turning her attention towards her father, “don't say that! You don't know what's going to happen! How could you not tell me?” She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream so badly, but she knew she couldn't. Acting like a little toddler in a temper tantrum wouldn't help one bit.

“What are people going to say?” asked Ron after he finished his toast. His eyes widened a bit more. “You don't suppose… you don't suppose they'll be against us now, do you?”

“Oh dear Merlin,” she said in an anguished whisper, “I hope not!” She leaned down and held her brother's shoulders. “Don't you know what this means?!”

“Little sister,” said George, a grin sporting his lips, “calm down, will ya? You're hurting my ear.” Chuckling, he added, “You guys were finally caught,” it's about time, “so now you'll have to face the consequences.”

“Oh shut up, George!”

Shrugging, he stood up, munching on a piece of bacon. “Okay, but don't come howling to me when you've got rooms full of howlers.” He started laughing. “Get it? You'll be howling because you've gotten howlers!”

“Yeah, I get it,” she growled, temper getting the better of her. “Now, leave.”

“You don't own the room, Ginevra,” muttered George, though he complied to her order, still chuckling. It was a horrible joke, he thought, but I can't help but laugh.

Molly came out a few minutes later, ready to take the leftovers and save them for later, when she saw the crumpled paper on the table. “Now, who did this?” she demanded, not taking any heed to her fuming daughter and angry, yet confused looking son.

Fleur took her daughter and stood up. “I'll just put `er upstairs, and I can `elp you,” said Fleur.

“Oh no, dearie,” said Molly, shaking her head. “Take her and go upstairs. I have everything under control here. Don't worry.”

Nodding hesitantly, she went upstairs. Meanwhile, Molly took the paper from the table and started to unfold it.

“Molly, I don't think you'll want to do that,” warned Arthur gently, looking at Ron and Ginny for support. They stayed quiet. His wife unfolded the paper and, with a bewildered look, started reading the article. Moments later, she put the paper down, glaring at her husband, demanding a silent explanation. “I don't know why they did it,” he said hesitantly, slightly fearing his wife's temper.

“Arthur, why didn't you tell me before?” she asked quietly, deadly. She turned her attention towards her to children. Ginny's expression didn't change, and neither did her stature: she stood there, breathing heavily, eyes livid, glaring daggers at the Daily Prophet. Ron, meanwhile, simply had a bewildered, yet semi-confused, look on his face. His eyebrows were knit, as if he was contemplating something.

“Molly, you were in the kitchen,” he attempted to explain. “I didn't want to bother you with this little news, so I didn't bring it up. But it doesn't really matter,” he said quickly, seeing his wife's look, “Harry and Hermione's `truths' might not even circulate far. People might not believe them,” he continued.

Molly shook her head, holding on to the paper. “Arthur, please. This is Harry and Hermione Potter. Even if people hate them, their word still holds meaning.” She closed her eyes in frustration. “I'm going to take a kip for a bit, and hopefully I'll be in a better mood by then.” Turning around briskly, she sighed heavily and headed for the stairs.

Fleur, who'd already come downstairs a minute prior, started to mutter softly while she took out her wand. The dishes that were empty started to float towards the kitchen and in the sink, while she herself started to gather the plates of food that still had food on them and the others hovered to the kitchen and sat on the counter.

“Are you finished?” Fleur asked quietly, pointing towards her father-in-law's plate. He nodded and she took it, going to the kitchen a few moments later.

Arthur sighed softly, putting his face in his hands. “I can't believe one article did this,” he muttered to himself. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face, suddenly tired. He looked up and saw that his two youngest children weren't there.

Sighing softly to himself, he closed his eyes and laid his head on the table.

--------------

Later on that afternoon, as Harry was attempting to clean his child's face, his cell phone rang. He groaned, picking up Andrew and holding him on his waist, and started to walk towards the centre table. Hermione, who'd decided to sleep in a bit since she was still tired, sat up from where she was sleeping on the sofa and picked up the phone. Seeing that it was Andromeda, she waved him off and he shrugged, going back to the bathroom to clean up Andrew.

Flipping the phone open, she answered. “Hello?”

“Hermione, hello,” Andromeda's voice called out. “How are you?”

“We're doing fine, actually,” she answered, smiling, making herself a bit more comfortable. “Harry is cleaning up Andrew, and I just woke up after a short nap.”

She heard a short, soft chuckle. “Teddy's running around everywhere right now; he just had a slice of my pound cake. He's excited that we'll be at your home tomorrow,” she said. “By the way, your article made front page.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and from the story you told me, it seems as though they haven't been lying. Though, they do have the suspicion that you're married and expecting a child; they're already wondering where Andrew was.”

“Well, at least they aren't saying we're married to the Weasleys,” she shrugged, smiling softly when she saw Andrew run towards her, his baby blanket (also his best friend) dragging behind him. “I'm actually sort of glad they think we're married to each other. That way, they'll start thinking about why we've been gone, and what we did during that time.”

Andrew tugged on the leg of her sweats, and she kissed his head, cradling his back and picking him up, letting him snuggle to her side as she pat the side of his thigh softly. He rested his head on the side of her breast, one leg resting on her thigh, and he closed his eyes, his soft blanket wrapped into a ball in his arms. “Mumma,” he sighed softly.

“Oh, looks like Teddy's found the plate of cookies,” Andromeda muttered after a few moments. “I'd better leave now, dear. I'll see you around noon tomorrow?”

“Yes. We aren't planning anything spectacular,” said Hermione, still patting Andrew's thigh softly, listening to his breathing. “Perhaps we'll bake a few cookies—we aren't much for cake—and have a small get together,” she informed the older woman. “We don't want anything too big.”

“Understandable.” She paused for a moment. “We'll, I think I should really take my leave now. Teddy has already eaten a few, and if I know him, he'll just eat a few more. They're his favourite: chocolate chip.”

Hermione chuckled. “That's Harry's favourite, too. Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then. Bye, Hermione.”

“Bye.” Hanging up, she laid the phone on the table once more. Harry came a moment later, wearing a pair of loose sweatpants, and sat next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders.

“What'd she say?” he asked, extending his arm and resting it on Andrew's sock covered feet. He curled his toes for a moment, but remained sleeping.

“Nothing much,” she answered automatically. “We were in the papers, and they didn't bluff. They're also figuring out we're already married, and that Andrew is ours.”

He nodded. “That's good, I guess. It's better than having them believe we married the Weasleys.”

Hermione chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder. He automatically brought her closer and kissed the top of her head softly. “That's exactly what I thought,” she murmured, giving his neck a soft kiss.

“So what time are they going to arrive?” asked Harry, pulling away and picking up Andrew gently. He cradled Andrew in his arms, making sure he stayed asleep. Standing up, he raised an eyebrow, awaiting Hermione's answer.

“About noon,” she answered, standing up and folding the blanket. “Put Andrew in his room,” she instructed, “he's very sleepy.”

“I know,” he murmured, turning around and walking towards the direction of his son's room. He walked inside and switched the position Andrew was in, and put him in his crib, putting the blanket on him afterwards. “Sleep well,” he murmured, walking over to the baby monitor and turning it on. He went back to the direction of the living room, but found Hermione walking into their bedroom instead. Instantly, he followed her into the room.

“It's about four,” she informed him, squatting down and folding their clothes. “I think it's about time we actually get a wardrobe for ourselves,” she muttered, taking her wand out.

“We'll each need a separate one,” said Harry, also taking out his wand. “I never thought the day would come when we had so many clothes.” He chuckled softly. Thinking about the spell to transfigure something into the two wardrobes they needed (the closet the flat had provided was much too small for their clothes, so they decided—from the beginning—that they weren't going to put anything in there), he looked for that something. He found a small note of paper, and then muttered the Latin incantation. It transfigured itself to a standard sized wardrobe, and he smiled. Looking towards Hermione, he saw that she had already transfigured a wardrobe, and was working on putting her clothes in there.

“Three more hours `till Matt arrives,” said Hermione after some time. Most of her clothes were hung and folded, each neatly placed on top of each other, and next to each other. She only had to put some of her bras (she never realized how many she had) and underwear in, but that'd only take a minute or so, she reasoned.

“Mhm,” he hummed, taking a few pairs of boxer shorts and stuffing them into the drawer. After placing his numerous amounts of boxers in the drawer, he opened the one underneath it and started folding his jeans and putting them in there.

The two spent almost half an hour folding, organizing, and re-organizing. Once they thought it was good enough for them, the two zipped up their now empty luggage bags and shrunk them, putting them on Hermione's vanity table. Taking a hair tie, Hermione started finger combing her hair so there wouldn't be any bumps when she put it up. She was glad that she hadn't put any product in today, so it was easily manageable. Giving a half shrug when she saw her appearance, she turned and started walking towards Harry and stopped when she was directly in front of him.

“What are we going to for three hours? I don't have any homework I could do, and Andrew is sleeping,” she muttered, loosely taking his hands and entwining them with hers.

Grinning, Harry tugged his hands and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “I know how we could spend one of those hours,” he told her playfully.

She scrunched up her nose, leaning her head on his chest. “I'm not in the mood, Harry. Sorry. Why don't I just fish out a book from our other bags so we can read?” she suggested, snaking her arms around his waist.

He tightened his grip on her shoulders, nodding a bit dejectedly. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, giving him a quick squeeze, “but I'm just not in the mood right now. Maybe in an hour or two, tonight definitely.”

“You don't have you if you don't want,” he said, pulling back. “I was… just being me,” he playfully continued, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes. “That's all you have on your mind,” she muttered teasingly. “Sex, family, and school.”

“What else is there to think of?” he asked playfully, though he was aware she knew that wasn't all he thought about.

Rolling her eyes once more, she muttered, “I'm going to get my purse and find our books.”

--------------

“Long time no see,” said Matt, grinning broadly. He walked over to Hermione, giving her a hug and kiss on the cheek, next moving to Andrew (who was on the floor, playing happily with his blanket) and picking him up. “How's the little Potter?” he asked, poking his stomach lightly, making the young boy giggle.

He let him down gently and turned again. Harry was putting his medium sized gym bag by the centre table, while Hermione went into the kitchen to get him a cup of tea. He was a bit tired, yes, but he was trying his best to get over his rejected proposal and not be depressed during Andrew's first birthday. Can't ruin my godson's first birthday, he thought, sitting on the arm of the sofa, or else his parents will kill me! He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“So, mate,” said Harry after a few moments, “how are you?” He'd managed to transfigure the extra armchair into a comfortable single bed, enough for Matt. He took a pillow from the sofa and transfigured that into a blanket, then turning his attention towards him.

He shrugged, rubbing the inside of his wrist. “I'm still a bit sad over the rejection, but I'm glad Christina and I are still dating. I thought she would've broken up after she said `no,' but we're still dating.” He gave the faintest smiles and shrugged again. “But hey, I guess she was right. We haven't been dating long enough.”

Harry nodded, picking Andrew up and moving him a bit out of the way. “True. You've only met her, what, four five months ago?”

He nodded. “Yeah, something around there.”

“Tea, anyone?” asked Hermione, bringing a tray of tea out. She set it on the table, sure that Andrew wouldn't burn himself when she walked past him, and poured some in the cup, then offering it to Matt. He took it gratefully, smiling in thanks.

“You still make the greatest tea,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment. “It must be in your blood.”

Hermione chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, but I'm a bit tired. You guys know how I like to sleep in `till at least two.” He grinned, taking another sip of the tea.

“You two,” muttered Hermione, “are impossible. I honestly don't know how you managed to pass with flying colours when you both could sleep all day, not study beforehand, while playing two sports.”

“It's a talent, sweetheart,” said Harry, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders from behind. “Please, don't question us.”

“Papa!” squealed Andrew, proudly showing his blanket wrapped tightly around his small arm. He jumped happily, his hand bouncing dramatically.

Grinning happily, he picked up Andrew and gave his cheek a kiss. “Good job, son,” he said, holding the underside of the blanket and showing Hermione. “Look what our son accomplished,” he chuckled, smirking.

Laughing, she gave Andrew's shoulder a soft kiss. “Silly little imp,” she murmured affectionately.

Harry then let him down, letting Andrew do whatever it was his mind thought of next. A few moments passed, as Matt continued to sip on the hot tea, and Harry and Hermione watched their son play.

“So, uh, what are the plans for tomorrow?” Matt asked after a few minutes. He put his teacup down, settling himself comfortably on the sofa while awaiting the Potters answer.

“We'll, we were thinking about baking Andrew's cookies or brownies in the morning tomorrow,” informed Hermione. “Then around noon Andromeda—a sort of relative—and Teddy—Harry's godson—will be arriving, and then we'll celebrate and then perhaps go out to eat.”

“Sounds good,” murmured Matt. He yawned. “Well, its not even noon in Palo Alto, so I'm going to take a nap for a few hours. I'll see you guys in the morning, I guess.”

They nodded, and Harry said, “Yeah. If you need anything, just look around. Our room is the first door to the right, while Andrew's is adjacent to it. The restroom is in front of you and if you need anything, just knock on mine and Hermione's door.”

Matt nodded, laying on the comfortable cot. Yawning, he said, “We'll see you tomorrow.”

They nodded and Harry picked up Andrew. “G'night.” He nodded.

“What now?” murmured Hermione, taking his hand and rubbing it wither thumb.

“I'll put Andrew in his crib, and he can play until he sleeps, as usual.” He grinned afterwards, giving her cheek a kiss and giving her hand a quick squeeze. “And then, you and I can spend those few hours having Happy Time.”

“You're so out of character today,” she muttered playfully, holding his hand and placing it on her hip. “You're never this persistent about having sex.”

He shrugged. “Andrew is turning one, and you're getting to that date where you won't be allowed to have sex.” He grinned, “Sorry for being your husband.”

“Harry, don't talk like this in front of Matt!” she scolded, remembering he wasn't more than ten feet away. “Lord, just imagine what he can hear. Let's go into our room and talk.”

Nodding, he went to Andrew's room to put his son in his crib.

Meanwhile, Matt, who had turned away from the married couple and tried to sleep, was failing miserably. He had heard every word the two exchanged, and he groaned. This is like every other time I've slept over, he thought, scrunching up his nose. I won't be able to sleep for a good two hours, at the least.

--------------

“Andy!” shouted Teddy, running towards Andrew. His hair was electric blue, showing how happy and ecstatic he was. “Andy I brought cookies and cake and toys and fun!”

Andrew jumped up and down, squealing, “Ee!” since he wasn't able to pronounce `Teddy.' The official one year old, along with his four-year-old friend, raced towards his room, their intent on playing with the toys. Andromeda chuckled as she watched the two children. Harry was in the kitchen with Matt, trying to give him `his'—as Harry liked to say—coffee: strong, hot, black coffee that'd wake anyone up. Hermione led Andromeda to the sofa, and the two sat and started talking.

“How do you manage to take care of Teddy?” she asked, leaning back.

Andromeda sighed. “It's very tough. I have a nanny take care of him a few days, because he's just so active. I'm getting old and I'm running out of energy.”

“That's how Andrew is, but thankfully we're still young and have energy to take care of him and our future children.”

“That's good,” she nodded. After a few moments, Matt came back, still in very baggy sweat pants and a hooded sweatshirt, drinking the large cup of coffee. Matt waved at Andromeda, sitting on his cot.

“Hello,” he greeted. “I'm Matthew Anderson. I went to Stanford University with Harry and Hermione.”

She smiled politely. “I'm Andromeda Tonks,” she said. “I'm Teddy Lupin's maternal grandmother.”

He nodded, taking another long gulp of the coffee. A moment later, Harry came out and stood by Hermione. “So, when do you suppose we can celebrate the little Potter's first official birthday?” asked Harry.

“In a bit,” answered Hermione. “He and Teddy are playing right now. Let them have their fun.”

“Andy's Mummy and Daddy, look!” shouted Teddy a second later, sprinting in front of the two. “Andy turned into a mummy for his Mummy!” He looked behind him, as if expecting Andrew to come in, but he didn't. “Andy!”

Andrew gave a loud cry from his room, and Harry and Hermione immediately sprinted towards his room. He was tightly wrapped in several blankets. His whole body was covered, except for, thankfully, his face. He had tears streaming down his face, and he tried in vain to wiggle out of the blankets. Hermione hunkered down quickly, holding him in a standing position and speedily unwrapping him. After he was finally unwrapped he wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist, crying loudly. They picked him up, hushing him.

After a few minutes of patting his back and murmuring soothing words to their son, he finally started to calm down. Hermione, still holding Andrew to her chest, walked out of the room with Harry and into the living room. They saw Teddy looking down, a frown on his face.

“Don't ever do that again,” scolded Andromeda, her eyebrows knit together.

“Kay, Gamma.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah.”

Sighing, she turned to Hermione. “I'm sorry, dear. Teddy didn't know better, but I told him that he can't make human mummies.”

“It's okay,” said Harry, rubbing the back of Andrew's head. “He's only four, after all. I'm sure Andrew will do this to one of our children in the future.”

Hermione put Andrew down, who wrapped his arms around her leg and leaned on it. “Well, now that Andrew is slightly better, why don't we start the festivities?”

“Let us,” said Andromeda, standing up.

I wonder if Matt finally decided to take a shower, thought Harry, looking around for any trace of Matt. Shrugging, he followed his wife to the kitchen.

Nearly an hour later, after the cookies were baked, they were singing `Happy Birthday' to Andrew, who, with a party hat, was happily watching. “Happy birthday to you!” they finished, most off key, each with a huge grin plastered on their faces.

Harry and Hermione took a cookie and broke a small piece off. They offered it to Andrew, who opened his mouth widely and chewed the moist chocolate cookie. He did the same when he was offered the cookie from everyone (Matt actually dared to give him the whole cookie, in which Harry promptly took it from his offered hand and stuffed the cookie in his mouth), but when it was his turn to hold the cookie and feed everyone a piece, he decided to stuff as much as he could in his mouth.

“Oh no,” muttered Hermione, taking the cookie from his mouth. “You're much too young to eat that cookie.”

“Hermione, he's one,” Harry defended his son. “He's not six months old anymore. Besides, it's not as if he'll have cookies all the time. This is a once in a while thing, love. At least grant him this privilege.”

Rolling her eyes, “Fine. But he's going to have them in smaller pieces.”

Matt chuckled, patting Andrew's small back lightly. “Little man, you have the two oddest parents.”

Andrew turned to Matt and giggled.

Author's Notes: Reviews make my world go `round and `round and `round and `round. Don't make me stop and fall.

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Author's Notes: And here I am, a month later… You see, I had a LOT of things going on, so I wasn't able to update. I'm sorry! :-(

Quote by: Doris Lessing, “Laughter by definition is healthy.”

Enjoy :-)

--------------

September 3^rd, 2001 …

--------------

Andrew crawled around, playing with his new toys. He would occasionally alternate between toys, but every time he thought he found a new toy, he squealed happily and started playing. All the while, the young adults tried to make sure that Matt was ready to leave. His portkey was set to leave in about ten minutes, and knowing the two males, they were bound to forget something or another.

“Hermione, he only brought his bag,” Harry told his pregnant wife.

She glared at him. “I know, but it doesn't hurt to be sure.” She huffed, turning around so her back was facing his front, and looked at Matt. “Because if you forget something, we aren't going to return until we come back,” she told him sternly.

Harry absently wondered if the mood swings were already starting to kick in. Sighing, he outstretched his arms and placed them on Hermione's shoulders, slowly rubbing them. “Hermione, calm down. If you keep on yelling at him, he won't be able to go back to the US.”

She sighed, but then retorted, “I wasn't yelling at him,” before taking a seat on the sofa. “I must be tired, is all,” she murmured.

“Love, if you're tired then you should take a kip in our room,” Harry told her, sitting on the cushioned arm of the sofa.

“He's leaving in ten minutes; I can wait that long to sleep.” She nodded to herself, sitting on the end of the sofa and leaning her head on his side. He wrapped his arm loosely around her, rubbing her upper arm briskly for a moment before looking at Matt again.

“Do you have any tests coming up?” asked Hermione.

Matt shook his head. “No, but I have a game tomorrow… uh, today?”

Harry shook his head. “The time difference is eight hours, so your game is tomorrow, for you.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I have a game tomorrow, though. We're playing UCLA.” Harry nodded, remembering the times his team played them.

Soon, minutes passed and it was almost time for Matt to go. He grabbed his medium sized gym bag and held the portkey, smiling at each of the Potters. They each gave him a hug, and soon he vanished.

Harry, now standing with Andrew in his arms, gave a half smile and let his son on the floor, letting him play with his toys once more. Hermione went to their room to take a kip, and he looked around, not knowing what to do. He sat on the sofa, taking his glasses off and placing them on the side table. Putting his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander for a bit.

They were supposed to meet his mother-in-law, from the few things he and Hermione discussed in their room last night. The doctors, last time, had said that her health was recovering, that the alveoli had most of the liquid pus out, and that the oxygen was returning to her blood in rapid succession. Having known that, there was a chance that she could be released soon, and be put in a nursing home of some sort, because it wasn't very safe for her to be alone. There was the option, of course, that they could stay and take care of Hermione's mother, but they thought that nurses could do better than they. He could pay for a nurse—a stay at home one, if she wasn't able to reside in a nursing home—and she'd take good care of her.

I'm glad she hasn't met with the same fate as her husband, though. He gave the briefest of smiles, thankful yet still saddened at the thought that his father-in-law, a wonderful man, had passed away. Taking a breath, he stood up, put his glasses on, and went into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. Grabbing the juice he shut it and grabbed a cup, filling it up and putting it back in the spot it was in before. Taking a few sips, he looked at his son.

--------------

As Ron finished off the last bits of his pork, he saw his father walk in. He gave him a smile, still chewing the last remnants of his food. Arthur nodded, unsmiling, and walked past and went up the stairs.

What's up with him? wondered Ron, raising his eyebrows. Shrugging it off, he stood up and patted his stomach, smiling again. He patted his side pocket, making sure that his wand was there, just in case.

“Mum, I'm finished and I'm going!” he shouted, making sure that his mum heard him. After he heard her approval, he apparated away. After having the familiar sensation of apparation go through him, he found himself in the streets of Diagon Alley.

Smiling, he made his way through the throngs of people. He hadn't noticed the odd looks he was getting from a few, but it didn't matter. It was a new day, and he was going to make the best of it. His intention was to meet his brother, George, at his business. As he tapped his fingers against the fabric of his robe, he finally noticed that people were ignoring him, even going slightly out of their way so they weren't in close distance of him.

Odd, he thought. He knit his eyebrows together, seeing almost everyone in his vicinity do the same thing. His eyes widened slightly, though he still kept on walking, ignoring the stares, whispers, and pointing fingers directed towards him. It wasn't about that article Harry and Hermione gave, was it? He shook his head. No, it wasn't possible. They'd believe him, of course. They'd been gone for years, believing that they'd done nothing. But then why were people suddenly treating him like this?

A statement made by his mother started circulating through his mind. “This is Harry and Hermione Potter. Even if people hate them, their word still holds meaning.”

He just realized, finally, that what his mother had said was entirely true. Though they were nearly despised, they were Harry and Hermione Potter. Their name held meaning, their words held meaning. It didn't really matter what they had said, but what they had said was true, and people paid heed to it.

“This can't be happening,” he muttered softly to himself, but it didn't matter. People were a good two feet from him, clearly making it obvious that they were ignoring him. He locked his jaw, intent on making his way to WWW before he started getting really angry.

He walked just a few meters until he spotted his current girlfriend, the beautiful Bianca. She was born and raised in Utah, United States, but came to the United Kingdom when she found there were plenty jobs offered for witches like her; the ones that liked to model for magazine covers, and occasionally write an article or two in the magazines, just to show that they had brains and not just beauty.

Putting on a small smile (she was his girlfriend, after all), he walked to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, not noticing that she had yet to put her arms around him. Pulling away slightly, he gave her a deep kiss. She didn't respond, however, and he frowned when he realized this.

“What's wrong, love?” he asked.

She sighed, moving out of his grasp. “You're wrong, Ron,” she answered, her sparkling hazel eyes boring into Ron. “You lied. You cheated me; you cheated the Wizarding World!”

“What?” he asked dumbly. “I've never cheated on you! I swear!” His anger flared. “Who was the arse that said this? I swear I'll ki—”

“Calm down,” she interrupted. “I worded that wrong, I'm sorry. You swindled us, Ron. You lied to us, and you let everyone believe that you and your sister did everything, while those two Potters did everything!”

“You actually believe them?” he asked softly.

“I didn't before,” she replied honestly. “I thought they were just trying to `steal the glory' again, but after seeing some of the evidence behind their words, I believed them.”

“Why don't you believe me?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows together, ignoring the ongoing stares and whispers behind his back. “Why do you have to believe them? I thought you were supposed to support your boyfriend.”

“We've been dating for two weeks,” she retorted. “I've got a job with plenty of sources, and they're all pointing to the evidence that Harry and Hermione Potter were the real defeaters of the Dark Lord, not you.”

“I—”

“Don't want to hear it,” she interrupted, holding a hand up. “Please, Ron. I have a feeling that what you're about to say is going to be a lie. I'll talk to you once you decide to tell people that you've made a mistake, or go on having Magical Europe hate you.” She paused, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “It's your choice, so choose wisely. I'll see you later.” And with that, Bianca left, leaving Ron alone and confused.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a habit picked up notably from Harry when they were still in their school days. What am I going to do now? Bianca isn't talking to be—she might have even implied that we broke up—and I don't know how to fix this. He sighed, making his way towards Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Not a minute later did he find their shop, and he opened the door and went inside. There were the usual amounts of people, some looking around while some asked George and his workers what things did and purchasing them afterwards. At the end of the long counter was a picture of Fred and George, the picture taken on their first official day of business. On the frame of the picture, wrote several small words: “Laughter by definition is healthy.”

Walking further inside, he heard the jingle of the bells as the door closed. Few people paid attention to him, but when they did, it was only a few children intent on making mischief. He smiled, seeing the various ages of children wandering and wondering what each thing did. He went to the front counter and went behind it, greeting George.

“Hey, brother,” said George, taking out a few galleons and handing it to the teenager, his purchased items in a bag. “What're you doing here?”

He shrugged, leaning on the counter. “I had nothing planned for the day, so I thought I'd pop by,” he answered.

George nodded, taking the four galleons and two knuts from the woman in front of him. “That's nice. Hey, why don't you hang out in the office for a bit. My shift is over soon, and I'll talk to you then.”

Nodding, he went through the back door and towards their office. It was medium sized, with expensive furnishings and a few prototypes George had yet to test out. He sat on the sofa, making himself comfortable with some of the snapping liquorice that was in the bowl.

After a few minutes of idly sitting, he wondered why he was really here. Was it because he really wanted to visit his brother, or something else? Something that he wasn't quite ready to admit. What muck have I trapped myself in? Ron wondered, closing his eyes and cradling his head in his hands. This is the third time I've messed up with my friends, and I'm paying the consequences, yet again. If Ginny hadn't bribed me into this, none of this would've happened. He shook his head. No, it isn't all Ginny's fault. I could've said no.

I should've been stronger. I shouldn't have been fooled, listening to my sister like that. They were right, though. He was out for the superficial life; him and Ginny both. They didn't really care about their family life—they took it for advantage. They took the money, the fame, the glory—everything that didn't really matter in life. Sure, they now had money for plenty of renovations, but their relationship with their father (Molly hadn't relinquished her hold on her children one bit; it'd actually gotten stronger after Fred's death) had faltered, and he knew it was because he and Ginny lied to the press—to the World.

Groaning, he took a few more liquorice and munched on them, trying to remember when this'd all started. How long after was it, that they'd started all of these lies? The rumours about Ginny and Harry's supposed baby had started just weeks after he and Hermione vanished, but the stories about the Second War were after, weren't they? He knit his eyebrows together and closed his eyes, trying to refurbish that particular memory.

This must've been the thirtieth time that he'd written a letter, and it came back unopened. Either Harry and Hermione were dead, or they'd “run away” from someone, or something. He was sincerely hoping for the latter. Having his friends dead and him not even knowing about it would've been horrible. It would've been just as horrible having known that they were dead.

But they weren't, he thought feverishly. They aren't dead, just… somewhere, not with each other.

He heard his bedroom door open, and Ginny walked in, smiling. She sat on the edge of his bed. “Hey Ron, what's up?” she asked, making herself comfortable.

“Wondering why neither Harry nor Hermione will reply my letters,” he murmured, hurt evident in his voice.

Ginny sighed, knowing he was just being… Ron. She'd given up writing long ago, having known they were somewhere having a (rather long) romantic rendezvous with each other on some tropical island. It was just a stage they were going through, she reasoned a while back, and eventually they'd break up and live on their lives, perhaps even after time, coming to the Weasleys again. But even then, her hopes of returning with Harry were slowly diminishing.

Shaking her head, she regained her composure. “Don't worry about them. I bet they're having the time of their lives, now that they've abandoned us,” she lied.

“What're you talking about?” he asked, his face one of anger. “They wouldn't abandon us! Never, ever would they do that!”

“What have they done, then?” she asked, Ron starting to get on her nerves. He could be so daft sometimes. “Have they simply gone to the market and got lost for weeks?”

He didn't answer. He didn't have a good answer, but the thought that they'd abandoned them had depressed him.

“Exactly,” she said, smirking. “Now, are you going to put that letter away, or am I going to have to stash it away somewhere?” Not waiting for him to answer, she snatched the parchment away from him and put it on his desk, which was filled with numerous other letters.

He certainly wasn't in the mood for Ginny's behaviour right now. What was it she wanted him to do? “What do you want?” he asked tiredly.

“I want you to help me out with something.”

“Which would be…?”

“We need to up our status in society, and since you helped defeat You-Know-Who, I've come up with a brilliant plan to do just that.”

“What, why would I do that?” he asked incredulously.

“So we'd get money,” she answered simply. “And fame… and superiority over people.”

He raised his eyebrows. “So you want me to trash Harry and Hermione, take all of the credit for myself, and except this to turn out nicely?”

“No.” She paused, taking off her slippers and sitting Indian style on the comfortable bed. “I want you to trash Harry and Hermione, take half—most, I guess you could say—and know it's going to turn out nicely.”

“I thought you were there friend?” he questioned, giving her a suspecting look. “Why would you do this?”

Her answer was immediate: “Why did you abandon Harry and Hermione during fourth year, during the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Why did you abandon those two who-knows-where, knowing they were in danger? It was to your convenience, wasn't it? You believed Harry put the name in, you got jealous and envious and you left. You didn't get enough food, it was going nowhere, you were fed up and you left.”

“But—”

“No buts, Ronald,” she interfered sharply, holding up a hand. “Are you in this with me or not?” She glared at him, waiting for his answer. “Imagine what we'll gain,” she persuaded. “All you have to say is that you did some of the work, and like magic it works.”

The idea did seem nice: fame, fortune and all of the works. But was he really willing to betray his friends like that? He'd already betrayed their trust twice now; this was his third and last chance. The temptation, however, was too great and he accepted, though a bit hesitantly.

“What will we do if they come back?” he asked.

“That's doubtful,” she responded simply. “Why would they come back? I doubt they're even in England now.”

“Don't you care about them, Gin? I thought you and Harry were strong. I thought you would've been devastated when you knew they weren't coming back.”

She frowned, looking away. “I don't really want to think about it,” she replied.

“B—”

“I said I don't want to think about it,” she responded, her tone bitter. “And if you mention it, that means I have to think about it. And I will not do that. Right now, I'm here to gain help ourselves, not dwell in the past.”

He closed his eyes, wondering what he was getting himself into. In the long run, he knew he'd enjoy his choice, but right now it didn't seem so ideal. “So, what's the plan?” he asked, leaning on his elbows, looking at his sister.

Ginny smiled and started to explain.

“Hello, earth to Ron,” chuckled George, snapping his fingers in front of Ron. He'd been doing this for nearly five minutes now. “Are you there, or have you finally gone mad?”

Ron blinked, looking around for a second. “What?” he asked.

“I've been trying to get your attention for the past few minutes,” he told his younger sibling. “What were you thinking about? That new girl you've been seeing lately?”

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I've been thinking about… things.”

He nodded, sitting on a comfortable armchair near his brother. “Do tell, brother.”

He let out a loud breath. “I think I need to fix this,” he murmured after a short while, looking at George.

“Fix what?” he asked, though he had a feeling he knew what Ron was trying to get across.

“What's been going on between me, Harry, and Hermione,” he answered dully. He opened his mouth to speak, but George beat him to it.

“Wait,” he interrupted sharply, very unusual compared to his light and humorous tone. “So you want to make things better with Harry and Hermione because things aren't looking good for you, is that right? No, don't answer that,” he held up his hand, stopping Ron from speaking. He leaned forward giving Ron a stern look, and spoke firmly: “This was your last chance, and you blew it. Back when you were in school, you abandoned him. That was strike one. Then off on your hunt for Volde—you know, and I heard you were back. I know you didn't come back to the Burrow, but Fleur and Bill told us you stayed with them. That was strike two. Now, you've betrayed them, in the worst way. That was strike three.

“Now, how can you expect them to forgive you? Harry forgave you the first two times, obviously, but I don't think the two Potters will forgive you so easily this time. You told them he only killed them, did nothing else. You said that Hermione did nothing but read, while you worked your sorry arse off to defeat the Death Eaters and their Lord. This didn't only hurt them on the outside—their reputation—but also on the inside, I'm sure. Though they were gone, I'm almost positive they weren't expecting this behaviour from you, their best friend.”

I knew I screwed up, thought Ron. But I have to show them that I'm sorry. I have to… He sighed softly, waiting for George to talk again.

He didn't speak for a few moments, letting his words sink into his younger brother's thick skull. From the beginning, he knew of their scam, but knew that it was going to bite them back in the arse later, so stayed out of it. He knew he hurt his two friends by not doing anything, but his siblings needed to taught a lesson, and he knew it'd come eventually.

“Now, think about what I've said,” George told Ron, standing up. “Feel free to stay here, but I'm going. I'll see you,” he said, leaving the office.

Inside, Ron closed his eyes, thinking.

--------------

“What are we going to do?” Hermione asked, trying to tie a bow with the two laces from her shirt. “I feel like I'm showing,” she muttered miserably to herself, slumping her shoulders and giving up.

Harry came up behind her, taking the two laces that were dangling from her sides and tied them. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, leaning his chin on her shoulder. “What do you think we should do?” he asked and then added, “And you're barely showing, love. No one even noticed you were pregnant until you were almost six months along.”

She sighed. “I know, but still…” Turning around, she gave him a quick kiss, going to her vanity and sitting, applying some makeup. “I thought we could admit my mother out of the hospital, perhaps. Then maybe,” she shrugged, “I don't know, do some things. Maybe take a day off for ourselves—you, me, and Andrew.”

He hummed, absentmindedly placing his hands on her shoulders and massaging them. It was nothing new; they've been giving each other massages ever since they'd started dating (even slightly before). Knitting his eyebrows together, he wondered if they'd have enough time. “Don't you think maybe we could take our little family outing for another day, like tomorrow?” he suggested.

She looked at him from her mirror, thinking about it. “I shouldn't take too long, though,” she retorted, leaning back until the back of her head came in contact with his hard abs. “Unless you don't want to…”

He kissed the top of her head quickly and then resumed massaging her shoulders. “I have nothing against it, you see, but I was wondering if we'd have enough time.”

She nodded, leaning forward again so she could finish her makeup. “Well we should,” she answered, putting the cap back onto her eyeliner. Putting her hands over Harry's, she stood up and turned around, placing his hands on her hips. “It's only nearly one, so it shouldn't take too long.”

“But there's finding what your mother needs,” he argued, letting go of her. “And where she's going to go, how she's going to do things while her only child is continents away,” he continued.

“We can call up the nursing home, and get Mum at a later time,” she answered, walking towards the door so she could get Andrew, who was playing around the flat. “It seems reasonable enough, don't you think?”

“I guess,” he muttered, sighing. “But I still think we should have our outing tomorrow,” he told her, leaving the room with her. “I think tomorrow would be a better day.”

“If you say so,” she murmured, looking around for her son. He was in his room, she saw, and playing with his toys that he got for his birthday. “I guess it wouldn't be a problem. We could take a rest after and let our bodies rejuvenate.”

He nodded and walked towards Andrew's bedroom.

--------------

Hermione hung up the phone, just having finished affirming the details of where her mother was going to stay. In a few days time her mother would be staying at the St. Thomas Nursing Home. They would've taken her earlier, Hermione knew, but they had to clean her room and get everything ready. She shook her head. No matter, at least she has a place to stay.

“So, it's all settled then?” asked Harry, Andrew sleeping in his arms, his head resting on his shoulder.

She nodded. “She'll be a resident at St. Thomas' on the sixth,” she informed him.

“So I suppose that's when she'll be leaving the hospital?” he questioned, and she nodded. “So we'll talk to her today and tell her about it—”

“—then sleep,” she murmured, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I've been so tired, lately.”

“Okay,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “If you want to sleep, then sleep. I'll go shopping for groceries and diapers—nappies, whatever—when you decide to take your nap. And maybe I'll clean up a bit; Andrew's really messy.”

She nodded, standing up. “What about Andrew?” Hermione asked. He knit his eyebrows together in confusion. “He's sleeping and I don't want to wake him up,” she told him, looking at their one-year-old child.

He stood up gently, making sure he was still sleeping. Walking towards the door he handed Andrew to Hermione (trying to make sure he stayed asleep) and quickly put his shoes on and getting the stroller. Hermione reclined the seat so it was nearly all the way down and put Andrew in there, pulling the little hood over the stroller after so he wouldn't have any sun in his eyes.

“Walking will do us some good,” said Hermione, slipping on her shoes that she used to play volleyball. “And maybe I won't be so tired,” she continued, taking her light jacket and putting it on. He did the same, grabbing the same items he always took before leaving anywhere.

Soon, they were on the streets of London, walking towards the hospital. Andrew stayed mostly asleep for the whole thing, though he awoke in and out of slumber when something loud happened. In just under fifteen minutes, they made their way to the main entrance of the building and went in.

“You remember what room Mum is staying in, right?” Hermione asked, going towards the lifts again. He nodded, pressing the `3' button.

“I hope she's feeling much better,” he murmured absently, leaning on the wall of the lift. Hermione gave him a half smile, her hands momentarily squeezing the bar of Andrew's stroller. Moments later, they'd finally reached the proper floor and they went towards Hermione's mother's room.

A doctor was in there, checking up on her while a nurse stood on the other side of the bed. It seemed like a regular check up, Hermione supposed; however, the Potters waited until the Doctor left the room until they would go in.

“Miss Granger?” wondered the doctor, raising an eyebrow, seeing them go inside.

This was a different doctor, she knew right away, and he didn't know who she was, so he was just guessing. “Previously, yes,” she answered, turning around. He raised an eyebrow. “I'm Misses Potter now, but you were saying?”

“Well, if you don't mind, can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked, holding a few papers in his hands.

“Sure,” she answered, turning to Harry. “I'll be back in a moment, love.” He nodded, having heard the conversation and opened the door, taking himself and his son inside.

She turned towards the Doctor again. “Yes?”

“Well, Misses Potter, your mother's health seems to be recovering quickly. She'll be able to be admitted out within the next few days,” he told her. “The pneumonia is nearly gone, and we'll just have to give her a few prescribed medicines for her until she's completely cured.”

She nodded. “Doctor, I've talked to a few nursing homes and one's taken her in,” she informed him. “My husband and I don't know how much longer we'll be staying in England, so we've chosen to take that decision. Are there any other options, rather than nursing home?” she asked, then quickly adding, “Though there isn't any problem with them, I was just curious.”

“Understandable,” he said, nodding. “There is the option of having a full-time nurse, though I'm not too sure your mother would need that. She'll be healthy, though she'll need to keep track of her health a bit more than usual.

“She's a healthy woman,” he continued, “and for her age, I'm surprised she hadn't contracted anything serious before. A nursing home isn't even fully necessary—she might want to continue her work. She's a dentist, is she not?”

“Yes, she is. But she's getting old, and I don't want her to get sick.”

“No one wants their parents to get sick,” he told her. “But it happens. If putting your mother into a nursing home is your choice, then so be it.”

“Okay,” she murmured, taking all of the information in. “Thank you,” she smiled.

He nodded, giving her another brief smile. “Now, if you don't mind I have to get to a few other patients.”

“Okay, bye.”

He nodded and walked away.

Turning around, Hermione walked into her mother's room, firstly noticing that her mum was talking to Harry, and that Andrew was still quite soundly asleep. Her mother noticed her first and she held out her hands. She went into her arms, giving her a hug as she smiled widely.

“Hey, Mum,” she greeted, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How're you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answered. “Harry told me you have something important to tell me?”

Hermione shot Harry a look and he shrugged innocently. Sighing softly, she nodded. “Yes, we've decided that it'd be best if we placed you in a nursing home,” she told her quietly.

“Why?” was her question.

“Because I was frightened that you could get sick again and…” she trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I didn't want to put your health in jeopardy again—”

“You did no such thing,” she intervened sternly. “It was my fault that I got sick, not yours.”

“I know,” sighed Hermione, looking her mother in the eye. “I was just saying that I didn't want you to get sick again, so I decided this option was the best.”

“What about our dentistry?” she asked. “Have you thought about that?”

“You're supposed to be retired, Mum,” she argued. “You're supposed to be on some foreign island playing solitaire and sipping juice out of a coconut; you're not supposed to be in a dentistry giving people root canals.” Quietly, she continued, “I just don't want you to die like dad…” A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly, turning away.

“You're so concerned about me,” Celine Granger murmured, sitting fully up (with slight difficulty) and placing her hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Sometimes people just send their parents to nursing homes and live their lives,” she said, “but not you.” She paused, “But Hermione, why don't you just let me take care of myself for a bit,” she suggested, smiling softly. “I've still got a bit left in me until I really do need help.” She chuckled, hoping to lighten up the mood.

Harry cracked a smile. “We're just concerned about you, is all. We didn't mean to constrict your life suddenly,” he told her.

She nodded. “I understand that, but I got sick because I was in cold weather, without taking any preventive medications, without wearing the proper clothing. Perhaps I just need a vacation, like you two,” she kidded.

Hermione chuckled once, turning to look at her again. “So I'll call St. Thomas—the nursing home—and tell them that there's no need for you anymore?”

She nodded. “If you don't mind, please do,” she said.

“Okay, I'll remember to call them when we get back,” she told her.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “And when I'm ready to be placed into a nursing home, I promise you'll be the first to know.”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head softly.

“So, how've you been lately?” her mother asked hoping to change the mood, looking back and forth between her daughter and son-in-law. “Did you find out the sex of the baby yet?”

“No,” answered Harry. “But I'm sort of hoping it's a girl,” he confessed, giving a brief smile.

“I think we're having a boy,” Hermione offered, touching her stomach. “I'm not too sure why, but I have the same… feeling, like I did with Andrew. I just have this inkling that we're having a boy.”

He sighed, but then grinned. “At least we're having one more.”

“Oh,” sighed his mother-in-law, “I'm going to be a grandmother twice over.” She smiled happily.

Hermione and Harry blushed, for reasons unknown to them. He turned his attention towards Andrew, remembering when he was just born, and smiled.

“Anyway,” said Hermione, turning so she was turning towards her mother and her husband, “the doctor said you'll be released in just a few days.”

“Yes, he told me.” She paused. “But, enough about me, what are you two planning on doing after you return to the United States?”

Harry shrugged while Hermione opened her mouth and started to talk. He smiled briefly, savouring the moment between his family.

Author's Notes: Well, that was corny. Oh well, whatever. At least I finished. (I had no idea how to, so I just wrote something :-P)

I'm not that great in the medical field (thank god I'm not majoring in that), so forgive me if I got any medical terms wrong. And I've never sent anyone to the nursing home before, so I seriously have no idea what I'm writing. If I have anything wrong, pardon my ignorance and don't lash out, please.

-->

Author's Note: Haha, I didn't take long at all… :D

--------------

September 4^th, 2001 …

--------------

“Papa!” squealed Andrew giggling, as Harry tried to wash his son. He was in the bathtub, bubbles around him everywhere.

Harry grinned, holding Andrew securely with one hand as he washed him with the other. As he tried washing the bubbles out of his hair, however, he got very angry and protested, much to Harry's displeasure. He fussed and squirmed, trying to keep the bubbles everywhere on his body so he could play with them, but they were slowly gliding off his body. Harry tried taking a small bucket of water and dumping it on his son's head, thankful that the shampoo was safe for babies like him, yet annoyed because it had so many damn bubbles.

“Hold still,” he muttered to Andrew, though it seemed like he was muttering to himself because Andrew tried standing up, though was constricted because of the grip Harry had on him.

Andrew started protesting some more, trying to slap his father's hand away to no avail. The water was quickly off him and Harry scooped him up (he was glad he took Hermione advice—finally—and didn't wear a shirt or pants when bathing Andrew—just a pair of shorts), wrapping the large blue towel that had bubbles on it around his small body. He grabbed a smaller towel, setting Andrew on the counter, holding him while he rubbed the remnants of water out of his hair.

Fifteen minutes later, Andrew was finally dressed. He crawled over to the corner of his and Hermione's bed, playing with the hem of his pants. Harry raised an eyebrow but did nothing, shrugging it off and taking a pair of low-rise boot jeans, a leather belt and his name brand shirt, going to the bathroom to change a minute later.

After changing, he found that Andrew had left. Leaving the bedroom, he looked left and right, wondering where he'd gone off. Walking into the kitchen, he saw Hermione finishing washing the dishes, Andrew standing and eating some seasoned rice with beans. She quickly finished, drying her hands and started to put the dishes away.

Harry walked in and helped her, and in no time the dishes were put away. “So,” said Harry after they finished, “where are we going today?”

“I was thinking about a picnic,” she voiced her thoughts, kneeling so she could take Andrew's empty bowl and into the sink. “Do you like the idea?” she asked, wiping off Andrew's messy face. He grinned and started babbling, walking out of the kitchen a moment later.

“Yeah,” he answered, thinking about it. “It would be a nice place, and it seems like the weather will be nice,” he continued, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and bringing her close. “I'm sure all of us would like a day of peace and quiet,” he murmured.

She rubbed his arms, leaning her head so she could give him a soft kiss. “Then we could perhaps go sight seeing,” she suggested, turning around so she could face him.

“That sounds good,” he agreed, stealing a glance at his son, wondering where a good playground for younger children like him could play. He gave Hermione's forehead a soft kiss, moving away and opened the refrigerator. “When're we leaving?” he asked, taking the juice out and pouring himself a glass.

“Whenever you want,” she answered. “It's about one, so I suppose we could wait a short while until we leave. What park are we going to, anyway?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

He shrugged, taking a large gulp of his juice. “I've never really been to any parks where people could picnic. I only went to the one that was by the Dursleys, and that was a playground, not an area where we could relax with our families.”

Hermione nodded, thinking. “There's Richmond Park, one of the Royal Parks,” she murmured to herself. “My parents always used to take me there when I was younger. They loved seeing the deer and the vast amount of land it had. It shouldn't be too far from here. There are also other parks around there, too, so everyone can have fun.” She paused, wondering if there were any better choices. That is quite a lovely park, and I'm sure Andrew would love to play there.

“Richmond Park?” He shrugged. “Sounds like a nice place. I've never been there, but if you like it then there's no harm in spending a few hours there.”

She nodded. “We can go around two, then.” After seeing him nod in agreement she walked out of the kitchen and went into the bedroom. “I'm taking a shower!” she shouted from the room.

Harry sat on the couch and watched his son crawl around, occasionally stand and run somewhere if he felt the need to, and play with everything in sight. He leaned back, closing his eyes and thought about the day ahead of him, and what else could possibly happen that day.

If he still had his laptop from University (he supposed it was in one of their bags, shrunken and still in Hermione's purse somewhere) he'd be able to look up the park and see all of its features, location (he wondered how they were going to get there without one of them knowing where it actually was), and other things they could do. Maybe he could even buy a gift—his eyes widened, a small smile playing his lips.

Hermione's birthday, he instantly remembered. Of course, he had plenty of time—fifteen days, to be exact—but maybe he could find something nice yet simple for her, if they didn't go to the US before then.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair he thought. It will just have to wait. I might not even get time to get away from those two and buy a present. He sat and thought about what he could buy for Hermione. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard Andrew babbling. Furrowing his eyebrows, he turned and looked for his son. He was sitting on the floor by his blanket, his cell phone open and in hand. Oh god, he thought, standing up and going to Andrew.

“Mumma, Papa,” he giggled and babbled.

Harry chuckled and swiftly took the phone from him. “Hello?”

“Oh hello Harry,” greeted Andromeda, chuckling when she heard Andrew's protests over the line. “I'm guessing that was little Andrew babbling on?”

He chuckled, nodding. Giving Andrew a kiss at the top of his head as an apology for taking back his cell phone, Harry moved over to the couch and sat. “Yeah, he likes talking on mine and Hermione's cell phones. He's been doing this since he found out it vibrates.”

“That's nice,” she chuckled. “Listen, Teddy and I were wondering if Andrew could come over for a little while. Teddy's missed him so much, and he hasn't stopped mentioning Andrew. Perhaps you two could even have some time to yourselves. God knows you do, after going through years of classes and raising a child together.”

“Well, actually we planned on going to Richmond Park today to have a picnic and enjoy the Royal Parks,” he told her. “But perhaps sometime today we can drop Andrew off; I'm sure the two boys would like that,” he agreed, nodding and looking at his son again. He was standing and playing with various toys again.

“Okay, no problem. Just phone before you drop him off, so I'll know,” she told him.

“Sounds good.”

After a slight pause, Andromeda talked again. “Well, I'd best get going. I have to buy some things and it's going to take such a long time with Teddy. I'll see you later, I assume?”

“Yes, sometime in the late afternoon I guess.” After giving her a few parting words, he finally shut his phone and put it back where it originally was. Standing up and rubbing his eyes absently, he checked the time on his wristwatch. It was nearing one thirty. Shrugging, he made sure Andrew was all right before walking into his and Hermione's room.

He knocked on the bathroom door, wondering if she was finished. He heard her invite him in, so he opened the door and walked in. She was nearly dressed, wearing blue and white plaid knee shorts and a simple blue short-sleeved shirt. “Almost finished?” he asked.

“Almost,” she agreed. They were quiet for a few minutes, each doing their own things. “Were you talking to someone a few minutes ago?” she asked, finished with everything she had to do in the bathroom. She leaned onto the bathroom counter and watched her husband absently play with the body spray in front of him.

“Yeah,” he told her, “Andromeda called and invited Andrew over, said Teddy was missing him.” He took off his glasses and gave them to Hermione, taking off his shirt next. “I told her that we could drop off Andrew sometime late afternoon.” His body spray was soon over his torso and he looked at Hermione, waiting for her to say something. He grabbed his shirt, putting it back on and put his glasses back on.

“I have an odd feeling,” murmured Hermione, placing her hand on her barely protruding stomach.

“About the baby?” he asked worriedly.

“No,” she assured him, going to their bedroom. He followed her. “I just have this feeling that something is going to happen.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “It's probably nothing.”

He shrugged, “Maybe.”

She sat on her vanity chair and started applying her makeup. “Why don't you see if Andrew is fed and ready? I'll be done in a few minutes, and then we can leave,” she said.

“Okay,” he nodded, looking at himself once more and at the room, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything. He remembered he didn't have his watch on, so he went to her table and grabbed it, putting it on as he left the room.

Andrew was lying on the floor, his eyes closed. Alarmed, Harry ran to his son, hoping something bad didn't happen. He picked him up, and instantly Andrew opened his eyes, wiping his face with his hands, oblivious to the fact that his father just breathed a sigh of relief. Bringing him close to his chest, taking the blanket with him, he stood up and set him on the couch. Walking over to the door, where their shoes were, he took his little sandals and started putting it on his feet.

Once the two male Potters had their shoes on, he set Andrew back on the floor and went to the kitchen, wondering if he should bring anything. Taking the baby bag he put a few bottles of water in there, along with Andrew's bottle. Walking back out, he took his keys, wallet, cell phone and wand, putting them in his pockets.

“Ready?” asked Hermione a few minutes later, walking towards the door and putting on her blue, flat sandals. He nodded, grabbing the baby bag and Andrew, holding him securely against his side. She took the baby bag from him and grabbed her purse, opening the door. “Do you have your cell?” she asked, locking the door.

He nodded, double-checking. “Okay, let's go,” said Hermione, closing the door behind them and walking down the corridor.

--------------

They finally parked into the car park, after nearly one hour. Hermione wasn't the best of direction tellers, as Harry found out, because they got lost a few times, and had to ask for directions to get there. After finally making it, they parked and Harry started laughing.

“I thought Hermione Granger would be able to tell directions accurately,” he teased, smirking at his wife.

“I'm Hermione Potter,” she corrected, “so obviously my skills have diminished after receiving your name.” She winked.

“Low blow,” he said, leaning over and giving her a soft kiss. After parting, she gave him another wink and then left the car. He too exited the car, opening the back so he could get Andrew. He fell asleep during the drive, so he slowly woke up, snuggling close to his father when he picked him up. Locking the door, Harry stood by Hermione's side and waited for her to fix her shirt (“I feel like I'm showing,” she muttered, adjusting her slightly tight shirt). After she finished, he handed Andrew to Hermione. He turned, opening the boot of the car and took out Andrew's plush stroller, putting him in there after opening and securing it.

Closing the boot, he took Hermione's hand and started going towards the park. “It looks so big,” he murmured in mild amazement.

“There are many parks,” she informed him, “Richmond Park just happens to be the biggest.” He nodded in understanding.

They walked down the foot path, enjoying the scenery. They saw many couples sitting, having a picnic or going to the restaurant, and Hermione smiled, squeezing Harry's hand. She leaned slightly on him, all the while looking for a place they could have their own little picnic. After walking for a few minutes, each enjoying different aspects of the large, beautiful park, Hermione found a place where a children's playground was, with picnic tables near.

“Let's go here,” she suggested, leading her family. Andrew babbled, seeing the playground, wanting to play now. When they got a bit closer, Harry let him down and the married couple sat on a nearby bench, keeping a steady eye on their son, since he was still very young.

Wrapping his arm around Hermione's shoulder, he looked around the park. Trees and bushes surrounded the area, and Harry concluded that this was one of the most beautiful natural sceneries he had seen in a long time. They saw Andrew try to go up a slide, and Hermione stood up and went to Andrew, shaking her head, looking at him sternly. Harry too went to his son and wife, sitting next to Hermione.

“I think we should just stay with him,” said Harry. “At least he won't get hurt,” he continued.

“That's a good idea,” she agreed, letting Andrew down, who just tried to go up the slide again. Chuckling, Harry picked him up, trying to set his son on his shoulders.

Hermione just smiled, watching Harry play with his son.

--------------

It'd been about 3 since they arrived, and the family of three were starting to get hungry. After eating their lunch, they went back outside, but avoided the park this time, instead going for a nature walk. Harry sighed, trying to keep Andrew balanced on his side. Even though he was healthy and athletic, carrying his son around for a long time was making his arm tired.

“Hermione, can you unfold the stroller?” asked Harry, adjusting Andrew in his arms again. He would've let him walk, but even after a short while he'd started to get tired.

She did so quickly; making sure it was secure before she let her husband put their son into the comfortable chair. They walked around for a few more minutes, but then they saw an owl—one that looked surprisingly familiar—flying towards them. Harry's eyes widened, finally recognizing the bird. It was the owl that they'd gotten, years ago, while Ron and Ginny were still “writing” to them. He supposed it was one of their newer owls, since Ginny and Ron actually had a decent amount of money now, and Ron (or even Ginny) had sent them a letter.

But why? Harry wondered. He cautiously kneeled down, extremely glad that there was no one was near them. Frowning slightly, remembering he had no owl pellets or even water for him, he took the letter, hoping he'd wait. Luckily, he did. Standing up straight, he opened the letter, wrapping his arm around Hermione's shoulders so the two of them could read. Hermione gasped, recognizing the handwriting, the handwriting of Ron's.

Harry and Hermione,

Surprise, isn't it? That I'd be writing to you after all this time. Yeah, I think it is, too. Just listen, though.

I know our friendship is rocky (basically nonexistent, actually) and you two just want to go back to where you were before with your son, but I need to make it up to you two. Come to the Burrow at about 6, and don't bring your son. Please, Harry and Hermione, I'm still your friend. You know I've made past mistakes, but our friendship always follows through, right?

I hope you show.

Ron

“That was rather short, compared to the letters he used to write,” he commented dryly. He rested his cheek on top of Hermione's head, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Should we go?” she wondered quietly.

He sighed, wondering the same thing. He was always willing to forgive his friend, but he'd gone too far the last time, and he wasn't too sure if he was as willing this time. Of course, over time, he might've forgiven him… but he wasn't too sure. He closed his eyes, his decision made.

“I think we should,” he told her quietly. “Even if we don't get much out of it, at least we'll find out what he had to say.”

She nodded, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I think you're right. And besides, we'll be left to wonder what he was going to say if we weren't going.” She paused, resting a hand on her stomach. “What time is it?” she asked, letting go of Harry.

He checked his watch. It was almost half past five. “About five thirty,” he told her. “I guess we could leave now…”

She sighed, “Are we going to call Andromeda? The letter said that we shouldn't bring Andrew.” And it's a good thing too, because if he could've gotten hurt, someone would have to pay. Her eyes narrowed, remembering what Ginny had done, but tried to cool her sudden anger, knowing that her hormones were being jumpy.

He was already dialling her. After chatting with her for a few minutes, he closed his cell phone and turned Andrew's stroller around so they could go back to the car park. “She said she'd be delighted to have Andrew as long as we needed to be out,” he told her, knowing she was going to ask in a few moments.

“I wonder what Ron's going to say,” she wondered softly, leaning onto Harry as they walked. “Probably that he was manipulated and it was all Ginny's fault.” She scoffed, shaking her head.

He closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that what his wife said was most likely true. He didn't like the thought of Ron pointing fingers at anyone, because it was his own fault, not just Ginny's. He chose to go with it from his own free choice, not choose the right way and stick up for his friends. I would've stuck up for my friends, he though immediately, no matter what they did to me in the past.

After about ten minutes, they finally got to the car park, and were soon on their way to Andromeda's home. As they drove to her home, the occupants in the car were silent. Andrew was taking a nap in his car seat and Hermione was in deep thought, while Harry was busy trying to focus his attention on the road, and not what Ron and possibly Ginny were going to say.

As he took the exit (just a few more minutes now, he thought) he wondered how they were going to get there. Now, without Andrew, they were able to apparate. No, he immediately corrected himself, Hermione's pregnant. Flooing would be best then, he reasoned, turning left onto the street.

Once they got to her house, they got out and brought a sleeping Andrew to the front door, Harry knocking a few short moments later. Andromeda answered almost immediately, a bright smile on her face. “Come in, come in,” she said, opening the door more. As they walked in, she told them, “Teddy is taking a nap—oh, I see Andrew is too!” she chuckled. “Here love, let's get Andrew to Teddy's room and the boys can play when they wake up,” she told Hermione, who was carrying Andrew. Nodding, the two left Harry and came back a few minutes later.

“Sorry for the short stay,” said Harry, “but we have to go. Ron wanted us to visit the Burrow because he needed to tell us some things.”

She nodded understandingly. “I see,” she murmured, smiling a moment later. “Well, no problem dears. Remember what I told you on the phone: let Andrew stay as long as you want him to, you need to finish your business.”

They nodded, thankful. “We'd better go soon,” said Harry, checking the time. It was nearing six.

Hermione nodded, but then asked, “Where's the loo?” Andromeda told her where it was, and she disappeared.

“When do you reckon you're going back to the States?” she asked curiously. “Teddy will be so devastated when Andrew leaves.”

Harry chuckled. “I honestly don't know, but I hope it's soon,” he answered. “And I'm sure Andrew will be sad as well, Teddy was his first friend that wasn't an adult.”

She nodded, settling herself on the couch. “You can leave your car here,” she told him, “if you plan on flooing.”

“Okay,” he said and Hermione returned. “Ready?” he asked, to which she nodded, lacing her fingers through his. They made their way to the fireplace, Hermione going first. She clearly spoke her destination and disappeared in the emerald flames. He followed her, disappearing a few moments later.

Andromeda watched the two leave, silently wishing them the best.

--------------

Harry tumbled out of the fireplace, nearly hitting his head off the table. Taking off his glasses he shook his head, hoping to get the soot off. Hermione helped brush the rest of the soot off, and after he finished he took in his surroundings.

Ron sat on a dining chair, his legs crossed and one foot shaking. He was nervous, Hermione instantly noted, seeing his foot movements. She took a deep and steadying breath, adjusting her purse on her shoulder, and lightly touched Harry's arm, moving forward. Once the two were almost directly in front of them, the old Trio waited for someone to talk.

“Mum's in the garden,” Ron started quietly, after a few minutes. “And everyone else except Ginny and I are out doing their own things.” He paused, making sure they were hearing him. “I didn't want any disturbances or interruptions, because this is important.”

Harry raised an eyebrow while Hermione nodded briskly, telling him to continue. Ron nervously stood up, looking at his friends. “I'm really sorry, I've really messed up, I know. I know I don't deserve your friendship, but hear me out: Ginny manipulated me,” he told them, sincerely hoping they'd believe him. This was his last chance. “Yeah, I had my own choice but she was pushing all the right buttons at the right time! It was so hard to say no, and it was just too good to pass up.

“I was angry at you two, for leaving me behind,” he continued, looking at Harry then Hermione. “Do you know how much that hurt me? That my two best mates left, leaving me to assume you could've been kidnapped, or even died? After we started sending the letters, you two didn't even bloody send a reply,” he said angrily, glaring at them before forcing himself to calm down. “That was the only indication I got that you two were still living: my owl was still well fed and the letter was open.

“I thought I was pathetic after you visited me. I admitted what I did was a mistake, but you two made one, too.” He took a breath, forcing himself to cool down even further. All of this pent up emotion was starting to surface, and to even get something forgiving out of the Potters, he'd have to keep his temper in check. “You could've told me you were going somewhere, you know. You didn't have to be all secretive about it; I might not have minded—”

“That's a lie,” interrupted Hermione. “You would've been jealous and thrown a fit, knowing that Harry and I were going to fetch my parents without you.” Harry stood there quietly, taking in everything Ron had said, and what he was about to say.

“Of course I would've `thrown a fit,'” he retorted heatedly. “My two best mates are leaving to some foreign country without even asking if I could go along. No, you two didn't even bloody do that, now did you? No, instead you two left—without telling anyone—”

“Would you be able to handle being disguised as a muggle?” asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “I wouldn't think so, and you don't know the reasons why Harry left with me.”

“Then why didn't you tell me!?” he retorted, ready to shout. “Why, because I have the emotional range of a teaspoon? Is that why you couldn't even trust me enough to tell me?”

“You don't understand,” Harry said softly.

Ron chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I don't understand, but Hermione does? Oh, she's always understood, hasn't she?” He glared at Harry, whose eyes were focused on a corner behind Ron's head.

He sighed, shaking his head. “I would've told you—really, I would have—but I just needed to get away from everything. And when Hermione told me she was going to Australia, it gave me the perfect opportunity to leave everything: the publicity, the questions, everything. I … I couldn't handle it,” he told him, wishing he'd understand.

“That still doesn't excuse the fact that you two left without—”

“Why are we here?” asked Hermione agitatedly, her hormones getting the best of her. “I thought you were here to prove to us that you're our friend, not point out our mistakes, which we're currently paying for.” Her eyes started pooling with tears, but she tried blinking them away, knowing that all three had made mistakes in the past.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but said nothing for a minute. Once his temper slightly cooled, he spoke again. “You're right, but what I'm saying is true too. I know I've made a mistake. I know what I've done is wrong, and I know I've done this before, but I can't help it! It's just… it's just how I am. It makes me, me.”

“Just because you've realized your mistake doesn't mean you'll get forgiveness,” said Hermione quietly, still angry. “You've deserted Harry and me twice already, and this was the last. I'm not too sure if I'm willing to forgive and forget this time around.”

“You know how I am, Hermione,” said Ron, his voice now quiet. “I'd been jealous of Harry when I was younger, and even when Ginny talked me into talking all that bull about you and Harry, but I still consider you two to be my closest friends.” He paused, letting them take this all in. “You two know that I wouldn't fully abandon you,” he continued. “I came back after I left you two in the tent, saving Harry's arse in the process. I do come back, I'm just very slow at it.

“Please,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “Maybe if we could just… have a truce, maybe,” he continued. “We try to look past our mistakes and try to rekindle our friendship. Please, guys. You two are so special to me.”

Harry closed his eyes, wishing he could forgive him easily. He wanted to—he wanted to so bad—but knew he couldn't. What he did—what they­­ did—was major, and they couldn't just forgive and forget, just as Hermione had said. All of them made mistakes, but they couldn't just get past it and go on having their friendship like they were fourteen again. He and Hermione were married, with a child and another one on the way. They had their own lives, and Ron had his own. They couldn't just leave everything behind and start anew.

“It's not that easy,” said Harry, looking at Ron. “I admit, Hermione and I made mistakes too, but we can't just start being best friends like nothing ever happened. We live on two different continents, Hermione and I are parents, and you're this bachelor living in England, free as a bird. Each of us have jobs, lives to live, and… it's not as easy as you think it is.”

“I never said it was easy!” he retorted. “I never said it was going to be easy. I just… I just want to get somewhere.”

Hermione sighed, leaning onto Harry for a moment before straightening herself out once more. “I'm sorry, Ron. You'll have to give me, and presumably Harry, some time. Before we forgave you easily, but we were going and naïve back then. Now…” She sighed, letting her hand rest on her abdomen. “Just give us time.”

“How much?” asked Ron quietly, feeling like he knew the answer already.

“I don't know,” she whispered.

He nodded once, looking at Harry. He didn't meet his eyes.

“I think you should leave now,” Ron said after a few minutes, his voice abnormally quiet.

They nodded, turning. Soon, they vanished in the emerald flames, leaving Ron alone.

Author's Notes: Well, this isn't exactly how I imagined it to be. I actually planned Ginny to come downstairs and bash everyone, but I thought it'd be sort of better to have a verbal lashing from Ron. It'd be more effective, in a way.

Sometimes, I do believe that Ron is just a tad slow. He is a loyal friend, but he just makes the wrong decisions. I don't know, that's just what I believe. He's very easily fooled and manipulated, and if he became a stronger person inside—ignorant to Harry's fame and fortune, rather looking at what he has and Harry didn't—he'd be the absolute best friend, ever.

But yeah, enough about Ron.

Hmm… probably a half chapter- half epilogue next time, and that's it! Unless you guys still want the series. Because I sincerely don't feel like writing it if no one wants to read it. Please, tell me, because you guys motivate me.

Until next time!

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Author's Notes: Hehh... heh... Hi.

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September 29, 2001 …

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“You bought the tickets already?” Hermione asked, munching on a few chips.

He nodded. “We're leaving next week. I already called Matt and he's pretty excited.” She nodded and he continued. “Your Mum already knows, too, so we'll just pop by whenever, I guess.”

“Mhm,” she nodded absently, wondering if it'd be too much if she put a few more chips in the oven. He continued talking but she wasn't paying attention.

“Mumma!” Andrew called, chasing around an enchanted aeroplane. “Ook!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his language.

“I think he means `look,' love,” Harry explained, smirking. He watched his son jump around and chase the little blue flying thing.

“I wonder if Joden will be happy to see us back,” Hermione wondered aloud, thinking about her boss. She worked part-time and sometimes brought Andrew with her, when Harry had a class or he, too, had to work (they didn't allow children on the job).

He shrugged. “Prolly. I mean, he did always let you bring Andrew in when he was a baby. And I think he just had a soft spot for you.”

Andrew squealed, but sat on the floor, now grinning and watching the little plane go by.

“I wonder how the Weasleys are doing,” Hermione absently wondered.

“I don't care,” he said roughly. Even though it'd been a few weeks, the topic about the Weasleys still touched a soft spot around Harry.

Hermione sighed, dipping a few more chips into her mustard.

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Ron hadn't been doing well these weeks, and he knew that the time for Harry, Hermione, and Andrew to go back to the United States was coming quickly. “Today?” he asked himself softly. He wasn't sure.

He had taken the time to actually go to the muggle part of London, though, and try and use the thing called internet. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, other than ask out Fleur back in fourth year, but he'd managed to look up flight times for when Harry and Hermione Potter were set to board.

“Tomorrow, 2:34 PM,” He murmured to himself, nodding. He asked an elderly man, “And I just click on that little `x' atop the screen if I'd like to close the window, right?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. Children these days. “All you young folk are always on the internet, I'm surprised you didn't even know how to use a computer.”

Ron just grunted, exed out of the window, and walked out without paying to use the internet cafe. He didn't have any muggle money. He wasn't even aware that he had to, honestly. “Okay, Heathrow Airport... Tomorrow...” He sighed softly, looking up at the sky, where planes were noticeable in the sky.

“I'll make up for myself, then.”

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It was the day of departure, and Harry was wrestling a young Andrew into his clothes. “Come on, Andy,” he muttered, putting on his son's socks. Andrew kept on kicking and giggled, rolling of the bed and to his mommy. “Hermione, he won't put on his socks!” He grunted.

Andrew giggled as his daddy threw the sock on the ground, then grabbed it, plopped onto the ground, and put it on himself. He gave his daddy an innocent grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes and scooped up Andrew, her purse already on her shoulder. “Let's go, Harry.”

Harry grumbled the entire way there. Obviously Andrew was out to get him.

When he got to the terminal, he had to blink twice as he saw Ron. He gaped. “Hermione... is that... Ron?”

Hermione, who hadn't been paying attention to Harry, asked, “Hm?” She looked to where he was and gasped. “Ron?!” What was he doing in a muggle airport?!

Ron smiled sheepishly, walking over to them. “I, um... I know you two are still angry with me, and I understand.. But I wanted to just say bye... This time I didn't want you guys to leave without saying our farewells properly.” Obviously he'd rehearsed some of this.

Harry blinked. He sighed softly and nodded, and suddenly pulled Ron into a tight hug. “See you, Ron.” He smiled and pulled back, letting his wife hug Ron. Andrew squealed as he was squished between the two adults.

Ron smiled and patted Andrew's cheeks. “He's really cute, you know. Didn't think Hermione could do it.” He winked playfully and chuckled, glad when Harry did also. “But yeah, I know you guys have to get on your... flight, plane, whatever they're called. Those muggle contraptions.”

Harry snickered, then asked, “How did you even know where to find us?”

“The internet,” he answered plainly.

Hermione frowned. “You know how to use it?”

Ron grinned at that. “Nope. Some old bloke helped me. He nearly ripped my head off.”

Harry laughed at that mental image. He couldn't believe that Ron had gone through all of that trouble just to see them off, though. It was really touching. He'd remember it. Clapping Ron on the back, he murmured, “Well... I guess... We ought to go, then. Getting miniature bags through the security is always a bitch.”

Ron nodded, his smile sad. “Yeah. I'll ... I mean, bye.” He waved at Harry, patted Andrew's cheek again and gave Hermione a smile before walking out of the airport. He'd been there not even ten minutes, and exchanged nothing but a few words with the Potter family, but all of the effort he'd put behind it hadn't gone to waste. At least, now, when they left it was with a proper goodbye. They wouldn't be running off again.

Meanwhile, as the Potters waited for their luggage to be checked, Hermione murmured, “I think I forgive Ronald...”

Harry simply nodded.

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Four months later, Ron had just come home from a night with friends. He laughed and went up to his room, surprised as he saw a letter. It was blank, and he looked at his owl in confusion. He shrugged though, opening it. He gaped as he read the letter:

Hey Ron,

We thought you should visit another airport again... This time the one in the United States.

-HP

Ron smiled and turned the letter over. On the back was an address, presumably where Harry and Hermione lived. He went to put the letter inside the envelope and saw a plane ticket. He grinned widely, then wrote on a piece of parchment: Thank you. I will. - R

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