After Happily Ever After

“You're going gray,” Hermione said, quirking her lips as she leaned on the counter next to Harry, watching him heat the tea kettle with the tip of his wand.

“Oh, shut it.”

“Just here.” Her fingers ghosted over the tips of his ears. “More silvery really.”

Harry batted her hand away. “You're making me feel old.”

Hermione laughed as she stretched up to grab two cups from the top cabinet. “Honestly, it looks good on you; dignified.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not like mine.”

“Pfft,” Harry said. Hermione didn't miss the way his eyes strayed to the smattering of gray framing her face. “What gray hair?”

Hermione nudged his elbow but didn't respond as he prepared their tea in her small kitchen. She followed him to the breakfast nook, a short square table nestled up against a bay window, big enough for two to fit comfortably. Three was a tight squeeze, but Hermione rarely had need for something larger.

“So, what's this about?” Hermione settled in on the wooden chair, pouring a dash of milk into her tea. Harry took his plain.

“What do you mean?” Harry cocked his head, the sunlight catching on the silver streaking back from his temple.

“That innocent act stopped working thirty years ago.”

“What innocent act?”

“You never just pop by for tea, especially on a Sunday morning.” Hermione gave a wry smile before bringing the cup to her lips.

“All right, all right,” Harry said, raising his hands in surrender. “I thought it would be better to ease into this, but I can see that's impossible with you.”

“You should have known better.”

“Right.” Harry smiled, but his eyes tightened subtly. Anyone else might not have noticed, but Hermione wasn't just anyone.

She leaned forward. “What's wrong?”

“Ginny…well,” Harry shook his head. “I won't be at the Burrow for Christmas Eve this year.”

“What?”

His gaze dropped to the table, his fingers fiddling with a napkin. “I won't be going to the Burrow—not this year…I don't know if—probably not again.”

She reached out automatically, stilling his hand with a brush of her fingers. “What happened?”

He didn't speak, the soft whirr of the refrigerator the only sound in the kitchen for a long moment, and as she twined their fingers together to squeeze his hand, she suddenly knew what had happened.

He wasn't wearing his ring.

“Oh Harry,” she whispered, and he looked at her then with a pained smile turning quickly to a grimace.

“It's for the best.”

“When?” she prodded gently, but he slipped his hand out of hers and scrubbed his cheek with his palm.

“Last week.” He turned to the window, taking a small sip of tea. “It just wasn't working out. It hasn't been for a while.”

“Does Ron know?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “Unless she—she might have told him; I don't know…she didn't take it all that well. I haven't—we haven't told the kids yet. I wanted to give her some time to calm down.”

Hermione nodded, though he wasn't looking her way. She was bursting with questions—why after twenty-five years? Was he absolutely sure? Had they tried counseling? But she clamped down on her curiosity, forcing down tea to keep her mouth busy. It wasn't as if she couldn't guess the answers; she'd been married to Ron for fifteen years before she'd realised she wasn't in love with him any longer. Counseling hadn't worked, temporary separation had barely eased the tension between them; in the end the only solution that had helped their relationship was finally getting divorced.

She was about to remind Harry that she and Ron had managed to become friends again (she felt closer to him now than she had during the last few years of their marriage), but Harry's face darkened, stifling her words.

“You know, she had the nerve to say that I'd waited until she was too old to find anyone else?” Harry slammed his cup on the table. “That I'd ruined her for any other men—that no one would take Harry Potter's castoffs—like she's a castoff! Like that's all this meant to me?”

“That's quite ridiculous.” Hermione reached across the table to grab his hand again, but he jumped up, averting her grasp, and began to pace back and forth across her kitchen. “According to Wizarding standards, she's not even middle-aged, and—”

“Twenty-five years, right—I mean, yeah, I did hold on until the kids were out of the house, and maybe I knew things were going badly after Lily went off to Hogwarts and it was just the two of us again, but whenever I tried to talk to her she just—” The soles of his shoes slapped hard against the kitchen tiles. “She always had some place to be—something to do, work, Quidditch practice or doing the dishes or preparing dinner—she never let me cook! I'm a good cook, Hermione, you know that don't you?”

He stilled, finally meeting her eyes. His pleading look tugged her from her chair and she went to him, slipping her arms around his shoulders; he buried his face into her neck, squeezing her waist.

“You're an excellent cook,” Hermione said, cupping the back of his head. “Really.”

“You're not just saying that, are you?” Harry said, his voice muffled against her collar.

Hermione huffed lightly. “You know me better than that.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

Hermione wasn't sure how long they stood there, Harry curled into her, hiding his face against her shoulder; Hermione pulled him closer. He didn't cry, but she hadn't expected him to, and eventually he relaxed his grip. He drew away, rubbing the heel of his palm over his forehead.

“Thanks,” he said. She was reluctant to let go, but he backed up a couple of steps, his gaze firmly on the floor.

“Where are you staying?” she asked quietly.

“Grimmauld Place.”

Hermione frowned; as far as she knew, Grimmauld Place hadn't been inhabited since their brief stay after Bill and Fleur's wedding—it was likely just as gloomy as when they'd left it, too. No place for Harry to live, even temporarily.

“I have a guest bedroom.”

He glanced up at her. “No, Hermione, I couldn't ask—”

“You didn't,” she stated firmly. “I'm offering and I insist.”

“Well, I insist that I can't accept,” Harry said, but there was a faint trace of a smile on his lips.

“In that case, I guess we're going to find out which us is the most stubborn after all these years.” She folded her arms across her chest, but the corners of her mouth turned up against her will.

“I can't impose—”

“Did you forget that I offered?” Her lips twitched.

“No, but still, I don't want to just barge in—”

Hermione squashed the urge to roll her eyes. “You're not barging in. I'm offering. I want you to stay here.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, emitting a nonsensical protest, but Hermione knew she was two seconds away from winning this round.

“Besides, I wouldn't mind having an excellent cook around the flat for a while.”

“You are rubbish at it,” Harry admitted, tilting his head to the side. “I would be doing you a favour; saving you from—”

“My dreadful culinary skills?”

Harry shrugged, his smile growing faintly. “Something like that.” He looked at the floor for a split second, then back at her. “Is tonight too soon?”

Hermione almost grinned with her victory, but she settled for a small smile matching his. “No, tonight's fine.”

“Good—I mean, all right, then.” Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I guess I'll, er, go and get my stuff—you'll be here when I get back? You don't have any plans or—”

“I'll be here,” Hermione said with a nod.

“Okay.” Harry turned toward the door, but paused mid-stride and a moment later engulfed Hermione in a brief hug, whispering, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Hermione said, and her eyes lingered on his back as he walked to her front door.

-->

“Where is he?”

Hermione barely had time to swing the front door open before Ron stomped through, his Ministry-issued black robes sweeping in his wake, oddly reminiscent of Professor Snape from so many years ago.

Hermione decided it would be best to keep that particular observation to herself.

“He's not here.”

Ron's eyes darted around Hermione's small sitting area as if daring Harry to pop out from under one of the sofa cushions. He took a couple steps toward the hallway leading to the two bedrooms, but paused and turned back to face her.

“Where did he go?”

“For a walk, I suspect.” Truthfully, Hermione wasn't sure as Harry hadn't been at the flat when she'd returned from work a half-hour ago, but that wasn't unusual. Hermione could only remember one time in the last week since he'd moved in that Harry had come home first.

He always showed up in time to make dinner though, usually with something fresh from the shop around the corner, but whenever she questioned him about where he'd been, he would always answer with a vague mention of a walk around the neighbourhood to clear his head. Hermione figured if that was a good enough answer for her, it was good enough for Ron.

Ron, who was currently plopped down on her sofa with a stubborn set to his jaw.

“I'll wait,” he said.

“All right.” Hermione pursed her lips as she shut the front door. “I was just about to have a cup of tea. Would you like some?”

“No.” Ron fisted his robes, staring intently at the hearth. The vein in his temple throbbed with the flex of his knuckles and his closely-cropped ginger hair did nothing to hide the rising flush on his neck.

“It might calm you down,” Hermione said lightly. Ron grumbled something indiscernible under his breath and Hermione decided that perhaps letting Ron seethe alone even for the few minutes it would take to prepare tea wasn't the best idea.

She perched on the armchair to his left.

“Don't let me keep you,” Ron muttered.

“You're not keeping me.” Hermione folded her hands in her lap. “You want to tell me what's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” Ron's face flooded with colour, his lips twisting to a scowl. “You know bloody well what's wrong.”

Hermione took a calming breath. “I take it Harry told you-”

“He didn't tell me anything! I've been on assignment all week and came home last night to find Ginny crying in Luna's arms—and the bastard didn't even have the nerve to show up for work today. He went on leave. Coward.”

“Harry's not a coward,” Hermione snapped automatically. Ron ignored her, spurting out clipped words as he continued to rant.

But Hermione was far more worried about the fact that Harry had taken a leave from the Ministry without telling her about it first. It wasn't as if she'd asked; she'd been trying very hard to give Harry his space the last few days as whenever she brought up how he was feeling or anything remotely to do with Ginny, he would close himself off in his room for the rest of the night. She hadn't wanted to push, but she still assumed he was going to work after she left the flat in the mornings. Keeping a normal routine was important; she knew that from her own experience and several books she'd consulted during her divorce from Ron. It did no good to languish around brooding all day.

“…and it's a good thing he stepped down from being the Head of the Aurors, too, or else we'd have a real mess on our hands-”

Hermione's attention snapped back to Ron. “What?”

“You didn't know?” Ron looked at her for the first time since sitting down on the sofa. She numbly shook her head.

“Three months ago. He said he was tired of all the responsibility, but Ginny reckons that he just wanted to be back in the field—any excuse to be away from home after Lily finally moved out.”

“Ron, you don't know that.” Hermione reached out to touch his forearm, but Ron snatched his arm away.

“I suppose you do.” Ron narrowed his eyes. “Well, since he's not around to tell his side of things, go ahead then.”

“It's not my place,” Hermione said, though the last thing she wanted to admit was that she didn't know Harry's side.

Ron leaned forward. “Did he tell you that he went ahead and talked to their kids? Told them they were separated behind Ginny's back? Didn't even give Ginny a chance to-”

Hermione's stomach churned. “Ron, stop-”

“You didn't know that, did you?” A flicker of regret crossed Ron's face before he looked to the door. When he turned back to Hermione again, all she could see was pain lining his eyes. “I should have known you'd defend him.”

“I'm not defending him. I'm his friend.” She softened her voice. “And from what I remember, so are you.”

“Ginny's my little sister.”

Hermione reached for him again. “You don't have to pick a side.”

Ron ducked his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don't like seeing her going through what I—what we…”

“Ron…” Hermione squeezed his arm. “But it all worked out all right, remember? We're both happier now. You're with Luna, and I'm—we're friends, still close friends.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, but he averted his gaze and stood up from the sofa, making a vague gesture to the door. “I think I should-”

Hermione stood after him. “You don't want to-”

“No, I-” Ron glanced at her then back at the door. “I don't think I should see Harry yet.”

“I think that's a good idea.”

Hermione badly wanted to give him a hug, but she could barely keep up with him as he headed to the door. She settled for another quick squeeze of his arm as he mumbled a promise to firecall her later, and before she could reply, he was gone.

Hermione closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh, wishing there was a book she could read that would tell her the right words to say to Harry when he finally came home.

---

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter and also the lack of H/Hr interaction—it's coming back in the next and should be up soon!

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A/N: Special thanks to my beta, quite_grey!

--

Hermione had been sitting on the sofa for an hour with only a cold cup of tea for company when Harry finally showed up.

“I'm sorry I'm so late,” he said as he navigated through the front door with two full paper bags in each crook of his arm, celery stalks jutting over the lip of one. He nearly lost his grasp as he tried to shut the door with his foot.

Hermione rose from the sofa. “Oh, leave it—I'll get it.”

Harry shot her a grateful smile as he headed toward the kitchen. She followed as soon as she closed the door, and found him stacking the bags on the counter.

“You haven't eaten, yet, have you? Because I thought I'd make chicken and ham pie tonight.”

“My favourite.”

“I know.”

They shared another smile, and as Harry spread the makings of a feast over the countertops, a sight that was becoming familiar in her kitchen, Hermione couldn't bring herself to mention Ron's visit just yet.

But Ron's words nagged at her. She was grateful when Harry shooed her away and she could fall into the routine of the last week: he cooked and she read with the pleasant background of clanging pots and pans and enticing smells wafting through her flat. She curled up on the sofa with that night's choice, Ancient Rites of Ancient Wizards, a bit of light reading, but the words on the page blurred and all she could think was, Harry's not talking to me. She pushed the thought away, but Ron's voice took it's place, reminding her of everything Harry hadn't shared with her, and she spent most of her reading time convincing herself it was best to bring it up after dinner.

***

“You're quiet tonight.”

Hermione swallowed a bite of her dinner. What Harry said was true, of course. Normally she chatted away about the latest rubbish in the Daily Prophet, or her newest case at the Ministry, but every time she opened her mouth to mention work, Ron's voice rang out in her head reminding her that Harry wasn't going to work anymore. Then a nervous tingle would shoot up her spine as she thought of the conversation she was putting off until after the meal. Then she couldn't think of a topic at all.

She couldn't meet his eyes as she mumbled her excuse, “Just savoring the pie.”

“Hmm.” Harry didn't seem to be convinced of her answer, but he didn't press, just took a swallow of his juice and continued to eat.

Hermione's patience ran out.

“I don't like this.” She dropped her fork; it hit the plate with a clatter.

“What? The pie—I thought you-”

“No, not the pie—the pie's delicious-” Hermione would not be distracted by the dusting of pink on Harry's nose and cheeks from her compliment. “You've been here a week, and-”

“I'm working on cleaning out Grimmauld Place, but I can go back there if-”

“Will you let me finish a sentence, please?”

Harry looked as if he were about to protest, but nodded instead and closed his mouth, leaning back in his chair.

“Thank you.” Hermione took a deep breath. “As I was saying, you've been here a week, and we haven't talked about what happened-”

Harry threw his napkin on top of his plate. “I'm finished.”

“Harry-” Hermione sat back, stunned.

Harry pushed his chair back and grabbed his plate. “You can leave the dishes out. I'll do them later.”

“Oh no you don't.” Hermione's napkin fell to the floor in her haste to get up, but she ignored it and scrambled after him into the kitchen. “You're not getting away from me that easily—not again.”

Harry tossed his plate, napkin and all, into the sink. “Just leave it—I don't want to talk about it.”

“That's all you've been doing! Not talking about it and-”

“Stop pushing me-”

Harry turned to leave the kitchen but Hermione grabbed his arm. “And that's all I've been doing, not pushing you. It's obviously not doing you any good.”

“How would you know?” Harry yanked his arm out of her grasp, and headed out of the kitchen in a huff. Hermione hurried after, a beat behind him, but her quick determined steps failed to make up for his long gait.

“I don't! I don't know, because you don't tell me—that's what I've been trying to say.”

He bolted out of her reach and was almost at the threshold of the hallway, a few strides away from the door to his room; she knew if she didn't stop him before he disappeared inside, she wouldn't be able to get him to come out for the rest of the night.

Hermione was not going to plead with Harry through his door.

“No, I have to hear about what's going on with you from Ron.”

Harry froze with his hand on the doorknob.

“Ron?” He slowly turned around, his voice barely above a whisper. “When did you talk to Ron?”

Hermione took a shaky breath. “About an hour before you came home, he stopped by. Looking for you.”

“He's back, then.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Ginny's staying with him.”

“Oh.” Harry's Adam's apple bobbed once with the force of a hard swallow. “What did you tell him?”

“What was I supposed to tell him?”

Harry shrugged, averting his eyes.

“I told him you were out for a walk. He decided not to wait.”

Harry took a few tentative steps forward, stopping just behind the arm chair. “What did he say?”

“You took a leave from work. You told Lily, Al, and James about the divorce…without Ginny.”

“That's not my fault.” Harry gripped the top of the chair, his knuckles harsh white knobs poking through his skin. “I had to—I didn't know what else to do.”

“Harry-”

“No, Hermione,” Harry said, halting Hermione's movement towards him. “I've owled Ginny every day, trying to—pleading with her to talk to me, and she hasn't—she won't even write back. I've gone by the house, and she wasn't there—at least now I know where she is.”

“It hasn't been that long,” Hermione said, edging toward him again. “I'm sure she just needs some time.”

“Don't you get it?” Harry's face screwed up. “She's not the only one involved.”

“The kids, yes, I know, but-”

“Lily finished her Auror training.” Harry cut in, finally meeting her eyes. “She's going to be sworn in on Monday. Don't you think it would be better for her to hear about the divorce from me, rather than through Ministry gossip?”

Harry pinned Hermione down with his gaze for a bare moment, but then continued before she could even think of an answer.

“Don't you think that as soon as I go to a solicitor, someone is going to find out no matter how careful I am? Even if the rumours aren't already circling around the Ministry, I'd rather not have my kids find out from the front page of the Daily Prophet, either. I told Ginny all of this—maybe she didn't read the letters, maybe I could have waited or tried harder to reach her. I should have checked over at Ron and Luna's…I didn't think she'd go there while Ron was away, but I—I panicked, all right? I didn't know what else to do.”

Harry's face crumpled; his head dropped soon after, and Hermione shuffled over, closing the distance between them.

She covered his hand with hers, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “You can talk to me. You can always talk to me.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“You do?” Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Then start acting like it.”

Harry lifted his head and gave her a faint smile; Hermione returned it then pulled him into a tight hug. His arms came around her at once, his fuzzy chin tickling her temple.

“You need to shave,” she murmured. He ducked his head, chuckling lightly in her ear, then pulled back, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

“Thanks,” he said with a shy smile.

“Don't thank me. I'm not done, yet.”

Harry groaned blithely and she felt him tense before he dropped his arms to his sides with a shrug. “Yeah, I figured.”

“I thought I smelled something sweet earlier.” Hermione cocked her head toward the kitchen. “Did you by chance make pudding?”

“Yeah. I wanted to make a nice dinner for you—as thanks.”

“And I ruined it,” Hermione said with a rueful smile.

“No-”

“Yes I did. You can say it.”

“Well, maybe a bit,” Harry admitted.

“I would apologise, but I'm not in the least bit sorry. We need to talk about these things, but I, well, I tried to wait until after dinner.”

“It's all right, Hermione.”

“It's just when—when Ron was here, he told me all these things I didn't know, and the whole reason I wanted you to stay here was because I knew this was going to be hard for you, and I didn't want you to be alone. But you're doing your best to be alone here, too. You might as well be at Grimmauld Place.”

“That's not true, but if you want me to leave-”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I do not want you to leave!” Hermione wanted to shake Harry until he understood that fact, until he promised never to offer to leave again. “But I'm not going to put up this—whatever this is we're doing—this happy façade, anymore.”

“What are you talking about? I am happy here.”

“Are you really? Are you happy being closed off from everyone?”

Harry looked at the floor.

“If you were talking to someone else, I wouldn't care that you weren't opening up to me, but you're not talking to anyone about these things. It's not healthy, Harry.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“What?”

“When you left Ron. Who did you talk to?” Harry's gaze turned quizzical.

“Well—we had joint counseling sessions-”

“Yes. That was before the divorce. Who did you talk to after?”

Hermione frowned. “I don't see what this has to do with-”

“You didn't talk to me.”

Hermione fidgeted with the hem of her blouse. Harry's stare pierced her; she was so used to challenging him and him looking away. He'd rarely met her eyes for any length of time in the last few days, she realised. Now that he was, she could barely breathe.

“I didn't want to put you in the middle,” she finally said. She refused to look away though a part of her desperately wanted to look anywhere else but at him.

“It hurt that you didn't talk to me.”

“I'm sorry.” Hermione forced a swallow though her throat was dry. “You can understand how I feel, then.”

“Yeah, I can.” Harry reached out and grabbed her hand. “I'm sorry, too.”

“You don't have to pretend to be happy for me, Harry.” Hermione squeezed his hand and suddenly she found it wasn't hard to meet his gaze at all, anymore. She didn't want to look anywhere else.

“I am happy here. I promise I'm not faking it.”

A smile crept across Hermione's lips. “Then stop offering to leave.”

“All right,” Harry said with a matching smile.

“And you don't have to be happy all the time. You don't have to hide from me when you're upset.”

“Yes, Hermione.”

“And you'll—we're going to talk to each other honestly, from now on, right?”

“Yes. If you want, you can even make some sort of colour-coded time table to remind me.”

Hermione's lips twitched at the sparkle in Harry's eyes, and she tried to look offended, but somehow couldn't quite manage it.

“Shut it, Potter.” She pinched his shoulder, then tugged on his hand, tilting her head toward the kitchen. “I think we both deserve a little pudding, now.”

“Can't argue with that,” Harry said. He glanced at their joined hands and smiled. “Lead the way.”

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A/N: Special thanks to my beta, quite_grey!

--

Hermione ran a brush through her hair, a small frown reflecting back from the mirror. Crinkles decorated each corner of her eyes; short lines were permanently etched around her lips regardless of her expression, and there was even a small dent between her brows, carved out by worries and tangled thoughts over the years. Grey blended with brown curls at each stroke of her brush highlighting skin no longer taut across her cheek bones, and if she lifted her chin she could see the faint rings around her neck just in case it wasn't obvious how old she was from her face.

It wasn't fair. Men grew distinguished with each year that passed; women simply grew old. Harry was the perfect example. His grey wasn't grey, but a striking silver along his temples; his only wrinkles came in lines of smiles and laughter, boyish and playful, oddly reminiscent of a childhood he'd never had. When Harry smiled there was no trace of the worry that had gone before. But Hermione couldn't begrudge him that; he still had one permanent mark on his forehead forever reminding him of the terror that was his childhood, that was all their childhoods, and how hard they'd all fought for the peace that existed in the Wizarding World today. Hermione was glad their children would never have to experience that nightmare.

Still Harry wouldn't have any trouble attracting another lover if he wished, even without the fame that lingered from being the Boy Who Lived. Hermione had long ago resigned herself to being alone. She could have stayed with Ron in a loveless marriage, but their happiness had been more important than simply making do so she would have someone to grow old with. She still had her kids and her friendship with Harry and Ron, and really that was all that mattered.

But for the first time, Hermione had an inkling of sympathy for Ginny. As she watched her own reflection in the mirror, she understood where those heated words had come from, the words that Harry had repeated to Hermione over a month ago. That Ginny had feared it was too late for her to find someone else. And despite the fact that Hermione knew Ginny was more vivacious than her and as strong as Hermione ever was, Ginny had never been good at being alone.

Hermione banished her maudlin thoughts away and tied her hair back in a messy bun, stray curls escaping her fingers. She didn't know why she was taking so long in getting ready in the first place, and if she dallied too much longer, she'd be late to meet Harry.

***

The front door to Grimmauld Place swung open before Hermione even had a chance to knock leading her to suspect that the wards were tuned to announce visitors as soon as they arrived. She found herself looking up into a familiar face, though much younger than the one she'd been expecting.

“Aunt Hermione, hi.” Al smiled shyly, and though he was a man of twenty-four, he was as reserved and polite as he'd been as a child. He was the very image of his father at that age, messy black hair and bright green eyes, though he was missing the spectacles and the scar. “Dad's upstairs, but he'll be down in a minute.”

Al stepped back to let her through, and immediately Hermione was distracted by the transformation of the entrance hall. The walls were bleached white, the umbrella stand made out of a troll's leg was nowhere to be found, and the canvas that housed Mrs. Black was boarded over.

“Permanent silencing charm,” Al said as if sensing her thoughts. “Dad wanted to move her but…”

“He still hasn't found a way around the permanent sticking charm,” Hermione murmured, instantly curious as to how he'd managed to extend the power of Silencio. She unclasped her cloak and Al came forward without prompting to help her shrug out of it, then hung it up on the simple wooden coat rack by the front door.

“Are you helping him out today?”

“Yeah, just this morning.”

“It's all right with me if you'd like to stay for lunch,” Hermione said warmly.

Al shrugged and glanced at the floor, and once again Hermione was struck by just how like his father Al was, even if clearly he had learned his manners from another source.

He opened his mouth to answer, but just then Harry came bounding down the stairs. His jeans were covered with white paint and there was a layer of sawdust over his hair. That coupled with his playful grin made it hard for Hermione to believe that he was old enough to be Al's father.

“Hermione, you were almost late.” Harry smiled broadly despite his teasing tone, and Hermione's lips turned up in a crooked grin.

“But the important thing is that I'm not.”

“No, couldn't have that.” Harry reached the foyer and ruffled Al's hair; Al rolled his eyes as if he was too old for that sort of treatment, but he didn't move away. “Do you want the tour first before we eat?”

“All right. Al was just telling me about the portrait.”

“I guess I need to get going,” Al said, and Harry's smile faded as Al moved to grab his jacket. He slipped it over his shoulders, his cheeks pink when he turned to meet his father's gaze again.

"I don't have to go-" Al started to say, but Harry cut him off with a squeeze of his shoulder.

"Yeah, you do. You should." Harry turned fully toward his son, and Hermione took a step back and averted her eyes, feeling very much like she was invading a private family moment.

Harry's voice dropped low, though still strong and firm. "None of this is your fault. You know that right?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"It's not your mum's fault either, and I'm sure she could use some support right now. Your sister, too."

"But Lily's being such a pigheaded-"

"Al-" Harry cut Al off with a warning tone. "Don't be mad at Lily. And don't be mad at your mum either."

"All right," Al mumbled, but his tone turned hopeful the next moment. "I can come back for dinner if you want."

"I'll be back at Hermione's tonight, but I'm sure it would be fine if you stopped by."

Hermione looked up at the mention of her name and found a pair of matching gazes meeting her own.

"Of course, Al. You're always welcome to come by. Anytime."

Al nodded, and with another hug to his dad and a quick goodbye to Hermione, he left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Harry sagged with a small sigh.

"How's he doing?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Oh, all right, I guess." Harry shrugged. "I wish he wouldn't blame Ginny so much, but I suppose that will only get better with time."

Privately Hermione thought that Ginny was the one making the divorce so hard on her family, but Hermione knew better than to voice the thought aloud. Instead she put on a bright smile and said, "How about that tour, then?"

"Yeah—yeah, come on." Harry ran a hand through his hair and gestured toward the stairs.

Harry had been busy the last month or so, Hermione saw, and he'd gotten a lot accomplished. Originally she hadn't been pleased when she'd found out that he'd taken a leave from work, especially without telling her, and she'd assumed that he'd been moping away his days, but it turned out that he'd been here the whole time, working on Grimmauld Place.

Harry had the entrance way and two whole floors cleaned out and painted white, not that he planned on keeping it that way. He explained that he just wanted to start over with a blank slate and brighten the place up a bit before he figured out how he wanted to redecorate. Hermione couldn't believe that within the redone rooms, there was no trace of how oppressive the house used to be. Everything had been cleansed. The house was getting a new start, and Hermione smiled to herself. It seemed like just what Harry needed.

"It's just so much space," Harry said as they walked back down the stairs after the tour. "I'm not really sure what I'm going to do with it all. It's not like the kids need a place to stay or anything."

"Well, you can always make up a couple of rooms for them if they ever need it. Rose had to move in with Ron and Luna for a bit once after she left Hogwarts," Hermione said, glancing at Harry with a small smile. "And this way they can come stay with you for holidays and such, if you want."

"Yeah, that would be nice." Harry returned her smile a bit shyly. "And if you wanted, you could use the library."

They headed down toward the kitchen and Hermione looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"What am I going to do with a library? All those books—I don't even know if they're worth keeping around. And I know you don't have enough room at your flat for your collection."

"Harry-"

"Oh no, Hermione—I've seen your bedroom," Harry teased. "You've got stacks of books piled around your bed. Don't know how you stand it."

"I manage. Really, I couldn't impose-"

"You wouldn't be imposing," Harry said, laying a hand on her forearm. "I offered. I've got more space than I know what to do with. Just think on it, all right? It's not like you couldn't come over anytime once I move in."

Hermione swallowed back another objection in the wake of the warmth flooding her stomach. "I'll think on it. But if you change your mind-"

"I won't." Harry's eyes sparkled as their gazes met again but it only lasted for a moment before he headed toward the small fridge at the corner of the kitchen. "I made some sandwiches earlier for us if that's all right for you?"

"Yeah, perfect."

Hermione set the table as Harry got out the plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice for them to share, and they sat down to eat. Harry met Hermione's gaze across the table, and Hermione flushed as she realised she'd been staring.

"What?" Harry cocked his head.

"Oh, nothing—it's just, you look really good."

"Oh, really?" Harry's eyes twinkled and Hermione's cheeks went scarlet.

"I didn't mean that-"

"So I don't look good, then?"

"Oh, stop it." Hermione shook her head and attempted to hide behind her sandwich.

Harry grinned. "Stop what?"

"I simply meant you looked happy." Hermione gestured to the room and tried to ignore how hot her face was. "This kind of work must agree with you."

"Yeah," Harry nodded and Hermione let out a breath of relief. "It's been surprising, but yeah—I've enjoyed working on the house. You won't have to put up with me much longer."

"You haven't been a bother," Hermione said. She took a sip of pumpkin juice, then she pursed her lips. "And there's no need to rush—you still have a lot of work to do."

"Oh yeah, I know I've got a ways to go, but it mainly just needs to be livable for me to move in. It shouldn't be much longer now. Maybe a couple of weeks."

"Oh." Hermione's stomach sank, but she didn't know why. She should be happy that Harry was moving on, and it wasn't like she wouldn't ever see him again once he was living full time at Grimmauld Place.

She took a bite of her sandwich and pushed her uneasiness away. "Do you think you'll go back to work soon?"

"I'm not sure." Harry was still looking at Hermione but his gaze seemed to drift and his forehead crinkled. "I don't know if I want to be an Auror anymore."

"I'm sure you could always apply to be Head of the Department again," Hermione said, but Harry shook his head before she finished speaking.

"No, no. I definitely don't want that."

"Why not?"

"Same reason why I stepped down in the first place," Harry said and he took a swallow of pumpkin juice as Hermione gave him a look. "What? I never told you?"

Hermione shook her head with a wry smile.

"Oh—it was because Lily was coming up in the program. It was hard enough to assign Ron cases sometimes, even when I knew I never gave him anything he couldn't handle, but it was Ron, and I couldn't go with him and be his partner, and the thought of doing the same with Lily—she's my daughter." Harry glanced at his plate. "I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that."

"You could always assign her cases that wouldn't be so dangerous," Hermione said, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was a bad suggestion. Harry's scoff confirmed it.

"Right. Have you met my daughter?" Harry shook his head and chuckled lightly. "I swear, her temper's worse than Ginny's and if she even thought for a moment I was showing her favouritism or trying to protect her-" Harry looked at Hermione. "Well, what would you do if you were an Auror and I kept passing you up for cases that I thought were too dangerous?"

"I see your point," Hermione said, knowing full well the answer: she would have marched into his office, given him a piece of her mind, then slapped him for good measure.

Hermione was glad she'd never decided to become an Auror.

"So why don't you want to go back to at least working in the field? You loved being an Auror."

"I know, but I'm not so sure…Lily's just starting out, and maybe it would be better for her if her dad wasn't around."

"I'm sure she doesn't feel that way."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Right now, I'm pretty sure she does. She's not speaking to me at the moment."

"Oh," Hermione said, and then Al's conversation with Harry earlier started to make more sense. "Lily blames you."

"Yeah," Harry said, and he toyed with the crusts of his sandwich. "And Al blames Ginny. I think James is just…disappointed."

Harry stood up to clear the dishes and Hermione rose to help, but Harry waved her off.

"It'll get better," Hermione said. Harry headed toward the sink, his back to her. "Rose and Hugo had a hard time at first—they were younger, but still old enough to understand what was going on, and they got through it."

"Sometimes I think," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if I'm doing the right thing…if I shouldn't have just-"

"Oh, Harry." Hermione flew to Harry's side at the counter and reached up to squeeze his shoulder. "No. You weren't happy."

Harry turned to face her, his green eyes shining with something that Hermione didn't recognise; her breath caught.

"You don't regret it? Ever?"

"No." Hermione shook her head, though her gaze never left his. "You're doing the right thing. You deserve to be happy."

"I don't know," Harry said, and somehow Hermione expected him to look away, but he didn't. His eyes searched hers and Hermione knew she was an open book to Harry. She never could hide anything from him, not from the first moment she'd met him forty years ago.

"Well I do," she whispered. Harry smiled suddenly, and automatically her lips curved to match his.

"You always were a know-it-all."

Harry brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles and Hermione let out a nervous laugh. She was having trouble catching her breath, and Harry seemed too close, like maybe he was moving closer or pulling her closer, and his other hand was on her waist, and she wasn't sure when that had happened. She tightened her grip on his shoulder; suddenly her knees couldn't support her weight and she thought that she might fall, that the only reason she was still upright was because Harry slid his arm around her back and all she could see was his lips and his green eyes penetrating hers, and she held her breath; his tongue darted out over his lips and then-

A chime rang through Grimmauld Place. Hermione and Harry both jumped back at the same time, and Hermione immediately grabbed the counter top, breathing rapidly.

"What was that?"

"Someone's on the stoop." Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair and it was a comfort to know that he seemed just as jittery as she felt. She wasn't exactly sure if she'd meant her question to be about the chime, but she was relieved that Harry had interpreted it that way.

And sure enough, whoever was on the stoop knocked on the front door a moment later.

"I'll just go see who it is," Harry said, and Hermione barely had a chance to nod before Harry left the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, she sank into the nearest chair and let out a ragged breath.

What was that, indeed.

She took another deep breath as she heard the front door open. She tried to get a hold of herself, and quickly at that, but her body thrummed with adrenaline and her thoughts were whirling too fast for any of them to make any sense. And before she could even try she recognised the deep rumbling voice greeting Harry.

It was Ron.

Hermione bolted from the chair and headed down the hallway.

"…told me you might be here."

"Oh yeah, Hermione and I were just-"

"Having lunch," Hermione interrupted, slightly breathless, and her cheeks burned as Harry turned to look at her. Hermione chose to look at Ron instead. "Harry was showing me the progress he's made—it's quite a difference in here, don't you think?"

Hermione was already heading over to grab her cloak before either Ron or Harry had a chance to answer.

"I should go though. I've got some errands to run," Hermione said, pulling the cloak around her. "And you two should talk."

She met Harry's eyes for a split second before looking down to fiddle with her clasp.

"All right," Harry said, his voice hesitant. "I'll see you later on at your flat, then?"

"Yes, and Al, too, if he stops by. Good to see you, Ron." Hermione risked one more glance at Harry before she gave Ron a quick smile and headed outside.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Hermione leaned against it and closed her eyes with a sigh.

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