Second Chance at Love

Warning: This was written before DH was published. It also has a reference to a past marriage between Harry/Other Female.

Love comes to some unlooked-for, quietly, As when at twilight, with a soft surprise. The words unexpectedly came to mind amidst the noise and crowd. Whoever wrote that was bloody brilliant. At least, Harry thought they were. He’d never been a fan of poetry, but Susan had enjoyed it, so she’d occasionally read him Muggle poems that she was astonished he didn’t know. After all, she was Pureblood and knew them but he had no idea what she was going on about despite growing up with Muggles. That one about love being quiet had always stuck out in his mind, though he didn’t really know why.

It wasn’t like his feelings for Susan had happened that way. No, that had been a rush of awareness and realization, more lust than love after first, if he had to be completely honest, but it had become more, so much more. After her death, he’d figured that was it. He’d had his chance at love, and it had been amazing while it lasted. It had ended far too soon, leaving him with three small children to raise and an empty space in his life, but he’d not have traded those years for anything.

It had been eleven years since Susan’s death. Eleven years of being a father and a mother to their children, of working and taking care of his family, of putting them first before everything else. There had been no one night stands that would risk someone selling a story to the newspaper, and there had been no girlfriends that the children were forced to deal with. It hadn’t really been a difficult choice because it was what was best for his family. There had been urges, of course - he was a man, after all – but he’d never indulged. Susan had shown him what love could be like, and it was more than sex or casual arrangements.

It had been a struggle, especially in the beginning, but he’d been fortunate to have friends to help him. There had been help with babysitting and making sure he was eating properly, but he knew he’d have never managed without Hermione. In those first months, when he’d not wanted to even look at Lily because he irrationally blamed her for Susan’s death, Hermione had kicked his arse daily and looked after the kids. She hadn’t let him dwell in pity, hadn’t tolerated him closing himself off, and hadn’t listened whenever he’d yelled and told her to just leave him alone.

It had been nearly three months after Susan’s death that he’d finally pulled himself out of his grief long enough to realize that he couldn’t live like that. The children needed him, as they were all much too young to understand why Mummy wasn’t there anymore, and his wallowing in self-pity was just selfish. When he’d cleaned up and left his room that day, he’d looked around the clean house and smelled stew cooking in the kitchen and heard laughter from the sitting room, where he found Hermione tickling James and Evan while Lily slept nearby.

As he stood there watching them, he felt jealous and left out, as if life had continued to move on despite Susan dying and it had forgotten him. The feeling of not being needed by anyone anymore was strong until Hermione had looked up at him and smiled before whispering to the boys, who promptly attacked him with their tiny hands trying to tickle him while giggling. It was after, when the boys were napping and Hermione was feeding Lily, that he’d tried to apologize, tried to explain, but the infuriating woman wouldn’t let him. She’d simply shrugged and told him she’d known he’d be back when he was ready before handing him Lily.

It had been the first time he actually held his daughter, and he could still remember that moment so vividly, from the smell of baby powder to the gurgles Lily made to the way Hermione was able to quiet her with just a touch to her belly. In the years since, Hermione had become a part of their family. She was Aunt Hermione who had the children reading when they were still in nappies and who was always there whenever he needed a shoulder or a hug. But she never again let him have a moment when he just threw his hands in the air and let someone else handle it all for him. It was his family, she’d tell him, and he had to be responsible for them.

There had been more than a few times that he’d thought of Hermione when he lay in bed at night. He always felt somewhat guilty for doing so, like he’d had improper thoughts about a sibling, but she really was lovely, so he tried not to feel too awkward about it. Besides, after being celibate since Susan’s death, he’d had those thoughts about many different women, so it was logical that he’d think about the one he saw the most. Of course, the very fact that he was rationalizing it and even using the word logical, which was such a Hermione-thing, was something he did his best to overlook. He’d never really thought about it too much or asked himself why those nights left him feeling restless and reaching for someone that wasn’t lying next to him.

He’d also never thought too much about why no man Hermione ever dated was good enough for her. She didn’t date very often, usually only when one of their well-meaning friends nagged at her until she accepted a date with this friend’s brother or that friend’s neighbor, but none of them were right for her. Harry had to acknowledge now that he spent those nights when he knew she had a date pacing and cranky until she showed up after with a carton of ice cream and one horror story or another. That had become their routine over the years, and he tried not to think how selfish it made him to pray for that ice cream instead of her actually finding someone to make her happy.

Now, of course, he finally understood why he’d disliked all of those men and still fought the urge to hex Zacharias Smith whenever he saw him. Smith had been Hermione’s one great love affair, or so she’d thought, but it had run hot until it burned out shortly after Harry married Susan. Hermione’d caught Smith with another woman in the flat they shared, and their engagement had been broken. Since then, she’d focused on her work and his family. During the darker times of his life, when he allowed himself to indulge in negativity to get it out of his system without affecting the children, he wondered what life would have been life if Smith hadn’t been a bastard and Hermione’s not been there for him and the kids. It was never an image that he wanted to think about, though, so he tried to focus on happy memories instead.

It was probably wrong to have this rather important moment of realization in the middle of a train platform, but that was just Harry. Very little in his life had happened in a way that could be considered normal, not that he was complaining. He still loved Susan and was grateful for the time they had together and the three wonderful children they’d had together. He’d been wrong, though, in believing that Susan was his only chance at love. Second chances were rare, true, but he was no longer oblivious to what he’d somehow found without even meaning to.

Love did creep quietly, contrary to the passion and rush of lust. Oh, there was plenty of the latter right now, too, but it was the love part that had him leaning against the column with a dumbstruck look on his face. Hopefully no one was paying any attention to him in the chaos that was Platform 9 ¾ because it would have been rather embarrassing to get caught staring at his best friend of twenty-five years as if he’d never seen her before.

The boys were teasing Lily, telling her that she was going to end up in Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor, and Lily was fussing at them in a way that took his mind back to his first trip on the Hogwarts Express when a certain bushy-haired girl had stormed into his cabin looking for a frog and proceeded to bossily inform him and Ron that they were unkempt with their mussed hair and untidy robes. Lily looked like him, though she had Susan’s pale eyes, but she was Hermione’s daughter in every other way. He’d noticed before, thought it was cute and sometimes teased Hermione until she glared at him, but it was so evident in this moment that he was somewhat struck speechless.

Hermione gave the boys a look, just one simple look with that arched brow and pursed lips, and they stopped their teasing without a word. How the bloody hell did she do that? They never listened to him when he scolded, and they certainly never behaved so well. When Hermione kissed their cheeks, he watched as the kids beamed with pride and excitedly told her about their courses for the upcoming year for what had to be the hundredth time over the summer. She listened patiently and told them to pay attention and learn, which earned her agreeable nods.

Harry shifted awkwardly and ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he could be so blind. Not only was he in love with Hermione, but his kids were goners, too. Of course, they’d lost Susan when James was four, so Hermione was the only mother figure they could really remember, especially for Lily. He was still trying to process the realization that he’d fallen in love with his best friend, especially considering that he’d never had more than platonic feelings for her during their childhood and teen years. They’d always been more like siblings, lacking the passion that had led her into Ron’s arms for a couple of years during the war, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about crossing the platform and kissing her senseless.

Well, not senseless since her intelligence was one of the things he most admired about her, but he’d love nothing more than to curl that wild hair around his fingers and kiss her until her toes curled, at least. What was he supposed to do now? Lily was off for her first year at Hogwarts, which meant he was going to be alone for the first time in sixteen years, and he didn’t want Hermione to think he was just lonely or that his feelings weren’t sincere. Sure, he’d not been aware enough to realize that he’d fallen in love with her years ago, but, now that he knew, he didn’t want to bugger it up or lose her.

When he heard the children call him, he blinked and blushed when he saw that Hermione was staring at him curiously. Thirty-six year old men do not blush, Potter, so stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. He joined them, hugging the kids and telling them to be good and not get into too much trouble, though he knew the latter was pointless since Ron’s son was their best friend and put Fred and George’s antics to shame. Still, as a father, he had to at least go through the motions of warning them, even if he was expecting to receive an owl informing him of scold-worthy behavior from them within two weeks.

Once they were on the train, he realized that he was left alone with Hermione. What was he supposed to do? He could just be quiet and not say anything, worry about ruining things and end up wasting even more time when she could return his feelings. No, he had to tell her. With that resolution in mind, he turned towards her and just stared at her, unable to say anything.

Hermione smiled at him, and he realized that she somehow knew, had probably known far longer than him. Infuriating woman hadn’t seen fit to inform him, though. Instead, she’d quietly gone about her life waiting for him to realize what he felt. He narrowed his eyes, pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and then reached for her. He tangled his fingers in her wild hair, lowered his head, and kissed her right there on the middle of the busy platform. He didn’t know about her toes, but his curled when she pressed closer and returned the kiss.

At that moment, he’d never been so glad to have been wrong. He had his second chance at love, because he had Hermione.

End

Summary & quote from 'Marianna Alcoforando' by Sara Teasdale.