Disclaimer: Still not mine.
AN: New chapter, Harry's POV. Let me know what you think!
Chapter 2-The Look
Hermione hardly spoke to me anymore, not even when we were alone together. She certainly hadn't tonight. But then again, I didn't exactly encourage her. I was terrified of what she might say.
Tonight, she had slipped up for just a second. I had come in for a break from helping Ron patch up their roof and asked Hermione if she had any lemonade. Busy trying to clean up Hugo (he'd been rolling around in mud, by the looks of him), she had just motioned absently to the refrigerator. I smiled at her distraction, reminded of my own son's antics.
After pouring myself a tall glass of the cool beverage, I sat down at their kitchen table. I always deliberately sat on Ron's chair, much to his annoyance. I secretly hoped I'd leave some dirt on it, so he'd know I'd been there. Wriggling around for good measure, I caught Hermione's smile.
"What?" I asked innocently, although my devious grin gave me away.
She laughed. "You know he hates that, and yet you provoke him."
"Well I can't help it if this chair particularly appeals to me." Another wriggle.
Hugo had caught on by this time and was cheering me on, laughing. "Dad is gonna be soooooo mad!" he giggled. His little hands clapped gleefully. It seemed he had inherited the mischief gene.
"Yep," I said proudly. "And I expect you to carry on this noble tradition, Hugo."
My godson laughed again. I took that as a `yes.' Hermione rolled her eyes at us, getting up and wringing out her washcloth in the sink. While her back was turned, I got up and hefted her still-muddy son onto his father's chair. Motioning for him to be quiet, I left my empty glass on the table and apparated outside with a pop.
I was almost halfway up the ladder to the roof when I heard Hermione's frustrated yell and Hugo's accompanying laugh. I chortled to myself. I loved making her mad. It was so endearing…and so easy.
Ron was waiting for me to return, looking at me a bit strangely. "Not messing with my wife again, are you Potter?" he asked, a smile quirking the edge of his lips.
"Always," I responded, picking up a hammer and quickly enchanting it to nail down a few tiles. "Might've taught Hugo a new trick, too."
Ron laughed, shaking his head as he charmed the roof tiles to fly into place. He had no idea. That poor son of his was going to drive him up a wall with his recently acquired skill.
I said nothing else. Strangely enough, my mind had gone to Hermione in the kitchen below. I wondered vaguely what she would be doing now. I could see her, sitting alone at the table, Hugo having run off to dive into the nearest mud puddle again. I thought about that smile she had given me when she caught me smudging dirt onto Ron's chair. And I wondered if she had meant to smile at me with love in her eyes.
I forced myself to stop. I was sure the love in that look had been all for her son and all for Ron, with none for me. But Merlin, for a moment-for just a second of that smile-it was like she remembered, too. Gods, how I hope she does.
I wonder what ever happened to that phoenix book. The thought was there before I could stop it, and it stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon. It was still there when I sat at their table again that night, waiting for Ginny to Floo over after work so we could head home. It was there when Hermione walked through the kitchen to get Rose's book-I almost asked her-and it was there as I stood over my daughter's bed that night, watching her sleep.
I looked down at Lily's sleeping face and smiled. Her small hand was curled protectively around her latest treasure, a magical stuffed dragon that puffed out smoke every few minutes. The toy fidgeted under her embrace. I reached down and stroked my daughter's hair out of her eyes. She was so beautiful.
I was ashamed of myself for thinking about events that had long since passed. I had no right to regret my decisions, not when I had such an amazing family and wonderful friends. I sighed, snapping my fingers to turn on Lily's small volcano nightlight, which gurgled and hissed and exploded on cue.
Back in our bedroom, Ginny had already fallen asleep, exhausted after a long day at work. I sat on the edge of the bed, still thinking about the past. I hated how I tormented myself like this. Everything that had ever passed between Hermione and I had been through a suggestive glance or loaded conversation. Everything had happened years ago. But still I couldn't forget.
Sighing, I finally lay down next to my wife. I love Ginny. I do. But sometimes…
My thoughts stopped there, and I fell asleep.
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AN: So what do you think? Continue or no?
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