Wednesday, 1st November, 2000
Master Bedroom, #12 Grimmauld Place, London
Let me die... The thought, if such pitiful whimpering could be called 'thought', was the first thing that flashed across Harry's mind as he began to stir.
His bed seemed particularly uncomfortable this morning, although that was probably related to the absolutely momentous hangover he was currently sporting. He took a moment to 'run a diagnostic'.
Okay... my mouth feels like I swallowed the contents of an ashtray... do I smoke when I'm drinking?
My head's banging... That must be where all the garden gnomes go at the Burrow... they hide until I'm pissed, then grab hammers and abuse me. Little twats...
Also, I don't remember eating those snakes... why's my stomach roiling so badly? Oh, yeah... I didn't eat anything yesterday.
Diagnostic complete. Situation: bleugh... Harry was very glad that he'd booked the rest of the week off work. He really didn't fancy chasing Dark wizards around the country with the hangover from hell.
He froze. Oh god... He thought. Something moved... something that wasn't me moved? Oh, shitehawk, who did I bring home last night?
Using his Occlumency, which wasn't easy considering there was still quite a lot of alcohol in his system and he was badly dehydrated, Harry dredged up the memory of the previous evening.
Flashback: Tuesday, 31st October, 2000
'Wet Wands'
Harry Potter was drunk. Not just drunk, but drunk.
As usual, the gang had gathered at Wet Wands for an evening of drinking, eating and general debauchery. The date, Halloween, was no coincidence.
It was widely accepted among his circle of friends that Harry only drank on four occasions during each year; a small glass of FireWhiskey to 'bring in the new year', a single champagne toast on Hermione's birthday (which made each and every one of his friends roll their eyes at his utter thickness), another small FireWhiskey on June 26th, the anniversary of his godfather's death, but on Halloween, he got wankered. Completely. Utterly.
As such, being good and loyal friends, the semi-small group made sure that Harry wasn't alone on Halloween. In '98, after He-Who-Now-Fertilises-The-Pumpkin-Patch had been defeated, Harry had stayed alone at Grimmauld Place, telling his friends he wanted a night of quiet introspection, and sealing up the house to insure his privacy.
The two-week stay in hospital, complete with having his stomach pumped and his heart restarted (twice) had convinced his friends that Harry should never be left alone on Halloween. Hermione, naturally, had been utterly distraught over the situation, and had received a written warning from the Ministry about her absence. She'd ignored it, though.
Whenever the group had a night out, the typical agenda was as follows: the first hour, the group split into male/female so the girls could gossip about things that scared the boys, and the boys could chat about things that bored the girls. The next six or seven hours were devoted to getting pissed, eating too much, dancing/dry humping and generally making complete arses of themselves.
The group had split off into various couples over the few years since the defeat of Voldemort, but their shared experiences had created a set of friendships and bonds that couldn't be broken.
For the first thirty minutes of the evening, Harry power-drank. He hated Halloween with a passion, and getting blotto was a quick way of numbing the pain. Unfortunately for Harry, he forgot that drinking lowered all mental defences, allowing his demons to run rampant through his mind.
Fortunately for his friends, however, Harry was a fun drunk. He was also brutally honest, enough to make Luna Lovegood seem quiet and reserved.
"Harry, are you sure you should be drinking that quickly?" Ron asked, feeling an overwhelming urge to stun his friend. Only two factors stopped him; Harry was normally pretty good at moderating his drinking and didn't need a minder; Harry would (and had) kick his arse if Ron nicked his booze.
"'m fine..." Harry slurred, draining his second bottle of FireWhiskey. "'S'all good, Won."
"Oh, don't remind me." Ron groused. "Every time we have these nights out, Ernie reminds me that I dry-humped his missus in the common room."
"Grim." Harry muttered, reaching over and grabbing a third bottle of the potent liquor.
"Thanks, Harry." Ron said, making an obvious gesture at putting a glass in front of Harry. Maybe it'd stop him drinking straight from the bottle. Never did before, though...
"You okay, Harry?" Neville asked. "You seem... not your usual self tonight. What's up?"
"'ermione." Harry slurred into his bottle.
Ron, discretely but expertly, opened a small mirror in his pocket, clearing his throat as he did so.
On the next table over, the girls had gathered round to compare make-up tips, recipes, feminine-hygiene product information and gossip about their respective partners. Well, all except the one single lady at the table, Hermione Granger.
"I don't understand it." Ginny was saying. "Why is it every time we talk about marriage, Neville runs off?"
"He's a man, sweetie." Lisa Turpin replied. "You should see Justin. All I have to do is hum the wedding march and he faints. If it wasn't so cute, it'd be irritating."
"Do we have to do this every time?" Hermione asked, taking a drink of her Butterbeer. "Can we not keep doing this in front of the single person?"
"And when are you gonna ask Harry out?" The six other women at the table asked in perfect unison.
"Leave it." Hermione commanded sharply. "I'm not in the mood for this tonight."
Luna leaned forward, peering absently at Hermione. "Don't you think it's curious how we've all paired up, except for you and Harry?"
"No." Hermione replied bluntly.
"Well, it is." Luna insisted in her dreamy tone. "I've got my Ronnie. Ginny's with Neville-"
"And very happy about it." Ginny interrupted. "If you want, Hermione, I could tell you about that time when he licked-"
"Stop."
Luna carried on. "Seamus finally managed to become worthy of Parvati."
"And I make sure he proves himself worthy every night." Parvati purred. "Gotta love the Irish..."
"Dean seems to make Padma very happy." Luna continued, glancing over at the shy former-Ravenclaw, who had an immense grin. "Even Lavender seems to have found a compatible partner."
"Hey!" The blonde whined playfully. "Why do you make me sound like a strumpet?"
"We know you." The other girls said together.
"Lisa revoked her membership in the Vestal Virgins because she wanted to be with Justin. You, Hermione, are the only one who hasn't pursued her heart's desire."
"Even Blaise managed to find someone." The seven girls glanced over at the men's table, where 6'4" Blaise sat, nursing his drink, 5'6" Colin Creevey sitting on his lap. When the true dynamics of that relationship had come to light, that Colin was a top, all of them had been stunned. The commitment ceremony, though, had been as beautiful as any wedding could have been, and the entire group knew that the pair made each other happy.
"You're the only one who hasn't gone after the man who makes their loins burn." Luna said, gesturing vaguely at a certain green-eyed hunk on the next table. "You're only making yourself, and him, suffer, Hermione."
"He's not interested!" Hermione hissed angrily. "He deserves someone worthy, not... not me." She took another long drink from her Butterbeer. "Can we just leave this? Not tonight. Not on Halloween."
"No... you'll be too busy making sure Harry's safe."
"Right." Hermione agreed carelessly.
"Wouldn't it be easier to watch over him if you were together?"
"Leave it!"
In Luna's handbag, a loud beeping could be heard. The blonde looked at her purse in confusion. "That's funny... Ronald's only sitting one table away. Why would he be calling me?" Suitably intrigued, Luna whipped the small mirror out, tapping it with her wand. The small communicator open, the ladies could now hear the conversation at the gentleman's table. Subconsciously, all moved a little closer, not wanting to miss a potentially juicy bit of gossip.
"So, what about Hermione?" Ron asked, putting the mirror on the table and hiding it behind one of Harry's empty whiskey bottles.
"What about her?" Harry asked, looking confused.
"You said that something was up, then said Hermione's name." Neville pointed out recently. "Logic would dictate that you have something on your mind about her."
"Oh, yeah... how'd you guess?"
Not wanting to get bogged down in a circular argument (since a pissed Harry was a bloody master at them), Ron cleared his throat. "So, what's got Hermione on your mind?"
"Just finking." Harry said, taking a long swallow of his whiskey.
"Yes, we got that." Ron said dryly. "Just what were you thinking?"
There were times, usually when inebriated, that Harry could say something that would make any conversation the group was having completely screech to a halt. This was one of them.
"I really wanna fuck a pregnant Hermione."
Apart from the pumping of the music, there wasn't a sound. Thirteen mouths were hung open in shock at Harry's bold statement.
"What?"
Hermione's jaw was near her ankles, her eyes were wide and panic was racing through her mind. "Where the bloody hell did that come from?" She whispered. No-one could answer.
"Er... where the hell did that come from, Harry?" Colin asked, leaning a little closer.
"Dunno." Harry grunted. "Just having a think."
"No, that's a pretty specific statement for 'just having a think'." Blaise pointed out reasonably. "You have a specific partner in mind, the delectable Miss Granger, some pretty specific circumstances, that she be pregnant, and you wish to engage in sexual relations. Like I said; too specific."
Harry just gazed blankly at Blaise. "What?"
"Oh, spare me..." Blaise groaned, only stopped when Colin leaned back and muttered soothing comments to his lover.
"Why do you want to shag Hermione, Harry?" Neville asked, deciding to break it down.
"You know why."
"Yes, we do." Indeed, the entire group knew that Harry wanted Hermione, but couldn't be made to take that final step; actually telling her. "And we've told you about this."
"Why would Hermione want me?" Harry slurred. "A scrawny little prat with no redeeming features?"
"Because she loves you?" Ron asked.
"She loves me like a brother, Ron." Harry pointed out, sounding scarily lucid for a moment. "She doesn't want me like that. Can't blame her, really..."
At the girls' table, Hermione was slowly shaking her head. "No... no..."
"Why pregnant?" Blaise asked, deciding to see if he could finally get Potter-the-prat to wake up and smell the romance.
Harry just shrugged.
"That's not an answer, Harry."
After a moment of deep thought (which looked like it really hurt), Harry shrugged. "She'd look cute with the bump."
"And who would be the father of this child?" Blaise asked, doggedly pursuing the answer. "Would it matter if it were someone else's child?"
The 'kicked-puppy' look on Harry's face spoke volumes, especially to Hermione, who was in prime position to watch Harry. "Yes..." Harry whispered. "Want my kid in her belly..."
Every female eye at their table swivelled to Hermione, who was ignoring them for Harry. She knew that she'd happily give Harry a child (not to mention a lot of practice at making them), but she didn't think he'd be interested in her. She was plain, a bookworm, annoying, a nag, had no tits, a fat arse-
"Stop gnashing your teeth." Luna whispered, interrupting Hermione's musing. "I can't hear the mirror."
"Harry, if you want to have a child with Hermione, why don't you simply tell her how you feel?"
"She doesn't want me." Harry slurred, finally draining the third bottle of whiskey. Looking in confusion at the bottle, he had to ask, "Where'd my drink go?"
Ron just took the empty bottle and passed him another. He also passed a small vial to Harry, hoping that he could be persuaded to drink the anti-drunkenness potion. At this stage, it wouldn't stop him being pissed, but it'd stop him getting alcohol poisoning again.
Harry glared at the turquoise potion, remembering the vile effects it had (taking away his buzz... damn it!) but he took it and swallowed quickly. Another mouthful of whiskey chased the horrific taste away, leaving him free to continue imbibing.
"Why don't you just ask Hermione if she'd be interested?"
Again, Harry just shrugged. "Doesn't want me... nobody wants me... they all want the hero..."
Ron stood up, gesturing wildly at Dean, who was sitting to Harry's immediate right. "Okay, I've had enough of this." He turned, pointing at Hermione, then at Harry. "For two years, Harry, I've watched you pine away for Hermione. And for two years, Hermione, I watched you staring at Harry. I've had enough. Let's get this sorted, right here, right now."
"Weasley..." Blaise drawled, "subtlety doesn't seem to be one of your strong points."
"Can it, Blaise." Ron snapped back. "Not in the mood. If Harry would just grow some balls and actually ask her, we all know she'd say yes. And if Hermione would grow some balls-"
"Don't want her with balls." Harry said, staring at his bottle. "That'd just be weird."
Slowly, Hermione stood up, gathering all her Gryffindor courage. Taking a deep breath, she calmly walked round the men's table until she was stood next to Harry. "Sit up straight, Harry." She said bossily.
"See? She looks out for me." Harry said, obeying the request.
Doing something new and never-before seen, Hermione sat in Harry's lap, folding her arms around the man she not-so-secretly loved and wanted to make babies with. Ironic, considering the conversation of the evening. "Harry?"
Harry looked up, blinking when he saw Hermione's face mere inches from his own. "Hello."
"Harry, I might, just might, have overheard what you said then."
"Okay..."
"Do you really want babies with me?"
"Yeah..."
While the two were talking, Ron quickly moved the crowd over to the girls' table, not wanting to interrupt what had been nearly ten years in the making. He left the mirror behind, of course... no need to miss out on the good stuff.
Hermione tightened her grip on Harry. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
Harry shrugged. "You're pretty, intelligent and wonderful... what could I offer you except misery and pain?"
Rolling her eyes, Hermione just shook her head. "Harry, do you know I've wanted you since sixth year?"
"Wanted me for what? If it's about that potions book, Hermione, I stopped-"
"No, not the potions book." Hermione was, by her very character, a very patient person, and that was a character trait that was certainly needed when dealing with a drunk Harry. "We dealt with the potions book already, Harry. No, I wanted you for something else."
"Oh. What?"
"Well, I wanted to do all the rude things that I can't tell my parents about."
Staring blankly, Harry shrugged. "Okay. What things?"
"Sex, Harry."
"Male." He said firmly.
"Merlin help me..."
Harry tried to reach onto the table to get his whiskey, but Hermione's arms stopped him.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"I don't think you should drink any more tonight."
"Why not?" He asked with an absolutely gorgeous pout.
"There's something I need to ask you, Harry, and it's important."
"My drink's important."
"This is more so."
Harry looked at her intently. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure, yes." Hermione pushed the whiskey bottle back, and then snuggled closer. "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"If you had the chance, would you sleep with me?"
"Sleep?"
"Have sex."
"Yes." He said emphatically.
"Even though I'm a nagging, bushy-haired know-it-all with no tits?"
Harry's head dropped forward, conveniently landing between Hermione's breasts. "You do."
She looked down, spotting Harry getting comfortable in between her girls. "Harry." She waited a moment, noting that he looked quite happy where he was. "Harry?"
"What?" He whined.
"They're... not very big."
Harry just shook his head. Emphatically. While pushing closer to Hermione. She let out an embarrassed smile as she noted their friends watching the drama unfold with immense amusement. "Harry, people are watching us."
"Don't care." He mumbled to her chest. "There were three in the top, and the middle one popped... all down his leg."
"Harry!" Hermione half-scolded, half-laughed. "That's rude."
"I know."
"But... if you fancy me and want to make babies, why not tell me? You know there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."
"I know you'd do anything if I asked you, Hermione." Slowly, he managed to pull his head up... not too far from her chest, though. "It's not fair to you."
"Bugger fair." Hermione said. "Harry, I want you. It's almost always been you. I just didn't think you'd want me."
Another voice intruded on the conversation. "Harry, Hermione, stop talking, go home and have sex." Luna commanded gently. "Harry, stop drinking."
"Why?" Harry returned his head to those oh-so-comfortable pillows that resided on Hermione's chest.
"Because I don't want you to get brewer's droop." Hermione said, smiling when he just mumbled into her top. "I don't want you passing out early."
"Hermione?" Harry whispered conspiratorially. "Can I tell you something secret?"
Naturally, Hermione leaned closer. "Of course."
"I'm really drunk." Harry said. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Under other circumstances, Harry would have lost his membership card to the 'red-blooded male' club, but it seemed tonight, fate was smiling on him, as Hermione leaned closer to patiently explain.
"I'm taking you home, Harry. Back to Grimmauld Place. Once we get there, I'm gonna strip you off and we're gonna have sex. Lots of practice to have before that baby."
Harry still looked confused.
"Hermione, apparate him home. We'll take care of the tab." Ron said. "Go now, before he says or does something weird."
Hermione just shook her head, creating an apparition field in her magical core, spreading it to side-along Harry and vanished with a 'crack'
Since Hogwarts, Harry had prided himself on learning new things. The previous evening, he'd learned quite a bit; Hermione, while prim and proper in many things, was like a fucking wildcat in bed. She also had the stamina of three girls. He also learnt that with the proper inspirational speeches (translation; dirty talk, another thing Hermione seemed to be an expert at), he was capable of multiple orgasms.
As the pair approached the natural conclusion of their first coupling, Hermione had muttered just four words, which had smoothly set Harry up for the rest of the night. The four words? "Make me pregnant, Harry."
Now, lying in bed with a ferocious hangover, Harry was beginning to panic. He'd had sex with Hermione once, fucked three times and the last time... the last time, they'd made love.
Prising one eye open, he winced as the sunlight seemed to burn into his brain. An eye-watering moment later, he was able to see... bushy-hair. And a pair of sparkling chocolate eyes.
"Oh, fuck..." He muttered.
"Again?" Hermione asked playfully, staring up at him. "Hungover?"
"Oh, hell yes." Harry replied firmly.
Hermione rolled over, giving Harry a perfect view of her shapely bottom. The fact that Hermione thought the sculpted perfection was 'fat' was simply proof that even the smartest witch of the age could be mistaken about some things. A second later, she rolled back, a small bottle of green goop in hand. "I made a hangover remedy yesterday, just before we went out. I thought you might need it."
Nodding gratefully, Harry took and opened the bottle, took a deep breath and swallowed the whole thing. For a moment, cataclysmic doom seemed to fall over the world, but the banging in his head upped and vanished like a fart in the wind, while the snakes in his belly agreed to have a sleep until next Halloween.
"We did?" He asked softly.
"Oh, yes." Hermione cooed. "Considering you were pissed, Harry, five times was very impressive. I really enjoyed it."
"I did, too." Harry admitted. "Why, though? You're Hermione Granger! You could have any man... or woman, if you wanted... why me?"
"Because I love your thick arse, Harry." Hermione said, reaching round to grab his butt cheek. "Although, calling it 'thick' is rude. You've got a thick head, but a very nice bottom."
Harry just blushed. "Hermione... what you said last night..."
"Which bit?"
"The, er... the things you said just before..."
"You mean the 'make me pregnant, Harry'?" Hermione asked, seeing that this wasn't a moment for levity. "Yeah, I meant that."
"Really?"
"Yes." Hermione's hand moved from buttocks to penis. "I want this to spit into me as many times as necessary so I can carry our child, Harry." She smiled as she saw his shocked (and quite aroused) expression. "Actually, that's not entirely accurate. The first of our children, Harry."
He gulped. "Er... Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Why are you stroking me?"
She sat up, straddling his waist and moving into position. "Because we need to do this as many times as possible, Harry. That baby isn't going to create itself... and I want to be pregnant as soon as possible. After all, can't let the 'Hero-Who-Saved-The-Wizarding-World' not get his wish, can we?"
"W-Wish?" Harry asked as Hermione slid down his length.
"Yeah, you said you wanna have sex with me when I'm pregnant. Can't do that 'til I'm pregnant, Harry... so get moving, Potter."
A genuine smile came over his face. "Yes, ma'am."
Saturday, 11th August, 2001
St. Mungo's Maternity Ward, London
"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Potter!" Hermione screamed as she concentrated every ounce of strength she could spare on crushing the bones in Harry's hand.
She had, indeed, become pregnant very quickly after the 'formalisation' of their relationship. The fact that both of them had quit their jobs, since Harry was more than rich, in preparation for making a baby (which meant they shagged all day), simply made things easier.
Harry had more that certainly got his wish. During Hermione's pregnancy, the two had attempted to set a world record for most sexual encounters. According to Guinness, they'd come very close to beating the current record. Hermione, during a post-coital cuddle, had simply told Harry they'd try harder during the next one. That, of course, led to another sexual encounter.
Now, she was in St. Mungo's, and was about to deliver the first of their children. "You come near me with that prick again and I'll chop it off and shove it up your arse!"
"Violent." The midwife, who'd been there, seen it and done it all a thousand times before, said simply. "Now, Mrs. Potter, you need to begin pushing."
"I am pushing!" Hermione roared, a stray tendril of her magic turning Harry's hair blonde. "Damn it, Harry, this is all your fault!"
"I know." Harry replied. "But, just think, Hermione; soon you'll be holding our baby..."
"You can carry the next one!" Hermione snarled, again attempting to crush his hand. Had she been able to reach her favourite part of Harry, the possibility of pain would have scared the crap out of Voldemort, never mind a poor, defenceless 'Boy-Who-Lived'.
One hour, forty seven minutes, nine death threats and an offer to turn Harry into a woman later, Hermione was holding a beautiful baby girl. Bushy-black hair, emerald green eyes and an adorable smile was the face of Rose Emily Potter, and the look of pride, love and sheer joy on her Daddy's face made everything worthwhile to Hermione.
"She's beautiful, Harry." Hermione said, holding her out to her husband. Slowly, Harry took the little bundle, holding it protectively to his chest, just like they'd been taught in baby class.
Looking up, Harry could only say one thing to his beautiful wife. "Thank you, Hermione."
She smiled tiredly. "It was my pleasure, Harry."
"That's not what you said earlier."
Hermione yawned as she accepted her daughter back and snuggled down. "No... no, it wasn't. I love you, Harry, more than you know. I'd never hurt you."
Harry just smiled.
"Well... not that part of you, anyway. Need that bit to make more." Hermione chuckled at her husband's shocked expression. "Well, go on, then. Go and announce to everyone that there's a new Potter."
As Harry left the birthing room, he reflected on how lucky he was to have such an understanding spouse.
Saturday, 31st October, 2167
Master Bedroom, #12 Grimmauld Place, London
The end was nigh. The Potters had lived a long, full life. A life of happiness. A life of joy. A life of difficulty. But most importantly, a life of family. Harry and Hermione had stopped having children at number eleven, not wanting to prove Trelawney right by having twelve children. That was just too frightening to bear.
Harry had, on the other hand, proved the other part of Trelawney's prophecy correct. At the age of forty-one, he'd become the Minister of Magic. Using the ancient, bigoted laws, he'd immediately given Hermione the position of Senior Undersecretary, and together, the two had burned away those same laws they'd exploited.
By the time their final child had graduated from Hogwarts, the magical world was truly a pinnacle of civilisation.
Now, though, there was so little time left. Earlier in the day, there'd been a Potter family gathering, with children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and even great-great-grandchildren. They'd laughed and cried and celebrated and loved.
Together, lying in the bed where they'd first expressed their love, and created each of their eleven children, Harry and Hermione Potter were holding hands, waiting for the end.
"Hermione?" Harry croaked gently, hauling his old body closer to her.
"Yes?"
"I... Thank you, Hermione. For everything."
She smiled warmly, and for a moment, he didn't see the old woman with thinning white hair and wrinkles. He saw the beautiful, radiant twenty-one year old who'd handed him his first child. "For you, Harry, my love, it was a pleasure. We've had some good times together, my love."
Harry sniffled as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. "Some great times. I love you... more than life itself."
At the end of the bed, a glowing figure appeared. He appeared to be an old man, wearing lurid purple robes with moving stars on them. "Harry. Hermione."
"Albus?" Harry looked at his old mentor with shock. "But..."
"It's time for you to come home, Harry." Dumbledore said, holding out his left hand. "It's time to meet your parents, my boy." Extending his right, a turned his head to Hermione. "And you, my dear Hermione. Your family is waiting for you."
Harry was about to take the old man's hand, but hesitated. "What about..." He trailed off.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said, chuckling happily, "do you really believe that you and your wife could be separated? 'The Couple of the Ages' I believe you were called. Even in death, you cannot be parted. Your wedding vows didn't bind you together in this life. You were bound together for eternity."
Harry squeezed Hermione's hand gently. "To the next great adventure, wife?"
"Together, husband."
The two raised up off the bed, leaving behind the battered shells that had housed their souls for these many years. Together, they entered the light, feeling the warmth and love of all those who'd gone before them surrounding them.
But always, they would be together. Harry and Hermione Potter. Forever.