A/N: After several drafts and an untimely computer crash, here's the next chapter of That Old House. It's probably a little jumpy, and you'd do best to make an appointment with your dentist soon after reading this. I hope you enjoy it, and do let me know what you thought!
Chapter Thirty-One
"Please don't bounce that in the house," Hermione said as she passed through the foyer. Jack stopped and Ben snagged the tennis ball out of the air.
"Where can we play catch?" he asked, tossing the ball back and forth in his hands, "The workroom? All right, not there, then-- my room?"
"Try `outside'," Hermione supplied dryly, "Be sure to wear your coats and mittens, scarves and boots, and if Harry and Neville happen to finally show up, send them to the kitchen."
"Yes, Mama," Ben said as Hermione disappeared into the kitchen. Jack snorted.
"Now we have to go outside," he complained, "why do you do that, anyway?"
"Do what?" Ben tossed Jack his coat and began buttoning up his own, "Oh, well, we won't get snow all year--"
"Seems like we do," Jack muttered, pulling on his mittens, "I can't even catch with these on. I meant, why do you call her that?"
"Well, I might as well get used to it," he said, reddening slightly about the face. "She's adopting us, isn't she?"
"Still." Jack clapped his mittened hands together with a soft thump. "So what's Harry? Dad?"
"I hadn't thought about it," Ben said after a pause, "I only just started it yesterday."
"Adrian, too?"
"You've heard him," Ben said as they trooped toward the front door, "it wasn't a big jump for him anyway. He.... he didn't really know our first mother very well."
They had reached the yard by now, standing in the snow about three yards apart. As Ben threw him the ball, Jack said, "Besides, they might not adopt us-- I mean, me and the others. I haven't said yes yet."
When Ben didn't reply, Jack rolled the ball around in his hand before chucking it back.
"I mean, what's so special about having parents anyway?"
Jack's throw fell a bit short; Ben jerked forward and just barely caught it before it fell into the snow.
"Well," he said at last, straightening and backing up. He looked at the ground and shrugged his shoulders, letting out a deep breath and watching the air fog up in front of him. "I thought you might have figured that out, having lived here for so long."
They fell into a contemplative silence as their game reached a comfortable rhythm, then Jack spoke again.
"It's been fun, I guess. Better than before."
"Yeah," Ben said, an odd look coming over his face. "A lot better."
"But," Jack said, throwing the ball back, "things could get worse, too."
Ben surprised himby letting out a skeptical laugh. Slightly nettled, Jack stiffened and dropped his throwing arm, his hand still clutched around the ball.
He wasn't used to being laughed at. Ignored, insulted, yes, but simply laughed at? He could feel his cheeks heat up, even in the cold.
"What are you laughing at?" he demanded. Ben crossed his arm and tilted his chin up, looking him up and down with an amused stare. "Cut it out!"
When Ben didn't move and a stifled laugh broke the silence between them, Jack scowled and dropped the tennis ball in the snow, stalking up to Ben until they stood about half a foot apart.
"Cut it out!" Jack demanded again, when Ben still refused to break his silence or his stance. Ben's look of mixed amusement and disbelief irked Jack further, and Jack briefly considered knocking him down.
But he was vaguely aware that if he did, Ben won.
He really hated losing.
"What's so funny?"
Ben quirked an eyebrow, a movement that so obviously mimicked Harry that Jack was suddenly taken aback.
But, at last, Ben spoke.
"You always have to think the worst of things, don't you?" he said, "if I offered you a biscuit, you'd think I'd poisoned it."
"I would not!"
"Probably not, because it was food," Ben amended, "but you know what I mean. I mean, really, Jack, come on."
He dropped an arm to his side and used the other to motion to the house behind him. "They've given us food, new clothes, our own rooms, and have you seen all of those presents? All seven of us, and trust me, that's a lot of money. Hermione gave up the chance to have her training at the hospital like everyone else, just to take care of us, and Harry comes home on his lunch breaks to spend time with us every day, not to mention all the times he's come to dinner when he could be out with Ron and Neville, even if they were going to professional Quidditch games." Ben paused for breath, then finished, "They've given all that up, and you still think they're just doing it out of pity? That's completely mad!"
This time Jack abandoned thoughts of winning or losing; he had been thoroughly shamed and he would not allow it. He gave Ben a solid shove, but he had obviously been anticipating it. Ben maintained his balance even in the snow.
"You're mad!" Jack snapped finally, woefully aware of how flat his retort had been. "Not me!"
Ben merely shrugged, picking up the ball and tossing it in the air. Though Jack made a move to intercept it, he caught it first.
"Go on thinking like that, then," he said, "but you'll see I'm right tomorrow."
He tucked the ball in his coat pocket and turned, as if to return to the house. Unwilling to let Ben end the conversation, Jack said, "You're wrong, you know, Ben!"
"OK." Ben began to whistle, sticking his hands in his coat pockets and trudging away. Jack scowled. He was copying Harry again.
Jack couldn't see any advantage in letting him walk away, so he caught up with him and went on, "I don't think they're doing all this out of pity."
"Sure." Ben said, putting one boot on the bottom porch step, "Mmm... I smell pot roast."
"Just listen to me, would you?" Jack finally snapped, "I'm trying to tell you something!"
Ben looked over at him expectantly, and Jack took a deep breath.
Well. He had finally managed to get a bit of leverage in what he deemed as a full-fledged battle, but now he had no idea how to keep it. Make something up? Jack considered it carefully. He was usually a very convincing liar, but he couldn't think of anything that would sound remotely plausible. There were, after all, very few points in his favor.
Or he could back out. As soon as the idea came into his mind, Jack dismissed it. He'd come this far. He had to take it all the way or he'd never live it down.
He had to tell the truth. He'd worked himself into a corner and there was only one way out of it.
"I didn't think I wanted a family," Jack said at last, "because they're too easy to take away."
Ben's look of casual disinterest had disappeared. Busy inwardly celebrating his victory, Jack didn't realized Ben had asked him a question.
"What did you say?"
"Where'd you get that idea?" Ben repeated. Jack froze.
"What?"
"Who told you that families--?"
"I wasn't told," Jack snapped, "it doesn't matter. Now you know. Forget it."
Ben let out a breath.
"Well, all right, I won't push it," he said, "but they-- Harry and Hermione, I mean-- they've kept their word, haven't they? They haven't separated you. They're only going to make the adoption happen if you say yes. They've done a lot to keep you together. They wouldn't just split you all of the sudden."
"They're not the only ones who could separate us," Jack retorted in a low voice, "and the other kids aren't the only ones I could be separated from."
Ben sighed.
"But don't you want to have a family?"
"Yeah, I want one!" The words burst from him before he could stop them, "That's what scares me!"
There was a long silence.
"I think," Ben said very quietly, "if you just took a chance-- you would make Yasmine-- and yourself-- really, really happy."
With that, Ben climbed the steps to the porch and hurried inside, leaving a very troubled Jack behind him.
~*~
"Look at all of those!" Adrian took a step back and admired the shiny packages under the tree, grinning. Jackie circled the larger packages in agitated excitement.
"Don't you two have rooms to clean?" Hermione chided, coming into the room with her arms full of gifts. She smiled at the hopeful looks on their faces.
"These aren't for you," she said, not unkindly, "they're Harry's. Evidently the whole of the wizarding world is determined to thank him."
"But Harry doesn't live here," Adrian said, a puzzled look replacing his disappointment. Hermione sighed and put the gifts down on the couch, tucking a stray curl of hair behind her ear.
"I can't exactly explain that to the delivery owls, can I?" she said wearily, "Normally they're quite good at following directions, but..." she shook her head, "Never mind that. Go clean your rooms, please. We're having guests tonight."
Adrian took one last look at the stack of gifts on the couch, then said, "If this is what Harry gets for Christmas, I can't wait to see what they get you for your wedding!"
"I don't even want to think about it," Hermione muttered, dropping into an armchair with a sigh. A cry of surprise from the foyer told her that Adrian had discovered the mountain of gifts waiting for Harry in the foyer.
"I see you've been shopping," quipped a voice behind her. Hermione twisted her neck around to see Harry grinning at her, Neville just behind him.
"I can barely sort through all of them!" Hermione stood and turned to face the two men, "I can't imagine actually going through the trouble to shop for them."
"Good thing, too," Harry said, laughing, "I hate to think about the person who paid for them."
"Pity the owls!" Hermione said, "They must be exhausted! Surely there are more post owls than the ones that keep flying through our front door!"
Harry picked up one of the packages with mild interest, then let out a bark of laughter.
"This one is addressed to you, Hermione!"
"Really?"
"Unless there's another Hermione Potter living here that I don't know about--"
Before he could finish, Hermione snatched the package away from him, scanning the address.
"But we're not married!" she said in exapseration.
"Well," Harry said, "that depends."
When Hermione cast Harry an annoyed glance, he hastened to explain.
"We stopped in Diagon Alley just before we came-- we brought a cake, by the way-- and this caught my eye."
He reached into the grocery bag he was carrying and handed her a magazine.
"Where did they get that picture?" was Hermione's first response. Harry shrugged helplessly.
"It wasn't a private place, Hermione."
"But we were dressed like Muggles! We were in a Muggle park!" Hermione held up the magazine to prove her point. "How on earth did they find us?"
"It had to happen sometime," Harry said, squeezing her gently, "At least there's nothing in that photo to be ashamed of. The ring... well, it's a bit misleading, isn't it?"
Hermione took one long look at the photo.
"I just don't see how they managed to take a picture that was so close. And it's not moving!"
"I suppose they wanted to keep the pose," Harry said, "it's a bit more... eye-catching-- if it's zoomed in on our faces and the sunset and--"
"The ring," Hermione finished, touching the picture with a finger. "I suppose magical lenses have that ability."
The picture, Hermione realized as she scanned it, was taken during one of their first dates after the engagement. She and Harry had been watching the sunset, and as they had leaned in for a soft kiss, Hermione's hands had framed Harry's face, providing the photographer with an excellent view of her glittering ring. In flashing letters beneath the picture, the magazine simply declared: "Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter: Their Secret Finally Revealed!"
"If it helps," Harry said, "Ginny told me that the picture was `absolutely adorable', and I'm told that it's been pinned up in the Gryffindor common room."
He paused. "Except they've made the picture move."
He stopped again, and grinned at the horrified look on Hermione's face.
"According to what I've heard, we've been a rather boring poster couple."
She sighed, smiling relun0ctantly as Harry and Neville laughed.
"Aren't you upset?"
Harry smiled at her and kissed her forehead.
"I've had far worse things written about me. In fact, this is probably the best thing they could have ever written," he grinned at her softly, "I'm tired of waiting for the wedding, Hermione, so if they want to marry us early-- that's excellent. That's all I want."
He sobered slightly.
"I will be paying a visit to Witch Weekly, though. They should be able to clear this mix up fairly quickly, so if it bothers you..."
"Well, if it doesn't bother you," Hermione said, "then I certainly won't let it bother me. Won't you two come into the kitchen? There's tea on the stove waiting for us."
~*~
"Happy Christmas Eve, Hermione," Harry whispered, peering down at Hermione's smiling face in the darkness. He kissed her slowly, running his fingers lightly down her cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"I know," she murmured, tightening her hold around his waist and hiding her face in his chest, "Be sure to get a lot of sleep; I'm sure you'll need it."
He closed his eyes and buried his nose in her hair.
"I'll survive."
"I'm proud of you for helping with the Reconstruction," she whispered, sighing, "but you have to sleep like the rest of us."
"I know, Hermione," he said, with a soft laugh, "you too."
He paused.
"Don't forget to put up the wards at night, just as I told you. Now that our engagement is officially common knowledge--"
"I'm in twice as much danger as before," Hermione finished, looking up and quirking a wry half-smile, "How many times have I heard that one?"
When Harry looked at her sternly, she sobered.
"Don't worry about us, Harry. I'll put them up as soon as you leave."
He sighed and looked away.
"Harry, we'll be fine. I promise."
He looked at her and smiled quietly. "Never mind me, Hermione. I'm a natural pessimist."
He sent his fingers skittering down her cheek, then sent them skating up the bridge of her nose, and along her cheekbone. She frowned in puzzlement, feeling tingles travel down her back as his eyes fixed intently on hers.
"What are you doing, Harry?"
He let his fingers dance in a gentle circle around her mouth. "I… I've been thinking recently-- no, don't make any clever remarks, Miss Granger," he placed one finger on her parted lips. "I've been thinking. About being married."
He bent his forehead forward, his eyes closed. Then he spoke in a barely audbile whisper, his voice thoughtful, slow.
"Do you think we can do it?"
She tilted her chin and kissed him again, with quick, gentle warmth.
"I don't think that's the proper question."
He opened his eyes, studying her face carefully.
"What should I be asking then?" he murmured. Her eyes were suddenly caught by a flicker of light as she smiled softly.
"The question is whether or not you're willing to try in the first place."
She squeezed his waist with her arm.
"I think we've already answered that question."
He smiled and lowered his eyes, pulling her close and taking in a deep breath.
"I know I have."
She pulled back slightly.
"And I have too, if you haven't forgotten. But just in case you have--" she took his hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing one finger with each word.
"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."
He wiggled his fingers under her lips, elliciting a laugh. "I don't think you've quite made your point yet, Hermione."
She dropped his hand and wrapped both arms tightly around his waist, kissing him steadily on the lips.
"Yes," she murmured, "forever and ever."
"That's quite a few Christmas Eves," Harry teased. She swatted him.
"Have I ever told you that you take too much enjoyment in spoiling the mood?"
"I'm just reminding you of what you've just gotten yourself into," he said. Hermione laughed.
"I've spent seven years saying `yes', Harry. There's no going back now."
She sighed and dropped her head on his chest.
"I love you," she whispered. He wrapped his arms around her tightly.
"You've already made my Christmas," he whispered, stroking her hair gently. "I'd best let you go."
"Not yet. Just a little bit longer."
"All right. Just a little."
Just as the clock began chiming the hour, Harry realized just how much he wished that he could stay forever.
He smiled as he kissed Hermione's hair.
And the day was coming. Five more months and he would never have to leave her again.
~*~
"Hermione?"
Somewhere faraway, something had given her a gentle poke on the shoulder. Her dream-- whatever remained of it-- faded away into warm darkness. But the sounds didn't stop.
"Hermione!"
Another jab on the shoulder. Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes to see three pairs of eyes staring back at her.
"Oh," she sighed, shutting her eyes wearily, "really, you three."
"Happy Christmas, Hermione!" Jackie scrambled onto the bed and perched happily on her legs. "Can we open presents now?"
Hermione made a muffled noise into her pillow.
"I'm not sure I even want to know what time it is," she mumbled to herself, clutching a fistful of the comforter. "Back to bed with you. It's only.... what? Three o'clock?"
"Three thirty," Adrian corrected hopefully. "Please, Mama? It's Christmas."
Another weight landed on the bed.
"Gully," Hermione moaned. "No, honestly-- Adrian, Jackie-- Katy-- I'm sorry, I really did mean Yasmine-- I... can't you wait four more hours at least?"
There was a pause.
"All right," said Yasmine at last. "Can we wait with you?"
"Well..."
Before Hermione could reply, the three children had scrambled into the bed. Jackie burrowed under the covers, snuggling under Hermione's arm, and Yasmine slipped in on Hermione's other side. Adrian stretched himself out at their feet, covering himself with a blanket he had apparently dragged with him, using the dozing Gulliver as a pillow.
Hermione blinked. Jackie's bear was squashed up against her cheek, and Jackie was cuddled comfortably into her side. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her whole face concentrated on sleeping. She looked to her other side, where Yasmine's bright, darkeyes were beginning to droop shut at last. Her arms were essentially pinned to her side as she adjusted herself to fit the cramped new space she had been alotted in her bed. Then, with a long sigh, she smiled and shut her eyes, finally allowing herself to relax.
It was Christmas, after all.
~*~
"Dusty?"
Jack rapped softly on the door of the workroom. When there was (predictably) no reply, he pushed the door open and crept inside. Dusty was standing at the easel, a paintbrush nestled in between his fingers and a large canvas spread out in front of him.
"Happy Christmas, Dusty," Jack said, and Dusty nodded, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Did you see everyone in Hermione's room?"
Another bob of his head.
"What are you working on?"
Dusty shrugged eloquently, making a quick, bold stroke of red across the canvas. Jack edged a bit closer, squinting at the painting cautiously. In the faint morning light splashed across the room, four faceless people, positioned on an old red velvet couch he recognized as the one from the downstairs living room. "Is it a Christmas present?"
He nodded, dipping his brush in a jar of water and tapping it lightly against the side of the glass.
Jack watched the red cloud billow in the clear, cold water for a moment.
"You got up early."
Dusty shrugged one shoulder. "I needed to."
Nothing more. Jack sighed and pulled a chair out from one of the work tables, balancing on the back two legs and watching Dusty work.
Dusty didn't mind. Hiding his work would be silly; the picture had been there all along, hadn't it? He was just revealing it.
A dab of red paint. Then he plunged the brush into the smooth, glossy brown, mixing it easily into the red.
"That's a strange color," Jack commented. Dusty smiled and added a bit of yellow to the mixture.
"Auburn," he said simply. "Like red."
With that, he raised his brush and made a long, smooth stroke on the canvass.
"Hair?"
A long auburn mane soon tumbled to the shoulders of one of the figures. Jack squinted at it in puzzlement. The hair was too dark to be Ginny's.
"Who is it?"
Dusty smiled that familiar lazy smile and shrugged again, his eyes bright and secretive. He plunged his brush into the water again, dying it red.
A swirl of glossy, chocolate brown, mixed with a splash of gold.
Soon another one of the figures, the one positioned one away from the red-head, had a long, curly mane of unruly brown curls. Jack recognized Hermione's hair immediately, and told Dusty so. Dusty just gave him another shrug and smile, continuing.
The other two figures earned identical jet black messes of hair. Jack frowned. There wouldn't be two of Harry in the same picture, would there? He knew one of the people had to be Harry; it just wouldn't make sense to have Hermione alone (in Dusty's mind, at least) but...
"There are the others." Dusty said suddenly, as the telltale sound of movement came from the staircase. With that, he carefully turned the easel around, cleaned up his paints, and slipped out of the workroom.
~*~
Dusty entered a kitchen full of flurried excitement; as his gaze swept over the room, another smile crept to his face. Hermione was, of course, in the middle of the malay, starting the oven with her wand as she warned the others to stay in the kitchen and wait for Harry.
"Happy Christmas, Dusty!" Katy said happily, giving him a hug. Dusty squirmed, his smile widening. "We have to wait for Harry to get here to open presents! You have to open your present right away; I picked it out especially for you!"
Dusty nodded his agreement. He could see Katy was happy; her eyes kept flashing from a brilliant blue to a clear green, and his heart lifted.
The Christmas at St. Mungo's hadn't been much different from any other day; this excitement, anticipation-- it seemed foreign, pleasantly so, but strange all the same.
Yasmine was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes bright with excitement and dark hair swishing back and forth as she followed the dancing Adrian around the kitchen with her eyes. Dusty smiled and sat next to her at the table, resting his chin on his hands and feeling content to watch. The room seemed filled with gold and light and smiles.
It was a bright picture; something he hadn't ever thought he'd ever see, much less live, but he wouldn't dwell on that.
He was too grateful to waste the morning dwelling on things.
~*~
"Wow!"
Adrian dropped the tissue paper to the ground in utter astonishment, his eyes widening in delight.
"Wow!" he said again, "Where did you get it?"
From her place on the couch, Hermione laughed at the look on Adrian's face. "Well, take it out, Adrian. You might as well start practicing right now."
Adrian did as he was bidden. He stuck his hands in the box eagerly and lifted the gift reverently from the box.
"It's the best!" he said, placing the gleaming white snare on the rug gently. "Thank you!"
"It's a marching snare," Hermione told him, "Hang it over your shoulders-- that's right-- and you can play it as you walk."
Adrian beat a fast staccato roll on the drum's top, beaming at the crisp, loud noise it yielded. Hermione laughed again, leaning against Harry and saying over the noise, "I suppose we'll never have any quiet anymore."
"No complaints," Harry said, sliding his arm around her, "you gave it to him. That'll sound fantastic at a Quidditch match."
"My thoughts exactly," Hermione agreed, "Hogwarts needs a music program."
"Look at Dusty," Harry chuckled, "he hasn't budged from that puzzle since he opened it."
"Katy made a good choice," Hermione agreed, watching Dusty hold up one of the puzzle pieces. "Though I can't imagine putting together a moving picture is very easy at all. You did well with the girls, too, Harry. Look at Yaz. She's completely buried in her book."
Harry grinned. "Just like you, isn't she?"
Hermione smiled softly. "Maybe a little. But Yaz has a bigger imagination than I'll ever have. I'm too practical."
They watched the seven children play with their gifts for a moment in silence, until Harry spoke again.
"You know I haven't given you your present yet,"he said in a low voice. She looked up at him curiously.
"Here," Harry reached into the bag beside his book, "it's... it's--- well, not that interesting, but..."
She touched the words scrawled across the simple red wrapping paper with a finger.
To my best friend:
Our wedding couldn't come fast enough, Hermione. I hope these help you wait... just like they helped me.
I love you.
Harry
He smiled at the puzzled frown on her face. "Go on, then."
She gently pried the tape off the edge of the paper and opened it, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Harry!"
He laughed. "Well?"
"I can't believe you actually kept these!" She picked up one thick stack of old letters, tracing the neat handwriting covering the top letter, "And is this... no! You kept this, too?"
"I had to remind myself that you were real somehow," he said softly, laughing, "Your dad's business card was as real as it gets. I kept your Christmas cards, too. Every letter, even the ones Dobby stole. All of them."
Hermione put the business card down, shakin g her head.
"An old stack of letters isn't much a Christmas present, I know," Harry began, but Hermione silenced him with a kiss. When he pulled away, he grinned rather sheepishly.
"So I've been forgiven?"
"Forgiven?" Hermione echoed, laughing, "Harry, it's a wonderful Christmas present. Thank you."
"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" he said rather anxiously, "I can get you something else, if you like..."
"Oh, stop it," she chided, taking his hand, "I love it, Harry, I really do. After all, I kept all of your letters, too. Now I have both ends of the correspondence."
"Though my end is definitely less interesting."
"Oh, really," she said in exasperation, "you never give yourself enough credit."
She paused.
"Although I do have a number of scraps of parchment with only about eight words on them."
He frowned. "What did they say?"
"Something along the lines of, `Hermione, I'm fine. Don't worry. Be safe. Harry.'"
He ducked his head sheepishly.
"Fifth year?" he guessed. She nodded.
"I suppose I should I have expected it. Still, I spent a good number of summer evenings reading those eight words over and over again and, to quote Ron, `going spare' about you."
"I'm sorry," Harry said immediately, feeling a pang of guilt, "I didn't mean to-- I mean, I was just..."
"You were grieving," she finished, her eyes softening, "and I knew that. It just hurt to know that there was nothing I could do."
"You did a lot. You put up with me," he said. She smiled wryly.
"Or, more accurately, I refused to let you walk away." She shook her head, smiling. "That was only three years ago. Strange, isn't it?"
"We've come a long way," Harry said, letting out a deep breath and kissing her freohead again. She nodded.
"But I still haven't given you my present yet," she said, "Here."
She picked up a package by her feet and placed it nervously in his lap.
He picked up the card first. "I suppose I ought to have made one for you."
"That's fine, Harry," she said, "go on, open it."
He opened the envelope quickly, taking out a piece of parchment covered in Hermione's neat handwriting.
Dear Harry,
It's strange, how far we've come in only a few years. And I've been thinking about that a lot recently. I mean, think about it, Harry. Only seven years ago, we were eleven years old, boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time.
Seven years ago today, you had your first Christmas at Hogwarts. You told me once that it was the first Christmas that you felt that-- perhaps-- the world might hold more hope for you than you thought it did.
This is my first Christmas that I know it does.
The first time we ate breakfast together-- you've probably forgotten. I know I never will.
That morning I wandered into the Great Hall looking for a place to sit-- preferably at the emptiest table-- just like I did every morning. I was used to eating as fast as I could, then running off to the library, where I wouldn't look odd sitting alone.
I was just about to pass you and Ron when you said, "There's a place here if you want it."
And I looked up and saw you looking at me-- just looking. Not glaring or smirking or making faces or even being polite.
You may have saved my life from a troll the day before, but even I knew that you hadn't done it for me, not really. You would have saved anyone.
But this....
It was a choice. It was an offer. An offer I'd never had the chance to accept before you asked.
I'm so glad I did.
You could have picked anyone, Harry. You do realize that, don't you? Someone like you could have anyone in the world. Why did you pick me?
Ron used to say that I could answer any question at all.
I've had seven years to answer that question, and I still haven't come up with an answer.
So all I can do is say `yes' again and again and hope that someday, I'll be able to thank you properly.
With all my love,
Hermione
Harry put the letter down, clearing his throat and trying to speak, but nothing came out.
"Open the package," she guided his hand to the ribbon around the package. "Here."
He undid the ribbon and tore off the paper, tossing it aside.
He frowned in puzzlement at the cardboard box sitting in his lap, then carefully pulled off the top. His frown of confusion deepened.
"Hermione, what--"
She reached over his arms and gently lifted a tiny blue onesie out of the box. He stared at it, confused.
"Harry," she said softly, "the first time your father introduced you to Sirius, this is what you were wearing." She handed him a yellowed little tag and allowed him to read it.
His mother's handwriting.
Harry's outfit for a very special occasion-- meeting his godfather.
Harry's lips parted wordlessly as the tears began to trickle down his cheeks. He reached out and allowed Hermione to place it in his hands. He gazed at it through a teary haze, his hands trembling so much that the precious gift almost slipped out of his hands.
"Where... where did you...?"
"By the time your parents went into hiding, you were too big for it," she said softly, "and they gave it to your grandparents to store away, along with some other extra things they couldn't take with them. When your grandparents were killed, Alice and Frank Longbottom rescued what was left of your parents' belongings. I'm sure they meant to give them back when they saw your parents, but... well... they can't remember now."
Harry bowed his head.
"So how did you find all of this?" he said rather hoarsely.
"I was helping Neville's grandmother organize her attic-- goodness knows it needed it, and she said she couldn't do it herself-- and I found a box with your father's name on it. I don't think Mrs. Longbottomcan bear to look at those boxes anymore, and when I talked to Neville-- he didn't even know they were there. They were well-hidden."
She looked up and said, very seriously, "Don't blame Mrs. Longbottom, Harry. She was extremely apologetic when I asked her about it. She remembered Frank and Alice telling her about the belongings they had rescued, but she assumed that they had been destroyed in the attack-- many of Frank and Alice's things had been destroyed when the Death Eaters came for them, and even when some Ministry wizards brought the things over, Mrs. Longbottom insisted that, with the exception of Frank's wand, all those belongings be placed in the furthest corner of the attic. Neville says the attic had always been off-limits for him, too, so there was no way of knowing."
"I'm not upset with either of them," Harry said, taking another deep breath and putting the baby outfit down. "Is there... there's more, then?"
He reached into the box and pulled a heavy piece of plaster from the box. He turned it over and felt himself smile.
There were his parents' handprints, just above a tiny handprint that he assumed was his own. He felt himself laugh tearfully as he traced his mother's hand with a finger.
He wondered what her hands had felt like, if he had clutched that finger with a tiny fist-- if his father had ever ruffled his hair with that hand...
"You made this while you were at Mr. and Mrs. Evan's house." Hermione looked at him with a soft smile. "I don't think I can imagine you that small."
"Can I see?"
They started, and Harry suddenly realized that all seven of the children had their eyes trained on them. Hermione lifted Jackie into her lap and allowed her to touch the plaster handprint.
"It's so small," she said in awe, looking from Harry's hand to the plaster. "Smaller than mine."
By this time, most of the children had crowded around them. Yasmine touched the baby clothes and giggled.
"I can't believe you fit in this!" Katy lifted one of the feet and laughed. "You were small!"
"We all were once," Ben said, "Adrian was even smaller."
"Well, I'm bigger now," Adrian said rather defensively, "and I was not!"
Ben laughed.
"How would you know?"
Harry and Hermione laughed as Adrian turned red and shrugged. Jackie looked at Harry's face.
"Why do they make you sad?" she asked seriously, "Do you not like Hermione's present?"
"No, Jackie, I like it a lot," Harry said, and Hermione relaxed visibly, "it's just... well, I've never had anything of my parents' before because I never knew them, and that's what makes me sad."
Jackie reflected on this for a moment, then she looked Harry right in the eye and spoke with a gravity that took him aback.
"Are you my papa, Harry? Or is it someone else? Because I don't remember having anyone else."
Harry took in a sharp breath, glancing at Hermione for help. A tense, heavy silence suddenly settled over the bright room, and all eyes turned to Jack, who was trembling visibly at the corner of the roomwhere he had been standing.
Then he came forward and lifted Jackie out of Hermione's lap, placing her on the ground and kneeling in front of her so that they were seeing eye to eye.
"Is... is that what you want, Jack-Jack?" he whispered shakily, "D'you... d'you want them to be?"
Jackie hugged Oats to her chest and looked at him with wide eyes.
"Will you be angry with me, Jack? You're so very white. Will you scold me?"
A great breath flooded from Jack as he put a hand on Jackie's shoulder.
"Only if you lie to me," he said at last, "because you know that's wrong, like I always told you, remember?"
Jackie nodded solemnly.
"I'm s'posed to answer, aren't I?" she said in a whisper. Jack managed a smile, and nodded.
"That's right."
Jackie looked over at Harry and Hermione, and a smile suddenly lit her face as she rocked back and forth on her heels.
"I want Harry to be my papa, Jack."
Jack let out another breath, looking away.
"Because we love them, don't we, Jack? Don't we?"
Jack lowered his eyes.
"Why don't you go to your... your... papa, Jackie?" he said in a low voice, letting her go and standing up. Suddenly the air seemed to spark with energy, and the whole house seemed to sigh with relief. Jack would have loved to run out of the room and never look back, but before he could, someone had thrown their arms around him. He grunted and staggered, realizing that whoever was hugging him was sobbing so hard that he, too, was shaking.
"Yasmine?" he said awkwardly, "Er...?"
She pulled back, still sobbing, and gifted him with the brightest smile she had ever directed at him. Before he could say anything more, she let him go and backed away, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve and obviously attempting to calm down.
"Happy Christmas, Jack," she said at last, her voice still trembling, "happy Christmas."
"You said that already."
"I know I did. I can say it twice if I--" Yasmine stopped and smiled, the annoyance disappearing from her face, "All I want to say is.. thank you."
"Why is she crying?" Jackie whispered, clambering back into Hermione's lap. Hermione smiled.
"She's happy," she whispered back, "so happy that it overflows."
"Is that why you're crying?" Jackie said, catching Hermione's tears on her fingers. Hermione laughed and squeezed Jackie in a tight hug.
"Yes, it is."
Suddenly Dusty, who had been very still through the whole event, spoke.
"One more thing."
With that, he got to his feet and disappeared through the doorway. Everyone except Jack exchanged puzzled looks.
Moments later, Dusty reappeared, a large package under his arm. He placed it in Harry's lap and sat back down, curling his legs up against his chest and closing his eyes.
Harry tore the paper slowly, then smiled as he lifted the canvas up for everyone to see.
"It's you two and... who are they?" Katy said curiously, pointing.
Harry smiled at Dusty, then at the picture. He placed a finger on the couple seated next to he and Hermione on the couch.
"Those," he said, very slowly and deliberately, "are your... grandparents, James and Lily."
He looked over at Hermione, who was holding Jackie in her lap and beaming back at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. He smiled back.
"We've got a bit of clean-up to do, don't we?" Hermione said after a few minutes. "All right, everyone pick up the wrapping paper first..."
As she ushered the children out the door with armfuls of wrapping paper, directing them to the kitchen, Harry leaned over and whispered in her ear, "So this is what it feels like?"
"What do you mean, Harry?" She bent and picked up a stray ribbon, twirling it around her finger.
He put an arm around her. His voice was thick and hoarse as he spoke very quietly.
"This is what it feels like to have a family."
Hermione smiled and picked up Harry's gifts, folding the baby outfit and tucking the canvas under her arm. Then, she met his eyes, holding his gaze for a few long moments before she replied, her lips turning up in a sweet, tender smile.
"Best hang onto that, Harry," she said softly, placing the baby blue onesie in Harry's outstretched hand.
Harry doubted that he would ever be able to describe the warm, strangely exhilarating feeling that swept over him as she turned and followed the children out the door.
A/N (2): Well, there you are. I'm hoping it didn't fall flat on its face. Thanks for taking the time to read it and please remember to keep the people of Haiti in your thoughts and prayers!
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