Tempus Fugit

MattD12027

Rating: R
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 24/04/2011
Last Updated: 18/07/2011
Status: in_progress

The death of a former mentor and friend brings the survivors of the Second War back together after many years, reigniting old feelings and allowing them to examine where their lives have taken them. Eventual H/Hr, R/L, N/G.

Chapters

1. Hermione

2. Ron

3. Harry

4. Post-Mortem (I)

5. Post-Mortem (II)

6. Hermione (II)

7. Ron (II)

8. Harry (II)

9. Post-Partum

1. Hermione

A/N: Canon compliant except for the crapilogue and the interim 19 years. Ships will eventually be H/Hr, R/L, N/G. Plan is for shorter chapters and faster updates.

Summary: The death of a former professor brings the survivors of the Second War back together after many years, reigniting long-dormant feelings and giving them all chance to evaluate where their lives have taken them.

Tempus Fugit

The saying goes, “Cut the head off the beast and the rest will fall with it.” This is exactly what happened at the end of the Second War when Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord Voldemort in front of hundreds of witnesses at the Battle of Hogwarts in June of 1998. Some Death Eaters and other sympathizers managed to go into hiding; some managed to continue a sort of guerilla resistance for a number of months; but the majority of Voldemort's ranks fell into disarray and chaos as soon as they learned he had fallen, and at the hands of a seventeen year old boy, no less.

The illegitimate Ministry was quickly sanitized of its Death Eater ranks. After such a bloody war, the magical population of Britain had little patience for those that had participated in the coup and the eventual takeover of the country. Justice was administered swiftly and fairly at the hands of the newly appointed and elected Ministry employees; no one claimed Imperious this time, and no supporter of Voldemort escaped unscathed. The worst of the Death Eaters were summarily executed at the Veil of Death. Their crimes were revealed through the liberal use of Veritaserum and controlled Legilimency.

The rest of the pureblood supporters were handed punishments of varying severity, depending on the nature and duration of their crimes. Goblins were commissioned to guard Azkaban after it was decided the Dementors were blight upon the world and destroyed with Fiendfyre. Many of the war criminals went there; some were merely stripped of their possessions and lands; some were cast into ignominy. All were considered traitors and, those with their freedom, eventually realized that Britain was no longer their home.

But all was not perfect. The war in magical Britain had spilled over into Muggle Britain, and it took some concerted diplomacy on the part of the new Ministry of Magic to convince the Muggle government to maintain the tenuous pact of secrecy that had been in place for centuries. The magical infrastructure—Floos, levying taxes, law enforcement, and the like—had been gutted and had to be rebuilt from scratch. All of this took money, something of which the Ministry was in short supply, so the rebuilding was a slow process.

Hogwarts was closed for a year and rebuilt. A memorial was erected on the grounds, honoring those who had fallen in the Battle, and throughout the rest of the war. Most that consequently lost two years of school—one to the war and one to the rebuilding—returned to Hogwarts in September of 1999, but some did not. And conspicuous in their absence were the young heroes of the resistance, namely Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. Other students that would have finished in their seventh year in June of 1998 did not return as well, but none were missed as sorely as the Gryffindor trio.

After Voldemort fell, there was initially a movement to put Harry in some kind of position of power in the new Ministry, but he made it clearly known he had no interest in politics and eventually, slowly, receded from the public's spotlight. He all but disappeared from public Wizarding life, and his celebrity status soon turned to one of legend. Children born after the fall of Voldemort were told stories of how the seventh year student had stood up to Voldemort during the final battle and struck him down with a simple Disarming spell.

Hermione and Ron were lauded almost as equally as Harry—as were others like Neville Longbottom—but they were not the Boy Who Conquered and enjoyed no such political support. Not that they wanted any, though. Both had their own ideas and plans following that awful and wonderful day at Hogwarts, and, much more quickly than Harry, receded from the public's eye into obscurity.

Nine years have passed since Harry defeated Voldemort. Many things have changed in the Wizarding world; some things have stayed the same. Hagrid remains the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts. The Quibbler continues to publish outrageous articles. The Forbidden Forest is still forbidden.

But what of our heroes? This is where our story picks up.

Chapter 1: Hermione

October 2007

“Professor Granger?”

Hermione had just finished writing “synesthesia” on the board and was turning toward the class. She cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sam?”

“What do you think Keats would have accomplished if he'd lived to old age?”

Hermione moved to her desk and sat, considering how she would frame her answer. The student, Sam, had asked a perennial question in academia: what might Keats have become if he had written more than a few years of poetry? Or, for that matter, what could any famous poet or writer have accomplished if they had not died young, or ceased to write, or shunned fame?

It was all a touch belletristic, and she frowned internally, but she did not show her displeasure to the class. It was a thought everyone indulged now and again, and Keats was an especially vivid example of someone cut down far too young.

“That's hard to say,” she eventually said, realizing she'd lost herself in her thoughts for a moment. “Our opinion of Keats has been skewed by almost two centuries of admiration. But in his own time he was moderately successful and had become a part of the literary elite of London at a very young age.”

“But he was only 25 when he died!” Sam exclaimed. There were some nods of agreement from the rest of the class. “Surely he could have been amazing! I mean, look at all these Odes we're already reading!”

Hermione smiled, albeit lightly. His enthusiasm was nice to see, especially as this was a relatively young group of undergraduates. Sometimes it was hard to engender the kind of excitement she felt for literature in her students, but something about Keats seemed to have a struck a chord in Sam.

“True,” she agreed, “and I'm 28. I'm already three years older than he was when he wrote “To Autumn,” “The Fall of Hyperion,” and his other masterpieces. Keats certainly grew into his abilities as a poet very quickly. One could even say his rise to poetic fluency was meteoric.”

“Think he would have been the next Shakespeare?” another student asked, one who had barely spoken a word the entire term. Belletristic it might be, but this discussion was sparking something in her students.

Hermione shrugged. “He certainly had the natural talent to be whatever he wanted to be. Many critics over the years have considered “To Autumn” to be the most perfect poem in English. Keats wielded synesthesia—which is substituting one sense for another or more than one, and something we will discuss today—like almost no other poet before and very few after. One need only read “The Eve of St. Agnes” to see that.

“But would he have been the next Shakespeare? That is impossible to say. Keats modeled himself after Shakespeare to a certain extent, but they were largely writing in different genres. Today they are almost equally regarded, but for different reasons.”

“But…but,” Sam started, looking like he was thinking hard about something. “But if he had lived until he was eighty or so, wouldn't that have changed the whole literary history of Britain? Wouldn't the romantic and Victorian periods be different from now?”

Hermione nodded in satisfaction. “I like the critical thinking, Sam. It shows you're wondering about more than just Keats. But who's to say that he would have even continued writing poetry for another fifty or sixty years? It's easy to say he would have been history's greatest poet and fun to wonder about what he might have written, but he did not, and we'll never know if, given the chance, he would have exceeded the poetry we now read.”

Sam nodded. Other students were slowly nodding their heads, too. Hermione was satisfied that she had at least showed them all the complexity and futility of these types of “what if?” questions.

“I see, Professor,” he said. “But you're right. It is fun to wonder sometimes what he might have done if he'd continued.”

“I understand,” Hermione answered, standing once again and moving around her desk. “As I said before, we all indulge such thoughts from time to time. But we mustn't let them consume us, because they would take us away from our real critical work.

“Now, if you'll turn to “To Autumn” in your books, we can start to talk about why some critics over the years have called it the most perfect poem in English.”

The rustling of many pages filled the new silence.

---

As the last student of the day walked out of her office hours, Hermione leaned back in her chair and sighed. She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling momentarily. She closed her eyes and lightly rubbed the tips of her fingers across her aching eyeballs. She was bone-tired, but such was the life of a fourth year Ph.D. candidate. She was teaching two classes this semester and had office hours three times a week for her students; also, she was in the midst of her heaviest and most concentrated research for her dissertation, which she would actually start writing some time later this semester.

She briefly thought over her college career. She had begun as a freshman at the University of Sydney in August of 2000 after sitting for the proper qualifying exams, and had graduated summa cum laude with a perfect grade point average in May of 2004. She had then matriculated with funding—a teaching assistantship—into the Ph.D. program in English at Sydney, so after a brief summer she spent mostly with her parents, she started the next phase of her academic career.

That had been August of 2004. It was now October of 2007. She would likely complete her Ph.D. in either December of 2009 or May of 2010, depending on how quickly and efficiently she was able to write her dissertation. She had a clear conception of her topic and a good focus in her research—but she actually had to write the damn thing, and that would take time. The only consolation is that she would not have to teach classes during her sixth and (hopefully) final year.

After woolgathering for another minute or two, Hermione Granger shook herself and stood; she collected some books, her laptop, and a legal pad from her desk, put them into her knapsack, and turned to find her jacket. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window, but she did not give the chocolate eyes, the high cheek bones, the pert nose, and the shoulder-length chestnut hair another look. She had worn her hair shorter for quite some time now and it was no longer a surprise to see it reflected back at her.

She backed out of her tiny office—though one with a window, something most graduate students could not claim—and locked the door. It was just after 5:00 PM and she had to be back to teach another class at 8:00 AM the next morning. She sighed again. She loved the academic life; she loved what her life had become, in fact; but, still, the hours were long and the teaching was a bit tedious at times, especially when the subject had little to do with her specialty.

She passed into the nippy spring air and walked a block to the bus stop. She had no car, but none was needed. The public transportation in Sydney was more than adequate for her needs, especially because her parents lived only twenty blocks from her and their dental practice was even closer.

As she sat on the stopping and starting bus staring out of the window, her mind flitted to a comparison of metro London and metro Sydney. She hadn't thought of London in quite some time; at first that had been purposeful, but over time it faded into the reality of living on the other side of the world. What had once seemed so familiar in Britain had faded with time so that now she truly did consider Sydney her home. She was well-liked in the department and the current Romanticism professor was on the cusp of retiring, so there had been some hints that she would be offered the job as soon as she finished her doctorate. She absolutely would not pass up that opportunity because she had come to genuinely love Sydney, and of course because her parents were here and had a thriving practice.

She exited the bus at her stop, walking quickly to her apartment building. She fished for a moment for her keys as she approached the outer door, but soon found them and was in the lobby in no time. It was a rather ordinary apartment building on an ordinary corner in Sydney, but it was close the university and she had an affordable single. She had desperately wanted to live alone at this stage in her life because of the distractions a roommate would bring; she had enough academic obligations to fill thirty four hours per day, so the quiet of her apartment was a nice sanctuary where she could accomplish quite a bit of work.

On her way through the lobby, she stopped for a moment in the mailroom, grabbing the three or four envelopes in her slot. Without looking at them, she headed toward the elevator; she took it to the tenth floor, where her apartment was. It gave her a relatively nice view of the surrounding urban landscape. She greeted a neighbor in the hallway as she turned out of the elevator, but it was half-hearted because she only wanted to change into comfortable clothes and curl up on the sofa with some tea and the telly. She definitely needed to decompress for an hour or so before she would be able to get any work done.

She unlocked the door, threw it open, set her bag down on the table just inside, and kicked the door closed as she moved into her apartment. She finally looked down at the envelopes in her hands. The first was a bill; the second was an advert; the third was another bill; and the fourth—

Hermione knew something was different about the fourth before she even properly looked at the address. It felt heavier somehow, or thicker. And then she saw the familiar green ink splashed across the front of the envelope in loopy cursive. It was a letter from Hogwarts.

---

“Whoa, Hermione. Slow down. I can barely understand you,” came Jane Granger's voice over the phone, cutting Hermione's babbling off. There was an audible click as she closed her mouth and breathed deeply for a moment.

“Sorry mum,” Hermione eventually replied. She was staring dumbly at the tri-folded parchment in her hand.

“It's ok, love. Now who sent the letter?”

“Professor Flitwick,” Hermione said. “He was the Charms Professor at Hogwarts. Though now I guess he's the acting Headmaster.”

“So what happened? Why is he writing you after all this time?”

Here Hermione's breath hitched briefly as she considered her former mentor and, yes, friend. She also wondered if others with whom she'd lost touch were receiving letters.

“Professor McGonagall, who was the Transfiguration professor and then the Headmistress, has passed away,” Hermione told her mum. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't actually crying. The duration of the intervening time had softened the blow somewhat.

“Oh,” Jane replied. Hermione sensed recognition in her mother's monosyllable. “Dear, I'm sorry. She was your closest teacher, wasn't she?”

“Yes mum,” Hermione answered, quietly.

“Is that all the letter says?”

“No… Filius indicated services are going to be held next Wednesday at Hogwarts for her. He invited me to them.”

“At Hogwarts, Hermione?”

“Yes mum,” she said again.

“And what do you think about that?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, moving to the sofa near the window, which was catching the warm light from the setting sun. It glowed in her chocolate hair.

“Hermione Jane, you know perfectly well what I mean,” her mum scolded. “Just because it has been so long doesn't mean your father or I could forget.”

Hermione sighed. “You're right, of course. It's just that it has been so long,” she countered. “I'm not the same person as I was back then. I'm sure they aren't either.”

“But you don't know, love. And you were out of sorts for so long after all that drama… You are doing great here in Sydney and, as you said, have at least one mostly sure job prospect when you finish your dissertation. Do you really want to go back and dredge up all those old memories now?”

“It would just be for a funeral, though,” Hermione pointed out. “A few days at most. And I think I owe it to Minerva to show her my last respects.”

“That's true,” her mum conceded. Jane sounded a bit tired over the phone.

“What is it, mum?” Hermione wondered, after a short silence.

She heard Jane sigh, too. “We lost years of our lives to that bloody place,” Jane eventually said. “And we lost years of our lives with you to it, too. Your father and I have had zero desire to return since you restored our memories, and we have been glad to see the same in you as well. I guess I thought we were shot of Britain permanently, but that was probably naïve.”

“I can't always keep running from my past,” Hermione said, dropping the letter on the couch and staring out at the Sydney skyline.

“Is that what you think you're doing?”

“No, not exactly, and not like what you think I meant. But I grew up there so I would want to return at some point, anyway. And who knows if they'll even be there?”

“I have a feeling they will be,” Jane said.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied. “I suppose so. But it is only for a few days. I can't really afford to miss more than two or three of my classes, regardless of everything else.”

“Do you want me and your father to come too?”

“No, that's ok,” Hermione responded. “You don't need to waste your money. It's just a quick trip.”

“Ok… Well, keep me updated, please.”

“I will, mum.”

“I love you, Hermione.”

“Love you too.” She hung up the phone.

After staring out into the blaze of the setting sun long enough for it to dip behind the taller buildings, she stood from the sofa and ventured over to her laptop. She needed to look at plane tickets.

-->

2. Ron

A/N: One more update to this, which is already half-written, and then an update for GuG.

Chapter 2: Ron

October 2007

“You should come back too, you know,” Ron said, looking at his older brother over the food on the wooden table between them. “She was your teacher too.”

“I know,” Charlie replied. “And I probably will. It's just been a long time since I've been back there.”

Ron snorted. “Same for me and you know that.”

Charlie looked at him a little more closely than usual. “How long has it been for you?”

“Uh,” Ron intoned. He shrugged. “Years. Seven or so. You know why, too, so don't start on all that old rubbish,” Ron warned him. “We had that conversation once and I don't want to have it again.”

Charlie held up his hands in mock surrender. “I wasn't going to say a word, Ron.”

“Sure.”

“Whatever, little brother,” Charlie said, smiling. “So when do we leave for Britain?”

“Tomorrow morning? The services are on Wednesday, so we can leave Thursday to come back here,” Ron answered.

“Quick trip.”

“Why shouldn't it be?”

“You're being awfully defensive, Ron.”

“And you're being awfully thick, Charlie,” Ron answered, a little heatedly. “Mum and dad don't even live in Britain anymore, and the rest of our illustrious siblings are off doing their own thing… though I wouldn't be surprised to see some of them at Hogwarts on Wednesday,” he trailed off, thoughtfully.

“Suppose so,” Charlie responded. “But what about—”

Loud, piercing magical alarms suddenly blared across the compound where the handlers resided. Though this Romanian preserve was still largely for dragons, there were some other species that had been introduced into the environment since Ron had joined Charlie here back in 1999. Charlie and Ron immediately jumped up, forgetting about their food, and rushed outside to see many other handlers running in the direction of the closest paddocks.

“What's going on?” Ron yelled, looking at the nearest handler.

“James sent his Patronus,” the other guy yelled back. “Something about Nellie and the youngest two.”

Ron's heart skipped a beat as he processed that information. He immediately put his 6'5” frame to good use, upping his speed to a full sprint and outpacing the other handlers because his long legs covered much more ground.

He rounded the corner of another building and saw the Welsh Green paddock up ahead. Nellie, the fully grown female Welsh Green, was obviously very agitated. He could see three or four of her youngest progeny standing around her legs.

As he neared the paddock, he slowed his pace and took in the situation. Nellie, the female, was not letting any of the handlers into the paddock. She was baring her fangs and letting loose short, small bursts of flame to keep away the handlers. She was also standing over two of her children that had apparently been injured by a small rockslide. The Welsh paddock was right up against a rocky embankment, and it looked like something had caused a few large boulders to tumble down. The other children were milling around restlessly, making noises of distress.

“What's going on?” Ron bellowed, stopping just outside the paddock. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the two felled babies. One was not moving at all and the other was only barely twitching. He could see numerous physical injuries on both of them.

“Ron! Thank Merlin!” a handler said, turning to him. It was James, the person that had sent the Patronus. “Corky and Abby were injured by a rockslide,” he said, pointing at Nellie and the two babies. “But Nellie won't let any of us in there to help. Hopefully you and Charlie can get in—we know Nellie trusts you two more than anyone else.”

Charlie pulled up beside Ron at that moment. A glance between the brothers said all that needed to be said, so they grabbed the fence and heaved themselves over into the dragon paddock. Ron's huge, muscular frame hit the ground running, as did Charlie's much shorter, though slightly stockier body.

Nellie turned toward them and Ron saw her narrow her eyes at them, but she did not seem to be as hostile as she had been when the other handlers had tried to approach. She made a grunting noise in the back of her throat, shooing her other children away from Corky and Abby as Ron and Charlie neared. The two redheads slowed considerably as they came closer to the towering Welsh Green. It would not do to upset or startle a fully grown female dragon protecting her young.

Ron and Charlie held out their hands in front of their bodies, in a placating gesture. Nellie grunted again, sending streams of smokes out of her nostrils, but she did not make a move to stop their approach. Ron could see and hear that Corky was in pain, but, perhaps more disturbingly, Abby didn't look like she was moving at all.

“You're better with healing spells than I am,” Charlie said, lowly. “See to Abby; I'll see what I can do for Corky.”

Ron nodded and approached the two baby dragons. The boulders that had apparently rolled over them were off to the side. He looked up at the embankment warily, wondering if any more large rocks would come tumbling down, especially since their fully grown mother had just been stomping around. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw that Nellie had gone perfectly still and was watching them very carefully.

The visual assessment of Abby was not good. One wing had been brutally crushed and her tail had a sharp, unnatural angle about halfway between its tip and Abby's body. Both of her front legs were bloody and mangled, and the right side of her head had been hit pretty hard too. He pointed his wand at her and cast the diagnostic spell; when her body glowed blue for a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. It meant she was alive, at least.

Slowly, the blue near her right wing, in the middle of her tail, by her two forelegs, and on the right side of her head changed to a deep, angry red. This meant the bones in those areas were broken or crushed. Ron waited, looking for more colors, but none were forthcoming. A mixed blessing really: she only had broken bones and no severe internal injuries, but the severity of those fractures could mean she might never walk or fly again.

He kneeled down next to her limp form and set to work. Using a bone-mending charm that took a lot of magical power (and did not work on humans because it was all brute force, rather than finely tuned), he ran the tip of his wand back and forth over the affected areas, starting with her tail. In just two minutes, he was sweating profusely, even though it was quite cool here in the mountains of Romania; and after five minutes, his breathing was labored and he was seeing spots in front of his eyes.

Ron had healed her tail, her forelegs, and the side of her head—the bones at least, because the cuts and bruises were still there—so he still had her wing to do. This would be the most difficult and delicate task, and would likely require the most magical power, but he was well and truly knackered.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment, trying to regain his composure and some of his strength. He had to do this for Abby since Nellie would not let anyone else except for Charlie in here. He supposed the handlers could have tried to stun Nellie, but that could have just made the situation much worse—not to mention the fact that it would probably ruin all the trust they had built with Nellie and her brood.

When he opened his eyes again he was startled enough to let out a strangled cry. Nellie had quietly approached and was now staring at Abby, just a few feet from where Ron knelt. Nellie's head was easily as big as Ron's entire body.

“Corky's alright for now,” Charlie whispered, startling Ron again as he knelt on the other side of Abby. Ron laughed at himself, silently, and then nodded at Charlie.

“I just have Abby's wing left, as far as the broken bones go. She has some superficial things I haven't done anything with yet, but that's it other than the wing.”

Nellie cocked her head to the side, listening to their conversation. For a moment, Ron was briefly reminded of Hermione. He shook his head against that odd comparison.

“I'll see to some of the cuts,” Charlie replied. “You take care of her wing, little brother.”

Breathing deeply once again, Ron reached toward what was left of his surface magic and began casting the bone-mending charm again. He had to trace the spider-like bones throughout the wing, which meant he had to sustain the charm for quite a while, but he persevered until it was finished.

He grayed out when he ended the charm, though; luckily, Charlie was suddenly there for him to lean on.

Distantly, he heard, “Charlie, catch!” and then he was being fed chocolate. It took a moment, but soon thereafter he had some of his energy back. He still felt extraordinarily tired, but it was a vast improvement over the half-conscious state of a minute ago.

He looked up and saw that Charlie was watching Nellie, who was watching them. Nellie carefully nudged Abby with the end of her snout, though Abby did not wake up. Nellie made a pathetic whining sound in the back of her throat that just about broke Ron's heart.

“We should probably wake her up now,” Charlie suggested. Ron nodded tiredly against his brother. They both pointed their wands at the young Welsh Green and incanted, “Ennervate.”

Their magic washed over Abby; several moments later, she jerked awake, crying out and spewing out some fire toward her mother, who deflected it with a powerful snort of smoky air. Abby cried out again; she tried to stand and was unsuccessfully the first two times, but eventually on the third she managed to gain her feet. Corky, freshly though not fully healed by Charlie, limped over to his sister and nudged her in the ribs. Ron and Charlie watched this little reunion with smiles on their faces.

Nellie shooed them away from the rock face, lest the same thing happen again, and the three of them watched the little ones amble away. Eventually, as Ron and Charlie stood there, Nellie turned to them.

She was stretched to her full height, so they had to crane their necks backward to see her head, but as they watched she lowered herself down to their level. Instinctually, Ron wanted to bolt—who wouldn't when a gigantic dragon was mere feet away from you—but he held his ground and so did Charlie. It was only very rarely that fully grown dragons let handlers get this close to them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Nellie inched her snout closer and closer to them. Ron could feel the sulfurous heat emanating from her nostrils, but it was not hot enough to harm him or Charlie. Nellie stopped her forward movement about one foot in front of them; she was watching them with her large, unblinking lizard eyes. Ron glanced at Charlie, who glanced back, and they both shrugged. They were unsure what Nellie wanted.

So Ron did the unthinkable. He didn't know what prompted it, but he raised his hand and placed it against the warm scales in the middle of her snout. Charlie hissed in his breath at Ron's actions, but Nellie merely closed her eyes and leaned into Ron's touch just a little bit more. Ron's mind caught up with his foolish body just then, nearly making him hyperventilate, but Nellie had not reacted poorly to his rash action. He glanced at Charlie again and nodded his head. His older brother looked hesitant, but eventually he too had a hand placed against Nellie's snout.

The dragon opened her eyes and stared at the two of them. Ron thought he could see some measure of intelligence in that gaze.

“Nellie…” he started, though his voice faded away as he felt foolish for talking to her directly. However, she cocked her head again—the smooth scales slid against their hands—as if to urge him to continue.

“I'm not sure how much you understand,” Ron started again, speaking slowly, “but you should keep your children away from that rock face until we can get a stasis ward in place over it.” He pointed at the rocks with his free hand and shook his head.

Nellie blinked once and then backed away from their touch. She stared down at them from her full height for at least a minute after that, before blinking a final time and turning away. They watched as she called out to her children and herded them up against the far edge of the paddock. It seemed that she had understood after all.

---

Very tired yet happy brothers fell into adjacent cots later that night. The episode with Nellie, Corky, and Abby had been relived countless times as all the spectating handlers had congratulated them in near-awe. In the history of the preserve, it could be counted on one hand the number of handlers that a fully grown dragon had willingly let touch it.

There was a large degree of mutual trust between the humans and the dragons—and the other magical species that had moved into the preserve—but it was based on respect, not affection. The dragons appreciated the stable environment in which they could raise their young and the humans appreciated the uninterrupted observation they were allowed to conduct. Most dragon broods also allowed the humans to harvest dead dragons' parts, which was an added boon for the handlers and the preserve. In fact, the revenue from that kept the preserve open and the handlers paid.

What Nellie had allowed Ron and Charlie to do was nearly unprecedented, but it wasn't every day that two handlers were able to save two baby dragons from either death or devastating, crippling injuries. After all, a dragon that couldn't walk or fly was as good as dead, anyway.

“What a fuckin day,” Charlie said.

“Agreed,” Ron responded. “And tomorrow will be another long one.”

“Too true. We're going to be stuck in Portkey customs all day.”

“Yeah, not looking forward to that,” Ron said.

“So the plan is still to come back Thursday, right?” Charlie asked. It was now Monday night; they would travel to Hogwarts the next day; and the services for Minerva were on Wednesday.

“I don't see why not.”

Charlie nodded. Ron looked over at him from his prone position and saw that his brother was staring at the ceiling of the large cabin, where five handlers slept.

“Still no word from the others?” Ron wondered.

Charlie shook his head. “No, but there's hardly been enough time for a reply. I'm sure Ginny and Percy will be there at least.”

“I think Bill will try to come as well, even if he has drag himself away from Fleur,” Ron said, smiling, and thinking of his oldest brother.

Charlie laughed. “Maybe.”

“But not George?”

“You know how he's been…”

“Yeah, he turned that joke shop into a powerhouse,” Ron said, quietly. “They liked McGonagall a lot in school—respected her a lot—so I think he'll make the trip.”

“Maybe,” Charlie shrugged. “Maybe not. It's been hard to get a read on George since Fred…”

“I know,” Ron replied. A silence, and then:

“Do you still think about him? Fred, that is.”

They looked at each other. “Probably not as much as I should,” Charlie answered. “But I'm not grieving anymore, so I don't know how much I could be thinking of him.”

“Hmm, I suppose.”

“What about mum and dad?” Charlie asked.

“Dunno,” Ron intoned. “They've got their vineyards and orchards in Sicily now…”

“Yeah…I guess they'd had about enough of Britain,” Charlie mused. “Though I have always wondered where they got the money to move and buy all that land.”

“I have a few ideas about that,” Ron muttered, though Charlie did not hear it. In truth, he was almost certain it was Harry's doing. But his parents were prosperous and happy now, so he could not complain. Arthur had backed away from his obsession with Muggle appliances and Molly had mellowed somewhat in the years after the war. Visiting his parents was now a pleasant experience, as opposed to the tension embedded in the family toward the end of the war. Perhaps it helped that they all saw each other only once a year, at best.

“Good job with Abby today, Ron,” Charlie said, turning away from him and curling his arm around the pillow.

“And same with Corky,” Ron said, staring up at the ceiling. Charlie's even breathing filled the silent, dark room after a few minutes.

Ron slipped into sleep sometime later, feeling the ghost of Nellie's warm scales on the palm of his hand.

-->

3. Harry

Chapter 3: Harry

October 2007

“Teddy!”

Harry listened. When no response was forthcoming, he tried again.

“Teddy! Where are you? We need to be going!”

Harry looked at the ceiling above his head, willing the nine year old Metamorphmagus to respond. Silence reigned.

“Ted Remus Lupin! If I have to come up there…”

“Alright, alright, dad! I'm coming! I'll be down in a minute!”

Harry smiled at the predictability of the situation. Teddy was definitely not a morning person, but they had to get an early start if they wanted to make it up to Hope, Scotland—the Muggle sister village of Hogsmeade—before late night. The services were mid-morning the next day, Wednesday.

Harry frowned at that thought and looked out of the bay window at Knightsbridge Road, on which his three-story townhouse was situated. It had been many years since he'd been back to Hogwarts, and now that he was going back, he wished it was for something other than this somber event.

He had not always seen eye-to-eye with the staff and faculty at Hogwarts, but Minerva had almost always looked out for his best interests—or at least much more than anyone else had cared to at the time. He had no idea how she was as a Headmistress, because he had not returned to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year, but she had been an outstanding teacher and a good, albeit strict, Head of House.

He watched the slowly passing traffic as he waited for Teddy to come downstairs. Teddy had never been to Hogwarts since he was not yet of age, so he had been fairly excited to finally go to the castle, but Harry knew that was more in the abstract sense than something concrete. His godson had been attending Muggle primary school since he was five, so he had many non-magical friends with whom to pass the time.

Harry was unsure how Teddy would eventually react when he fully realized he would be leaving all of those friends for boarding school at Hogwarts. Ultimately, Teddy did have the final say in whether he would attend magical school or not, but Harry assumed it was a foregone conclusion. As the child of two magically powerful parents, and the inheritor of a rare and powerful magical ability, his place in Hogwarts had been assured since birth. And even though Harry had purposely receded from the magical world during the last nine years, that didn't mean he wanted Teddy to do the same thing. He would not deny the child his magical heritage, like he had been denied during his childhood.

Footsteps on the stairs focused Harry's wandering thoughts. He turned toward the source of the noise and watched as his godson came into view. Teddy looked like a much younger version of Remus, and there was a slight twinge somewhere in his heart whenever his mind made that connection, but Harry had ceased dwelling on the past quite a number of years ago now. Teddy's face also retained some of the heart-shaped quality of Tonks, but that had started to fade as Teddy approached the beginnings of adolescence.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Harry said, smiling at his godson.

“Morning, dad,” Teddy mumbled, still looking like he was half-asleep. “Why do we have to go so early, anyway?”

“Because it's a twelve hour drive up to Hope,” Harry told him. “And I want to get there before it's very late.”

Teddy eyed him for a moment. “Couldn't we just Apparate?”

Harry nodded. “We could. But you haven't had the chance to see much of northern England or any of Scotland. And it's been a long time since I've had the time to drive anywhere significant.”

“I guess.”

“Oh, don't be a spoilsport,” Harry told him, laughing and moving forward to pick up Teddy's luggage. Between them, they only had two small bags, as it would be a relatively short trip. “Besides, you get to spend the day in the DB9 with the top down—as long as it doesn't rain.”

That brought a smile to Teddy's face. While October was a bit cool for the convertible, they of course had the advantage of warming charms. Harry could even make the vehicle's interior impervious to rain if he really wanted, but that might be difficult explaining to Muggles why they weren't wet.

“So are you ready?” Harry asked. Teddy nodded. “There is another reason to celebrate, you know: you'll be seeing your grandmother at Hogwarts tomorrow.”

Teddy's smiled brightened. “Oh, I can't wait to see Andy!” he said. Harry laughed again and guided Teddy out of the townhouse. Andy, as she wanted to be called, spoiled Teddy rotten whenever she could; and Teddy, the opportunistic little bugger, encouraged her at every turn.

Harry locked up behind them as they left through the front door, surreptitiously locking down the wards around the property as well with some casual movements of his hands. Teddy was already waiting by the passenger door of the black Aston Martin DB9 convertible parked in front of the house—the parking spot had cost 300,000 Pounds, and was Harry's on lease until 2094. Harry clicked the unlocking mechanism on his key chain, put the two pieces of luggage in the small boot, and climbed in the driver side. Teddy was already belted in. He inserted the key, pressed the startup button, and listened with satisfaction as the powerful engine roared to life. It settled into idle at a low rumble after a moment.

Harry cast warming charms over them and pushed the button on the console to lower the convertible top. The gray October skies soon came into view as the heavens opened up above them. He swept his long black hair out of his face with a hand and turned to Teddy, who was still smiling.

“Ready?” Harry asked, grinning fully.

Teddy nodded, now quite excited. The thrill of adventure awaited.

“Then we're off,” Harry said, slipping the car into first gear and pulling away from the curb.

---

Their route took them north out of London on the M1. They passed Luton, Milton Keynes, and Northampton. At junction 19, they veered west and took the M6, passing north of Birmingham, where they turned in a more northerly direction. They got off at junction 34 around Camforth to get something to eat. After returning to the road and the comfortable luxury convertible, they continued on the M6 until it turned into the A74 at the border of England and Scotland.

The scenery around there was mostly flat with some lightly rolling hills; it wasn't until they were north of Coatsgate that they began to see some of the rocky formations for which Scotland is famous. The A74 became the M74 at Abington, and they continued on their northward trek. The DB9 drove like a dream; it was still overcast, but there was no rain, and it even seemed like the skies might have been lightening a bit as they approached the interchanges around Glasgow. The M74 turned briefly into the M73, then the A80, the M80, the M9, and finally the A9 once they were north of all the trailing suburbs of the Edinburgh region.

The A9 was where the fun really began, because they were entering the Highlands region of Scotland. Teddy had never been up here, and he stared out at the wonderful scenery with something approaching awe. The A9 took them through the western reaches of The Cairngorm National Park and up through Inverness, where they stopped again for some food. It was now approaching sunset, as their journey northward had a marked effect on the length of day, so they returned to the road north of Inverness with the sun setting in the southwest behind them. It lit the beautiful, somewhat desolate landscape of the Highlands in many wonderful hues, as the clouds had given way to mostly clear skies up here.

After using B9176 briefly as a bypass, they turned onto the A836 for the last leg of their journey. Harry was glad for the bright halogen lamps of the Aston Martin's headlights because it was quite dark up here. With very few residential areas between there and the North Sea, night fell with a certain finality over the land. What they could see was still beautiful, but Harry was more cautious now on these unfamiliar stretches of road.

Eventually, around 8pm, they came to the intersection of A836 and A838 at Kyle of Tongue, at Tongue Bay on the North Sea, and turned on the westerly route. Ten miles later, they arrived in the small hamlet of Hope at the northern tip of Loch Hope. The Wizarding village of Hogsmeade was a few miles south of Hope on the eastern shore of Loch Hope, and Hogwarts was just a bit further south of Hogsmeade. Harry knew no one could ever find Hogwarts on a map, but Hogsmeade was not so similarly Unplottable (on magical maps), so it was simple logical deduction that located the castle.

Harry had already secured lodging for the two nights they would stay in Hope, so they pulled into the drive of the rented cottage and stretched their legs after a long day in the car. He pulled the key that been mailed to him from his pocket and gave it to Teddy, to go on ahead and open the house, while he pulled their luggage from the boot.

---

“Dad?”

“What is it, Teddy?” Harry wondered. They had settled in at the cottage and were mostly ready for bed. They were both reading in the sitting room.

“Why don't you like Hogwarts?”

Harry felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead. His godson was staring at him intently.

“What makes you think I don't like it?”

Teddy looked uncomfortable for a moment. “You hardly ever talk about it,” he pointed out. “And you seemed like you didn't want to come up here at all.”

Harry laid his book aside. He wondered when he would be having this conversation with his godson. A younger Teddy had asked some pointed questions about his biological parents, but they had never really discussed Harry's past in too much detail.

“You know that if you ever have questions about Hogwarts or anything else about the magical world, you can ask me, right?” Harry asked. Teddy nodded. “Just because I prefer not to talk about those things much doesn't mean I won't answer your questions.”

Teddy nodded again. “But why don't you want to talk about it? I mean, you can't hate the magical world because you're always with the goblins…”

Harry inclined his head and smiled. “You're right, Teddy. I don't hate the Wizarding world. How could I when I'm magical and you're magical and I grew up at Hogwarts?”

“I don't know, dad.”

“But you know what I did at the end of my seventh year,” Harry continued. “I've told you the real story; and I'm sure you've read the more fantastical versions in all those books you're always reading,” Harry lightly teased.

“Some of them are pretty wild,” Teddy agreed. “But I know the true story.”

“All seven years I spent attending Hogwarts were filled with events leading up to that final battle with Riddle, most of which were dangerous, stressful, and unnecessary. I had very little chance to live a normal life until after I left Hogwarts, so my memories of that place aren't exactly my fondest.

“There were good times, sure, but they were few and far between with long stretches of problems in the middle. I was also a rather mediocre student, which I could partially blame on being distracted most of the time, but the point is that I think I wasted a lot of my time at Hogwarts. I know you won't do the same thing when you go because you're already much smarter and more motivated than I ever was in school.”

Teddy smiled. “Thanks dad. It'll be hard to live up to your reputation, though.”

“You don't have to,” Harry told him. “And that reputation is mostly rubbish, anyway. I made it through those years on luck, really, and with the help of some of my good friends at the time.”

“Was it hard to make friends?” Teddy asked, sounding a bit nervous and genuinely like a nine year old.

“Not really,” Harry answered, chuckling. “You'll get sorted into your house and usually the first years kind of stick together for a while after that. Eventually you'll split into smaller groups when you figure out each other a little more, but by then you'll have settled into something of a routine and you won't even realize it's happening.”

Again, Teddy looked a bit uncomfortable, even though he was nodding at what Harry was saying. “Dad…?”

“What is it?”

“Why don't…how come none of your school friends ever come around the house?”

“What do you mean?”

“Those books always mention Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger—the Golden Trio.”

Harry forced himself not to react. He had not expected Teddy to question him directly about his two schoolmates.

“I know Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and George, but what about Ron? And Hermione?”

“Well, Teddy, that is a bit difficult to say, really,” Harry replied, unsure if he wanted to just deflect the question or actually try to answer his godson. He was pretty sure Ron or Hermione, or possibly both of them, would be at Hogwarts the next day, so it might be better to try to explain some of it.

“Why?”

“The end of the war was a…tremendous time,” Harry explained, carefully. “The magical world was suddenly yanked back from the brink of destruction. Everyone was a bit out of sorts for a while, and there were certain expectations placed upon me and my friends that we had perhaps been unconsciously moving toward for quite some time…” he trailed off, seeing that he'd lost Teddy.

“Think of it like this,” Harry said. “The world as we knew it changed completely overnight. Something that many of us had been preparing for in some way or another for seven years was finished. There were extremely upsetting losses on our side,” Harry went on, thinking of Fred and Teddy's parents, “which put more strain on everyone.”

“Like my real mum and dad,” Teddy said, quietly. Harry nodded.

“Yes, Teddy. Like Remus and Tonks.”

Teddy indicated that Harry should continue.

“So we suddenly had the world at our feet, so to speak, but none of us had really made any plans for after the war. We all had ideas of what we wanted to do, or found ourselves in circumstances that we had not anticipated, so we had to eventually put aside what we wanted—what was easy—for what was right.”

“So what happened?”

“The three of us were at odds for a few weeks after the war,” Harry said. He could still remember that time vividly. “We all wanted different things. Eventually, and for reasons you might not understand until you're a little older, we had a spectacular row and went our separate ways.”

“And that was it?” Teddy wondered, looking at Harry with wide eyes. His innocent concern warmed Harry's heart. “You never talked to each other again?”

“Not quite,” Harry said. “We kept up letters for a little while, but we soon had our own lives and responsibilities, so they slowly came to an end. Ron and Hermione also do not live in Britain anymore.”

“What do they do?”

“Hermione's studying to become a Muggle professor in Australia and Ron works with his brother, Charlie, at a magical creature preserve in the mountains of Romania.”

Teddy considered this information. This was actually the most that Harry had ever talked with Teddy about his past. It was easier than he imagined, but that might have been because Teddy was so smart and perceptive.

“And you work for Gringotts,” Teddy said.

“Eh, not quite,” Harry corrected, though he was smiling. “I don't work for Gringotts… more like with them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how well off we are, right?” Teddy nodded. As the sole heir to the Black and Potter fortunes, Harry was one of the richest individuals in the world. Teddy didn't know quite that much, but his godson did understand they were very wealthy.

“And that Gringotts is a bank?”

“Of course,” Teddy scoffed.

“Well, even banks sometimes need to borrow money, and I provide that service to Gringotts. It's a little more complicated than a normal loan, but the essence of it is the same.”

“So you're a…”

“Venture capitalist,” Harry supplied, watching with some amusement as Teddy internalized the new words. “Capital being the money and other resources I have.”

“Hmmm,” Teddy intoned, thinking about everything. Harry just watched him. Sometimes his godson's intelligence reminded him of Hermione. He knew that Teddy would be a formidable wizard, especially because he would not have Voldemort and the Second War hanging over his head for his seven years at Hogwarts.

“Are you going to see Ron and Hermione tomorrow?” was the eventual question posed by Teddy. Harry was surprised by the insight, even though he knew he shouldn't have been.

“It's possible,” Harry responded, shrugging. “Probable, actually.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Teddy queried, looking intensely at Harry, who had to suppress laughter at being psychoanalyzed by his nine year old godson.

“I don't know, Teddy. Fine I guess. I'm not too worried about it. It's been a long time since all of that. And speaking of a long time, it has been a very long day. Don't you think it's about time for bed?” Harry asked.

“Ok dad,” Teddy agreed, closing the book in his lap and placing it on the side table. He stood up and walked over to where Harry was sitting. They hugged each other.

“Sleep well,” Harry told him, ruffling his brown hair.

Teddy smiled lightly before turning away. “You too dad. See you in the morning.”

“Night,” Harry said, watching as Teddy disappeared from the room. Moments later, he heard the door to his godson's room softly close.

Harry leaned back and sighed. Though he had not lied to Teddy about how he felt, if he was completely honest with himself, he had no idea how a reunion between the Golden Trio would go. He knew he was a vastly different person from that surly teenager of 1998. He imagined Ron and Hermione had undergone similarly profound changes.

But perhaps that was for the better. Maybe now that they were older and had their own lives, they wouldn't feel the pressure from all sides they had felt back at the end of the war. Maybe Ron and Hermione wouldn't even show up at Hogwarts. Or maybe only one of them would.

Harry cut off all conjecture there and turned in for the night. Only time would confirm or deny his thoughts.

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4. Post-Mortem (I)

Chapter 4: Post-Mortem (I)

June 1998

The decompression in the days following the end of Second War for Harry, Hermione, and Ron was extraordinarily intense. Harry's comment about “enough trouble for a lifetime” as he left the Head's office on the day of Voldemort's defeat was more true than even he knew at that very moment; it wasn't until things had quieted down somewhat around the partially destroyed castle that he and his two closest friends had time to reflect on their lives these past years.

With Voldemort's forces in disarray or on the run, it was the first time in several years—or, in Harry's case, since he had been introduced to the Wizarding World almost seven years before—they did not have the specter of Voldemort hanging over their heads. This meant they could properly attend to their own lives and what personal matters they had put on hold, but, as they quickly realized, that would take some time. The three of them, as well as their surviving friends who had also fought in the war, had to deal with the after-effects of a full year on the run or under the tyranny of Death Eaters. To say that they all had some latent post-traumatic stress would be entirely correct, though the symptoms took a few days to manifest.

The day of Voldemort's defeat and the following two days were filled with some perfunctory cleanup efforts at Hogwarts, the news of the end of the war spreading like wildfire, and the preparation of services for all those that had died at the final battle. Plans had already been set in motion to honor the dead with a war memorial somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts, but now was the time for more personal remembrances. The third day after Voldemort's defeat was filled with those ceremonies, including one for Remus and Tonks, which took place as the light faded from very late evening. It was a somber group of young veterans that walked from Hogwarts down to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks in the cooling night air.

“Three firewhiskeys,” Harry ordered, as he, Ron, and Hermione settled in at the bar. Some of their other friends were here as well, like Neville Longbottom, but they were all either keeping to themselves or in their own little groups.

Hermione eyed her drink for a moment before shrugging and topping the shot like Harry and Ron already had. Her face turned a bit red but otherwise she handled it like a professional.

“Three more,” she signaled with a slightly raspy voice.

“You know, everyone else on our side in the world right now is still celebrating,” Harry said, softly, looking toward the night-darkened window near the door. However, he most likely couldn't see quite that far, since he had taken off his glasses and laid them down on the bar. Angry red depressions where they rested on the bridge of his noise stood out like beacons in the light of the pub. He looked old and tired.

“Yet, somehow, I don't feel much like celebrating,” Ron said, already moving onto his third firewhiskey. The three of them had had very little time to themselves since Harry had killed Riddle, with everything else going on, so this was almost the first time they were able to just sit and talk amongst themselves. Fred's service had been first thing that morning. George was inconsolable and no one had seen him since the end of the funeral.

Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry just watched this silently.

And then the silence stretched on. And on and on. They buried themselves in their drinks rather than talking, which was unusual for the three of them. They always had something to talk about, even if it was entirely mundane. But so much had happened in such a short time (and over their entire friendship, really), that they preferred their own thoughts and the alcohol to talking at the moment.

Finally, after probably thirty minutes, Hermione sighed. She was only on her fourth firewhiskey. Harry and Ron were both approaching ten.

“I think I'm going to call it a night,” she said. Her words slurred together the faintest bit.

Harry and Ron both turned bleary gazes toward her. The stupor of the drink was catching up to them.

“At Hoggarts?” Ron managed.

“Huh?” Hermione intoned.

“Hogwarts,” Harry clarified, though he wasn't really any more or less drunk than Ron. “Are you staying at Hogwarts tonight?”

Hermione grimaced. The three of them had been staying with the others in the only wing of the school that was undamaged. It had been a cramped few nights.

“No,” she eventually said. Her two best friends in the entire universe stared drunkenly back at her. “I'm just going to Apparate home,” she continued. “I'll be back in the morning.”

“Good night, Hermione,” Harry said, surprisingly clearly. Ron grunted his goodbye.

Hermione left some sickles on the bar for the drinks and made her way to the exit. She caught Neville's eye as she neared the door, and they nodded at each other, but he was deep in conversation with someone she did not recognize. As she opened the door she partially turned back to see that Ron and Harry had not moved and were not talking. They were both just staring into their drinks.

She stepped out into the night and Apparated to her long-empty house with a light clap of displaced air.

---

“So last night wasn't one of our finest moments,” Hermione said, looking over at her two friends. Harry and Ron were beside her on the beach of the Black Lake in the bright, warm sun of midday. She had returned to Hogwarts that morning to find them both nursing brutal hangovers. She'd huffed and summoned them some hangover potion. They'd smiled sheepishly and thanked her.

“I suppose not,” Ron said. “But what I said is true, you know.”

“I know,” was all she said. She looked to Harry, but he just continued to lie on his back with his eyes closed, soaking up the light. Shortly after she had arrived and provided them with the potion, Harry had mysteriously disappeared for about two hours. Ever since he'd returned he had barely said a word.

“Where did you run off to, Harry?” Hermione asked, settling down as well and staring up at the sky, which was streaked with high-altitude cirrus clouds.

“I had an appointment with Gringotts this morning,” Harry said. His voice was flat, which was not unusual, but there was definitely something else in there.

“About what?” Ron asked, beating Hermione to the punch.

Harry was silent for a time after that, prompting both Hermione and Ron to raise their heads and look at him, and then at each other.

“Harry?” Hermione tried.

“About everything,” Harry said, and that something in his voice was much closer to the surface. It sounded like sadness, rage, bitterness, horror…

All things everyone had been suppressing for days now in favor of trying to maintain an even keel; and all things that would eventually find their way out, given enough time or impetus.

“What do you mean, mate?” Ron asked. Hermione sensed this conversation was about to head south, and quickly. Ron was just a bit too thick about that type of thing to see it, though.

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Harry retorted, incredulously. “What could I possibly mean?”

His tone set Ron off. “I wouldn't have asked if I knew, would I?” Ron replied.

“Boys…”

“No, Hermione,” Harry cut her off, in an uncharacteristically cold voice. “This will not turn into one of your legendary rows, so no need to worry about that.”

That shut her up, and Ron too. Harry usually ignored their arguments in favor of doing something or talking to someone else. All the ribbing they used to get from other students about their incessant arguing just passed Harry by—or so it had seemed.

Harry stood up abruptly, shielding his eyes against the glare on the water. “Look, I'm sorry, but I just have a lot on my mind right now. I've got shite coming in from all sides about what I'm going to do now and how I'm going to support the new Ministry, and all of this other fucking rubbish I could honestly care less about at this point. And on top of all that, I meet with Gringotts and find out I'm in fact one of the richest people in the world and have hereditary seats on the Wizengamot…blah blah blah…” Harry trailed off, running a hand through his untamable black hair.

Hermione and Ron just stared gape-mouthed at him, this being the first time they'd heard about any of this. To them, the days since the end of the war had been filled with some aimless wandering or hanging about with friends and fellow fighters. But apparently Harry, when not with them, had been dealing with his own kind of afterglow; a rather hellish one.

“And of course there's Teddy to think of,” he continued, his voice agonized. “I'm his godfather so according to Wizard law he should pass to me…”

“What?” Ron questioned.

“What about Andromeda?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head, still not looking at them. “With both Ted and Tonks passing away, she is in no condition to look after him. And like I said, according to law and to the will of Remus and Tonks, which was just read to me at Gringotts, I am Teddy's legal guardian now.”

Ron made some meaningless noises. Hermione was staring up at Harry, the wind having fully been taken out of her sails. This most definitely changed things—mightily changed them. Harry had essentially learned that very morning that he was a surrogate father to his orphaned godson. Somewhere Sirius must have been grinning and crying at the irony of it all.

Harry finally looked at them, albeit oddly. “Haven't you two wondered at all why Ginny hasn't been around for a few days now?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, to say something along the lines of having seen her at the funeral for Fred the previous day, but she stopped herself. That was silly. Of course she had been there. All of the Weasleys were.

“Now that you mention it, you're right, why isn't she hanging about you?” Ron asked. He could sound so blasé and insensitive even when he didn't mean to be.

Harry clenched his jaw, turning away from them again. “She couldn't handle it, Ron. Not that I blame her, really. She's only sixteen.”

“What?” Ron asked again.

Harry sighed in frustration. Hermione could literally feel his anger and annoyance as his magic began to permeate the air.

“Honestly, Ron! Do I have to fucking spell it out for you? She doesn't want any part of a relationship with me now that Teddy is my responsibility.”

Ron was speechless, both at Harry's outburst and the implications of what he had said.

“But she… and you…” Ron clenched his fists. “I'm going to find her and—”

“Don't,” Harry said, cutting him off. “Do not involve yourself in this, Ron. It's her choice to make. And she probably made the right one. Who would want a son at sixteen?”

Ron swallowed the rest of his words.

“Who would want one at seventeen?” Hermione asked, softly. Harry had walked a few steps forward so that he was at the very edge of the water.

“That choice is beyond me, Hermione.”

“But you could—” Ron started.

“Do what? I'm not about to go against the express wishes of Remus and Tonks. I'm not going to do to Teddy what was done to me.” There was a burning fire of determination in his words, away from which Hermione knew Harry would never now be swayed. And although she was appalled at Remus and Tonks for saddling Harry with such responsibility, she knew that Harry would do everything in his considerable power to care for Teddy.

“Well…” Ron started, hesitantly. “We'll be there for you, Harry. Hermione and I will be there for you. Won't we?” he asked, looking at her. She nodded once, never taking her eyes of Harry.

Harry finally turned back toward the other two and nodded. “Thank you,” he said. He began to walk toward the castle.

“Harry?” Ron questioned. Their black-haired compatriot stopped and looked back over his shoulder at them. “What was that you said about being one of the richest people in the world?”

Hermione winced internally. Harry just looked a Ron for a long moment. Finally shaking his head, he turned away from them and continued on his journey back toward the castle.

When Ron looked to Hermione, she shook her head as well.

“What?”

“Probably not the best time for that question.”

“Well bugger me! When has tact ever been one of my best traits?” Ron asked, rhetorically.

“Exactly, Ron.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, Merlin!” Hermione exclaimed, wanting to avoid another argument just then. “Just shut up, will you?”

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5. Post-Mortem (II)

A/N: Growing Up Granger chapters take a considerable amount of time and effort to research and write. I'm moving and changing jobs soon and I'm currently writing my own original novel. I promise I haven't forgotten about the story.

Chapter 5: Post-Mortem (II)

June/July 1998

Hours blended into days; days blended into weeks. Harry, Teddy, Ron, and Hermione had temporarily moved into 12 Grimmauld Place at the beginning of July to escape the madness that was Hogwarts post-Voldemort. The only other living being that had made an appearance at the musty old mansion was Kreacher, who would occasionally help Harry with whatever he needed when asked.

Harry had Teddy in his room—formerly his godfather's room—and had warded it against any noise escaping to prevent Teddy from waking Ron or Hermione during the middle of the night. Teddy actually slept fairly well for such a young child, so there were very few times when Harry was forced to sit with his godson in the wee hours of the night. Somehow, though, on the few occasions where he did, Hermione would soon join him and keep the two of them company. He hadn't asked her about it; he simply figured she had set his silencing charm with some kind of alarm to alert her when Teddy woke Harry up. Harry enjoyed the mostly silent company as he rocked, cooed, and cajoled Teddy back to sleep, so he did not say anything to Hermione about how she knew.

The fog of war had been replaced with a rather mundane haze of boredom and restlessness, which was only exacerbated by the dreams and nightmares all three members of the Golden Trio had most nights. Harry's were obviously the most anxiety-inducing, but Hermione had her fair share of horrid experiences to relive, as well. Harry wasn't exactly sure what Ron was dreaming about when the redhead had trouble sleeping, because he had never been completely open about it, but Harry thought they might have been related to Fred.

Teddy's presence helped prevent the grim, old place from becoming claustrophobic right away, but as the sleepy summer month of July dragged on, the walls began to close in on the Golden Trio. Not one of them had inquired seriously about employment, nor had they really made significant steps on the road to starting their adult lives, other than Harry taking in Teddy; they were just languishing, more or less, and it was beginning to wear on their already strained psyches.

One day late in July Harry needed to do something, if only to get out of the house and away from his awkwardly tense best friends for a few hours. That was another thing that had been bothering the Golden Boy: Ron and Hermione continued to dance around each other, prolonging what had already been happening for several years now. Despite their rather heated kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts, their relationship had gone precisely nowhere since then; the tension in the house, and it was not sexual tension, was slowly driving all three of them insane.

So after confirming with Hermione that he could safely tandem Apparate with Teddy, Harry popped up to the gates of Hogwarts with his godson. As he walked from the edge of the newly-repaired wards to the castle, he was greeted by several members of the on-going cleanup and restoration effort. The awe and respect with which they treated him made him slightly uncomfortable and nervous, so he didn't stay to chat with them. He walked directly to the Head's office through a castle that was already showing the first signs of significant repair. More people greeted him but he only acknowledged them briefly.

Before Harry could even ponder about not knowing the password, the gargoyle stepped aside for him and waved him past. Raising an eyebrow at the unexpected gesture, he shrugged and stepped onto the spiral stairs, which carried him up to the small landing in front of the door to the office. He knocked twice and waited.

“Enter,” came a familiar Scottish burr. Harry opened the door and saw that McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, examining a mountain of parchment. He hoped this intrusion was not too unwelcome.

“Mr. Pot—Harry!” she said, upon seeing him. Her face lit with a rare smile. “What a pleasure this is.” She stood and came around her desk. “And this must be your godson.”

He nodded. “Do you want to hold him, Minerva?”

“I…I'd love to,” she said, reaching out and taking the three month old infant. Teddy's large eyes stared up at the Headmistress. She made a rather maternal noise at the small child, surprising Harry for some reason, and then rocked him a bit. Harry watched this all, noting that her eyes welled up a bit.

“He looks healthy and happy, Harry,” she said, staring down at Teddy.

“That's all I can ask for, really,” Harry said, sighing. “I'm trying my best.”

“Remus and Tonks couldn't have made a better choice,” she told him. “I know this was somewhat unexpected and even perhaps a bit of an unwelcome burden, but I know you will be an extraordinary parent to Teddy.” She had turned her eyes to his as she said the last.

“Th-thanks,” Harry stammered, feeling quite warm at her words.

“Of course,” she said, handing Teddy back to him. He settled the infant into his arms without a second thought. “So what brings you here today?” she asked, as she motioned toward a comfortable chair in front of her desk. As Harry moved toward it to sit down, he noticed that Dumbledore had been watching everything silently from his portrait. Their eyes met and Dumbledore gave him a small smile. Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

“Well…”

“What is it, Harry?”

“Honestly, I think I'm going a bit nutters,” he admitted, laughing mirthlessly at himself for a moment and rubbing his face with his free hand. “I've been mostly shut in at Grimmauld Place for the past few weeks, and I think it's really getting to me. I'm at a bit of a loss about what I'm supposed to be doing now.”

Minerva and, from the portrait behind her, Dumbledore considered Harry silently for several long moments. Teddy yawned and settled deeper in his arms. He would be asleep in no time.

“What you're `supposed' to be doing, Harry?” she queried.

“Well, you know, like get a job or get ready to come back to school, or whatever really.”

“I think that both of those would be admirable endeavors,” she told him, after considering for another moment. “But maybe, Harry, just maybe you deserve a little break from everything?” Dumbledore nodded behind her.

“How do you mean?”

“I cannot imagine how impossibly stressful the last year has been for you. That has not been good for your physical or mental health; anyone can see it. You are still under an incredible amount of strain even though you just vanquished the most evil dark lord of all time… Perhaps you should take some time off from the responsibilities of being the Boy Who Lived?”

He ran his free hand through his shaggy black hair. This was actually along the same lines his own thoughts had been taking him of late. His entire life had been so wrapped up in the conflict with Voldemort for so long that he had confined his existence to Britain's Wizarding world. Maybe it was high time to see about branching out.

“Yes, I was thinking something like an extended vacation…”

“So what's stopping you?” she wondered, looking at him with the question in her eyes.

“I don't know, I guess I feel as if I should be contributing more to the post-war effort,” he said, holding up his hand when she made to interrupt him. “I can't shake the feeling that I could be doing more to help us get everything back together, and much more quickly.”

“Harry, if I may speak freely?” He nodded. “It is not your responsibility what happens to all of Wizarding Britain now that Tom has been defeated. It is not your responsibility to see to it that our world recovers more quickly or more equitably. You cannot possibly hope to control all of that. You have had the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long now that you are finding it hard to function normally, to live a normal, even domestic life.

“We also probably all have some survivor's guilt, which isn't making things any easier. The mourning process for our friends and allies and family members will take a long time. None of us will ever be quite the same. But for that process to even begin you need to stabilize your own mental state above all other responsibilities, real or perceived. If you were to take a long vacation away from all of this, we would still be here when you returned.

“You're young yet,” she said, with a slight smile, “and you have plenty of time to do whatever you want or feel like you need to do.”

Harry considered her words in silence for a length of time during which he stared down at his godson, who was now sleeping peacefully. Though Teddy was a colossal responsibility, Harry was starting to grow extremely attached to the little guy. His thoughts of possible futures did not go beyond taking care of Teddy at this point. He sighed.

“Harry?” a new voice broke in. He looked up at the portrait behind Minerva; she turned slightly in her chair to look at the former Headmaster.

“Yes, Albus?”

“I believe what Minerva just said is entirely true. Some time away from this will serve you well. You are one of the most powerful—if not the most powerful—wizards in the world with nearly unlimited financial and familial resources, which means you can do nothing more or less than exactly what you want. No one will think any of less of you for not jumping straight into politics or the rehabilitation of our world.

“Though it will undoubtedly make you uncomfortable, you are now a hero to most of the magical world, not just Britain. Voldemort and his war would have spilled out of Britain to the rest of the world if you and the others had not stood against him, and people will realize this over time. Whether you like it or not, you are the new hero of the Light. That does not mean, however, that you have to immerse yourself right away, or ever, into the reconstruction and restoration of our world. You have done enough already.”

Harry looked down at Teddy again. What they had said made some sense to him, but it was still hard to let go of the guilty feeling that he should be doing something worthwhile. A voice in the back of his head quickly told him that taking care of himself and Teddy was worthwhile, for now at least.

“I don't know about me being such a powerful wizard, but I do understand what you're both saying.”

“Harry, let us consider for a moment,” Albus piped up again. “You managed to cast a fully corporeal Patronus charm with the negative effects of over one hundred Dementors bearing down upon you, driving them all away with that single charm. And you were in your third year. I was not nearly that powerful, even in my prime. When pushed, the strength and depth of your magic is truly incomprehensible.”

“The facts are incontrovertible, Harry,” Minerva said. “You really are that powerful.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair again. While it was flattering on some level to be told that, it was yet another thing to set him apart from everyone else. Sometimes he wished he was utterly normal.

“Alright, I get it,” he said. “I think that I will look into taking a break from everything. A long vacation, or something like that.” He stood from his chair. “I'll send a note along to you, Minerva, when I know exactly what I'm doing.”

She smiled at him, a little sadly it seemed. “I would appreciate that, Harry, but you shouldn't feel obligated to update me or anyone else, other than your close friends perhaps, about where you're going and what you're doing. That will only give people an excuse to bother you.”

“Suppose your right,” he murmured. “Thanks for listening and for the advice.”

“Of course,” she said.

“And thanks to you too, Albus.”

“Any time, Harry.”

“Have a good day, you two.”

“And you as well, Harry.”

Harry left the castle and as soon as he was outside of the wards, he Disapparated. The memories from all of his time at Hogwarts were beginning to press in from all sides.

-----

A few days passed. Harry convinced Andromeda to come with him on what he was calling an extended leave of absence; they had planned the long trip around the world and would be leaving in two days. He had yet to tell Hermione or Ron.

Just after he had put Teddy down for his afternoon nap, as he was exiting the room, he heard Hermione's voice waft up the stairs. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew from the shrill tone that she was less than pleased about something. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he moved slowly toward the staircase; as he descended, the words became sharper.

“…anything to do with that,” she was saying. The frustration was about tear her voice apart. “You know why I have to, Ron. They're my parents.”

Ah, so that was it. This same old argument that had been simmering for the past week or two. Hermione had been procrastinating on going to Australia to find her parents and fix their memories, which only caused Ron to push more and more for their relationship to develop further. With the stress that Hermione was under, however, she was in no mood for romance or Ron's shenanigans.

It was all starting to severely irritate Harry, though. She should just bloody go and do what she needed to do. Either Ron would be here waiting for her when she came back, or he wouldn't be. If she wasn't pushing for the relationship now, then they needed a little space to find some perspective.

But Harry had never voiced these thoughts to his friends. He wasn't comfortable talking about such things with Ron, and Hermione was smart enough to figure all of this out on her own.

Harry had chosen today to tell them about his trip, so he continued down the stairs as their argument escalated.

“Why didn't you do it a month ago?” Ron asked, his voice full frustration as well.

“Why didn't you do anything a month ago?” Hermione shot back. “Or for that matter, why hasn't any of us? We needed some time, Ron, before we jumped back into everything.”

“But like you said, they're your parents.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asked, the volume of her voice inching up and up. Harry had made it to the doorway of the kitchen at this point. Neither Hermione nor Ron noticed his presence as he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. They were too engrossed in the argument and each other.

“It would have been my first priority!” Ron nearly yelled, throwing his hands up. “I would have wanted to get them right away. But instead you've just been sitting here for a month!”

“So have you!” Hermione yelled back. “I haven't tried to find them yet because I wanted to make sure it was really safe, and everything was really over, before I bring them back to all of us—”

“What? Why? Voldemort's gone, Hermione!”

“No fucking shite,” she ground out, stunning Ron momentarily with her language. Even Harry was forced to raise his eyebrows. “But that doesn't mean there aren't rogue Death Eaters still out there, just waiting for a chance at revenge. And what would be more perfect than the defenseless, Muggle parents of Hermione Granger?”

Ron growled. “You can protect them, Hermione! We all can!”

“What is this really about, Ronald?” Hermione asked, after a moment's silence. There was a dangerous quality to her voice that Harry did not like. Ron, as usual, was oblivious.

“Us, Hermione!” he responded. “Us, and wasting all of this time! We should be, I dunno, doing something, starting a relationship, you know,” he said.

“Excuse me for not being one of your tarts and putting out for you right away,” was her acerbic response. “I don't let just anyone into my pants, unlike you.”

Ron exploded. “That's not what I meant and you fucking know it! Sure, it would be pretty fucking nice to get some affection from you every now and then, even a smile or a kiss, but you just push everything away, no matter what! And I'm getting tired of it, Hermione. I'm not going to wait around forever for you, you know!”

Harry thought he might have to step in soon. This was getting ridiculous.

“I NEVER ASKED YOU TO, YOU POMPOUS ASSHOLE!” she screamed back. Harry literally took a step back in shock. She was almost frothing at the mouth. “EVERYTHING ISN'T ALWAYS ABOUT YOU! I HAVE A LOT ON MY MIND RIGHT AND I'M STRESSED TO THE BREAKING POINT. YOU THINK I WANT TO BE LIKE THIS? YOU THINK I WANT TO BE WITH ANYONE WHEN I'M LIKE THIS, WHEN I CAN'T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT?”

“You and Harry seem to be doing just fine,” Ron said, in a low, angry voice that Harry knew all too well. There was jealousy burning behind those words.

This stopped Hermione short. “What?” There was blatant confusion on her face.

“I've seen you going into his room,” he said. “In the middle of the night.”

Harry watched as Hermione's face slipped into an emotionless mask; only her eyes expressed the indignation and rage that she felt. In some ways, this was worse than her shouting at Ron. And Harry could not believe Ron's implication. It was the tent all over again.

“This is the second time you have suggested that Harry and I are going behind your back. I will only say it once: nothing has ever happened between us. What the fuck did you think was happening, with Teddy in there, too?”

Her voice was raspy and menacing; she overrode Ron when he started to say something. “You need to get it through your thick skull that Harry and I are extremely close friends, and that the dynamics of this little trio changed the moment you left us in that tent. We may have come a long way back toward alright, fine, reasonable, and whatever else you want to call it, but that will always be there. And when you insinuate things like this, just to hurt me or just to express your petty insecurities, you make it all the more likely that something could happen with Harry and less likely that anything ever could happen with you.”

Harry and Ron just stared at Hermione. Well, this was news. This was the first time in their long friendship that anything like that had been explicitly stated.

Ron spoke before his brain had time to catch up: “Oh, come off it, you ruddy two-timing swot, you know things happened between you and him when you were alone for all that time—”

Harry decided to step in. No one called Hermione names and got away with it. He cleared his throat; like lightning, their attention fixated on him, still standing there in the doorway. He watched as fear flashed through Hermione's eyes; Ron just looked mutinous.

“And you would not be able to say anything about it if it did, Ronald,” Harry said, stressing his friend's full name. “You were the one who abandoned us, who left us alone to console each other when you ran away to mommy.

“But, regardless of all that, you two really need to grow the fuck up!” he exclaimed, patience finally snapping after weeks of this unbearable tension. “If you can't both be in the same room for more than ten minutes without arguing, obviously it's not meant to be.”

It was harsh, but it was true. “Look, someone needs to say it,” he told them when he saw their looks changing to shock. “This rubbish was cute when we were twelve, but it isn't anymore. We all had plans and desires for after the war, but obviously reality is a little different than the one big happy Weasley family we all had in our heads.

“I have Teddy now and that's not going to change. Ginny will be going back to Hogwarts for two more years most likely, whenever it reopens, and that's not going to change. I will not be returning. So we are never going to happen. And you two?” Harry scoffed. “Do you really think that all of this bullshit you always get into means you're destined to be together? That it's some kind of sexual tension?”

He could see the hurt at his words entering their faces now, but he was past the point of no return. All of what he was saying had been building for so long that he couldn't stop it.

“I love you both to death but you need to realize what's been staring you in the face now for a long time: adults in lasting relationships do not treat each other like you two do. Oh sure, everyone fights now and again, but the constant bickering and posturing and name-calling will wear you both down faster than you can say third date.

“So, please, for the love of Merlin, grow up! You can both stay here as long as you want, you know that, but no more of this bullshit jealousy or insipid implications. It's not healthy for any of us.”

A stunned silence filled the room. Harry was breathing heavily as he watched them for their reactions. Hermione's eyes seemed a bit teary; Ron still looked angry, though there was some introspection in those blue eyes now.

“Harry…” Hermione started. For once in her life, she looked lost about what to say. Ron said nothing.

Harry took a deep breath. “I think you both need to put some distance between yourselves and this place. That's what I'm going to be doing.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“I'm leaving Britain for awhile,” he told them. “I'm taking Teddy and going on a very long vacation with Andromeda. We're going to travel around the world for a few months. This place is too…confined. There are too many memories here, and they're all too fresh. And I don't just mean Grimmauld Place. Everywhere I go—Diagon, the Ministry, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade—is the same.

“I've done my duty, we've done what we set out to do, so I'm going to take some time off. I can't do this anymore. I can't subject myself or Teddy to whatever this is,” he finished, indicating the three of them with a wave of his hand.

“Like I said, I love you both, but we clearly need to figure our own problems out before anything else.”

Hermione and Ron said nothing, absorbing his words. It was the most he had said to them in one sustained burst in quite some time, perhaps years even. He turned to leave the room after a minute or two.

“When are you leaving?” came Hemione's quiet voice, at his back.

“Two days.”

“And when will you be back?”

“Sometime before Christmas.”

“Blimey, Harry, that long?” Ron asked, using his voice for the first time in minutes.

Harry shrugged, still facing out of the kitchen.

“Why not? I'll go insane if I stay here any longer.” He left them then to their thoughts, turning down the hallway and out of sight.

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6. Hermione (II)

Chapter 6: Hermione (II)

October 2007

In life, as the long-tenured professor of Transfiguration and eventually the Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall had touched many people. Thus it was with no surprise that Hermione noted the many other people strolling from Hogsmeade toward Hogwarts around mid-morning on Wednesday.

The sky was filled with low-hanging ugly grey clouds; the wind was strong and chilly. The threat of rain was high, which seemed appropriate for the somber occasion. Hermione was dressed in a formal black dress that fell to her knees, black flats, and a black overcoat to cut against the Highland chill.

As she walked along the path toward Hogwarts, she thought she saw recognition in some faces, but no one said anything to her so she could not be sure. She was one of the heroes of the Second War, but she had not been in Britain since January of 1999, so it could be reasonably expected that she had fallen from immediate memory. She also looked slightly different from her Hogwarts days; she had shorter, more manageable hair and she was a bit lither than she had been at 19.

She kept her eyes open for the other two members of the Trio, both of whom she had not seen since her last day in Britain. They had all kept up letters for a few months after going their separate ways, but even those had trailed off to nothing.

The war had changed them all. She had realized it fully after returning to Australia. When she had started to miss Harry and Ron, she was tempted to go see one or both of them where they were, but they had their own responsibilities by that point, their own daily lives, and so did she. The last conversation they all had together was incredibly difficult and emotional, but it was the explicit indication that something had really changed in their friendship. They had been through so much together, much of which had made their bond stronger, but something was different this time.

Perhaps what Harry had said that day at Grimmauld Place, before he'd gone on vacation, was more right than he suspected. The idea of a happy Weasley family that had settled into their heads throughout their last three years at Hogwarts was nothing more than a fantasy, concocted by schoolchildren with school-age crushes. Letting that go, though, had irrevocably changed the dynamic of their friendship, which had already been sorely tested by the trials and tribulations of the last year of the war.

Hermione was never naïve enough to believe that her close friendship with two boys couldn't eventually lead to romance with one and heartache for the other; she had seen the way both Harry and also Ron had looked at her from time—especially Ron—but at the time it had been more of a lack of other options, for all of them.

She had reached the gates of Hogwarts, and as she passed through the archway, she looked up at the winged boars. Their gaze greeted all who came to the school of witchcraft and wizardry. How many countless people had walked beneath them during the past millennium?

As she rounded a curve in the path and the magnificent castle came into view, overlooking the unsettled Black Lake, a pang of nostalgia hit her heart. She had spent some hard years here, but they were also good years. She had been to hell and back in the name of peace, justice, and friendship; she had made friends here she thought she'd keep for her entire life.

Hermione stopped on a small bluff overlooking the lake. She could see that many people were already at Hogwarts from her vantage point. This looked to be a rather large service, but she knew how long Minerva had played a part in the foundation of magical Britain. The people who came here today honored not only her, but also the entire era in which she lived, which encompassed all of Voldemort's rise and fall, and more.

Though Hermione did not live in Britain anymore or currently practice much magic, she still kept abreast of current events as best as she could. She was aware that this place she had left was a much better environment than it had been; she supposed she was a little bitter that she didn't go to school without her life being endangered at every turn, but really those events had forged her spirit into what it was today.

The war might have changed them all, but growing up and branching out would have anyway. Even if they had not all been at odds those long years ago, they could have been eventually anyway.

Sighing and shrugging lightly, she concluded that it didn't really matter anymore. The past was the past and she couldn't change it; she had her own life now and was as happy as, or happier than, she had ever been. It was this place that was making her feel a bit down about everything; there were too many memories here for anything else to happen. She had known coming back here would send her emotions tumbling for a little while.

Turning her back on the lake, she continued along the path, which sloped gently upward toward the castle. The crowd was thicker now that she was closer, so she just walked at their pace. There was very little conversation going on around her. It seemed that people were either absorbed in their own thoughts or silently mourning their fallen friend and mentor.

She reached the castle and joined the queue for the viewing, which was being held in the Great Hall. She was currently standing just off the steps leading to the Entrance Hall, which meant the queue was fairly long. The actual service was being held later that afternoon on the front lawn of the school.

“Hermione Granger?”

The voice was female and behind her. She turned and a smile quickly blossomed on her face.

“Lavender!” she said. “And Seamus!” Sure enough, standing there in line about ten feet behind her were her two classmates. The people between them and Hermione looked at them all curiously; Hermione stepped out of the queue and waved them forward.

“Merlin, it's been so long,” Lavender said. She shifted the young boy in her arms to better accommodate his weight. There was another child, an older girl, standing between Lavender and Seamus.

“It has,” Hermione agreed. “Are you two married?”

Lavender nodded and smiled at Seamus. He ruffled his daughter's hair. “Yes, we have been for six years now,” Seamus told her. “This little princess is our Janie and that mongrel is Cian,” he informed her. Janie looked to be four or five and Cian was approximately two.

“Nice to meet you both,” Hermione said, smiling. “And it's lovely to see you both, especially because you're familiar faces. I haven't encountered too many people I recognize yet. And congratulations on the beautiful family.”

Lavender beamed at her. Gone was the gossip queen, replaced by a radiant mother.

“Thank you, Hermione. What about you, though? What have you been up to all these years?” The unspoken part of the question was why has no one heard from or seen you in so long?

“I live in Sydney now,” she told them. The queue had advanced to the entrance of the castle. “I went to Muggle university and now I'm in graduate school, studying to become a literature professor in the Muggle world.”

Both sets of eyebrows shot up at her revelations. “I see…” Lavender intoned. Clearly neither she nor Seamus knew how to respond.

“Yes, unexpected, I'm sure,” Hermione put in, laughing lightly. “It was an idea I had and I ran with it. That was more than eight and half years ago now.”

“It really has been that long, hasn't it?” Seamus mused, looking down at his daughter. She smiled up at him.

“Indeed,” Hermione said. They were inside the Entrance Hall now and could see that the open casket was set up in the large doorway to the Great Hall. Beyond the viewing area, the House tables had been replaced with many smaller tables. The various smells of many delicious foods wafted into the Entrance Hall.

“Was it…natural?” Hermione asked. She nodded toward the coffin.

“From what we've heard, not exactly,” Lavender said. “A witch of her stature is expected to live for much longer, but apparently those stunners she was hit with back at the end of our fifth year did some damage to her heart. It was only a matter of time before that caught up with her.”

“Oh,” Hermione responded, saddened by the information. Minerva had just been defending Hagrid, if memory served correctly, and she'd been thoughtlessly stunned by Umbridge and four or five other people at the same time.

“I'm sure she was an excellent Headmistress,” Hermione continued, quietly. “I would have liked to speak with her again, but I haven't been in Britain in a long time.”

“She was an amazing Headmistress,” Seamus replied. “She really turned this place around from when we all went through here.”

Hermione nodded, not answering because it was almost her turn. There was another family in front of her, none of whom she recognized, who were all staring down into the casket. After several long moments, they gathered themselves and passed into the Great Hall. Hermione stepped forward; Minerva's prone body came into view.

The actual sight of the lifeless corpse of her former professor, mentor, and friend brought it home to Hermione, and she couldn't help the stubborn tear or two that escaped her eyes.

Minerva was dressed in her formal Headmistress robes with her witch's hat beneath her crossed hands. Her long, graying hair had been brushed out and was spread symmetrically around her head. Death had softened the age lines in her face, making her look much more relaxed than Hermione had ever seen her. Magical makeup was good, but it could only do so much against the inexorable pallor of death, so she was very, very pale. She looked so delicate.

Hermione sniffed once, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and nodded to Seamus and Lavender. They had been quietly watching her the whole time. They nodded back sympathetically.

She turned away from the casket and strode into the Great Hall. Long tables with hors d'oeuvres and various selections for a light lunch stood at either side of the hall. Groups of people were either milling around the food or sitting at the many tables in between. Hermione thought about waiting for Lavender and Seamus so she wouldn't be alone in here, but two things stopped her: she didn't want to intrude upon their family and she spotted someone that made her heart speed up just a little bit.

Really, how could one miss the colossal 6'5” frame and flaming red hair of Ron Weasley? He was a full head taller than anyone else in the hall, with the exception of Hagrid (someone with whom Hermione would have to chat with before the day ended). He was standing with most of his family at the hors d'oeuvres, and they were all wearing variations on black wizards' and witches' robes. They all had their backs to Hermione.

She scanned the hall with her eyes once more, looking for her other old friend. Some tables were obscured by people, but she thought she would have been able to spot Harry immediately, if he were here. Maybe he had decided not to come? Or it was possible that he had arrived later than her and was still in the queue.

Hermione had known that she would likely see one or both of them today, so it wouldn't do to avoid them now that she was here. They may have had a falling out, or whatever something like what had happened was called, but that didn't mean they disliked each other.

She watched as the conversation between the various Weasleys continued. It seemed that only Bill was missing from the group. Arthur was the only one turned more toward Hermione than away, and she thought he looked rather bronzed. This surprised her, as he had red hair and a naturally fair complexion. The October British sun couldn't have made him look like that. Molly turned at that moment and Hermione saw that she was just as tan as her husband. Perhaps they did not live in Britain anymore?

But now Hermione was just procrastinating, and she knew it. She squared her shoulders and walked toward the Weasleys. When she was ten feet from them, she somehow caught Arthur's eye and he looked at her. There was a moment of recognition on his face, followed by an incredibly large and bright grin.

“Hermione!” he all but shouted. She winced internally at the attention being so decisively turned toward her. All of the Weasleys turned; Ron was the slowest, however, so everyone was staring at her by the time he turned fully around.

She stopped a few feet from him. He really was a giant. She was slightly taller than average for a woman, but Ron towered over her. She didn't remember him being this tall; he must have grown some since she'd last seen him.

“Hello Hermione.”

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7. Ron (II)

Chapter 7: Ron (II)

October 2007

Hermione Granger stood before him. She was as he remembered, up to a point. The eight and a half years since he'd seen her had been good to her; she was more a woman than he remembered and her hair was shorter, tamer. Time, in its immutable wisdom, had aged his old friend beautifully.

“Ron,” she nodded. Her eyes swept over the rest of his family. “Hello everyone.”

“Oh, Hermione, it's been too long,” his mum said, sweeping forward and pulling Hermione into a hug. This broke the tension that had settled over the group and Hermione was passed around, embracing each of the Weasleys in turn. Ron was the last; he caught a quick smile on her face before they hugged lightly. He patted her back briefly before they separated.

“Why don't we get a table,” Arthur suggested. “We can all catch up there.”

So Ron and his family, along with Hermione, put some food on their plates and walked to a nearby table. Seeing Hermione sitting there with Ginny, George, Percy, Charlie, and his mum and dad was a bit surreal, after so long, but he was determined to not make an arse of himself. At one point he may have had the emotional range of a teaspoon—he may have been a selfish, jealous prat—but he hoped that he'd grown a bit since then. This day would be the test.

He caught Hermione's eyes wandering around the Great Hall.

“He's not here yet,” Ron said. Her eyes shot to him. “I'm not even sure if he's coming.”

“Who, Harry?” Ginny asked. Ron nodded. “Why wouldn't he come? He loved Minerva.”

Ron shrugged. “It's just been a long time, Gin.”

“It has for the rest of us too, Ron,” his little sister said. “When was the last time any of us was back here? Yet here we all are.”

“True,” Hermione agreed. “I guess if anyone would come, it would be Harry. He's probably on his way.” Ron met her eyes for a moment, but they both looked away.

“So, Hermione, what have you been doing with yourself?” George asked, leaning forward and looking directly at the brunette witch.

“Ah, well…” she started. “As you all know, I decided to stay in Australia with my parents after I'd found them and restored their memories. I ended up going to Muggle university and now I'm in graduate school working toward my doctorate.”

That last bit was largely incomprehensible to Ron, and he could tell from the blank stares the rest of his family was giving Hermione that they felt the same. She must have noticed because she chuckled a bit.

“Basically it means that I will eventually become a professor at a Muggle university. My field is literature,” she explained.

“Interesting,” Arthur said. He sounded like he genuinely meant it.

“What about all of you?” Hermione asked. Ron knew she was trying to deflect some of the attention away from herself.

“Molly and I have some orchards and vineyards in Sicily,” Arthur supplied, smiling radiantly at his wife, who returned the gesture. Hermione raised her eyebrows at this revelation. “We felt that, with all the kids grown and gone, we needed to branch out of Britain. This opportunity more or less fell into our laps, so we sold our land here and moved to Sicily.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Hermione said. “No wonder you're both looking so tan and healthy!”

Molly laughed. “Yes, the climate there is a revelation compared to Britain.”

“I'm a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies,” Ginny said, tossing her long, red hair over one shoulder. “Have been for a fair few years now.”

“Fantastic,” Hermione said.

“I'm still the owner and operator of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes, though our, er, operations have expanded a bit from what you may remember.”

“You'll have to tell me about it sometime,” she told George.

“I still work for the Ministry,” Percy said. “Though I like to think I'm less of an arrogant prick than I was,” he told her, with a small smile. Ron couldn't help but laugh at his older brother's words. Even Molly and Arthur were smiling.

“Sorry Perce, but I don't think that can be helped,” Ron told him. Percy just shrugged lightly.

“I still work at the preserve in Romania,” Charlie said. He made eye contact with Ron; though Ron could sense a question there—is this how you imagined it would go?—he ignored it for now.

“And I work with Charlie now,” Ron said. “We're actually only here for the day. We have to return to the preserve tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I'm only here for today as well. I'm teaching so I can't really miss too many of my classes.”

“But I thought you said you were still in school?” Percy asked.

“I am. But I need to practice teaching, if you will, before I can become a real professor somewhere. Plus it's a boon to the university, since they pay a pittance to graduate students.”

“Is there a large magical community in Sydney?” George asked. Ron could tell he was thinking in terms of business—how he could he exploit the market in Sydney.

To everyone's surprise, though, Hermione shrugged. She looked a little uncomfortable. Her eyes darted around the hall again as they waited for her to respond.

“I wouldn't know, really,” she eventually answered. “I've read about a commercial area that's similar to Diagon Alley, but I've never been there myself.”

“Why not?” Ron asked. Hermione made eye contact with him again, but they could only hold each other's gaze for a few seconds. There was too much going unsaid at the moment for it to be any longer.

“I went to Muggle university, I live in a Muggle area, my parents are Muggles and are practicing dentistry still, I'm studying to become a Muggle professor…” she trailed off.

“So what you're saying is you left the magical world behind,” Charlie said. There was a certain callous tone to his voice that Ron warned off with his eyes. Now was the not the time for Charlie to be surly.

Hermione grimaced. “Something like that.”

“Why?” Ginny wondered.

“I still do magic occasionally and I have my wand on me right now,” she answered. “My daily life, however, is quite removed from magic, so I have very little reason to seek other magic users out in Australia. It's just not a part of who I am there.”

“But it is a part of who you are, dear,” Molly put in, softly. “You can't make your magic just go away.”

The awkwardness was building. Ron could feel it, like a living and breathing thing between all of them. Perhaps the initial surprise at seeing her after so long was wearing off, and now they were all wondering why it had been more than eight years.

“I know,” Hermione said, sounding frustrated. He thought she might be beginning to regret coming here at all. But then the anxiety in her eyes closed down and Ron knew she'd come to a decision.

“It was great seeing you all, and thank you for inviting me to your table, but think I'm going to find myself a drink and try to catch up with some other old friends too,” she told them, standing from her seat.

No one said anything, bewildered by this sudden change. Well, all of them except Ron were bewildered. He actually wasn't too surprised that she didn't feel like dealing with his family's questions right now.

She turned and walked away before anyone could say anything. Some loaded looks passed between the Weasleys.

“If you'll excuse me,” he told his family, standing as well and not waiting for their response before starting after Hermione.

This was the first time he'd seen her in a nearly decade and he would not let her escape without them at least talking through some things. He didn't really want to wait another decade for a second opportunity.

She had stopped by the table where they were serving champagne. She picked up a glass by the stem and sipped it, turning back toward him. He met her eyes over the glass.

“Sorry about that,” Ron said, grabbing a glass for himself. “You can't blame them for their curiosity…”

She nodded, swallowing. “I know.” She paused, sipping again. Her eyes roamed the hall. “I don't exactly know how to answer those questions, though, at least for them.”

“What about for me?”

She met his eyes and held it this time. A thousand memories and a million words passed between them in those few seconds. There was no awkwardness, just a faint hint of regret over, and acknowledgement of, the gulf of time that separated this day and their last meeting.

And Ron knew in that instant that they really were different people. They no longer had the aftermath of a bloody war hanging over their heads. They no longer had other people's expectations to live up to. They no longer felt obligated to remain up-to-date on the daily occurrences of their once-close friends. Eight and a half years was truly a long time, if one really thought about it; it was a year and a half longer than a typical magical education; it was nearly half of their lives when he, Harry, and Hermione had gone their separate ways.

“You knew my reasons then, Ron,” she eventually replied. “And they haven't really changed.”

Ron nodded. “I thought you might say that.”

Her eyes returned to him and he watched as one eyebrow crept up her forehead. She was scrutinizing him now. He waited for whatever it was she was observing.

“The years seem to have treated you well,” she said. Her gaze swept up and down his body.

He smirked at her. “Thanks. You're not too bad yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “There's some of the Ron I remember,” she told him, though she was smiling now. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

Instead of rising to the bait, Ron said, “You know, this is easier than I imagined it would be.”

Hermione sipped her champagne again, then turning toward him fully. Ron saw that even the straight set of her shoulders had relaxed a tiny amount since he'd last seen her. Truthfully, she looked healthy and happy and put together. There was that faint twinge of regret in his heart again, but it passed as quickly as it had come. He and Hermione were never meant to be together; it had been an incredibly painful realization at the time, but now those were feelings like a mostly-faded dream.

“I was thinking the same thing,” she told him. “But I suppose that the years do change us.”

“S'pose you're right,” he muttered, having been swept up in the memories. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Looking back, though, it was probably foolish to expect us all to remain close friends forever.”

“Alright, where is Ron Weasley and what have you done with him?” she asked. He smiled at her. “I'm serious. The Ron Weasley I remember would have never said something like that.”

“Hermione, you just said, in your own words, the years do change us. I am not an exception to that rule.”

“Working with Charlie at the preserve has been good for you then?” she wondered.

He nodded. “Absolutely. Couldn't ask for much more, really.”

“That's good to hear,” she said, quietly. “Honestly, though, I always imagined you going out for Quidditch or entering the Auror corps.”

He laughed outright at that. “The Auror corps? You need to have finished your NEWTs for that, something we both know I never did. Did you?”

She shook her head. “Never seemed necessary.”

“Exactly. And as far as Quidditch was concerned, I may have been a decent Keeper, but I was never good enough to play professionally.”

“I see,” she mused. “So dragons, huh? Reminds me of Norbert…”

“Wow, Norbert? That was, what, first year? Merlin, that was so long ago.”

“Yes, it was.”

“But the preserve actually isn't for only dragons anymore. Other magical creatures have moved into the area of late.”

“Oh? Interesting,” she replied. He wondered if she truly meant it. He couldn't tell from the tone of her voice.

“Yes, and—” he began to say something else, but he cut himself off. He was facing the entrance to the Great Hall where Minerva's casket was, and someone very familiar had just stepped into view.

Hermione noticed that his attention had shifted and turned to look, too.

There was their other old friend, Harry Potter, looking into Minerva's coffin at the late Headmistress. There was a young, brown-haired boy standing by his side that could only be Teddy Lupin. Hermione and Ron glanced at each other for a moment, but soon their eyes returned to Harry and Teddy.

Harry turned away from the casket after another minute and guided Teddy into the Great Hall. The boy was staring up at the ceiling in wonder, reminding Ron strongly of many first years' reactions the night of their sorting.

Harry's eyes swept the hall, zeroing in on Hermione and Ron in a matter of seconds. He adjusted his course and headed for them, saying something to Teddy and motioning toward the table of food on the opposite side of the hall. Teddy nodded and split off from Harry.

“I thought I might see you both here.”

-->

8. Harry (II)

Chapter 8: Harry (II)

October 2007

Harry could hardly contain his smirk.

As soon as he'd noticed Hermione and Ron standing together, an idea formed about how to properly break the ice between the three of them. It had been so long that this would probably be awkward if he didn't take the proverbial bull by the horns.

Before Hermione or Ron could respond to his opening statement, he continued:

“Well, nice to see you two again! I guess I should have expected that you would be here together. After all, you two always were destined for each other, weren't you?”

Ron looked like a deer caught in headlights and Hermione's jaw was falling open. He didn't give them a chance to say anything.

“So where are the little sprogs? Must be running around here somewhere.” He feigned glancing around the Great Hall. “I bet they have wild red hair, love Quidditch and books, and can tuck away a meal like no other.”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Harry was laughing gleefully inside. This was just too easy.

“Uh, Harry… We're not together,” Ron eventually said.

Harry faked looking surprised. “What? Don't tell me you got a divorce?”

Predictably, Hermione was beginning to look annoyed at the conversation. Leave it to her to clear up any misconceptions in one fell swoop.

“No, Harry,” she said. “We were never together. What are you on about, anyway? Neither of us has seen you in almost nine years and the first thing out of your mouth is `where are the little sprogs'?”

Harry could only hold it together for another moment before he burst out laughing. If anything, Hermione looked even more annoyed at his boisterous chuckles. Ron had crossed his arms and was observing the whole thing.

Teddy chose that moment to return to Harry with a drink and some food on a plate in his hands. He gave Harry a strange look as the laughter subsided. Harry shrugged at his godson.

“Just taking the mickey, Teddy,” Harry told him, winking. With his famous lop-sided grin on full display, he then turned back toward his two old friends. As he stepped forward to draw Hermione into an embrace, he noticed that her expression had rapidly shifted from annoyed to lightly amused. There was a tiny twinkle in her eye when he stepped back and turned to Ron. He stuck out his hand, which Ron shook with his own.

“Great to see you both again,” Harry said. “Though you've met him before, he was only a wee lad then, so let me introduce you to Teddy, my crazy-brilliant shape shifting godson!”

“Daaaad,” Teddy drawled, blushing a bit at the praise. “Nice to meet you, Hermione, Ron.”

Hermione gave him a questioning look. “You remember us?”

“No, but you're both in all the books,” Teddy replied, to which of course Hermione smiled.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I suppose our reputation precedes us,” she said carefully, while looking at Harry.

“Only as vanquishers of Voldemort,” Harry responded. “So! Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, why don't we find a table. I believe we have a little catching up to do…”

Harry used the walk to a nearby table to reflect on his old friends. Ron had grown since he'd last seen him, pushing him from “tall” toward “giant.” His red-headed mate had also filled out a bit, so he resembled more of a brick wall than anything else. Ron was dressed in a formal black Wizard's robe and cloak.

Hermione was about the same as he remembered, though older. She was the same height and had nearly the same build. The major difference was her hair, which was shorter, only shoulder-length. He liked it, though. It framed her aristocratic cheekbones nicely, bringing out her chocolate eyes. She wore a svelte black dress and a dark overcoat, though she removed the coat and placed it around the back of her chair when they all sat down. Whereas Ron's robe emphasized his imposing size as it flowed loosely around him, Hermione's little number hugged her quite nicely.

Both of his friends were different but the same.

In a moment of self-reflection, he wondered how much he'd changed in their eyes. Another case of different yet the same? Or more different? Perhaps precisely the same as they remembered? Well, he didn't wear glasses anymore, having preferred to undergo laser corrective surgery several years back, so there was that.

“Strange that I haven't seen too many others that I recognize yet,” Harry commented, as they were all taking their seats.

“The viewing still has another hour or so,” Ron said, looking around the hall.

“I saw Lavender and Seamus on my way in,” Hermione commented. “Did you know they're married and have two beautiful children?” Ron shook his head while Harry nodded his.

Harry did not have much direct contact with daily Wizarding life these days, but his involvement with the Goblins had allowed him to keep abreast of most of his year-mates over time.

“I did actually. I've talked to them two or three times in Diagon Alley.”

The awkwardness they had all so far avoided seemed to settle over them at that moment. The three heroes looked at each other, wondering what they could possibly say that would not belittle their historic friendship or gloss over the extended period of time they'd spent apart.

Harry considered the problem: what could he say to two people with whom he'd eaten three meals per day, ten months per year, for basically seven years? Two people to whom he owed his very life? And two people with whom he'd entirely lost touch.

The accreted depth of their histories and memories momentarily settled like dead weight over the table.

Hermione finally broke the silence. She looked at Teddy.

“So Teddy, are you in regular school right now?”

Teddy looked startled to be the center of attention. Harry watched as his godson soon recovered his composure.

“Yes,” Teddy answered, nodding. “Until I get my Hogwarts letter, at least. Dad's tutoring me on the side in magic and my Metamorphmagus abilities.”

Hermione and Ron's eyes had flicked to Harry when Teddy said `dad.' He gave them both a slightly patronizing smile, as if asking `what did you expect?'

Harry reached over and rustled Teddy's hair, which was currently brown. “Teddy's quite a natural, really. Where I live is heavily warded, so I've let Teddy use my wand on occasion. He will certainly be a much better student than I ever was once he starts at Hogwarts; he might even give your marks a run for their money, Hermione,” Harry told her, smirking. Teddy blushed again at the praise.

“I hope he does,” Hermione said, sincerely. “I wish we had all competed more, rather than me just dragging both of you through by your bootstraps.” Now she was the one smirking.

“Ah, yes,” Harry said. “I know I appreciate your help in me not failing out, and I'm sure Ron does too.” Ron nodded and now the three of them were grinning casually at each other.

“Hey, it worked out, didn't it?” Ron asked, rhetorically. “We're all doing what we wanted—actually, wait. Harry, what do you do?”

Teddy jumped in. “He's a venture capitalist.” Harry couldn't help but chuckle at his godson repeating what he'd heard the night before. “With the goblins.” Harry also couldn't help but notice the pride in Teddy's voice, which made him feel indescribably good.

Ron looked befuddled. Some things never change.

Hermione, on the other hand, was quite clearly intrigued. She leaned forward with a penetrating expression on her face. Her dress did nothing to hide her bosom in that position. Harry watched, predictably, as nine-year-old Teddy's eyes zeroed in on her cleavage. He would have to tease her later about that.

“Venture capitalist? Those exist in the Wizarding world?”

“Why shouldn't they?” Harry wondered.

“I guess the business model always seemed so different in the magical world,” Hermione explained. “Most businesses are passed down through families…”

“I wouldn't say most,” Harry corrected. “Some of the oldest, sure, but larger enterprises are usually run quite like Muggle businesses—administration, operations, finance, a board of directors, all that stuff. And before you say that money has even more influence in the Wizarding world, really think about it for a minute.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. Teddy and Ron were watching and listening.

“I mean the Muggle world is the same way. Money is power in both worlds. How are most world leaders `democratically elected?' With enough money to finance their campaigns, that's how. The comparisons are endless. But that's not really the point, since I'm not buying my way into office or onto the board of any major company.”

Harry realized he'd gotten a little worked up during his short speech. He wasn't sorry about that. Maybe Hermione and Ron would hear the passion in his words and understand that he truly loved what he did.

“So what are you doing?” Ron asked. Perhaps he was starting to understand.

“Where do you think Hogwarts got the money to rebuild? Or the Ministry? Or much of Diagon Alley?”

“You paid for all of that?” Hermione queried.

“Paid?” Harry retorted, raising an eyebrow. “No, I don't think so.”

“So, what, you loaned the money?” Harry nodded. “Really, Harry, I would have thought you of all people would have donated to the rebuilding effort—”

“Hermione,” he cut her off. Something in his tone forced all three sets of eyes to snap to him. “You're smarter than that.” She looked insulted. “I didn't come here today to argue with either of you again, but for the sake of argument, how much do you think all of that rebuilding costs—rebuilding, I will remind you, that continues to this day?”

Harry watched as the prodigious intellect of his brown-haired acquaintance processed his words and the question in them. Finally, she shrugged.

“I guess I have no idea. Hundreds of thousands of galleons?”

“Millions, Hermione. Millions of galleons. I believe the running total of all the restoration and improvement projects to this day is about thirty million galleons.”

Hermione, Ron, and Teddy to a lesser extent were shocked. That was an insane amount of money.

Harry nodded at their looks. “The war did much more than destroy the physical infrastructure of the magical world. It also severely damaged the economy. Voldemort abused the finances of his richest supporters. Untold millions—perhaps even billions—of galleons were lost or ill-spent during that final year of the war. So when it was all over, the Ministry and everyone else had few places to go to secure financing. Even taxation did little to help because no one had any money at that point to tax. The goblins were hardly willing to loan magicals money from their personal coffers after all the shite we have pulled on them over the centuries.”

“I think I'm beginning to see the problem,” Hermione said, quietly. “Sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

“It's alright.” Harry waved it off. “I have done some more altruistic things,” he said, smiling again, “like starting a scholarship at Hogwarts for underprivileged Muggleborns. But you have to understand that much of my wealth comes from my family's careful investment and management during the last millennium, which I'm not just going to throw away. It would be a disservice to the Potter name.”

Hermione nodded. Ron spoke:

“Harry, I have to ask…” he started, looking uncomfortable. Harry raised an eyebrow, but motioned for the redhead to get on with it. “Were you the one who gave my parents that property in Sicily and financed their move?”

That question certainly came out of nowhere. “Yes,” he nodded, waiting for an impending explosion of jealousy from Ron. He sighed mentally and supposed that things really didn't change. This day was not proceeding at all how he'd imagined.

But the explosion never came. Instead, surprisingly, it was gratitude that Ron expressed.

“Thanks,” he told Harry. “I'm sure they've thanked you many times, but I'd like to do it again for them. I know how they were after the war, especially after most of my siblings and I went our separate ways… So it was really good for them to get away from it all.”

Harry couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. “You're welcome, Ron.”

“Surprised?” Ron wondered, chuckling. “Harry, I once made the great mistake of being a jealous git, and I've not seen you or Hermione in more than eight years because of that. If I hadn't learned from the past yet, then I would be truly hopeless.”

“I think you've been upgraded to a tablespoon, Ronald,” Hermione dryly commented, which sent the three of them into gales of laughter. Teddy, who had been quietly sipping his drink and munching on his food, asked what was so funny.

Still laughing lightly in between sentences, Hermione briefly told him the story of when she'd likened Ron's emotional prowess to a teaspoon. Ron had the graciousness to look at least somewhat embarrassed. Though Teddy didn't know nearly of their history to properly get the joke, he comprehended enough to appreciate the humor of the situation. He smiled along with them.

The conversation soon turned away from Harry toward the other two. Hermione and Ron talked about what they had been doing; Ron recounted the recent episode with Nellie and her two progeny; Hermione told them she was likely a top candidate for a full-time, tenure-track position at her university when she finished her degree.

There was a pang in Harry's heart as he fully realized for the first time that they all had their separate lives, with their own responsibilities, friends, and colleagues. Harry couldn't possibly imagine what living on a magical creature preserve was like, nor could he fathom teaching literature. The separation between the three of them that had lasted for so long had suppressed that feeling somewhat, but now that Ron and Hermione were here in front of him, in the flesh, he was beginning to understand just how much he'd lost. From the brief flashes of emotion in their eyes he knew they were thinking some of the same things.

How the time goes by.

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9. Post-Partum

A/N: Final flashback chapter. My intent for this story is about 60,000 words, so the plot will start to move rapidly forward after this chapter. Also, I recently updated Growing Up Granger, but Portkey did not bump to the top of the list. Check out “Turning Twelve,” the newest chapter, if you want.

Chapter 9: Post-Partum

January 1999

Hermione,

I've been back in Britain for about a month now, and I have yet to see you or Ron. Grimmauld was deserted when I came back. Where are you? I know I didn't stay in touch when I was abroad, but I needed to clear my head a bit and set my priorities straight. I think I've done that now, so I'd really love to see you. Please let me know how you are and where I can meet up with you.

Harry

---

Ron,

I've been back in Britain for about a month now, and I have yet to see you or Hermione. Grimmauld was deserted when I came back. Where are you? I know I didn't stay in touch when I was abroad, but I needed to clear my head a bit. I think I've done that now. Please let me know where I can meet up with you.

Harry

---

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table in Grimmauld. He was pouring over notes, charts, spreadsheets, and inventories Gringotts had supplied about his various accounts. He had a Muggle ballpoint pen in one hand and was making notes on some parchment as he read.

He was so focused on the task at hand—this was probably more focused than he'd ever been with his schoolwork—that he did not hear the front door quietly open and close or the soft footsteps during their progress through the hallway toward the kitchen.

A flutter of movement to his left caught his eye. Before he could even think about his wand or casting any spells, his peripheral awareness turned into recognition and he was out of his seat.

“Hermione!”

He nearly leapt across the space the between the table and the doorway and engulfed his best friend in a crushing hug. Her arms came around him a moment later, holding him firmly. She smelled like vanilla and strawberries and a whole host of other nameless things that always swirled around her hair and her clothes.

“Merlin, I missed you,” he breathed into her hair.

“Missed you too, Harry,” she said.

Finally he backed out of the embrace.

His eyes opened wide with surprise of their own accord. January in London could be brutal, but Hermione stood before him in a light jacket, tank top, and skirt. Casual flats completed the look.

Her hair was wavy and full, like it had always been, though it was a blonder brown than he remembered, streaked with even lighter highlights. She was tan and glowing and beautiful.

She smiled at his shock, a smile that was so familiar to Harry it felt like coming home.

“Warming charm,” she explained. Her attention turned to the pile of papers on the table.

“What's all this?” she wondered, moving toward the table to look.

Harry flicked his wand and banished it all to his room without a thought. All of that stuff could wait.

She turned startled eyes to Harry upon watching everything disappear. He could almost hear her thoughts—but he never keeps secrets from me.

He just smiled at her. “It's about my accounts at Gringotts. I'm going over everything and easing into the role of managing my own assets. It's not important right now.”

Hermione seemed to accept his word and nodded. He motioned toward the table and they both sat down, directly across from each other.

“So when did you get back, Harry?” she asked.

“Just before Christmas,” he said.

“And how was the trip? Where did you go?”

“It was incredible, Hermione,” he said, genuinely smiling as he recalled the magnificent trip around the world. “And I think a better question would be where didn't we go?”

She reached across the table and gripped his hands for a moment. “I'm glad it did so much good for you, Harry. You seem really happy and put together now.” She was smiling too.

“Thanks,” he told her. “I know I was a bit of a prat before I left, but I honestly did not know what to do with myself…”

“You don't have to explain,” she told him, waving it off. “I really do understand. I think I was feeling the same way.”

He cocked his head. “Oh? Well, I do want to apologize for what I said to you and Ron—”

“Harry,” Hermione cut him off, looking terribly serious now. “You don't need to apologize for that. And actually, it's one of the things I wanted to speak with you about.”

Her sudden change in demeanor threw him off for a moment. What had happened while he was gone? And where was Ron?

“Ok…” he said. They were still gripping each other's hands in the middle of the table. She looked down at this, squeezed once, and let go. She put her hands in her lap.

She sighed and seemed to deflate.

“Everything you said that day was true, Harry,” she started. “Every last word. I don't know how I could have fooled myself for so long, or let Ron fool me for so long, but you were right. The two of us would have never worked out. It's something I've since accepted.”

Something in her tone was worrying Harry. “What happened after I left?”

A pained look flashed across her face. “We had another row, worse than anything we've ever had before. I was getting ready to leave for Australia and he gave me an ultimatum—essentially the same one you heard that day—and I blew my top. I'm not proud of it, but who was he to tell me what I could and could not do? The whole thing nearly came to blows, or wands, as it were.”

He wanted to crawl across the table and hug her. She looked so forlorn and miserable.

“I'm sorry, Hermione.” She met his eyes. “I'm sorry for not being here,” he continued. “I'm sorry you both had to experience that.”

“It's not your fault, Harry,” she said, shaking her head. “It never was. The friendship between the three of us has never been perfect, but you were always there for me. You trusted me. You never fought with me and you only argued and held your ground when you had a legitimate point—you were, and are, practically the only person capable of getting through my stubbornness…” she trailed off.

“I think you're selling yourself short,” he told her. “The same is true of you, and you know it. You stuck by my side back in fourth year when Ron got so bloody jealous over the Tournament. You didn't leave me alone in that tent when we were hunting Horcruxes… You've been the best of friends, Hermione. I really, truly mean that.”

This girl—no, this beautiful woman that had once been a plucky, bucktoothed child—had tears shimmering in her eyes at his words. He suddenly felt like the world's worst git. Had he ever told Hermione before this moment just how much she meant to him? A quick survey of their years together told him the answer: no, he hadn't.

“Oh, Harry…” she sobbed, as she broke down. He was around the table in a flash, pulling her up from her chair and wrapping her in another hug. He had rarely initiated these types of embraces with her in the past, though this was the second time today. She clung to him and cried into his shoulder, shaking with the force of her misery.

He could only stand there, holding her and wondering what the hell had happened to them. Voldemort's defeat was supposed to lead to bigger and better things, not this tragedy.

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You know, I firmly believe that if Hermione Granger did not exist—if we had never become friends—Voldemort would have won and gone on to conquer Britain. And then what? Perhaps the world, too.”

She was shaking her head against his shoulder. “No,” he said, “I know I'm right. You've always been the best of us, Hermione.”

She eventually calmed down and they sat again, though this time Harry planted himself right next to her. She wiped at her face, suddenly self-conscious about her emotion.

“Sorry—”

“As you told me earlier, you don't need to apologize.”

“We seem to be doing a lot of that today,” she said. “Apologizing.”

He sighed. “About time, I suppose? Even if it's not really needed.” She nodded and silence settled between them for a few moments. They regarded each other openly.

“So you found your parents?” he asked, eventually, breaking the increasingly loaded silence.

“Yes,” she replied. “Fairly quickly.”

“And you've been in Australia all this time?”

“Yes. They weren't happy at first, but they cooled down eventually.”

“How come you haven't been back at all?” Harry wondered, finally asking what had been on his mind since she'd appeared in his kitchen.

“They have a decent thing going on there, Harry,” she explained. “It doesn't make sense at this point for them to uproot again and come back here. They have a life in Sydney now.” Her eyes had clouded over somewhat. Harry felt like he was missing some key piece of information.

“Ok…but what about you?” he asked.

“I…” Hermione started, but she unable to say anything more. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, sad even, and was frowning violently as she stared off into space.

“You what?”

“I'm studying to go to uni, Harry,” she said, all in a rush, as if the words hurt to say. “My plan is to enroll in August of next year. I'm far behind the normal curriculum, so it's going to take some time to catch up and take all the proper tests.”

Realization smacked Harry in the face. Several different emotions coursed through his system, the foremost of which was an indescribable sense of loss that was as wrenching as it was unexpected.

“In Australia, you mean?”

She looked down at her hands, which she was twisting together in her lap. She nodded.

He sat back. She looked up slowly, meeting his eyes again.

“How come you didn't write me when you decided all of this?” he queried.

“I didn't know where you were,” she said. “I couldn't risk sending an owl into the heart of a major city. And you never wrote either, you know.”

He held up his hands. “No need to get defensive, Hermione. That's not why I asked.” He was tired now. This brief conversation with Hermione had taken a lot out of him. His world was rapidly shifting.

She acquiesced with an understanding look.

“I guess I always expected you to continue with school,” Harry told her. “But at Hogwarts, not at university.”

“Could you go back to Hogwarts now, Harry?” she asked, penetratingly.

He had to consider her question for only one second. “Absolutely not.”

“Exactly,” she nodded. “There is a small part of me that wants to do a seventh year and sit for my NEWTs, but I would hate it there, after everything that's happened. And if you and Ron weren't there…well, there's nothing for it.”

“There are other magical schools in Britain. You know that, right?”

She nodded again, but now she was looking at him a bit oddly.

“Are you trying to convince me to stay?” she wondered.

“Why shouldn't I?” he said. “You're my best friend, Hermione. It hurts to think of you halfway around the world while I'm here.”

“I guess I thought you would support me—”

“Of course I support you,” he cut her off. “I trust you enough to know that if you want to study at uni and that Australia is the place to do that, then you're making the right decision. But I can't help being a little selfish when it comes to you.”

She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and staring at him intently. He was immediately and acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing a tank top underneath her open jacket.

He had been faced with similar sights—and more—countless times during their extended period of living together in that horrid tent, but he'd always been able to rationalize away any baser reaction to Hermione's fine assets by assuming (and reminding himself) she and Ron would eventually be together. Now, however, it wasn't so easy.

“What do you mean?” she asked. There was a new intensity to her voice. He dragged his eyes away from her exposed flesh and looked her in the face. If she noticed, she didn't react.

“I mean that I didn't want this,” he said. “When I yelled at you and Ron I might have said some things we've all been thinking, but I didn't want it to drive us apart like this. I didn't want it to split us up. And where is Ron? Do you know?”

She sat straight again, albeit slowly. A disappointed frown flashed through her eyes before vanishing.

“Yes,” she told him. “He's in Romania working with Charlie.”

“So Ron's gone too?” He could hardly keep the petulance out of his voice.

“Harry, I'm not gone,” Hermione told him, leaning forward again. Her damned bloody tits were the most distracting things on the planet. “Just because I will be in Australia does not mean we can't keep in touch, and visit each other, and continue being best friends.”

Harry just looked at her, quite nonplussed. He couldn't even think about how much he would miss Hermione—and Ron too—in his life, even if they did stay in touch and visit and all that.

“Is that how the world really works, Hermione?” he asked, quietly. “We took classes together, we ate all our meals together, we fought and just about sodding died together… take all of that away, and add thousands of miles, and will it really be the same?”

He hadn't been able to say what he meant too eloquently, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew what he meant; and that she had possibly been thinking the same thing all along. Maybe that's why she had shown up and Ron was still off in Romania, with nary a word to Harry.

“Why don't you move to Sydney with me?” The question was phrased, articulated, and inflected very carefully, as if she feared—or hoped—what he might say.

Her suggestion was suddenly a very attractive one. It wouldn't be Britain, he wouldn't be instantly recognizable, he had enough money to effectively do whatever he wanted, he would be with Hermione, he would be with Hermione…

But—and there were several large buts. Teddy for one. He couldn't take him away from Andromeda like that, nor could he thrust his godson on her. Andy and Teddy had bonded during their long vacation, but it had become clear who would have to bear the brunt of the responsibility for Ted Remus Lupin. Andromeda was too scattered after the death of her husband and daughter to properly care for her grandson.

The other issue involved the plans he had already started making with Gringotts, which would be difficult if not impossible from Australia. Harry had quietly become passionate about the future of Wizarding Britain since the end of the war, and with his assets, financial and otherwise, he had the power to effect lasting change. It would take an incredible amount of time, effort, and money, but he hoped someday to be able to say that he had made a difference.

Harry explained some of this to Hermione; she listened without saying a word, her face falling a bit when he finally concluded that moving to Sydney with her just would not work. He hated to do that to her and to see that look on her face, but there was nothing for it. His life, his family, his legacy was here in Britain, at least for now.

“You look disappointed,” he eventually stated.

“Naturally,” she said, dryly. “I think I'd be worried if I wasn't. But I understand what you've been saying.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Harry,” she said. A long-drawn sigh flowed out of her body. He watched as she cocked her at him, studying him with her chocolate eyes. Her gaze was intense.

“What is it?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Would you humor me, Harry?”

“Huh?”

“If I asked you to do something, would you do it, no questions asked?”

“Uh, sure,” he replied, confused.

“Are you sure? Because I need to be sure before I ask you.”

“Yes,” he said, exasperated. “As long as it's not me running around London starkers.” They both laughed at this, though for many reasons the laughter was flat and strained. It quickly faded away.

He leaned forward, mimicking her earlier pose. “What is it, Hermione? You know you can ask me anything.”

She leaned forward, bringing their faces much closer than he ever remembered them being. He could see each tiny freckle splashed across her nose and the golden spackles in her brown irises and the intricate curve of her lips, the soft pink tip of her tongue as it darted out to wet said lips…

“Kiss me, Harry? Just this once?” she breathed.

He didn't react except to cross the infinitesimal space between their poised lips, pressing his against hers with an abandon that would have shocked him had been thinking coherently. He barely even registered her eyes widen in surprise before they closed, and his closed, and they were just kissing, not as best friends, but as something much more. It was everything and more than it could have been, something he had been thinking about for at least four years, though he never would have told anyone; it was buried so deep that even Snape had been unable to drag it out of him during those blasted Occlumency lessons.

She panted her hot breath into his lips and he opened his mouth to receive the warm, slithering presence of her tongue, Hermione's tongue, as it caressed his and dueled with it in fierce passionate combat. They had fallen into each other and were now half-standing, half-sitting, clinging to the other to keep upright, all thought and all focus on the kiss, the kiss that had been simmering between them since that night on Buckbeak back in third year, the kiss that could have changed the entire course of the war and the recent history of the Wizarding world…

But now it was just a kiss, a first and what felt like last kiss between best friends that shared one moment of passion before time and the world and misplaced priorities came between them. Their thoughts turned in this direction at the same time, and suddenly the kiss was lessening, loosening, slowing down. With one last soul-quivering caress of Harry's tingling tongue, Hermione pulled hers from his mouth and then her lips from his. They let go of each other, collapsing into their chairs and gasping for breath, opening their eyes to stare at each other at the same time; their rosy cheeks and glowing eyes spoke volumes, loudly and clearly, about what the kiss had done to both of them.

“Hermione, why didn't we do that—”

Without warning, Hermione was standing and crying and screaming.

“Don't you say it, Harry Potter! Don't you dare ask why we didn't do that ages ago! You bloody well know I'm thinking the same thing!”

“Whoa, calm down!” he exclaimed, standing and embracing her for the third time. She resisted his embrace briefly before melting into his arms, shaking in sadness or rage or frustration.

“It's. Just. So. Unfair.” Each word was punctuated with a small fist to his chest.

“Yes, it really is,” he agreed, quietly.

Hermione calmed down but did not back out of the hug. She turned her face up toward his.

“What now, Harry?”

“You're still going to university in Australia.”

“And you're still going to be noble and heroic.”

They stared into each other's eyes, a thousand missed opportunities flashing through their heads. Finally, Hermione sighed and relaxed in his arms. All the fight had gone out of her. She backed up and partially turned away from him.

“We'll still write? And see each other? And be the best of friends?”

Harry nodded. “Of course, Hermione.”

She favored him with a long look then, one that he would never forget, as long as he lived. Too many emotions to name were wrapped up in that brief, burning gaze.

She turned toward the door that would take her back into the main hallway.

“You're leaving already?” he asked, taking a step toward her. She looked over her shoulder.

“Return Portkey,” she told him. “There are only a few times each day for those.”

“You could stay until tomorrow.”

Then came that look again, though this time it flit across her face for only two seconds.

“I don't think that's a good idea, Harry.”

“Hermione…” He took another step toward her.

“Goodbye,” she said, ever so softly. “Do stay in touch.”

“I will. I promise,” he said. “I'll come visit you whenever you want. Write me lots of letters too.”

“I will,” she said.

“Farewell, for now, Hermione.”

She nodded; their eyes met one more time; then she was out of the kitchen and he was listening to her fading footsteps. The front door opened and closed and he heard the crack of her Disapparation as she vanished.

Grimmauld Place creaked ominously as Harry stood immobile in the kitchen, alone.

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