Overview: Post-DH, mostly Epilogue-compliant. (Heresy, I know!) The Epilogue says Rose was Hermione's daughter. As her mother's best friend, Harry has played a large role in her life. She just doesn't know by just how much.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other related trademarks and copyrighted materials are property of their respective owners. Use of such properties is for entertainment purposes only and does not constitute a claim on such properties.
Authour's Notes: A quickly scribbled response to one of anythingbutgrey's Comment Wars. This Comment War, spawned by the recent release of Deathly Hallows, Part 2, is titled At the Close.
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An exhausted Hermione stirred at the sound of the door opening. Delivering her daughter was unexpectedly taxing. The Healers couldn't say why, but Hermione suspected she knew.
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Back in her third year when she got a Time-Turner for her studies, she did a bit of extra research into time-related spells. (That's just what she does.) One such spell she found could temporarily halt a naturally occurring process in living things: hair growth; fingernail growth; a flower bud from blooming; a pupa from growing into a butterfly. It seemed like a nifty, if questionably useful, spell at the time.
Then came the war. And during her flight across the wilds of the UK, narrowly avoiding Death Eaters and their hired goons, she almost forgot about the spell. In a quiet moment of despair, she turned to a friend for comfort - comfort in the form of a hug. The hug turned into a kiss; kisses into hastily shed clothes (she never did get more than her jeans off as she recalled) and ending in torrid lovemaking. Then a week's worth of lovemaking. All to keep despair at bay.
When they were forced to move, there was no more time for such joys. Still, the memory alone was enough to warm and sustain her through that winter of anxiety and fear. After more than a month afterwards, she realized that a certain monthly recurrence didn't take place. She dug deep into her reservoir of knowledge for a solution.
Halt the process!
She was pregnant. Nothing could change that. But she could hold it off for a while. Until after the war, she told herself. And as if to prove that no knowledge is useless, she used a spell learned as a third year Hogwarts genius to halt - temporarily - her own pregnancy.
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Three years later, she lay in her room at St. Mungo's Hospital and smiled wanly as her daughter was brought in. Snug in the arms of her father, the baby cooed softly and wiggled once she lay in Hermione's arms. They shared a quiet moment, the first one that day.
Finally Hermione looked up, steeling herself for this conversation. She wished it didn't have to take place.
"We can never tell Ron," she said.
"I know," said Harry in his quiet way.
"Where is he, anyway?"
"Going around the hospital bragging to anybody who'll listen. As if he did the hard part," Harry rolled his eyes. "Ginny's with him. You know, the new aunt and all."
A quiet moment settled in the room again. The baby looked from one parent to the other, expectantly.
"She needs a name, you know," said Harry.
"I don't know. How about-" Hermione paused, the words caught momentarily in her throat. "How about your mother's name?"
Harry's expression softened at her thoughfulness. He reached to squeeze Hermione's free hand. "No, even Ron might pick that up," he said, though with a grin.
Hermione was thoughtful. Names were important; they showed how and what their parents think of how that child came to be. Hermione wanted something classic, and a symbol of love; of beauty. Because it was Hermione, she even knew it was the national flower of England.
"Rose."
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