Chapter One
"What is this?"
Something akin to a parchment firework went off in Ginny Weasley's corner of the office.
"Revisions," said Dean, waving away a stray piece of parchment fluttering to the floor, "You didn't seriously think your story was going to get published like that, did you?"
"I can't even see my story under all this!" Ginny snapped, jabbing her finger at the red marks crawling all over her story. "Is this your handwriting?"
"Yes," said Dean in mock surprise, examining the red marks, "one of my better critiques, I have to say."
Ginny growled. "Just because you won that award-"
"Thank you for the heartfelt congratulations," said Dean sarcastically, spinning round in the chair and looking at the framed cover story with unmasked pride. "But Harry and Hermione practically write themselves. I'd get started on those revisions, if I were you. The word `deadline' is quite literal here."
"Fine," spat Ginny, hurling herself into her desk chair and slamming the story onto her chaotic desk, "but I write their birth announcement, Dean. End of conversation."
"Hermione's pregnant?"
"Oh, she will be," muttered Ginny, rolling her eyes, "I'm surprised they've held out this long. What d'you mean, this sentence is so stilted that it's almost a stagnant?"
"Fragment," Dean said. "It means-"
"I know what it means!"
"How did I get stuck in an office with you?" Dean complained, "We've never been friends, not since I broke up with you."
"Excuse me?" Ginny swelled with outrage, "I broke up with you!"
"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" said Dean in an infuriatingly kind voice, "Fortunately for me, I've been single ever since."
He paused, raising an eyebrow.
"So have you, I've heard."
"That's not true! I dated Harry for three weeks after we broke up, and--"
"Who counts that?" said Dean, "Everyone knew it wouldn't last."
"I can't believe I haven't hexed you yet…" moaned Ginny, massaging her forehead.
"Weasley!"
Ginny jumped at the sound of Editor Webb's voice.
"Yes, Mr. Webb?"
"I don't know what you call this, but it's not an article," he snapped from the doorway, "What did you do, ask a five year old to write it?"
Ginny turned a bright shade of red as he hurled a crumpled draft of her article to the floor. "What part of it didn't you like?"
"The part on the floor," said Editor Webb bluntly. "I want you to write a full-length article, like Thomas's there, and I want it done by next month."
Ginny gaped at him. Dean's `article' had taken up fifty pages of the May issue, and that didn't include the photographs.
"What-what on?" she said weakly.
"I'm not giving you a topic," snapped Editor Webb, "But it had better be as good as Thomas's work over there, or you can start cleaning out your desk now!"
With that, the Editor slammed the door and left a stunned Ginny Weasley in his wake.
^*^*^*^
When Ginny arrived at Heart Haven for dinner, she had worked herself into a high temper. She fumed to herself as she waited for someone to answer the door.
"Bad day?"
She jumped and whipped around. Neville Longbottom was standing on the porch behind her, his brown hair slightly disheveled from the wind.
"What do you care?" she snapped. Neville raised his eyebrow and shrugged.
"That's a good question," he said, mildly enough.
"What's taking them so long?" she muttered, looking back at the front door. The last thing Ginny wanted was to be standing alone with Neville Longbottom on the Potters' front porch. Things were excruciatingly awkward between the two of them at the moment, and Ginny was not sure she could bring herself to be tactful in such a mood.
Just as she was considering knocking again (or possibly walking in without an invitation), the door opened.
"Hello!"
"Aren't you perky?" was all Ginny said, quite beyond the point of courtesy.
"Hello, Hermione," Neville said, nudging Ginny conspicuously aside, "Thank you for having us over."
"It's our pleasure," Hermione said, though she was looking at Ginny somewhat guiltily. "Won't you coming in?"
Ginny followed Neville into the house, shooting Hermione a look as she passed.
"I know what you're doing," she hissed, "and it's not going to work."
"For heaven's sake, Ginny," Hermione whispered back, "I didn't know you'd be in such a mood-"
"I'm not in a mood!"
"Be civil at least," Hermione said, looking exasperated, "honestly, Ginny, you'd think you could handle this with a bit of maturity!"
That rankled, but in the wake of Editor Webb's remarks, the reproach had the desired effect.
"Fine," Ginny said through gritted teeth, "but you owe me, Hermione, and not even that newlywed glow is going to save you-"
"Hi, Ginny," Harry said easily, coming into the foyer and putting his arm around Hermione. "When you're done threatening my wife for trying to save what's left of the best relationship you ever-"
"Harry," Hermione said, casting him a warning glance. "That's enough."
"All right," he said sheepishly, kissing her forehead, "Come on, Ginny. Everyone's waiting in the kitchen."
Hermione caught Ginny by the arm before she could go into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione said, her eyes dark with sincerity, "but you haven't talked to Neville in so long... I just thought-if you weren't alone with him-it might … ease some of the tension."
"It's okay," Ginny said grudgingly, "it's your house. You can invite who you want."
"You don't have to stay," Hermione began, but Ginny shook her head, suddenly feeling ashamed of herself. Hermione, she realized, was being extraordinarily gracious.
"It's okay," she said again, "I'll be nice. I wouldn't want to bring my relationship curse down on your heads."
"Hello, Ginny," said Adrian as soon as Ginny entered the kitchen. "Do you want to play Jenga?"
"Do I want to play what?" Ginny said warily.
"Jenga," said Katy, pointing to the tall tower of narrow, rectangular blocks now teetering precariously on the kitchen table. "We're just about to start."
Ginny hesitated. "I-er-I don't know…"
"I'll play," said Neville suddenly, putting down his glass of butterbeer. He was not looking at her-in fact, Ginny realized, he was avoiding her gaze at all costs. Her cheeks grew hot.
"I'll play, too," she said, and finally, Neville looked up.
She pretended not to notice and stood next to Katy as she explained.
"All you have to do is push out one of the blocks-like this-" Katy used a fingertip to gently free one of the blocks from the tower. "And put it on top. Whoever makes the tower fall over loses."
Ginny eyed the tower with trepidation.
"What happens then?"
"What do you mean?" Katy looked puzzled.
"Does it explode, or something?"
"No," Katy said, taken aback, "we just start over."
"Oh," Ginny said, "right. That makes sense."
"It's your turn," said Adrian, pointing to Neville. Neville scanned the tower critically, then used both hands to ease a block from the middle of the tower. The tower swayed slightly, but remained standing. Adrian whistled.
"Close one, Neville," he said, "Hey, Mama-watch this!"
Hermione turned around and watched as Adrian slowly moved a block out from the bottom of the tower. For a moment it seemed as though the tower was about to topple over, but after a few moments, the tower stood still. Adrian put the block on top and looked back at Hermione with a grin.
"Did you see that?"
"Well done, Adrian," Hermione said warmly, smiling back. "That took a lot of patience."
"My turn," said Jack, "this one's easy."
He pushed the block out easily and dropped it on top.
"Jack!" Yasmine said reproachfully as the tower teetered dangerously. "Be careful!"
"I am careful," said Jack, sticking his tongue out at her.
"Jack," Harry and Hermione said at the same time. Jack wilted and sat back in his chair, properly chastised.
"I want a turn," Jackie said, tugging at the hem of Hermione's shirt. "Mama, can I play?"
"Not this time, dear," Hermione said, putting down the spoon she was using and smoothing Jackie's hair with a hand. "Maybe Papa will play a different game with you."
"I want to play that game," Jackie protested.
"Jackie, no whining, please," Hermione said, looking up at Harry. Taking his cue, Harry picked Jackie up and moved to the other side of the table.
"Let's watch Ginny, Jack-Jack," he said, bouncing her a little. "I'm not playing either."
It was only when Harry looked at her pointedly that Ginny realized she was staring.
"Right," she said, shaking herself mentally. "Er… my turn? Yeah-yeah, I knew that…"
She cleared her throat and leaned onto the table, studying the tower at several different angles before deciding on one of the center blocks near the top. Aware that everyone was staring, she reached out very slowly and, uncertainly, pushed at the block-but slightly too hard. The tower tumbled with wooden thunks and clatters.
"You lose," said Jack promptly, "let's play again!"
"That wasn't very nice," said Katy to him. Jack flushed. Katy was usually gentle when she corrected him, but her reproach stung the most.
"Actually, it's time for dinner," said Hermione, "so let's put it away and start setting the table. Has anyone seen Dusty?"
"He's in the workroom," said Yasmine, stacking the blocks into their box.
"I'll get him," Harry volunteered, putting Jackie down. "go wash your hands, Jackie!"
Harry crossed the kitchen and opened the workroom door. "Dusty?"
He walked into the room, which was getting increasingly dark, and found Dusty hard at work at his easel.
"Dusty, it's time for dinner."
Dusty looked back and smiled. There was a streak of brown paint on his cheek right where the tiniest dimple appeared in his cheek.
Harry put a hand on his shoulder and glanced at the easel.
"Wow," he said softly, "that's Teddy and Hermione, isn't it?"
Dusty smiled again, and Harry examined the picture with unconcealed awe.
"I saw them yesterday," Dusty explained, and Harry felt a familiar overflow of tenderness in his heart. He'd seen them too-Hermione curled up on the bed, her eyes soft and her lips smiling… and Teddy, snuggled safe in the curved hollow of her body, giggling as Hermione tickled his neck.
Dusty had captured it perfectly, Harry thought, still gazing at the picture as Dusty began to clean up his brushes. The splash of sunshine across the bedspread; the newly rumpled sheets-the oddly familiar tumble of Teddy's temporarily brown curls, the sparkle in his blue-green eyes, and the contentment on Hermione's face…
"I want to give it away."
Dusty had returned to Harry's side, surveying his work with a gentle gravity that made Harry smile.
"Who d'you want to give it to, Dusty?"
Dusty looked surprised at the question, as if the answer were obvious. "Mrs. Tonks."
"Oh,' Harry said, as it dawned on him, "of course."
"Harry, Dusty? It's time for dinner." Hermione stopped short and took in a soft gasp. "Oh, Dusty. That's beautiful."
Dusty shrugged slightly, smiling. He did not say it, but he hardly thought the beauty was in the painting. It was in the picture-the picture that had happened yesterday, in the quiet lull of an almost-autumn afternoon.
"Dusty wants to give it to Andromeda," Harry said as Hermione ruffled Dusty's hair. "D'you think you could take it to her?"
Hermione saw the look on Dusty's face as he looked up at her imploringly.
"I think Dusty would like to do that himself," she said, and she smiled at the look of relief on Dusty's face. "I could take him tomorrow, after you come home. That way you won't have to change your schedule."
"That's okay--I could take him," Harry said, "I'll pick him up before lunch, and we'll get a bite somewhere before we go. How's that sound?"
Dusty beamed, an increasingly more common occurrence since the wedding. Harry grinned back.
"Great. Will it be ready?"
Dusty nodded.
"Let's go to dinner, then," Harry said, taking Dusty by the hand and putting his other arm around Hermione's waist. "I bet Jack's already eaten without us."
^*^*^*^
Overall, the dinner could have gone much worse. Ginny and Neville got along relatively well, in that they pretended not to look at each other and looked at each other every time they got the chance. Katy ate her asparagus first and managed not to make a face; Jack ate his asparagus last and made a face only once. Hermione was rather proud of her efforts, at the end of the meal. And when Neville held the door open for Ginny before they left, Hermione noted happily that Ginny actually thanked him, and even smiled. But Hermione didn't have time to reflect on it until the very end of her day.
"Harry?"
Harry turned over in bed and looked at her. She had put down her book (a sign that what she was about to say was of relative importance) and was looking at him with a troubled look on her face.
"Yeah?" he said, propping his cheek up with a hand. "What's wrong?"
"Do you think I'm being ridiculous? About Ginny and Neville, I mean?"
"I wouldn't say matchmaking was one of your strengths," Harry said, "but tonight-I reckon they needed to see each other again."
"If Ginny weren't so…" Hermione sighed, "self-centered-"
"Downright selfish," Harry corrected. "It's okay, Hermione. We both know it."
"…but Neville does care for her, Harry," she protested, turning over so that she could look him in the eye. "You saw it tonight, too, the way he looked at her."
"I still don't understand why they fell out," Harry said as Hermione nestled herself against him. "Do you know?"
She shook her head, closing her eyes and yawning.
"Ginny won't tell me."
"Neville won't even let me bring it up," Harry said, putting his arm about her and sighing deeply. "I can never tell what Ginny's thinking. You're better at that."
"Not in this case," Hermione sighed, resting her lips against his neck so that her sigh tickled his skin. "Oh, Harry. I hope I did the right thing."
He drew her closer and kissed the top of her head.
"Don't worry," he said, "It'll work out."
She smiled and pulled away briefly to put her book on her bedside table. Then, she reached up and kissed him, fitting herself against him comfortably before turning out the light.
He took off his glasses and placed them on his bedside table.
"Good night, Hermione," he whispered, closing his eyes and reveling in her familiar warmth. She smiled sleepily and yawned again.
"Good night, Harry."
^*^*^*^
She was fast asleep when he woke up. He smiled and traced the contours of her face with a finger, brushing a kiss against her jaw and letting out a long breath.
Her hold on him was so tight that he wasn't sure he was going to be able to make it to work this morning. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
He closed his eyes, listening to the rhythm of her breathing-a rhythm so familiar it was like the sound of his own breathing.
She was a part of him in a way he had never even imagined before the wedding. But now-losing her would be like losing himself.
He felt her stir and opened his eyes.
She dampened her lips and breathed huskily, "Dearest, you'll be late."
"Mmm…" he murmured, kissing her, "I don't mind."
She laughed and blushed.
"Not now," she whispered, pushing him gently in the shoulder, "You can't be late."
"Have I mentioned how much I love it when you call me `dearest'?"
"Harry."
"All right, all right."
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He squinted at the clock, shook his head, and squinted again.
"What's wrong?"
He seized his glasses and put them on his nose.
"It's seven-thirty!"
"Oh, Harry," she sighed, dropping back onto her pillow with a groan. "You'll just have to Apparate."
"I can't Apparate early in the morning," he said, frantically searching his closet, "What robes am I supposed to wear today?"
"The green ones," Hermione rolled onto his side of the bed and propped her chin up with a hand. "Really, I don't know how you managed this before our marriage."
"I like the Floo network," he said, "it makes me feel normal."
"Normally a wizard who is this late would lose his job," Hermione said, "And wasn't it your idea to close the office Floos after seven?"
"Well, yeah, but-"
"That's the wrong sleeve," she said, laughing and coming to his side. "Here."
She took his robe and put it aside.
"I can't believe I'm dressing my husband," she said, shaking her head, "as if he were our four year old."
"I hate Apparating," he complained, "I hate having executive privileges."
"Oh, how you suffer," she teased, kissing him quickly before reaching for a shirt, "you weren't planning on going to work without a shirt on, were you?"
"I wasn't planning on being late."
"Harry, as endearing as I find your whining-"
"I'm not whining!"
"Oh, dear," she sighed, "you are most definitely not a morning person…"
She finished buttoning up his shirt, straightened his tie, and ushered him into his robes.
"Go wash your face and brush your teeth," she said, shooing him away, "you can have breakfast at the office. And for heaven's sake, don't forget your shoes!"
"I'm never late," he moaned, "how did I-"
"Blame it on me," she called after him, "As it's my day to stay home, I'm going back to bed. Don't forget I love you!"
She was almost asleep when he came running back into their room. She started when he bent down and kissed her.
"I nearly forgot," he said as he drew back, "I love you!"
She laughed as he pelted downstairs and Apparated with a crack.
^*^*^*^
"Well, someone's late," said Neville, without looking up from his paperwork. "You're a lucky wizard. Kingsley canceled your first defense class before I got here."
"I-well-I didn't-" Harry flushed and felt oddly defensive. "I mean…"
"Harry," Neville said with some amusement, "You're my superior-"
"It was Hermione's fault!" Harry finally got out. Neville laughed so hard that he nearly spit his coffee out on the Level Three Roster.
"Is that so?" he choked, as Harry turned an even brighter shade of red.
"It's-it's not what you think-"
"Whatever you say," said Neville, snickering slightly as Harry settled into his desk. "I'm sure you were up late."
"Shut up, Neville," Harry grumbled, "I'm going to get breakfast."
"Hey, Harry," Neville spoke up right as Harry was opening the door. "Thanks for dinner."
Harry turned back and saw his friend looking surprisingly serious.
"I mean-everything was great," said Neville, "I-really appreciate it."
Harry smiled and shrugged, noticing the look on Neville's face and making a mental note to tell his wife later that night.
"Don't thank me, mate. Thank Hermione."
^*^*^*^
Dusty waited patiently in the hallway with his father, holding the covered canvas carefully and looking around at the old-fashioned décor with interest. He liked the portraits, but most of them were sleeping.
"She says to let the boy in first."
Ichabod, Andromeda's caretaker, looked at Harry apologetically.
"Sorry, Mr. Potter, but she wants to see this chap alone, first."
Dusty smiled. He'd never been called a `chap' before. He didn't mind it, he decided.
"It's okay," said Harry, "go on, Dusty. I'll be here."
Dusty wasn't afraid. He followed Ichabod through the tall, narrow doorway into the bedroom. It smelled of lemon and mint, and the carpets were a deep, deep purple.
"Hello, young man," said Andromeda. Her voice was soft and raspy, and as Dusty perched on the chair beside the big four poster, she coughed. "Best not come too close. I'm ill, you see."
Dusty smiled again.
"You've grown since the wedding," Andromeda said, "How is it, being taller?"
Dusty shrugged.
"That's how I felt too," said Andromeda, "though my sister-may she rest in peace-- was the tall one. I was the one with the `sickly disposition'."
There was a silence. The speckled sunlight glowed through Andromeda's curtains, and Dusty waited for her to speak again.
"You had something for me?"
Dusty nodded and held out the painting. She shook her head.
"You'd better show me yourself. It seems appropriate."
He thought for a moment, then gently tugged at the paint-stained T-Shirt he was using as a drape. Climbing off the chair, he came to her side and handed the painting to her.
"Oh," said Andromeda in a strange gasp, and for a moment he was afraid she might cry. But Andromeda was not one for tears. "You painted this yourself? Very impressive."
She touched her grandson's likeness with a shaky finger.
"You've painted Theodore very well."
She studied the painting for another moment, a strangely troubled look on her face. Dusty put his hands on her arm.
"This is your mother, isn't it?" she asked, unnecessarily. "Yes, I thought so. I suppose you had them pose."
Dusty shook his head vigorously, and she gave a small smile.
"Spied on them, did you?"
He ducked his head, and she patted his hand. "I used to spy, too. You see so much more, when they don't think you're watching."
She looked at him.
"And you painted it exactly as you saw it?"
Dusty nodded.
"You give me your solemn word?"
Dusty nodded and looked at her with earnest dark eyes.
"Well, then," said Andromeda. "You must have a reason for giving this to me."
Dusty shrugged again.
"You thought I needed to see this?"
He thought for a moment.
"You're sick," he said at last. She started.
"So you can talk."
He nodded, and she laughed dryly.
"Only when you need to, I see. Very well, then, I'm sick. What does that have to do with this painting?"
He looked at her seriously.
"It hasn't helped?"
Andromeda's face softened, and that strange look crossed her face again.
"You know, Dusty," she said, coughing, "we may not see each other again."
He looked puzzled.
"You're very right," said Andromeda, "that I'm sick. But this isn't just a cold. It's something worse than that. Dragon fever is what most people call it."
She put down the painting, considering him.
"Are you afraid of being near a dying woman?"
Dusty shook his head.
"Even if she may die, right in front of your very eyes?"
Dusty shook his head again.
"You're a strange boy," said Andromeda, gently. "But I thank you very much for the painting. Do you know where my grandson is? No, I didn't think so. He's with my neighbor. We can't have him catching the fever. I don't want you catching the fever, but you'll be all right. Ichabod's giving you a ward at the moment, but it wears wizards out, trying to keep out a sickness like this. So you will have to go soon, I'm afraid."
She looked at the painting, one long, searching look-as if she were trying to put herself in the painting. And then something sad and something hopeful came into her eyes. It was something Dusty could almost understand. The sunlight through the curtains cast Andromeda's face in faint purple as she called out, "Ichabod! Let Harry Potter in!"
Harry ducked into the room and stood respectfully by the door, but she made an impatient noise and motioned him closer.
"Have you seen this painting?"
"Yes, Mrs. Tonks."
She looked amused for a moment.
"Still so young," she murmured, "But…"
She eyed Harry sternly.
"Now I'm going to ask you a question, Mr. Potter, and I want the truth from you."
Harry looked puzzled and intrigued as he leaned closer to Andromeda, bending over the bed.
"What I see in this painting," she said, "is it true?"
Harry hesitated, and Andromeda looked him boldly in the eyes.
"Well?" she asked softly, and somehow Harry knew there was something else in the question, something unspoken.
"It's true," Harry said after a moment, in a low voice.
"Are you sure?" Andromeda asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Very well," Andromeda said after a long moment, "I'm afraid we must say goodbye for now. But I would like to see your wife, Mr. Potter, and soon. Tomorrow, in fact."
She looked at Dusty and smiled.
"Not you," she said, "though I should very much like to keep you. Thank you, Dusty, for what you've shown me. It's given me great comfort."
He didn't say anything, though in the silence, she could hear him sniffling.
"None of that," she said gently, "I've lived long enough. I'm not concerned about leaving the world. I'm not concerned about anything now."
It was, Andromeda thought, the best part of her day-seeing that boy smile through his tears. But then, the hardest part was his wave goodbye.
"Uncommonly perceptive boy," she murmured to herself, as the door shut behind him. "Somehow… somehow he knew."
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