Chapter Two
"Andromeda Tonks wanted to see you?" Mrs. Granger said, as Hermione put the last dish away. "Did she say why?"
"No," Hermione said, shutting the cupboard door. "but thank you for watching the children while I'm gone."
"Hermione," Mrs. Granger said with gentle impatience, "we both know what Andromeda wants to discuss with you. Let's not pretend. Have you and Harry talked about it?"
"I don't know what you mean," Hermione said, looking away. Mrs. Granger sighed.
"Now, that's enough. I'm not trying to influence you one way or the other, dear, but you might as well go into this discussion prepared. What does Harry think?"
Hermione sighed, her shoulders dropping in obvious resignation and her eyes narrowing in obvious thought.
"He feels responsible," Hermione said at last, very softly. She paused, and added, "And so do I."
"You realize what this might mean."
"Yes, Mum." Hermione bit her lip. "I know."
"You know, sometimes I think you take sacrifice a little too seriously," sighed Mrs. Granger, "but that's how we raised you, I suppose."
"But," Hermione faltered, "it's not as if… we'd have to give up the hope-entirely-"
"But suppose you did have a baby, even with Teddy. You'd be more than tripling your current responsibilities," Mrs. Granger reminded her. "It's certainly a decision for you and Harry to make. I only want you to be aware of what you would be getting yourself into. And with your Healer training…"
"I thought you wanted-" Hermione began, but Mrs. Granger interrupted.
"Yes, I do," she said, putting her arm around Hermione's shoulders, "but at the proper time, Hermione. There's no need to rush."
Hermione half-smiled. "It's not rushing-we're just ready."
"Oh, I know," Mrs. Granger said, laughing. "But good things come to those who wait."
She leaned in closer to Hermione's ear.
"And, to be entirely truthful, I really don't know if your poor father could handle the shock," she whispered, making Hermione laugh. "The man just got used to the seven grandchildren we already have."
^*^*^*^
"Let the girl in," said Andromeda to Ichabod, "I'm ready."
She smiled as Hermione entered the room. "Welcome, Mrs. Potter. It was kind of you to come."
"It's nothing, really," Hermione said, as Andromeda motioned for her to take the chair beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"
A dry smile curled Andromeda's lips. "As well as can be expected. Aren't you a Healer?"
"Not yet," Hermione said, "I'm still training."
"Well, you have the empathy that many of those old Healers lack," said Andromeda, shifting wearily on the bed. "I've met many kind and upstanding Healers, of course, but I've met many old-fashioned fogeys in the profession as well."
"I suppose you could say that of any profession," Hermione ventured, and Andromeda chuckled.
"True enough."
There was a pause, and Andromeda coughed again. The cough sounded like a marble rattling in a bottle, and Hermione felt her heart go out to the woman. She was, Hermione realized, only a few years older than her father. But illness had aged her.
"Your son, Dusty."
Hermione started. "Excuse me?"
"He visited me yesterday," said Andromeda, reaching for something on the bedside table. "Strange little boy."
"Dusty has a great heart," Hermione said, a little more defensively than the remark required.
"Oh, don't think I'm criticizing," Andromeda said, chuckling again. "I like him very much, though I could scarcely coax a word out of him. But he showed me something yesterday, Mrs. Potter-I may call you Hermione? Well, then, Hermione, your son showed me something that interested me very much."
She held out the painting, and Hermione took it, struck anew by the beauty of Dusty's work.
"It's a beautiful piece," Andromeda said, watching Hermione gaze at the painting. "Evidently, Dusty thought it would help me with my sickness."
Hermione smiled. "He is very kind."
`More than that," said Andromeda, "he was right. I'm not sure he understood-perhaps he thought I was just happy to see a likeness of my grandson again-but there is something else this painting showed me."
Andromeda studied Hermione's face for a moment.
"Do you know what that is, Hermione?" When Hermione didn't respond, Andromeda sat back, closing her eyes briefly before continuing, "It showed me that though no one can replace my Nymphadora, Theodore does not have to live without a mother."
She smiled when Hermione looked up, her breath catching audibly.
"Legally, your husband will assume guardianship of my grandson when I die," she said, "Remus and Nymphadora determined that when Theodore was born. But I admit I was concerned for Theodore; you see, I knew I was ill even before your wedding, and though I knew you had shown great compassion in taking those seven children into your home, I was not sure you would treat them as anything more than a cause. Furthermore, I was certain that you and your husband would want to have children of your own in the near future. Would there, I wondered, be any room left for Theodore in that old house of yours?"
Andromeda paused and coughed.
"I saw this painting," said Andromeda, running a finger down the edge of the canvas, "and I saw with what tender care your son had captured every inch of your face. And-watching Dusty carefully-I knew you had not only taken him in, but you had made him your own. Love is very noticeable, Hermione. It leaves a mark. And never has it been so clear to me as it was in your son's face yesterday."
Andromeda put the painting aside.
"I have told you what I have seen and what I have felt. And I have told you so that I may ask the impossible of you."
Andromeda fixed her eyes on Hermione, and in the moment, Hermione felt as though she had forgotten how to breathe. There was a powerful, dignified pleading in Andromeda's eyes, and Hermione could not help but hang upon Andromeda's every word.
"I am asking you," Andromeda said softly, "if you have enough strength and compassion to take an orphan boy-who will soon have no one else in the world-and love him as you love your own. Not as a legal obligation, not as a poor, pitiable being in need of charity-but as your son."
Andromeda gazed at Hermione, who was sitting silent and still beside her; she studied the look on her face carefully. And something in the girl's youthful eyes-something in the softness and tenderness of the girl's expression-filled Andromeda with the greatest peace she had ever known, and satisfied her at the core.
She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep, raspy breath.
"Thank you," she said, her voice suddenly feeble with exhaustion. "You have done more for me than you could ever imagine."
^*^*^*^
Andromeda Tonks was buried next to her husband on a gray day, when the clouds had come and the rain hadn't quite arrived. It was not a large gathering, but it was a tender one, and when the rain did come, everyone was ready-or nearly everyone.
"Dusty," Hermione knelt beside him, ignoring the rain, "Dusty, it's time to go home."
When he didn't move, she took him by the hand and pulled him into her arms, letting him cry into her damp sweater. Hermione held him tight, kissing his head and stroking his sopping hair.
Suddenly, the rain seemed to stop. Hermione glanced up.
Harry held the umbrella over the two of them, standing silent and supportive in the grayness of the rain. His gaze was gentle, and Hermione knew he understood more than Dusty realized.
Dusty looked up at him, his dark hair splayed over his forehead and his eyes full of tears. He swiped at his face bravely, though his mouth trembled noticeably as he stood. Hermione followed suit, and Harry wrapped his free arm around Dusty.
"C'mon," he said softly, "let's go home."
^*^*^*^
Had Ginny not volunteered to watch the Potter kids that afternoon, she would have sworn up a storm. However, as Yasmine was scribbling away next to her at the kitchen table, Ginny had to content herself with tearing her old drafts into several thousand scraps.
It was maddening, she thought, watching a nine-year-old write with such gusto and purpose, when she herself couldn't write one opening paragraph.
"The trash bin is under the sink," Yasmine said, glancing with mild interest at the mountain of paper scraps at the center of the table. "But I suppose you know that."
She peered at Ginny's current draft curiously.
"What are you writing about?" she asked.
"I have no idea," said Ginny, all the anger gone out of her and all the gloominess set in. "What about you?"
"I'm writing about Jackie's garden," said Yasmine promptly, "well, I mean, Jackie's garden in a million years. You see, in my story, the garden grows and grows into a forest, and… well," she frowned thoughtfully, "I haven't thought that far yet."
"Cool," Ginny said, absently flicking a stray corner of parchment back into the pile. "You're further than I am."
"What were you writing about?"
"Quidditch after the war," said Ginny, "but you see how that's going."
Yasmine paused.
"Well," she said, scooting her chair closer to Ginny's, "do you care about it?"
"What?"
"Does it matter to you?" Yasmine asked, "Quidditch after the war, I mean."
Ginny was taken aback, but something prompted to her consider the question seriously.
"No," she admitted after a moment, "but everyone else would probably read it."
"But if you don't care," said Yasmine, "then no one else will, either. I'm not trying to be mean," she added quickly and anxiously, "but can't you tell when someone cares?"
"So what do you think I should write on, Yaz?"
Yasmine thought for a moment. "Something that matters to you-something that makes you smile or something that makes you cry or something that makes you hold your breath in excitement. I could write pages and pages and pages on the look on Mama's face when Dad kisses her-actually, I have," she confessed, turning pink, "but it's so beautiful it makes me want to cry."
Ginny thought back.
"Dean's already done that," she said, "he wrote about you and your sisters and brothers."
"I know," Yasmine said, "and it was very nice of him. I like Dean. He read one of my stories."
Ginny sighed and blew aside a piece of hair dangling in her face.
"Thanks for the advice," she told Yasmine, "I need all the help I can get."
"You're welcome," said Yasmine, with a quick smile, "I like talking about writing. It's fun."
Ginny smiled then, shrugging.
"I guess it can be."
"When I can't think about what to write," Yasmine said, "I read. You can borrow a book if you want."
"Thanks," Ginny said, grinning, "maybe I will."
She sighed and looked at the scrap pile in the middle of the table.
"Meanwhile, what do I do with this lot?"
^*^*^*^
"Phew," Harry groaned, practically falling into bed, "I had no idea kids could be so strong."
"He's confused," Hermione said, sighing, "I imagine he's feeling very afraid."
"Teddy never seems to fight you." Harry watched her put away her robes. "He fights me like a tiger."
"It's going to take some time, Harry," Hermione said softly, sitting on the bed and rubbing his back. "This is quite a bit of stress for a child his age."
"I noticed something today, Hermione," Harry mumbled, closing his eyes and enjoying warm, smooth pressure of her palms against his back. "He's not changing his appearance as much as he used to. Not even when he sleeps. Most of the time he has eyes like yours."
"And hair like yours," she added, quietly. "I know."
She touched his shoulder and he turned over, searching her face and eyes for an answer to an unspoken question. She bent and kissed him warmly; he pushed himself up on one elbow and leaned into the soft pressure of her lips.
She drew back, cupping his face in her hands and brushing her thumb against his cheekbone.
"I know, Harry," she whispered into his ear, "perhaps-perhaps now isn't the time."
He closed his eyes.
"Someday," she whispered, "we don't need to hurry-we have time-"
He felt a yearning ache in his chest-a gentle ache, but an ache nonetheless. She sighed, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, sighing.
"Am I being stupid?" he asked her softly.
"No," Hermione brushed a kiss against his neck. "I feel the same way."
"Oh, good," Harry said, managing a smile, "because you'll have to do all the hard work."
She laughed, and he opened his eyes, noticing that there were tears in her eyes. He pulled her closer.
"Hey," he whispered, "it's only a matter of time, right? When Teddy is settled-when we're back to normal… we'll-we'll talk about it again."
"It seems so silly, doesn't it?" she whispered, a few tears slipping down her cheeks, "We have so many children-"
"It's not silly," Harry said hoarsely, running his thumb down the side of her cheek, "it doesn't mean we love the others less. It's different, that's all-it's something… we've both wanted."
"Jack wants it, too," Hermione said with a tearful laugh, "I told you about Gabriel, didn't I?'
"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a soft chuckle, "well, if Jack wants it…"
They laughed again, and Harry was glad to see her looking comforted. He felt comforted himself.
"Someday," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear in a soft caress, "someday soon."
A/N: Incidentally: I will be posting approximately 2 chapters a week for the next five weeks. Thus my rapid three-chapter posting spree. Thank you for reading!
-->