Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Here's the second part of the Valentine's Day debacle. Hope you enjoy it! Um, and something fairly major is happening in the next chapter. Some will like it, some won't. Just giving a little bit of heads up. I'll probably post it by Friday or Saturday.

Thanks to EmmaRadcliffe, noorelisa, cranksatnyc, h/hr4ever11, kinikeens, and UKwildcat820 for the reviews! Again, you guys are awesome!

Chapter 32: A New Life

Panic crept further and further into Hermione's mind with each minute that passed.

At first she had been anxious about whether Harry would be here in time to see the birth of his baby.

Now it had stretched far beyond that.

Harry had been gone for almost five hours. He had had long missions before, but Hermione worried this was pushing the limit.

Something was wrong.

Hermione tightly gripped the magazine she was holding. She had been staring mindlessly at the same page for hours, brow crinkled, as she waited fretfully.

Ginny, of course, was not making matters any easier. The pain potions were beginning to wear off, and so was her patience.

"Where the bloody hell is he!?" Ginny fumed, her face and hair damp with sweat.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Ron said.

"You've said that about twenty times over the past two hours!" Ginny said.

"And sooner or later I'm going to be right!" he grinned.

Ginny glared at Ron furiously.

"You have no idea how much I'd like to punch you right now."

Ron fidgeted, his smile turning uncomfortable.

"But you won't, right?" he said nervously.

Ginny crossed her arms, scowling. "Let's see what happens when I regain the element of surprise."

Hermione half-listened to the siblings' bickering. Her eyes kept flickering every few moments towards the door as if watching it would make Harry walk through it all the sooner. When the door did open Hermione almost came out of her skin.

Ginny's Healer stepped in and smiled warmly at the edgy trio.

"How are things going?" he asked.

"Same as the last time," Ginny said sullenly, her arms still crossed. "Nothing to report."

The Healer did a cursory examination to see how far along Ginny was.

"Well, you may not feel any different," he said, "but things have moved along quite a bit. I'd say this baby is ready to come out."

Suddenly Ginny's moody frown turned almost hysterical.

"He can't come out!" she blurted. "Not now!"

The Healer frowned. "Unfortunately, there isn't much negotiation in the matter. I won't move things along, but when the baby's ready, it's going to come out whether his father's here or not."

Ginny now looked like she'd rather like to sock her Healer instead of Ron. However, she seemed to decide against this since he was responsible for delivering her child.

"Fine," she said. "But not a second earlier than necessary."

The Healer nodded and left the room, and Ginny's face settled once more into a furious scowl.

"Come on, Gin!" Ron said. "At least you've got a comfortable room…and the Healers are nice…and Harry's out making money for the baby…all you have to do is put a positive spin on things!"

Hermione winced behind the magazine. Certainly not a good thing to say to a woman in labor.

"Right!" Ginny said sarcastically, also wincing as a contraction overwhelmed her. "Like how because I'm sweating like a bloody salamander in the Sahara, you can't tell that I'm crying!" She proceeded to throw her empty water glass at Ron's head. "You can be such a moron sometimes!"

Hermione didn't even look up as she heard the glass collide with its target and the following whelp of pain.

Harry, please get here soon…

*********

Roderick felt almost light-headed with relief when he successfully Apparated from the cabin. The one-way anti-Apparition ward provided the Death Eaters an easy escape route if it was needed, and Roderick had certainly needed it.

He arrived back at the Ministry Apparition zone. It was almost ten at night, and everyone had gone home. Roderick stumbled wearily through the dark and silent Atrium, his heart heavy.

The mission could scarcely have gone worse.

O'Brien was dead, they had not successfully captured a single Death Eater, and to top it all off, Harry Potter was still there undergoing Merlin knows what. For all Roderick knew, they might have already killed him.

The lift, after what seemed an eternity, finally slid open at the appropriate floor and Roderick lurched forward, intent on reaching Wahler's office.

For the love of Merlin please let him be there…

He grabbed the door handle and wrenched the door open, and thankfully, Wahler looked up from his desk.

"It's about bloody -" he began, but stopped as he gaped at the Roderick's beaten condition. "What the hell happened -?"

"No time," Roderick gasped out, clutching his side. "O'Brien's dead. We need back-up. Potter's still there."

Wahler stood up immediately from his desk.

"How many are we up against?"

"Don't know completely…at least half a dozen I'd say. Probably a few more. Dolohov and mostly new blood from the looks of it. I think I heard him mention the name Rowle."

Wahler nodded. "I'm going to need you to go to another office. We need as much back-up as possible. You try to Floo Smith, Fletcher, and Kresley. I'll work on getting Donovan, Tobias, and Roland. If you reach any of them, tell them to get their asses here immediately. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Roderick said.

"The prerogative is getting Potter out, not apprehending the target," Wahler said, turning toward his fireplace. "And preferably as soon as possible - he's got a baby to get home to."

*********

When Harry stirred, he had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? Days?

His eyes sluggishly tried to open, but didn't quite manage the task. His head hurt badly - enormously so - and he had a hard time focusing on his surroundings. People were talking, but he couldn't quite hear what was going on.

He tried once more to open his eyes. They opened to the barest slits, but Harry could hardly tell the difference. Wherever he was, it was very dark. Only the slightest bit of light permeated the thick blackness.

With effort, Harry opened his eyes further. His eyes fluttered lazily to take in his surroundings, but still nothing came into clarity.

Then the blackness was replaced by a blindingly white light and Harry clamped his eyes shut, wrenching his head to the side.

"Too much light, Potter?"

As Dolohov's voice wafted over his ears, Harry instantly became alert.

Now he remembered where he was.

Harry squinted from the glare of Dolohov's wand and scowled.

"Just a tad, yeah," Harry said, and he was surprised by the increasing throbbing in his head.

He must have winced, because Dolohov smiled in a pleased sort of way. He looked particularly sinister in the glow of his wand.

"Hurts, doesn't it? But I wouldn't worry about that too much if I were you - you'll have much more to fret about momentarily."

Harry tried to push himself forward and realized he was bound tightly to a hardback wooden chair. The ropes cut tightly into his arms - he couldn't move an inch.

"You and the bastards you brought with you killed two of my men," Dolohov stated rather blandly, idly twirling his wand. "As you might imagine, I don't greatly appreciate that."

Harry licked his mouth to moisten his dry lips. "And as you might imagine, I don't appreciate a group of fucking washed-up moronic Death Eaters killing my partners."

"Washed-up?" Dolohov said. He pressed his wand into Harry's throat. "Just because the Dark Lord is gone doesn't mean his…mission… was forgotten. As you can see, our cause still has its followers."

For the first time, Harry glanced around the room. The light from Dolohov's wand cast a dim glow around the room, and he guessed he was in some sort of a cellar because of the lack of windows. He had no idea if they were still in the cabin or if Dolohov had moved him.

Harry noted with a bit of foreboding that the other surviving Death Eaters had joined them. The dark-skinned wizard that O'Brien had dueled, the tall man Harry had knocked out, the thin, rodent-like man that had beaten Roderick, and a good-looking brown-haired man Harry had never seen stood around the room, watching the exchange wordlessly. Harry also saw one hulking blonde man whom he did recognize.

"Rowle," Harry rasped. "Fancy meeting you here. I'd say this was a nice reunion, but of course I'd be lying."

Rowle nodded, unsmiling.

Harry glanced once more at the others.

"Can't say I recognize your other lackeys here, though," he said.

"You shouldn't," Dolohov said. "They're new recruits."

"Idiots-in-training?" Harry said scornfully. "That's brilliant."

Suddenly Dolohov grabbed Harry by the hair and wrenched his head back, pressing his wand even harder into Harry's throat.

"Considering the situation you're in, I'd keep your smart-ass comments to yourself," he said threateningly.

Harry made an effort not to grimace as the wand began to burn his skin.

"What's the point in behaving myself for you lot?" he said scathingly. "Obviously you want something from me."

"Why would you assume that?" Rowle said, coming closer.

Harry turned his eyes towards Rowle since his head was still being held back.

"Because if you didn't you would've already killed me," he said simply.

Dolohov smirked. "Smart boy. Of course, I knew you had to have had some modicum of intelligence to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Voldemort was just as fucking mad as you-"

Dolohov jerked Harry's head back farther and jabbed the wand deeper into his neck, making him choke.

"Crucio," he hissed.

Harry felt as though a fiery dagger had been stabbed through his neck. A guttural howl of pure agony escaped his lips as his limbs twitched in protest to their torturous treatment. He thrashed his head from side to side and the ropes cut further into his flesh as his muscles bulged in convulsions.

After an eternity, Dolohov raised his wand.

Harry fell back into his chair, gasping for breath and soaked with sweat. He shivered frantically.

"How dare you say his name!" Dolohov said. "You weren't worthy to lick the dirt from the Dark Lord's feet!"

Harry stayed silent, his head making him even woozier than before.

"The Dark Lord…underestimated you, I will admit. But who wouldn't? You were just a skinny half-blood teenager who had rather extraordinary luck and friends in high places."

The other Death Eaters snickered loudly.

"But I'll do no such thing," Dolohov said. "You've learned a few tricks since you came of age…quite accelerated, I've heard. Supposedly on the fast-track to becoming the youngest Head of the Auror Department the Ministry has ever had."

Harry blinked furiously as he fought to remain conscious.

Dolohov punched him hard in the face, and Harry's mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. He spat away from him, feeling sick.

"Can't have you falling asleep on us, Potter!"

Harry thought briefly that punching the living daylights out of him was not the most foolproof method to keeping him awake.

"Sorry," Harry said, breathing raggedly. It hurt to talk. "Your bullshit talk is boring me. I'm surprised those losers over there stuck around to listen."

As expected, Dolohov hit him once more, if possible even harder than before. Harry suspected he heard his nose crack.

"You've seemed to take a liking to these Muggle tactics, Dolohov," Harry slurred, blood trickling steadily from his nose.

Dolohov put his face within an inch of Harry's.

"Do you have a death wish, Potter?" he growled.

"Sure I do," Harry coughed. "For you, that is."

"And this idiot's calling us morons," said the dark-skinned wizard, a small amount of awe tracing his tone at Harry's audacity.

Dolohov glared at the man. "Go keep an eye out for any Aurors, Nakul."

The dark-skinned man looked appropriately abashed and gave a small nod before walking out of sight. There was the sound of a door slamming, and then Dolohov returned his attention to Harry.

"Let me tell you something, Potter," Dolohov said in a quietly sinister voice. "I can see how little you seem to value your own life - but how would you like it if we went after that pretty little wife of yours?"

Harry closed his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth as he tried to control his temper.

"Of course, maybe you'd rather us go after someone else…like that little curly-headed Mudblood wench you spend so much time with."

Harry's eyes popped open instantly.

"I swear to Merlin if you so much as touch a hair on either of their heads…" he snarled, lunging once more against his restraints.

Dolohov laughed. "Oh oh oh, look's like we've touched a nerve," he said. "Where is your loyalty, your pride, Potter? Trading a pureblooded witch for a filthy Mudblood? I can't say I'm surprised, though. I should've guessed you've been fucking that filth for quite-"

Before Dolohov could complete his sentence, he was blasted off his feet as if by a miniature explosion and collided with the tall Death Eater, knocking them both to the floor.

In a matter of seconds Dolohov was back on his feet, pointing his wand at a severely pissed off Harry, whose magic was radiating in torrents from his body.

"Impedimenta!" Dolohov yelled through bared teeth.

This time Harry was hurtled through the air. His already sensitive head hit the wall with excessive force, but the rest of his body was mostly protected by the chair. When Harry fell back to the ground, he was mostly surprised he hadn't passed out again. He knew he was quite close, however. Honestly, he would've gladly welcomed it at this point.

Dolohov leered at him as he crept forward, Rowle close behind.

Harry thought Dolohov was going to say something to him. However, without warning he kicked Harry swiftly in the stomach. The breath was knocked out of him, and he gasped for air, still bleeding profusely from his mouth and the gash he knew was in his head.

Before Harry could gather his senses again, Rowle stepped forward and kicked him as well. The force of the blow was enormous, and Harry knew his ribs had been broken.

Both Dolohov and Rowle took turns kicking him time and time again, and at some point he knew he must have passed out from the pain in his side. However, Dolohov had gleefully awakened him and given him another unendurably long dose of the Cruciatus Curse.

Before the torment could continue, however, Nakul returned, looking rather pale.

"The wards were breached."

Dolohov looked up sharply. "Already?"

Nakul nodded curtly. "At least five times."

Dolohov looked down with disgust at Harry. "Looks like the cavalry's here to save you," he hissed. He pulled a long dagger from within his cloak and looked at it thoughtfully.

"What do we do, sir?" the thin Death Eater asked nervously.

Dolohov was silent for a moment. The other Death Eaters looked ready to bolt at any moment.

"Nothing," he said finally.

"N-nothing?" the thin wizard asked.

"Yes, nothing, Krause," Dolohov said, testing the point of his dagger. "We'll leave this sack of trash for another time. But before I go…"

He bent down low, almost whispering directly to Harry. "I'd like to give this bastard a taste of what's coming to that Mudblood whore of his."

Then he stabbed Harry fiercely, burying the knife up to the hilt in his stomach.

Harry stared unseeingly at Dolohov, shaking as he felt warm blood seep onto the cold skin of his abdomen.

After giving the knife a final twist, Dolohov jerked it from Harry's stomach, stood, and turned away from him as though he were never there.

"Let's go," he said coolly.

The cracks of Disapparition were almost drowned out by the sound of exploding timber as the door upstairs was blown from its frame.

About thirty seconds later Harry was dimly aware of stomping feet as they descended the stairs into the cellar and someone bending over him.

"Merlin…it's okay, Potter, we're getting you out of here - you'll be patched up in no time," a voice said. It sounded very distant and a bit scared as well. Harry's vision was starting to fade completely, and he was quite eager for the blessed oblivion that would take him away, at least momentarily, from the extraordinary amount of pain he was in.

"By the time you wake up, you might have a brand new baby to knock you around instead…"

But Harry's exhausted and antagonized body barely took in this information before his eyes slipped shut and everything went dark once more.

**********

After Hermione had flipped though each page of the magazine she was holding for the sixth time, she stood up and began pacing frantically around Ginny's room, her pent-up energy finally bursting to the surface.

Ginny didn't say a solitary word regarding Hermione's anxious behavior, but her eyes followed her movements the entire time. Confined as she was, Ginny seemed to find some sort of solace in Hermione's frenzied actions. At least one of them could work off some worry.

The Healer stepped in shortly after Hermione began her pacing and examined Ginny. Almost apologetically, he informed Ginny that the baby was ready to be delivered.

Surprisingly, Ginny gave a nod with almost no hesitation.

"If it's time, go for it," she said civilly.

The Healer nodded and returned moments later with two assistants.

"You're only allowed one individual in the room," the Healer said. "I'm assuming you'd like your husband when he comes in?"

"Yes, I'd like that," Ginny replied.

"Well, it's about time we got started…" The Healer glanced at Ron and Hermione, looking apologetic once more.

Hermione took the hint and grasped Ron's arm, leading him towards the door. "We'll be outside."

Once the door had shut behind them, Hermione released Ron's arm and once more resumed her walking, turning a tight path in front of Ginny's door. Ron watched her apprehensively for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"Well, erm, I suppose I'll go see Mum and Dad in the waiting room," he said. "D'you wanna come?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'll wait here."

Ron, somehow guessing she would've given such a terse response, simply shrugged and left down the corridor.

Silence permeated the hallway after Ron's footsteps had faded away. The only noises Hermione could hear were the soft thumps of her own shoes on the tile floor and the much more frenzied sound of her heart beating against her chest. Her previous anxiety was nothing compared to how she was feeling now.

Before, she had simply suspected something was wrong.

Now she knew something was wrong.

She had sent Ron to Floo his boss again to ask about Harry's whereabouts, and her husband had informed her that Wahler was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione wringed her hands as she continued to pace. For the Head of the Auror Department to abandon his office before Harry had returned indicated something was extremely amiss - and she was going absolutely mental not knowing what was going on.

Her restlessness widened her path significantly until she was walking the entire length of the hallway, though she was careful not to cross in front of the waiting room. Frustrated, she decided to ease her tension by exploring more of the hospital. She was quite simply sick of the pregnancy ward.

She wandered aimlessly up and down the various wings of the hospital, managing to mostly ignore the more surprising (and usually disgusting) cases that were also occupying the hallways.

When she had finished roaming the deserted fourth floor for the third time, she figured she ought to go back and check on Ginny's progress.

However, just as she started back towards the double doors at the end of the hall, a group of Healers burst through. They appeared to be surrounding a gurney, and they were talking loudly and frantically to each other as they sped down the corridor.

Hermione heard bits and pieces of their jumbled speech as they hurtled towards her. She couldn't see the person on the gurney.

"He's lost a lot of blood -"

"-broken wrist and nose, definitely-"

"No telling how much more-"

"Surprised he last this long-"

Hermione, startled by the gravity of the state of the man being pushed towards her, flattened herself against the wall to make room for the herd of Healers as they hurried past her.

Then she saw the man on the gurney and felt as though her heart had dropped to her feet.

"HARRY!" she screamed, and was surprised that it came out as a sob.

He was almost unrecognizable. His dark hair was matted with blood from a large wound in his head, and the blood had trickled down to cover the left side of his face and neck. His glasses had been knocked off and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He was also bleeding from his mouth and nose, and the blood stood out in stark contrast to his deathly pale skin.

The Healers passed by and pushed Harry into an available room, but Hermione was hot on their heels. They immediately bent over his unconscious form and began passing their wands over his body, muttering to themselves. Hermione craned her neck to see him, but the Healers blocked him completely from few.

"What happened to him?" Hermione asked in a shriller voice than she had intended.

Either no one heard her in the frantic nature of the situation or they chose to ignore her in the light of healing the Boy-Who-Lived. However, Hermione was in no state to be unheard or unnoticed. She pulled out her wand, gripped the shoulder of the nearest Healer, and spun him to face her.

"What - is - going - on?" she breathed dangerously, pointing her wand at him. "What happened to him?"

The Healer's eyes widened at the unsuspected attack.

"We-we-we have no idea!" the man stammered. "Some Auror just came in and sent him up to us!"

"Fine," Hermione said crisply, attempting very hard to mask the fear in her voice. "What's wrong with him?"

The man swallowed noisily. "We haven't established that completely."

Hermione felt her wand hand shaking rather badly as the back of her throat burned.

"Will he - will he be all right?" she managed to ask, her voice growing much quieter. She noticed that she was crying but didn't really care.

The Healer seemed to soften then. "We don't know everything that's wrong with him, but we believe he'll be fine," he said as kindly as one can with a wand pointed in their face.

Hermione felt as though she was going to melt with relief. She lowered her wand and took a step back, crossing her arms across her chest.

The Healer gestured to the door. "You should really wait outside…"

Hermione shot him as filthy a look as she could muster.

She wasn't going anywhere.

*********

Voices.

That was the first thing Harry was aware of after he lost consciousness.

After the ridiculous amount of pain, of course.

He couldn't understand what was being said - it seemed like cotton had been pressed into his ears - but he knew that people were talking. Occasionally someone poked and prodded him, and he inwardly hissed in agony. But eventually the pain eased up slightly though, and then the voices were gone.

He felt his awareness slipping away from him again as the silence enveloped him. He was so tired…

Then he felt a soft touch on the crown of his head. He knew instantly that it wasn't some Healer performing another spell on him - this touch was much more gentle and familiar.

He felt his hair being smoothed down, and then he felt his bangs being brushed back with soft fingertips. He was aware of them lingering in his hair. And then he felt a single fingertip brush his forehead, so light that he wasn't really sure if he felt it at all.

Perhaps he was imagining someone's fingertip tenderly tracing his feverish skin - his scar? Whether it was real or not, when the contact withdrew, he missed it.

But then he felt soft lips press gently to his forehead. They remained there for a few seconds, feeling almost cool against his skin, and then they were gone.

Then she gripped his hand tightly and he could feel tremors in the person's touch. Harry, almost as a reflex, curled his own fingers over the person's hand.

There was a soft gasp.

"H-Harry?"

Harry slowly opened his eyes (or, rather, his one good eye).

Hermione sat next to him, looking as though she'd been crying for days. She was very pale.

Always her, he thought mildly to himself.

He took in her attire and blinked tiredly at her.

"You - you look nice," he rasped out. "Dressed up just for me?"

Hermione glanced down with tired eyes at her rather rumpled dress.

"No. I usually dress up for pleasant occasions."

Harry winced at both the accusation in her voice and a particularly nasty throb that swept through his skull. He felt a thick bandage on his head and noticed that his bare chest was purple and black with bruises. He almost didn't notice his other bruise. There was also a bandage across his abdomen where Dolohov had stabbed him.

He swallowed in an attempt to moisten his throat.

"I take it you don't find this pleasant?"

Hermione stared at him through bloodshot eyes. "I've had better times."

"Really? Me too."

Hermione averted her gaze. "How…how are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

"Great," Harry replied. "One-hundred percent."

Hermione frowned at him. She was clearly in no mood for his jokes.

"Fine, I feel like a train ran over me. And then backed up."

"You almost died."

Harry was rather stunned by the shakiness of her voice and the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

"No, I'm fine -"

Hermione cut him off angrily as she jerked her hand from his and stood up abruptly.

"You had the Cruciatus Curse used on you four times, a broken jaw and nose, a fractured wrist, three broken ribs, a punctured lung from one of said ribs, a dislocated shoulder, burns on your neck, a major concussion and head wound, and a fucking stab wound, Harry Potter! Don't you dare tell me you're fine!"

Harry's jaw almost dropped at her heated outburst - in all the years he'd known her, he'd never heard her use language like that.

Just as he was about to stutter some sort of response, she continued, tears sparkling in her eyes.

"You almost died… again," Hermione murmured.

Harry remained silent.

"When you were being brought in on that stretcher like that, it... for the smallest second…" Hermione took in a shaking breath and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. "It almost felt like the first time," she said quietly. "Hagrid… carrying out your body, Voldemort's taunts, the screams... You can't imagine how much it hurt to think you were dead. It wasn't like one of your stupid Quidditch injuries - it was real…and I've never felt so much pain in my entire life."

She wiped at her eyes irritably.

"Why, Harry?"

"Why what?" Harry said, his brow crinkling in confusion.

"Why did you agree to go tonight?"

Harry knew there was no point in making excuses.

"Because I had to."

"Roderick told me you volunteered - you didn't have to do anything!"

"No," Harry clarified, shaking his head. "I needed to."

Hermione only glared at him.

"Why?"

Harry looked at her intently.

"For you," he said quietly, holding her gaze.

Hermione's shoulders fell slightly. "For me?"

Harry nodded. "It was Dolohov. I wanted to be the one to…I dunno..."

Hermione's features softened, and she sat down again. She took his hand once more.

"You didn't need to do that," she murmured softly, biting her lip and gazing at their intertwined hands.

"Yes, I did. And even after all this -" He gestured vaguely to himself. "-he still got away."

"Who cares?" Hermione said. "I don't care what happens to him! I care what happens to you."

"And I care about what happened to you in the Department of Mysteries," Harry replied angrily. "I'm not just going to forget about that."

"It's been almost ten years, Harry," she replied, exasperated. "It's not like there were any lasting effects."

"But there could've been," Harry said furiously, trying to sit up. He fell back as pain shot through him. "You said I couldn't imagine how it felt to think someone I cared about was dead, but I can, Hermione. I watched him use that same spell on O'Brien that he used on you - the same one - and he's dead. If you hadn't silenced him, or if I hadn't shielded you -"

"But we did," Hermione said, sounding angry herself as she gripped his hand more tightly. "I'm alive, I'm here right now. And I'm not going to let you kill yourself over `ifs'!"

"Getting the crap beaten out of me wasn't exactly part of my plan, Hermione," Harry said. "And getting lectured for it was even further off target."

"I'm not trying to lecture you!" Hermione shouted. "I'm telling you that you can't just recklessly pursue such dangerous schemes like this! Not for revenge, not for me, and especially not now!"

For a moment Harry felt confused.

Then he remembered what the voice had said to him before he blacked out.

By the time you wake up, you might have a brand new baby…

Harry leapt from his bed so quickly he felt dizzy, and he almost fell to the floor as pain shot through his body. Hermione caught him by the arm and helped steady him.

"Harry -" she began.

"Hermione, I have to see him," he said urgently, meeting her anxious eyes. "I'm not going to wait around for these Healers."

Harry waited, expecting Hermione to scold him for his rash behavior.

However, she did no such thing. Instead, she reached over and picked up a clean T-shirt that had been draped over her chair. She stood on tiptoes and started pulling the neck of the shirt carefully over his thickly bandaged head.

She smiled at his surprise.

"Don't just stand there - I could use a little help with this."

Harry smiled back, sat down gingerly on his bed, and cautiously pushed his arms through the offered shirt. He was still wearing his filthy jeans, but Hermione cast a quick cleaning spell to remove the dirt and blood.

Once the spell was complete, she came to his side and, putting one arm around his waist and grabbing his arm with the other, helped him to stand. Not looking him in the eye, she slowly ran her fingertips over Harry's torso and upper arms, unwittingly massaging his sore muscles as she smoothed the creases from his shirt.

She stood back, gave him the once-over and nodded.

"Besides the black eye and bandaged head you almost look normal," she said lightly, still avoiding his gaze, and took his arm. She pulled it over her shoulders and they slowly made their way to the pregnancy ward, both keeping a steady hold on each other's waist.

Finally, they reached the room and Hermione pushed the door open quietly, pulling Harry along with her.

Only three people were in the room. Ron hovered beside the hospital bed as Ginny cradled a small infant in her arms. Both were grinning widely, and their smiles only increased when Harry and Hermione entered. If Ginny was at all bothered by Harry's appearance, she didn't show it.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," Harry said hazily, staring at the dark-haired bundle in Ginny's arms.

"If you'd stop staring, you can hold him, believe it or not," Ginny said, amused.

Harry still appeared almost awestruck, so Hermione pulled him closer to the bed. When she was sure he had his balance, she gently extricated herself from him and moved towards Ginny. Wordlessly, Ginny lifted the baby into Hermione's arms.

Hermione turned towards Harry, but she continued to stare at the baby. Harry watched as she smiled at the sleeping newborn. He felt warmth spread through him, and for that moment he forgot about Dolohov and O'Brien and his injuries.

Finally, Hermione turned her gaze to his, and Harry had to make an effort to look away from her brown eyes. He shouldn't be feeling like this, not now. Hermione shouldn't be handing him his newborn son - Ginny should. But as Hermione, smiling, placed the baby carefully into his arms, and kissed the newborn's head tenderly, Harry couldn't help but feel a certain rightness to it all.

Harry cradled the baby clumsily and examined him scrupulously, memorizing his features. He felt so tiny and fragile in his arms that Harry felt as though he might break.

"I think his hair's going to be as dark as yours," Hermione said softly, letting her fingers slide over the fuzzy locks as she looked back up from the baby's face to Harry's.

"You think so?" Harry asked, still searching his son's sleeping face.

"He's not going to be a red-head, that's for sure," Ron said mock-glumly. "Thanks, Harry - you've destroyed a Weasley tradition that's been around for generations. You and Angelina both, you inconsiderate black-haired misfits! Way to break the cycle."

Harry laughed. "Someone had to."

Ron and Ginny chuckled appreciatively, but the sounds of their laughter soon faded. All Harry was aware of was the soft, steady breathing of his son and the touch of Hermione's hand on his arm.

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