So...sorry Ghost Hunt readers, I'm branching out a bit. This little one-shot is dedicated to my best friend Don'tAskAlice. She's quite the Potterhead.

Obviously, this strays from cannon (except JKR totally validated it, so...We win)

Warnings: Unbearable cuteness, implied sexual situations, too much sass on Harry's part...

Spoilers: Nothing really specific. It's post-DH, obviously, but doesn't really reveal any plot...

She rolled over in the bed once. Twice. Once more, and then he knew. It was obvious really. She'd been avoiding him all day, and now this. The fidgeting, the sighing and pretend sleep. Hermione unfailingly slept like a rock when given the opportunity. Always, except…

"Hm," he hummed plaintively, sliding a heavy, lazy arm over her waist to keep her still. She stiffened (again, unusual), before one by one, as if by great force of will, her muscles relaxed and she fell into him a bit more.

He hummed again, nuzzling the soft curls at the nape of her neck. For a moment Harry was content to hold her in the quiet. A full night's sleep was a luxury rarely afforded to them, especially with four children, but then he thought he'd catch her off guard. She was, after all, far too clever for a fully-lucid attack.

He kissed the back of her neck. "You've got a secret, Hermione."

Again, she tensed, her too-regular breath spiking so tellingly, and he chuckled, pulling her closer along his body. No escape, he thought with amusement. You're mine. Not that she tried too. But the complacency was telling in and of itself. She wasn't one to give in so easily unless she thought it would suit her purpose. Harry let his hand wander up and down her stomach, let his fingers pluck at the buttons of her nightshirt without undoing them. He didn't know why she played this game with him. He always won, though admittedly that was its own rarity.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed derisively, turning so she lay half-way on her stomach, trapping his hand where it rested over her navel. A little jolt of excitement shivered through him and he kissed her neck again. This time, she sighed at the familiar touch, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

"I think you do."

She kept her back steadfastly to him, voice muffled by the down pillow beneath her head. "Since you seem to know everything Mr. Potter I don't see any reason to continue this conversation."

At least she sounded a bit more like herself. A little bit of bite beneath the icy cordiality. Harry traced a circle around her navel, then, impulsively, a triangle and a line, just to see if it would win a reaction. He was rewarded. She shivered minutely and turned her face toward his.

"Harry, don't."

His hand fell flat. "Tell me." He kissed her cheek where he could reach it. Trying for sweet since it always seemed to get back her favor quickest.

"Why should I? You know already, don't you?" More ice in her voice, but she looked more invitingly to him.

"Tell me," he reiterated, capturing her lips before she could think of something clever to deter him. Part of her was giving in, but not all. He could feel it in the way she kissed him with her usual urgency, in the way she only turned her head and her hands entwined themselves in the pillowcase. He wracked his brain for an advantage, something that she wouldn't expect, or something that would melt her steely determination into goo. While he thought, a tuneless melody buzzed from his lips to hers, something pulsing against his stomach before he realized she was giggling. There was a loud click in his brain. That's right.

His fingers twitched once on her stomach. A rapid movement, barely perceptible except he felt her skin slide and prick beneath the calloused pads. Something very near triumph bubbled in his stomach. This round would be his. He kissed her fervently, distracting her, while his hand began to roam. She responded in kind, ignorant (or at least unresponsive) to the palm the soothed heavily along her ribs, only to curl into a claw of blunt fingernails and mischief. Yea, he'd win tonight for sure. She let him roll her over, let him settle his weight along the length of her body, lulled in to a false sense of security. He could be so easily deterred by his own amorous manipulations and she had no reason to suspect any difference now. But that wasn't really the case.

He pulled away from her with a soft sound of parting lips. "Hermione….tell me."

Her gaze was defiant (if not a little disappointed) and she made no move to give in. Well, he gave her due warning.

"Harry!" she shrieked, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, possible some angry scream thrown in the mix. His fingers had begun a dancing rhythm up and down her ribs, his nails catching her skin lightly, plucking that shrieking laugh from her like a discordant instrument. He kissed her again to muffle the sounds of her torture, always aware of the four little bodies sleeping just in the next room. Otherwise, relentless in his attack, sure she would break if he just kept at it longer. She twisted beneath him, trying valiantly to escape, but she'd made the mistake already and she was pinned.

"Tell me," he whispered in her ear when she gained enough control to smother her own giggles, slowing his pace to a few taps along her ribs.

"Your tactics are despicable," she sighed into his mouth, pulling back to look at him. There it was, another resolve slipping. Just a bit more…

"I learned from the best," he retorted cheekily, tickling another rapid, staccato rhythm across her stomach. Her mouth was pressed with the effort of containing her squeal.

"Are you calling me despicable?"

He couldn't help the cheeky smirk. "Only on your best days."

She laughed freely and offered her own kiss, brief and searing and fluttering with her breath. It told him what he needed to know, at least, what he needed to know to move forward. That she was giving in, but would never say it any combination of words. That he'd won, again, but she wouldn't acknowledge it until the very last moment. Harry grinned where his face had fallen to rest against her cheek. This was his consolation prize for being talented without being clever. She, Hermione, was brilliant and he knew her. Arrogant as it was to say, he knew her.

"Will you tell me know? Please?" he asked, because she'd earned it. Her amber brown eyes rolled so familiarly, condescendingly.

"You obviously already know." Repetition, but she was trying to rationalize his very irrational behavior. He flipped onto his back, pulling her along with him before she could protest. Back to the start, facing away from him but she was all the more open this way.

He hid his face in her wild curls. "Of course I know. I'm Harry Potter." He didn't even have to see her face to know she was rolling her eyes again.

"Humble as always." She snuggled closer to him despite herself, entangling her fingers with his just below her breasts. Funny place to rest them, he thought. Funny, and telling. "Why do you keep bothering me then?"

"Because I want to hear you say it."

He guessed his voice was more honest than normal, or maybe it was the distinct lack of cheek (he was inclined to think the latter), but she turned just slightly towards him. Her face was unspeakably soft, brow knit together in that thoughtful way she always had, lips a little swollen but slack and turned up at the corners. Not joyous, not exasperated, just a simple, intimate, happy resignation that spiked excitement in his chest. That look. He loved that look.

"I'm pregnant."

He slid his palm to rest over her stomach, as if he could feel the infant budding and stretching beneath the soft warmth of his wife's skin. Nothing yet, of course. Too early. But the potential of it all. A new person to love, another reason to love the woman beside him, he was brimming with anticipation. Glasses askew, pressed grin, he probably looked the picture of madness but that was what she did to him. Of course he had known. How could he miss the game, when she played it to make him happy?

"Five is a good number," he spoke, because the silence threatened to churn with laughter and more kissing and then he'd be lost in himself, in her again. Baby, he thought to distract himself from the rise and fall of her chest against his knuckles, boyish novelty bubbling in his fingertips, a new baby. Our new baby. He thought of Minerva, three years old and as regal as her namesake, claiming the squirming bundle growing in Mummy's belly. Lily, five and already so sweet, as shy as her mother was at that tender age and just as lovely, holding out until New Baby was born and then she'd be mother hen, like Hermione. Brian, eight and too much of a little boy for them to handle half the time, bemoaning another one. And James. Already at school, already flourishing. The big brother, kinder than Harry was at his age and much, much smarter. Wiser too. He'd protect them all with a smile like his father's.

"Five is a good number," Hermione agreed with the fond exasperation he'd been expecting. She liked to pretend that she didn't sign up for a big family and that it was only her extreme generosity that kept her in his bed. But Harry knew better. She sighed against him, hugging his arms in that way that told him she was thinking of their children too. Their four beautiful, brilliant, wild children. Five soon. And she was happy. He kissed her hair, the same amber and autumn color of Minerva's and Brian's, and pictured a baby with the same untamed curls. Green eyes. Her chin.

"You know, six is a good number too."

Anyone throw up yet?

Thanks for reading! As always, if you find a mistake or have an issue, respectfully let me know and I'll do my best to fix it.

NHC