Chapter 1: Family Road Trip

Harry Potter sat at one of the tables under the lit marquee, bouncing his three-year-old niece in his lap. Perched in the chair beside him, his three-year-old nephew, Hugo, pouted, poking at his slice of cake with the tip of his fork. The threesome were watching as Hermione Granger, in a red dress, danced with Ron Weasley.

Just then, Harry's gaze was torn away from his two best friends when he felt a tiny hand tug on his sleeve. "What's up?" he asked his niece. The little girl whispered in his ear. Harry couldn't stop the following groan. "I asked you about that ten minutes ago!"

"But Unca Harry! I didn't have to go then!"

Sighing, Harry discreetly beckoned over the Master Ceremonies, who - given that the theme for Bill and Fleur's wedding was medieval dress - was also doubling as the Town Crier. The tall, mustachioed gentleman also seem perturbed by the request, as evidenced by his needing to stamp his scepter and proclaim loudly, "Hear ye, hear ye! Princess Rosie has to go potty!" Under the silent, watchful stares of the other guests, the Town Crier then dutifully took the little girl by the hand and escorted her to the nearest loo. Under Ron's confused glance, Harry grimaced and shrugged. Hermione had a hand to her mouth, holding back a laugh and affectionate smile.

When Hermione had fallen pregnant with Ron's twins soon after she was un-petrified second year, the ensuing scandal had rocked Hogwarts Castle. It hadn't been planned - neither of the babies had been. To his credit, Ron had maturely proposed to his best mate and blossoming crush at not quite thirteen. Hermione had accepted, only on the condition that they marry when they were older, of age. She had categorically refused to give up the infants growing inside of her, and - in the spring of the Golden Trio's third year - had given birth to a boy and a girl.

For the next three years, the twins had been raised in the castle by their parents, and of course with their godfather, Uncle Harry, looking after them. The system had been difficult to set down at first, what with juggling classes and also saving the world from dark wizards, but the betrothed couple and their best friend had managed, somehow.

The dancing continued, Harry keeping his eyes on his friends even as he used one hand to stave off Hugo trying to mash his face into his cake. Ron and Hermione's long engagement would soon be over; they planned to hold their wedding in the next summer. That is, if they all lived through the coming war with Voldemort.

Deciding how to approach Harry's final mission had not been easy. Harry had stated that his friends were under no pressure to accompany him. In fact, he had started the conversation by attempting to decree that under no uncertain terms were Ron and Hermione to come along. They had the children, and Harry thought it best that they run with the babies and flee to America. Hell, he would foot the bill for them - whatever they would need. They could take Grimmauld Place and stay under the protection charms. But Hermione had gradually worn him down. She and Ron were going with him, she said - they would just have to leave the kids behind with the other Weasleys.

This decision, of course, had not come easily to Hermione. Harry knew that in a few weeks time, when they were to depart, she would struggle in letting her babies go. Neither she nor Ron had ever been separated from their children for any significant period of time since the twins had been born. But it would have to be done.

Because no way, on Merlin's green earth, were all five of them going on this damned fool's -

A sudden whooshing noise made Harry glance up, so that Hugo dodged his uncle's arm and finally got his face in that cake. A Patronus landed in the middle of the congregation and gave the most chilling pronouncement.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimegeour is dead. They are coming."

Rose returned from the loo as the Patronus was finishing its speech. Eyes as big as eggs, Harry grabbed for both of his godchildren, as the wedding dissolved into chaos.

"Stay close!" Harry commanded the twins, even as he vaulted all three of them over a table and they began to pelt for Rose and Hugo's parents. Black masses were now slamming into the marquee as Death Eaters arrived. Ron and Hermione clutched each other close, Hermione's eyes filled with terror as they locked onto Harry, and she beckoned her babies forward. With no time to waste, Harry clung to the only family he had left, and the quintet Disapparated.

They emerged on Chauntsbury Avenue, a Muggle street in the theatre district that Hermione knew well. Taking coverage in an alleyway, Hermione rummaged through her beaded bag, dealing out supplies to everyone. Hugo was already half-asleep, burrowed in Ron's arms; Rose, however, was wide-eyed and terrified.

"Where are we going, Mama?" she asked Hermione.

"Hush, little rosebud. Your uncle's going to take us to his place."

"I am? Where? I don't think Privet Drive..." But Harry fell silent at Hermione's expectant look, and then he remembered.

The five got into Grimmauld Place with no trouble.

"Ronald, there should be some toys in my bag; have Rosie play with them. I'll fix dinner."

"Yes, dear," Ron acquiesced. He and Hermione still rowed like they already were husband and wife, but ever since having children together, his willingness to step up without question had quite improved. It was understood between him and his lover that in sharing two babies, they were bound together forever. Marriage was inevitable. And they truly did love each other. Harry still had no idea sometimes how their relationship worked, only that it did. Plus, it had long been ingrained in Ron that family came first, above everything. He would remain loyal and faithful to the mother of his children, his son and daughter even more so.

Hugo was still maddeningly dead to the world as the group set up house. Hermione would often smile and say that he slept like his father. Ron didn't seem to mind. With his son still in his arms, he sat down at the grand piano and began clinking out Beethoven's 9th Symphony to keep the little boy asleep. Harry made himself useful by playing with Rose. After a second round of Tea Party, it was with great relief that he heard Hermione announce dinner.

The meal was a quiet affair, Harry contemplating the Snitch even as he helped feed a half-awake Hugo.

"Bedtime," Hermione ordered briskly, as she cleared the silverware with a wave of her wand. Cocooning Hugo in her embrace, she carried him up the stairs, Ron following with a nodding Rose, Harry dragging his feet as he brought up the rear.

It was only then that Harry even turned his tempestuous thoughts to sleeping arrangements. He knew of Sirius's old bedroom, and during Order of the Phoenix meetings, close to twenty people had stayed here with little trouble. But, he didn't know how many of those rooms might be warded by curses or other protection spells.

Hermione led everyone into Sirius's old bedroom, and Harry suppressed a groan. He had intended to use his godfather's old domain as his own room. But the bed was a double size, and he knew inherently that only one arrangement would be proper.

"Mummy, can Hughie and I sleep with you and Daddy tonight?" Rose chirped.

"Well, I don't know if this bed is necessarily meant for four, Rosie," Ron chuckled. "But I suppose it couldn't hurt."

Hermione smiled tiredly. "It will be fine, Ron. It will be good practice for when we're married." Growing up in the castle, Rose and Hugo had stayed with their mother in her dormitory, dozing in bassinets at the foot of her four-poster bed. If late night emergencies had arisen, a Muggle baby monitor had been employed to summon Ron; Harry's Invisibility Cloak, his safe passage.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" Harry yawned, the query coming out ruder than he meant it to.

"You can take the floor, mate," Ron called over his shoulder, as he placed Rose on the bed and started to dress her in her pajamas.

Rose giggled through the jammies being pulled over her head. "Uncle Harry has to sleep on the floor!" Harry scowled, though it was directed at his niece without any malice, and this only made her laugh harder.

"What about the couch downstairs, Harry?" Hermione suggested.

Harry didn't want to sleep on the couch, but he held his tongue as the children were tucked into bed. Caressing their hair back, Hermione gently began to sing them a lullaby:

"I'm your music... I'm your song... play me time and time again, and make me strong. Make me sing, make me sound. Andante, andante, tread lightly on my ground..."

Ron and Hermione then crawled into bed together, their babies nestled between them. Harry prowled downstairs to the living room couch, conjuring a pillow and blankets. The cushions were hardly comfortable at all.

"King - of the - couch!" Harry punctuated each word with a punch to his pillow, wailing on it several times to try and get it at least somewhat fluffy. "Uh, this is ridiculous..." The Hunt had not started off the way he had planned - in fact, it had gone in the last scenario he had wished to see. A high-stakes mission was no place for toddlers, and he went to sleep trying to think of a way to get Rose and Hugo to safety, leave them behind somewhere safe.