Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love. - Jane Austen


Life really had been quite pleasant since the end of the war. Hermione and Ron were married, and Harry and Ginny shortly afterwards.

Actually, life didn't seem much different than all the summers they had spent together at the Burrow. The four of them still spent most of their free time together—having dinner, going to plays and musicals and the Muggle cinema. They would laugh about old times and talk about what their futures were going to be like.

They didn't talk much about the war, though: Harry didn't like to discuss it, and if ever it were brought up, he would find an excuse to leave the room. Later that night as the two of them lie awake in bed, Ginny would ask him why, why wouldn't he talk about it? He would mutter something inaudible and roll over. Once Ginny thought she made out the phrase never want to know. She couldn't make any sense of this, but she knew she shouldn't enquire further. She soon learned not to enquire at all.

When they were in public, people would look at them with gentle expressions. Harry Potter, his wife, and their two best friends. The teenagers who had saved the Wizarding World.

Occasionally someone would approach them, asking for an autograph, or for their child to have a picture taken with them. Couples who had married around the time of the first war would smile at them, remembering how the war had brought them together, how scared they had been, and how they had needed that one person to be there with them all the time.

Of course, they would think, their story is the same as ours.

Others would be smiling at the déjà vu they encountered when seeing Harry and Ginny together looking so much like James and Lily had twenty years earlier.

They were happy like that. Perfectly, wonderfully, blissfully happy.

The doorbell rang. Hermione opened her eyes to see 2:46 staring back at her in bright red. Normally she would have asked Ron to answer it, and he would have grudgingly obliged, but work had called him out of town for the weekend. She pulled on a bathrobe, slid her feet into slippers, and slowly, groggily, made her way down the stairs.

She opened the door to find Harry standing there. She could tell he was just about as awake as she was, and his wrinkled jeans and t-shirt told her he had dressed in a hurry. Instinctively, she put a finger over her lips as an indication for him to speak softly since baby Rose was asleep.

He just stood there, hands in his pockets and mouth half open like there was something he wanted to say, but he didn't know how to say it.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I…I…I…I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have come. Not now, at least."

And then he turned around and disapparated.

Hermione woke up the next morning wondering if it had all been a dream.

After they started having children, it was more like four parents raising five kids together than two separate families. True, they lived in separate houses, but there was always at least one Potter at the Weasley house and at least one Weasley at the Potter house.

The couples held as much authority over their nieces and nephews as they did their own children, and the children respected their aunt an uncle as much as they did their parents.

When they were in public, passersby often couldn't tell which of the five were siblings, and which were cousins.

They didn't have as much time for each other. Life became more about cleaning up messes and knowing who was where when and less about double dates and Quidditch matches. Marriage became more about parenting and less about romance.

Hermione and Ron had gotten into the longest argument over what to name their son. It had been agreed that Hermione would name the girls, and Ron would name the boys. Hermione hated the name Hugo. Who in the world names their kid Hugo? Hugh would have even been more acceptable! Hugo is for old, fat men.

Ron had replied that even old, fat men are children at one point. Hermione had finally given in and had come to the conclusion that Harry (who had named his second son Albus Severus) and Ron were just of a cruel kind of human who liked inflicting torture upon small children by giving them awful names.

The doorbell rang. Two-year-old Lily loved her Aunt Hermione, so Harry scooped her off the floor and carried her on his shoulders as he went to answer the door. Hermione stood on the doorstep with Rose and Hugo each holding one of her hands.

"Here are the kids! I hope they have fun!"

Lily reached her arms out for Hermione. Harry bent his knees to lean down so Hermione could lift her off his shoulders. "How is my favorite niece in the whole wide world?" Hermione asked before covering Lily's face with kisses. The little girl giggled.

Harry smiled and looked down at Rose and Hugo. "James and Albus are in the playroom. Why don't you join them?" The two toddlers let go of their mother's hands and headed to the playroom. Lily squirmed until Hermione put her down and followed running just as fast as she could to catch up. Harry looked back up at Hermione. "Do you want to stay for a few minutes? Have a cup of tea?"

"Sure."

Hermione followed Harry to the kitchen, where he set a kettle on the stove to boil. She sat at the small table while he leaned against the counter. "I've been thinking a lot," he finally said, "about the war and the kids."

"Mmhmm?"

"I know you, Ron, Ginny, and I haven't really discussed it, and I know that's mostly my fault, but when should we tell them?"

He paused, looking at her for the answer.

When she didn't respond, he continued on, "How should we tell them? I don't want them to develop the mentality that their daddy—or uncle in Rose and Hugo's case—is a huge hero and they're better than everyone because of it."

"I know, Harry." Hermione said softly.

"They're going to find out eventually, though…when they get to Hogwarts if not before. It's not as common as it was at first, but I do still get stares when I go out."

Harry paused. Hermione could tell he had more to say, so she let the silence hang.

Finally he said with quick, frustrated words, "I'm not that great, you know. Really, it was nothing. It was something that had to be done, and I was the one who had to do it. It wasn't even a proper choice."

Hermione walked over to him and placed her hand on his. "I know, Harry. Believe me, I remember." There was no annoyance in her voice, only gentle love and concern. "Have you talked to Ginny about this?"

Harry hesitated before shaking his head. "I…can't. I don't know why, but I can't ever talk about the war around her. It doesn't feel right. She wasn't there with us for most of it. She helped when it came to the action, but she never helped with the process. She never helped with what really mattered."

"She's your wife, Harry," Hermione said, giving his hand a squeeze. "She deserves to know."

"I tried. Hell, I tried when we were dating. And every time I tried, she would pay attention at first, but then quickly lose interest. I tried to tell her I'm not a hero, and she changed the subject. She wants me to be the hero. She wants to be married to The Boy Who Saved the World not to The Boy Who Kept Getting Lucky."

The tea kettle sounded, and Harry got out the teacups and poured the tea. He took a sip of his before continuing. "She used to bring it up all the time. She would bring it up, and I would try to explain, and she would change the subject. I finally stopped trying to answer, and she finally stopped asking."

Hermione set down her teacup. "You should try again. Really, Harry, that was years ago. You talk to me about it all the time. It's not fair to her."

Harry sighed and placed his teacup next to Hermione's. He placed a hand on the side of her face.

They both froze for a second thinking about how they really shouldn't be standing this close to each other.

Then they realized that they didn't really care.

"It's different with you," Harry said. "You've known all along that it was all luck."

"I'm really sorry she feels that way." Hermione whispered. And then her lips were on his.

Harry pulled her into the kiss and wondered why it had taken them so long to realize this is how it should have been to begin with—the two of them together. She had always been the one by his side. She had always been the one helping him. Even when Ron left during those long, useless days searching for the horcruxes in the forest, Hermione had stayed.

He had always considered the day in the graveyard to be one of the best days of his life, and now he knew that it wasn't just because he had finally been able to see his parents' graves and come to peace with that part of his life. It was also because it was something they had shared. Together.

They forgot how they should have been and remembered how they were when they heard a crash in the playroom followed by Rose screaming, "James knocked down my castle!"

They never discussed the kiss after that. They both figured they should put it out of their minds. They couldn't start a love affair. The press had stopped stalking Harry five years before, and they didn't need a reason for them to start following him again. Even if it hadn't been a matter of the press, they couldn't hurt the children that way.

The doorbell rang. As Hermione opened the door, the chill of October swept in. Harry stood there wearing a heavy jacket and holding two thermoses. "Do you want to go for a walk? I have hot chocolate."

Hermione smiled. "Sure, let me put on a coat and shoes."

"It's weird, you know, not having them around," Harry said as they walked through the park."

Hermione smiled. "I know what you mean. I had begun to wonder if this house would ever be quiet again. When they are here, you sometimes wish they were gone, but when they are gone, you always wish they were here."

"And you worry about them," Harry said before taking a sip from his thermos. "I always thought that was just something the mothers did, but I think about the five of them all the time. I want to write them letters and send them packages everyday, but I figure you and Ginny do enough of that to provide them with a lifetime of embarrassment."

"You're probably right," Hermione laughed. "Speaking of, I have a couple of care packages Ginny and I prepared last night for Lily and Hugo. Remind me to send them when we get back to my house."

Suddenly a hard wind blew and Hermione shivered. Harry put his arm around her. "Do you want to go back now?"

Hermione leaned into him. "No, really, I'm fine. I don't mind the cold much."

They walked in silence for a few minutes enjoying the bright yellows and oranges of autumn.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, you know."

"Yes. I know."

"And you know I know you love me?"

"Yes. I know that, too. And you know why it's too late for it to be that way, right? Why it's been too late for twenty years now?"

"Yes. I know."