A/N - This is a short one compared to most of the other chapters, but more will soon follow!
The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. Harry and Hermione maintained a professional relationship, but were rarely alone together and didn't discuss their past. That is, until Harry's second-to-last day. Harry was leaving tomorrow evening and he knew he couldn't leave without knowing what would happen next, now that they'd come back into contact.
The pair had just returned from their last facility walk-through and were headed back to Hermione's office when Branford popped into their line of vision and waved Harry into his office.
Glancing uncertainly at Hermione's retreating figure — she continued on toward her office — Harry turned and went in the direction of the Secretary instead.
"Everything going well?" Branford asked kindly. Ever since that first uncomfortable day, Branford had been more cautious and less boisterous around Harry. It made Harry much more functional.
Harry nodded. "Absolutely," he reported. "All the walk-throughs have gone well. Everything seems to be falling into place."
"Good, good," the man answered, a touch of pride in his voice. "Listen, I know there's some . . . history between you and Hermione," he said, pausing slightly before saying 'Hermione,' as if he wasn't sure what to call her, "but I'm glad you're able to work together so well. And I'm working on that portkey situation, by the way. I can't make any promises, but I am working on it."
Harry reached out and clasped the man's arm lightly. "Thank you," he said.
After Branford confirmed that Harry was, in fact, leaving tomorrow, he said an advanced farewell "in case we miss each other tomorrow" and saw Harry out of the office.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves and reboot his determination, Harry turned back around, intent on catching Hermione before she left and forcing her to have a real conversation with him.
He was intercepted two more times en route from Branford's office to Hermione's — once to sign some documents and a second time by an intern asking if he needed coffee. When he finally got to her office, she was already packing up to leave.
"Ah Harry, good," she said, not meeting his eyes but gesturing for him to enter as she moved about behind her desk. "Since everything is on track to be finished next month, I'll start preparations for the press conference. Matthew will be there, and I'm assuming President Adams will want to be there as well. International cooperation was on her platform, after all. Our team will draw up statements for you too, if that's alright."
When he didn't say anything, Hermione paused her movements and looked up at him, a questioning eyebrow raised in his direction.
"Oh, uh —" he verbally stumbled, "that's - that's fine. Yeah."
Hermione gave him a look as if to say he was acting very strangely but looked back down and finished placing items into an oversized bag.
"Alright then," she stated firmly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Last meeting!"
Hermione started to walk around the desk. Now or never, he thought.
"Hermione, wait!" She stopped and stared at him in confusion. It had gone unspoken — their decision not to talk about it — and now he was breaking that unspoken agreement. She had to have seen this coming, he reasoned.
"We need to talk about this," he told her. Hermione scratched her nose and ran her hand across her cheek: two habits Harry remembered from their time hunting Horcruxes. He shuffled nervously.
"Look, I know that I don't really know you anymore," he confessed, admitting out loud something he had come to terms with days ago. "But I want to. You were like a sister to me once. I see now how maybe that didn't translate to being the most supportive friend . . . but you were still my family." He was standing more confidently now, bolstered by the softening look on Hermione's face.
"I don't owe you my story," Hermione said softly, sounding more like a warning than a rebuke.
"I know," Harry responded, stepping closer to her. "And I'm not going to push. I just — I've spent 10 years looking for you — I sucked at it, apparently, but it's true. I'd like to get to know you . . . again . . . and I'd like for you to get to know me."
Harry stood silently as Hermione thought it over. Finally, she took a long, shaky breath and looked up at him.
"Do you have dinner plans?"
Harry smiled widely and shook his head, thankful that his speech had worked.
Draco was changing Oliver's diaper when Hermione's otter patronus appeared and announced that Harry would be joining them for dinner. He stood the 6 month old up on the table and sighed.
"You're going to keep me calm tonight, right Oliver? Can't have Mummy mad at me for being mean to Saint Potter . . . even though he is annoyingly full of himself."
Oliver giggled and patted his father's face. "I am not full of myself!" Draco argued, mocking offense. Oliver giggled even more, continuing to pat his fathers face and beginning to squirm on the changing table.
"Yeah yeah, okay," Draco said, picking up his son and carrying him out of the room. It was just around 5pm, meaning not only was it time for Oliver's dinner but Hermione would be home any minute now to feed him. When she had stopped breastfeeding earlier that month, she had insisted on being home to feed him dinner. Draco had reminded her that it wasn't necessary; Oliver was used to being bottle fed by Draco when Hermione was at work, but she insisted.
On his way down the stairs, Draco called to his other children and as he made his way into the living room, he heard the pitter-patter of small feet coming toward him from various rooms in the house.
"Daddy, can I give Verona some treats?" Miranda asked, the first one into the room, their Great Horned Owl Verona on her shoulder.
"Not too many," he said, and accoied the jar of owl treats from the kitchen while Miranda sat down on the couch. Caelum and Carina came jauntily into the living room next and eventually — with some coaxing from Draco — settled down next to Miranda and the bird.
"What's going on?" Caelum asked.
Bouncing the baby on his lap, Draco turned to address his other children. "Cammie, Carina, do you remember that man who was with Mommy at the park earlier this week?" When they nodded, he continued. "Well that man is coming over to dinner tonight and I expect you all to be on your best behavior."
"Is he nice?" Miranda asked, always inquisitive. Draco looked at her, puzzled.
"Why would we be having someone to dinner who isn't nice?" He responded seriously, trying his absolute hardest not to show his true feelings toward his childhood nemesis.
"Because you don't look happy," Miranda explained, just as seriously. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That girl knew him well, he thought proudly.
"Mr. Potter and I didn't get along when we were younger, but he was your mum's very good friend, so we're all going to be on our best behavior . . . including me." His children looked surprised when he confessed that he, too, would have to behave, but they all quickly agreed after that.
By the time the fireplace glowed the telltale green of Hermione's arrival, Draco had put the children to work setting the table and was supervising at a distance from the kitchen. From where he was fixing Oliver's meal, Draco could hear the first and then second whoosh of the fireplace, followed by the chatter of two adults walking through the house.
Picking up Oliver once again, Draco moved into the dining room in time to see Hermione and Harry walking in from the living room.
Harry took one look at the three children setting the table and laughed. "Let me guess, Hermione didn't allow house elves, so you put your kids to work?"
If he were being completely honest, Draco would admit that Harry probably meant it as a lighthearted jab. He would also admit that if Miranda and Hermione hadn't immediately interceded, Draco probably would have said something he'd regret.
With her characteristic spunk, Miranda looked Harry squarely in the face and assured him that, "Mummy does SO allow house elves. We have Louis and Flora and we love them!"
At the same time, Hermione promptly informed Harry that, "Children are just as responsible for the upkeep of their home as the elves we employ to help, and should be expected to complete developmentally appropriate tasks."
Draco hid his smile by lifting Oliver and passing him into Hermione's outstretched arms. He hated when she adopted that slightly snobby bookworm tone with him, but absolutely loved seeing it used against Harry. The problem was, he didn't want Hermione to see how much he loved it.
After instructing the kids to go wash their hands, Draco nodded in greeting to Harry and went to get Oliver's food from the kitchen. He still listened in, though, as Hermione relaxed her tone and elaborated on her response.
"Miranda had some issues with accidental magic when the twins were born," Draco could hear her saying, "The teachers at her preschool suggested giving her some specific jobs to do while at home. It worked wonders, so we've just kept it up."
There was some silence, and then Draco heard Harry apologizing. "I didn't mean — I thought it would be funny because of SPEW."
Draco quietly walked back into the dining room carrying a plastic bowl of pureed sweet potato. Hermione was sitting in her usual seat at the head of the square table, Oliver's high chair pulled up next to her. The baby was making his hunger known by banging his small fists on the tray top, but Hermione was watching Harry.
"I know," Hermione said, not bothering to correct Harry's mispronunciation of her failed elf rights organization. She took the bowl from Draco and began feeding Oliver.
Draco stood beside her, feeling a bit awkward as he stared at the other man.
Finally, Harry offered to help with whatever needed doing, which broke some of the tension, and he and Draco silently transferred the food from the kitchen tot he table.
Dinner itself was relatively uneventful, for which Draco was thankful. He could tell Hermione was nervous, though she hid it extremely well.
When Hermione apologized for the "kid friendly menu," Harry waved it off, explaining that he had two children (3 and 1) and was therefore used to it. Miranda, precocious to a fault, pestered Harry with questions about his family, his job, and his home in England. Draco was impressed that Harry was able to divide his attention equally between the children and Hermione, and chalked it up to experience (apparently there were many young children on the Weasley side).
Everything was going unexpectedly well, actually. At least, until Harry asked:
"So when will you move back to England?"
Miranda's fork clattered to the floor. Caelum and Carina looked at each other in confusion. Oliver made some extremely screechy noises and threw a glob of sweet potato onto the table. To Draco's right, Hermione started coughing violently.
Hermione finally got her breathing under control and snapped at Miranda to be quiet; Draco hadn't even realized she was talking.
"But —" Miranda argued.
"We're not moving, Miranda," Hermione assured the girl who, Draco finally realized, had been loudly protesting a potential move. "Finish your food."
Draco grew more uncomfortable as Harry began to speak again. "Hermione, I think you should at least consider —"
"We are not discussing this, Harry," she responded in the exact same tone usually reserved for her children, effectively stopping the conversation in its tracks.
They finished their meal in relative silence — Oliver's babbling and the twins' chatter couldn't really be counted. Draco, hating the tension that had resurfaced, felt slightly vindicated knowing that his daughter felt the same way about what had just happened.
Finally, the meal came to an official end. Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he escaped into the kitchen, leaving Harry and Hermione in the dining room alone. The children had been excused from the table to go play and he had offered to deal with the dishes. The adults hadn't said a word to each other since that uncomfortable exchange and Draco, trying desperately to be the bigger man, felt an intense need to be anywhere but in that room.
"It's not up for discussion, Harry," Hermione said tersely, the sounds of a continued conversation drifting through to the kitchen. Draco sighed. "And even if it were up for discussion, you don't get to have a say," she added. Draco smiled.
"Hermione, please just consider it?" Harry was begging. "We miss you."
Draco thought perhaps they had grown too quiet for him to hear from the kitchen, but when Hermione spoke again, he realized they had simply been sitting in silence.
"I think you should leave now," Hermione announced firmly.
Back in his hotel room, Harry called Ginny from the mirror.
"I screwed up, Gin," he explained sadly after telling her about the dinner. "I hate to be right about this, but I was right. She's not coming back."
Ginny scoffed, rolling over tiredly in their bed. It was, after all, quite late in England.
"Go to sleep, Harry," she told him through a yawn. "I have a plan."