A/N: A year and a half after Hermione left Ron. It is now May. She started working at Hogwarts that fall, and settled into her new position as nurse/librarian quite comfortably. The divorce finalized a few months ago. Hermione is living in a flat in London during the summers, and Harry is still at his house in Godric's Hollow.

Just to get everyone up to pace, let me clear up some things about the ages of everyone in the story at the present point.

Harry, Hermione and Ron all turn 42 this year (Ginny, 41). James just turned 17. Albus and Rose are 16 and turning-16, and Lily and Hugo are both turning 14.

Harry's POV now.

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"You'll be surprised to see how far you can go from the point where you thought it was the end."

Anonymous

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Bollocks, crumpets and dandelions. Where the hell is my lesson plan? I had it all bloody written out and everything, just two minutes ago, and now the bell's about to ring and I haven't got a clue what I'm doing next class. It's the last class of the day. I hate it when this happens. And it's Albus's class, too, heaven help me; I don't know what I'm going to do with those nutters if I don't find that plan. Bunch of little wankers. I was never half as rambunctious as they are when I was their age. It's not that they're bad, necessarily, just impossible to control, and thus impossible to teach anything. At least they're all impossible together. Al's friendship with Scorpius Malfoy has made serious improvements in Gryffindor-to-Slytherin relations over the years they've been here, because of course they're the most popular boys in their year, which I suppose shouldn't surprise me—after all, Draco Malfoy was Scorpius's father, and Ginny was Al's mother. It's in their blood to be well-liked.

Damn, damn, damn! Where is it? Papers and scrolls fly every which way as I tear apart my office looking for the stupid parchment with my plan on it. Curses! It was perfect!

Giving up temporarily, I collapse into my chair and grab a scrap piece of parchment to write on. Now, what had I been going to do? Something about curses...OH! A wide grin spreads across my face as I recall the plan. I only just got permission from McGonagall to introduce it. It's a new thing, something that hasn't ever been tried before in a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. I was going to start it with my sixth-years, but this lot is almost in sixth year, and even considering their lack of control, I think they're up to it. Not to mention, of course, that they're going to have a blast. I scribble furiously for a moment or two before deciding that I'll just wing it. There's only thirty seconds till class starts, anyway.

Brrang! And there's the bell. Okay, time to get this baby Mandrake rolling. I push my chair back and walk out into the classroom as it fills with yammering fifth-years, and I immediately start waving the desks to the sides of the room. You know what, though, I think we'll need more space than that. With another few flicks of my wand I shrink every desk to the size of my palm and stack them neatly on the ground beside the door to my office. I have their attention now.

"Bags in a pile by the door, please."

Everyone murmurs as they do so, grinning at each other expectantly. They aren't prepared for what I tell them next.

"And wands away."

"Huh?"

"Away, please, Mr. Longbottom." Neville's son Basil grumps at me under his breath. Yeah, yeah, the 'cool' professor telling you to put your wand away usually heralds as a bad thing, but not this time. This lesson won't be a lesson in the traditional sense. I'm taking a leaf out of the collective Muggle book and playing a game.

"What're we doing, Professor?" asks Scorpius, and finally, I allow myself to smile.

"Thank you for volunteering, Mr. Malfoy. If you would please go stand in the middle of the room, and everyone else stand somewhere along the sides? Thank you," I say as they all do what I tell them, Scorpius looking a mite uncomfortable. Perhaps he thinks I'm finally going to get him back for his father being a royal arse. The thought makes me want to laugh—but doing so while pointing my wand at a student? A little evil for my tastes. I clear my throat instead. "Now. Malfoy, I'd like you to stop this spell from hitting you. Stupefy!"

The jet of red light hits him full in the chest, and he falls onto the oversized pillow I conjure a split second later. The class is hushed in stunned silence for a moment, then breaks out into confused murmurs. What was the point of that? What's he playing at? I quickly Ennervate Malfoy and he sits up a tad groggily, blinking up at me. "What was that for?" he asks, and I lift one eyebrow.

"I asked you to stop the spell hitting you. You did not."

"I don't have my wand!" he protests indignantly, amid much clamour around the sides of the classroom. I sigh theatrically—here comes the good part.

"Did it ever occur to you to just...dodge out of the way?"

Malfoy stops, blinks. "Sir?"

I look around and address the whole class now. "Ladies and gentlemen, one of the only things that stopped Voldemort from killing me when I was fourteen years old is the fact that I ducked out of the way of a bunch of the spells thrown at me. I've noticed that since your generation hasn't grown up with anything more sinister than evil librarians—" there is a chuckle as the class recalls the infamous incident a couple of months ago when Hermione yelled at me in front of dozens of students for losing a library book (I found it a few days later) "—I've been seeing a lot of incidences where a defeat could have been avoided by just moving out of the way of a spell. Nobody has any practice dealing with real threats. Which, don't get me wrong, is a good thing. But if a real threat were to ever arise, well...you'd all be sitting ducks, I'm sorry to say."

"So your whole strategy was to just move around a bit? That's your big secret?" asks a Slytherin girl, disbelieving. I shake my head.

"No, I mean everyone back in wartime did it. We had to. But no one taught us to—we all had to learn it as we went along. I'm going to teach all of you—and all my classes, as a matter of fact—how to move during a fight. Duels are just that: duels. In real combat, there's no standing around and counting to three. Your opponent won't wait for you to be ready. And you have to anticipate everything he's going to do. Now, I'm going to divide you into two teams. Malfoy, go stand against the wall, please."

I number everyone off, one, two, one, two, and then tell everyone on Team A to go to one end of the classroom and everyone on Team B to go to the other end. And now I produce the bright yellow foam ball that will be the core of today's lesson.

"Right. I am going to place this ball in the middle of the room, on the floor. On my signal, everyone is going to run and try and grab it, only there's no crossing the line." I draw a black line along the centre of the room and put the ball down on it. "And whoever gets the ball—no shoving, mind—is going to throw it at someone on the opposite team and try and hit them. The goal of this game is to have as many people on your team as possible by the end. If you are hit with the ball, you go to the other team. Once the ball has hit someone or hit a wall or the floor, you can pick it up and throw it at someone. Does everyone understand the rules?" Everyone nods, looking bewilderedly at each other. "Right. Three, two, one, GO!"

Dodgeball is the greatest game that Muggles ever invented.

For the rest of the period, my fifth-years scramble around the room, throwing yellow foam balls (I conjured two more at various intervals) at each other, laughing, cheering, jeering, and having a whale of a time in general. You might say they were having a ball. Ha. Ha. My own wit kills me. The noise is such that I don't hear the knock on the classroom door that comes with five minutes left in the lesson. It takes Scorpius to notice that there's a person standing out in the hall. He jogs over to me and says, "Sir, I think there's someone knocking." Right on cue, of course, whoever it is knocks again, and I thank the boy before turning and going to the door.

Nothing in the world could have prepared me for the sight of my ex-wife standing there when I open it.

"Hi, Harry."

My jaw actually drops a little. It feels like a hole has just opened up in the bottom of my stomach and all my insides have fallen out, I'm that shocked. I blink twice. Slowly, the noise from the class behind me dies down, and now such silence falls that you could hear a pin drop. Everyone knows her face. It's a face I haven't seen in nearly three years. Her red hair has lightened a bit, and her skin isn't as pale as it used to be; she must have spent a lot of time in the south while she was in France. She's carrying a small trunk with one hand, the other crossed in front of her stomach, clutching her elbow. She bites her lip and swallows, looking awkward. I blink again. I'd forgotten how attractive she is.

"Mum?"

Oh, Merlin. Albus.

Ginny looks over my shoulder and—here I'm shocked all over again—her eyes fill with tears. "Al?" she whispers, and smiles shakily. "You...you've grown, so much."

My son—our son, I suppose, though I haven't thought of it in such terms in ages—comes and stands beside me, looking at her in just as much disbelief as I am. He's on a level height with her now. Last time she saw him he was twelve.

"I...I've got to use the toilet," he says, looking unsteady on his feet, and even as I nod he stumbles past me and takes off down the corridor at an almost-run. Ginny and I both watch him go. She's the first to turn her gaze back to me.

"Suppose I should have expected that," she murmurs wryly, as though it were an inside joke. I don't see how it's funny. Her smile dies. "Can I talk to you?"

"My class isn't over," I say stupidly, and I glance over my shoulder at the students, all frozen in place, watching wide-eyed the scene in the doorway. "There's still a few minutes left. Do...d'you mind waiting?" Ginny raises her eyebrows a fraction at me, just like she always used to do. The small action brings back a wave of irritation—and now the anger starts coming through. This woman abandoned me, her husband, and her children, almost three years ago with little to no warning, and now she wants to talk? And she's going to be snitty about it?

She sees me straighten up and immediately backs off. "No, no, that's fine. I'll just...sit out here, then." She conjures a little stool and sits herself down on it just off to the side of the door, out in the hall. It takes me a moment to close the door and turn back around to face my class.

"Are—are you okay, sir?" one girl asks timidly.

I nod. "Sorry you lot had to see that. Er...how long is there left in the period, anyway?"

"Three minutes, Professor."

I glance at Scorpius, who answered, and he gives me a look that clearly says, Are you really going to keep us here?

No, I don't think so. "Right. Off you go, then. Collect your bags and things. No homework, just make sure you keep reviewing for your O.W.L.'s." There's a hushed level of excited murmurs at the 'no homework' announcement and the getting out of class early. There are a lot of furtive looks cast my way as they leave. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them lingered outside the room, hoping to catch a bit of the obviously imminent drama that's about to unfold in here.

All too soon the classroom's empty, and I go to the door and look down at her. "Come in, then."

She does. I don't know whether to sit or offer her a seat or just cross my arms and glare. She doesn't look much like she knows what to do either; she's sort of looking around at the room and not saying anything.

"You wanted to talk, talk," I say after a while, and she glances sidelong at me.

"Well...hi."

I pause for a moment to let her continue but she says nothing else. "That's it? Just 'hi'? You came a thousand miles back from France just to say hello? I'm not well pleased with you at the current time, I must say, so speak your piece before I lose my temper, please."

"Harry..." She spreads her arms out towards me in a pleading motion. "Hear me out, please. I'm back. For good. I transferred back to the English Ministry; I couldn't be away from...all of you any longer."

My mind reels in shock. Merlin. This woman. If there's any one person in the world who can turn my life upside down in an instant, it's her. She, to her credit, doesn't take a step closer or bat her eyes or look balefully up at me. She just stands there looking honest and open and...well, sorry. I shake my head—to clear it, not in any rejection—and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to think. "Gin, you can't seriously expect to just walk back into our lives, can you?" Not without some considerable explaining on her part, some heavy apologizing, and, I dunno, maybe buy me a dragon. Sounds about fair. Maybe walk through a field. That's on fire. In bare feet.

"I know," she says—though it's more of a miserable little moan—and, turning, she walks over to a window and stares out at the sunshine. It seems like it would be more appropriate if it were a really gloomy day outside. I suppose if I was feeling better about Ginny in general I'd appreciate the sun, but as it stands, I really wish she was still in France. My life would be a lot less complicated. And I thought I'd never say that.

Huh. That's actually strange. The past three years I've been wishing to myself over and over that she'd never left, and telling myself it was all my fault and I'd undo it if I could, if only to spare the kids the trauma of her leaving...and now here she is, and all I can think is that I wish she was anywhere else. I thought I forgave her. I thought I'd decided it was my fault and I drove her away, and the pain of her abandonment was still there but was tempered by the fact that I felt she'd had no other option but to leave. I spent three years trying to figure out how to tell her I'm sorry. And now she's here. And I'm just angry.

"Please believe me when I tell you that I regretted it a week after I left," she says quietly. "I wanted to come home. But I couldn't transfer back—I was the Department Head, and I had to find someone who could replace me and all, but I didn't know anyone there of course, and before I knew it a month had gone by and by then I'd seen the state of things over there. Harry, it's awful," she says, turning her face towards me. Her eyes are shiny with tears again, surprising me. "It was just terrible. There were Dark wizards practically running the country. The Ministry was a joke. We couldn't do anything. Half the Aurors were corrupt, but I had no bloody clue who, or who they worked for, or what have you. People were living in fear, Harry—fear for their lives. And I had no idea..."

This stuns me. "But it's France. It's not exactly a third-world country, Gin."

She waves a hand helplessly at me. "I don't know how it got to be so bad. I think it all just went downhill after Grindelwald's war back in the forties. I guess France never recovered. I don't know, Harry, but it was just awful, seeing all the corruption there...and the poor stupid Muggles, of course, have no idea that their own country's rotted from within, they don't know why their neighbours in the silly clothes are so frightened of the slightest shadow."

"How come nobody ever mentioned it? The Beauxbatons students seemed alright, didn't they? Back in—"

"I know, Harry!" she snaps. My brow furrows. "Nobody ever told me, either! But it's happening! There was only so much I could do in three years, too—there's still so much to be done, to help them, and I don't know that my successor will do a good enough job of it...but I couldn't stay there any longer, Harry, I couldn't. I...I missed my old life. I miss it."

Now she takes a step closer, blinks her eyes a bit, and looks balefully up at me through her lashes. Damn woman. Who does she think she is?

Brrang!

The interruption of the bell seems to snap her out of whatever she was doing. There's a muffled hubbub of noise from the corridor as all the students of Hogwarts flow out of their classes and into the halls, chattering happily because it's the end of the day and it's gorgeous outside. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Ginny turns back to the window, tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear and sighs. I drag my fingers back through my own hair in aggravation. What the hell is she doing back here?

Just as I'm about to ask her exactly that, the door bursts open and noise floods in. We both turn to look. James, Albus and Lily are all standing in the open doorway, the first and last looking utterly shocked.

"I told you," says Al, and then Ginny bursts into tears.

"James, Lily," she manages to get out through the waterworks. "You—you've grown so much—so handsome, and so beautiful, I—I'm so sorry I left, I've missed you all so very, very much—" She holds out her arms, and there is a pregnant, extremely awkward pause where all three teenagers hesitate. One by one, their eyes flick to me, as if looking for approval or permission. Well, she is their mother. I nod. Lily is the first to cross the room and let Ginny hug her; the other two follow, almost reluctantly. Over Lily's head I see Ginny look at me with a hint of resentment, the old bitterness that I'm more of their parent than she is rising to the surface. Too bad. She left them. They're mine.

They step up to her one by one and give her the hugs she wants, looking solemn and stunned. Ginny holds them with a fierce tightness. I think she's trying to squeeze them into hugging her back properly, but they don't want to. I feel sorry for her despite myself. If my own children didn't want to see me...I—I couldn't live.

Ginny turns to me with tears streaked down her face, eyes openly pleading. "Could...I have a moment with them? Please, Harry, it's all I ask." I shrug, a little uncomfortable.

"Ask them, not me," I say with a bit more gruffness than I intended. Must be something in my eyes; they're stinging behind my glasses. This is ridiculous. "If they don't mind then it's alright."

She looks hurt. Again, too bad. What, is the thought that her abandoned children might not want to talk to her after three years of nothing too hard for her to accept? No, I'm being harsh...if it was me...but I would never have left them in the first place.

Albus shrugs. Lily nods, and James puts an arm around her. The protectiveness I see in that small action reminds me of how Ron used to get about Ginny when we were all their age. I'm hit by a sudden memory, so strong that I miss the next thing Ginny says.

"Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?"

I glanced up. Ron was standing there looking awkward and determined. I nodded. "Sure. What's up?"

After a moment of trying to decide how to start, Ron finally asked, "Are you and Ginny back together, then? I mean I saw you two walking in the grounds earlier, and you seemed pretty cozy, but I don't want to assume anything, or anything...but if you're dating her again, mate, you'd better tell me, 'coz I have to know who to throttle if she comes cryin' to me."

I tried not to grin, only because Ron looked so dead serious. Then I thought about it—really thought about it—and the silly grin at Ron's over-concern turned into a serene smile. I nodded a second time. "Yeah, we're dating again. And you have full permission to throttle me if I mess it up this time. I'm not going to, though, mate. I'm serious about her."

Ron turned a Vernon-like shade of red in embarrassment. "Yeah, well," he muttered, and half-turned away. "Er, good." He hurried out of the library. I chuckled to myself. I hadn't been lying. Just the thought of her face, surrounded by that mane of gleaming red hair...I loved her already.

I snap back to the present when Ginny, sounding as if she's repeating the question, asks, "So? Could I have a moment?"

"Oh—yes. Go on then, you can use my office."

The four of them—my family; dysfunctional and broken, but my family—head in there and close the door behind them. I'm left alone to think. Might as well put the time to good use. It's the work of but a minute to put back all the tiny chairs and desks where they ought to be, restore them to their proper size, pull up one and sit down. I've got some serious thinking to do. Ginny's back—for good, she says—and I have no idea what to do with her. I get the feeling she's expecting me to, I dunno, take her in or something. She can't very well have a flat already. She's still carrying her trunk, for Merlin's sake. Does she honestly think I'm going to just say, 'Hey, yeah, you can have our old room at home—I'll sleep on the couch in the summer'? Or...does she expect us to share the bed?

If she does, she's sadly mistaken. I wouldn't go so far as to assume she's going to try and seduce me into rekindling our marriage. That's just ridiculous. She's a smart woman. She has to know that's never going to happen. Not even if I could erase the kids' memories of the past three years, and plant false memories of happiness in their minds. It's taken me this long, perhaps, but I'm realizing...as I think about it...Ginny and I don't work well together. At all.

She's inconsistent. One minute she'd be yelling at me for spoiling James, the next she'd be holding him and cooing that no, of course he didn't have to take his present back. She'd tell Albus that he couldn't go to Diagon Alley because she was too busy to take him, and the next day she'd go with Lily and forget to tell him. It's like she never got older. She still acts like she's a teenager, and the kids don't need a teenager, or a friend; they need a mother. I don't know how they turned out such good people. Heaven knows it couldn't have been our parenting.

...I was about to ask myself how they've lived without a proper mother figure, but...Hermione, I realize, has been that for them. Especially since Ginny left, but before then as well. Who did they go to when she was gone and I was too distraught to help them? Hermione. It was always her.

It's always been her.

Why am I such a stupid git? I just realized something—I never connected the memory I just relived with what happened right after it. There I was, sitting smug in the library, having just told Ron I was serious about his little sister, and then I heard someone crying—of course, it was Hermione, a few aisles down, who when I asked what was wrong just babbled something about having missed her chance. I always thought she meant she'd missed her chance to say goodbye to Fred or Remus, or Tonks, or something. She was talking about me, goddammit. What the hell is the matter with me? How come I never see these things until—years later, when it's far too late to do anything about it? What is my PROBLEM?

She was in love with me since the war, she told me when we were twenty-eight. That night in her kitchen. It all comes down to that night in her stupid bloody kitchen. It's the closest I've been to her in the past what, thirteen years? Fourteen years? How old am I? Let's see, almost forty-two, so...yes, almost fourteen years now. Jumping gnomes, that's a long time. I feel old.

I love her just as much now as I did then.

No—that's a lie. More, now. God, I can hardly remember living without her...way back before I knew I was a wizard, when I thought I was doomed to a life of the Dursleys, before I turned eleven years old. It's such a strange and distant time to me now. Anyway, it was a load of bollocks, being Muggleish and living with them and not doing any magic...but most of all, I didn't have Ron or Hermione, and that, above all else, sucked.

I don't see Ron nearly enough anymore. I should invite him out here to grab a drink at the Three Broomsticks one weekend, for old time's sake. I think I will. I'll have to remind myself to owl him later. The only damper I see on that reunion would be the fact that he would ask, 'What's up?', and I'd have to either lie or tell him that just as I thought I might be getting to a point with his ex-wife, Hermione, where I could finally justify being with her, my ex-wife, his formerly estranged sister, suddenly wants back in all our lives. And then there would be this long and awkward silence, and then Ron would resurface from his Firewhisky and go, 'Sorry? Wasn't listening, mate, could you repeat that last?'

And I'd have to kill myself.

Damn it all to hell and back. I'm being selfish. I shouldn't be thinking just about myself and my frustrations; this is about the kids, now, and how this is going to work for them what with Ginny being back and all. We'll need to figure out a schedule or something. Weekends at her place during the summer; Christmas with me, Easter with her, or something like that. Arrangements. Splitting their time between us. Though she doesn't deserve to see them at all, and if I had any say in the matter, she wouldn't—but I'm going to leave it all up to them. However much they want to see her will be what happens. Hell, saves me the effort of deciding how much I want to allow. I think I'll let them work it out on their own. Be a good practice in diplomacy if nothing else. For them I mean. But I suppose me as well.

I'm babbling in my own mind. I don't even know if what I'm thinking makes sense anymore, much less what I'm saying. Augh...hell and biscuits. How much time has gone by? I glance over at the clock on the far wall—it's a quarter past four. They've been in there for over an hour now, then. I wonder what they're talking about.

Suddenly I'm aware that the level of their voices has changed. Oh, no. Someone probably said something—I suspect Albus, he's the hothead—and now there's yelling, should I go in there? Should I just let them work it out and not interfere? Damn it, what's the right thing to do? Where's Hermione when I need her!

The door to my office bursts open and Al storms out in a fury, slamming it shut behind him. I stand up. "What happened?"

He glares at me. "I am not going to see her, I don't care if I'm a bad son because she was a bad mother first and she can just deal with it!" he snarls. I hold out an arm to block him from walking out the door. "Let me go!"

"What happened?" I repeat, and he takes a few deep breaths to calm down before speaking.

"Mum called Lily an underachiever 'cause she hasn't been doing so great in some of her classes, and Mum thinks it's because she's not trying hard enough. I told her where she could bloody stick it. Lily's crying now 'cause we all started yelling. I hope Mum's happy!" he says, yelling the last sentence so that the others could hear him in the office. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay, calm down," I say, but my heart is pounding with resentment. I find myself wholeheartedly in agreement with my son. How dare Ginny come back and within the first hour, almost, reduce our daughter to tears with some snide comment on her marks, when she hasn't been a part of Lily's life since she even started school? My blood boils at the thought. Damn her!

Al looks up at me and sees the anger in my face, and actually relaxes a little. I suppose he feels better that I'm not going to upbraid him for cursing at his mother. In fact, I think he may have been justified. He could very well of course be exaggerating things, but I tend to gravitate towards his side of an argument between him and Ginny. Seeing as how she left us with little to no explanation three years ago and we've had no word since. Did I mention that I was upset by that?

"You shouldn't have married her," he mutters under his breath.

What?

Never did I think I would live to see the day when one of my children would condemn his mother like that. I turn to him, frowning, and he ducks his head. But he's still scowling. "Don't say that, Al."

"Why? Because it's disrespectful? I think she's been disrespectful enough for both of—"

"No, because if I hadn't, I never would have had any of you," I say, giving him a look. He crosses his arms. "And besides, we were very happy together in our youth, though that doesn't necessarily cross over into the present."

"How come you got married so young anyway, Dad?" he asks sullenly, and I'm a little stung, I admit. "Seems stupid to me. Sure you liked each other well enough then, but everyone knows teenagers are dumb when it comes to love and stuff."

It's very strange hearing a teenager say that. "You're aware that you're a teenager."

"Yeah, and I'm not about to go off and get married to my first girlfriend, because that would be dumb!"

Second. Second girlfriend. But that's beside the point—and he's right. It's a silly wizarding tradition. I suppose I felt that since my parents had married almost right out of Hogwarts, I could too. A thought suddenly occurs to me, and shocks me to the core. My parents were only twenty-one when they died. What if they hadn't been right for each other in the end, either? Ginny and I were happy for a few years, but then the glow faded, and reality set in. We weren't made for each other. If my parents had lived, would they have stayed married? Would it have affected my decision to marry early? Maybe if I'd had their example I would have made different choices.

I rest my forehead in one hand and close my eyes. "I'm sorry."

Albus looks confused. "You're sorry?"

"My 'dumb teenage decisions' probably ruined your lives—yours, Lily's and James's. I...I just never imagined, back then, that there would be a day when I woke up and wished I wasn't lying beside my wife. And I'm sorry for that."

Al's quiet for a minute or so. I sit down on one of the desks and rake my hair out of my eyes. Even cut shorter than I had it in school, it manages to flop forward into my face. What the hell am I going to do? I can't deal with this.

"Did...you ever wish it was somebody else?"

"Huh?" Ah, I'm so eloquent.

"I mean was there, er, anybody else? You would have...considered? If you and Mum fell through?"

"That's an odd question. You know I would never be unfaithful, even to your mother," I say admonishingly, but with a teasing note at the end. Al doesn't appear reassured.

"I don't mean cheating, I just...you never, y'know, thought about anyone else? Like a—a backup?"

I chuckle despite myself. "Al, you don't need a backup when you're already married."

"You're not answering me, Dad."

Hold on. How much does he know? What is this? Has Hermione been talking? No, what am I saying, of course she hasn't, but how else—he couldn't have figured it out on his own. I love the boy to death, but relationships are as much of a mystery to him as they were to me at that age, and I know for a fact that he could not have figured this out by himself. No, there's more to this. Who else knows? Who...what if they all know? Lily's devious enough to have sent Al as a delegate to try and catch me out. Well, I just won't tell him anything. Good for nothing, evil little teenagers. How dare they?

I look him right in the eye and raise one eyebrow. "Exactly what are you implying?"

"Exactly what are you denying?"

That rhymed. I wonder if it was intentional. I fold my arms across my chest and raise the eyebrow higher. "Albus Potter, what is going on here? You be straight with me, or there'll be trouble." The flash of guilt that steals over his face for a moment gives him away. Aha! I grin in triumph. "Well?"

"Er...nothing. I was just, just wondering. Casually." He shifts his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. Good lord, I hope I'm a better actor than he is. I lean forward—and he cracks, putting his hands up. "Nothing! It was just a stupid idea!"

"What was?"

The door to my office opens, and Al and I turn to look. James and Lily, his arm slung around her shoulders, come out first, with Ginny trailing behind. "Don't you think that would be a good idea?" she's saying, but James and Lily don't even turn around. A significant glance is exchanged between Lily and Al. I suspect she's in on it, whatever they're trying to do. Devious girl. And I bloody taught her everything she knows. "Harry, help me out here," Ginny says, sounding exasperated. "I'm trying to get them to see the bright side of all this. At least I'm back, right? I'm not asking for much, here. I just want to be a part of your lives again—Lily, James, stop walking away when I'm talking to you!"

Unbelievable. She's acting like she never left. Surely she realizes that they're all rational, thinking people now—not the children she abandoned, but teenagers that she once betrayed. They won't just fall back into the old swing of things, they can't! James is especially smart beyond his years, he won't...damn it all, I bet he's in on it too! Why am I cursed with such devious and intelligent children? Well, I suppose it's a mixed blessing more than a curse. On the upside, they'll see right through Ginny's tricks, like I should have when I was their age. No, that's unfair. She didn't know any better than I did what we were getting ourselves into. The downside, anyway, is that now I have to figure out what they're plotting against me (or for me?).

I sigh and suddenly I'm sick and tired of these games. A wave of silliness rises up inside me, overflowing. I touch two fingers to each of my temples and say in a low monotone, "Chil-dren. Lis-ten to your fa-ther." I sound like one of Dudley's old cartoon robots. Goodness, my childhood was a long time ago...but Lily laughs, and even Al cracks a smile. The tension is broken. "Do the three of you mind waiting here while I talk to your mother for a moment?"

They nod, and Ginny—grumbling and frustrated—follows me back into my office. I sit down behind my desk as she settles herself in the chair across from me, looking bothered.

"So. You really think it's a good idea to come back out of the blue and spring that on us, and expect—within hours—them to want to come up with a viable, reasonable visiting schedule? Just like that? That's something to be worked out over weeks! Months, even!"

"Visiting? Well, I thought maybe—"

"I can't let you stay in my house, Ginny. I'm sorry. Molly and Arthur will be more than happy to put you up until you find a place, I'm sure. Or Ron, even." Best to be frank and honest.

"No—I know," she says, colouring a bit. "I know you don't want anything to do with me, Harry."

"Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Well, you obviously don't!"

"Just because I don't want to live with—? Ginny Weasley, for Merlin's sake, I don't think we can have a rational conversation right now. We're both emotional and we'll just end up saying things we regret. I think you should leave, and I'll Floo you at some point this week. Owl me to let me know where you end up staying. You know where I am."

Ginny shoves away from the desk and gets abruptly to her feet. "You know, Harry, you're just as stubborn as when I left. I'm trying to make peace here! I'm trying to be a good mother to my children—"

Bit late for that, now, isn't it? "What you need to do is slow down. I'm sorry if this is coming as a shock to you" —though I don't see why it should be— "but it's unrealistic to expect to be able to jump right back into things," I say, keeping my voice as even as I can. My temper, however, is rising. She is so frustrating. Why doesn't she see? Is it some personal case of entitlement gained from being the youngest, favourite child out of seven? How can she really be this self-centered? Some people, it is my theory, are born without the compassion gene. Or the thinking gene.

"I feel quite betrayed right now, Harry," she's saying. "I feel like I've spent the last three years working hard to give back to the world, and now that I'm home, my children have been turned against me. I could hold you up in court for that, it's illegal, you know!"

Now I stand up. It's pointless to remind her of her ungrounded abandonment. Pointless to wave the divorce papers in her face and tell her she can't make us forget the pain of the last three years; futile to point out the fact that she left me full custody of them when she left. She knows all that—she's a smart woman; she's just blinded, right now, by homesickness and apparent regret, and she's not thinking clearly. It's not her fault. "Ginny, please. The kids are probably listening to every word we're saying."

Her eyes flash. "Damn it, Harry, is that what you were doing while I was in here with them? Eavesdropping?"

I sigh. There really is no reasoning with her. I don't want to call her irrational to her face. That's just a recipe for disaster. "Please, try to see my side of this. I have a lot of work to do right now and I think we all need to calm down before we can sit down and have a reasonable discussion about how things are going to work." Isn't that fair? Aren't I justified in saying it?

Ginny opens her mouth to snap back at me, then pauses, breathing heavily. Thank Merlin. Maybe she's feeling how worked up she is. With all these emotions running high, we'd never get anything decided. I nod at her, acknowledging her realization. Ginny nods curtly back and—her hand shaking just a little bit—tucks her hair behind her ears in a gesture so achingly familiar that it hurts. The separation hurts. The abandonment hurts. The looks on my children's faces when they see me hurting, hurts. Everything hurts. God, how did this happen? How did everything in my life fall apart? Why did I think it was ever okay to drive Ginny so far away from my heart that she felt her only option was to leave her entire life behind to martyr herself in a foreign country? God, I've been so busy being hurt and righteously angry that I never gave any thought to how much it must have hurt her not to see her family—and the Weasleys are so close-knit, always have been—for so long. Because of me. Because I drove her to it. Because I'm a monster.

Maybe Ginny sees the sudden empathy in my face, maybe she's just emotional herself, I don't know, but suddenly she's blinking back tears. Merlin, how I hurt her. Sure, she chose a stupid way to leave and didn't even keep in contact with her own mother, but whose fault is it that she left in the first place, anyway? Mine. God. I hate myself. I ruined our marriage. She acted, but I provoked her. How long did she think I was having an affair with someone? Hermione or not, I was distant, I was mean, I was a despicable bastard and a terrible husband and I don't know that I'll ever be able to redeem myself.

Stupid.

"Gin," I start to say, but my voice cracks. Seems like there's an ocean-sized gulf in the few feet between us. She looks at me across the desk. "I'm sorry."

There is a silence. I don't know that there's much more I can say.

"I'm...sorry too." She dabs at her eyes. "We were both probably pretty dumb, huh?" she adds, and I manage to smile a little. I nod. "I don't know if I can forgive you." She looks me right in the eye as she says it. "I'm fairly stubborn. I hear that's just how redheads are."

I chuckle and squeeze my eyes free of stray tears. "I've heard that too." We both nod again, and pause. What happens now?

"Well, I shouldn't take up any more of your marking time," she says, trying valiantly to be brisk and businesslike. She moves to the door. "I'll just tell the kids goodbye and head over to my parents' place. I've missed them—" she breaks off as a flood of tears bursts forth at the thought of, I assume, seeing her mother at last after three years. I nod in what I hope is an encouraging manner. "I'll—I'll be seeing you, Harry—owl me and we'll—set up a time to—Floo about the k-kids and v-visiting and all—"

With a slightly jarring slam of the door, she's gone. In a panic not to show me she was crying, I think. I collapse into my chair after a moment and bury my face in my hands. What a hellish afternoon. First I lost my lesson plan, then GINNY shows up at my bloody classroom door, and now she wants back in our lives—Merlin, I need a drink.

A few minutes later there's a tentative knock on the door to my office. "Come in," I groan.

Lily pokes her head through. "She left."

I nod and wave her in. Lily's followed by Al and James, the latter of whom closes the door behind him. I rub my eyes once more and clasp my hands together on the desk, looking at them. "Well. That went well."

James snorts. "Oh, definitely."

"I wish I were a little kid again," Lily mutters. I frown. Odd.

"Why's that?"

"Because then I'd be justified if I said, 'Daddy, this doesn't make any sense.'"

A heavy sigh escapes me. "C'mere, Lils." She does. I wrap my arms around her as she sits down on my lap, like she did when she was young, and she leans her head against my shoulder and sniffles. Poor girl.

"She said I was stupid," she mumbles, her voice muffled. I stiffen in anger.

"She what?"

"Not really, Lily," James amends. He's leaning against the closed door, arms folded over his chest. "Not in as many words, anyway."

"She might as well have," Al growls from where he's standing over by the window. "Underachiever," he mutters under his breath. "What bollocks. What a bitch."

"Al!" I say reproachfully. He glares down at his shoes and mutters an apology that we all know he doesn't mean. What am I going to do with these three? How can I make them see that it's not all Ginny's fault—and convince them that it's in their best interests to have a relationship with their mother? I may personally not want them to see her, but I can't argue with fact: it would be better for them to visit her on at least a semi-regular basis than to never see her at all. They've had enough of that over the past three years, and it's healthy for youths to have two parents. I sigh again. "Look. All of you," I say, and both James and Lily look up at me. "I think you should all spend a couple of weeks with your mother over the summer holidays. Not too long; maybe one week in July and one in August, and that's it. You're all still in my custody, after all, and that's probably what's best, all current feelings aside."

"I'm of age," James reminds me. "My birthday was last month."

"You're still living in my house, and that means my rules." He knows I have him there, and grudgingly nods.

"Fine."

"Al? Lily?"

My daughter nods against my shoulder, and when I look over at Al I see him hesitate—then kick his heel against the wall in frustration and nod as well. Thank Merlin that's decided. I'll owl Ginny at her parents' place tonight about it. God, what a mess.

"I'll have you know I'm going under protest, and only because I have to," Al grumbles. I smile faintly in acknowledgment.

After a few long moments of silence, James says thoughtfully, "You know, while she was gone, I was angry she left—but I always sort of wanted her back, right, of course we all did...but now that she's here...I can't say I'm really...all that excited about seeing her, to be honest."

Al nods fervently in agreement. "Yeah, definitely. I know what you mean. I couldn't believe it when I saw her—the nerve, eh, showing up right in your class like that, Dad? After everything?"

"I don't know how to feel," Lily sighs unhappily. "Angry, sad, happy she's back, but not really...I dunno."

"It's confusing, I know," I say, trying to comfort her. I shift my legs—one has started to fall asleep from her sitting on my lap—and she wobbles a bit. "Sorry." She's frowning now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, but the guilt overlaying her voice is such that I don't believe her for a minute. I lift an eyebrow. "It's just—I feel bad saying it, but—I feel like I should be happy she's back, but I'm not. Or not as much as I thought I would be. Should be. You know? Urgh...I was happier to see everyone at Christmas than I am to have Mum back," she admits, looking shamefaced. "Maybe I'm a horrible person."

"Don't be daft, of course you're not," Al says impatiently. "That's what we're all saying, isn't it?"

"You're not a bad daughter, Lily," I say in a soft voice, and she hugs me.

"Yeah. It's Mum who's been the bad mother." I'm mildly surprised to hear James chiming in to agree with Al on this one. Much as I myself might agree just as wholeheartedly, I don't think it's best for them to be quite so united in being set against her.

"Now, that's not fair," I begin—and all three of my children turn and give me exactly the same disparaging look.

Alright, well, you can't fault me for not trying.

"I still say you'd have done better not marrying her in the first place," says Al defiantly. Lily looks askance at him.

"Al, how can you say that? She's still our mother!"

"And then we wouldn't be alive, too," James adds. My point exactly. He glances at me as if for approval, or confirmation, and I nod slightly. Al juts his chin out and retorts that he still thinks it was a mistake for me to go after Ginny; Lily defends her, and I find my mind drifting a little as the three of them argue. This is all so mad. I wish...well, to be perfectly honest with myself, I really do wish Hermione were here. Everything seems clearer around her. Except my feelings, of course. Hell. Even though it's been a year and a half since she left Ron—and kissed me on the cheek, and I'm still stunned about that, and the memory still gives me hope—and she's been working here at Hogwarts for months, I'm still finding it hard to control myself around her.

I mean...childishly, I suppose, I thought something might have happened between us by now. Hoped that it would. But it's been ages. Suppose she doesn't feel the same way anymore? She must not. She can't be unaware of my feelings, at any rate. I as much as told her right out that I'm still in love with her, that day in my office when she and Ron came to tell everyone they were separating. Surely she remembers that bit of information. So why hasn't she done anything? The only reason I can think of is that she just doesn't want to—maybe after all these years, all it took was her leaving Ron to realize that I wasn't the one who could make her happy in the end. Maybe the whole attraction for her was that it was forbidden. I'll admit that the thought has crossed my own mind, but continuing to be in her company over the past school year, I've come to fully realize that it's not at all true. I love her more than ever. And, perhaps naively, I thought she felt the same way, but now it's been this long, and...nothing. I'm afraid to accept it. I can't. I don't know what I'd do. I have to believe that there's still hope.

"Dad!"

I blink, and return to the present. Lily's looking expectantly at me as James and Al stare coolly at each other. "Sorry, yes?"

"Aren't you going to say something? Haven't you been listening?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Dad," says Al, with an edge to his tone. "James here just suggested we might be better off if Mum had never left, and I think that's a load of crap. Where would we be, then, eh? Mum and Dad'd still be fighting all the time, they'd barely see each other now he works here all year round, and they'd like as not have split by now anyway!"

Ouch. It hurts to hear that, the ring of truth in my son's words stinging painfully. Was it really always that plain that Ginny and I were headed downhill?

"Well, by that logic, he might as well just go for Aunt Hermione," James says with a sneer—and my blood runs cold.

There is no way that normal children—teenagers even—will ever consider what they might classify as incest (even if it's not—Hermione and I both married into the Weasleys, obviously). Kids just don't think about that as an option. When you're young, you never stop and think to yourself, 'Hey, I wonder if my father is really in love with my aunt?' Family is family. Period. It just never presents itself in their minds. I'm good with children. I know.

Which means that for James to make a remark like that, even offhandedly, the idea must have somehow been made clear to him. Something outside his self consciousness must have alerted him to the possibility—something so glaringly obvious that he couldn't ignore it—which means that I've let it slip accidentally somehow, been so obvious about it that even my son could see it. Maybe others can, too. Maybe everyone knows. Maybe I've been killing myself over what I thought was a secret, and meanwhile everyone I know has been laughing at me, or despising me...Ginny knew. Ginny was always the jealous sort, but I think she really knew that I was in love with Hermione. Good Merlin preserve...

All that thought took about five seconds. I look hard at my oldest son, who noticeably does not meet my gaze. Al is quiet—everyone is quiet—too quiet—the comment about Hermione, likely intended as a throwaway retort, has shut everyone up for some reason, and it's going on too long, they'll all start actually thinking about what James has said—

"That's enough, boys." My voice is calm, authoritative. My professor voice. James and Al both glare sullenly at the floor. "I know this situation is upsetting. Maybe we all need a breather, and then we can talk more about it once everyone calms down."

"We're fine—"

"Albus," I say quietly, and he stops. "I mean me as well. I think we all need a few minutes. Why don't the three of you take your school things up to the dormitories, and then come back down here? Would that be acceptable?"

"Yeah," says James, pushing away from the door and picking up his bag off the floor by his feet. "C'mon, guys."

Lily gives me another hug and then hops off my lap to collect her things. I hear the three of them burst into animated chatter as the door closes behind them, and I drop my face into my hands for a moment. Bollocks! What a bloody great mess! I can't believe she's back—how in the hell am I going to keep my head on straight, with exam season fast approaching? And as if I hadn't had enough on my mind already, what with Hermione being so bloody perfect that I can't keep my eyes off her even in front of other people, and now James knows something—and Al knows something—good lord, maybe that's what he was being sneaky about earlier! Sweet baby Merlin. They are all in on it. Lily giving Al that look after he tried to interrogate me, James talking about Hermione—

It almost seems as if they're trying to get me to admit it. For what purpose, though? I highly doubt they're that...mean, to want me to accidentally reveal my feelings so that they can...I don't know, get mad at me without me being able to deny it? Who knows? If I'm so good with children, why am I completely blind to what's going on with my own offspring?

A strange thought crosses my mind. What if they're trying to match-make? Not that it's likely. It's just a thought, however stupid. It could be possible. Though I doubt, again, that my life could work out so perfectly like that. Things like that don't happen in real life. Not to real people. There's no such thing as a real happy ending. I don't know why we teach our children that 'happy endings' are something to strive for, when it doesn't ever happen. Ugh. How depressing.

I have to do something physical and take my mind off all this. With a grunt, I push back my chair and start pacing the length of my office, back and forth, back and forth for a few long minutes, until the movement becomes so automatic that I can think while doing it. Okay. Got to focus. Which weeks during the summer should I allot for the kids to go stay with Ginny? Should I ask her? Will it matter? Will she resist and be a world-class bitch about it and try to be difficult and—no, stay calm, it's not her fault, she was just emotional today and so am I. It's fine. Doesn't matter. We're both adults. She'll be fine with it. She can't expect much more, really, all things considered. She's lucky I'm even giving her two weeks with them.

So. Maybe...the second-to-last week of July, and then the second week of August, or something. Three weeks with me, one with her, two with me, one with her, and two with me. Nine weeks of summer. Sounds good to me.

While I have a few minutes on my hands, I should send her an owl. I know she only left a little while ago but I'm sure she's Apparated to Molly and Arthur's house by now. I spend the next ten minutes or so scratching out rude words that I've written into the letter, and then make a good copy; I'll take it up to the Owlery tonight. The rough draft gets shoved into a drawer to be forgotten until a later point, when I'll pull it out and depress myself by reading it. Why do I do the things I do?

Now, a knock on my door. That was quick. I didn't think those three could have made it to Gryffindor Tower and back so fast. "Yes, one minute," I call as I put away the quill and inkwell, and look around despairingly for a hand towel to wipe my smudgy fingers off on.

"Harry?"

The door creaks open—and Hermione peeks in, clutching a pile of books to her chest. I just about fall over. Has she heard already?

"Is this a bad time?" she asks contritely, and starts to back away, but I wave her in.

"No, no, of course not—what's, er—how're you? How's your day going? Fine weather, eh?" Damn it, I'm rambling. Hermione gives me a very strange look. "I'm just expecting—James and Al and Lily were just taking their things, we're having a family meeting—er, it's all very, hmm..."

"Oh! Oh, I won't intrude, then," she says, smiling warmly, and turns to go. At the door, she stops, though, and looks at me over her shoulder. "Are you quite alright? Has something happened?"

I open and close my mouth like a fish for a few seconds before sagging hopelessly. I must look a right idiot. "I thought the gossip must have spread through the school by now," I sigh, and drop back into my chair. I look up at her through helpless eyes. "Ginny's back."

In the following silence, a quill dropping would have sounded like a firecracker. I watch as Hermione's eyes grow wider and wider—and she promptly drops the stack of books she was holding.

"Oh, my god. Are you serious?"

I nod, burying my face in my hands. "She interrupted my last class of the day, Albus's class. He...didn't take it well."

"Oh, Harry..." she breathes, coming over to the desk.

"He ran out and got Lily and James, and I let the class out early and, er, we talked a bit. I let her talk to the kids for maybe an hour. She wants—she wanted—she wants back in our lives, says she's transferred back to the British Ministry; I think she rather expected a warmer welcome than she got, to be honest, and I'm not entirely sure but it seemed like she almost expected us—that is, she and I—to jump right back into things, sort of where we left off, you see. It was bit awkward."

"I imagine so. She's back, then? Really? Oh, my god...after all this time..." she says, half to herself, dragging her fingers back through her hair. My eyes can't help but follow the motion. I want to be the one smoothing her hair out of her eyes when she's stressed. It's all I've wanted for years. I still haven't touched her since the day she and Ron told everyone they were separating; she kissed me on the cheek and I just about died on the spot. I've held myself back better since then.

"Yes. She's gone now," I say miserably, "but she could never resist making a scene. She'll be back by the end of the week, most likely. Anyway, the kids and I were just talking, and it got a bit heated—Al's all for cutting her out entirely, Lily thinks we should give her a chance, and I have no bloody idea where James stands. One minute he's agreeing with Al, saying Ginny was a terrible mother, the next minute he's saying we all would've been better off if she'd never left." I rake my own hair out of my face. Is it strange that Hermione and I have the same habit? "I can't figure him out."

Oddly, she freezes in place. "Strange," she says, her tone careful and neutral.

I frown. "Do you know something I don't?" A spasm of guilt flashes over her face. Good lord, does everyone know something I don't? Is this all just one big conspiracy party? What's going on here?

"Well, I suppose you would have found out eventually anyway...Harry, James knows."

My blood runs cold for the second time this afternoon. "He what?"

"He knows how—how you used to—he thinks, and he's right, that Ginny left you because you...well, he knows why. He guessed. Last year. At Christmas. I'm so sorry, Harry, he was so angry...I did what I could to calm him down, but he—he didn't like to hear it."

My ears fill with a dull roar. James knows. He knows I'm in love with his aunt. He's known—god, two Christmases ago? That was just before Hermione left Ron. Merlin. Ages ago. A bloody year and a half ago. And he never said a word to me! What kind of—I can't believe it. I refuse to believe it. I can't believe it. And he talked to Hermione about it instead of me? What the hell did he say to her? 'Oh, sorry Auntie, I think my dad's in love with you, d'you mind stopping him making a fool out of himself?'

"Harry, please don't be angry."

I stare up at her. "I'm not," I say, my voice sounding dull. "He knows?"

She nods. It's not a happy motion. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's...it's alright..." My mind is spinning. "What did he say to you?"

"He—er," she stops, biting her lip and looking reluctant. "I don't know—it was sort of a private conversation—"

"My son knows why my wife left me. That I drove her away, intentionally or not." My mouth is running—I shouldn't be saying these things, not to Hermione, but I just keep talking as my mind tries to catch up. "And he never told me, never confided in me, but he did in you?"

Hermione spreads her hands helplessly. "Harry, I'm sorry!" Her eyes start to fill with tears, and I hate myself. "What was I supposed to do, tell him to leave off and go ask you instead?"

"Anything! They can't—they can't know, Hermione, that I—they're my children, and I don't want them to know that I—"

"It's not as if you were unfaithful!"

"I was as good as!" I exclaim, my eyes blazing. I've stood up now. I lean forward across the desk toward her. "I've loathed myself for so long, for driving away their mother because I'm so in love with you!"

Hermione raises both hands to cover her mouth. Oh, my god. I said it. I said it right out loud to her face.

Neither of us has said it before. Not the words themselves. God. And she doesn't anymore—why else would she have waited so long after leaving Ron to say something, do something?—so I've just put myself out there for nothing. Nothing will ever be the same. What have I done? My hands start shaking. Hermione, I'm so sorry...

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice as unsteady as I feel. "I shouldn't have said that." It's silent for a few seconds as my heart sinks to around the level of my feet. I've ruined everything.

But now Hermione's eyes are blazing as she comes round the desk and takes my face in her hands and kisses me so fiercely that my legs almost give out and now I'm so overcome I can't bear it as my hands come up and tangle in her hair and hers in mine and she tastes like raspberry lip chap and I can feel my chest about to burst because she still loves me, she does, still, after all this time, and I love her, god I love her so much—

"Uh, Dad?"

Tearing myself away, I realize the door's still open. And, exemplifying the worst timing in the world, my three children are standing there, watching. Everything.