Chapter 7

Ron stormed into 12 Grimmauld Place, demanding that Harry give him some answers. "Did you know about this kid?" he asked.

Distracted by the broom that needed repairing, Harry paid little attention to his angry friend. "Elizabeth? Why would I not know about her?" he wondered. "Her parents did make me her godfather, after all."

"Yeah? Was the godfather ever told that I might be the kid's real father?" Ron inquired.

Harry stood nervously on the stoop of Hermione's apartment building. He lifted his finger to press the buzzer when he heard Hermione call out his name. "Hey, hi," he greeted her. "I was just about to ask to come in."

"We're not home," she replied. "Um, I mean, we weren't. Well, Draco's still at the office. Why don't you come in."

He chuckled as she opened the door and led him upstairs. Harry sat, his leg shaking, as Hermione made tea. Neither knew how to begin, and so sat silently as they stirred sugar into their tea. "So, this is awkward," Harry declared. "Ron told us, all of us. I don't know whether to say congratulations or offer my condolences. It's not the Malfoy thing. I just remember you saying you wouldn't consider having a kid until you were forty. So, is this a good thing?"

Hermione smiled as she placed a hand on her stomach. "Definitely a good thing," she replied. "I know it doesn't quite fit into my life plan, but it doesn't bother me."

"So, what is bothering you?" he wondered. She shot him a pointed look. "Me? I'm bothering you? I came to remind you that I'm not a Weasley. We Potters are a far more tolerant and forgiving people."

One dark brow rose. "Is this your way of telling me you intend to make nice with my boyfriend?" she inquired.

Harry snorted. "Good Lord, no," he replied. "No, you know I would if you wanted me to. Obviously, he's not all bad if you could make nice with him. And no, making nice is not going to be our new code phrase for shagging. Mind out of the gutter, Granger."

Hermione laughed, choking on a sip of her tea. "You sound like Fred and George," she remarked. "You're not really George, are you?"

He shook his head. "We can still be friends, right?" he asked.

Setting down her tea, she stared at her hands. "Harry, there's something you should know."

Rolling his eyes, Harry set aside his broom. He knew Hermione's secrets, and swore to keep them. "Do you really think that, if Lizzie were yours, Hermione would keep that from you?" he asked.

Glowering, Ron let him know that that was exactly what he thought. For a long time, Hermione had hidden her friendship with Draco. It started after the war when the pair returned to Hogwarts to complete their education. She claimed she had kept it a secret because she knew he and Harry would not approve, and Ron most certainly didn't. It was on a trip to Hogsmeade that they had been found out. He had been furious that she would make nice with the boy who had teased, tortured, and harassed her. Malfoy didn't deserve her friendship.

"I heard her ask Hermione if I was really her father," Ron said. "Why would she ask that if it wasn't true?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Lizzie has a wild imagination," he told his friend. "She came out of the womb reading. I'm sure she understands that Draco is her father."

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Do...do you intend to find out?" he wondered. Not once did she look at him as she shook her head. "And Malfoy's okay with this?"

"He doesn't want to know," she replied. "I don't think it would change his mind if she were Ron's. He already sees the baby as his."

"What about Ron though?" Harry asked. "If it is his baby, don't you think he deserves to know and make the decision about his involvement for himself? I know you two aren't in a great place right now, but that could change if he knew."

Hermione disagreed. "He knows I slept with Draco. I don't think things will ever be right between us again."

"If this is really bothering you, I suggest you talk to Hermione," Harry advised, wishing he had not gotten caught between his two friends. "Can I just say one thing before you do, though? Draco's the only father she's ever known. Don't do anything to ruin that."

Nodding, the redhead left 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry stared at his broom, knowing it would not be mended that day. Instead, he stepped into the fireplace and floo'd to the Malfoys' house. Lizzie looked up from her book, offering her uncle a smile. "Mum, Uncle Happy's here!" she called out. "And he looks worried."

Concerned and curious, Hermione entered the living room with a dish towel in hand. "Should I be worried too?" she inquired. "You said you couldn't come to lunch because your broom needed work. New code?"

"It's Ron," he told her, ignoring her attempt at a joke. "He wants to talk to you. And maybe we should discuss this privately."

Nodding, Hermione led him to the kitchen and warded the room against her daughter's eavesdropping. "He heard her, didn't he." It wasn't a question. Ron had found no reason to talk to her in seven years. Their meeting in the bookshop was purely coincidental, but now he wanted to see her. Elizabeth had to be the reason.

"I think it's time you performed the spell," Harry said. "Talk to him knowing that Draco is her really her father. That journal opened a can of worms that you can't close without really knowing the truth."

"Draco is her father," she replied indignantly. "He was by my side when she was born, he helped name her, he stayed up at night with her when she cried or has been sick, he held her hands as she took her first steps. She has called him Daddy since she learned to speak. Ronald decided seven years ago that we no longer needed to be in each other's lives. I see no reason to invite him back in now."

Harry knew there would be no getting through to her. Hermione was more stubborn than Ron, and far more set in her ways. "So, since I'm here, feed me," he requested.

That night, as Hermione prepared for bed, she could not help but think of what Harry had said. Her back remained to Draco as he read, but every so often, she could feel his eyes on her. "Tell me the truth," she said. "How wrong have I been to not find out who Elizabeth's biological father is?"

She heard the book close, the sheet rustle, and felt his lips on her bare shoulder. "I always agreed with your reasons for not doing it," he replied.

"So, if I did it, would you be mad?" she wondered.

Sighing, he sat up and moved beside her. "It won't change the fact that she's my daughter," he told her. "If you need to do this, to know the truth, then I support you."