A/N: Oblivionbaby and Shayalonnie both have been the most tremendous helpers with this story, and deserve all of your thanks. And all of you reading and reviewing deserve all of my thanks. You're wonderful, and I am so grateful that you take the time to encourage me along the way. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!


The Ministry of Magic

13 August 1998

The Minister for Magic's office was warmer than she had dressed for, and as beads of sweat began to form on her brow, Hermione found herself wishing that she had worn a blouse beneath her jumper after all. As it was, the soft cashmere—which had seemed so elegant to her only hours before—now felt like camel hair against the delicate flesh of her belly and chest. She longed to pull it up for even a moment, but the glowering portrait of Rufus Scrimgeour which dominated the wall behind Shacklebolt's desk put all such ideas decidedly to rest.

Hermione sighed and shifted in her seat, dabbing at her face with the back of her wrist and cringing internally as it came away damp. Merlin, this was worse than waiting for Professor McGonagall to tell her whether she would be able to use the Time Turner in her third year or not. That meeting too had been in the middle of Summer, but fortunately for Hermione, the deputy headmistress had apparently been more effective at cooling charms than whoever it was that was responsible for the climate in the Minister's private office.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting." Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice boomed throughout the room as the door swung inward, startling Hermione as the bald headed man strode past her to sit in the large leather chair she was facing. "Christ, is it me or is it damnably hot in here? HECTOR!"

A short, pudgy man with a kind face peeked through the office door moments later, his head the only part of him visible from where Hermione sat.

"Yes, Minister?"

"Call Magical Maintenance for me, will you? The cooling charm has gone off again. "

"Right away, Minister," said Hector, and then disappeared just as quickly as he'd come.

"Now," Kingsley sighed, settling back into his chair as he cast his own cooling charm over the two of them. Hermione felt a chill go up her spine as the sweat beading in her hairline grew cold. "To what do I owe the pleasure? You haven't reconsidered my job offer, have you?" He was eyeing her curiously, and Hermione had to remind herself not to fidget.

"Thank you, Minister, but I haven't," she answered. Kingsley looked disappointed for a moment but smiled warmly all the same.

"Well, that's not a surprise. If I'm being honest, I couldn't imagine you not going back to Hogwarts. In fact, I'm certain I know at least one witch who would have my bollocks if you didn't sit your N.E.W.T.s."

"I'm sure Professor McGonagall would stop short of gelding you, Minister," Hermione assured him.

"Minerva's more ruthless than you can imagine," Kingsley contradicted with a grin. His words were followed by a lengthy pause, and he leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his flat stomach, before speaking again. "How can I help you, Hermione?"

Hermione let out a soft puff of air as she thought about the answer to his question.

"I'm not actually here for myself," she said at last. Sitting up a little straighter in her own seat,she felt the curls which clung to her neck dragging slightly. "Harry sent me."

"Harry?" Kingsley looked confused, and she couldn't really blame him. It was widely known that she and Harry were close, but that did little to explain why she would come on his behalf to speak with the Minister for Magic. "Is he hurt?" Kingsley's tone was worried as his brows knit together, and Hermione shook her head.

"Nothing like that. He's just… busy. He wanted me to ask after Lucius Malfoy, actually."

"Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded. "He told me about your conversation, you see. He wanted to follow up."

"Hmm." Kingsley's eyes narrowed, but he seemed to consider her words. At last he seemed to come to some sort of decision, because he sighed and stood, turning to open a filing cabinet behind him before crossing the room to lean against the front of his desk, just to the left of Hermione's knees. In his hands there was a bright blue folder with the Ministry seal emblazoned on its front. He held it out to her, and Hermione did not hesitate before taking it and laying it open on top of her lap.

"What you see there is a file containing the testimony of every witness who testified in the trial of Lucius Malfoy. That's yours on top, actually."

Hermione looked down at the neatly printed document, withdrawing it with one hand and feeling the crisp paper, cool against her fingertips. She let her eyes scan the first page, noting as she went words like 'torture' and 'drawing room'. She dropped the paper back into the folder, forcing her gaze up to Kingsley's.

"I was there. I don't think I need to reread them," she said.

"Of the testimonies against him, yours was the most compelling," Kingsley continued. "As it turned out, Malfoy did very little we could pin him down for. In the end, his association with You-Know-Who was, by all accounts, largely involuntary. Still, it was his family money which supported the Death Eaters in the early days… and he stood by as his master and cohorts tortured children in the middle of his parlor. I have very little incentive to alter his sentence, Hermione, and if anyone but Harry Potter himself had been the one to ask me, I would have laughed them out of my office."

"I'm quite aware of who Lucius Malfoy is," Hermione said, her voice low as she kept her gaze locked on Kingsley's. "But if you think Harry would have asked this of you without a damned good reason, you've gone round the twist."

Kingsley sighed again and moved back around the desk to sit in his seat, settling into it with a concerned expression on his face. "Is he being blackmailed?" He asked baldly. Hermione shook her head, thinking of the promise Narcissa had extracted and the Vow Hermione had extracted in return.

"Harry has his reasons for asking this of you," Hermione assured him. "And little though I like the idea of Lucius Malfoy anywhere but in Azkaban, I support Harry's decision. He's not asking for you to set the man free, only to let him serve out his sentence at Malfoy Manor under house arrest."

Kingsley continued to eye her speculatively before holding out a hand for the folder he had given her. Hermione returned it without protest, watching as Kingsley banished it and then reached into his desk for a quill and a sheaf of parchment with an official looking seal at the top. He paused and looked up at Hermione—who nodded in return—and then back down at the parchment upon which he began to write in a bold, swirling script. The sound of his scratching quill filled the air for the next two minutes, until, at last, he signed his name with little flourish, and set his quill aside. With a snap of his fingers, the note sprang into the air, folding itself into a sleek looking paper airplane which hovered in the air until Kingsley said, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement," and then swished through the air in front of Hermione's face, and through the open office door and out of sight.

"You can tell Harry that Malfoy will be back in his manor sometime next week," he said, sounding gruff.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, though she didn't feel grateful at all. If Harry hadn't promised Narcissa her husband's return, Hermione would have gladly sat by, satisfied in the knowledge that Malfoy senior was rotting behind bars. Still, she had to admit that having seen Delphini, having held her and felt the baby's warm weight in her arms, the bargain had been worth it. She knew that it was Harry who was bonding with the enchanting infant, but she could not help but feel that the girl's safety was not just Harry's responsibility now, but hers as well.

"I hope you both know what you're doing," Kingsley said as Hermione stood. She met his eyes once more and forced a smile.

"So do I, Minister. So do I."

oOoOoOoOo

"Harry Potter, you are a bloody fool. What the hell made you think you were capable of this?"

His reflection in the mirror accused him as Harry finished washing his hands, turning as he patted them dry on his trousers to face the pram behind him where a screeching demon had taken residence in the body of his cherubic ward.

"Delphi, sweetheart, what's the matter? Tell me."

The baby only continued her wailing, her mouth open wide as she shrieked and great big tears rolled from the corners of her eyes, down her cheeks, and onto the sensible onesie Hermione had picked out for them that morning. Distressed, Harry leaned down, unbuckling the straps which kept her from throwing herself out of the pram with fumbling fingers. It was a bloody wonder how he'd ever been a seeker, he thought, as clumsy as he was becoming. When, several seconds later, he had finished with the straps, he hooked his hands beneath the baby's arms and lifted her up out of her seat and into his arms. As he settled her on at his shoulder, she took a long, shuddering breath and grew quiet, laying her cheek against him and clenching her chubby fists in his shirt.

"There we are," Harry soothed, rubbing circles on Delphi's back as she continued to sniffle against him. He glared at the pram, still sitting in the middle of the tiny bathroom, taking up three quarters of the space and providing nothing in return. With a disgusted sigh, he grabbed the diaper bag from beneath it, turned his back on the contraption, and unlocked the door.

The restaurant was not busy at this time of day, and Harry was grateful for that. Delphi did not seem to like large crowds, and he couldn't blame her; he wasn't a fan either. He quickly located the booth they had been sitting at before, sinking into it and offering Delphi the little stuffed owl he had left there to save their place. Cautiously, the baby stretched out one hand, waiting for several seconds as if to gauge the likelihood of the toy being withdrawn, before finally grasping it and pulling it into her chest, to nestle between her and Harry.

"You see?" Harry asked, using his now free hand to lift a glass of water which had been refilled in their absence. "Life's not so bad." Delphi hummed in response and sniffled once more.

"Where's the pram gone?" Harry looked up at the sound of Hermione's familiar voice. She was standing beside their table, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to one side, damp tendrils of hair stuck to her neck where they had escaped the high bun she'd managed to wrangle her locks into.

"We had a disagreement," answered Harry, who had to force his gaze away from the elegant curve of her neck.

"What kind of disagreement? Harry, what did you do?" Her voice was growing shrill, and Harry found himself smiling amusedly at the tone.

"It's in the loo," Harry said. "But, honestly, it's useless as two shits, so I don't think I'll bother retrieving it. Delphi just screams whenever we get within a yard of the thing."

"Watch your language," Hermione chided, reaching a hand out to touch Delphi's nose playfully. "Papa shouldn't teach you naughty words, should he, Delphini?" The baby smiled in response, and Harry felt his heart clench.

"I'll be right back." Hermione turned quickly, making a beeline towards the bathroom, and Harry felt a strange sort of sadness that he couldn't place as she left. She had been dead helpful in the days since he had found Delphi, and he didn't think he would ever be able to repay her. She'd gotten him all the supplies he had needed and had lied to the Weasleys for him while he had struggled with what to do next. She had been the one to orchestrate the plan they were following now, the plan which would ensure he could keep provide for the child in his arms for the rest of their lives. She'd given him the most precious of gifts, and perhaps he was being a sentimental fool, but he loved her even more for it. Hermione Granger was the best friend he had in the world, and God help him, but he needed her in his life.

She was gone for less than a minute, and, when she returned, she was carrying something in her hands.

"Try this," she said, holding out a long strip of navy blue fabric and waving it in front of his face. Harry reached out a hand and, unsure of what she was asking him to do, stroked the corner of the thing.

"Soft," he said, not knowing what sort of response she was looking for. Hermione rolled her eyes and motioned for him to stand.

"Up," she ordered, taking a step back to give him room. Once he was on his feet—Delphi still in his arms—she came towards him with the cloth, draping it over Delphi's back and repositioning her to the center of his chest as she began to wrap the two ends of the fabric around him.

"Hermione, what are you—"

"Hush," she said, crossing the ends over his back as she leaned forward, her hair brushing over his shoulder and her cheek bumping up against his. He smelled the faint honeysuckle scent of the shampoo he knew she favored and averted his gaze, falling silent as she had ordered.

"There." A full minute later she smiled, standing back and surveying her work with a satisfied expression. "That should be easier for you."

"Er…" Harry looked down, wondering what on earth she had done. The fabric, which he realized now was the same color the pram had been, was wrapped securely around both him and Delphi, extending behind his back and crossing to drape over his shoulders before it crossed again beneath the baby's bottom and wrapped around to tie at his back. He moved one hand off of Delphi's back experimentally, and seeing that she did not budge, he removed the other, holding them both up in the air.

"Is this a baby carrier?" he asked once he realized Delphi was both secure and still happily nestled against his chest.

"It's a wrap," Hermione answered, apparently pleased with herself. "I saw my cousin Estelle use one with her baby when my parents and I visited them in France years ago." Her expression darkened as if she had said something wrong, and he knew that the casual mention of her parents had taken her by surprise, that she was very likely remembering that they were still living without any memory of her in Australia as she waited for the remaining Death Eaters to be caught and the danger to them to dissipate.

"It's brilliant." Harry reached out a hand to take hers in its grip. Her fingers were warm against his palm and he gave her a smile over Delphi's black curls.

"Thank you," she said, some of the worry disappearing from her eyes as she smiled warmly back at him. "Kingsley did as you asked, by the way. And I think that if you're ready, now would be a good time to file the paperwork. When I walked in, it didn't look very crowded, and I made sure to take a wrong turn past records."

"The press?"

"There's a few in the atrium, but Skeeter's absent, thank God. I really can't stand that daft bint."

"Language," teased Harry, and Hermione made a face but leaned down to engage Delphi with a smile once more.

"Papa's only jealous it wasn't him that got to insult that old beetle," she crooned.

Delphi giggled and squirmed, an arm breaking free of the carrier and grasping one of Hermione's curls before Harry could stop her.

"Sorry! Delphi, let go of Hermione's hair."

"You'll have plenty of your own to pull soon enough," Hermione said, unfazed as she disentangled the little hand from her locks and then took a small step back. "Shall we, Harry?"

He nodded as Hermione grabbed the diaper bag from the table, slinging it over one shoulder and moving towards the door.

"Hang on, I've got to get that useless pram from the—" He stopped at the exasperated expression on Hermione's face. He looked down, realizing at once why the wrap was the same color as the pram, and then back up at Hermione with a sheepish grin. "Right," she said, "after you then."

Hermione only grinned a smug grin as she turned her back and left the restaurant. Harry watched her go with a bemused expression, trying his damnedest not to notice the way her hips swayed as she walked.

oOoOoOoOo

The Ministry of Magic

13 August 1998

The Department of Magical Records was located on the first level of the Ministry of Magic on the opposite side of the building from the Minister's offices. Fortunately, Hermione had been as good as her word, and the Atrium had not been particularly busy when they had entered. The three of them had been able to pass through unnoticed from the visitor's entrance and into the elevator, barely having to do more than avoid gazes to be dismissed as uninteresting. Harry couldn't help but compare this entrance to the one they had made the year before, and the thought had made the corners of his mouth turn upward.

Once the elevator doors opened to admit them to the first floor, Harry and Hermione stepped through, continuing their steady pace through a wide corridor and into a narrower one which ended in a dingy looking vestibule lined with spindly wooden chairs.

"Cheery," noted Harry, and Hermione nodded, her gaze landing on the little window on the opposite wall through which they could see a bored looking young man flipping through a magazine.

"Excuse me," said Hermione as she approached the window. Getting no response, she frowned and turned to Harry.

"Hello?" The young man didn't respond, and Harry thought it was quite possible he couldn't hear them. The idea was confirmed when he spotted a bell on the right hand side of the little ledge which ran beneath the window. He reached out with one finger and tapped it, expecting the familiar tinkling sound to fill the air. Instead, there was silence, but the man on the other side of the window jumped, clearly startled, and looked up at them through the window with an annoyed expression. With what looked like a sigh, he drew his wand, tapping the glass which promptly vanished.

"Can I help you?" he asked, sounding for all the world as if he would rather still be pursuing the copy of Quidditch Weekly he had been holding.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said before Harry had a chance. "We're here to file a record of adoption."

Still looking uninterested, the young man shouted over his shoulder, "Oi! Higgins! Someone here to see you!" and then raised his wand once more to reconjure the window between himself and the waiting room. Hermione made a disgusted noise and turned her back on on it, sitting in the nearest chair and motioning for Harry to join her.

"She's passed out I see."

Harry looked down at Hermione's pronouncement, craning his head to the side so that he could see Delphi's face. She was right; the baby must have fallen asleep somewhere between Charing Cross and the Ministry, lulled by Harry's gait and the steady, reassuring sound of his heartbeat against her ear. The carrier Hermione had transfigured was genius, he decided.

"My word. You're Hermione Granger." A raspy, feminine voice startled the both of them, and Harry turned quickly to see who had spoken. An ancient looking witch with hunched shoulders and frizzy gray hair beneath a pointed cap stood in an open doorway to the right of the window. "And Harry Potter! Bless!"

Hermione sprang up from her seat with her wand in her hand. She studied the old woman for several moments before tucking her wand up her sleeve once more, forcing a smile.

"I'm here to file a record of adoption," Harry said, noticing that the power he had meant to express in his voice hadn't quite translated. "Are you the one in charge of that?"

"Oh, I file all family records," the gray haired which said, motioning them through the doorway and then leading them on through a poorly lit hallway. Harry listened to his footsteps, muffled on the closely cropped carpet as they finally reached an office door. The woman led them through, sitting behind her desk and conjuring two plush armchairs for Harry and Hermione to sit in. Hermione took her seat, but Harry remained standing, afraid that such a change might wake up the sleeping baby against his chest.

"A record of adoption, was it?"

Harry noticed the nameplate on the desk in front of him and nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Higgins."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, dearie," said the witch. She began to rifle through one of the desk drawers on her right before pulling out two small vials, a quill with ink, and a thick piece of parchment with writing already printed upon it.

"Here we are," she said as Hermione leaned eagerly forward to try and read the contents of the parchment upside down. "Now, I'll need proof of the bond, and your signatures here, and here."

"Proof of the bond?" Harry queried.

"Blood," clarified Hermione, taking the two vials off of the desk and turning to face Harry. "If the bond exists, Delphi will have adopted aspects of your magical signature into her own. It will be evident in her blood."

"Exactly so, Miss Granger. Tell me, will your name be included on the record?"

Hermione blushed and shook her head. "No," she said. "We aren't— well, Harry and I aren't a couple."

"Plenty of parents stop being couples," the elderly witch dismissed, "but I take your meaning. Now, Mr Potter, is the child's name down at Hogwarts?"

Hogwarts. Bloody hell. Was her name listed there among other prospective students in Great Britain? Was evidence of her true parentage available to anyone who bothered to look? If she had been born in Wiltshire it would be.

"I'm not sure," he forced himself to say, casting a meaningful look in Hermione's direction once the other witch looked down at her paper.

"Is she a witch?" Mrs Higgins asked, looking back up. "I'm afraid if she's Muggle we'll need a whole other form."

"Her father was a Muggle," Harry lied. "My cousin. But I think… well, I think Delphi's a witch."

"Well, the blood should clear things up on that score," Mrs Higgins said, finishing whatever it was she had been doing on the parchment before sliding it across the desk to him. "Your names printed here, and your signature here."

Harry studied the writing there. There wasn't a lot, and it occurred to him that the nature of the magical bond between them kept witches and wizards of ill intent from adopting random children for nefarious purposes, thus precluding the need for much investigation of either party where the bond existed. The filing of this form was a declaration of an adoption, not an application.

He printed his name beside hers, staring at the way Delphini Hermione Potter looked on the parchment—his eyes catching on the last two names together before skating hastily away.

"Just a few drops of blood each, if you please," Mrs Higgins said, conjuring a pin and handing it carefully to Hermione. She took Harry's hand first, unstopping one of the vials and holding it up to his finger as she pricked it and worked several drops of thick red blood into the glass. Luckily, when it was Delphi's turn Hermione cast a numbing spell on the hand from which she drew the drops of blood, leaving the baby to sleep through the process and Harry to wince as the blood welled crimson on her finger.

"Wonderful." Mrs Higgins collected the vials, placing them on opposite sides of the desk before waving her wand over them and watching intently as they began to glow the same brilliant gold color. The glass began to vibrate shortly after, and then before Harry could blink, they were zooming towards one another and colliding in the middle of the desk with the tinkling sound of shattering glass.

"Well, that answer's certainly clear enough," the old woman laughed. "There's a strong bond here, and your daughter is absolutely a witch. Her name will have changed on the Hogwarts rolls when you sealed the bond," she motioned to the parchment with Harry's signature and smiled, "so there's no need to do anything other than take your baby home and love her to bits. Congratulations, Mr Potter."

Harry's eyes widened, and he looked at Hermione, seeking out her gaze as he began to smile broadly.

"Congratulations, Harry," she said, her own smile beatific as her eyes sparkled. "You're a dad!"

"Bloody hell," Harry laughed. Against his chest, Delphi began to stir. His daughter began to stir.

"Bloody hell," he said again softly, and his heart seemed to burst with joy inside of his chest.