Author's Note: This story is neither HBP nor DH compliant. Feedback is always appreciated; reviews feed my muse and make me smile.
Anti-Litigation Charm: It all belongs to JKR; I play for non-profit amusement.
It All Started when the Girl Fell from the Sky
by Silver Birch
Chapter Eight: Discussions Reprise (Part Two)
A high-pitched voice was buzzing incessantly, gradually resolving itself into recognizable words.
"Oh, Harry Potter, sir, Dobby is so pleased!"
The Gryffindor had been having such a lovely dream. He didn't want to wake up, and he certainly didn't feel up to dealing with the world's most enthusiastic house-elf.
"G'way, Dobby," he groaned.
"I would be going, sir, only it is Mistress Calla I is coming about."
A rush of adrenaline burned away the residues of sleep, and Harry sat up abruptly, alarmed. "Calla? Is she alright?"
"Keep your knickers on, Potter." This came from the mass radiating warmth on Harry's left-hand side, the one that Harry had only peripherally noticed as he surged to wakefulness. "I take it she's awake, Dobby?"
The house-elf nodded, suggesting that Harry was not having a very pleasant hallucination.
"Draco?" he ventured.
"Are you always this daft in the mornings, Harry?" Draco asked with a disparaging snort of amusement. "Who did you think I would be? I'll be there shortly, Dobby; you needn't say anything unless she worries."
With a last toothy grin, evincing the most sincere happiness, Dobby was gone.
Harry turned to face the marvellously-dishevelled flesh and blood Slytherin sharing his bed, the cautious hope glowing in him beginning to give way to an even better solidified happiness. "Just stunned by my good fortune. I thought I'd had a really pleasant dream."
"I am quite real, Harry." Draco sat up, stretched, and, noticing the way Harry's eyes were lingering appreciatively over his exposed torso, grinned. "Were it not for our daughter, I would be quite happy to give you an active demonstration of that fact. As it is, if I'm getting up, you are, too. We'll tell her you're breakfasting with us as a special treat. Come on, out of bed."
It took them several long, enjoyable minutes to get out of bed and get dressed, shooting frequent glances (and occasionally drawn-out stares) at one another. At the door, Harry halted Draco's progress with a hand on his arm.
"Good morning," he murmured before kissing the Slytherin lingeringly, taking the opportunity to delve his hands into Draco's hair, because he loved how silky and soft the strands were.
He was fast becoming addicted to these kisses … and the hair – to all of Draco, really. When he drew back, Draco was smiling.
"Yes, it is."
Two days later, Harry had hatched a bit of a mad scheme. If Hermione hadn't been in the worst mood yet, he might have confided in her. As it was, he sort of blamed her; not only did she consent to take Calla for the morning without even asking what he and Draco were going to be doing, she'd been the one to point out the lengths to which he was willing to go for Draco in the first place. And since the Slytherin had never once even broached this subject, Harry had a pretty good idea of what the blond was willing to do for him. He also had concrete proof in that Draco had unquestioningly followed him all the way to the Ministry in London, knowing they weren't supposed to leave Hogwarts and without knowing why they were going.
The Ministry on a Sunday morning resembled Hogwarts over the summer hols. Kingsley Shacklebolt was waiting for them, waving aside the sleepy-looking guard who wanted to weigh Harry's wand and might have objected to his badge, which read, "Mind your own" where his business was supposed to be listed. Draco was now under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and Kingsley's eyes flicked to the empty space on Harry's right side for an instant before settling on Harry.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
"Absolutely." Harry smiled. "Of course, I am the one who hared off after Voldemort with only Ron for company."
A reluctant smile graced the tall man's features, and he began to lead them through the Atrium. "And we all know how that turned out."
They took the lift down to Level Nine (which Harry did his best not to think about) and then the stairs to the grim stone of Level Ten (where he shook off memories of Courtroom Ten). They went in the opposite direction from his last visit, took several turns, and ended up in a long hallway that stretched beyond Harry's vision. Spaced like clockwork as far as the eye could see were identical-looking doors that glimmered with heavy wards.
Kingsley halted at a door that, as far as Harry could tell, was indistinguishable from its fellows and disabled the wards wordlessly with a complicated motion of his wand that Harry had never seen before.
"Call if you need me," he admonished, still looking as though he didn't think this was the brightest idea in the world.
Harry nodded, and with another wave of the Auror's wand, the door opened. The Gryffindor passed inside, knowing Draco had followed because of the invisible fingers that were suddenly digging into his shoulder.
It was not as horrible as Harry had worried it might be. He had the distinct impression that the room was larger on the inside than the outside, housing, as it did, a double bed, two armchairs in front of a small hearth, a table with two wooden chairs, a shelf, and a dresser. There was another door that was partially ajar, showing Harry that it led to the loo. And someone had even put in one of those Charmed windows that made it seem as though you could see outside even though they were really deep underground. It wasn't exactly cheery, because the stone walls and floor and ceiling were still unremittingly grey, and it no doubt seemed downright mean to its current occupants, but it could almost have been a quirky hotel. What had this looked like, Harry wondered, before he had spoken to the Minister?
The two occupants of the room were frozen in their chairs by the fire, each with a book in their hands. Presently, they recovered enough to look entirely displeased to see him.
"Have you come to gloat?" It was Narcissa who found her voice first.
Harry shook his head, slightly stunned by the realization that this was the first time he had heard Draco's mother speak; he had only seen her briefly that one time at the Quidditch World Cup (and she had evidently been with Voldemort, at the end, but he didn't remember seeing her there). She looked more worn now, her plain grey robes clean but common. Her appearance wasn't perfectly immaculate, a few strands of hair out of pace, a line or two of worry on her face, but Harry thought it made her look more human. She still appeared distantly beautiful, and Harry would unquestionably take a hundred of her over her sister, Bellatrix.
"Have you come here to threaten us, then?" she pursued.
She still managed to stare down her nose at him, despite their location, but Harry supposed their sense of self was probably what was keeping them together at this point.
Harry shook his head once more. "I've come to tell you, quite simply, that you're on your third and final chance. You don't get anymore."
"We don't know what you're talking about." Lucius's tone was not quite the supercilious, cultured one that Harry remembered from previous encounters, but he still sneered pretty effectively. Well, he wasn't Harry's favourite person, either.
"You chose to follow Voldemort," Harry explained. "He fell, and you chose his side once more. He has fallen again, for good this time, and this is your final opportunity to make the right choice."
"You think we're going to have the opportunity to redeem ourselves in this cell, do you?" Narcissa asked contemptuously.
"No, which is why I don't expect you to remain in it."
"You expect what, then, that we'll make a break for it?" Lucius demanded, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Harry rolled his eyes, reminded exactly where Draco got all his annoying traits from.
"Of course I don't expect you to try to break out; no, this is not some evil plan for me to gain more glory and acclaim by single-handedly apprehending you, though you do get points for coming up with the stupidest reason I could possibly be here." God grant him patience. "The trial has to be got through, of course, but Hermione has attested to your displeasure at her torture and the threat to Calla. Ron has testified to your cursing the other Death Eaters and permitting Professor Snape and me to get out with Hermione and Calla. And I have expressed my desire that you be given, as I said, your third and final chance. For the last time, you're getting as clean a slate as you'll ever have, but it's not because you've bought your way out."
"Why would you do such a thing?" Narcissa demanded, sounding both stunned and distrustful.
Harry took a deep breath and rather than thinking uncharitably about not looking gift horses in the mouth, reminded himself of how he would feel were their situations reversed, and Lucius Malfoy had suddenly appeared promising to grant Harry his freedom.
"Ron and Hermione did it because it was the truth and the right thing to do. I agree with them, but I may have been … additionally motivated." He craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "Are you going to join in the conversation at some point, or leave your parents thinking I'm talking to myself?"
When even this elicited no response, Harry reached back and found the solid object behind him by touch. He pulled off the Cloak.
Draco blinked at him. "I thought they were in Azkaban."
Harry was a little alarmed that Draco was stuck at that realization, but said, "I … er … suggested it might be more convenient if they weren't. Go on, I'll stand over here," he gestured at the corner of the room furthest away from the Malfoys, "and let you get reunited."
Turning back to the elder Malfoys, Harry found that they'd gone ashen. Bad way to spring this reunion on everyone, apparently.
"Go sit with your parents."
This didn't get a response, either, so Harry conjured a chair and shoved Draco towards it. The Slytherin stumbled forward a couple of steps and landed in the chair with a dull thud. Harry wandered over to the spot that he had indicated and cast a Silencing Charm so that he wouldn't overhear what they were saying.
It was about half an hour later when Kingsley's throat-clearing from the hall indicated that their visit had come to an end. Harry lowered his charm.
"I'm afraid we can't stay any longer, Draco."
With evident reluctance, the Slytherin rose. His parents did the same, each embracing him tightly. Then, to Harry's great surprise, Narcissa held out her hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter."
"Harry," the Gryffindor invited since it seemed the polite thing to do, completing the handshake, "if you can manage it."
Narcissa cast a side-long look at her son and then her husband.
"I daresay we'll find a way … eventually."
"Well, small steps, you know," Harry said cheerfully, pleased by how well this had gone after the rocky start. "Start with not trying to kill me and build from there."
"Harry," Draco hissed, sounding horrified.
But then Lucius had offered his hand as well.
"No attempts at murder, Mr. Potter," he declared solemnly.
Harry smiled, but gave the older blond man a very serious nod. They had a lot of bridges to build and fences to mend, and every step counted.
Draco donned the Cloak once more, and they exited into the hallway. Kingsley resealed the door, and by the time they reached the Atrium, they were, to all appearances, in the midst of a long, lively conversation about the possibility of suspected Death Eaters on the run settling down in South America and whether or not they posed a threat.
"We shall certainly keep you posted should we hear of anything suspicious."
"Thanks, Auror Shacklebolt," Harry said, shaking the man's hand.
"Anytime, Mr. Potter," the man replied, although his look suggested that frequent illicit visits to the Ministry would be frowned upon.
Nodding in understanding, Harry and the invisible Draco quickly bypassed the now-gaping guard for the streets of London, and from there they Apparated back to Hogsmeade. On the walk back from the Apparition Point to the castle, Draco broke the silence.
"I wouldn't have asked you to do that."
"I know," Harry said simply, then shrugged. "But there have to be some perks to being with the Saviour of the Wizarding World, right?"
Draco stopped him to look him searchingly in the eyes, but then he smiled and resumed walking.
"You do get the best seats at the next Quidditch World Cup, right?"
Mid-week, it was as though Hermione had been hit with an industrial-strength Cheering Charm. She suddenly looked as happy as Harry felt, sort of abidingly happy, leaving them puzzled but deeply relieved. It seemed to effect everyone, because Calla kept smiling to herself, and even Professor Snape had reappeared, once more toting the potions that a pleased-looking Madam Pomfrey now only had to check the efficacy of once every two days.
Dumbledore had called Harry up to his office to inform him that his sentiments were admirable, but could he consider advising the headmaster or his head of house before he left the premises in the future. Harry hadn't really expected to keep the visit from the man and was pleasantly surprised by the form of this mild reprimand; Dumbledore wasn't treating him like a child anymore. There was a wide world out there, and Harry had, in fact, been forced to interact with it for years. Although Voldemort was gone, the repercussions of Harry's involvement had not ceased, and Harry's obligations were not limited by the castle walls. The Gryffindor had judged the visit to the Malfoys to be necessary, and the headmaster had accepted his decision.
Ever since the night in the Room of Requirement, Harry had trouble preventing himself from smiling at Draco in class and in the halls, leaving Draco to cast a number of aspersions upon Gryffindors and their notions of stealth and subtlety. It was with relief that the Gryffindor retired each day to Hermione's rooms or popped into Draco's to read his daughter a bedtime story. Harry wasn't built for keeping these sorts of secrets – he wanted to shout how happy he was from the tallest mountain. The pleased little smile that Draco wore when he thought Harry wasn't looking suggested that the blond boy wasn't as annoyed by this behaviour as he pretended to be.
Whether Hermione had spoken again to Ron or this was a result of that one conversation they had overheard, Harry found that his hot-tempered best friend was dealing remarkably well with his closeness to the Slytherin Ice Prince. They weren't snogging in front of his friends or anything, as even Harry had more sense than that, but it was clear even to Ron that Harry and Draco were more intimate than they had been. Although Harry occasionally surprised a look of vague distaste on Ron's face, there had been no explosions and not even many off-colour comments. Maybe Hermione had been working on him since she'd first found out about Calla…. That might explain it.
At any rate, Ron was being almost entirely civil, and he hadn't blown Harry off, either; evenings usually found him entertaining Calla as well, and while Harry sometimes wished that he and Draco had a little more time alone, he wouldn't have traded this acceptance from his first friend.
About a fortnight after what still ranked as the best night of Harry's life, Harry, Ron, and Draco watched Calla fall right to sleep after their three-way recitation of Sleeping Beauty.
"The Muggles have got it all wrong," Draco was now saying in a low voice as they moved from the little girl's bedroom to the sitting room. "I don't think you should be teaching this nonsense to our daughter, Harry."
"It's a version of the tale," Harry defended, wondering why this was his fault when Draco was the one who had read Rapunzel to her and stocked the pile of books from which they had chosen tonight's selection. Of course, if it had been Calla's choice, it did seem likely that the future Harry had been the one to influence her in a fairy tale direction. "It's a fun and exciting version that Calla enjoys, but Muggles have others." He frowned. "I think it was originally creepy and dark, actually, but who wants to read that to their children?"
"A little bit of historical accuracy wouldn't go amiss," Draco said, as though his mission in life were to be historically accurate.
"I'm not reading Calla anything that might give her more nightmares than she already has from her recent kidnapping by Voldemort," the Gryffindor argued. "We can let her read the original version when she's older."
"By original I take it you mean the pale imitation Muggles produced?" Draco said, distaste plain.
"Just because it's Muggle doesn't make it inferior. Hermione's the brightest witch of our age and my mother was Muggle-born," Harry said darkly.
Draco had enough sense not to ignore these warning signs, and his tone was much more conciliatory when he said, "I only suggest that the actual original would be more beneficial to our daughter's education." Harry was still looking stubborn. "I know how much Calla enjoyed The Hobbit."
Harry smiled and conceded in turn, "And Calla should read the real original. But the one I'm thinking of really was quite dark and might not have had spindles and a hundred-year sleep in it at all, but I can't totally remember."
"I'm sure Hermione would know," put in Ron, who had been watching their argument rather as though he was at a tennis match.
It didn't actually matter, of course, but both Draco and Harry wanted to be proved right, so they followed Ron's suggestion and trooped up to see Hermione. It was the sort of fact she would know or would be excited to look up, as eager as Harry, he was sure, to prove to Draco the worth of some things Muggle. It was shortly after ten, so they were mildly surprised to find the lights dim in the sitting room and no Hermione in sight. As her recovery had advanced, she been more and more frequently found propped up in front of the fire, catching up on her homework (and no doubt getting far ahead of them once more).
"She's probably working in the bedroom," Ron said, reaching for the door handle. "Wanted a change of scene or something."
"I'm not sure you should—" Draco began, but then Ron had opened the door.
It took a good ten seconds for what they were seeing to register. Hermione had not been working on homework. Nor had she been sleeping.
No, she was being snogged on the bed – and responding with a great deal of enthusiasm – by a tall figure who covered her almost completely. A tall figure dressed entirely in black, with lank black hair (through which Hermione had woven her fingers) and a big nose that should have got in the way, it really should, but they seemed to be managing quite fine, and…. Oh, god, had Hermione moaned?
There was an amused clearing of the throat. Hermione and Professor Snape pulled apart and looked over at them, flushed, causing Harry to look sideways as well. Harry gathered from the laughter dancing in Draco's grey eyes that he had been the one to make the intrusive noise.
"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all. "But I thought those two," he gestured at Harry and a brick-red Ron, "were going to implode if they saw much more of that."
Professor Snape moved to a sitting position and Hermione, looking entirely too rumpled for Harry's liking, cuddled up next to him (and Harry was sure that no one should ever, ever, ever cuddle with the Potions master, but there was really no other word for it).
"You're changing your password."
The words were growled, and Hermione bit her lip before giving a shaky nod. Harry felt righteous anger bubble up in him until he realized that she wasn't upset; she looked more like she was trying to prevent laughter.
Ron exploded.
"He's your professor!"
Hermione's look grew instantly serious. "I am an adult who is perfectly capable of regulating her own life, Ronald Weasley, but in point of fact, he is not. He's your professor."
"Until you take your N.E.W.T.s—" Ron spat.
"Last July," she said coldly. "Outstanding."
The confusion seemed to knock some of the wind out of Ron's sails. "What?"
"I said I sat my N.E.W.T.s last July."
"How?"
For the first time, Hermione began to explain to them the outcome of all the potions she had learnt while helping Professor Snape over two summers. Ron interrupted.
"If he said he'd taught you N.E.W.T.-level potions so you'd lose your scruples and go to bed with him—!"
Harry's jaw dropped. Was Ron out of his bloody mind?
It was only Hermione's white-knuckled grip on Professor Snape's arm that kept him on the bed, but her other hand had an equally white-knuckled grasp on her wand. Harry had never seen her so angry, not even when she had slapped Draco in third year or began her mission of vengeance against Rita Skeeter in fourth. The pink spots of colour in her cheeks were pure fury, all remnants of pleasure gone, and her voice could have frozen sea water.
"For your information, not that it is any of your business, it was Professor Dumbledore who informed me that I had completed sixth and seventh year Potions, and it was he who arranged for me to sit my N.E.W.T.s. The Ministry official administered them, the results are duly logged at the Ministry, and if you ever cast aspersions on Severus's character like that again, they will never figure out what happened to you."
Marietta Edgecombe's face had still borne the word "sneak" when she left school, Harry remembered suddenly.
"You shouldn't be shagging Professor Snape!" Ron's face was nearly purple, and Harry was certain that "Professor Snape" was really not what Ron had been trying to say, but Hermione's charm was equal even to Ron's extreme ire.
"I will shag whomever I please!" Hermione snapped back. "It's none of your business."
"Of course it's my business! I'm your friend," Ron said aggressively and with, Harry thought, not a whole lot of sense. "Harry's disgusted, too, aren't you, Harry?"
Harry froze like a deer caught in headlamps. On the one side was Ron, clearly expecting to be vindicated. On the other was Hermione … and Draco … and Professor Snape. Harry wasn't precisely pleased with this turn of events, it was true, but disgusted was a strong word, and if Harry gainsaid Hermione and her choice, he wasn't entirely certain that she would forgive him when he was standing right next to the Slytherin he had chosen.
Surprisingly, it was Professor Snape who came to Harry's rescue.
"I believe Mr. Potter has learnt the wisdom of keeping his opinion to himself – even if he so seldom makes use of it. Now," the Slytherin rose from the bed, easily managing to stare them all down, "I believe you have trespassed upon Hermione's time quite long enough for one evening. As we have clarified so carefully just now, I am still your professor, Mr. Weasley," he said sternly when the redhead began to protest, "and you are all out after curfew. Solely because it would annoy Hermione unduly in her injured state if I were to give you all detentions until Easter, I am giving you this one opportunity to leave."
Harry and Draco reacted as one, grabbing Ron by either arm and simply hauling him out of the room. The redhead was still spluttering when they reached the hall.
"Sleep on it, Ron," Harry advised. "You'll feel better in the morning."
By the beginning of the next week, Hermione, nearly good as new, was back in class with them, meaning that the cheerful presence of Calla was lightening up the periods as well. It was helpful indeed, because most of their professors were still choosing to recover from Dumbledore's holiday by heaping mountains of homework on their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students.
Potions was just plain weird. Every time Harry looked at Professor Snape, he had to fight off images of the man in bed with Hermione…. At the very least, surely the head of Slytherin should look embarrassed, but no, he took it all in a stride that Harry and Ron had caught him snogging their best friend. It hadn't helped a bit when Draco had pointed out that at least they hadn't caught the two of them doing anything else. Harry shuddered. Maybe Ron wasn't the only one who needed his brain scrubbed out.
It would be a stretch to say that Ron was reconciled to the idea of Hermione and Professor Snape together, but as long as he didn't see any outright examples of their affection, he seemed almost normal. Harry was sure that this was because when he wasn't directly faced with it, he could spend most of his time pretending it had never happened.
Hermione was happy, Harry knew that, and so he was pleased for her. He knew it even sort of made sense, because there wasn't anyone in their year as smart as Hermione was … but it was still a bit creepy, maybe because they could see that Professor Snape was happy, as well…. Hermione had gotten quite shirty when Professor Snape's touching her on the arm had resulted in Ron trying to suggest that their relationship was unacceptable because even if the man wasn't her professor now, he had been in the past.
"He's been teaching since he was twenty, Ron; he's taught Potions to almost two decades of witches – we've all been his students." The light in her eyes became martial. "You're not trying to say he can't be interested in any of us, are you?"
It was quite clear that Ron had been trying to say precisely that, but he answered in the negative, even he recognizing the close brush he had already had with her temper and the threat to bodily harm under which he was now operating.
The revelation of Hermione and Professor Snape's relationship had the added benefit for Harry of making him and Draco seem like old news, and Ron was positively blasé about seeing the two of them together.
Draco, from the moment he had seen Professor Snape in Hermione's bed, had taken the discovery rather better than Harry had expected. Although Harry knew a lot had changed since they were twelve, it simply wasn't that long since the Slytherin had called the bushy-haired know-it-all the worst epithet he could throw at her at every opportunity.
Draco only shook his head when Harry brought the matter up as delicately as he could. "I've had weeks to get used to the idea, Harry. Severus carried her back here in his arms, stayed up for days to make sure she lived, and brought her potions to her rooms daily. He's obviously enamoured."
Put like that, it did seem as though Harry had been particularly obtuse in not picking it up.
Maybe time really was the crucial factor in acceptance. Knowing about Calla had forced Ron, however reluctantly, to begin reconciling to the idea of Harry and Draco together, whereas the news about Hermione and Professor Snape had come completely out of the blue.
Although, given that Calla looked pleased as punch whenever they were all together, Harry now had a good idea of at least one of the bits of information from the future that Hermione had been careful the girl never revealed. Had Harry made more of an effort, he could probably have worked more out sooner. He made a mental note never to mention this suspicion to Ron; it would surely be safer to break it to the redhead over the normal course of time.
Saturday evening found Draco preparing to host dinner in his sitting room; since the Slytherin had issued the invitation, Professor Snape had even agreed to come. Ron had grumbled incessantly about the idea of being surrounded by Slytherins and completely daft Gryffindors who chose Slytherins as mates. Harry could have sworn that he saw Hermione step on Calla's toes to get her to close her just-opened mouth, and he decided that it would be better not to know. In the end, it was only Calla's incessant litany of "please, please, please" that made Uncle Ron consent to come.
They'd planned everything carefully. Draco would be sitting at the head of the table and Harry at the foot. Ron would be on Harry's left, opposite Hermione. Professor Snape was next to her (on Draco's left), and Calla was opposite him, next to Ron, safely insulating him from the Slytherin contingent of the room. Harry had made sure Draco requested all Ron's favourite foods from the house-elves; if he could keep the peace through Ron's stomach, he wasn't above doing so.
Harry, Draco, and Ron were still waiting for Hermione and Professor Snape, who were bringing Calla from the library, where they had been investigating a stash of children's books that Hermione had come across in a dusty Muggle Studies section. It was several minutes past the hour, and Draco was starting to look impatient.
"They're two of the most anal people I know," Draco complained when the minutes had ticked by to a quarter past. "How can they be late?"
Privately, Harry agreed, and since they had Calla with them, he didn't even have to entertain the most likely reason they could have lost track of the time. Almost as soon as he had the thought, the door opened, and Hermione climbed through, followed by Professor Snape. Both looked terribly serious. The door closed, and it took a moment for Harry to fully grasp what was wrong with this picture.
He didn't remember rising and crossing to their side. "Where is our daughter?"
Hermione exchanged a look with Professor Snape, and then said quietly, "We were coming back from the loo. I was right next to her when she disappeared – right through the floor above where she'd fallen when I caught her in January." Harry's heart plummeted into his stomach like a rock. He opened his mouth, but Hermione hurried on, "I checked, of course I checked, Harry; Severus and I both looked – she didn't fall through to the floor below. She's gone, the same as she arrived; she went back where she came from."
Sharp sadness pierced Harry. Calla was gone. Voldemort was finally dead, and Harry was free to see as much of Calla as he wished, but now she was gone, and who knew how long it would be before he got to see her again.
"She's not gone forever, Harry," Hermione said gently. "She's back where she's supposed to be, and you'll see her again."
Harry nodded woodenly. He knew what she was saying was true, but it didn't help.
And then Draco was at his side, twining an arm around his waist to lean in and whisper in Harry's ear: "We'll just have to go practice making babies."
And just like that, Harry's future didn't seem so gloomy after all.
Author's Note: I didn't originally expect Hermione and Severus to hijack quite so much of chapter seven as they did, or to take so long to resolve their differences. As a result, this chapter encompasses many of the same days as chapter seven. Some of the conversations and actions, as I'm sure you've gathered, weren't reported by Hermione, though she was present; I thought they were more effective from Harry's POV, Hermione was concentrating on Severus, and I didn't want the last chapter to go on forever (all evidence to the contrary). Draco and Harry got their long chapter, too, so I think it all works out in the end.
I'm not sure if my use of Silencing Charms is canon, as the more I think about it, the more it seems in canon that they're used directly on a person (as in the Department of Mysteries by Hermione on Dolohov); I've read so many fics with Silencing Charms put up on rooms, etc., however, that I continued with that trend. (It was that or have Harry cast Muffliato on himself in the cell, and that just seemed silly.)
It was Léonie who so much preferred to be the Duke of Avon's "last" rather than his "first" in Georgette Heyer's These Old Shades. The idea has stuck with me over the years, and it seemed fitting here. Apologies to those who were looking for more lemons, but I'm currently comfortable writing a fade-to-black. Also, I'm not condoning Harry and Draco habitually leaving house-elves to look after their child all night while they're off having sex in other parts of the castle, but, Silencing Charms or no Silencing Charms, I couldn't have Harry and Draco's first time within earshot of their daughter :) The hints at Ron's Slytherin are thanks to Olivia Lupin's Concatenation, which goes places I would never have imagined going with Ron and does so beautifully. Additional thanks to LydiaJayne, who influences me even when I don't realize it – cheers for the perfect RoR kiss!
Last up: A short epilogue (It really is tiny, I swear.)