Chapter Twenty-One
December 11th, 1981
Sirius Black's Flat
"All right," Hermione said as she stared across the table at Harry, who mimicked her posture, hands folded in front of him, chin resting on his knuckles. "If I give you this biscuit, you have to forgive me for telling McGonagall about the firebolt and having it confiscated."
"Okay," Harry said, reaching for the biscuit despite not understanding.
Hermione held it away from him. "Do you forgive me?"
"Okay!" Harry said and then grinned when she gave him the treat.
She smiled primly. "I'm glad we worked that out. And I want you to know that I forgive you for always taking Ron's side in arguments, and for never listening to me when you really needed to. And your temperamental outbursts," she added thoughtfully, "we're going to work on those."
"Okay," Harry mumbled through a crumb-filled mouth.
She grimaced at the sight. "I feel wretched indulging in your sweet tooth. It's too late for you to be eating biscuits. You've had it pretty rough lately, though," she said with a sigh and reached across the table, running her fingers affectionately through the black strands. "Oh, this hair. Always such a mess. Just like your dad."
"Story, Mi."
"You want me to read you a story?" She laughed and stood up, opening the cooling cabinet and handing him a bottle of milk. "Harry Potter wants to read a book? How about that. Keep that attitude. If I have anything to say about it, you'll start Hogwarts this time with a proper respect for education."
Holding her hand, Harry jumped down from his chair and followed her into the living room where he climbed up on the sofa and Hermione perused Sirius's bookshelves. "Let's see . . . My Life as a Muggle, The Beaters' Bible, four different motorbike manuals, six Stephen King novels . . . Sirius doesn't have anything that looks age appro—wait!" she said excitedly, running into the other room and reaching for her beaded bag. "I have something! Where is it? Where is it?" she muttered, reaching down into the depths of the bag. "Oh, here we are." Excitedly, Hermione pulled the copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard that Dumbledore had left her in his will.
She sat down beside Harry and smiled thoughtfully as she opened the book, having almost forgotten about all the work she had put into translating the runes. "I only finished some of the translations," she told him. "So there are just a few of the stories I can completely read."
"Crooks, come," Harry said, waving his hand at the tiny kitten who jumped onto the sofa and curled up between the two.
Hermione smiled and ran her fingers down Crookshanks's back. "All settled? Right then. The Wizard and the Hopping Pot," she began. "'There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot.'"
December 12th, 1981
After hours in the woods behind the Lupin Cottage, James tiredly Floo'd home, leaving behind the butterbeer and potions for his friends for when they woke. It had taken hours to calm the wolf who was no longer used to having his Animagi friends with him, but eventually Moony relented and Prongs had stood, raking his antlers on nearby trees while the two canines chased one another and play fought through the brush. When Moony and Padfoot had finally fallen asleep, Prongs made his way back toward the cottage and shifted before heading back to the flat.
The fire roared to life, highlighting Hermione's sleeping face and James smiled at the sight of Harry, out cold in the witch's arms, the little orange cat snuggled near her feet, his bottle-brush tail flicking back and forth over the side of the sofa.
James knelt down in front of Harry, brushing his hair from his face and smiling, using the back of a knuckle to catch the string of saliva falling out of his mouth and then wiping it off on his trousers.
"Mmm . . ." Hermione blinked her eyes open and yawned. "What time is it?"
"About half three," James whispered. "I stayed as long as I could but . . . it was a rough one," he said with a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. "Moony's been off with the werewolf packs for a long time and we spent the first hour or two dealing with the dominance thing. It's a pain in the arse."
She frowned. "Are you hurt?"
James shook his head. "I'm fine. How was he?"
Hermione smirked down at the sleeping toddler. "Oddly angelic."
"Do you want me to take him?"
"Only if you need to," she said, shaking her head. "He's fine if you want to sit down, take a Pain Potion or anything. You look pretty roughed up."
James chuckled and stood back up, wincing as his knees cracked. "You ever tangle with a werewolf?" he asked as he walked to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and pulling out a mild Pain Potion.
"Once."
Shocked, he turned to stare at her. "What? Really?"
Hermione nodded. "We were fourteen," she said, her fingers touching the top of Harry's head. "Remus was our professor and he hadn't taken his Wolfsbane Potion. It was all very dramatic but a hippogriff, of all things, saved us."
"So you let the poor beast fight your battle for you? Some Gryffindor," he said teasingly, throwing back the Pain Potion before grabbing two butterbeers from the cooling cabinet and returning to the living room, twisting the top off of both and holding one out to her. "He looks comfortable," he said, gesturing to Harry who was curled against Hermione, using her arm as a pillow. "I worried about nightmares for a while."
She nodded in understanding. "He had them a lot when I knew him. Funny . . . the last few months on the run . . . it was just Harry and me, and . . ." she began to say but then stopped and sighed, taking a sip from the bottle.
"What happened to the other one? Ron, right?" he asked curiously. "The Weasley's youngest boy?"
"He and Harry had gotten into an argument," she said, running the pad of her thumb against the opening of the bottle. "Do you remember I told you that Horcruxes affect you? Well, it hit Ron the hardest of us all. It was bad. We'd been starving for weeks and always on the alert. Nerves were just . . . shot to hell. Ron had it bad. Harry didn't have . . . well . . . he was alone except for Ron and me, and I'd sent my parents away. Ron still had his whole family to worry about. We had no way of knowing what was happening out in the rest of the world. So they fought, said some horrible things to one another, and Ron left."
James's eyes widened. "He left you? What did you do?"
"Cried mostly," she admitted with a small, sad laugh. "Cried a lot. Ron and I . . . We weren't together but . . . and now there's definitely no chance of that," she said and James winced apologetically. "Anyway, Ron leaving made everything scarier somehow. I'd always had the pair of them. We fought from time to time but . . . when things got bad, they were always there. The three of us together. And then suddenly Ron was gone and I was so worried about Harry that all I did was cry all night. We didn't want to be alone, so Harry would crawl into my bed and hug me close from behind and tell me that I was his best friend and he would keep me safe."
They both lingered in the silence for a long time, each staring at the sleeping boy between them before James finally sighed and looked up. "Thank you, Hermione. For keeping my son safe. And I'm sorry you've lost so much."
"We all have," she said. "But . . . he's still here, and that's what's important."
Eventually, Harry started drooling again and James quietly laughed while pulling his son from Hermione's arms, having a hard time keeping silent when she cringed and used her wand to clean the spittle from her skin.
She packed up her bag, putting her book back inside and recasting a Stabilizing Charm on the contents before allowing Crookshanks to slip inside. Smiling from the doorway, she watched James put Harry in his crib, leaning on the rail for a long moment before kissing the boy's forehead and turning back, extinguishing the light with a flick of his wand.
"Thanks again," he said.
Hermione smiled. "Anytime."
He walked her to the Floo and Hermione turned around. "James . . . I know it's hard. It looks hard," she admitted. "And I can't imagine. But . . . Harry was my best friend. I knew a lot about his life and . . . well, you're doing a great job. He's better having you here. You're an amazing father."
James awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. "Doesn't feel like it some days."
She sighed and reached out, hugging him tightly. He didn't return the gesture at first, but finally did and sighed heavily. "You're my friend too," she insisted. "If you ever need anything, just ask."
He smiled, grateful, and let her go. "Thank you. I . . . I think I need all the true friends I can get."