Twenty-Six Years Later

by HopefulEVOLution

Through the seven years of Hogwarts, they faced the hardships, the betrayals, the heartaches, and the fears together to end the war. They were victorious and at peace for nineteen years after that. But there has been an unspoken war among the trio that has been going on longer and now the battle has taken a turning point that may change lives (Epilogue compliant fic; Harmione)

21. Acceptance

A:N: I am so so so so so so so so so SO SORRY for the delay! My WiFi crashed and I had to wait for a new one to come in! I hope you all are not too upset with me! I wasn't horsing around the entire time, I've been working on multiple chapters for you lot since the last update so you need to expect more than one chapter this week! I worked hard on all of them extremely hard for you!

Again I am so sorry for the wait. I was so desperate to come back. Forgive me *Bows head*

I hope you all enjoy your time reading this!

---

You know I'm not one to break promises

I don't want to hurt you but I need to breathe

At the end of it all you're still my best friend

But there's something inside that I need to release

Which way is right, which way is wrong?

How do I say that I need to move on?

You know we headed separate ways

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

There's nothing I can really say

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

Got to be true to myself

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

So I'll be on my way

- Too Close; Alex Clare

---

"I'm in love with a woman I can never have. The point is, I'm in love with her and it's driving me crazy. I'm not in control. I have to stay together to protect her and she wants me to be the better man, which means I can't be who I am."

- Damon Salvatore; The Vampire Diaries

---

Chapter Twenty: Acceptance

He was sure he was asleep.

He could feel his mind leaving his body behind as it took a trip to the picture inside his head. Then he found himself living a memory, a nightmare; he found himself in the middle of a lonely, deserted path that was settled inside a forest upon a hill that towered over a small town. The path was made out of mud and cracked rocks that continued forward to a cabin home. The sun was not out but even without it, the trees crowding them made their path dark and eerie. There was a very storm looming above him, black clouds were covering the usual cheerful blue sky that usually showers over Montana.

The storm was just as strong as the one from the previous day was. If it weren't for the tree branches leaning over the way, its vines withering away, its hair of green leaves spread out widely like an umbrella, then he probably wouldn't see more than three feet ahead of him. Lightning was the only clear white streak that would appear in the sky. Harry counted, as Sirius had taught him many years ago. One, two, three – thunder cracked, which meant the storm wasn't off, same as before, three miles according to Sirius' calculations. The rain drilled through the gaps of the leaves, jackhammering down on his head. Ironically, his body isn't really there but the rain felt real as he remembered and he was completely soaked to the bone. He probably could be. His cloak could be clinging to his body, his hair stuck to his face, and he just doesn't feel it.

Lightning broke the sky again. He counted once again – one, two – another thunder. The source of the storm was getting closer, the heart of the beating louder. He held the hood of his cloak over his head to shield his vision from the rain as he trudged through the pool of moist dirt. He couldn't see halfway down at the town below. Another lightning flashed. He counted – one. A round of thunder roars above the set of tree branches and leaves; the rain turned horizontal.

He could hear the puffs of their rapid breaths behind them through the drumming of his heart in his ears and the pattering of the rain. The coldness in the air was filling his lungs frigidly and he could see his breath in misty pants. He was watching the cabin intently from behind the many trees he would hide behind. He was waiting for a sign, a clue, to appear around or inside the small home to know there is life. He hoped there was. He needed there to be.

"Chief!" someone whispered loudly behind him. "Are you sure the information is accurate? We've been staking out this house for two houses now."

Harry peered over his shoulder at his second in command, Arnold Grumps, and said, "We had more than one witness confirm their mug shots. Even the waiter got the manager to show us their credit record. It's all under the name Galvin Gudgeon – our victim. All their tracks lead to here."

Arnold nodded and looked ahead at the cabin. Harry glanced behind him; there were four other Aurors hiding behind trees, curtains of moss and vines, and bushes. Some of them seem anxious, almost itching to burst into the cabin and go into full combat with either Jugson or Yaxley. They have their personal history with the two criminals – some of them were fans of Galvin Gudgeon and others were injured from their encounter with said dark wizards. They have their hoods up to clear their visions and their wands were drawn, prepared.

Harry turned back to the cabin and kept waiting. A hand grabbed on his shoulder but he didn't look.

"Let's not be rash, Chief," Arnold hissed. "If they're in there then we should give them the element of surprise at the right time. This could be the end of our search."

Harry nodded. Arnold was the only in the group who knew about his personal hatred towards the dark wizards and would try to keep him level-headed during their missions or in the Ministry. He can only hope that his words are enough to give him a clear mind when he faces those two criminals, as he continued to watch the cabin remain silent and dark. His wand was shaking the tighter he held it, knowing it wasn't from the cold of the drenching storm. The anxiety was beginning to overflow in him, as well as anger, impatience, fury, and frustration. He wanted this search to be over – he wanted to go home to his family.

Harry wanted to know how Lily was doing without him – he only hoped that she was sleeping right on curfew. He hoped that Lily was not struggling to sleep because of the 'monsters' under the bed he would protect her from. He hoped Ginny was helping her. He has not spoken to Ginny since the day before he left for this mission and his last contact was the time he sent her a letter to let her know he was fine. He was still upset with her for what she said to him – stating that he finds his job more important than his own daughter – but he finds that as no reason to make her live in fear for his life.

Then he thought about her brother, Ron. He wondered how his sales and deals with the shop is doing. He figured Ron probably managed to get a couple during his leave. Over the years since he started working with George, Ron had discovered his talent in persuasion and he was never really ashamed to use its advantage to expand the products and make the store more known. Ron had even made the cover of Spellbound Success, a new magazine that came out in 2000, and rivaled against Witch Weekly. Ron was considered the most thriving wizard after making five company deals in three months. Harry could not be more proud for his best friend. That is why he got the present he bought for Ron.

His mind drifted to Hugo. He missed the little boy's energetic attitude and his impressive high intelligence. He always has a positive behavior through whichever small adventure he would take with his family and he seems keen on making sure to fill in every silent moment by a random story he would live through. Harry especially loved it when Hugo would become eager about Quidditch, his missions, and the short food fights he'd start with Lily or Ron. Sometimes Harry would think that Hugo had ADHD with his never-ending energy but he knew that he didn't. He was just a happy young wizard, enjoying his childhood like his parents wanted him to.

Then Harry's thoughts were haunted with images of Hermione. He was picturing the last time he saw her, during the family dinner on the previous night before his departure; she was paying attention to Hugo as he told another school ground story, rolling her eyes at exaggerated moments, and laughing at Lily's witty comments about his falsehood in some parts. Her ringlets would swish across her cheeks at the shook of her head and the light in her eyes would seem brighter than the chandelier of the dining room. Harry was displeased by his imagination – it could do her no justice in person. He wanted to see her in person again to be able to see her how she truly is. No matter how much he thought of her, he never felt like he could capture the allure of her attractive features.

Harry escaped from his thoughts when Arnold tapped on his shoulder and pointed at the cabin; a light can be seen flickered on and a silhouette went across the window, the curtains drawn to hide their face. But Harry knew the person was Yaxley – he recognize the form of the ungrateful, greedy criminal anywhere. A few rattles and clutters were heard for a moment then the light went out. Harry could have sworn he heard a loud crack but he hoped against the worst.

"Move!" he commanded before he sprung forward. His watery feet splashed the muddy puddles, some of the droplets staining the hem of his cloak that was fluttering through the showering rain. Multiple footsteps splattered behind me afterwards. He did not have to worry about their presence being known to any hikers or nearby residents because they have casted the Disillusion Charm earlier before they started to track down the Death Eaters.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins the closer he got to the cabin; he is uptight in anxiety to be finally end his goal after many years of investigation, restless nights, endless searching, and petty arguments with his wife for working late hours. He would be able to return home to his daughter, Lily, to tuck her into bed and protect her from the monsters under her bed as she slept. He will be able to visit Ron and George at their shop during his free time from work and discuss Quidditch with them. He will be able to treat his nieces and nephews to many sweets as he pleases even if their mothers finding out. He will be able to spoil his children with the latest of their interests and heart's desires. He will be able to see Molly and Arthur at the Burrow as much as he wants.

He will come home again.

As soon as they were close to the cabin, the group of Aurors stopped swiftly under Harry's command. He took a few cautious steps closer to the door, his wand steady, as if he was expecting it to be blown to bits at any time soon, and he peered over at his group. They were all staring down at the wall and windows with heavy glares of many years of built hatred towards the Death Eaters. Arnold, noticing his questioning, nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. Harry returned it before he turned to the door and pointed his wand to the knob as he whispered, "Alohomora." A click was heard and he slowly pushed the door open, cringing a little as it let out a long creak.

The place was darker than the woods. The lightning would illuminate the home. Every object in sight was neat and steadied on their corners. There were no sounds heard except for the echoes of his boots clambering against the wooden floorboard as well as the other Aurors. There was an odor in the room he could not identify – it wasn't odd but a pleasantly common yet it was questionable. It caught Harry's attention the moment he opened the door and he wanted to continue taking a whiff of it but he managed to keep control in himself on the task.

"Spread out – search for them," said Harry; the Aurors nodded and complied, instantly going through every small inch behind any table and under any table.

Harry went his own way; he walked through the living room, unconsciously following the scent he had captured seconds ago. He cannot hear any whispered voices or noises that didn't coming from his men – he could not even find a spot of a footprint or a handprint that belonged to the wanted criminals. He could not explain it himself but the smell was intoxicating to him and it brings such an exhilarating sensation in his blood, making his heart throb crazily and his mind to become madly loose of all senses. It filled him up to the brink like a drink. It was a simple smell of ink, parchment, and cinnamon but it drove Harry insane with want as the seductive smell surrounded him wildly. He breathed in deeply and slowly to absorb it in, to be forever drenched in the scent.

Harry lets the smell drag him towards a door that is half open, the crack seeping out the aroma that has him in an absent-minded state. The floor squeaked under his foot when he got closer to the door and he was about to push the door wider when he snapped back at the voice of Arnold calling out to him in a whisper.

"Chief!" said the Auror. Harry turned to him curiously. "Are you following that smell as well? Is that where it's coming from?"

Harry nodded. "It's stronger here than most of the cabin," he whispered back.

"Be careful," Arnold told him. "I don't think it's normal to smell raspberries this strongly. They don't grow anywhere outside of New England or New Hampshire. Especially in this season."

Harry was highly baffled to hear him say this because he does not smell an inkling of the raspberries Arnold was speaking about. He clearly smells the only scents he could identify. Shrugging it off, he turned back to the door, pushed it open, and started to slowly step inside. The room was pitch black than the rest of the cabin – the lightning outside could not even shed any brightness through the closed window. He could not see anything. He did not know what was surrounding him. He did not know what he was walking towards. He was just following the desirable aroma as it became more powerful with each step closer to where it could possibly be the source of it all.

Then, as the fragrance grew robust, he stopped. He knew he was in front of the source as he breathed it in deeply. He could hear Arnold coming close to him from behind, also loudly sniffing in the essence. He wondered again why Arnold smelled something different compared to his, perplexed. He tried to remember where Arnold could have possibly gotten those scents from or if perhaps if he had gotten it accidentally mixed from one of their comrades but he knew it was not that. They all smelled like rain, moss, and sweat. No raspberry was caught in their way during their track here. But Harry could not fixate the smell Arnold spoke of because he was brimming with only the ones he could detect and a voice – one he had not heard from for weeks – broke through his dazed mind. He recognized it to be Hermione's voice: "This is Amortenia. The most powerful love potion in the world. It's rumored to smell differently to each person according to what attracts them."

Amortenia, Harry thought. But it smells different from last time. Ginny had a flowery smell on her…she always smelled the same for years. This is different. Harry tried to think of where he usually smells ink and parchment – he had no doubt it was probably from the office. He couldn't find where he got the cinnamon from. It felt familiar to him. It was literally roaming over the tip of his tongue and the taste was ravishing. It was not strange to him. It was too surreal for him to be addicted to something he could not name. He felt like he knew it. Like he had it on his lips before. Then Harry's eyes opened without him realizing he had closed them. Hermione!

He finally found out where he got the cinnamon from – the night he and Hermione kissed was the time when he caught the sweetness from. Hermione held that natural scent of sugariness on that sour evening. The tiny lick of baked brown dough coated in glazed frosting covering her lips like gloss and whiffs of it emerging from her like a common perfume. He remember her telling him that she was obsessed with cinnamon buns when she was little that the smell was practically part of her and her mother had given her the nickname Cinnamon Buns just for tease.

Harry started to wonder; what were Yaxley and Jugson doing with Amortenia? It did not have any sense. They bought many venoms and poisons – he would understand the deadly ones. But a love potion was puzzling. Especially for dangerous wizards like them.

Harry's mind was slowly breaking away from the haze of the charming potion to catch the sound of bubbling liquid, like it was boiling. He does not see any blue or orange flame burning any cauldron but he can feel the heat. It was like steam was filling up the room, enclosing him in the eye of a heat hurricane. It did not feel as nice as the fragrance did to his senses – he felt he was being baked alive in an oven. His skin suddenly felt itchy, his temple started to break out in beads of sweat, and his breathing was now labor. He could hear his heart drumming in his ears. He could also hear Arnold going into a coughing feat behind him.

Harry held up his wand and wheezed out, "Lumos!"

But as soon as the tip of his wand was ignited the sparks of the spells for light, he was blinded by a brightness too white and a force very mighty to have him knocked off his feet. He can feel himself flying backwards, breaking through walls and walls of hard wood, cracking his back painfully with each new impact. Shouts and yells are caught in the noise of what Harry assumed to be an explosion. He landed on something hard and he let out an excruciating howl as he felt his back convulse in physical misery. He squinted his eyes open, his vision blurred. His glasses were gone. He could hardly make out what was happening around him. He sees light orange flickering around him in fuzzy blobs and he can feel the ground quake vigorously beneath him as objects collapsed around him. His Aurors were shouting his name and each other's but he cannot see them.

Harry groaned as he tried to push himself up but he later dropped back down. He was shocked to find out that the nerves in his arms suddenly gave out under his weight. He looked around frantically despite his bad vision. He was trying to identify who is near from sound through continuous booms and thuds. The heat from the small room had heightened – there was smoke hovering around, Harry noticed. It made it impossible for Harry to breathe without choking on ash and dust.

"Mercer! Galloway!" he puffed out desperately. "Grimms! Grumps!"

The only answer he got was frenzied yelps and rapid chants of charms. His voice was too weak to be heard. His throat was too dry from breathing in the dried ashes and his lungs were too full of soot. Suddenly, he felt something fall on his face. It felt tiny like snowflakes but heavy like pebbles. He could not see what was above him as it was blurry but he can tell by the way it vibrated that it was shaking, threatening to drop onto him. He made effort to move again but now he discovers that his whole body was now paralyzed to his commands – he was a lying stone.

"Chief!" Arnold's voice screamed at the same time Harry heard what is above him break apart from what kept it sturdy and he closed his eyes to embrace the collision heading his way. And he would have felt it in a matter of seconds if a low oath assuring him safety hadn't shot him from the spot and he was sent tumbling across from a burning sensation, the force of the push making him skip like a pebble in a water, until his side collided with a smooth item, making him let out an aching grunt.

"GRUMPS!"

Harry tried to keep his eyes open, his ears perking at Kennedy's shout of his second-in-command's name, and he mentally kicked himself for not being able to even move his head to look up. His eyes were beginning to droop as his own system was slowly shutting down; he kept his closing eyes set on the scene in front of him. A huge yellowish-orange splotch surrounded by small figures he assumes to be his Aurors. He can see some unsteady lines being shot towards the bigger blob as they yelled out, "Aquamenti!" simultaneously. He hoped that one of them was Arnold – he did not want to think that Kennedy's desperate yell was out of distraught but for assistance.

As his mind darkened into sleep and his eyes followed, Harry realized that the smell of cinnamons was able to sneak past the smoke and burning wood. Or perhaps it was stuck on him from the explosion that hit him. He could feel it clouding up the last amount of his consciousness whilst his vision turned endless black and he felt an aura of safety wash over him as the thought of being embraced by the arms of the seductive scent soon raced through his mind lastly before he lost all awareness to the world. His mouth managed to utter out one word – pronounce eight letters – whisper out one name –

"Hermione…"

---

In the Potter Cottage, Harry awoke suddenly, like he has done many nights since his return from Montana. He rubbed his scar out of instinct, as pain of his nightly headache pulsated from within his skull like thunder, and he was filled with the unpleasant sensation of guilt at the memory he just dreamt about. There was also blame – blame at himself for his poor performance of leadership, blame at himself for letting down the many men he lost who put their lives in his hands to guide them back home, and blame at himself for the death of Arnold Grumps. The emotion was electrifying him highly that the tiny hairs on his arms and the nape of his neck stood tall and proud. Unlike Harry; he walks with his head down and in shame.

Harry felt a gentle weight on his right arm. He glanced down and he was greeted with the crazed mane of ginger bed hair of his wife, Ginny, sleeping tranquilly with her head wedged between his shoulder and neck. The freckles over her shoulders were more evident on her skin underneath the incandescent light of the moon pouring through the thin opening of the curtains of his window. She looked to be too far into the calm – he wished he could join her. He stealthily slipped his arm out from under her and carefully slipped his legs out of the covers, his eyes warily watching Ginny for any signs of stirring as he sat upright.

It was fortunate for him that she remained asleep. She is normally the light sleeper out of all the Weasley children. Ron was, without a doubt in the world, the heaviest. He was a rock the moment his head hits the pillow. Bill wakes up on reflexes to sounds that were abnormal to him. Percy was quite standard, sleeping on a regular schedule, depending on what is important on the next day. George was close to Percy but he would stay fifteen minutes longer before he clocks in for work.

Harry eased out of bed, picked up his glasses from the nightstand, and quietly moved out of the room as he plucked them on his face. The floor felt cold even with the fuzzy rug leading him down the corridor. It made him shiver. The hem of his sweatpants dragged behind his heel and sometimes rolled under his soles. He wondered if he should bring out his warmer set as the weather was slowly becoming frigid for the autumn season. He passed James' door splayed with many posters of musical artists who were one-hit wonders or deceased and then came across Albus' door covered in similar posters as James but also autographed pictures of Quidditch players that Ginny was able to convince to meet up with their children. He was expecting to hear some bumps and thumps within the two rooms as he walked towards the staircase but then he was reminded that his young boys were away at Hogwarts and he won't be seeing them until December.

Harry stopped when he saw the opened door to Lily's room and he peered inside out of instinct; the room was dimly lit by the miniature glob of light that could resemble of a Patronus gliding around in the ceiling. It was a creation Ron invented two years after he started working with George – he wanted to give out the same shine of security in one's sanctuary like the Deluminator did for him during the war. He started to make smaller replicas of it, testing them out for their flaws and needs of improvement, until he was able to perfect it enough to be just a ball of light not needed a source to illuminate and would take the form of the owner's favored animal.

Ron had given one to James and Albus when they used to share a room, and one for Rose. They were later passed down to Hugo and Lily. Harry was impressed; Ron was the first wizard to come up with a magical nightlight and received great recognition for his creation. Half of the sales went to him, which he would then split with his parents and brother. Ginny did not want to be involved in the money of his invention – she wanted to earn her money squarely and she did later on when she got signed to the Holyhead Harpies.

Harry was glad to see his daughter sleeping soundly without a care in the world, lazily clutching onto her stuffed wolf, and her hair a complete mess like her mother's. He looked up at the floating glob, seeing it take form of his Patronus through his eyes. He never understood why it did that. His favorite animal was actually an owl. It wasn't because he has one as a pet but mainly because owls were technically the reason why he was able to discover the wizarding world with a simple letter. He figured it only worked for children as Ron designed it to be.

Stepping back, Harry turned away and went to the guest bathroom. He could have used the one joined in his bedroom but he felt like the sound of running water would be enough awake Ginny from her slumber and in the way how recent events are, he thought it would be best not to take any chances with her. The slightest of noises would make her instantly assume it is him struggling with another nightmare or flashback. He was surprised when he woke up, he was not meeting the same bright brown eyes staring down at him worriedly like every other night. He must have tired her out too much. Harry splashed a few suds of water over his face, letting them wash away the shaken nerves he felt from his nightmare, and lowered his head a bit, his hair falling around his face as he looked down at the constant ripples caused by the streaming faucet. He did not want to see his reflection.

Harry was glad he was alone, though. It was nice to be alone once in a while, not having to force a smile or seem pleased to be home, to be away from a tragedy; a relief to stare dejectedly at the water and let a few anguish tears finally escape. He did not let out a complete breakdown – he would save that for when he has some personal time to think about how Arnold's family is handling with his death. As he continued to stare, Harry can see his depressed expression reflecting off the clear water. He hadn't looked this rough in a while – the last time he had been like this was whenever he is stressed about finding Yaxley and Jugson before they would take away another life. Now the bounties on their heads don't seem to have much importance to him anymore. He looked absurdly messy – his eyes seemed dead in a hazel color scheme, grey and slightly black.

He could see why everyone always seems on edge around him.

Harry took his time letting the warm water hear the skin of his cheeks and steam soothes his throat. The droplets slid over his forehead and eyelids – it felt nice. He used the towel from the rack to dry his face, and then he dumped it in the hamper before he turned. He turned stoned on a step when he saw the turquoise color of his godson's hair by the doorway; Teddy Lupin was leaning against the frame, eyes baggy from sleep, arms crossed, and hair crazed. He was looking at Harry expectantly.

"You should be sleeping," murmured Harry nonchalantly.

"So should you," Teddy shot back with a frown, unmoved.

Harry sighed. "Did I wake you?"

"Heard you passing by the room," Teddy said.

Harry nodded and did not say anymore. Teddy was staying in James' room during his visit. He knew he must have naturally stomped when he passed James' and Albus' rooms. He would do that to let them know he was going to check on them and give them a head start to tuck themselves to bed if they weren't already.

"Wanna talk about it?" Teddy suggested.

"There's not really much to talk about. It's the same thing as every other night," Harry answered sadly.

Teddy nodded his head to one direction. "Let's go talk about it. I feel like you're holding out on me with something. Maybe talking about it will let you sleep a lot longer. Study?"

Harry was reluctant at this. He really did not want to talk about his haunting nightmares. He woke up to get away from them. But he understood he needed to sleep; he needed to get up early to drive Lily to school and then later to go to the Wizengamot to speak out for Hermione's innocence at her hearing. He needed to have a biased mind by the time his name is called. He also wanted to be able to sleep normally again without the fear of being reverted back to the last time of his mission or the memory making him trigger the ones of the thousand deaths he had to fight to keep behind his head.

"Not too long," Harry said before he started to follow his godson towards the second set of stairs that lead up to his study, flicking up the light switch off along the way. Passing by the barrister, Harry looked over down at the main floor; there were fake cobwebs stuck to the corners with plastic spiders tangled within them and glass pumpkin seen on any available space of the tables. Streamers of purple and green were hanging from the ceiling, curled around the railings of the staircase, decorated on the edges of the tables. Bats were tied to the hangings of the windows. There were rubber black shapes of witches on brooms stuck to the glass.

Stereotypical of Muggles, Ginny had said when she bought them. Harry found them comical. People think of wizards with big nose, a beard longer than Santa Clause's, and a ridiculously pointed hat, and witches to be green-skinned, inhumanly ugly with long disfigured noses and huge warts when the person they're talking to could be either one and they wouldn't even realize it.

Teddy was moving ahead of him up the rickety stairs towards his study, dominatingly walking like he was the owner and it was normal for him to be inside the room daily. Harry could not count how many times they had spent inside the study during his visits so it must be a natural thing for Teddy to act so normal. Teddy opened the door once he reached it and waited for Harry to step past him before he entered after him.

The moon was bringing light into the room from the wide windows of the east side, revealing the many stacks of papers scattered over his mahogany desk. The fireplace was still bringing out warmth to the room without the fire, the burnt wood still letting out a few sizzling steam from its darker spots. The portraits were still moving but Harry hardly paid attention to them. The room seemed hollow, almost like Harry was living inside a shell of how it normally looks. There was always color, a sense of life contained in by the walls, whether it is by the watching of the portraits, the flickering of the flames, or the giggles of his children playing Wizard's Chess while he was actively working on a report. But seeing as the room is now, Harry saw what he has been feeling since his return – vacant.

"C'mere!" said Teddy and Harry turned to him, relieved to have a reason to stop looking around. The turquoise haired wizard had opened a door between the towering bookshelves and he was digging through the artifacts he had stored in there. The majority were actually belongings of his parent's that he was able to salvage during the reconstruction of the cottage. They were little but memorable. His favorite was the picture taken of his wedding day; it held the faces of his many missed loved ones and of the original members of the Order of the Phoenix. He only brought it out during specific days but he could never make himself put it up with the other pictures of his family. He felt that one needed to be apart.

Harry approached his godson as he exit the storage room holding two broomsticks, a polished Firebolt and Nimbus Two Thousand, and kicked the door closed whilst holding one out to him. Harry smiled weakly as he took the Firebolt.

"A bit late for flying, don't you think, sport?" he asked as Teddy went to the window, clutching his broom over his shoulder casually.

"I think it's the perfect time for flying," said Teddy with a grin as he unlatched the window and gingerly pushed it open. "It's the late of night – Mum-Gin and Lily are asleep – not a Muggle in sight – we could travel all of London before the crack of dawn if we want to. Unless people love sleeping by a window with their eyes open, I doubt anyone will spot a couple of blokes flying on broomsticks. Besides, we never let daytime stop us from flying so what makes this any different?"

"I gave you such a bad influence," Harry chuckled. "If either of your mums find out you got this rebellious act from me, it's more than just my broom that will be at stake here."

"Stop being such an old tosser," Teddy rolled his eyes. "I can't believe the wizard who is a legend now let's himself be held down by two witches. What happened to one who was all about the fun?"

"He got married and grew old," Harry retorted.

"You're not that old. Now c'mon!" Teddy pulled his broom over his shoulder, holding it steady while he swung a leg over, mounting himself, and then his feet for gliding over the floor as he hovered slightly. He shot a grin back at Harry over his shoulder as he moved past the window, floating in dangerously plain sight. "Bet I could beat you in a race from here to the post office and back!"

Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You honestly think that dainty broom of yours can help you win? Are you forgetting I'm holding the Firebolt? The fastest broom there is!"

"This dainty broom of mine almost beat you last time," Teddy said teasingly.

"It wasn't the broom and you know it," Harry scoffed. "I was being simple while you were using maneuvers to help you get a boost in your speed. The acceleration of your Nimbus is dull compared to mine. You wouldn't be able to handle it – you'd probably get shot off!"

"Excuses, excuses, that's all I hear," Teddy waved him off. "Some son of a Marauder you turn out to be. Afraid that this won't be a close call? Shame on you, Papa."

"Oh ho! Okay, you brought this on yourself," Harry said. He quickly mounted himself on the broom and hovered out into the air next to his godson, a devious grin glinting off mischief like his eyes. He knew what Teddy was trying to do. He was egging him on, challenging him that see who was a better descendent of the Marauders. It was always this way between them when it came to their fathers. Ever since Harry told Teddy about his father, Remus, he has been able to bond more with Harry by doing rash stunts and risky plays. At first it was to prove that he was as outrageous as his father but Teddy later used it as a reason to spend time with Harry.

Teddy smirked and moved his broom to the direction of the location as Harry floated to be next to him, equally prepared.

"You're going to be so sorry when I'm through with you," Harry said.

"Keep telling yourself that and it might come true," Teddy remarked before he set himself in position. "On the count of three, we go. To the post office and back. Ready?"

Harry nodded. "One –"

"– Two –"

"– THREE!"

Harry and Teddy kicked out into a rapid speed across the small buildings and streetlights. An old feeling rushed through Harry like the air blowing his hair back. The pumping of his blood pounded in his ears, the tail of his night robes whipped out wildly behind him, the whizzing of the piercing night breeze passing him, and his nerves were numb by the fierce excitement he was feeling. He started to laugh openly – he felt young and wonderful again. He was brought back to the best days of his life in Hogwarts when he is shooting across the Quidditch pitch with one arm out and his hand open to capture the Golden Snitch that would be humanly blind to others but his eyes. He could literally hear loud cheers of his Gryffindor housemates and of the other houses supporting his team, all of them chanting his name "Potter! Potter!" like a mantra as they watch him.

Next to him, he can hear Teddy laughing as well and it shocked him to see that his godson was in the same pace as him. His surprise must have been caught by Teddy because he leaned further into the broom, both hands grasping it tightly, and shot forward like an arrow from a bow. Harry blinked, processing at the sudden occurrence of events, not believing that Teddy was managing to actually outdo him with a broom that did not have half of the boost like his. Then Harry grinned and pushed into his broom more, chuckling under his breath as he can see himself already gaining up to the young wizard. He felt like the time he was trying to take back Neville's Remembrall from Draco, trying to beat time with speed, as they neared the familiar building of the post office.

"Are you trying to test me? I told you that dainty broom won't help you," Harry said, laughing, glancing at Teddy next to him.

"Oh yeah?" Teddy tried to seem like he was sneering but the wide grin he was sporting made it impossible to do so. "That's quite a big talk coming from you. If your broom is so great then how come you're not ahead of me? You should be back at the house by now!"

"I'm just humoring you," Harry said. He then moved his broom upward to be hovering above his godson and grinned down at him. Teddy glared up at him. He always despised how easy it was for Harry to move at any direction while maintaining the same speed.

It was a second later, everything happened in slow motion for Harry. Teddy's eyes had flickered down and then his broom was following the direction, pointing the tip downwards towards the ground in a steep dive. It was there that Harry realized they had already gone past the post office and were going over the small playground. The trees were bare of leaves, which were together into mountains of piles throughout the area. The local groundskeeper must have tidied it up throughout the day.

Harry followed and rocketed down after Teddy. The strands of his hair fluttered over his forehead through the whistling air, his lenses were starting to frost over by the frigid temperature, but he kept racing after Teddy towards the ground. He saw him glance back over his shoulder, flashes a smile, before he pulled back his broom and he was soon zooming across the park, the force of his speed making the piles of leaves to scatter. Harry copied his actions and trailed behind him, making the leaves to flutter once more behind him.

"C'mon, old man! Have you lost your touch?" yelled Teddy over his shoulder without looking back; Harry decided to end his overly-confident demeanor. He forced the broom to increase its pace, basically leaning his chest against the handle, his robes madly whipping behind him, as he shot past Teddy like a pebble from a slingshot, and now led the way through the park. An astonished gasp reaching Harry's ear made him smile to himself.

When he reached the end of the park, Harry kicked upward into the night sky again, climbing higher than he and Teddy originally were, until he was hovering in the center of the moon. He steadied his broom to a gentle halt before he glanced down at the village below him; streetlamps were glowing the path of the streets and walkways. Houses were lacking light from the windows, crickets were singing happily in the silence, a sound of alley cats tangled in a brawl could be heard echoing, and once in a while a dog would bark out its protest. Aside from those, there wasn't a disturbance in sight. Everything was peaceful – just like he wanted it to be. This was his home. This was where he was born. He had lost sixteen years of life in it but he managed to get them back later on and create memories in it like he should have from the beginning.

Eventually, Teddy had approached him in the sky and pouted. Harry laughed at his face and reached across to playfully ruffle his hair. Teddy smacked his hand away.

"I don't know what you're so smug about," Teddy murmured. "We haven't gotten back to the house yet so you didn't win."

Harry shrugged and looked back down at the village.

"Ready for the roundabout?" Teddy challenged, a grin breaking across his face.

"Actually, I rather stay up here for a while," Harry insisted, crossing his arms to use them to lean against the broom. "I don't see any rush getting home. Plus, I'm too awake to go to sleep now."

"You're not worried about Mum-Gin trampling over you?"

"Oh, she will but I'm sure she'll understand. She's been telling me to get out of the house often anyway."

"Can you blame her? You've been a vampire these past few days."

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed. "Just have a lot in my mind lately."

"Wanna talk about it?" Teddy suggested. "I didn't bring you out here to get my arse handed to you in flying, you know. I do wanna talk with you."

Harry pursed his lips as he scratched the back of his head. "I don't know what it is you want me to talk about, Ted. It's just the same thing. Me on my mission with the other Aurors – us investigating the cabin – I did a spell – an explosion happens. There really isn't much of a difference. In the end, I caused it."

"Stop right there," Teddy said firmly. "You couldn't have known that poison was in that room."

"But it's my fault for that explosion happening," Harry muttered. "If I hadn't gotten in that room then Grumps and the other Aurors would still be alive. Now they're blood is on my hands."

"You can't keep blaming yourself when someone dies – an Auror, no less!" Teddy tried to reason with him. "They knew what were the risks of this career the moment they signed up for it – no, from the moment they studied classes that require to become an Auror. They knew some day they were going to die from a dangerous mission. It didn't matter whether you are Head Auror or not, Papa, they would have died either way. Do you know how many died before you were recruited?"

"A lot," Harry mumbled.

"Exactly," Teddy said. "Compared to the amount of lives lost back then, you actually have a lot saved nowadays. You hardly lose anybody. Some do get injured but they're alive."

"But compared to back then, a war was going on," Harry pointed out. "I'm losing people on missions. That's small in contrast to a worldwide bloodshed, don't you think?"

"Yes, that is a big difference but at the same time it isn't. You see, you're not in a war anymore but the people you're going after are from it," Teddy said. "And the only reason why these people haven't killed millions like they did before is because of you – they know you know how they work – how they think – which is why you were able to arrest half of them for the past years. These blokes – Jugson and Yaxley – they are starting to catch up with what's new. They're starting to realize that the old ways aren't working anymore as long as you're the one leading the law. They know they don't stand a chance against you that way anymore."

Harry did not speak. Teddy's words made sense as he thought about it. For the past years, he was able to catch Snatchers and Death Eaters without a problem because he knew how they would attack and defend – how they would move – who they would connect with. The old ways, as Teddy called it. But with Yaxley and Jugson it was different. They were being clever. The others were acting on brute strength and depended on it too much. But Yaxley and Jugson were not. They were using strategy, logical, and psychology on Harry. Like they did back in the cabin in Montana; they had enlaced Amortenia with poison, creating it as a weapon to lure in their enemies and destroy them.

That would explain why Jugson impersonating Gudgeon to get those venoms and poisons. They had made a bomb. They were using the old ways with the new. The ways of wizardkind was changing rapidly. Soon wands will not be the only choice of weaponry needed in a duel – the two Death Eaters were ahead of Harry in the game.

"I can see what you mean," Harry said. "It's a bit odd how much things have changed since then."

"Welcome to 2017," remarked Teddy. "Where technology took over the Muggle world better than Voldemort did."

Harry could not stop himself from laughing at that comment. It was ironic how small devices, such as cell phones and iPods, and the Internet were able to overtake a simple world overnight better than the darkest wizard in history could in a decade.

"Better than the alternative," mused Harry. "D'you know how horrible it would have been if that future happened? That would have been a foul world to live in." He gestured a hand towards the village. "I don't think either of this would be here. Just a bunch of rubble and ashes. Probably be the first place Voldemort would burn down. The first home of the wizard who defeated him the first time – demolished. He would get a laugh out of that."

"For that to happen, you'd have to be dead, Papa," Teddy retorted. "Kind of like the brain cells of this generation."

"You're not far along from this so-called generation, Ted," Harry smirked.

"Not by age but by mind, yes."

Harry snorted, nodding. He is forever pleased that his children or nieces and nephews were never like the other kids. He would see them play video games and use the computer to watch videos on the YouTube website but they would never be engrossed in them. They would not be impressed by the new or the gossip on celebrities' lives. They just live with what they have and enjoy with what addition comes their way.

"Do you think the Wizengamot will go easy on Mum-Ne?" Teddy asked after a moment of silence passed.

Harry suddenly felt the air around him shift at the turn of the conversation towards his best friend and he frowned as a recent memory of the week plagued his mind. The day when Hugo was almost expelled, after all was in the calm, he had spotted Ron sitting next to Hermione and had taken her hand. He had looked away to not show any of his dislike towards the scene. He was shocked with himself when he felt rage and jealously bubbling up inside him at the simple affectionate act that was common between his two best friends. It was something he has been seeing for years but it was the first time he was truly focused on it and realized how much discomfort it brought him.

Then earlier on that same day, Hermione had taken an early leave to check on him, to fill him in at every need he would need, and him, being in a delirious mind of PSTD, ended up harming her in the process. She was not angry with him – she was just more worried.

And when she helped him shave, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to mark her lips. He wanted to hear her breathless when he is done kissing her, to see that dazed look in her eyes he'd imagine her to have, to make her cheeks flushed, and make her want more from him. He wanted to pour out how much he missed her, how much he worried about her, how much it angered him that she would pop in his mind during his mission. How frustrated she left him to not being able to see her. He wanted to devour that mouth with all kinds of kisses – soft, rough, gentle, strong. The urge was frightening for Harry for a moment he thought he would actually act upon it. But he was able to control himself at the last minute and kiss her forehead instead.

It was a relief that he did but it made him disappointed.

"She'll be fine," Harry answered thickly. "She's been in the Ministry for years – been an essential member of it. I don't think they would give her a lethal punishment. Technically she was protecting a wizard from a Muggle. We need to be able to learn the basics before we head to Hogwarts or we'll never be able to do some of the necessary subjects. Gotta learn as a Muggle to be able to learn as a wizard."

"You should say that during her hearing," Teddy said.

"I will." Harry paused, glancing nervously at his godson from the side. "Hey, Teddy, I need to tell you something. Something has been happening for the past two months and I don't know how to explain it well. You're probably not going to like it."

Teddy blinked in confusion. "Go ahead."

Harry didn't look at him, keeping his eyes roaming over the village, whilst he scratched his cheek, and then he started to explain to him about everything from the beginning. He started from the exact moment he could pinpoint when everything was beginning to change, which was when Lily had asked him why he hadn't gotten together with Hermione and he was left without an answer. He tried not to cringe when he told Teddy about the unfaithful kiss he shared with Hermione and the feelings that later followed up to it – jealously, longing, dislike, adoration, self-loathing, contentment, and regret. He explained about the memories of Hermione he would constantly think about and how he would feel when he starts to realize the little things he noticed about Hermione, the little things he would see himself do because of Hermione.

Harry could not make himself look at Teddy when he started to talk about the moment when he would compare his behavior towards Hermione with his towards Ginny when he was younger. The conversation transitioned to the wants and don'ts when it comes to Hermione – wanting her to not cry, wanting to always laugh, wanting her to nag at him for his stupidity, wanting her to demand him to take a break from his work, and wanting to be in Ron's position. Teddy's face remained impassive throughout the whole talk. And when he reached the tiny moment in his mission, the one detail he left out during the other talks he had with Teddy, he told him about the potion.

"You smelled her?" Teddy repeated in bewilderment.

"Amortenia – I'm sure you remember it from Potions Class," Harry said. "Usually I smell Ginny's scent in there but instead I smelled Hermione's."

"So…does that mean you're like…in love with her or something?" Teddy asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, Amortenia doesn't define whether you're in love or not with someone, it just identifies the smell of the person you're attracted to. So…I guess you could say I'm attracted to Hermione?"

"But what about Mum-Gin? Aren't you attracted to her anymore? You said you didn't catch her scent in the potion anymore. Does it mean you don't love her anymore?"

Do I still love her? Harry thought about it. Does he not love Ginny anymore? He never thought about what his feelings for his wife are right now. He had been focused trying to solve his mess of emotions towards Hermione and now that the topic in brought up, he questioned; was there still love in him for Ginerva Weasley-Potter?

Ginny had evolved into an extraordinary woman. He had seen bits and snits of her growth since he met her.

He remembered how adorably shy and awkward she acted around him because of her infatuation on him. He would always see her freckled face pink shaded while her eyes would light up at the sight of him or the sound of his voice. He had cared for at first like a friend, mostly out of politeness because she was related to Ron and the Weasley had practically adopted him as another one of their own, so he wanted to be as comfortable with each member as he was with Ron. Then she came to Hogwarts and his care for her had grown into the protectiveness of an older brother would for his youngest sibling when her life was being drained out of her by Tom Tiddle. He feared for her, dreaded even at the thought of her dead. He did not want to lose her.

From that moment on, he kept her equally in his heart in the same place he had for Hermione; a friend he loves as family.

Then as the years went on, so did the both of them. Although, thinking back at it now, Ginny had showed subtle hints that she was still romantically interested in Harry and he had saw those signs but he hardly paid attention to them because he was focused on other tasks. It wasn't until fifth year, despite his crush on Cho Chang, he noticed how much Ginny had changed. Unlike Cho, the first thing Harry saw was that Ginny's abilities had gotten proficient even though she was in fourth year and that impressed him endlessly. She had no more signs of the little timid girl he had saved in his second year. She did not need a savior anymore – his attention was caught by this.

In sixth year, Harry saw many things between him and Ginny than he ever did. He saw how much of a stunning woman she became inside and out. The crimson red of her hair was beautifully natural, the way how it swished over the middle of her back like a paintbrush did on a canvas was artistically marvelous. The freckles dusted on her cheeks helped him see how captivating the glint in her bright brown eyes were to him, especially when they would become lighter in happiness, excitement, and out for trouble. Then her personality made her much more of a dream to him. The most he could use to describe how he felt when it came to her was normal. She knew who he was and what he was destined to do but she treated him like a boy next door. He enjoyed that – the feel of living without worries and being treated as an equal instead of a priceless jewel on a pedestal like most girls do.

Harry now felt confused. He could not find any reason to not be in love with Ginny. To say she isn't like most girls, is one of the main reasons why he fell for her in the first place. She had a crush on him like the majority of the female student population did but she went on with her life and with a little push from Hermione, she had gotten his heart. Yet Harry finds out, with a stroke of panic, that he did not feel the attachment he held towards he like he did when he was younger. Not even when he thought about how she bared him the gift of being a father to three lovely, beautiful children, how she had given him the chance he had lost many years ago. He felt gratitude for her to go for nine months three times to expand their family but the utter devotion and sheer love he once felt for her could not be spotted. It made guilt rip him apart.

"Papa?" called out Teddy, bringing Harry out of his overdriven thoughts. "Are you okay?"

Somberly, Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not. I…I don't know what I feel towards Ginny anymore. I love her. But…I don't know how I love her now. I never thought about it until now."

Teddy nudged his broom to glide in front of Harry and stared at his conflicted face. Harry was staring down at his hands, lost direction seen in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured. He knew how much love his godson has for his mixed family, the same people who had taken their time to raise him and fill his love with unconditional love, and for him to hear his godfather not having an answer a question he should not be struggling with must be making him incredibly sad. One word could change everything and he was not sure how much Teddy could take altogether.

"Don't be," Teddy said. "It's not like you're doing this on purpose."

"Still," Harry sighed. "I'm being selfish here putting all of this on you. Maybe we should head home and just sleep it off. I'm probably sleep-deprived."

"I doubt I can sleep knowing this is eating you up." Teddy scratched his head. "Maybe you're just confused. You and Mum-Ne have been best friends for ages, you know, maybe you just hit that point in your life where you wonder it could have been more or not. It happens to everyone."

"But I don't even know what I feel for Hermione!" Harry said. "All I know is that I'm attracted to her but it could some short-lived. A passing fancy. Maybe I'm going through some mid-life crisis or something."

"Not likely." Teddy stopped for a moment to ponder, tapping his fingers against his broom. Then his brows rose. "How about you do a list of pros and cons for each of them? Find out who holds the qualities that you love the most and what is it about them that you find most infuriating."

Harry pursed his lips. "Isn't that…a bit sexist or something? A bit disrespectful towards women."

"It's the best lead we got," Teddy said with a shrug.

"And you want to do this list now?"

"I don't see a better chance. Any other we'd be on the risk of getting caught by one of them and I don't look forward to meeting the end of their wand."

"I suppose."

Teddy clapped and rubbed his hands. "Great! Who'd you wanna start on first?"

"Er…" Harry hesitated for a second. He felt quite uncomfortable now. He was speaking about two important women in his life with a boy he considered his son, someone he raised. It held a bit of irony in it. "Hermione, I guess."

"Okay, so what's good about Mum-Ne?" Teddy asked.

"Well," Harry pondered a moment. "She's intelligent, that's a given. She's loyal – hard-working – responsible – organized – sometimes, she can be a bit funny – she's trustworthy – courageous – um, what else? Oh! She's a strong witch, a bright one – determined in her beliefs – very thorough – still studious – kind, obviously – very caring – she's also very helpful. I don't think I would have made it through Hogwarts without her or the time at the Triwizard Tournament if she hadn't taught me those spells. And she can be supportive – depends on how far the situation goes. She can be understanding on some things – I learned a couple of new things about her recently that she probably understands about me. She's also great with the kids. She loves her family very much. And…she's my best friend. That's an important thing."

"Okay, so we already ruled out the pros about her, now what about the cons?" Teddy questioned urgently.

"I don't know. I mean, all right, I guess you can say she's infuriating sometimes when she acts all motherly – always pampering me every five to ten minutes," Harry said. Teddy nodded in agreement. "And…you know, she's still a little bossy – she nags down on me whenever I do something wrong and lectures me why I should have done the right thing. Her sense of humor is sort of limited – I can only takes jokes so far with her. She spends way too much time in books that sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a wall. She gets frantic over the smallest details sometimes. She gets easily angry over a silly comment. Um, I don't like it when she cries – I'm not really good handling with crying girls and she sort of does that a lot, again, depending on the situation. She's too obsessive over rules – once in a while, it wouldn't hurt to break them if necessary. And, oh, her interests are way too different from mine – she'd rather stay behind parchment and ink while I'm flying on a broom. With Ginny, I can fly with her."

"Okay, anything else?"

"No, I think that's it."

"Okay," Teddy crossed his arms. "Now let's do Mum-Gin. What are her pros?"

"She's everything," Harry answered without hesitation. "She's basically the polar opposite of Hermione's cons. She's funnier – she doesn't baby me twenty-four-seven – she does tell me when I'm wrong but doesn't frown upon my choice. She shrugs off the smallest thing that doesn't go well – she proved that when she was much more calm organizing our wedding and would joke about the mistakes that happened that day. She gets mad if comments have gone overboard – she rarely cries about things. She only follows rules that won't get her into trouble – the rest she will break them without a care. Our interests are one and the same."

"We're getting somewhere now," Teddy said pleasantly. "Now to her cons. What's wrong with her?"

Harry's lips tighten into a thin line as he thought about Ginny, about how he felt towards her back then. He had been in love with her to the fullest. She was a special kind of woman who he was lucky to have loving him. She has her wrongs – she was not entirely perfect. And he loved that about her. She was everything he told Teddy. Talking about her made him think about how she was able to bring a little light in his darkest time back at Hogwarts with the pressures of Quidditch, the Prophecy, and Dumbledore's death weighing down on him. Because she was being herself. It was her personality that made him feel like he was just another wizard among the group, like there was no war threatening to take over their lives, and it was her knowing him that made him admire how she understood his choices. She did not cry – she did not beg – she just wished him luck and prayed for him to be the one alive in the end.

It was that moment that she had given him something worth living for; a future with her. She made him think about something he never thought he would have.

Then when the war was over, a couple of months after everything had settled down, he finally got what he fought for with her. The first few months together went off as they were expected – simple and heavenly. Their relationship was good once he was right in the mind and ready to let her in. She never pushed. She helped him grow more attached to the new world, to his new life, and he was whole again before she left with Hermione to finish their last year at Hogwarts together and he went into the Auror Training Program. They survived through letters, his occasional visits to the school, and her arrivals during holiday weekends, until she graduated. It was a little later, she was signed into the Holyhead Harpies and he was assigned for his first Auror mission. Arguments and disagreements lashed around them as their timings together were shortened, like any couple, and eventually they decided to have a break from each other.

It was until Ginny returned from a tour that she announced she will be retiring from Quidditch to work in the sports column of the Daily Prophet. Harry did not like the idea for various reasons; she was giving up her career and she would be working with the people he disliked. But she had insisted because she missed home and him. They tried their relationship again and it seem to be a lot ecstatic than the previous one. They were obsessed with each other – they could hardly keep their hands off each other whenever they were alone. It was like all the raging hormones they have suppressed for so many years have finally broken out and held no control. The fire between them was lasting – they decided to marry and have children, and the flames were still there.

But as Harry thought about it, he can see that those sparks, those explosions, have actually dried down over the years.

He was still Harry. She was still Ginny. They were the same people only they have jobs to work for money, children to tend, and bills to pay. They still act the same as they used to be when they were younger. There was no change. She was witty and he was willing. The intimacy between them never faded – they just had sexual intercourse a couple of nights ago when he had a nightmare about the war and her comforting him ended with them rustling the sheets and knocking the pillows off the bed.

It was as blissful as it normally is but it was different. Harry felt ecstasy surge through him from Ginny's touches and kisses but felt usual. It did not come to him naturally like it always does – it was more like it was expected to come. And then he would go through the motions while his mind would wander off to anywhere. He didn't think of anything, or anyone, to his relief, but his mind was just gone the moment he feels Ginny nibbling his ear. It isn't just during those private moments of theirs behind closed doors, but it is also in their daily lives as well. Everything was expected to him when it comes to them. They would wake up – take turns on who drives Lily to school – go to work – visit each other during lunchtime – go back their shifts – return home and cook dinner as the other picks up Lily – eat with the Weasley – talk about splitting which bills to pay – and then go to sleep.

He felt like a machine on autopilot; he could not remember when was the last time he and Ginny went on a date night, took a quick flight around on their brooms, or spent a whole day in together. The last time they did was two days before he left for his mission.

It wasn't normal to feel obligated to act so mechanical with the person he loves and that scares him. It was wrong. He should feel the want to fulfill the satisfaction – the need to want it to be whole – not just go with it like it was a training exercise. He should feel thrill, contentment, to be able to have his wife's company even for a few minutes of his day. But instead he feels like he's just there. He doesn't feel anything. And that saddens Harry. He remembered that they used to berate each other to push out the silence between them but nowadays, once he was over with the flashbacks, he knew they would go back to speaking about chores and taxes like an old routine. No suggestions to go flying, no plans to go out, no activities aside from dinner with the family.

"Papa?" asked Teddy's voice. "What's wrong?"

Harry sighed and looked at his godson directly in his eyes. He finally knew the answer. He could not deny it. It was inevitable. The only thing wrong with Ginny is that everything was simple with her – everything was too normal. They were the typical married couple who has their happy ending of every book. They have history – they fell in love – they tied the knot. It all felt too written. Maybe that is why Harry felt like a robot; he felt like he was doing the things he does with Ginny because someone is having it written out for him. He knew that it was ridiculous to think such an analogy – his life was not a book. But it was the best description he could think of to what he is feeling.

Then he thought of Hermione. She was different; she knew who he is and understood his choices but she would fight against him with logic and common sense. She would make it difficult for him to come up with a solution that is to both of their liking. She would not let go of his mistake if it ends up with him getting injured or having a near-death experience because she is angry at him. She is too much of a control freak – he shuddered at the memory of how frazzled she was organizing her wedding. She demands too much as if she held power of him and what he does or thinks. And then there are her tears; he is always awkward around her whenever she cries because he does not know how to comfort a girl. It does sometimes annoy Harry how she'd rather rely on words on a page instead of a person's whenever she is doing research. He could not stand facing a tower of books whenever he is talking to her.

Hermione was a difficult person to handle. She was too opinionated – too stubborn in her beliefs that seem unreachable – too short tempered at times – unable to admit when she is wrong about something - and occasionally whiny. He could understand why Ron fights with her so much.

And still, Harry now doesn't sees these traits as Hermione's cons anymore the more he thought about them. They were more of the answer to Teddy's question. Hermione was not easy – she doesn't make anything easy. It's always a new challenge with her daily. Perhaps that is why Ron loves to rile her up. Perhaps that is why Harry was able to withstand Hermione for so many years. And perhaps that is why he smelled Hermione's scent in the love potion. The only con Ginny has was that –

"She's not Hermione," Harry finally answered.

---

Ginny was still asleep when Harry and Teddy returned at the cottage.

Harry was staring down at her solemnly, too full of guilt, as she breathed evenly, unaware being watched. She was uncaring, weightless to all responsibilities whenever her eyes are closed. She isn't thinking about finishing writing an article, or scheduling an interview with a Quidditch player, or being on time of a Quidditch match, or being a mother to their last child. She was dreaming, relaxing. No thought about worrying over him was passing through her resting head. And he was glad to be able to see her unmoving in peace. He liked her this way.

Hesitantly, carefully slow, Harry lifted a hand and ran the back of his finger over her cheek, following the little freckle trail until he reached her jawline. The light pressure he applied made her stir, her mouth twitching, but she did not awake. She weakly stretched before she slumped deeper into the pillows, her messy hair bordering around her face like a nestling halo. Her porcelain skin stood out from her hair – he could see her calm face within the tangled whirlwind. She was at ease because Harry had showed no signs of disturbance.

Guilt shot Harry again. He knew the past few nights have been rough for Ginny because of him. She was tittering over the edge whenever he would have a momentary pause of silence and he would be too quiet when he's alone in one room for too long. She would be too cautious whenever he was left with Lily to play dolls and card games in her room – once in a while she would check in on them or she would invite herself in the games. He was used to her acting in such a worrisome way whenever he was struggling through harsh patches; Ginny grew up seeing Harry stand tall and unscarred so for her to see the same man act untamed and vulnerable was nerve-wrecking for her. The one time she ever saw him that way was during the period of Sirius' death and the first few times he suffered through PTSD. But like those other times, she did not push the boundaries and waited until he was able to open again.

As he stared at her, at this woman who gave him a life with three wonderful, healthy children he could not imagine living without, at the woman who is the reason why he has his own family and is part of an extended one, he felt nothing. Everything that came from her – happiness, enchantment, normalcy, love – was lost. The way he saw in her had changed. She still looked the same as the woman who gave him all he desired, all that he lost time of, yet he cannot see her the same as he used to since sixth year anymore. He was starting to see her as the little girl he saw at King's Cross who was in hysterics to have finally seen The Harry Potter in person for the first time, the same little girl he had grown to care as his own sister on his second year. She looked like the more well-proportioned version of the girl he had fallen for in sixth year but his eyes, once clouded, were now opening up again and seeing Ginny Weasley, the younger sister of Ron Weasley, his best friend's youngest sibling, the most he is protective of.

He doesn't see her as the woman he turned into Ginny Potter.

When Ginny's eyelids trembled lightly, Harry decided to discreetly leave the room. He slowly pulled the door closed and then turned to Teddy after he heard the click. He was staring at him curiously and regrettably.

"Are you okay?" he asked lowly.

Harry stared at him. "I should be asking you that. I basically just admitted to not being in love with my wife – someone who helped me raise you and you see as your mother…Are you okay, Ted?"

Teddy looked uncomfortable. "Honestly, I don't know. I mean, I wasn't expecting any of this when I came over. It is a bit weird to see the man who raised me admit he isn't in love with the woman I've seen him for a long time. I don't know what to think about it."

"I'm sorry," Harry said sadly. "I know this is hard for you. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around all of this. It still hasn't sunk in yet."

"Good luck when it does," Teddy chuckled weakly. "It's sort of a confusing feeling."

"Hey," Harry said, placing one hand on his godson's shoulder. "No matter what happens, we're still your family, Ted. It's going to take more than me for you to lose that – it will never happen."

"I'm not worried about that, it's just…" Teddy scratched his head; Harry noticed the hair color had turned green. "What is going to happen now?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not so sure. I'm pretty new at this sort of thing. I guess I can only hope the best of it comes."

Teddy nodded and didn't say anymore. There was an awkward pregnant pause among the two. Harry was combing his tussled hair back frequently while glancing up and down at the corridor, and Teddy found his bare feet quite interesting. Neither spoke a word – it amazes Harry how they were able to be comfortable around each other and it took a change of topic to make them act suddenly like two shy kids meeting each other for the first time in the playground.

"You should go to bed," said Harry. "Get some sleep – clear your head."

"Will you be able to sleep?" Teddy asked anxiously.

Harry hesitated; he actually had an urge to satiate ever since their talk.

"I'm going to make a phone call," he said.

Teddy looked skeptical. "This late at night? That's mad."

"It's just a quick one," Harry shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

"Well…okay. Good night then, Papa."

"G'night, sport."

Teddy clapped his Harry's back, gave him a small smile, before he turned and headed toward James' room. His hair changed back to turquoise; he was feeling a bit better. Harry waited in front of his bedroom, watching his godson as he trekked across the rugged floor and then disappeared through the only door seen open in the corridor. He stayed there for another moment until he saw the door click shut and then he quietly stepped down the hall himself, being extra careful with his steps when he passed by Lily's room.

The house was still now. Harry cringed as he made his way down the staircase, one of the steps groaning in protest under his weight and echoed through the hollow hallways. He had stopped for a minute to listen in, to hear any noise from his bedroom or Lily's. There was none, much to his relief. There was only loud rustling of bed sheets and the squeak of a headboard – he knew it was coming from Teddy because he never got to fix that irritating noise on James' bed. He continued his trip down until he reached the foyer and he looked around. There were picture frames – family pictures – skewed throughout the area, mixed along with the Halloween decorations, some pinned on the wall, others still on their old place on the tables next to the pumpkins, and they held memories of his family beaming. It felt sick in the stomach to think he would be the cause that these pictures make be gone.

Harry moved towards the landline in the main hallway to avoid looking directly at the picture and he immediately started to punch in the one number he ever called on the device as he held the phone between his cheek and shoulder. He knows he must have gone insane to even consider making a simple call at three in the morning, knowing fully well they were dead in their sleep as well as every other person in London who was sane. But he knew he wasn't like them. Sane people don't wake up in the late of night, take a flight in front of the moon, and then come with the revelation of falling out of love with their wife. It would only happen to him.

Once he dialed in the last number, Harry waited anxiously, listening to the ringing in his ear that he knew must be causing a loud ruckus in their quiet home, as he looked around at the decorations. It wasn't until the third ring that Harry came with a realization; what if the person he wants to hear isn't the one who answers? He hadn't thought about that. He was just following his urge, allowing his hands to move unconsciously, while he watched. His mind was on a temporary shutdown the entire time. But now that he was more awake, he was aware of how wrong it would seem. He could cause an unwanted wedge for his reckless act of longing if the phone was answered by –

Suddenly the ringing stopped and Harry held his breath as silence flooded in his ear. He heard someone letting out a very tired yawn, finishing it with a slight whine. He could not tell who it is. His heart pounded against his chest nervously. He had half a mind hanging up on the spot but then he remembered they were more updated in technology than he was – their phone has caller ID. They could redial as much as they want until he answered them. He had no way out.

"H…Hello?" a sleepy voice whispered into the speaker and Harry finally released his breath once he heard it was a female.

The voice belonged to Hermione – the person he wanted to hear.

"Hello?" she repeated a bit clearer yet Harry could still hear the exhaustion in her tone. "Is anyone there? Hello?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but then he found he could not find his voice. For some unfathomable reason, he couldn't summon the courage to talk to her. It was as if the husky sound of her voice left him paralyzed in wonderment. He does not think he ever heard her speak in such a way before – all sultry and low. He probably has but listening to it so intently right now left his ear buzzing in tingles and he could feel himself shivering in the utmost delight. He had closed his eyes to only focus on her voice instead of the crickets outside.

"Look whoever this is, it isn't funny –" Harry could imagine the tiny frown forming between her brows whenever she scowls, " – If you dare call here again, I'll send the coppers on you. Have a good night, you git."

Harry chose this moment to finally breathe out a quiet, "Hermione."

A pause followed on the other line before she whispered a shocked, "Harry?" and he was not surprised by the astonishment in her words. It was rare for him – for any of them – to communicate in the Muggle way. They mostly use owls, a Patronus, or the Floo Network to reach other. The only time they ever use their phone is mostly when they are in an area full of Muggles or if they wanted to talk to Hermione's parents or if Mr. Weasley was testing out a new type of phone.

"Hello," Harry said casually.

"Harry, wha – do you know what time it is?" Hermione demanded.

Harry grinned. "I'm guessing it's not eight?"

"Cheeky. No – seriously, it's late. What are you even doing up at this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Harry. "I actually just got back from a flight with Teddy – cocky boy actually thought he could beat me in a race with a Nimbus. I showed him I still got it."

"It's nice to hear you bonding with Teddy – odd time to do it if you ask me but still nice," Hermione took a second to let out a yawn before continuing, "But that still doesn't explain why you rang. I doubt it's to tell me how you beat your godson in some race."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe I just wanted to talk to you."

Hermione didn't answer right away and that worried Harry. He couldn't understand why it made him nervous. Maybe she was slow in the mind because she was tired? Or had he said something wrong? Did his words make her uncomfortable? He wasn't going for that.

Finally, Hermione said, "Are you okay, Harry?"

Define what you mean by 'okay' Harry thought bitterly, his mind going back to Ginny, but he was able to answer an easy, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked worriedly. "You didn't have another nightmare did you?"

Harry shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "No, no, not really."

"Harry," Hermione said in a low, warning voice.

"Hermione."

"Stop that – I'm serious. Have you or have you not have another nightmare? Be honest," Hermione added the last bit strongly, emphasizing her words.

Harry sighed deeply, knowing she was not going to move past this until he gave her a satisfying answer. Another con of Hermione Granger; determined to bring the truth out of him no matter what.

"I…may have gotten a flashback," he muttered, resigned.

"Oh Harry," whispered Hermione sadly. "What was it about this time?"

"The mission – the explosion –"

"Harry, listen to me, okay – it's not your fault. You couldn't have known."

"But Hermione –"

"I said, listen to me, Harry James Potter!" Hermione interrupted sternly before she kept on with a softer tone, "You can't keep blaming yourself for Arnold's death. I know you feel responsible for it but you can't let it take over your life. If you do that then how are you ever going to capture Yaxley? The man who is responsible for his death. He'll just keep roaming around a free man and that will be putting Arnold's name in vain."

"This is all coming from the same woman who was against my job not too long again," Harry remarked with a slight smile. "What changed?"

"I know you weren't listening to the slightest bit of what I was saying to you," Hermione chuckled.

"That's a bit harsh, I can listen when I want to," Harry protested.

"But you don't when you don't want to," Hermione pointed out; Harry could not argue with her there.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "So what changed?"

"Don't get me wrong, Harry, I still wish you were living a less lethal career," Hermione sighed. "But, I come to the conclusion that the only way you'll see yourself working differently is if you finish this personal vendetta you have. I don't want to encourage it – I don't want to see you hospitalized again. But I want it to be over for you – I want this to be done. I'm tired of seeing a hollow shell of you."

A frown broke on Harry's face as he listened to Hermione. He could feel the distress he was causing her because of how he is living – the discomfort she gains knowing his life is being risked at every second the moment he wakes up on a new day. He could picture her the same way she showed herself the day she openly expressed her concerns and dislikes towards his career – face scrunched up, eyes glassy with unshed tear unnoticed by her, bottom lip trembling against the sob threatening to break out – the look of a broken heart. He could still see it by hearing her now.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, turning to the side to lean on his shoulder against the wall. "I'm sorry. I know I can be –"

Hermione stopped him. "Stop apologizing, Harry. I wish you would stop doing that – you've been doing that a lot. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I guess."

"Well, I know."

"Of course you know," Harry laughed lowly. "You're the Hermione Granger; the brightest witch of the century."

"Is it really necessary to put exaggeration in my name? Or at all?" groaned Hermione, although he could sense the unseen sheepish smile and it was contagious enough to make him grin widely.

"Now you know how I feel when people refer to me as the Harry Potter. It isn't pleasant and very embarrassing," he teased. He heard her grumble under her breath and he let out a quiet laugh at her incoherent words.

"Yes, quite embarrassing," she mumbled awkwardly.

Harry smirked. "Better get used to it because when you win the Rowle case, your name will be all over the papers and they will refer to you that way," he paused, waiting for her to say a smart comeback, but when she didn't talk right away, he continued, "Speaking of cases, are you ready for your hearing? It's starts at seven, yeah?"

"In four hours, yes," Hermione said. "I'm not too worried about it."

Harry raised an amused brow. "Confident to be scott free, aren't you?"

"Not to sound cocky, but yes," Hermione said. "I've been reviewing the laws of the Statute of Secrecy and I found a loophole. According to Clause 73, for it to be violated you need to have performed magic in front of a Muggle and revealing yourself as a witch or wizard. I actually went around it to not have violated it. I used a spell on a Muggle that would make him forget about the magic with new memories stored. I left no clues of me being a witch anywhere around him – he doesn't remember anything from the moment I used the False Memory Charm. And technically, I did use magic on an emergency – I was protecting another wizard. Section fifteen, paragraph seven states that magic can be necessary if another is in trouble with a Muggle and it's like you said, Hugo's education was in a conundrum with that wretched headmaster."

"That…that was impressive insight, Hermione," Harry said in awe. He was stunned yet astounded by her excellent inferring and outstanding ability to searching answers. He should be used to it by now after twenty-six years, of homework, of studying, and of friendship with her but she still managed to leave him speechless. He could see why Kingsley made her Deputy Head of the Law Enforcement.

"It was just a bit of light reading," she commented.

"Right – light."

Harry wanted to humor her. He knew the pamphlets about the laws and restrictions of the wizarding world would take over three weeks to finish reading as they were almost three detailed books in one. Reading them was anything but light. Hermione's way of light is reading a thick tome that would last six to eight weeks to finish while Harry's is a thin novel.

"So I guess that means you won't need me as your witness anymore," said Harry in mock disappointment although he did feel it; he was hoping to be able to give her some assistance in proving her innocence when she had practically taken his place in receiving the punishment without his consent. It was his idea to use magic and he should be the one facing the Wizengamot, not her.

"Not really, no, it's not really urgent as it seemed a few days ago. Although…I wouldn't mind if you came," Hermione added, and her words crushed the little hope Harry was holding and revived it at the same time.

"Really?" Harry tried not to sound too eager.

"Yes, I mean – Harry, please don't laugh at this – I still find the counselors to be intimidating even though I am one of them," Hermione admitted meekly.

Harry tried to hold back the bubbly laughter fighting to break out, but he ended up coughing out a few chuckles at the hilarity of the concept. He can hear Hermione scoff disapprovingly in his ear.

"I told you not to laugh!" she hissed.

"I – I'm sorry!" Harry snickered, not entirely sorry at all. "But – H-Hermione – do you see the irony in this? You're afraid of the people – the same people you work with!"

"I didn't say I was afraid," Hermione said haughtily. "I said I found them to be intimidating. It's just something with the way they stare at me that makes me feel uncomfortable. You've been on the end of those so you must know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, I do," Harry smiled, sniffing lightly as he swiped a thumb under his eye to wipe away the small tear there. "Still, that made my night."

"I'm glad to know that my awkward demeanor brings amusement to you," said Hermione sarcastically and Harry could imagine her rolling her eyes. "Hey Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I hope you get better soon – I hope you will stop putting too much on yourself too –"

Harry sighed. He really wished she would drop the subject about his nightmare. He knew he shouldn't have mentioned it to her because now she will be bringing it up once in a while as a reminder to let go off and worry about him too much. He was having a pleasant time just talking to her about random topics that didn't involve him getting well and getting lost in time. He called her because he wanted to hear her not listening to her concerns about him.

"– the Ministry feels a bit lonely without you there."

This caught Harry's attention instantly. He felt his face heat up as he laughed nervously, "I'm sure it's not so bad. You have Gerald and Julie with you."

"Gerald has some issues of his own so he isn't around often. Julie is busy with a case of her own – something about underage dueling," Hermione said.

"Oh I'm sorry to hear about that," Harry swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry from the tension circling around him. "Well, have you tried to visit Ron during your lunch break? I'm sure he would enjoy your company."

Harry felt his skin tighten with goose bumps when Hermione laughed quietly into his ear, "I'm sure Ron wouldn't mind having me around. But I think we'll be too busy gathering together some things to be able to have a moment to ourselves."

"Oh," was all Harry said, not quite comprehending to what her words truly meant. She did not sound upset at all that she would not get to have a second of her husband's time. Her tone held a bit of uncertainty, like she was debating on a choice. It left Harry curious and confused. From what he has seen during the week, Hermione and Ron looked to be in good terms with all the smiles and the laughter that would uproar whenever they shared an inside joke between them. They looked like the same happy married couple they used to be, Harry had thought sourly, but then quickly catch himself and cursed at himself for being too unsupportive. No matter how much the stabbing feeling gnawing in his chest hurts him, he should feel happy that his best friends were able to resolve all conflicts to make their marriage work.

"Make no mistake, Harry, it's not all bad," Hermione continued. "I think it's a good thing for us to spend some time apart and get used to having some space from each other…you know, get some diversity under our belts."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Diversity? I'm confused. What does she mean by that? She doesn't sound too sad about spending time apart from Ron. Wasn't she upset before because she and Ron couldn't seem to function together anymore? Didn't she want to be able to recommit to her family? Is this normal behavior? I don't think it is. I'm probably overanalyzing all of this.

Soft breathing met with him through the silence in the other end. Hermione was waiting for him to speak. But Harry couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"I'm…not sure what you mean," he admitted.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just rambling again," Hermione responded with what Harry assumed to be a forced laugh. "I must be more tired than I'm letting on."

"Yeah, that's probably it."

"You should get back to bed before Ginny wakes up to find you gone."

"Yeah. You too. With Ron, I mean."

"I'm sure he hasn't even noticed me gone. I can still hear him snoring all the way from the room."

Harry frowned deeply but kept his tone playfully and nice as he spoke out, "Ah, you wore him out, huh?"

"Yeah, sure…something like that," Hermione said. "Anyway, try to have a good sleep, Harry."

"G'night, Hermione. And sorry again for waking you up so late."

"Just try to do it at a more reasonable time next time, and on a day when Hugo doesn't have school in the morning. The phone caused such a ruckus that I'm surprised he hasn't come down yet."

"I will."

"Good night, Harry."

"G'night, Hermione."

And then the phone line went dead. Hermione had hung up on her end but Harry still held his by his ear, listening to the beeping replacing to the husky voice he was enthralled in a few seconds ago. He could not find it in him to let it go – he didn't want to hang up. But he knew he had to because no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't keep Hermione away from her husband, her eternal lover, just like he couldn't wait for Ginny to see him not at her side. Harry then puts the phone back in place. He wished he was tired because he knew in the next few hours will be tough for him; He is most likely to drive Lily to school again since he was still on leave. He will be standing in a long session when he is present at Hermione's hearing. The last time he was in her position was before his fifth year and his hearing lasted less than twenty minutes but he had been to plenty others of different wizards and witches, standing there as guard, and he learned they're originally three to five hours long until it came to a close.

Three to five hours…

That is how long he will be standing in the same room as Hermione. He should not find too much importance to it when they have shared many times alone before but he hadn't been able to have a moment alone with her ever since he came back. He never voiced it; he always noticed that Hermione would be careful to how close she is with him and watch for the placement of her hands around him. It was like she was scared to get burned by him. He would see her act like herself, all normal and natural, then when Ginny enters the room, she would suddenly transition into a reserved girl, keeping her arms tucked to herself, and speak once in a while. She would only ever be this way whenever he and Ginny were together but when she is alone with Ron and Ginny, she was herself. He was not mistaking it – he had watched from afar when he was playing with the kids.

Harry stopped his head quickly when he felt like he was getting a migraine from thinking too much in such a late night. He was not tired but he needed to try to sleep. He had too many thoughts about Ginny and Hermione running around erratically for one night. He quickly turned away from the phone and hastily walked back up the stairs, feeling that knowing he had just spoken to Hermione on the phone was causing him such restlessness. Her voice was still echoing in her head – the fact he was going to see her – to hear her again – in a few hours has such a heavy impact on him that he wondered how he is still breathing properly.

When he got back in his bedroom, Ginny had moved to his side of the bed. She was clutching on his pillow, her nose buried in the coziness, her red hair fallen over her shoulders and splayed across the middle of her back. The bed sheets have slipped down to the back of her knees, showing of the glory of her nightgown hugging her attractive figure – slender sides, curvy thighs, and a broad back. She looked like an angel enjoying the soft luxury of a cloud.

Harry carefully crawled into bed behind her without disturbing her slumber and went to reach for the sheets. But as soon as he pulled it over them, his movement made a high creak that had Harry grimace and caused Ginny to stir somewhat awake.

"Mm, what are you doing?" she slurred tiredly, blindly looking at him over her shoulder with dazed eyes.

"Just had to go to the loo," he lied, figuring that was the easiest way to go. "Go back to sleep."

Ginny smiled sleepily at him before she dropped her head onto the pillow and drifted off to sleep again. Harry made himself comfortable, sliding one arm over her waist and using the other as his own pillow, then he sighed deeply. The room seemed darker to him now. He still didn't feel tired. He was envious at how Ginny was able to fall back to sleep so quickly, so easily, while he was struggling to maintain his eyes closed.

And he knew why he couldn't; he did not feel right. Holding Ginny, a body he has come to familiarize for so many years of intimacy and affection, did not feel right anymore. He could not sleep knowing this. He can feel his finger caressing over the curve of her waist yet he could not sense him touching her. His mind was conjuring up another body for him to feel, one that had been knocked into his with forced hugs and simple brushes on the knuckles, one that was fuller to show it bared children yet well proportioned, and the back was covered in a bush of wild, tangled curls that seemed like a nest, colored like one too.

Harry kept the image fresh in his mind as he closed his eyes and buried his face in Ginny's hair.

She was not there with him but he will dream he is holding Hermione tonight.

---

The first thing Harry heard when he opened his eyes again was the gentle, soft piano being played beautifully in a faint distance. It sounded awfully close.

He was standing alone in a long, gloomy hallway. It was dull in color but was seeable by old-fashioned has lamps dimly lit, showing the peeling wallpaper and damp carpet. The chandelier's light could not seem to give enough glow by the thousand layers of cobwebs embracing it and the old crooked portraits were too blackened for the picture to be seen. The lovely melody continued, only it seem to have gotten louder and clearer.

Harry followed it willingly, too captivated in how it made his ears vibrate in delight. He paid no attention to the long curtains consumed by moths or to the disturbing umbrella stand that looked like it was carved out of a severed troll's leg, as he focused on the sound, listening to it intently to find which direction it was coming from. It was haunting, going along with the depressive atmosphere lingering on the walls, but it gave him a rush of euphoria. He felt as if he heard it before but he could not quite put his finger on it. He knew the instrument was a piano but the melody, the enchanting piece was foreign.

Suddenly, the spell broke; the majestic sound had stopped altogether when a blood-curling, ear-shattering screech wailing from the floors below: "Disgrace - filthy blood traitor - stains of society – spawns of filth – scums!"

It wasn't even a second that passed until the hallway was filled with shrilly screams and vulgarity that Harry had to clamp his hands over his ears. He was about to turn around to halt the painful noises when he heard loud stomping come from behind him then he felt a presence pass through him like a spirit and soon he found himself staring the back of Ron's ginger hair as he trudged down towards the noise, grumbling grumpily. His head disappeared a second later whilst he descended down the stairs.

"Try not to make too much noise, Ron!" another voice warn quietly, although Harry doubt Ron heard her because a moment later, a hard banging was ricocheting off the walls and Ron was heard reciting the stunning spell frequently, halting the voices one by one.

"I don't think he heard you," Harry heard his own voice say, except he sound younger, more innocent.

"Obviously," the other voice sighed; Harry noticed that this one was from a young girl. "I'll go and get him before he drills a hole."

"Let him have his fun, Hermione, he's been caged up in here for a while," Harry protested. "This is probably the most entertainment he's had in a long time. Who knows how long he's been wanting to do that to that annoying portrait."

"I suppose."

Harry followed the voice from the corner where he assumed Ron came out of and he cautiously entered the room that came to view. He saw recognizable the high-ceiling, olive green walls of the drawing room in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place with the carpets were covered in many blankets of dust and the tapestries looked to be drenched in filth. The moss green velvets curtains were gone, torn off, along with the infestation of Doxycide, from the time when Mrs. Weasley had made him and the others decontaminate the place and make the environment more homey.

Sitting on one of the couches was a seventeen-year-old Harry Potter, clothes rumpled from long naps, eyes baggy from lack of rest, and hair messier than usual from no care of a brush. He was still as a stone whilst he stared at the Golden Snitch hover in front of him, its wings rapidly fluttering and buzzing noisily. On the far end of the room, in the corner, was an eighteen-year-old Hermione Granger, sitting on a creaking bench in front of a rusty piano, her fingers effortlessly moving along the keys in a complicated flow as the notes played gently, amorously. It was then that Harry realized the piece he had been spellbound to was actually Hermione playing the piano.

He never realized there was a piano in the house until Hermione had pulled off the sheet that was covering it and cleaned the fine blanket of dust. It didn't make much of a difference to the once grand instrument but it was enough to show that it was in good condition despite not being used for so many years. There was rust at some spots, mostly on the keys, which surprised Harry that they were able to still play well, and one of the legs were shorter than the rest that Hermione needed to use a loose brick to even it out.

Harry stood next to the instrument watching her as she lost herself in the lullaby she must have composed herself. A slight smile painted on her chapped lips and her eyes somewhat hooded as she trailed after her hands, seeing them go over the other or spread apart to not miss a note. He had never seen Hermione so into something that is not related to school; he found that he liked seeing this side of her. All gone to the tender music, actually forgetting about what troubles she was tangled in, letting herself to be drifted away in the deep wonders of her mind with the resounding piano keys under her fingertips. She was distracting herself from the pressuring stress like Ron was letting out steam by banging the portraits shut.

"Where did you learn to play?" Younger Harry's voice cracked through the serenity of the music, making Hermione to lose her composure and accidentally slam her hands on the keys. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said awkwardly; Older Harry saw himself staring at Hermione interestingly, the Snitch's wings tucked in while he held it between his fingers.

"No, no, you didn't," Hermione said sheepishly, turning on the bench to face Harry properly. She had a light blush on her cheeks. "I was just mucking around, trying to fill in the silence and all that. It's really nothing."

Older Harry watched as Younger Harry stood from the sofa and approached Hermione at the piano, staring at the keys with curious eyes. Older Harry grinned. He remembered that while they were waiting for the old Black family house elf, Kreacher, to return with the locket (the Horcrux), he had been looking for a distraction when he decided to listen in on Hermione's playing until he was suddenly slowly catching interest in it. The want to be the one to play the instrument grew and grew the longer Hermione played. He never touched a musical piece before in his life and to be in the same room as one, to be able to see one in use in front of him, it was irresistible.

"Where did you learn to play?" repeated Younger Harry.

Hermione then seemed meek at the sudden attention. "Oh, um, I didn't really learn it anywhere per se – I actually self-taught myself to play."

"How'd you manage that?"

"My father's side of the family is very musical," Hermione explained. "Different generations – different instruments. My grandfather is the one who showed me the piano. He would play it all the time whenever I visit him. He taught my father to play too."

"Are all the men in your family the only ones who are musically involved?" Younger Harry asked.

Hermione paused for a minute to ponder thoroughly. "Now that I think about it – yes, most of the males play instruments. Funny, I never thought about until you mentioned it. I guess you could say it's a family tradition."

"Your father never taught you?"

"No. I suppose the tradition only holds for males. My uncle taught my cousins to play the cello and the violin when they were around nine year's old."

"Is that why you decided to teach yourself to play? So you can be like them?"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh no. I've wanted to play the piano ever since I saw my grandfather. I would listen to a piece – memorize the sound and the order it goes in – then I would try to play it when I'm alone. My father didn't teach me but he did give me the same music sheets I was trying to learn."

"Sounds complicated," said Younger Harry.

"It really isn't – come! I'll show you!" Hermione said excitedly, taking Harry by the arm and eagerly pulling him down on the bench next to her before she turned to face the keys.

Older Harry watched in amusement as Harry had stuffed the Snitch in his pocket and straightened himself beside her, sending an exasperated look at the brunette witch. She ignored it; she was too ecstatic to be able to teach. Harry figured she must have already missed that about the school – to be able to learn, to teach, to be taught new things. It was part of Hermione's nature to face a different challenge in the familiar sights of Hogwarts campus so for her to be locked up in a glum place as Grimmauld Place with no fresh faces or the smell of books, she must feel upset, and for her to help Harry learn how to play the piano was a distraction away from her sadness just like it is for him.

"I'm going to teach you the first piece I've learned. Frederic Chopin's Nocturne Number Three Twenty in C sharp minor. Try holding your hands and spread out your fingers – good, Harry, now put each one on a key but don't press – excellent!" instructed Hermione, watching Harry in delight as he complied. "Now try pressing down your fore fingers and your index finger," she added.

Harry did as she requested but ended pressing down all of his fingers together, creating a loud bell-ringing, off-key sound to thrum throughout the room, and making them cringe. Even Older Harry's ears hurt.

"Oops," Younger Harry said.

"That's all right, it's only the first try," Hermione reassured with a chuckle. She then moved her hands to place them on top of Harry's, her fingers gliding over his. "Try not to think about it – no, in fact, don't think with your hands at all. Just let them go through the motion and you just think about the music."

"How can I let my hands do the motion if I don't even know how the music sounds like?" Harry questioned incredulously.

"Just like you did when you first flew on a broom," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "You didn't know anything about it but you went on with the motions on instinct – you didn't think about how you should fly or where you needed to go. All you thought about was getting Neville's Remembrall, remember?"

Older Harry smiled as he sees his younger self stare at Hermione in amazement, easily in awe at her incredible way of using flying as an analogy for him. Hermione did not notice his stare. She was busy trying to get him to move his fingers separately and to grow accustomed to it. Harry never knew until now that despite listening to her and feeling her demonstrate, he had been staring at her instead. He can see why he did; the way she was passionately talking about something she loved with the wide smile and the shine in her eyes glimmering in joy was absolutely captivating. He always saw her frazzled and determined when it came to assignments and exams that he hardly saw this calmer, sedated side of hers for the last seven years he's known her. It was a rare sight for him – he felt like he was looking at an exotic creature for the first time.

"Did you get that?" asked Hermione, and Younger Harry was quick to turn away from her when she looked at him expectantly.

"Yeah," he murmured awkwardly; Older Harry laughed.

"Try playing the first five notes I just showed you – remember, don't think with your hands," Hermione said. "See it as Quidditch – you're not thinking about flying your broom – you want the Snitch."

Harry nodded wordlessly. He took a deep breath before he moved his fingers. Older Harry tried not to grimace as he listened to himself play horribly the first few keys. It did not sound exquisite like he looked like when he was flying but it was better than the brain-rattling sound he made earlier. He felt a bit self-conscious when he played in front of Hermione; he was clumsy and inexperienced in such a masterpiece like the piano unlike her who had spent years perfecting herself to such a proficient level. But Hermione never seemed bothered by it. She looked more at peace than ever.

When Younger Harry did the last note, he immediately slipped his hands onto his lap, a bit self-conscious, and Hermione gave him a light nudge on the side.

"That was really good," she told him.

"That was horrible," Harry countered. "It sounded like a screeching cat."

"You're just starting, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "These things take time."

"Yeah, I guess."

Hermione frowned. "Would…would you like to learn something simpler? How about we try Fur Elise? That's a beautiful one."

"How does it go?" Harry asked.

For a moment Hermione looked astonished by his question then realization dawned over her face a second later. She must have remembered about their conversation from their first year, about how isolated his childhood was.

"I'll show you," she volunteered quietly before strongly adding, "But you best listen to it very well if you want to learn. I meant it when I said it's beautiful."

Harry smiled amusingly at her. "I'm sure it is. Can you play it already?"

Hermione gave him a playful glare before she turned to the keys and inhaled deeply, much to both Harry's amusement. She always seem to take a moment to internally encourage herself whenever she is going to perform a task, like she was willing herself to not be nervous. He had noticed it after their third year when Hermione was practicing the Patronus Charm and the boggart revealed her fear of failing. From that moment on, Harry would see Hermione ready herself before she would raise a hand or try a new spell or brew up a potion. She was scared of doing horribly, even in front of her own best friends, and he wondered what it is that made her want to be so educated rightly.

And then Hermione's fingers finally glided across the rusted ivory and Harry was drawn into a state of mind as a composition so sweetly addictive, so outstandingly foreign, surrounded him in a bubble of no worries, shielding him away from the silence outside. The piece sounded simple but the way how Hermione moved her fingers made it seem so complex to follow, the sheer beauty of the sound sending shivers down his spine, making him sway lightly on the bench and his eyes close on their own accord.

Older Harry never knew he had reacted in such a way towards this kind of music.

And then there is the way Hermione was playing the piano; she was obviously pouring all of her heart into the movement of her flexing fingers and she was no longer there spiritually. She looked like she was doing more than just listening to the song. Her eyes were glassy but there were no tears and her gaze was distant from her, like her soul had floated out of her and went away with the fading notes into the dark of the house. She was feeling the music. She must have played this classical composition many times because she had not missed a bit, not even a tremble of hesitation can be heard, as the song continued to flow without interruption, much to both Harry's pleasure. He could feel the impatience and the growing frustration from his younger self leak out of him, replacing it with the easy feel of a lying in an open meadow and enjoying the spring breeze, as Hermione composed. It felt like he was sleeping on an open field made of a thousand caressing feathers.

Older Harry could see his younger self being drifted away like a small boat floating away to sea, lightly swaying to the sides along with the rhythm of the song like it was the waves of the oceanic water. That is how he felt at this moment. He felt he was leaving behind his old life, going away on a boat and letting the lazy current of the open waters take him to where it would like to while he slept through the whole sail, catching up to the years of rest he has lost by nightmares and visions. The sensation of water tickling wood under his back gave the ache of his muscles a relaxing vibrating that would make him sag lazily, shutting down his arms and legs to slumber. He was swimming far from his problems, floating deeper into an imaginary land where he could live –

CRACK!

His almost perfect fantasy was shattered and buckled down like glass at the snapping noise coming from within the piano, the sound representing a gunshot shooting down his dream. Older Harry saw Younger Harry wake up from his dreamless state, jerking into awareness, and he hopped to his feet as he glanced around him crazily, his arm held out with his hand clutching his wand shakily.

"Calm down, Harry, there's no trouble," said Hermione, rising up from the bench and walking around the piano; Older Harry moved from his spot next to it out of instinct, even though he knew she cannot feel him as she is part of his memory. "I think a string just snapped," she murmured as she opened the piano and set in the stand to keep it from falling.

Younger Harry visibly relaxed in relief and pocketed his wand as he walked to her side. He watched helpless as she hunched over to lean into the instrument and started digging through the webs and dust bunnies.

"You know how to fix a piano?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Hermione chuckled in the piano. "Not really. My father was more of the handyman of the house. Besides you can't fix a broken string – you have to replace it. Fortunately, we have magic." A few rattles and thudding were heard within the piano. "Aha! Harry, can you hand me my wand? I left it on the bench."

Younger Harry did as she politely requested and when he returned to her side, he had to lean against the instrument to reach his arm inside to hand it to her.

"Cheers," said Hermione as Harry straightened himself. "Reparo!"

Older Harry stood behind them, mesmerized. For a second, he was able to see through the perspective of the people outside of their friendship, finally understanding what is what that other people saw. The way how they moved together was almost too natural. There was a warm domestic atmosphere swirling around them, which was probably why they were able to be at ease in spite of the hectic chaos they were stuck in together. They were protected in a molting house that did not hold the old magic it once had but they were able to enjoy the quiet evening together, just playing a rusty instrument, with no need of constant excitement to not feel bored. They always find entertainment in the smallest of things despite what situation they are in or what condition their friendship suffers through.

He always thought it was for publicity and to gain more money but seeing how he is with Hermione, he could picture what is was that Rita Skeeter was selling. He can understand why Viktor Krum was asking him what his relationship with Hermione was. He can see now why Cho Chang was acting so sour and defensive towards his friendship with Hermione. He could figure out why Dumbledore was curious about the type of bond he shared with Hermione. And he could comprehend why Ron was always so jealous about him and Hermione.

"That should do it," murmured Hermione as she pulled back from inside the piano, took the stand off, and then gingerly closed it. She turned to Harry with the same eager glim in her eyes from before. "Ready to try again? Don't think I forgot."

"I never said you –" Harry suddenly stopped; his face screwed tightly as his nose bunched up, and he quickly turned away from Hermione the moment he gasped in a quick air then, "ACHOO!"

Older Harry was trembling in disgust because his younger self had turned towards him when he sneezed, but then he reminded himself that he was fine, that this was a memory, and he had no spittle on him. It was just the thought of being targeted that disturbed him.

"Oh, bless you," Hermione said with an amused smirk.

"Cheers," Harry sniffed as he rubbed his now ruby red nose with the back of his hand and snorted. "Blasted dust. Maybe we should finish what Mrs. Weasley started in the meantime we're here."

"You know they believe, in Japan, if you sneeze it's because someone is talking about you," Hermione said, smiling knowingly. "Someone must be speaking highly of you."

Harry stared at her incredulously. "They believe that?"

"Every culture has their beliefs," Hermione told him. She went around the piano and perched herself on the bench again, looking up at Harry expectedly. He must have read the hidden demand as he walked to sit beside her again.

"Do you believe you can get me to play the piano?" he mused.

"I believe if you try then it's possible." Hermione took Harry's hands before he could comprehend what she was doing and then she placed them on the keys, lettings hers glide above his fingers, shaking lightly, but Harry never noticed it. She started to guide his hands. "Let's try memorizing the keys first – you need to be able to know the difference between an A minor to a C sharp – when you know what note to play then you will have to learn how to not to move your fingers at the same time – try not to think about moving them – then –"

"What's going on here?"

Harry and Hermione looked up from the keys, as well as Older Harry turned towards the entryway of the drawing room, where he saw Ron had just entered the room, having finished silencing the portraits below. He had a foul sneer lingering on them, mostly as Harry's direction. His wand was shaking in his tight grasp, the tendons in his bare arms popping out clearly. Older Harry had to look away from the sight, not wanting to remember his best friend in that way again.

"Oh Ron," said Hermione awkwardly, her voice a bit high-pitched, as she slipped her hands off of Harry's. "Finished with the portraits?"

"Almost blasted a whole into that old hag," Ron muttered. "She wouldn't shut up."

He shoved his wand in his back pocket then he approached the piano to examine it, lightly running a finger along the cracked edges, and glanced back at the two who were watching him apprehensively. Older Harry was sharing their eyes as well. Although he knew what was coming next, the suspension mixed with anxiety in the air was still able to clog up his throat. Whenever Ron would act so still, too calm for his own good, it would wake up Harry's defensive reflexes instinctively, almost like he was expecting a brawl to break out. He usually saves such behavior towards his enemies like Draco Malfoy or those who oppose him for being a blood traitor so when Ron started to act that way around him during the Horcrux hunt, he actually feared his life around the ginger male more than the war itself.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, eyeing at the close proximity between his best friend's hands. Younger Harry had noticed the gaze and slid his hands onto his lap.

"She was teaching me how to play," he answered carefully. "Just a couple of notes, nothing big."

"I want to learn," Ron said, frowning.

"Oh, um, I'm sort of teaching Harry right now, Ron," Hermione began. "Maybe I could –"

"It's fine," Harry interrupted hastily as he rose from the bench. "I need to stretch out my legs anyway – you know, take a look around the house and see if there's anything useful while we wait for Kreacher. There's got to be something in this house."

"Oh," murmured Hermione; Older Harry saw that she looked disappointed as she watched him start towards the corner, never taking her eyes off of his retreating back, even when Ron took his place next to her on the bench. "Don't wander off too far, Harry! Stay close where we can hear you! If you find anything, call us immediately, you hear?"

"I heard you!" Harry called back before he disappeared around the corner.

As soon as he saw Younger Harry's step pass the threshold, everything started to dissolve. The peeled wallpaper, the ruined furniture, the dusted carpet, and the torn tapestries all molded together, shrinking smaller – smaller – until it disappeared into an endless void of black. Everything about Grimmauld Place disappeared to oblivion but Harry could still feel himself stoned as if he was rooted to a ground. He was still asleep or remembering – he was not sure what it is. The last time he remembered seeing such a colorless view was when he took his last breath during his encounter with Voldemort in the forest.

Then he heard it – a laugh. It was sweet and free. It circled around him like a Snitch in the Quidditch pitch, bouncing around him continuously whilst he listened. Above, below, or to the sides, his ears would follow it because was too glorious to ignore. It sounded like it was getting away from him as it started to get softer. Harry shook his head – he did not want it to leave.

It started again and it came from a far distance behind him. He tried to turn to it but he couldn't move. His body stayed stuck as a rigid sculpture. The laugh was getting gentler, almost sounding like a hum now. Harry frantically tried to move again, wanting to follow it down the everlasting path to wherever it may or may not be, wanting to find it. Yet he was nothing but a stone. He could feel his skin suddenly turn frigid; from the tip of his fingers to the last strand of hair on his hair, he felt like he was being frozen alive.

The laugh was too far when Harry heard it again and this time it had said a name. It wasn't his name. It said the name of his best friend, Ronald Weasley. The cold of his frozen skin had formed a lump in his heart, icing it into an internal blizzard. He could feel himself wanting to run, to escape from the laughter now but his legs were disobedient. The laugh was coming around frequently; it was too far or Harry's liking but he was slowly breaking as it continued to chortle out Ron's name. It was urging the redhead to continue trying – Harry did not want him to.

"No Ron – go like this! Yes, but more gentle!"

Finally, as if lightning struck him, Harry realized what it was he was remembering; it was the sheer joy that was being shared between Ron and Hermione over the piano he had heard from one of the rooms in the house. He had blocked out their excessing noises because he was starting to feel lonely listening to it. They reminded him how truly lonely he was. They were on the quest with him but they were together and he was just a person on the side hanging onto them like a lifeline to escape from utter isolation.

He didn't really have anyone. He had broken up with Ginny and he had no way to contact her - The Weasleys were out protecting their own - The Order was rebelling against Voldemort's followers - Sirius was dead – he was on his own.

He was in a house occupied with two of his best friends, two people he will forever love even after death. But he wasn't really accompanied by them.

Ron and Hermione had each other. They could confide in the other for comfort, to lean on each other shoulder for strength, to wipe their tears away, and to bring a smile out of each other once in a while when needed.

Just like now, they were in the drawing room sharing a moment, sharing laughs and making the best memories out of the worst scenario. And Harry was not part of it.

He was having that a few minutes ago with Hermione. The amusement he felt to see her break out of her reserved shell when she saw the opportune moment to properly show the ways of a hidden hobby she loved with him. The content view of her playing the piano bringing him to a dreamlike ride. And her showing the extent of her knowledge in Asian culture was extraordinary.

But then Ron came to have it all to himself. To take everything part of Hermione to himself. And Harry did not fight it because he knew everything about Hermione, part of Hermione, and connected to Hermione was meant to be Ron's. He chose her a long time ago to be his and he had worked years in his own odd way to keep her to himself.

Yet Harry had felt a hint of regret to have let go of Hermione to Ron so soon because when he heard them enjoying their company shamelessly, he couldn't help but want to have Hermione to himself a little longer.

---

Harry's eyes flew open.

He lay flat on his back, his breathing labor as though he had return from running a marathon. He was shivering violently, even with the bed sheet laid over him providing him the warm against the cool air of the house, and he was gasping. His face felt moist; he ran a hand over and then combed his hair back, noticing it was damp from sweat. His skin felt incredibly warm – too much for him to withstand. He kicked off the sheets, one hand automatically reaching out for his glasses on the bedside table, and the other pressing down in his forehead to feel his temperature as he plucked on his glasses. He tried to slow down his heart.

His bedroom was glowing in a pink-orange color from the light coming in through his open window. He could have sworn it was closed when he went to bed last night. He looked at the clock beside him and his eyes nearly bulged out in shocked at the time glaring back at him – six-forty-seven. He quickly scrambled out of bed, dragging the bed sheets with his foot, as he crossed the room towards his wardrobe and started to bring out his more presentable robes. He vaguely noticed that his mind had not broken apart from the vivid dream of his, still to latched to the emotions that were brought on by it. He tried to shake it off as he hastily got dressed, went to the joined bathroom to get his toothbrush with toothpaste, and raced his way downstairs, fighting the urge to glance back at the clock again.

He was harshly brushing his teeth when he entered the kitchen, where he found Lily and Teddy having a respectable breakfast. They looked up at his entrance and watched in stunned silence as he went across the room to the sink to spit, rinse, then repeat. Once he was done, he approached the counter they were sitting on to grab an uneaten toast from Teddy's plate and a quick sip of his glass of fresh orange juice.

"Um, good morning?" said Teddy exasperatedly as Harry took another large bite of toast.

"G'murnin," Harry replied through a mouthful, a few crumbs spilling out.

Lily scowled in disgust. "Ew! Daddy, that's gross!" she squealed, inching back from her father.

Harry swallowed with a gasp. "Sorry, sweetie, I'm in bit of a rush right now. I'm sort of late for your Auntie's hearing."

"Ooh, she's going to jinx you," Lily teased with a sly grin that belonged to her mother's.

"Merlin, I hope not." Harry turned to his godson. "Ted, you think you can take Lily to school? The keys are on the hook by the front door," he said desperately whilst he walked towards the exit, kissing Lily on the head along the way. "Behave today at school, sweetheart."

"You really trust me with your car?" Teddy asked in disbelief.

Harry halted by the frame and looked back nervously. "You have your license, right?"

"No – I wasn't planning to do any driving when I came over. I left all of the important essential back in Romania," Teddy answered flatly.

Harry hesitated, then glanced back at his daughter who was looking innocent and unfazed as she ate her breakfast, before he looked back at his godson and sternly said, "Drive within the speed limit."

Teddy grinned. "I will, promise. Now get out of here or you're never hear the end of it from Mum-Ne!"

Harry launched away from the kitchen before Teddy could finish his sentence and he stormed outside of his home. He stepped over the rolled up morning mail as he closed the door behind him. He could see the paperboy riding down the street on his bike, tossing morning papers at the neighbor's porches like he does every day at the crack of dawn, but aside from him Harry does not see any other person in sight. Not even Ms. Wither's was out tending her garden. He can safely assume that everyone have gone to work or were still asleep

Harry glanced around the neighborhood, look at every closed window, screen door, and backyard for any signs of life before he braced himself.

He soon felt himself swirling rapidly in air and the familiar crack thundered in the morning silence as he disapparated.

---

Harry had gotten used to having eyes watching him in many ways – astonishment, lustily, in awe, suspiciously, curiously, and intrigued – but he still didn't like it.

The moment his arrival in the Atrium was announced by the crack of his Apparation, heads of employers and visitors turned his way but he paid no attention to them as he sped his way through the collective groups and their wondering eyes to the lifts. He noticed that the wave of chatter was being drowned out by silence the more people realize his presence in the Ministry and it seem to follow after his trail towards the lifts, like there were ghosts flowing along behind him. For a moment Harry thought there were but he chose to go against his instinct to look behind him and continue to weave past the pestering people.

Harry had not set foot in the Ministry ever since the day he confronted the press in front of them. All traces of him have disappeared. It was no doubt that word about his temporary leave was spoken among department to department and it was still a fresh topic even when it was weeks old. He wondered if maybe it was one of the reasons why Hermione felt lonely without him. She would probably hear people talk about him in hushed tones and then they would quiet down when they see her march past them, knowing she has close relations with him. He hoped not. He would like to think that she felt alone because she was used to seeing him in the corridors and he would accompany her for lunch, not because people would avoid her like a plague.

The long, wide hallway seemed never-ending for Harry. He was not sure if it was because he hadn't walked along the same polished, dark wood floor in a while that he might have forgotten the distance from the Apparation zones to the lifts or if it was because of the throng of people in his way, stopping in mid-step to stare at him bewildered, making him change direction towards his destination. Eventually, he could hear noise returning to the place, but in low whispers and quiet conversations, but he did not really care – he just wanted to hear anything that isn't his feet thudding on the floor.

"What do you think he's here –" Harry caught a witch say, someone he recalled to work with Mr. Weasley in his department.

" – thought he resigned after Grumps died," said a wizard this time to his companion as Harry slipped through the current of Ministry workers, trying to not knock out their neatly tucked stacks of parchment or bump their briefcases. He saw one wizard, who was reading the Muggle section of the Daily Prophet, had taken out a Sickle and flicked it in the fountain without glancing at it. Harry wanted to add his donations but he had forgotten his wallet at home during his rush.

" – else is going to die for –"

Harry shut out the rest of the world. Shortly, he was able to reach the lifts and entered into the lonely one out of all twenty. Several witches and wizards were curiously looking his way as they walked past his lift; he stood a firm ground, staring back at them, as the grilles slid shut hard and the lift shot away from the busied crowd. As uncomfortable he was from the unwanted attention, he will not walk with his head down like they expected him to do – they wanted that – he was not going to give them to them.

Harry was standing at the very back of the lift and he chose to close his eyes and lean his head back as the chains rattled and the lift shook by the speed it went in. He waited and waited, mostly secretly impatient, as the cool female voice announced each floor he stopped by; "Level Seven: Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office - Level Six: Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Test Centre - Level Five: Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats - Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee - Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."

Harry immediately got off the lift once he heard his floor and casually fast walked down of the corridor he has worked in for years. Heavy sunlight was beaming through the clear windows – Magical Maintenance must be in a good mood today. He turned to the corner and walked through the same heavy oak doors he has seen in his mornings daily, a wave of longing pulsating in him as he sees the same divided cubicles full of animated talk and laughter. And the lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle reading AUROR HEADQUARTERS made him sad. This was his workplace – his source of motivation – these men and women were his comrades – this was his life.

Harry stopped to look through the doorway. He could see them acting around like they were students in a classroom waiting for their professor. Drinking coffee, discussing about the latest news in their lives or taking their free time to talk to their desk neighbor. He could see glimpses inside their cubicle, catching patches of family photographs, Quidditch posters, and wanted criminal posters. He should be in there, basking in the atmosphere of professional officers yet close companions he would give respect to and receive. But he was practically banned from there until he was 'cured'.

"Harry!"

From the second set of oak door stood Mr. Weasley, his balding red hair the most that stood out among the cubicles. He was waving and beaming at him. His call made a couple of the Aurors to face him, surprised eyebrows raised but Harry did not pay attention to them. Harry returned the gesture as he watched Mr. Weasley made a bee-line towards him, the morning buzz dying down the more Aurors stopped talking to stare at them. When Mr. Weasley reached him, he immediately pulled Harry in a fatherly love he had grown used to getting.

"It's great to have you back," Mr. Weasley said ecstatically as he lets go of Harry. "How've you been?"

"I've been good," Harry answered. "I'm not back – I'm here for a hearing. Hermione's hearing."

"Ahh yes," Mr. Weasley said, frowning, as he ran a hand through what's left of his hair. "I heard about that. Heard it from Ginny. Poor girl – I hope they go easy on her. Being a counselor of the Wizengamot and getting a hearing from the same people is a rare thing. Last one who had one of those didn't get such a light punishment to teach them to be a more of a responsible figure."

Harry raised a brow. "Did Ginny tell you why?"

"She was vague about it," said Mr. Weasley. "But she said something about Hermione using magic on a Muggle."

Harry nodded. He was not sure why Ginny was speaking about Hermione's hearing to her parents. He knew he did not like it. He felt like he was exposing her even though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had every right to be concern over their children, related or not. But Hermione did not speak about it too much unless she was in the living room at the Potter Cottage with the same people who were there when she got her Howler, and Harry knew she had not spoken to her mother or to her in-laws so learning that Ginny had revealed something so personal to his best friend actually angered him a bit.

"I'm sure Hermione will be fine," Mr. Weasley told him.

"She will be," Harry agreed. He mostly said it to himself. He wanted to believe his words. "Anyway Mr. Weasley, I need to get going. I'm actually a witness for Hermione's hearing and I can't be late for it."

"You do that," Mr. Weasley said. "I have to be on my way anyway. Something about a sink sucking in a Muggle's hand in South London."

Harry's imagination conjured up the picture of an unknown Muggle screaming in agony as they tried to pull their finger, possibly broken and cracked at the bone, out of the faucet, and he grimaced.

"Good luck with that."

"You too. And tell Hermione I send her my best wishes."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it, thank you."

Harry gave Mr. Weasley a light clap on his shoulder before he turned away and walked down the corridor as Mr. Weasley went the opposite way towards the lifts. When he made it to the second set of lifts, he stepped inside and pressed on the number nine button then waited impatiently. He remembered two years after he was promoted Head Auror, that the bill to construct a new lift operation for a shorter route to the courtrooms has been passed and it was less than a month after the news that Harry would see this lift outside of his area of work every time he clocked in or clocked out. It was mostly useful for the lawyers and counselors in Hermione's area but he would use it be present for a Death Trial as security.

"Department of Mysteries," announced the female voice and the lift skids to a halt.

Harry sped forward in the bare corridor as soon as the doors rattled open and took a sharp left that nearly made him twist his ankle. He almost trip over when he sprinted down the level of stairs downwards but he gradually regained his speed once he was in the other corridor, the fire in the bracketed torches flickering as he raced past them. For a second he was flashed back to the time of his hearing before his fifth year as he looked at the plaques next to the doors.

"Three…Five…Seven!"

Harry paused in front of the same door he stepped in many times before, took a moment to regain his breath and tidy up his appearance – stretching out the wrinkles in his robes, tucking in the tail of his shirt – before he turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom. As he slowly closed the door, he heard the familiar voice of Kingsley speaking rather dully from beneath the archway he was in, along with several murmurs that did not belong to him, and Harry listened in carefully. He glanced looked deeper into the courtroom and he could see Hermione seated on the chair in the center; he was glad to see the chains were not binding her.

"Hearing of the fifteenth of October into offences under the International Statue of Secrecy by Hermione Jean Granger, Deputy Head of the Magical Law Enforcement, Head of the Regulations and Control of Magical Creatures, Founder of SPEW, and Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," recited Kingsley. "Interrogators, Kingsley Shacklebot: Minister for Magic – Olivia Mark: Second Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Katherine Thorn: Junior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe –"

"Witness for the defense: Harry James Potter, Head of the Auror Department," declared Harry from under the archway behind Hermione, who turned her head quickly at the sound of his voice. He marched in a posture that he hoped seemed imitating to them and kept his face calm in a neutral expression as he stared up at the fifty faces, though once blank from emotion, now painted in surprise at his appearance. From the corner of his eye, he can see Hermione beaming at him and he was glad he could give her that feeling of security and relief so easily.

The other members started to talk quietly among themselves. One wizard in the very back room stood and was waving at him excitedly. Harry recognized the overly-enthusiastic one to be Gerald – he must be here for moral support.

"Ah," said Kingsley, who looked more relieved than annoyed like the others. "Auror Potter, so happy for you to join us. I was beginning to think you didn't get the owl I sent you a few days ago. I never got a reply."

"I apologize for that, Minister, but I'm under order for manners much personal," replied Harry in the same pleasant tone that Kingsley was using. "I'm sure you know and understand of my reasons for being so busy."

"Yes, I do," Kingsley nodded with a hidden smile. Then he took out his wand and gave it a little flick towards Hermione's direction; the floor had opened up and a chair similar to hers, with no chains, rose up. "Please sit."

Harry obliged, locked his fingers together, and kept his face unmoved. The Wizengamot was frequently talking in low voices; others were staring down at him unkindly. Kingsley was shuffling through the pile of parchment he has on his bench. Below him, Percy was furiously scribbling down notes. Next to him, a slightly shuffle was heard as Hermione leaned closer to him.

"Thanks for coming," she whispered quietly.

Keeping his stare up at the members, Harry tilted his head closer to her. "I told you I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I thought after last night you might have overslept," Hermione admitted shamefully. "I was waiting for you out in the corridor and when they called me in and you didn't show –"

"My clock didn't go off," Harry said briskly. "I had it set for six but must have slept through it. Ginny must have tried to wake me up too since she was gone when I woke up. But that doesn't matter – I'm here now, aren't I?" he added with a twitch of his lips.

Hermione snorted. "Only by convenience, Auror Potter."

Harry never knew how much he missed being called like that until he heard Hermione say it. A title that contained authority and expectations of leadership. And the way Hermione said it, in such a playful manner that was all too nerve-tingling, made Harry's hands shake and he needed to tighten his grasp to keep them firm and unnoticeable.

"Let's move along with the charges, shall we?" insisted Kingsley, shuffling his notes. The courtroom went silent again. "The charges against the accused are the following: Knowingly and in full awareness of the illegal use of her actions, received a written demand from the Ministry of Magic for the casting of a False Memory Charm on a Muggle in a Muggle-inhabited area on the eleventh of October at 1:49, thus in violation of Clause 73, Section Thirteen, Paragraph Three of the International Confederation of Warlock's Statue of Secrecy."

Harry heard Hermione inhale sharply and could feel her tense up. He resisted the instinct to reach across to take her hand in his. He needed to seem like he was unbiased. If he looked like he was leaning too far into Hermione's favor then they would not take his words into account and she would be facing poor results.

"You are Hermione Jean Granger, of number thirteen, Chester Avenue, Central London?" Kingsley asked, peering at Hermione over his parchment.

"Yes," replied Hermione.

"You have been present in the Wizengamot under the orders of the Ministry for reports of theft of owned magical creatures, trespassing of private property, and unauthorized protests against treat of house-elves nineteen years ago, yes?"

"Yes."

"And yet you casted a False Memory Charm on the afternoon of the eleventh of October?"

"Yes."

"Knowing that you will under violation of one of the sacred laws of the wizarding world?"

"Yes."

"Knowing you were in an area inhabited by Muggles?"

"Yes."

"And knowing you could have caused complete brain damage to the Muggle in record, Neil Chippington?"

"Yes," sighed Hermione. Harry could already hear the exhaustion in her voice. He felt guilty because he knew his late phone call was part of it but he was certain that most of it was from the 'yes or no' questions being thrown at her. They are completely draining and do take up one's patience quickly.

"What do you plead?" Kingsley asked. "To be condemned or not to be?"

"Not to be, sir," said Hermione.

"Even with the charges as clear evidence against you? You are willing to plead to not be condemned to life in Azkaban?" The voice that rang out was owned by Olivia Mark.

"Yes, I stand by my actions and my reasons for doing so," Hermione replied with no hesitation.

Hushed whispers and mumbles spread out among the witches and wizards again; some of them were staring at Hermione incredulously, impressed by her courage against the odds, but the others who were talking to Olivia Mark were scowling and scoffing arrogantly. On the other side of the courtroom, sitting on the benches next to Kingsley's, a woman with a bad perm and squared glasses stood.

"Do you understand that everything you say will and can be used against you," said Katherine Thorn. "I suggest you use your words carefully."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very well, Miss Granger," Kingsley began, stealing a glance at Harry. "You may now speak out."

Harry clenched his jaw in anticipation.

"I did it for my son," Hermione said quickly before anyone could utter a word in. "And for my niece – Harry's daughter."

"I see," Kingsley nodded. "And what is the name of your son, Miss Granger?"

"Hugo Arthur Weasley."

Kingsley held out his hand. One of the wizards sitting on the benches below took out a parchment from his stacks and handed it to Kingsley. Harry waited anxiously as Kingsley read it from top to bottom, his ears twitching at the sound of the members speaking yet again. It wasn't until Kingsley talked again that they went silent.

"Hugo Arthur Weasley - born on August 2nd, 2008, half-blood," he read out. "Is that correct?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

Kingsley looked at Harry. "And what is the name of your daughter, Auror Potter?"

"Lily Luna Potter," Harry answered with ease when in reality he was jumbling with nerves.

The wizard in the lower benches had already taken out another piece of parchment and gave it to Kingsley. Percy was nodding, muttering something incoherent under his breath, as he continued to write.

"Lily Luna Potter - born on March 19th, also half-blood," he said, glancing up at Harry. "Correct?"

"Yes."

"And what is it that was necessary to exploit magic on a non-magical being, Miss Granger?" Kingsley asked the brunette. "How were these two involved?"

"They were victims," Hermione said carefully, "of manipulation, abuse, and unequal treatment."

"Elaborate."

"The Muggle in record, the headmaster of the school they go to, has a nephew attending there as well," Hermione explained. "Ever since last month, the nephew has been verbally and physically abusing my son for personal pleasure. He's been given warnings and detention but the nephew was always free of punishment. Earlier this week, Harry and I got a call from the school saying Hugo got in a row with the boy because he was harassing Lily. When we got there, the headmaster was going against all policies in his position – he was going to expel Hugo were self-defense while he was going to give his nephew a month's detention. He went for the words of his nephew's chums as 'evidence' that Hugo was the one who insinuated everything against Lily's, who was the witness of the whole thing. It wasn't until I saw how he and the boy's father interacted with each other that I was able to see they were related."

Harry was relieved when she finished; the chains have not come to life.

"That's it?" said Olivia with a sarcastic smirk as she looked down at Hermione. "You used magic on a Muggle because your child was going to be thrown out of school? You know, you could have just enrolled him in another."

"Motherly instincts aren't exactly a great loophole to break a law," said another wizard among the group. He had a long dark goatee and rather bushy eyebrows. He was bald – his head gleaming under the torchlight.

"I agree with Counselor Jackson," said Olivia, the smirk never leaving. "If using magic based motherly instincts was allowed then we might as well erase Clause 73 in the law and let all mothers run amuck casting spells on the next person who dares to speak negative of their children."

"I'm sure it's easy for you to say such words, Counselor Mark," Hermione retorted. "Considering you don't have children of your own to sacrifice for. I don't expect you to understand the term 'motherly instincts'."

Olivia scowled. "I'm certain you don't know the meaning of the term either. Tell me, are you still sleeping in your office away from your family?"

An outbreak of mutters roared in the courtroom. The wizard with the goatee, Counselor Jackson, was leaning forward to whisper in Olivia's ear and she grinned. Harry was now clutching on the armrests of his chair. He looked at Hermione and his heart tore into two; she still held the same brave blank face she has been successful maintaining but her eyes were glimmering in ancient guilt. Olivia's remark had stabbed an old wound in her heart on purpose, he knew it.

"Enough – Enough!" shouted Kingsley as he banged his gavel repeatedly on his desk; the room turned into an ominous silence. "All information that is not related to the hearing at hand will not be spoken while in session! If either of your have a personal vendetta against the accused, I want you to step outside immediately!"

No one in the courtroom spoke. A cough echoed. Everyone sat still in their seats, anxiously staring at one to another, as if daring them to talk. Yet no one did. Then, much to everyone's utter disbelief, Harry cleared his throat loudly, and all attention was turned to him.

"If I may, Minister?" Harry said politely. "Permission for witness to speak?"

Kingsley stared down at him for a moment before he replied, "Yes. The Chair recognizes Harry James Potter, Head of Auror Department."

Harry stood from his chair and held his arms behind his back. "I think many of you have misunderstood Hermione when she explained her story. You see I was there during the exchange she had with the Muggle. Yes, her child was involved in this predicament but before you jump to conclusion saying she did this all as on 'motherly instincts' I recall you saying a few minutes ago, Minister Shacklebolt, that Hugo is a half-blood wizard, yes?"

Kingsley nodded wordlessly.

"According to Clause 73, for it to be violated you need to have revealed to a Muggle that you're a wizard or a witch and on Section Ten, Paragraph Fifteen of the Statute of Secrecy, any usage of any Memory Charm on a Muggle that isn't for emergencies will result to immediate time in Azakaban," Harry continued. "Well, technically speaking, Hermione did not violate any of these laws. To be more thorough, Clause 73 should be brought attention to if magic is performed in front of a Muggle or if one revealed to them as a witch or wizard. Hermione did not. She did use the False Memory Charm, not for her son, but also for a wizard in distress by a Muggle for, as she said, unequal treatment, abuse, and manipulation. Not just that but she helped a wizard who isn't even registered as a student yet – basic education is a critical requirement for wizards and witches under the age of eleven. By using that charm, the Muggle does not remember her secret as a witch being revealed or magic being used on him and a wizard is able to be prepared to learn to become a proper one. That is automatically a rule out."

Kingsley was now staring at Harry with an impressed smirk. A few of the members above were shifting uncomfortably in their seats and were whispering to each other worriedly. Olivia Mark was glowering down at Harry, her face now a shade of purplish-red that Harry could sworn she was a close relative to Uncle Vernon. Katherine Thorn had a contemplating look on her face. Percy had stopped scribbling and was looking at Harry in shock, his mouth opening then closing but no sound was coming out. Harry could feel Hermione's eyes burning holes on the back of his head but he continued to look up at the squirming Wizengamot as they urgently discussed quietly.

"Oh, and if you care to prove me wrong, you may check on Section Fifteen, Paragraph Seven," Harry added, capturing the attention of the court again. "I'm certain it clearly states that magic can be necessary if another is in trouble with a Muggle."

Harry sat back down and locked his fingers again, not showing any signs of nervousness.

"Very well, Auror Potter, thank you for your time. You may now go," Kingsley said; Harry saw Kingsley send a curt nod at his way before he turned around on his bench and joined the quiet conversation with the other members.

As he stood, he glanced over at Hermione, who was smiling up at him gratefully, her eyes bright and shimmering as if she had unshed tears in them but did not, and she mouthed 'Thank you' while he walked towards the exit. He winked at her and for a second he thought he saw her cheeks become pink when he did this but he quickly dismissed it.

He glanced back at the Wizengamot before he swept out of the courtroom, keeping his fingers crossed on the way out, in hopes that his words were enough to leave Hermione with positive results.

---

The hearing had taken longer than Harry anticipated it to be and he was choking in fear for Hermione. He has been standing outside of the room, pacing back and forth, glancing at the door every five seconds, running his hands through his hair, peering at the large clock at the end of the hall, and tapping his hands on his thigh for brief distraction. Sometimes he would hear a door open and instantly assume it was Hermione leaving the courtroom but it would wizards and witches leaving the other rooms after finishing their cases.

Harry ended up sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and facing the door, staring it down, wishing it would open soon and the first thing he would see is the curly mane of his brunette best friend. The wait was unbelievably long, too long that it made Harry feel a bit crazed by the anxiety. He chose to keep his eyes closed, thinking that it was the sight of the door that was making him become physically jerky, and he tried to keep all negative thoughts pushed out with the opposite. He tried to focus on how well of a plan it was for Hermione to tell him about the laws on the previous night. The idea had soon struck him the moment Hermione was telling her story. He knew she had purposely told him the laws for him to say. She knew what she was doing. She knew they never would have listened to her if she had been the one to say what he said. It was him calling her that had it all leaning more towards her advantage – that is why she was confident she would be freed.

But it timing it is taking ever since Harry spoke had left him rattling in nerves. He is not saying that Hermione's plans were perfect but this one should not be taking so long.

Finally, Harry heard the irritating creak of the iron handle being turned, and Harry quickly sprung up to his feet as he saw Hermione step out into the corridor. He felt his face drain of color and his heart drop to the very deep depths of his stomach when he saw the defeated look on her eyes, her cheeks flushed and moist in fallen tears, and her eyes dead. He shook his head.

"What did they say?" he asked apprehensively as she stepped closer to him.

Hermione just sighed and looked down as her feet, crossing her arms. Harry shook his head again.

"Did they – Hermione, they didn't, did they?"

Hermione just kept her head down. A few droplets of tears have dripped down from the tip of her nose and her shoulders were shaking. Harry's eyes widen and his shook his head a third time as he gripped his hair. His heart, which felt as if it had grown to an unbearable size, was stuck in the middle of his throat and the hard thumping sensation was making it hard for him to breathe. He was expecting, hoping, that the hearing lasting too long would mean that she would be released from all against her but instead he learned she got condemned to Azkaban. He was not sure what he should think – he was not sure he was feeling anything. He was just there.

"Hermione, this…no, this can't be-"

"It's alright, Harry," said Hermione softly, never raising her head.

" No, it's not – they can't - this is unbelievable."

"I know –"

"I – I'm sorry, Hermione, I thought it would work –"

"– I can't believe everything went according to plan," finished Hermione.

" – I thought it would be enough and –" Harry paused. "Wait, what?"

Suddenly, Hermione lifted her head to face him and she was wearing a radiant expression, her smile wide and bright through her tears. A spark of hope ignited within Harry.

"You're cleared," he stated slowly.

"All charges – cleared!" Hermione squealed excitedly. She jumped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Harry's neck, her hair obscuring his vision. The force of her hug had caused him to lose his balance and his back was knocked into the wall behind him as she cried into the side of his throat.

From emotions running uncontrollably, Harry returned the embrace with equal vigor, burying his face deeper into her hair, gripping her strongly on the back of her robes, and breathing her in deeply. He could feel the relief, the happiness, coming out of her and being transitioned into him, making him have to screw his eyes shut tighter as the back of them were starting to sting a little. She was safe – she was released. The fact seemed too surreal for him. He held her closer, molding her against his as if she was part of him, pressing his hands harder against her back and his fact deeper into her hair.

"You figured it out – you really figured it out!" she breathed in his ear, laughing. "I knew you would!"

Harry chuckled. "Of course, I would. Hermione, you don't just go around spilling out information just for the hell of it."

Hermione lets out another breathless laugh.

The courtroom door opened again and the Wizengamot were filing out. Most of them were kept their eyes steered away from them, others would glance at them as they walked along with the crowd. Olivia Mark was one of the last few to leave the room, her face resembling of a tomato, but she did not spare them a glance whilst she practically stomped down the corridor. Kingsley was the very last person to pass them all; he was giving them a supportive smile and nodded. Harry returned them with a silent 'Thank you' before the smarmy wizard proceeded down the corridor and he went back to passionately hugging Hermione.

Unfortunately it did not last long. Hermione had pulled back from the hug and was clutching him on the arms, shaking them lightly.

"We need to tell Ron and the others," she said, beckoning him with her to the stairs. "They will be pleased! Everyone will be so thankful for what you've done, Harry! I bet Mrs. Weasley will want to bake her heart out for this!"

Harry grinned. Everything heavy was suddenly faded and replaced with an air of no absolute worry.

Hermione stopped in an unexpected halt at the bottom of the stairs leading up to level nine. "Oh, wait, I need to tell you now before I forget again." She reached inside her robes and took out a ticket stub. "Dean came by my house two days ago. I'm not sure if he managed to get in contact with you but he's in Britain for the World Quidditch Cup Leagues and gave us all extra tickets for a match tonight. This one is yours." She took his hand and placed the ticket stub in his palm. "You will be able to go tonight, will you?"

Harry stared at her strangely. "You want to go to a Quidditch match?"

"Not really," Hermione answered honestly. "But you should have seen Hugo's face when he saw Dean and when he showed him the free tickets – I couldn't say no. Ron had told Lily and Teddy yesterday so you know they were all up for it. I'm surprised you haven't been told."

"I must have been asleep when they were told," Harry murmured.

"Well, will you go?" Hermione inquired eagerly. "Oh, Harry, I hope you do. We haven't been able to do this together for so long. The last time we went to a Quidditch match was in 2014 – that's too long."

"Yeah, it is," Harry agreed.

"So will you go?" Hermione repeated.

Harry stared into those brown eyes that could be mistaken to pools of melted chocolate. He could feel himself as if he was falling into them, ready to be lost in a sugary rush and drowned in a sweet whirlpool. He can see the hope sparking off her pupils and hear her send him a silent plea through her gaze. It amazes Harry how he had seen these eyes so many times, the same ones he had looked into for twenty-six years, but now he was seeing them so differently, like this was the first time since they've known each other that he is realizing how powerful even a simple glance from them could be. He doesn't think he could live not being able to look at them.

"What time?" he asked.

Hermione beamed. "Meet us at the Burrow at six. George will have the Portkey set up by then."

"Noted."

"Oh Harry, this is going to be great!"

Harry smiled brilliantly as Hermione once again flung her arms around him and held him in a rib-breaking hug. He did not mind. He had grown used to Hermione wearing her heart openly through her actions, especially on the days when she is feeling emotional, and he would let her because he knew from experience that holding in all kinds of feelings was far more unpleasant. It was also because it was part of who Hermione is; an affectionate girl who loves with a heart that loves strong. And he wouldn't change that about her.

As Harry went to embrace her too, he came to a realization again – the same one he has been circling around for too long now – the same one that kept coming back to fight with him whenever he would shrug it off – the same one he would come up with a thousand excuses to make it leave him – the same one he was too tired of denying of time and time again.

This woman in his arms – this wonderful, unpredictable woman who he has known for all of his life, is his very best friend. This woman was the same little girl he had saved from a mountain troll in a girl's bathroom and she grew up with him from that moment in return – taking every hit, every curse spell, every risk of getting thrown out of the best school she was blessed to be part of, of endangering her life with the possibility of it coming to an end, all for him. She could have left him with a returned favor of lying to a teacher for him but she chose to have a friendship with him and never once has she ever left his side.

In time, she became someone important to him. Someone he could not bear to lose. Someone he could confide in to bring him comfort even when he does not ask for it – she would give it without his word. Someone who was now half his life and if he lost her one day, he would die a little inside. Someone who has a loyalty to him so strong that it scared him. Someone who he simply could not go a day without speaking to – he did not want to think how awful it was for him when she went back to Hogwarts for her final year. He just knew he never felt so incomplete like he was without a half of him. Back then he thought it was the aftereffects of a part of Voldemort being rid from inside him but thinking back at it now, he knew it was because he did not have Hermione around. Any time he did not have Hermione around, he would feel that way.

Harry could not believe that she has such an impact in his life. A person once a stranger now someone who was the best thing to have ever stumbled into his life.

Someone who was the first woman to had given him the pleasure of experiencing warm hugs and care for his safety.

Someone who was the first woman person ever to kiss him.

Someone who was the first woman to stay by his side faithfully when the world turned against him.

Someone who became the best friend he could ever dream of apart from Ron; she is the half of him who knew his thoughts, his deepest desires, and the root of his common sense.

Someone who became his personal advisor and source of unconditional support.

Someone who was his savior countless times to help him grow and train into the destined protector he is known as now.

Someone who showed him how to love another like the sister he never had.

Until finally, after twenty-six years of putting her through the worst of the worst of a hellish life, he saw her as someone who he could share the love of a man and a woman with. And he will admit it with all the pride of the men in all worlds together:

He, Harry Potter, has fallen in love with his best friend, Hermione Granger, and he is not ashamed of it.

---

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