For L.

The previous three chapters are recapped below.

'Better Never Than Late'

by Witherwings

Chapter Twenty Five – A New Normal

3rd March, 2000

A flawless diamond, the seemingly infinite dome of the late-summer sky was unblemished by even a single wisp of cloud. Harry Potter could not help but wonder why the weather gods saw fit to offer him up yet another perfect day in Donnybrook when the news from the world he had left behind grew increasingly dark with each passing day. It did not seem right.

His mind consumed by the details of the latest report from home – four more cases of suspected muggle torture – Harry picked one of the the many narrow strips of grass that ran between the evenly spaced trees at random and allowed his feet to carry him blindly along the uneven path. The gentlest of breezes carried the sweet aroma of thousands of mature apples straight to his nose. His feet drew to a halt. Boughs weighed low by swollen fruit, his now well practised eye noted that their colour and size were both exquisite. By the looks of it, this year's harvest would be a very good one indeed.

"Apples!"

A small arm shot forwards from Harry's peripheral vision, five short fingers grasping for the fruit that was too far away by far for even an adult to reach from this distance.

Harry felt a grin erupt on his face. "That's right," he told his daughter sat high upon his shoulders. "Apples." At just sixteen months old, her rapidly emerging vocabulary was a daily source of wonder and joy to him, the single word emerging from from her lips as 'pulls' on this occasion.

"Eat?" Madeleine asked, her fingers still clutching hopefully at thin air.

A bubble of laughter rose in Harry's chest; seeing the world through her innocent eyes never failed to drive the darkness away. "Why not," he told her. "But if you keep wriggling like that, daddy's going to drop you." Madeleine's pudgy legs, which until that moment had been dancing up and down with such excitement that they threatened to escape the grip Harry held on each ankle, stilled immediately. "Good girl," he told her before sweeping her from his shoulders and onto his hip with the confidence born of more than a year's practise as a parent. "Now which one would you like?"

Bright, wide eyes, so like his own narrowed in momentary consideration. "That!" Four digits clenched into a tiny fist leaving one stubby finger pointed directly at what Harry assessed to be the largest and reddest of all the nearby fruit.

Now Harry did laugh. "I should have guessed!" Adjusting his stance, he shifted her into a more secure position and moved forward so that his daughter could grasp the fruit by herself. In her eagerness several more were sent plummeting to the ground before she finally liberated her quarry with a triumphant giggle.

"Do you want to eat it now or show mummy first?"

The scowl that immediately crossed Madeleine's tiny features was entirely her mother's and made it quite obvious how stupid a question she thought it to be. "Now," she demanded.

"And what do we say?"

"Please."

A second bark of laughter sprang from Harry's lips. Her mispronunciation of the word – 'peas' – always made him laugh. "How can I say no when you asked so politely?" he asked, settling his daughter's feet onto the ground before reaching for his knife. Deft fingers quickly removed the peel and cut out a small slice which he handed to his daughter.

With a squeal of delight, Madeleine snatched the proffered fruit and tottered away down the path on unsteady legs, her nimbus of dark curls dancing in the sunlight behind her. Harry shook his head and followed a few paces behind ready to catch her should she stumble on the undulating ground. Yes, life here could be truly idilic. So much so that it was almost possible to forget the lengthening shadows of half a world away and their ever expanding reach. Almost.

Since her birth more than a year ago, life had changed dramatically – and not just for Harry and Hermione on the farm (though the midnight nappy changes and the near-constant sleep deprivation would have been life-altering all on their own, thank you very much). For the second time in as many years, Wizarding Britain had fallen under Voldemort's control. In fact, were it not for the Dark Lord's obsessive, almost year-long hunt for Madeleine following his failed attempt at kidnap on the day of her birth, it was likely that what little resistance remained would have been swept aside even sooner. No one believed that Voldemort had given up possessing his only remaining horcrux, but it did seem clear that he was more than willing to play the long game, consolidate his power, all the while safe in the knowledge that his greatest foes would do nothing to harm their own daughter.

The feeling now, supported by what little intelligence still reached the Order from those shores, suggested that Voldemort and his supporters would soon turn their attention to their ultimate goal – conquering the sixty million muggles who remained completely ignorant of the dark forces amassing within their own borders.

Sixty million. It was too massive a number to even begin to process. Certainly the majority would be killed. Despite their unquestionable power, Voldemort and his army had no desire to subjugate and control an entire population – better a few loyal slaves, scared into submission, than many rebellious subjects eager for revenge. In his darker moments, Harry wondered which he would rather for his Aunt and Uncle. Sixteen years living under their roof and they had shown him nothing but disdain, but even they did not deserve such a fate. Nor Dudley. His elder cousin had at least shown some remorse and a willingness to change in their last interactions.

And what could they do – could he, Harry Potter, the Chosen One, do to spare them and the millions like them from their fate? Nothing. The stark knowledge stuck in Harry's throat like a piece of rancid meat. Though their numbers had grown steadily in the last year, the Order's incursions into enemy territory remained necessarily small, designed to slow or impede Voldemort's plans rather than to stop them in their tracks. Anything more would guarantee them only a swifter defeat.

Her little legs tiring, Madeleine came to a stop where the path reached another that crossed it. Wordlessly, Harry scooped her up and turned to look back down the valley from where they had come. Madeleine took the opportunity the devour the crescent of fruit still clutched in her fist.

At first glance, and from this distance, Harry noted that Stewart Farm looked much as it had done when he first laid eyes on it over eighteen months ago – modest wooden buildings clustered around a dusty yard flanked by tall, untended trees. On closer inspection, however, there were differences. Where once there stood but a handful of buildings, now there were more than two dozen – homes and work-spaces for the eighty-six displaced witches and wizards rescued and given refuge by the Order.

Keeping to the shade, Harry began to walk slowly back in that direction. Though he was rightfully proud of the beacon of hope their safe haven provided for those opposed to Voldemort's ideals, he knew that there was no likelihood of repeating the feat on a larger scale with the muggle population of Great Britain as a whole. Professor Flitwick, his former professor and a foremost expert in charms, believed they had now reached the limits of what was magically possible with the Fidelius charm. The spell that once protected only Harry and Hermione's own home now extending across much of the farm's acreage. Were a muggle, or even an unknown wizards for that matter, to look out upon the valley from this same spot, they would see nothing but trees and rolling hills as far as the eye could see. It was a truly incredible piece of magic.

A lance of molten sunlight speared though the dense canopy of leaves and caught the band of gold around his finger. Pulled from his swirling thoughts, Harry thumbed idly at his wedding ring. Safe within the protective sphere of the Fidelius, it had not taken long for a new normal to established itself. He and Hermione might have been the first to wed, but they were most definitely not to be the last – there had been three more weddings in the last year alone.

Mrs. Weasley said it was perfectly natural. Anxious to grasp whatever happiness they could in an uncertain world, hurried wartime marriages were as old as war itself, she'd told him. 'Mark my words,' she'd predicted confidently. 'Madeleine and Li Mai will not have the run of this place for long.'

Harry could understand that, but although he had never doubted Mrs. Weasley's prediction for a second, he knew that no matter what hardships these as yet unborn wartime children might face, none could be as great as the burden already borne by his own family. Anyone banking on a little brother or a sister for Madeleine in Fred and George's sweepstake would be sorely disappointed. Until a way to exorcise the parasitic fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul from his firstborn could be found, Harry knew that expanding their family would remain completely out of the question: Madeleine had to be their first, last and only priority.

His daughter chose that moment to lay her head on his shoulder. Harry automatically cupped the back of her head with his free hand. He suppressed a sigh.

Their initial zeal but a distant memory, the search for a way to rid Madeleine of the piece of Voldemort's soul she carried within her own had devolved into a torpid exercise in futility that made their year-long search for a way to destroy Voldemort's original horcruxes seem like a weekend school assignment by comparison. After more than a year they were still no closer to a solution. In his bleaker moments, Harry wondered often if such a thing even existed.

It was then that a familiar voice carried to his ear on the gentle breeze. Harry's chin snapped up. He was instantly surprised to note just how far they had walked. They were almost all the way back to the farmstead.

Shielding his eyes against the glare, Harry squinted in the direction of the voice. Three figures, two redheads and one with hair so blonde that it could easily be mistaken for white in the sun bleached outback, waited at the top of the back steps to his bungalow. Fleur, Bill and Ron. The latter held his arm aloft over his bearded face in greeting.

Harry increased his pace as he scratched at his own day old stubble. He'd never tell Ron, but he was a little jealous of his best friend's hirsuteness. His own efforts always looked scraggly and patchy in comparison.

"All right, Dink?" called Ron again as they drew closer to the garden gate.

Upon hearing her pet name, Madeleine's head immediately popped up from Harry's shoulder. "Won!" She had always absolutely adored her father's best friend. It was a bond Harry was very grateful for. Ron's self evident love for his daughter had made their own, sometimes awkward reconciliation that much easier.

Carefully placing Madeleine onto the ground, Harry took the opportunity to unlatch the gate and followed closely at her heels as she hurried through the narrow opening and set off across the the lawn. However, instead of racing all the way into the outstretched arms of her favourite 'uncle', she suddenly came to a stop a couple of paces from the solitary apple tree that grew in the middle of their lawn.

Harry dropped down onto his haunches next to her. Her face was arranged in an expression he could only describe as deeply puzzled. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Apples?" She turned her inquisitive gaze upon his.

"No, darling," Harry told her, instantly understanding her question. "No apples yet. This tree was hurt. Badly. But it's healing now." He touched his fingers to a knot that marked a wound created by his own hand. "Maybe next year."

Madeleine's eyes narrowed in silent consideration. "Then eat?"

Harry's features split into another broad smile. "Yes," he chuckled. "Then we can eat them."

Seemingly mollified, Madeleine turned to continue walking but very nearly ran straight into a long pair of legs. Startled, she stumbled back and was saved from a fall only by virtue of Ron's quick Keeper hands. Quick as a flash, he scooped her up into his arms and gave her belly a quick tickle. "Hey, Dink," he said, his beard splitting into a broad grin. "Whatcha got there? An apple?"

"Yeah," agreed Harry in her stead as she squealed with laughter. It was at that moment that he noticed that had cut several more slices from the whole for her on their long walk home. When had he done that? "Biggest one in the whole orchard," he concluded as he too found his feet once more.

Petting his lip, Ron brought his face down to Madeleine's so that his long nose was almost touching hers. "And you didn't save me any?" he asked, his tone a pantomime of sadness.

Madeleine's brow immediately drew together in worry. Perhaps his performance had been a little too good. Clearly of the opinion that Ron's mock offence was a very serious matter indeed, Madeleine opened her fist to reveal a partially masticated piece of fruit. She offered it to him with a sheepish smile. "Want?"

Harry suppressed a grin as his friend's nose wrinkled above his beard. It was no secret that Ron loved her dearly, but he had yet to become accustomed to anything being covered in baby drool.

"You know what?" he told her. "I've just remembered I'm not really all that hungry. He closed her tiny fingers around what remained of the slice of apple. "Still polishing off my birthday cake, remember?"

At that, Madeleine's eyes lit up. "Cake?" She looked expectantly towards her father. Ron mirrored her expression.

Harry couldn't keep the smile from his lips as he took first Madeleine's and then Ron's pleading miens in turn. "Ok," he told the latter with unconvincing sternness, "but you'll be the one dealing with her when she's full of sugar and won't settle down for her nap later. You remember what she was like after your birthday party!"

A gust of laughter. "Yeah," agreed Ron. He brought his face close to his 'niece's' again. "Maybe just a small slice then?" Madeleine nodded eagerly, and, with a quick nod of acknowledgment in Harry's direction, he carried her across the lawn, past his brother and sister-in-law and up the wooden steps into the shade of the kitchen. With a an inward shrug – ten galleons I end up putting her to bed myself – Harry followed at a slight distance.

"You know zat will never 'appen," Fleur told him as he drew nearer. "He loves her, but he iz 'ardly ze most responsible."

"I know," chuckled Harry. "But how can anyone say no to that face?" No one was in any doubt that he was not talking about his daughter on this occasion.

"Well his puppy crup eyes won't work on us when our little one gets here," stated Bill with the confidence born of someone who had yet to become a parent himself. He placed his palm across the swell of his wife's stomach.

Enjoy having all the answers while you can, Bill, thought Harry. If having Madeleine had taught him anything, it was that all of his preconceived ideas about parenthood were at best wrong and at worst laughably naive. Tipping his brown towards Fleur's abdomen he added aloud, "Not long to go now, right?"

"Any day now," agreed Fleur with a smile that somehow never quite touched her lips.

"The sooner the better —" Bill was shut down by a look that would have made anyone wither. Mrs. Weasley would have been proud. "I – I just meant what you were talking about last night, darling," he stammered in a desperate attempt to clarify his meaning. "That you wanted our baby here already... ."

"Well look at me!" His wife shot back. "I am ze size of ze knight bus!"

A peculiar look ghosted across Bill's scarred features. "And you've never looked more beautiful," he told her sincerely. He placed a tender kiss on her lips.

After a brief moment, Harry cleared his throat. "So ... any decisions on names yet?" He felt it a safe enough topic. As awkward as it was being third wheel during a lovers quarrel, being the same whilst they made up was doubly so.

Their cheeks flushed, Fleur and Bill broke apart. "I like Marie for a girl."

Bill leant a little closer to Harry. "She won't even listen to my suggestions for boys' names," he added in a stage whisper.

His wife's response was as straight forward as it was devoid of irritation: "A mother knows," she stated simply.

"There is quite a history of boys in my family, you know," countered Bill.

"As there are girls in mine."

Harry chose that moment to step in. Their banter was well natured at the moment, but he really didn't want to be caught in the middle again. "Was there something you needed me for?" he asked, placing one foot on the lowest step as an obvious indication that he wanted to take the conversation indoors.

"Actually there was," said Bill, following him up the bowed steps and into the house with Fleur at their heels. Harry took the opportunity to tap his wand to his glasses to remove their tint. "Whitby's digging his heels in," he continued. "He won't even consider using magic to help harvest the crop. I've tried to compromise, I've made suggestions that I think will improve efficiency, not to mention improve the yield, but I swear that man's got a stubborn streak as wide as —"

Harry lifted his hand for silence. When had he become the go to troubleshooter around this place? "I think it's probably best if we all talk about this at dinner," he said diplomatically. Through the summer months, the entire community had taken to eating outdoors on several long wooden tables. It was almost like being back at Hogwarts. "Ultimately it's up to Mr and Mrs Granger. Besides," he added, forestalling what he knew would likely be a lengthy and passionate speech from the eldest Weasley son, "I promised Hermione I would find her as soon as I came back. Any idea where she is?"

"Front room, mate," put in Ron from his position at the kitchen table. His words were slightly muffled through a mouthful of cake. "She wouldn't listen to me," he added with a shrug that could be heard if not seen.

Harry felt his shoulders sag ever so slightly – she promised – however, not wishing to let it show, he forced himself to answer in as untroubled a tone as he could muster. "Thanks," he said, already making his way towards the lounge at the other end of the house. "And no more cake for you," he told his daughter as he passed her high chair and saw the state she was in already. It seemed that she had succeeded in getting more icing around her mouth than she had in it.

Without waiting for a reply he slipped through the door and into the corridor beyond. He kept his pace deliberate slow so that he might gather his thoughts on the short walk to the front room.

Disappointment quickly gave way to worry. Hermione was pushing herself too hard – they all were – but the intensity with which she continued to research a means of freeing Madeleine from her curse remained unmatched by any. Harry could well understand her desperation – he shared it – but he hated what it was doing to her. The burden she placed upon herself to live up to her moniker as the greatest witch of her generation grew heavier with each passing day, the problem that she was unable to solve a millstone around her neck, one Harry feared would break her should an answer not present itself soon.

He pushed open the door. Cooler and shadier than the rear of the house, it took Harry's eyes several long seconds to make sense of the silhouetted scene before him. A mandala of parchment covered just about every flat surface in the room, at its heart Hermione quiet and still. All but folded in half, the one hand that had not dropped to the floor upon which she sat cross-legged still clutched a quill whilst one of her cheeks had come to rest upon the low coffee table that now doubled as her pillow.

As if giving voice to the pain in his heart, wooden floorboards creaked in torment as Harry quickly moved to her side. He smoothed a brushstroke of hair from her face as he knelt before her.

"Hermione? Hermione love, it's Harry."

Heavy lashes parted to reveal turbid, unfocused eyes. "Harry?" Her voice was soft, her brow knit tight. A beat. "Harry!" A coiled spring released, Hermione was immediately upright. "You ... you weren't meant to see this," she stammered, snatching at several pieces of parchment, including one that was stuck to her face, and stuffing them haphazardly into a waiting binder. "I meant to have it all cleared away before you got home. I must have fallen asleep. I guess I didn't realise how tired I—"

She was rambling. As tenderly as he could but without allowing her to simply shake him off, Harry caught her wrists and stilled her hands. "Hermione." He sought out her eyes. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't do anymore of this today." He waved one hand over the evidence of her studies. "Who's going to look after Madeleine if we end up making ourselves ill?"

"She's got you." She only ever wants you. Though she had not voiced those words aloud, the tinge of bitterness that coloured her response was a knife to Harry's heart. When the nightmares had started (and with Voldemort once again all powerful they came often now) it had become quickly apparent that Madeleine would accept comfort from only one source: Harry. Though he had no empirical evidence, it was Harry's belief that, although now severed, Madeleine could somehow sense his connection to the Dark Lord, that on some level she knew that he alone fully comprehended. He had no idea that Hermione actually resented him for it.

Perhaps recognising the hurt in his eyes, Hermione quickly retracted her statement. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I – I didn't mean it. I'm just exhausted, that's all."

"You must have meant it on some level," he pressed.

In lieu of an immediate reply, Hermione's teeth worried at her bottom lip. He knew she was at least considering his assertion. "Perhaps," she agreed after a moment of consideration. "But only because it makes me feel like I'm letting her down. A mother should be able to comfort their child and I just ... I just can't.

"I know that's not your fault," she continued. "And I know you never asked for any of this, but I can't change the way it makes me feel. This – " she gestured the nebula of books and scrolls " – is the only way I know to help her, but ... ." Her words trailed away as she lifted her eyes to meet his, crystal pools of grief just barely held in check. "But what if there is no answer, Harry? Or worse, what if there is and I'm not smart enough to figure it out?" She blinked and the dam was broken. There it was. Her greatest fear laid bare.

"Hey," shushed Harry and he gathered her into his arms. "If anyone can figure this out it's you, Hermione." However, far from moulding her body against his as he expected, instead he felt her body go tense in his arms. "What is it?" Concern framed his features and he pulled back to arm length.

"It's ... it's nothing," she said, the distant look in her eyes fading as quickly as it had appeared.

Harry was unconvinced. "It's not nothing. I know that look, Hermione. I sat next to you in class for six years, remember? That's your eureka look."

A wan smile pulled at the corner of her lips. "I thought I had something," she admitted, wiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand, "but I ... but it's gone now," she concluded lamely.

"I'm sure it will come back," offered Harry encouragingly. "In fact I'm sure of it. You just need some rest." He stood and offered Hermione his hand which she accepted wordlessly.

They were halfway across the corridor to their home's only bedroom when a rectangle of light burst open at the far end and Madeleine, now sporting a plastic tiara, charged towards them with Ron close at heel.

"Figured you might need some kip," said Ron, nodding towards Harry and Hermione's obvious destination as Madeleine tore past her parents with barely a backward glance. "Going to take her over to feed Buckbeak if that's okay with you."

"That would be great," replied Harry. "Thanks mate." He dropped onto one knee and added, "Give Beaky a ferret from us."

Halting her efforts to reach the front door handle for a just a moment, Madeleine flashed a beaming smile in her father's direction before forcibly taking Ron's hand and pulling him towards the door. "Looks like I've gotta go," he said, and with that he turned the handle and they were gone.

Suppressing a chuckle, Harry rose to his full height and was just about to suggest they both take the opportunity to lay down for a while when he noticed the same distant look in his wife's eyes he had seen a few moments ago. "Hermione?"

She shook herself back to reality. "I've got it!" she told him. "I know what we need to do."

TBC...

AN ~ If I needed further evidence of this story's overly long gestation it is that I can now longer remember who to credit for the inspiration for the opening of this chapter. If it was you, kudos.

Recap:

Chapter Twenty Two – Ron, Harry and Hermione flee the combined forces of Voldemort and Brechin with Hermione's mother, Caius Whitby, an unfortunate midwife caught in the cross fire and their newborn daughter in tow.

Chapter Twenty Three – Struck by a curse, Hermione must reverse the memory charm she placed on her mother is a desperate effort to save her life.

Chapter Twenty Four – With the Grangers' memories whole once more, Harry and Hermione learn the truth of Voldemort's resurrection and Madeleine's role therein. Distraught, it falls to Whitby to offer some words of comfort and encouragement.