Sorry, still not complete, but it got awfully long again and there was still much to say so I figured I'd just write a third part after this one. That gives you more time for input.

I'd want to thank Maarinaaaaa, one of my best followers in this universe (both endings included), as well as dey4493 who hated the first ending (it's for you and those like you and artdam, that I write this second one, so thank you for the encouragement!)

Say my name

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Please

say my name

Remember who I am

You will find me in the world of yesterday

(Within temptation)

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The night was cold for Australia in September, as two teenagers sat in a hospital bed far, far away from their country. A place that was foreign to them, just like the one where it all had started; though none of them remembered that clearly. They were arguing softly, though the reason was love.

"Your presence would have changed nothing, Harry. I was asleep"

"I should have been here by then, anyway. I would have… I don't know… cooked? You wouldn't have had low sugar levels, then, right?"."

"You have no responsibility over me, Harry"

He didn't answer, just looked into her eyes. There was something deeply sad in his. She hadn't seen that in quite some time; as if the boy was back under the stairs. She turned her hand, the one in the needle, and grasped his. He breathed deeply and looked away.

"Does anyone else?" he asked quietly.

She couldn't understand. It seemed as if he wanted that responsibility, which could not be.

"I know you are entitled to your privacy, Hermione, yet I can't but wonder…"

"I was not raped, Harry"

He looked into her eyes. There was truth there, and more. Sadness. A hint of nostalgia.

"Ron told me you thought that" she elaborated. "I assure you, Harry: you couldn't be further from the truth"

"But then how…?" Harry interrupted himself. Thought. Breathed.

She took advantage:

"Enough talking about me. How's everyone doing?"

So he spoke of Neville, of Luna, of the progress made in repairing the castle.

"McGonagall's saving you a place for next year. You weren't the only student still solving family issues in September"

She wondered if he remembered she was a mother now. But maybe Ron had told him she wasn't raising the kid. An image of their daughter popped up in her mind, and her heart weighted.

But she was stronger.

Sometimes she wondered if she was far too strong.

"Mrs. Weasley's still lost" he confessed at last.

By then, she had convinced him of lying beside her. Her friend looked far too tired, and his gasp as he had lied down confirmed that he hadn't done so in a while. She could expand the bed. The personnel didn't have to know. His cloak -previously hidden in the pocket she herself had expanded months ago- covered him to his chest, he'd cover his head at the first sign of visitors.

"She called George 'Fred' last week. Spent two days crying. She cooked and cleaned and everything, while crying. Tried to stop when we were in the kitchen, but sometimes a tear would drop on the pudding as she took it to the table, and she'd apologize and leave. George never left the room after that, and Mr. Weasley wasn't less affected, so Ginny was the one who tried to replace her, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't hear of it, and then we had two crying cooks. It was depressing."

His chest vibrated under her cheek as he spoke. She had tried to keep a distance, but he had pushed her back against him, seemingly not minding in the least the contact with her tense belly. There was warmth all around her, and it smelled of summer. She couldn't remember being so warm.

"I shouldn't be speaking of sad things, right?" He thought aloud at last

She shook her head against his shoulder, and then she raised it to look at him.

"Please don't. It'll be weird if we try to ignore a war we both lived."

The witch hadn't noticed when he had taken off his glasses. It was disconcerting, to look straight at his eyes. She remembered enough. Or too much. She couldn't breathe for a second.

And then his hand was on her head, caressing her cheek and moving up, to her hair, fingers tangling on it. She couldn't remember him being this familiar, before. She was scared for a second. How much he remembered. How deep ran those memories Obliviate hadn't taken away. He sighed, and she could feel his breath on her lips.

She was scared for herself.

"I wish you hadn't lived it. I wish... Had I been more competent, you could have run away with your parents"

"I wouldn't have" she said, but didn't shake her head, because his hand was on it and she loved the contact of his fingers.

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Hermione rubbed the flask in her hand. Silvery-blue light shone from within. Maybe she could watch…

A bit of extra information never hurts, right…?

The witch shook her head firmly, closing the fist, hiding the flask from her sight. That reasoning was not only wrong: it was dangerous. Those memories had been locked for a reason.

But she had a decision to take: whether or not their past would be a burden to him, whether or not he'd honestly want to know. The girl didn't have enough information to judge, especially considering she'd be deciding for someone else, which she hated. Whenever she had a problem to solve, she looked for more data. That was foolproof.

Also, she knew what was here. Surely, at this point, she had taken enough distance –enough time had passed- that she could watch her own memories, apprehend details without falling apart completely. She was highly rational. Surely she could take the information and isolate her feelings about it.

Besides, she wouldn't take it all.

Just a memory.

One.

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"You were with her" Ron stated calmly.

Harry looked at him as he took the cup of coffee from his hand. But it wasn't such a portent. Even Ron could guess. Harry had disappeared for a good part of the night, after not leaving the hospital for days.

"You are smiling" Ron added.

"Healers ran. I slipped into her room. I'm done being disciplined."

"And?"

"What?"

"Did she tell you?"

"Tell... Me?"

Blue met green.

"The father."

"Ah"

Harry shrugged.

"She assured me she had not been hurt, and I agree that she didn't seem to be lying"

He'd rather not speak of it. The boy did not want to picture her with someone... Else.

But of course it was important.

"Ron... Do you remember the first days of January?"

"That's when I... came back, right?" Then Ron lifted his hands, apparently hearing the incrimination in his own words. "There was no heated welcome, if that's what you suspect -reckon her reaction to my coming back was enough to discard the notion-. And you know, it's stupid to be defending myself against you, when I know for a fact that it was not me and a third choice is virtually nonexistent."

"So you want me to believe that I was with her and then what? Forgot?"

Ron seemed thoughtful.

"You know, that's what happened with my third cousin on the..."

"You mean that actually happens"

"Doesn't it happen to muggles?"

"Rarely. I've never been that drunk"

"See? But this cousin wanted to have a baby by herself... Independent production. Or something. She found out exactly how hard it was, later"

"Hermione doesn't strike me as wanting that" or using any of them that way.

"Besides, she's not even keeping the kid"

Harry turned around at that.

"What?"

"Told me so" Ron said with a shrug. "Adoption is a legitimate decision"

"Does she really want it?"

"I'm not particularly smart, and even I know it's sound. She's too young, and you and I both know she'd want to complete her education, maybe an apprenticeship or two, the Ministry, change the world... It's Hermione we're talking about"

"Yeah, but it must not be easy for her. Does she know she has choices?"

"Like what? Reckon the dad hasn't come. Who's to take care of the child as she studies? Works? Puts food on the table?"

"Money's not an issue. I could help. I'm sure we can work something out."

"Don't you have enough with Teddy?"

"Maybe we could recruit Andromeda, or your mom. After everything she has done for me... How could I leave her alone in this?"

Ron's gaze was wary.

"You sure it's about gratitude?"

Harry looked straight back at him, though he didn't answer.

"Just so you know" Ron added, "if you turn out to be the father, and you let her alone in this, I swear to you: I'm punching you in the face so hard your grand-grandsons' will come out with noses more crooked than Dumbledore's"

"Likewise"

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Her wand came out with a single silvery thread. A very, very short one; almost as short as it was wide. Hermione looked at it for a long, long time. With the curtains closed, it was the sole source of light, apart from the rest of the memories, whose light was dulled by the glass.

The witch closed her eyes as she recovered the sound of her name.

As it came from his lips.

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"Harry?"

"Yep?"

"Why's my sister saying you're too distant?"

"'Cause I'm in another continent?"

"She asked about girls"

"Does Hermione count?"

It was a rhetorical question. He meant he hadn't been dating, exactly. Yet, the question kept resounding in Harry's own mind for too long.

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Soulwaker sounded mildly relieved as he authorized his visit at last. Not that he knew Harry had spent a good part of the night with his patient. Harry's smile was just as wide as he went through the door, and if their crossing gazes held a secret, the professional didn't know what to think of that. He would have been much more alarmed had Harry hugged his patient and lied on her bed as he had in his actual first visit there.

"We haven't lost our touch" he said once the professional had left. "Hiding under the cloak at night…"

"He's an amateur" Hermione shrugged.

Her smile reminded him of a certain dream.

Then she remembered herself.

Got serious.

Disconcerted.

Looked away for a bit.

It was with some trepidation that she assessed whether or not the bits she remembered now, had changed anything in her. How in control she was. It wasn't easy to discern. His coming into the room had made her heart beat, but that wasn't new; it could be fear that he'd find out, anticipation of what his presence could detonate in interaction with her newlyfound memories, anything.

Just to be sure, it was advisable to reduce intimacy.

"Wanna go out?"

"Doc's fine with it?"

"It's called a mediwizard, Harry"

"That"

"But you're right, it's a stupidly long name to say the same…"

He chuckled, and her inner alarm rang again as camaraderie looked at her in the eye. Relax, she reprimanded herself, it's not as if it was new. She choose not to realize that had always been the thing.

"Something about calcium and vitamin D" she added aloud. There was, of course, the fact that being pregnant consumed lots of calcium, and given the circumstances she had fully meant to mention it, but she didn't.

He opened the door for her. Not chivalry, but plain worry lead him to clear the path of people and rolling tables too, and look menacingly at anyone that walked near enough. The way he fussed around her without even realizing it was slightly amusing, especially considering he wasn't doing so because of the baby.

Incidentally, she was using that glamour again. She choose to think that she did so for entirely rational reasons: her pregnancy was disconcerting and distracting for them, and why get used to it if the child wouldn't even stay.

The witch felt the sun on her skin again and sighed in pleasure. After freezing for a year, she'd never take warmth for granted. And it had been a while since she had last been outside.

The hospital had big terrains. Healers walked them with patients either in wheelchairs or levitating. These ones -the conscious ones, anyway- looked at both teenagers with a trace of envy.

Muggle and magical florae alternated, giving the gardens a surrealist touch. Harry's gaze followed a ball of light as it went down a flower's throat; he could see it being digested inside. Beside it, another plant visibly roared, though it was silencioed for the patients' comfort. Hermione sat down as he pointed at them, openmouthed.

"Honestly, Harry" she uttered, amused, "Herbology as a science goes far beyond what we're taught in Hogwarts"

The woman placed both hands on the bank behind her back and let her head fall back, breathed deeply, a vague smile on her face. The wizard simply stood, mesmerized by the shine of afternoon light on her skin, her hair; his fingers itched with the reflexive desire to run among her locks.

She didn't move as he sat down beside her.

"It's beautiful... The sight"

Not taking his eyes off her, he answered:

"It sure is"

Then, remembering himself, he shook his head and looked away. If his breathing came slightly labored, he choose not to realize it.

Silence had rarely been uncomfortable between them. It wasn't now, despite the load of secrets she carried. Breeze moved their hair and refreshed the skin unaccustomed to even this amount of sun. There was this urge to be close to him, as if to share this magical, foreign place, both physical and state of mind; the unfamiliar, beautiful surroundings gave her a tendency to dismiss all fears that came from the conviction that whatever happened here might stay here. Still, she was on guard. Yet she let her head rest on his shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, she could easily demonstrate that by appealing to a similar moment in sixth year. Despite the fact that, to bypasses, they would look as a couple.

"I'd love to show my parents this place" she daydreamed.

She was at the time staring at a flower that changed colors with a soft beat of light.

"All the oddities and wonders they helped me love before any of us had seen them, manifest in magic so literally... moving pictures... the stars of the Great Hall... It's hard to realize people I love is barely allowed in a world where I belong"

She had already told him she had found them. After an Obliviate, there was always uncertainty as to how many memories could be restored but with them, she was fairly sure: their new life was too different from their real one, to overwrite much. He had smiled his boyish, enthralling smile of his and had told her she was brilliant. Her heart had skipped a beat. That had been all. No need for too many words between them.

"I'll bring them back to normal in a month" she added. "There's hope... It hasn't been a year yet. But..." She sighed, "the more I think of it, the more I realize that it won't make that big a difference concerning me. I mean... I'm dying to be recognized by them, as their little girl; to kiss and hug them as before. But ever from age twelve, even while living with me, they barely knew me. There's so much of my life they ignore... And so much they can't relate to... How am I to explain that I was in the very middle of a war?"

His hand brushed hers and she took it without even thinking. Head still on his shoulder, she lowered her gaze to toy with his fingers.

"I heard from Ron… about your plans"

She shivered.

"Plans?"

What had possessed him to speak of it now, he wouldn't know. Except that she was talking about plans and family, and at some point he had to let her know he stood by her for this as well.

"For it" he said, pointing her abdomen uncomfortably with his chin, then rushed to get it over with. "I know I'm no one to give opinions on the matter" Oh, Harry, if you knew… "but I wanted to make sure it's really what you want. If it's a matter of money, I have two very big vaults. You saved my life. More times than I can count. Whatever is mine is yours"

Her eyes were wet again, so after a second she looked up, as if that could keep the tears from falling.

"I'm…" she cleared her throat. "Thank you, Harry. That… means a lot"

"I mean it"

"I know. It just… this… this child… She's born from… madness… Wonderful madness. But now… Everyone have composed their lives, and she'd come to change… everything…"

"Maybe things were supposed to change"

Hermione shook her head, breathing deeply so tears wouldn't fall. It got harder by the minute.

"That episode is over and forgotten. She doesn't have a place back in England. Never has"

"She might have mine"

She chuckled nervously.

"Imagine what Ginny would say to that"

His eyes suddenly lacked focus, then he looked away for a minute.

"Harry?"

"I just wanted you to know. I'm not speaking of this again… unless you want to, of course… but it stands. You have choices"

Sometimes it was easier not to.

"What was that, before? With Ginny?"

He sighed, and it was a long while until he finally spoke.

"I… don't know. She… She's wonderful and all. I still like her, exactly as I did before. But I don't know"

Hermione ignored the painful beating of her heart. It's nothing, she thought. It changes nothing.

"A week ago I was so focused on getting my life on track, and I assumed that included having her. And then… Then you were hurt and I was leaving the continent, and it put everything on perspective, you know? Now I look back and everything looks different. As if it was a poster, not even tridimensional. As if I was just… following the plot. Defeat Voldemort, get the girl"

And who said Ginny was the girl? But he maneuvered around that part, because yes, what he felt towards Hermione overrode crushes –or whatever he felt for the redhead-, that wasn't new. Yes, it felt ten times stronger now, but there had to be an explanation. She had been hurt precisely when he thought they were all out of danger. It had to be that. Even he could see it was a bad, bad idea to change the dynamics of their friendship on highly emotional times, based on feelings that had come seemingly from nowhere.

Especially now.

She was a pregnant woman, for Merlin's sake!

"I… don't know what to say"

"Shame" he joked. "Hoped there was a book on that"

She punched his shoulder, keep jokingly moaned and rubbed it, but he was smiling.

And precisely then, theit gazes crossed and there was this eternal second in which she felt the emptyness in him. The place where their memories fit in his life. Her Obliviate had taken him a step back, allowed him to grow into a different person, and their relationship had gotten back to friendship; but he felt it, she could swear a part of him could touch the scar and wonder what fit there, even as his present life overwrote that lost week. He felt it, and there was a sort of sadness and confusion in him.

And she had been right: those few memories she had recovered allowed her to read him better. They let her see this sadness, for example. They also made her feel the absence more acutely. It was, in a way, as if he couldn't recognize her, and she could barely recognize him, at least the "him" that had been so intensely hers.

"You scared us" he said. "A lot"

She sighed:

"Sorry?"

"Never mind. We'll just have to stick together from now on. Move to Grimmauld Place. The three of us. Maybe raise the kid"

"Imagine the scandal"

"Mhm"

She was surprised at how appealing the perspective was to her. Keep her friends. Keep the child.

Keep him.

"You'd hate me, eventually. Girls don't like equivocal situations. Remember Cho? None of you would ever date again. Nothing permanent, at least"

"They all know we lived in a tent, the three of us. Alone. I fear our reputation is soiled forever"

The effect would have been better if he hadn't chuckled at the end.

"And then we appear with a baby…" she commented nonchalantly.

They were silent for a moment.

"Well, you know, the Wizarding World will take a look at her hair, and decide"

"Decide what?"

"It's either a redhead, or a non-Weasley"

"Ron's out of the hook, then"

Suddenly, he could breathe. His answer came a split second too late, but soon enough that she wouldn't notice… or pretend not to.

"See? He'll date as much as he wants"

"What about you?" she asked before thinking better of it.

If her heart would just stop beating in her ears…

"I'd just have to marry you"

She raised her head, looked into his eyes. Yep, he meant it. Her heart started beating wildly, and everything got fuzzy. He didn't even need a memory to turn her upside down.

"You sure you weren't the one who hit his head?"

Why was she doing that, again?

Right. Because she needed to think.

And he needed to think, too. And a new brain, if he thought marrying her very heavily pregnant best friend was a good idea. Without knowing he was the father, that is.

"Harry, you are the most wanted bachelor in all of Britain"

"Someone has been reading her Witch Weekly"

"No need for it. I have a brain. Partly because I don't read such things. I just don't know who's second"

"Neville, in fact. Ron's third"

"He must be having a hard time hiding"

"Ron?"

"Neville"

"Well, imagine what you'll be saving me from"

She could not be having this conversation.

She could not.

He didn't even like her.

He had said so.

Nine months ago.

She had asked.

Just after their first kiss.

And before the second one.

Both of which she had erased from his mind.

And from hers.

(And those were still erased. It was the talk she had recovered. She wished the echoes of the kisses weren't so strong in it.)

She didn't like him. Nine months ago, she had said so. She had meant it.

Then she had fallen for him. Hard. But she had half forgotten, and she would forget completely.

But why?

Feelings and logic were tearing her apart.

"Know what? You're more sleep deprived than I thought"

"So I can slither in your bed tonight?"

Her smile faltered, as her skin started feeling as if she had walked into a nest of pixies. She couldn't consciously remember their lovemaking, yet the notion filled her with anticipation and thrill. He peeked at her resultant blush (it had never taken much for her to do so) and laughed, but teasing was getting too heavy to be safe. (Had they ever even flirted like this before?).

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Head on his hand, elbow on the bed, he was looking at the bit of face he could see. The bed was small enough that his other hand had to rest on her; she had avoided its resting on her belly, so it had gone to her hip, and he had been rubbing it slowly, until he noticed, and stopped. Then, that other hand came to her face. Put some hairs behind her hear. Caressed her cheek.

She sighed, and the boy looked at her slightly open lips.

Then he shook his head.

But his eyes, once reopened, went straight to her neck, slightly moistened by the climate, partly covered by locks of hair.

He bet she tasted salty.

Swore.

She heard, and shifted, though she didn't seem to wake up.

Duly reprimanded, he pressed his lips together.

Yet, his eyes, once again, followed the path.

She had turned, and now he could see where one of those locks of hair he had been following, ended. It was too close to her breast for him not to look. He hadn't been lying: those had grown. Like fruits ready to be picked up and tasted.

What the hell's happening to me?

This time he closed his eyes entirely, and dropped his head to the bed, looking desperately for something to think about. Anything, but those curves.

Even with his eyes closed, he couldn't but feel her body tightly pressed against him. Each movement she made, he felt. Her bottom was firm and round against his lap.

She's a pregnant woman, for Merlin's sake!

There. That had to help. The glamour had vanished with sleep, so he could see the smooth curve where her daughter lied, and even the ripple, when this one moved.

… though it wasn't that big…

… and in fact, he didn't care that much…

He had seen a lot of changes in her.

She hadn't always had curves. He was sure. The bossy know-it-all he had met in the Hogwarts Express didn't have the slightest bit of…

Well, maybe a bit.

And she had a hell of a brain.

And then she had grown up.

Then, the Yule Ball…

He sighed.

She was a sight to behold.

We've come a long way together .

He had seen a lot of changes in her.

None of them had turned her worse.

She was a woman. A beautiful woman. Who happened to be pregnant. She wasn't worse, nor better, for it.

He wondered how had that happened. Seventh year. Lots of pressure. She had been fighting right beside him all the time. He could swear he hadn't lost sight of her for that long.

(How long did it take?)

She was still there. The same brave, beautiful, innocent girl she had ever been. How could everything change so radically and yet...?

And he feared he had a problem…

… though it could easily be a solution.

He was attracted to his best friend.

Honestly, he had to talk about this…

… to his best friends…

… one of whom who happened to be her.

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Healer Boncoeur had a warm smile much like Pomfrey's, and hands that vaguely smelt of desinfectant. She took care of women with high risk pregnancies. If pressured, Hermione would have admitted that it was her favorite healer in this hospital; in truth she had liked her instantly. She had however managed to keep her distances in the brief time she had been awake.

Today, however, she had found her curled into a ball, crying.

Soft hands, worn out by years of caring for others, came to caress her, as she made soft comforting sounds. Kind voice urged her to tell what was wrong.

The answer was: everything.

Last night it had been surprisingly easy to fall asleep, considering her prudence and the fact that Harry was right behind her; but she was still recovering from a concusion, her body was a hormonal battlefield and besides, it recognized him as partner, and so ignored her mind's warnings.

And then she had woken up to the feeling of Harry's gaze on her skin.

His finger on her cheek -slow, gentle caress, almost ghostly- had moved her almost to tears. Her lips had pricked with longing. She wondered if he had seen how, wherever he looked, goosebumps arose. Then she had heard him swear, his voice two octaves lower than it had been before.

He wanted her. She knew it with a certainty that arose both from science and instinct, that her newly recovered memories of him only supported.

And she wanted him.

She longed for him, intensely, desperately.

But the man she longed for, she very probably had killed with her Obliviate. If memories made a person, in erasing their memories from him she had erased him, reseted him to fit his purposes as a hero. As he had asked from her. He had paid the ultimate price more than once, after all.

And she had been ready to do so in turn.

Why did you have to come? Why couldn't you just let me do what I had to do to finish what you yourself asked me to start?

Doing this had taken so much from her... she had shut down completely, as if with her precious memories of him she had taken out her very heart. And yet, it hadn't been enough. There had he come again, bringing doubts, just before she had to give up their child. Turning all sacrifices, vane. Because apparently happiness hadn't come with them. Not for him, and certainly not for her. It all had been for nothing.

And now everything was broken, imperfect. The memories only they shared, were lost for him, and barely remembered by her. She craved the sound of her name in his lips, as she had heard it in those days. As if every letter accounted for one of the years they had spent together (and then some). And knew he would never utter it again.

And yet, he wanted her.

And she wanted him. With or without memories.

Even if for a short while. Even if everything stayed here, in a foreign place, and it was all excused by emotional circumstances. Once again (because she had learned nothing) she wanted to have him and not think of the future.

And hope hurt.

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"Ron?"

"Mhm?"

"If someone wanted to date a pregnant girl..."

"Is that Soulwaker bloke making a move? I knew he wasn't trustable..."

"No! No. I mean... Hypothetically"

The redhead eyed him swiftly.

"You worried about her, ah?"

As Harry didn't correct him ('cause it was pretty obvious he was talking about her, and it had been a pathetic attempt to mask it), Ron sighed, sat beside him.

"Me, too"

Silence reigned. Harry turned from him to the empty space in front of them, both of them deep in worry. Finally, Ron spoke:

"I mean, how are we to know he's good for her? What if she's feeling fat and desperate, and picks the wrong guy?"

The green-eyed boy cringed. On one hand, there was this protective instinct they both had, as friends of hers; an instinct he was developing further and quick. On the other hand… well… he was the one he might have to protect her from. He peeked at Ron warily, feeling as if a black hole had nestled inside his stomach.

"I mean, it might be one of those blokes with a fetish" the redhead proposed as an afterthought.

The defendant gulped. Waited. Finally, asked:

"How would one know?"

"Well, aunt Janice's brother had a fixation on feet. He'd go to a bar and look at feet. He walked staring at the floor, apparently, though in family reunions he always looked at the ceiling. We all thought he was weird and sad. Then he married a shoe model..."

Relief washed over Harry as some sort of disillusionment spell, even as he studied his own past. Just to be sure, he asked:

"So this guy would... what? Work in a maternity hospital, and look at bellies?"

"Sure. Though you'd have to be inside of the guy to discard it definitely. He might not work in a maternity hospital, and yet go around watching bellies"

Harry couldn't remember being this attracted to Hermione before. And now she had a belly. And bigger breasts. However, he wasn't attracted to other bellies, and he didn't like her less when glamour hid that one. He figured out he was pretty much cleared.

"I mean... what does he earn in the exchange? 'cause he'd be adopting a kid" he emphasized. "I mean... you don't think of a mother as you'd think of any other woman. Reckon there's a child to take into the equation, a child she, and by extension the guy, must take care of. That's rarely a plus: bachelors might not want a child, much less one that isn't even theirs to begin with."

"And if this guy doesn't mind?"

Ron's wary gaze ran over him.

"Is that the case? Or is she just an easy target?"

"Why would she?"

"Well, seeing how guys avoid dating mothers, and how hard it is to be alone, mothers tend to settle for less than perfect matches. It might be tempting to submit to a nice guy's kind words, which is why we have to be extra careful…"

"it's not that" Harry waved, frustrated.

Ron's eyes narrowed.

"Then again, is she a damsel in distress for him? Some kind of charity project?"

That hit closer to home. Harry remembered Hermione herself asking him about this "saving-people-thing". It pissed him off, and yet he had to question himself. Could this be it? But would he be this turned on by her if it were?

"Can't he just like her? I mean... She's brilliant and as for her looks... You remember the Yule Ball?"

"I do" Ron narrowed his eyes, "does this guy too?"

"She hasn't gotten less beautiful since then..."

Ron's gaze ran over him slowly.

"She's gotten pregnant since then, Harry. No matter how much we help her, her life's changed with the sprog. Some men won't even look at her. Most masters won't grant an apprenticeship. Most workplaces won't take her. If I know it, trust me: she knows it. To the world in general, she's weak and disposable. Pity shags and junk food…"

"How can you speak of her that way?!"

Harry stood, hands in fists, having endured as much as he could of the discourse. He was trembling violently with rage, and it was hard to see that the redhead was not at fault, that he was simply speaking of the way mothers of his large family were treated by the rest of the world. It made him sick to the stomach that they'd live in a world so very twisted. Meanwhile, he saw nothing against killing the messenger.

"How can you speak as if she was… dunno… secondhand clothes? She's Hermione! Remember? The one that has been doing your homework since first year? She's brilliant! And brave! A fucking hero! She has been cleaning after us and enduring our shit for ages! She's loyal and true, and…"

"Don't you think I know all of that?!" Ron replied, facing him, though he seemed slightly disconcerted by the venom of his friend's words. "Don't you think I hate this every bit as much as you do? I've liked her for four years…!"

"You've made her cry for twice that long! Weren't even aware she was a girl back then!"

"And you were?"

Harry's chest was heaving, slightly more than Ron's, in whose eyes there was now a light that matched his hair. There was silence, all around. It took them too long to notice that the entire room had stopped and healers and families were staring at them in shock. Some of them parted as a couple of very large wizards in black robes came to ask if there was a problem. They were a hair away of being thrown out of the hospital, and that only because the screaming had lasted like ten seconds and there was no one else to take their place beside a patient. So they looked at each other and said there was none, and sat down. Around them, movement resumed slowly, as they focused in breathing.

That's when Ron stood, hands in fist, half facing him. Considering his height, Harry felt slightly threatened, but didn't move. Then, as suddenly as he had stood, the redhead left, leaving Harry alone and a line of turning heads in his wake.

Harry found him six hours later, in the hospital's terrains. He was sitting on a bank, both hands holding his head, covering his face, though when Harry happened to approach, he let them fall.

"I'm thick, mate" Ron whispered, "but not that thick"

Immobile, Harry stared at him. There was a redness around his eyes he had rarely seen, though it had come more often after Fred's death. He had finally placed his hands with the back supporting his chin; both elbows on his knees.

"You want her that bad, then" Ron asked frankly.

Harry hesitated, then sat beside his friend. There was still a possibility of denying it, but why?

"Dunno. I mean... I do want her, and don't care about the kid. I just... it's been so sudden, this thing I feel..."

Ron chuckled, startling him:

"Sometimes I think you're the thick one"

The garden looked exactly as it had before. It reminded him of Hermione, warmed him inside even more than his skin.

"I once discarded the notion that the two of you had something" Ron added. "Almost nine months later I learn that she's about to give birth..."

"I'm not lying, Ron. I've never lied to you about it"

"You honestly seem to think so" Ron nodded seriously. "You know... I'm mad at you, but not because of that. It's just... I always assumed she'd end up with me, yet when I learnt of the kid, I stepped back, if just for a while. Maybe I would have adjusted to it, I don't know. I needed time. Meanwhile, you just dove right in" he illustrated with his hand, and chuckled. "Once again you prove that you're the better man"

"Dunno. Maybe you're just sain"

"I'd much rather think so" the pureblood nodded. "I'm not giving my blessing, though. Between you and me, it should have been me"

Harry didn't mind. If Ron had handed her to him that easily, that he would have taken as an offense to her.

"It's not as if the decision was ours, you know."

Ron chuckled somewhat bitterly.

"I saw you yesterday. The both of you. Here" he patted the bank. "Her head was on your shoulder and she was toying with your fingers. I could think only of what Lavender would say to me once in a while, back when we were together: you fit like a puzzle."

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Today, and only until Saturday, you have a unique opportunity to improve this fic: to review before I finish the next chapter. That way you can participate in the creation of something you like (I assume you must like it since you are still reading it), for which you get credit, and you also might get a review or two if I like your fics (I assume we must like the same if you're reading my things, I just write what I like to read).

What do you think should or will happen? How and why she'll tell Harry? Will she, tell Harry? Will he recover his memories by himself? Or just fall for her all over again? Questions, questions…