A/N: thank you for all of your kind words and concerns—I am so incredibly grateful for all of the love you've been so kind as to send my way. Each and every one means the world. I am doing a bit better, so hopefully we are on the up!
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/
The day after Christmas, Hermione's nervous as she approaches Sirius after breakfast.
"Could I—" she bites her lip nervously. "Er, would you mind if I used the stone for a few minutes?"
Sirius holds it out automatically, expression curious, but not going to push if she doesn't want to disclose who she intends to speak to.
She's reminded of her conversation with Molly, the day of Fleur's wedding—the older woman relaying how desperately she'd wanted her kids to grow up in a better world.
Nothing has ever resonated with her so strongly—she can feel it, deep in her bones, the hope, the need for her baby to have a better life than the one she's withstood, a better world around them than the one she's known.
(She needs more for them than darkness and pain and fighting—her baby deserves so much more.)
She takes the stone into her room, locking the door behind her.
Crookshanks pads over, nuzzling against her hand as he senses her anxiety; he's been more protective and clingy than ever now that she's pregnant, and in moments like these it makes her feel so much less alone.
Tense, she turns it three times in her hand, forcing herself to take deep breaths as she waits—
And then the other woman is there, looking exactly as she had the day prior; her gaze is gentle as she smiles at Hermione with a knowing look.
"Hermione Granger. I have looked forward to speaking with you for a very, very long time."
"Lily Evans." Hermione makes a face. "Er, Potter I suppose—sorry, Sirius just always calls you that, and—"
"I know." Pushing a faded red lock over her shoulder, Lily rolls her eyes. "God, do I know. He's family, but he really does drive me crazy, even from the afterlife."
Her eyes are the same as Harry's, and yet—when they meet Hermione's own it's an entirely different feeling.
(Somehow, she just knows the other witch understands her—knows her feelings in a bone-deep way that no one else could possibly fathom.)
"I was wondering if you'd reach out."
"I'm sorry if this is weird, I just—it feels like I know you, somehow. And no one…" she wipes at her face, where tears are beginning to slide down her cheeks. "I love them, but they don't understand. I feel so very alone."
"I get it. Christ, do I get it." A bitter laugh escapes Lily, eyes gentle as she meets Hermione's gaze. "It's terrifying enough, being muggleborn in a world that doesn't seem to want you to exist no matter how desperately you try to prove you belong. And now on top of your usual fears, and having to deal with the target on your back, all you can think about is how scared you are that something will happen to your child because of you. That no matter what you do, you won't be able to protect them from this world you know firsthand is brutal and painful."
"Yes, exactly! I—how can I possibly think about anything else? For a single moment? And how—how can I bring a child into the world in the middle of a war? How will I ever be able to keep them safe? And what if—what if we don't win this war?"
Lily nods, grimacing. "It's the most awful feeling I've ever known." She reaches for Hermione's hand, squeezing it between her own. "The only thing worse is being gone—on the other side, screaming for your baby to run but no one can hear you. When their safety is so completely out of your control. But Hermione, love—you're not dead yet. You're still there; you can't let it eat you now. You can't let this feeling win while there's still something you can do. It shouldn't be—god, it's not your burden to bear—but the war is in your hands. You have to keep fighting."
"I know I do." Hermione tries to force away the lump in her throat. "But I'm so tired. I want this to be over, I—I don't think I can take much more."
"You're so close to the end," Lily promises. "I don't know everything, but I know that much. And I know that we can do anything, withstand anything, when it comes to protecting our children."
Hermione nods, because her baby has yet to arrive and this is already an understanding she has; deep breaths, she tries to bring down her heart rate.
"On a lighter note—have you decided on a name?" Lily's smile is bright. "It's so hard to choose and yet that's the best part of it all, besides feeling them move—when they're not kicking your vital organs, of course."
"Yeah, this one has been doing that much more as of late," Hermione scowls playfully, even as her left hand glides back and forth over where she feels the incessant movement. "I'm not sure. I want to keep with the Black constellation tradition, of course—I know that's important to Draco, and especially since he's missed the entire pregnancy I want to be sure it's a name he would choose if he were here. I have a few ideas for a girl, but I feel pretty certain it's a boy. I've been toying with Caelum or Scorpius; and I'd like Harry for the middle name, of course."
"I may be biased, as that's obviously my favorite name of all time, but all of those sound lovely," Lily says.
After a moment of serene quiet, the redhead meets her gaze seriously. "Anything else you want to ask, while it's just us?"
Hermione bites her lip. "Any advice?"
"Just…enjoy it, you know?" With a sigh, Lily's expression turns wistful. "I spent so much time worrying and panicking and coming up with contingency after contingency. And looking back…I wish I had spent more time letting myself bask in the moments of happiness. More time thinking about his perfect eyes and nose and toes inside of all the bad outside I couldn't do anything about, anyway. Let yourself enjoy the pure joy of it all—of holding them in your arms and watching them breathe, however impossible it feels when the world is this way. Now that I'm gone…joy is all that ever mattered. I wish I'd let myself embrace it more when I was alive."
/
They're all excited as the baby's arrival grows near, but none so much as Winky.
Hermione's favorite house elf is constantly showering her with gifts and snacks and attempts to pamper; hence her current state with cushions and snacks all around her.
She's curled up on the hammock out back with a book while Harry and Ron fly around the yard; Sofia grins between them on her first broom, ecstatic that her big brother has started teaching her to fly.
(Though she'd made it clear she was quite put out he wouldn't let her go higher than a few feet or chase a real snitch.)
"Mi, look!" Sofia shrieks as she zooms past, giggles overtaking her.
"Fantastic, Sof! Pretty soon you'll be giving our boys a run for their money."
The younger girl blushes even as she beams with pride. "Do you think Ginny would fly with me sometime and give me some pointers? I want to be the best Quidditch player that ever lived!"
Ron gapes at her. "We're friends with Viktor Krum, and Oliver Wood is my brother in law, but it's Gin you want to give you pointers?"
Sofia nods hurriedly. "Of course. She could fly circles around either of them any day—and she's just as good in almost any position, while the two of them can only really handle their specialties. You know she'll be the GOAT one day!"
"Why on earth is she comparing my sister to a farm animal?" Ron mutters, taking to the ground to keep Hermione company while Sofia sings as she shoots toward the other side of the yard, Harry exuberantly cheering her on.
Hermione lets herself laugh at his expense, even as she leans her head on his shoulder to soften the blow. "It's a muggle sports saying—stands for 'greatest of all time'."
"I guess that makes a bit more sense." He blows out a deep breath. "I know Ginny could blow any other player out of the water, for the record. I was just surprised Sofia had figured it out already. Most people haven't, and Sof's only known about Quidditch for a little while."
"According to Ted it's all she asks about when we're gone—Andy got ahold of a bunch of footage for her and she adores the sport. As for the rest, I—"
She jerks forward, sucking a tight breath through her teeth.
Ron's eyes are instantly wide as he jumps to his feet, hands ready to brace her or hurriedly lift her if need be. "Mione? What's wrong?"
"I—I've had cramping all day," she confesses, one hand holding the baby as she pushes back her hair with the other. "I assumed it was just Braxton hicks because it's too soon, but—"
Another deep breath, but one she doesn't bother to disguise like she's been doing all day, trying to avoid worrying them all.
"But? Hermione, but what?"
"But my water just broke, Ronald," she says succinctly, careful to keep her voice even.
"Your water—you mean you're…"
"In labor, yes." She leans back in the chair, closing her eyes to give herself a moment's peace. "Could you please run and fetch Andy? And Tonks, maybe? She's done this before."
"I—merlin, yes, okay, I'm going!" He nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get inside.
And she should call Harry down, should tell him now so he and the dads can get their panicking out of the way before things really kick into gear, but she just—needs a moment.
She has Narcissa's spell, so they have no reason to believe the baby is fine—given the amount of stress she's been under for the entire duration of the pregnancy, it's no wonder that it triggered early labor; and given Draco's genes, and the difficulty Narcissa had carrying to term, it's not surprising that Hermione, too, is having a bit of a complication.
But she's so terrified for something to go wrong—so scared, now that the time is here, and she won't be able to be the physical barrier between her baby and the world anymore; so worried that something won't be alright.
(She just needs a moment to assuage her own fears before returning to her usual collected self—just a moment.)
Harry and Sofia fly over after a few minutes, both their hair windswept into chaotic messes. "Where'd Ron go?" Harry asks.
"Just to fetch the others," she says nonchalantly.
He doesn't fall for it, though; knows her too well. Crossing his arms, he gives her the look. "Why does he need to get them?"
Hermione makes a face, nose scrunched. "Well…I may or may not be in labor."
Sofia straightens, expression perky. "The baby's coming?"
Harry's own eyes go wide. "But it's only January—you're not due for another—"
"Oh, really? I, the one housing an entire human, hadn't noticed—I wouldn't have kept track of the dates, of course."
He raises his hands in a plea of innocence. "Sorry, sorry, I know you know better than anyone, I just—what do you need? What can I do?"
Hermione resists the urge to wave him away and insist she doesn't need help; despite the need to be independent, right now she needs her family like never before. "Help me inside? And—water, and if you could run a lukewarm bath? Andy said last week that's how we should start when the time comes."
Harry curls an arm around her waist and helps her slowly inside, walking her through the breathing exercises Ron had forced them all to memorize a few weeks prior.
She's breathing in the bathtub a few minutes later, Harry holding her hand beside her, while Winky gently strokes her hair, having apparated to her side the moment they were in the house.
"Bad Mistress, not calling Winky as soon as she knew. Winky knows what to do better than her."
"I said I was sorry, Winky," Hermione says, wincing as she feels a particularly rough contraction.
"Maybe save the rest of the lecture for after she finishes pushing my goddaughter out of her, Winks," Harry suggests.
Hermione rolls her eyes. "Godson."
"Nope. My godfather spidey senses say girl. You'll see."
"Whatever you say."
Andy sits just outside the doorway, humming as she prepares everything for as soon as Hermione gets out of the tub.
Harry cocks his head to the side. "How long do you think till—
A pounding on the door, and he snorts. "Never mind."
"Hermione Jean! Were you really not going to tell us you were in labor?"
Harry and Andy both laugh even as Hermione rolls her eyes. "No, Sirius, I was going to tell you when it was over because I knew you would both go into this overprotective mode."
Remus clears his throat. "Well, unfortunately for you, the wolf can sense whenever any member of the pack is distressed so that's not happening."
"There's nothing you can do here anyway—go back and enjoy your date! The little nugget and I will still be here when you get back."
"Nice try, kitten. We're staying. We'll give you space, if that's what you need, but the living room is as far as we'll go."
"Should've convinced Sof to fake an emergency to distract them," Harry mutters.
Once the ball gets rolling, it's quick; which is good, because Hermione spends every moment panicking that it's too early, that her little one won't be okay, all on top of the anguish that is labor.
Because it does her—they didn't exaggerate any of it. And while Winky could discreetly get the materials to take care of the baby, the magical equivalent of an epidural requires a brewing proficiency none of them possess, so there's not much more than a standard pain relief potion to get her through it.
Harry's a good sport, letting her crush his hand and joking about letting Draco have the memory vial to experience in a pensive one day, while Andy and Winky encourage her through it and tell her what to do.
(On her other side, Tonks winces and nods with understanding, her presence mainly serving to validate the pain and offer solidarity.)
Just when it feels like too much to bear, the excruciating pain lessens, chest-heaving breaths escaping her—
And then the smallest voice in the world starts crying, and nothing else matters.
"You did amazing, love," Andy soothes. "You have a perfect baby girl."
"I knew it!" harry exclaims, grinning brilliantly. "Oh, I hate to say I told you so when you just expelled an entire human from your body, but I so, so told you so!"
Hermione can't help the airy laughter that escapes her. "I love you, you insufferable boy. You were right."
There's a twinge of sorrow, a desperate wish that Draco were here—Narcissa too, the first one besides Hermione who'd known, who she knows without being told already loves Hermione's daughter like crazy.
But she reminds herself of what Lily had said—and the wrongness of it all is overwhelmed by the joy of it all, the pure light and love that is her daughter finally in the world.
There's the placenta and the afterbirth, and cutting the cord and checking the baby out with diagnostic spells to make sure everything is as it should be, and then—
Then she's in Hermione's arms, and she calms at the sound of her mother's familiar heartbeat, snuggled against her chest, as her little lungs breathe for the first time.
(There's nothing else in the world.)
/
"Does my granddaughter have a name, yet?" Remus asks with a smile, as he and Hermione roll their eyes at Harry and Sirius's bickering over whose turn it is to hold her
"Cassiopeia hasn't been used in a few centuries," Andy suggests as she sips on a cup of tea.
Harry makes a face, protectively holding the baby closer to his chest. "Are you kidding me? Mia, you are not sic'ing my goddaughter with a name as terrible as Cassiopeia. Please. I'll beg if I have to."
"Calm down, I'm not naming her Cassiopeia," she promises her brother, snickering at his concern. "My soul mate's name is Draco, and while I love that name because it's his…come on, I couldn't do that to a child."
"Not as bad as Nymphadora," Tonks mutters, hiding her amusement at her mother's look of disdain.
Hermione smiles as she looks up at them all. "Her name is Lyra Joy Black."
Sirius presses a hand to his mouth, overcome with emotion, while Harry and Remus beam at her.
At Tonks's look of curiosity, Hermione explains further.
"Lyra for the constellation, Joy because that's all I ever hope for her. And Draco and I may not officially have the Black surname yet, but—eventually."
Ron purses his lips, intrigued. "You don't want to give her one of your last names for now and change it when you do yours?"
Hermione shakes her head vigorously. "No, I don't—I don't ever want her associated with either of those names. Black is the family that loves her, the goodness she deserves…I don't want there to be a moment of her life where she has anything else."
"It's beautiful, Mia," Harry assures her, smiling down at his snoozing goddaughter. "Lyra Joy. It suits her perfectly."
"Short and sweet," Remus agrees, clearly overjoyed. "A beautiful double name if that's what she decides to be called. But still with potential for nicknames if she'd like—she could always go by Ly."
"LJ," Harry adds decisively. "I'm gonna call her LJ."
Quieter, so only she can hear, he whispers, "I'm gonna teach you everything, LJ. I'll never let anything hurt you in the whole world."
And even though Hermione can't hear him, watching her brother softly whisper to her daughter with such a tender look on his face is everything.
Ron shakes his head, eyes bright with cheer. "Wow. I…there were so many moments while we were hunting horcruxes I thought I'd never feel anything but scared and sad, ever again. It felt so hopeless, you know? Like there was nothing good in the world. But this…merlin, Mione, I don't think I've been this happy since you set Snape's robes on fire first year."
Sirius's jaw drops, glee overtaking his face. "I'm sorry, you did what?"
/
The first moments of solitude since Lyra's birth, Hermione finds herself clutching her daughter to her chest.
She's out cold, and it would be simple to place her swaddled form in the bassinet beside the bed and get some rest herself, but—
She needs to feel Lyra in her arms; needs to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she is here. That she's safe.
(A daughter—god.)
(The world is a horrible place to be a woman.)
Hermione's known her entire life, of course; learned early on in the worst way exactly what it is to be female.
(All the ways in which you'll be hurt and no one will bother to protect you.)
But now, knowing she has a daughter—knowing all the ways the perfect, innocent, defenseless baby in her arms could be hurt—
(When she thinks about the possibility that anyone could ever do to Lyra what Hermione's own uncle had done to her, what she and Pansy and Tonks have all felt and hurt through—)
She was only four when it began—at least, that's as far back as she can remember it happening.
If anything—the very idea that the same might happen to Lyra—
It's all consuming, the worry. The terror.
This deep-seated, bone deep pain that she's lived with her entire life—Lyra must never know.
(but there's only so much she can do.)
She can devote herself to getting rid of Voldemort, can sacrifice her life for the cause, can spend every day taking out Death Eaters and putting an end to this godforsaken war—
And yet at the end there will still be monsters like Roger out there. At the end it'll still be one in four women having their agency snatched from their own grasp.
She should be the happiest she's ever been, and a part of her is—
But there's another part of her that can think of nothing but the horrors that might befall the precious baby in her arms.
And Hermione will have to leave her soon—it fucking kills her, but the only way to protect her daughter is to leave her here in Andy's capable arms for protection while she and the boys go back to their hunt for horcruxes, back to hunger and exhaustion and fighting for their lives every moment of every day.
It's necessary, she knows that. It's the only way to end this war; the only way she'll see Draco again, the only way he'll be able to meet their daughter. Hold her. Love her, be the fucking incredible dad Hermione already knows he will be.
(But knowing all that doesn't make it any less difficult—doesn't make it easier.)
/
"I know it's stupid," Harry begins.
Everyone else at the table groans in unison, because if he's admitting to it…
(then it's an even worse idea than his usual.)
Harry and Remus had made chicken parm for everyone, so they're all sat at the table; Ron and Sofia deep in conversation about Quidditch, Luna murmuring a story to Lyra while she swings in her rocker, Hermione yawning from exhaustion while she, Harry, and Sirius, discuss Order business.
Sirius is especially tense, what with Remus back at Hogwarts daily now that the winter break is over, but given the reports they've received from Neville and Ginny the Charms professor's presence is more critical now than ever.
"I know it's one of the first places any Death Eater would think to look for me. But I—I really want to go to Godric's Hollow."
Ron winces at the declaration. "I understand that, mate—no one can blame you. And you should be able to, but—with the world we're living in right now…"
"Like I said, I know it's stupid," Harry repeats, eyes pleading. "But…being realistic, the odds of something happening to me during this war are high. And obviously we're going to do everything we can to make sure I survive, blah blah blah, but if something were to happen and I had never been back…I just—I want to go before. I want to know that no matter what happens, I saw the place where all of this began, visited my parents graves, my first home…the things that happened there are the reason why my entire life took the course it did."
"This is a horrible idea," Ron says bluntly, rubbing at his eyes the way one only could after seven years of their best friend's life being in danger so regularly. "I support you, and if it means that much to you we absolutely will. But I want it on the record that I'm saying right here right now that I think it's the worst idea you've ever had and a trap waiting to happen."
"And I accept that. Thank you," Harry smiles, before turning his gaze to Hermione. "Listen, Before you say anything—I've been thinking about this. And I think we would have to go there eventually anyway because You-Know-Who has been back for almost three years now, and in that time he's killed plenty of people. So what if he made another horcrux?"
He gestures wildly, looking slightly crazed, but none of them had truly considered the idea before.
"Like why would he not—now that he's died once he would be more concerned with making sure he had backup plans, now more than ever. And he would've checked up on his horcruxes first thing when he was resurrected, and Lucius would've told him it was destroyed, so he would've had to make a new one to still have seven if that was the number that meant so much to him. So what if he did?
"Because if he did," Harry carries on, impassioned now, "Where else would he put it? Think about it: he's all about symbolism and significant moments, right? And he's so sore about being defeated by me, or whatever, about his mortality and his life nearly ending there—to put a piece of his soul that would anchor him to life in the future there would be the most symbolic way to feel like he overcame it. Right? I—I mean, it's what I would do."
Hermione and Ron look at each other, and then back at him; Sirius likewise appears stunned.
After a moment of silence, Harry begins to doubt himself, biting at his lip. "Or—or not. I could be wrong. You guys are probably right, I just thought—"
"Oh, Harry," Hermione says softly, reaching to hug him. "We're not being quiet because we think you're wrong. We're—shocked, because it makes perfect sense, and I'm pretty certain you're right, and none of us had even considered it."
Ron nods rapidly. "I know you don't love being in his head, Harry, but the way everything has allowed you to understand him…it's the only reason we have a chance at beating him."
Perking up, Harry's lips begin to curve upward, confidence returning to him. "So you—you're on board? You think I'm right?" He turns his attention to Sirius, knowing his opinion will make or break the situation. "Dad?"
Sirius sighs, putting his head in his hands. "Moony's going to kill me."
/
They spend a week preparing.
And they're being more responsible now—the only way Remus and Sirius agree to let them go is for recon. They promise to come back and make a plan together, once they've scouted the area, checked for traps or any potential pitfalls, so that when they go in to actually find the horcrux eventually they'll have a strategy that doesn't end with green light striking their chests.
It's the first time Hermione's been away from Lyra in the just under two months since she was born, and the separation is killing her.
She'd tried to brace herself, tried to recite every rational fact in the book—it's only a few hours, after all.
(But despite her best efforts, being away from her baby hurts, has her hackles raised and anxiety spiked sky high with worry that something will happen to Lyra while she's gone.)
She's going to have to get used to it though, she knows; it's only going to get worse when they have to go on missions to actually retrieve the remaining horcruxes, soon. When she's gone for weeks on end, if not months, again.
But the pain of it all doesn't matter—she's a soldier.
(Being away is the only way to create the world Lyra deserves to live in; the world every child in their world deserves to live in.)
Harry acts as though he's fine when they arrive; he's under the Invisibility Cloak, while Hermione and Ron have taken Polyjuice, all trying to avoid drawing attention.
So she can't see his expression; but from his voice alone, Harry's sister knows the sight of his first home is hitting him in the gut. Knows he's hurting in a way he'd never considered as he sees the wreckage of where his parents gave their lives to save him; the monument to their family, the countless scribbles and messages from strangers throughout the last seventeen years when he'd spent so many feeling so entirely alone.
They walk the entire neighborhood in the moonlight, casually taking inventory of every detail for later; they bump into one other person, but on the whole most doors are locked with shutters closed, the war continuing to affect every facet of everyday life.
"The cemetery's that way," Ron says quietly once they've done all the necessary reconnaissance.
All three of them are silent as they approach. They split up to look for the Potter plot, all slowly making their way through the centuries of memorials.
Many of the names are familiar, those of classmates or in history books or Daily Prophet articles; it's ten minutes before Hermione finds it.
"Harry, they're—they're here."
And it's different—seeing it, now that she's seen James and Lily for herself via the stone.
(Now that she's opened up, poured her raw and bloody heart out to Lily—it makes it ache in a unique way to see her grave.)
(The dates of birth and death far too close together.)
Harry throws the cloak off as he hurries forward, falling to his knees before the marble block.
"Hi," he whispers. "sorry it took me so long."
Hermione and Ron give him space, for a few moments; stay back as he grieves, feels the true weight of it all for the first time; as he speaks, hoping his parents are able to listen.
Eventually, he gets to his feet, shoulders trembling.
But Hermione sees the shift—tears of sadness turning to tears of anger, the frustration of the injustice and wrongness of it all coupling with their current struggles to form the perfect storm.
"You okay, Harry?" she asks, voice gentle; knowing he's not, trying to give him the opening to tell them what he's feeling.
"I hate this," he says quietly. "I just hate this. I'm so tired of everything being so horrible, and—and I met my parents ghosts before seeing their graves…"
He's just so frustrated, and tired, and scared, and tired of being scared; the anger wells up in him and he yells and then kicks at the wilted flowers on his parents' gravestones.
"It's just not fair! How can one person ruin everything—how can one person be the reason so many fucking lives are gone?" His hands tug at his hair, anguish screaming out from his green eyes.
"I'm so sorry, mate," Ron attempts to soothe him, a hand awkwardly on his friend's shoulder. "They should've had more time. I wish you'd gotten a chance to know them."
Harry's lip trembles, rage and grief and exhaustion swirling together in his chest. "They were so young, you know? And my dads' lives were ruined, and—and all of it was for fucking nothing, because here we are twenty years later—"
"Harry," Hermione starts to warn, already seeing where his outburst is leading. "Be careful what you—"
"—And we're still fighting the same fucking war, and now it's us dying for it, and our children who'll be orphans and grow up in a post-war world, all because of fucking Voldemort!"
Ron claps a hand over Harry's mouth with wide eyes, and Hermione raises her wand hastily, hurriedly preparing to apparate them away before they can be traced.
(And she's fast—but not fast enough.)
A loud crack reverberates through the air.
/
/
/
A/N: chapter title from long live by taylor swift [picture lily singing it to hermione and cry with me plz]
Next chapter is Malfoy Manor! Y'all know I have been looking forward to this one for MONTHS so I am VERY excited to put it together at last.
And as you can see we have a rough estimate of chapter count! It's subject to change if when writing I can't fit everything in/feel like it needs to be split further to do it justice but barring that I think 50 is going to be the final count (including the epilogue, which I am also so hype for)
I hope life is treating you well—take care of yourselves.
all my love
