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Chapter Three

When he went down the stairs at half-past six in the morning, Richard Granger didn't expect to find his daughter nursing a glass of whiskey, sitting alone on the window-seat that overlooked her garden and the meadows behind her house. It took him aback slightly because he had a hard time picturing his Hermione as a full-grown woman at times. His daughter would always be his baby and to see her troubled like this, nursing a hard drink alone and in the earliest of hours… Something was not right.

"Date didn't go so well, I gather?" Richard asked, startling her. He took a seat beside her and tucked a curl behind her ear.

"I-the date was nice enough dad, but my heart wasn't entirely in it… I'm not sure it ever will be." Richard nodded in understanding. "Eric's not what's upsetting me if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh. Is it mum's pressuring you then?" Hermione's eyes shifted to his and caught that knowing twinkle in the brown eyes she'd inherited from him. She shook her head and leaned into her father, hooking her arm around his and laying her head on his shoulder.

"I saw Harry yesterday, dad, you remember him..." Richard sighed deeply and nodded. Harry Potter had dominated most of Hermione's life from almost the moment they met. The boy had been the main cause for her fighting in their war, for his daughter being hurt. But Richard learned with time that it hadn't been Harry's fault, and he realized that Hermione, being the woman she was would never bow away from what she thought was right. "His daughter is in Bea's class…" A part of him was shocked, what were the odds that he'd be living in these parts, with the whole world at his beck and call, but another part of him was deeply sentimental, and he knew that it could only be fate bringing his daughter and Harry closer together again.

"What are you going to do about it? Are you going to talk to him?" Richard knew how Hermione had always missed Harry and had long come to terms with the fact that Harry Potter would forever be an important chapter of his daughter's life. They'd grown up together, had been best friends, fought in battle together... They had history, a history his daughter still held on to.

"There's nothing I want more, dad, but what if he doesn't want to see me?" Richard sighed deeply and leaned away from her a bit, holding Hermione's chin so she'd look him in the eyes.

"Hermione, Harry owes you his life… I hadn't the chance of getting to know him so well, but if he's anything like you paint him out to be, he'll want nothing more than to see you too." Richard kissed his daughter's cheek and got up, making his way towards the kitchen to get a headstart on breakfast. "Do you think you could perhaps go to the bakery for us? Some fresh bread would be nice." Hermione nodded, still thinking about her father's words.

She absentmindedly slipped on a casual floral dress over her camisole, put on a random cardigan that'd been hanging on a hook by the door and grabbed the small leather backpack she usually carried her wallet in. When she passed the door to the tiny front porch she slipped on the flats she'd left there and ridden off on her bicycle as if on auto-pilot, her mind entirely elsewhere. In just a few minutes she parked her bike in front of Mrs. Haversham's delicatessen and made a beeline for the fresh bread. The aroma was absolutely delicious and there were few things Hermione delighted in more than warm Italian bread just out of the oven.

"Good morning, Miss Granger!" The lady, Mrs. Haversham greeted her from where she stood behind the counter. She was a clever lady of at least seventy years who'd arrived in England as a child, following the war. Her family was Jewish Germans who'd been persecuted and West Sussex had seemed like the perfect nondescript place to resettle. Mrs. Haversham's eyes were the bluest Hermione had ever seen and though marked by age, you could tell from her face that she once had been very beautiful.

"Good morning, ma'am, how's the bread today?" The old woman smiled.

"Jolly good, as always!" Hermione selected three loaves of bread and brought them to the counter to be paid for. She thanked Mrs. Haversham and was about to leave when the lady stopped Hermione on her tracks.

"We've new neighbors in town, did you know?" Hermione turned around and with a smile feigning surprise, shook her head.

"Really? In Amberley?"

"Yes, indeed! He's about your age, I believe, a pity really, far too young to be a widower. Two lovely little girlies. They're at Turtledove Cottage, just a few blocks from where you are..." Hermione felt a bundle of emotions she wasn't prepared for. The first was the shock and terror that came with discovering Harry to be living just a ten-minute walk from her house. The second, was a sense of sadness for him as she knew how much he adored his wife Sarah, and though Hermione had never personally met the woman, they'd exchanged a few letters to try and get to know one another when Harry and Sarah were still newlyweds. Hermione could still remember her pretty and loopy handwriting, always written in dark-green ink. She remembered Sarah's big contagious smile from a photograph with Harry, her belly already showing signs of Lily, as well as warm hazel eyes and short blonde hair in a fashionable cut, surrounded by the Canadian tulips. Hermione also remembered her heart breaking a little bit more each time they wrote, because a part of her wished it had been herself in that photograph instead of Sarah, and deep down she always wished those letters of green ink never existed.

"That's a shame about his wife, hopefully, I'll meet him myself soon," Hermione weakly mustered, after a moment of deep introspection. She farewelled the elderly woman and rushed out on her bike.

All Mrs. Haversham could think of now were Miss Granger's saddened eyes and the spark of recognition in them as she'd relayed her gossip. The old woman's curiosity was piqued, and now she was curious to discover what link Hermione and the widower could possibly have to one another. A torrid past love affair, perhaps? Or maybe he could be the mysterious father of young Beatrice, the one Hermione had always been so secretive about? Mrs. Haversham was curious indeed.

On that Tuesday morning, Harry was a man on a mission. He'd jumped out of bed an hour earlier than usual and by the time Lily's alarm clock rang breakfast was on the table, her uniform was perfectly pressed and laid out for her to wear along with her socks and new pink converse sneakers. He opened the yellow curtains in May's room to let the sunshine through so that she'd wake up with the warmth on her face and in a better mood than when he did the waking abruptly. By the time the small clock hand in the kitchen landed on the 8 am, they were all looking as nice as ever, walking towards the school.

Lily and May skipped about the sidewalk happily, talking and giggling as sisters did when not pulling each other's ponytails or arguing over toys. May carried a small pink basket with her, full of little toys and trinkets that she planned to play with at the school playground when they arrived and Lily had been all talks of her new friend Bea, her very nice teacher and how she had the perfect seat in the class.

He allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts as he watched his girls go, and more often than not his mind drifted to Hermione. For someone who he hadn't seen in fifteen years, she was sure as hell consuming his every thought. But at least he hadn't sat around all day wallowing in his doubts. Harry wasn't that much of an idiot and had quickly been able to confirm the woman was truly her and even informed himself with some of the other parents at the school and town folk about her. Hermione Granger was a well-known member of the Amberley-Arundel community because she was the only single-mother in the entire village. The fact that she apparently owned a tea shop was an afterthought to most people. There was much talk and speculation, especially among the old ladies, of who could be Hermione's 'baby daddy'. The old hags kept tallies of possible dates, boyfriends or interesting men who could be her child's father and even the Prince of Wales himself seemed to be on the list, which Harry admittedly had a good laugh at.

As he remembered that hilarious moment in the supermarket's checkout line with a chuckle, Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione if she knew of all this interest surrounding her persona, but then was hit with the realization that to do that he would need to actually approach her and talk. It made him nervous on so many levels and deep down it hurt because he still remembered a time where they'd been so close that it would never occur to him to be this uneasy around her. It hurt to realize how much time had passed and how silly he'd been to drift away from her, just because he'd put in his thick, daft mind that he wanted to put all of the bad memories and his past behind him. But Hermione Granger wasn't a bad memory, and he'd stupidly let her go like everything else.

An odd mixture of dread and anticipation overcame him once he held on to both Lily and May's hands so they could cross the road to the school, the large brick building suddenly holding much more meaning for him. Harry had an inkling that officially 'bumping' into Hermione today would mark his official return home and he knew that after it happened, there was no going back.

It was still a good half-hour before the children were called to go inside and this meant a rather good amount of kids were already running around the playground accompanied by mostly exhausted-looking parents. Harry eyed an empty seat on a wooden bench but thought it better to stand, his anxiety was so great he probably wouldn't even bear to sit anyway. So he helped Lily and May on the swings and began to push and push until Lily was squealing in delight as she swung high… She'd taken after him in that respect, loving everything that had to do with speed and the heights, he reckoned she'd make an excellent quidditch player in the future. But Lily being so young and Harry never having exposed her to magic in a more concrete way, he knew his daughter hadn't the slightest idea what quidditch was and nor did she know that most likely she was a witch. For all intents and purposes, witches were the old and ugly villains in fairy tales.

"Daddy, daddy let me stop, let me stop! Bea's here!" Lily cried out, excitedly and he did as she requested. He was curious to meet Bea as she was all Lily talked about. When his eyes followed Lily as she mad way to her new friend the little girl felt all too familiar. A warm feeling spread over his body, and butterflies fluttered in his belly as he took the image of the little girl in. Light-brown curly hair held back by a red headband that matched her shiny shoes and a big smile with dimples and an adorable cleft chin… She was the spitting image of her mother.

Lily and Bea embraced as though they'd known each other all their lives and May ran in her direction half-curious and half-jealous of the girl who had captured her older sister's affections. He couldn't help but follow, his feet moving on their own record, despite his rapidly beating heart's protests.

"Daddy, this is my friend Beatrice…" Lily presented the girl to him, holding his hand.

"Hello, Beatrice, I'm Harry… It's a pleasure to meet you." Bea eyed him for a long moment as if wondering if she'd ever seen him before because he sure looked familiar. Before the little girl could respond to him politely, and Harry knew she would because she was after all Hermione's daughter, the witch finally appeared. She wore flowy green pantaloons with a plain cotton shirt tucked inside, as well as a pretty beaded necklace and her curls too, looked lovely as they crowned her features and cascaded a bit down her back. At first, she wore a frown and her eyes didn't dare look at him, hands fidgeting with her purse and house keys. The pesky butterflies continued to fly about his stomach and his heart beat so fast he could barely hear his own thoughts. All he could muster saying was her name… "Hermione…"

She looked up with those big brown eyes of hers, sharp, clever and trying desperately to hide her own emotions… But he still knew some things about her.

"So you're really here…" She let out from under her breath. Harry simply nodded and once he did, however, in came that look of defiance Hermione wore so much when they were children, pointing her chin up as if to prove that nothing could possibly knock her down.

"Fifteen years too long, don't you think?" She looked at him for a long moment, not at all different from her daughter minutes earlier, before nodding. "Umm, silly me… Hermione, these are my girls, Lily and May." Hermione's eyes darted into the girls' direction. Lily had inherited Harry's raven locks, but probably her mum's genes had served for something as they weren't at all messy, but actually quite beautiful and shiny, cut in a short bob with bangs. Lily had Harry's bright green eyes, the incomparable green eyes and it was amazing really… She couldn't help but smile.

"It's lovely meeting you, Lily." She said, warmly extending her hand as she wore a smile.

"You're Hermione?" Lily asked, a spark of recognition in her eyes.

"The one and probably only…" Hermione joked and even Harry managed to crack a smile.

"I have a book from you, we read it all the time! The Secret Garden, do you remember it?" Hermione seemed surprised for a moment, at the fact that Harry had kept the gift she sent so long ago when Lily was just a few days old.

"Yes, I remember it, and I'm glad you've enjoyed it…" Lily smiled happily as she turned to look at Beatrice. The two were well aware that the minutes until class started were few and precious and ran off, back toward the playground, leaving their school bags with their respective parents. Only May stayed by Harry's side, clutching on the fabric of his jumper as she half-hid behind him in her shyness. Hermione's eyes darted from Harry to the little girl and she couldn't help but smile tenderly, bending down to match her height. "Hello, May… I'm an old friend of your daddy's. How're you liking your new home?" May blinked for a moment and then relaxed, no longer feeling so nervous around this wild-haired stranger.

"I like the flowers…" May responded, looking down and playing with the hem of her multicolored dress. The little girl had bright ginger hair with a few leftover baby-curls on the edges and big hazel eyes that matched those of her late mother. She was a little beauty, her cheeks fat and free of any freckles, a rarity for redheads.

"Oh, I like the flowers myself, May… I have lots of them at my house and there's a meadow too, covered with chamomiles. Have you ever seen chamomiles?" May shook her head. Hermione pulled one that had been tucked behind her ear, hidden behind the mass of curls. "Here, this one's for you… They look like little daisies, don't they?" May nodded, accepting the small gift with a smile, pressing the delicate flower against her heart.

"Thank you, miss!" Hermione smiled and stood again, facing Harry, introductions out of the way. Her eyes pierced into his and she couldn't help but bite her lower lip for a second, something she did when pondering over something.

"We should have coffee, some time, Harry… To catch up." She finally suggested, her voice an octave or two higher. He nodded in agreement.

"Where can I find you?" He then asked which prompted Hermione's eyes to sparkle with mischief.

"Just ask Mrs. Haversham at the bakery…" Harry's eyes widened. He was now certain she knew of his asking around about her.

With that, Hermione shouted a goodbye to Beatrice, blowing her a kiss, the little girl blowing her a kiss back. She waved at Harry and May and bounded for her trusted bicycle.

Hermione arrived home minutes later, pedaling so fast her legs became numb. She was her own personal hurricane as she frantically dropped the bike haphazardly on the patch of grass in front of her house and ran inside, dropping her purse and keys on the sofa and running like a mad woman out the garden door again, passing the little wooden gate to the meadows, running and running until she reached the bottom of the hill where the river stream was and fell on her knees, exhausted and crying. She pulled her knees to her chest and finally let all of her sadness, frustration, nerves and leftover feelings for Harry pour out of her in the form of her tears and sobs.

Five years ago she hadn't allowed herself to cry, but now with him so near, she couldn't afford not to. There was only so much pain someone could carry and it wasn't Harry's fault she'd fallen in love with him at some godforsaken unknown point of their years of friendship. Nevertheless, Hermione's realization that it hadn't faded away with the years as she hoped hit her with the force of a thousand bricks.


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