I think the updates will slow after this for a while. I have another approaching deadline and I have to finish my Space Wolves :) But I will try to get the next chapter up by the end of the week.

And I'm glad everyone is enjoying this as much as I am writing it. :D


Severus –damn it, the Headmaster— rose from the table, bent for a few words with Professor McGonagall, before he swept from the Great Hall. He'd eaten his evening meal quickly, Hermione watching him from under her lashes. Was he going to see Hope again? Envy was a twist in her belly.

Would that have to be her future? Helping her parents with the wizard-born whenever she could to appease the longed for ache for her own family? The Collier Ache. Her mother's maiden name and her term for it...and Gwendolyn's family was vast and sprawling, all of them falling before the need for fistfuls of children.

She again unfolded the letter that had found her as she sat at the long table for breakfast. She'd written it through the night and crept out to the owlery to post it. Her mother's scrawl —she took it as a sign of her medical prowess that her handwriting was completely atrocious— covered a page of the thin, lined paper.

My darling girl,

I know you have your heart set on this boy.

Think. Look inside. What do you truly want?

If it's him, then you must acknowledge and accept that, if you have a future together, that he may not want to have children with you.

Or as you said, he may be in a bad mood after opening a book…which is an odd thing to be, if you ask me. And you didn't, so I will be quiet. See? This is me with my pen over my mouth… *Hm-hmmm-hmn*

Hermione bit her lip, fighting down a grin. Oh, she had missed the silliness of her mother's letters.

Or there is the other, harder road. To accept that having children is too important for you to give up. Are you willing to compromise? Is he? Is one enough, or perhaps two? Is even that too many for him?

From my own experience, Hermione, having you was the best thing that ever happened to me…and to be told as I held you, new and fresh in my arms, that I could never have another…

That came close to being the worst.

You see him as your forever boy. Is he truly that, my lovely girl? You've been friends for almost eight years. Are you mistaking this friend-love for something deeper?

Think. Is he an itch that you simply need to…scratch?

Examine all of these things before your speak with your boy.

And, Hermione, please don't settle. For anything.

Owl me whenever you need to. Tomes is a sweet and eager little chap.

Love always,

Mum…and Dad, if I can drag from playing gobstones with Pil. Honestly!

Hermione refolded the letter and tucked it into robes. She'd thought on the questions all day. Hardly giving a thought to Professor McGonagall's 'what have you remembered' test or any other of the lessons she'd drifted through.

What did she want? From Ron? From her life? Hermione thought she had an answer, maybe, perhaps, but she had to speak to Ron. She'd asked him to meet her down by the Black Lake. He'd grabbed food earlier as the Eighth Years had drummed up their own little, unofficial quidditch league.

She quashed the little daydream of her children swooping through the skies chasing after their laughing father.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, grabbed an apple, and pushed herself away from the long table. She worked a smile as Ginny and Luna swept past her laughing, hair wild and wind blown, cheeks pinked. It was a relief that they barely noticed her.

She wandered out into the entrance hall and let her feet take her down to the lake, her thoughts caught on the upcoming conversation.

The evening September air was pleasantly warm and Hermione drew its clean freshness into her lungs, wanting it to calm her. She had to time to sit, to relax, to let the stillness of the lawns and the lake sink into her flesh—

Except a recently scrubbed Ron was sitting in the shadow of a nearby oak. "Mione! Harry got into a fight with Malfoy and that new Dark Arts bloke –Pherson, the ex-Auror?— dragged them off to his office." He grinned at her and patted the grass beside him. "So, here I am."

Hermione sank onto the grass beside him, her belly a sinking raft of nerves. She fought to focus. "What were they fighting about? Harry and Malfoy?"

"Buggered if I know," he muttered. "Those two just spark. Mental, the pair of them." Ron traced a long finger over the sleeve of her t-shirt, to the bare skin of her arm. Her skin prickled at his touch and something curled in her belly. She called it want. "You've been quiet today."

"Thinking."

He grinned at her. "That's my girl."

She could fall into this with him. A life with him. Maybe he'd change his mind. Maybe... But she couldn't count on maybes. She had to know. "What made you not want children?"

His brows raised. "Fleur's pregnancy got you scared?"

"Something like that."

He pulled her too him and she rested her head against the broadness of his chest, staring up at the spreading leaves of the oak they sat beneath. A rare bit of Scottish sunshine threaded through, warming the varying shades of green. "We didn't have money, Mione. Everything I got was sixth hand. Everything. Nothing I ever did was praised as it should've been, because five other brothers had excelled at it before me. I don't want to live like that again. Hand to mouth. See my own disappointment in the face of my child.

"And children tie you down and bleed you dry. I decided early on, I never wanted any. Uncle Ron I'll cope with, but I'm more than happy to hand them back after five minutes." He let out a soft laugh. "It'll be brilliant, Mione. Doing what we want, how and when we want. Proper living."

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed. His scent still wasn't right. Fresher, but always with the hint of broom polish… Scratching the itch –as her mother had so delicately put it— wasn't a necessity. A dark, guilt-ridden thought rose that, really, she didn't want to explore anything of that nature with him...

And with it, something cracked free in her soul. It made her next statement easier to push out. "I want children." She threaded her fingers through his as his hand covered her belly. She could imagine it swelled with a child, pressing her husband's hand to feel it kick. In that moment, she knew she couldn't compromise.

Ron stilled around her. "One. Maybe," he choked out.

"Lots." She willed her voice not to break. She had to tell him everything. "At least five."

"Merlin, Mione." Ron's voice was raw, disbelieving. "I..."

The silence stretched painfully between them. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and a fist tightened in her chest. Even though it was the right decision —very probably for both of them— it still hurt. The end of a dream that she'd cherished, but it was one that belonged to a young girl. Not the people they were becoming. She finally saw that they weren't right for each other…not as anything more than friends. She almost huffed. Would they even have that after today?

Hermione let out a sigh. "We both made assumptions."

Ron pulled his hand free from hers and shuffled back, each action breaking her heart just that little bit more. She did still love him. Just…not enough. Not as she should. Not simply for himself alone. Now, something they'd both wanted was ending before it truly began.

He pushed himself onto his feet, brushing away grass and twigs with shaking hands. "I need to think." He glanced at her, not quite meeting her gaze. "I..."

"It's best if we end this." She twitched a smile. "Better now, than years ahead."

"I could..." Blue eyes held her for a moment, sincere...but unsure.

"It's not fair on you. Or me. Or any children we had." She wet parched lips, her throat dry. She climbed to her feet. "I wanted to have a child soon." A wry smile tugged at her. "Ridiculously soon."

Ron shook his head. "I don't understand. Your education. A career. It's impossible to juggle that with a stream of babies."

"I have a plan —colour coded, naturally— setting out my apprenticeship plans. I mentioned it my letters. I've already been accepted by Professor Vector."

And that should've been a sign of impending disaster, not one she should've brushed away as it simply being…Ron. Two whole letters from him in almost three months. Twenty whole lines. Fifteen of them about quidditch.

"I'm taking my NEWTs before Christmas. My apprenticeship starts in January. Ministry Arithmancers spend minimal time there, I can work from home."

"Five children all under your feet at once?" Ron's eyebrow was high and disbelieving. "And getting your work done?"

Her belly soured. He'd leave her alone? Leave it all to her? "Teamwork? I'd expect the father of my children to take an active part in raising them."

Ron winced. "Nappies and feeding, no sleep? And Auror's hours aren't regular, Mione." He swept his hand over his hair. "One, one I could maybe cope with. And even then… But not… Not five. That's mental."

"Then you wouldn't be standing here. Did you forget you're sixth of seven, Ronald?"

"You're not facing the hard reality of that many children. You'll hate it."

He'd hate it. And did he think she believed it would be easy? She didn't. It would be bloody hard work. But she ached for it. She always had. Holding little Hope had only sharpened her need and made it impossible for her to chose a life without children. To chose him. The hard fact she had to face now, was that her family wouldn't be a little gaggle of redheads.

"This is what I need, Ron."

He let out a long sigh. "Then, I'm sorry." He lifted his hand to brush her cheek, but it fell away. "Shit." He turned away and strode back across the lawn towards the castle, anger fierce in his stiff shoulders and clenched hands.

Hermione slumped back to the grass and dug the heels of hands into her eyes. The reality of what she'd done smacked into her and tears burned. Fuck. She'd just watched her future blasted away, so much smoke and ash. All her little plans had been in place...everything but the father of her children actually wanting children.

Merlin, had she made the right choice? Had she? Ron had agreed to one. One… But would she be like her mother? Aching for more…and Hermione had the knowledge that she could have more.

Honestly, what were her options were men were concerned? Unless she beat her hair into submission and wrapped herself up in silk and paint, no boy had ever looked at her twice.

Settling. The word wove through her spinning thoughts. If she chased after Ron, that's that she'd be doing. Him too. He deserved the carefree life he'd envisioned for himself. As much as she deserved her clutch of babies—

"Miss Granger?"

She stopped herself from groaning and dragged her hands down her face. As if she needed someone else she'd completely misread.

Professor Snape looked at her, his black eyes narrowed, and offered her a snowy white handkerchief. She took it with a murmur of thanks. It was soft and smelt faintly of warm herbs and wood. The scent calmed her. The fist in her chest still tightened further. Why did he always have to smell so right to her?

"Have you ever wanted a family, Professor?"

The question ran from her and her cheeks heated. He'd loved only one woman and she'd chosen another. Hermione had often wondered if Severus was so bitter and scathing to Harry because he was the son he'd never had the chance to have. "Sorry, sir, I shouldn't—"

"I will never have that privilege," he murmured. His gaze moved to the expanse of the Black Lake. "That time has gone." He drew in a breath. "This time I'll have with Hope… She is enough."

"You're still a young man, sir."

His laughter was soft and dark. "I am well aware of what I am, Miss Granger."

Her fingers tightened in the soft fabric of the handkerchief, the need bubbling up, hot and fast, to defend him. Even against himself. And they were alone, but he was still insisting on their titles in the open school grounds. The necessity of it hurt.

She looked up. Merlin, she'd missed him. She'd reread through his heaps of letters. Warm and sarcastic and familiar, a way of having him in her life every day. Yet even in those letters, she'd never pushed such...intimate subjects. "But with...Riddle gone—"

"My life is my own?"

His smile was short, just a twitch of his expressive lips. And her belly gave a traitorous little flutter. Damn it, it'd only been minutes since her break from Ron… But had these summer feeling for Severus ever died down? To her increasing horror, under that smile, they seemed ten times worse.

Severus lifted a dark eyebrow. "Hardly my own, Miss Granger. What's brought this on? I thought you were readying yourself for a career as an arithmancer?" His eyes narrowed and humour gleamed. Her heart did a little patter. How long had it been since she'd seen that look? "Septima will go on a rampage if you pull out now."

"I will still apprentice to…Septima." It was strange to use the witch's given name and not his. "I..." She broke away from his warm gaze to stare at the grass. "Ron and I, we're not… Anymore. I want children. Ron doesn't." Severus opened his mouth. "Lots of children. Five. At least."

The twitch of his smile increased. "That's quite something to tell a young man of eighteen."

Hermione huffed a laugh. "It is, isn't it?" Her brows drew together. "You're not telling me I'm insane for wanting so many. Why?"

"I have met your mother and am quite aware of her baby-sniffing obsession. I assume it is…genetic."

That brought out another, easier laugh and with it, a sliver of her worry fell away. Severus could always do that. And gods, she'd missed their friendship.

She had a suspicion that her mother had had a hand in his being there, ready, with a smile and a handkerchief…but she didn't care. She almost welcomed her busy-body mother's interference.

He had come. He was there. Severus was letting her in again. And for that she was more than grateful. "Thank you for not saying I'm mental."

"Never that." He put out his hand and lifted his eyebrow. "Would you care to join me for tea, Miss Granger?"

A wide smile tugged at her mouth and she took his offered hand, allowing herself to be drawn to her feet. His fingers eased away and he clasped them behind his back. Hermione told herself she didn't miss the callused warmth of his touch. It was a lie.

"Tea. The panacea for all ills."

They fell into step and the Headmaster gave her one of his quietly warm smiles. "Just so."


It's taken 6 chapters…but Ron is finally out of the picture. Sort of. Perhaps…

And 6 chapters is an age for me. I usually have him being odious in the first paragraph… ;-)