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A/N: Thank you so much to you all! I received so many reviews (6) in one night! And for me they mean so much! Really, thank you! Well, I really hope that you'll be pleased that this chapter comes so quickly! Thank you again.

To Angel of the North: Thank you so much for beta-reading my chappies! I know it's a hard work!

Suspicions

Harry and Ron had thought it might be fun to share an office, and so it proved. It was quite bit, with lots of windows that overlooked the Quidditch Pitch. There was always a cheerful fire in the fireplace in winter and a big jug of iced pumpkin juice in the late summer.

Mostly the impression one had of the room was Orange: Chudley Cannons posters on the walls, Chudley Cannons merchandise on the tables, Chudley Cannons replica kit in the cupboard. Ron was the one who loved it more, Harry thought it was a bit too much - hem- orange.

On Ron's desk there was a picture of the trio in sixth year. Him, Harry, Hermione - they could spend hours in front of it, reminiscing about their Hogwarts years, remembering the time they spend with Hermione. And when they weren't doing that they'd play with the latest Jokes that Fred and George had sent them. Lots of times Professor McGonagall was startled by some small explosions from their office, but mostly everyone thought it was quite funny, save maybe Professor Snape.

But they had also lot of tests to correct and lessons to prepare. After all they were teachers now!

One night in the middle of November, the old friends were doing the latest round of marking, and finding it tedious to the extreme.

"Uff! How can anybody not know that Vampires can't stand garlic?" asked Harry, tetchily. He scrawled through the page, and came to the next one.

"At least this one's got no mistakes. Name? Smith. Lilian Smith - I might have known." He smiled.

Ron said nothing.

"She's the top of my class. You know, she's always hanging round with Alex and Josh. I hope she rubs off on them. These scores are terrible," said Harry concerned looking at Alex and Josh's tests.

Ron still didn't speak. He'd hardly put two words together in casual conversation since he'd returned from the Trophy Room, and staring at the shields and awards that the three of them had won.

"You know who she is? Lilian Smith? The one that's top of Potions. One in the eye for Snape."

Ron didn't take his eyes off the picture of Hermione, now waving to him.

Harry sighed.

"Ron! What's wrong?"

"Uh?" he said looking Harry.

"I said what's wrong? You're acting strangely."

"Really? I was just thinking-"

"See! I was right - that really is strange." Although Harry was grinning as he spoke, Ron barely responded.

"Hey!"

"I was only teasing. You were thinking about Hermione?"

"Well -yes and no-" He started to pace around the room "You know who the best student is in my class?"

"Lilian Smith?" Harry didn't look up from his tests.

"How did you know?"

"…"

"Doesn't matter. You know, she's top in every class." said Ron without waiting an answer from Harry.

He was sorely tempted to say, "Thanks a bundle Ron. So you really don't listen when I'm talking to you." but reined himself down to "I heard something-"

"Have you actually taken a good look at her?" Ron was still pacing.

"Pretty girl, bit young for us." Harry joked, but bit back the laughter when he saw Ron's scowl.

"Stop joking!" he said angrily "I mean really looked at her. Warm brown eyes, like melted chocolate. Bushy hair, red though, not brown. Her face - it's familiar…"

"OK: chocolaty eyes and red bushy hair. What are you getting at?" Harry wasn't clueless, he just wanted Ron to say it.

"Think-"

"Please, Ron, tell me you're not thinking what I'm thinking-"

"Why, what are you thinking?"

"Bushy hair. Brown eyes, likes House Elves, top of every class."

"We were thinking the same thing." Ron looked gloomy, and Harry didn't understand the look on his face. Ron started to elaborate.

"She left twelve years ago, and Lilian's eleven years old."

"Wait. So she might be Hermione's. Who would her father b...?" The words died on Harry's lips.

"Red hair, like every bloody Weasley."

"You think you're the father." It wasn't a question. Ron was ashen; Harry was frozen, barely able to speak. Ron nodded.

"B-but you and Hermione had never-" Harry stammered.

Ron blushed quickly.

"Well" said Harry "I don't wanna know the details. Anyway she cannot be Hermione's or yours."

"Why not?"

"First of all she's a muggle-born, second her surname is Smith, and not Weasley or Granger, third she comes from the States, fourth-" Harry counted off the reasons on his fingers.

"Yeah right. But one fact. There's ten wizard schools in the USA. One of them barely ten miles from where she lived. So why is she here? I know Dumbledore sent Hagrid to her house last summer. Dumbledore wanted her here. He wanted me here, even though I'm not the best at Transfiguration." Ron shook his head as Harry tried to speak. "When she left, she was seventeen, pregnant, and ashamed. Of course she'd hide. No one's told her about the past, at least, about Hermione's past here, I mean."

Harry sighed; he knew it was going to be a long talk.

"OK Sherlock, this could be true. But. You didn't say why Dumbledore wants her here?"

Ron looked thoughtful - hard work for him after ten at night.

"Dumbledore knew who her parents were, and thought she'd be a good pupil?"

Ron wasn't entirely convinced.

"You sure - if she's your daughter, maybe she's not so intelligent-"

"Ha, Ha. Very Funny."

"Thank you. If she is your kid, and I admit it's possible, then maybe Dumbledore wanted us to meet her here."

Ron jerked his head towards Harry, he was smiling.

After a couple of minutes companionable silence Ron spoke suddenly.

"I went to the Trophy Room this afternoon."

"I know."

"Something weird's happened."

"Why? Weirder than you thinking voluntarily?" Harry was casual - years in the Wizarding world had taught him that normality was when everything was strange.

"Everything with Hermione's name or image on has disappeared - the ones from when she became Head Girl, the one from when we defeated Voldemort..."

"Maybe Filch decided to clean them." Harry bit his quill while he corrected his 65th test.

"That's what detentions are for. I went to him anyway, but he said that he didn't know anything. But he was strange- like he was hiding something-. Anyway I asked Dumbledore and he was even stranger than Filch- it was like he was nervous or something-"

"Nervous? Dumbledore?" Harry dropped the test in surprise.

"Weird, isn't it? He told me that they were making space for some new pictures. Not very convincing." Harry sighed.

"So. What do you think?"

"I don't know. I can't go up to her and ask 'Are you my daughter'?"

"No, I meant the pictures."

"It's weird, isn't it Like he wants to hide something." Ron's eyes started to glitter. Harry carried on the thought.

"Well, if it really is Hermione's daughter, then he wouldn't want to spill the beans about her past, not without her permission. She must have said something."

"You! My best friend is a genius." Ron hugged Harry.

"Thanks. But we don't have any solid proof. These are all very far-fetched. How can we be so sure?"

"We can ask Lilian and-"

"Lilian mustn't know anything: if she knew that her mum was a witch and that she went to Hogwarts, Dumbledore didn't need to hid the pictures."

Ron fell back in the chair. "You're right. We'll never know." His voice was sad. Neither spoke for a while, lost in ideas. Every so often, one would move as if to speak, and then fall back, silent.

Both stared at the wall, blankly. Harry started suddenly. "Hagrid."

"Hagrid?"

"Hagrid. He went to the States to pick Lilian up. He must know something. He has to know."

"Right." Ron grinned. "Let's go over there." He whispered over and over, as if it were unreal. "I might be a dad. I might be her father."

"Ron." Harry spoke softly. "It's almost dawn. Better if we ask him this afternoon. OK?"

Ron nodded. "Let's go to bed, I want this night to be over."

'Don't worry, it almost is.' thought Harry yawning.

They went to bed, too tired to stay awake, too excited to sleep, and glad it was the weekend.