A million thank you's go out to all of my readers. Writing and sharing this story with you all has been a wonderful and also bittersweet journey and it's with a woeful heart that I begin to say farewell to this beautiful family that is being formed and to this version of my favorite characters. This chapter is much smaller in size to the last installments and is the last stop before our true grand finale, chapter 15.

Hermione was fixing them a small dinner accompanied with wine in the kitchen, while he finished checking on James and Lily upstairs. It had given Harry so much relief to see his children fast asleep, smelling of bath soap and lavender, snoring lightly after what was probably an emotional rollercoaster of a day. As he fixed James' covers, Harry deeply felt the absence of Albus, as well as Rose and Hugo.

He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen where she was dressed in her girly floral apron, one he had worn many an occasion weeks ago when they were all under this roof. She looked beautiful, her golden curls held back by a dark clip, her back to him as she hummed a tune under her breath.

"It's boring ol' chicken, rice and salad tonight…" She warned him as he took in the mouth-watering lemony aroma.

"Honestly, I am so hungry anything will do—even your cooking." Hermione glared at him and threw her oven mitten at him, which he successfully dodged with a boyish laugh.

"I'd behave if I were you Potter, or you won't be getting anywhere near my bed tonight, and I don't care if it's your birthday!" she turned away to finish dressing the salad and his eyes widened a bit once he processed the meaning of her playful words. Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself as she kept busy. Unbeknownst to Harry, buried deep in the pocket of her robe was his birthday gift and she was waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it.

Harry's green eyes darted back to her figure as he leaned casually against the kitchen table, listening as she went back to humming. She wore her silk under dress that left little of her figure to the imagination, that wasn't covered by the apron. He basked in the vision that were the curves of her hips, her round bottom, perfect, shapely thighs and generous breasts. Hermione Granger was the definition of the word 'womanly' and was the rather oblivious bearer of an effortless beauty and sensuality, a renaissance sort of exquisiteness of wild golden curls and milky skin—straight out of a Michelangelo painting.

Hermione was a woman who unbelievably loved him and had constantly been by his side since about the day they met—a woman who was no longer a dream or a fantasy to be buried in the deepest corners of his mind and heart, but a woman who was all that he ever wished for, even unknowingly for a hell of a long time, but that nevertheless had come true.

This was it. He and Hermione were together now, just like that... They would share a home, a bed, have some glorious sex, fight and do all of the things couples normally did. They would raise their army of children and grow old together. It was crazy to imagine.

"I can feel you staring you know…" She told him, arching an eyebrow as she set the salad bowl on the table, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. She poured herself a glass full of cabernet and took a sip, brown eyes following him with interest.

"I—it's just—it's finally dawning on me what this means now…" he explained, waving his finger to point back and forth between them both. Hermione inhaled deeply and nodded, tasting the wine that had stained her lips.

"I've wanted this for so long, it seems too good to be true." She admitted, after a while. Harry nodded and took a seat across from her on the table, holding her hand and caressing it with his thumb. Hermione pulled the little box from her pocket and held it in her lap before he could see. "It's bizarre actually," she gathered, her brown eyes bright and full of joy as she looked at him.

"What's bizarre?!" They heard a loud boisterous voice coming in. Hermione jumped from her seat, pulling away her hand, the tiny and delicately wrapped gift box falling to the ground, under the table, away from Harry's line of vision.

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at the form of his tall redheaded best friend.

"That you still can't catch a hint, Ronald." Hermione snapped at him, voice dripping with annoyance. Harry chuckled—this was just like the old times, and to his surprise, he actually had really missed it. The golden trio was back together…

"Just popped in to see how the little sprogs are—mum wouldn't stop pestering me about it, wanting to be sure they were alive and intact." He said using air quotes.

"Mummy!" They heard Hugo calling as he rushed in, launching himself in his arms.

"Hugo!" She greeted back, hugging and kissing him. She shared a look with Harry from the corner of her eyes and he couldn't help but laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that charming way of his.

"So much for alone time…" he whispered, only for her to hear and respond with a dramatic roll of her eyes, agreeing.

"Hughie, where's Rose?" Hermione asked her little boy, caressing his soft cheek. Before he could respond Ron butted in:

"Oh, you know how she is—arrived home and ran straight for the loo!" Ron cried out with a chuckle, not caring that Hermione and Harry were still dining. "Albus went after James and Lily upstairs, I think." He eyed the small feast set before them on the table and though he wasn't hungry, the glutton fool in him was beckoned. "Say, 'Mione—where d'you keep the plates?"

"In that cupboard over there, daddy!" Hugo pointed and Ron ruffled his ginger curls appreciatively.

"Good boy!" Ron complimented with a smile.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you two are incorrigible. I can't even have dinner in peace! Did Molly not teach you manners, Ron?" Hermione groaned dramatically and buried her face in her hands, but really, she was only slightly upset because Ron's arrival meant postponing Harry's birthday gift. Like the oblivious wanker that he was, Harry couldn't stop smiling or laughing. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"She did, but I choose not to use them sometimes." He winked at Hugo playfully. Ron filled his plate and began to shovel the food in, making appreciative sounds. "Gotten better at cooking, have we, curly-top?" He complimented in between mouthfuls. Luckily Hermione had prepared more than enough. And then the idiot redhead seemed to remember: "Oh, where are my so-called manners—Happy Birthday, mate! I hope the rest of your 34th will be bloody less eventful than today!" Ron pat Harry on the back enthusiastically.

"Thanks mate, I have an inkling it'll be just wonderful…" He said, emerald-eyes landing on Hermione, who bit her bottom lip so she wouldn't smile while her insides turned to mush like some ridiculous, common teenage girl. Little did she know that her cheeks had turned a bright crimson, a feat that even a little boy like Hugo and a daft Ronald Weasley could notice.

She then felt a gentle grazing, from her ankle all the way up to her calf, then back down again, that made Hermione shiver in both pleasure and surprise. Her eyes met with Harry's and he tried to mask his impish grin with his hand from Ron and Hugo who were eating, winking at her.

"Later…" he mouthed silently, and Hermione cast her dark eyes down to her plate again, immediately feeling the familiar sensation of arousal.

…

A little while later Hugo, Albus and Rose had been successfully tucked in by both Harry and Ron in their rooms upstairs, despite their seemingly boundless energy. Ron said his goodbyes and hugged them both tight.

"Don't screw up like I did, mate." He tells Harry in private before he floos home to Luna who is waiting.

A few moments later as Harry is helping Hermione tidy up the kitchen it's Teddy's turn to floo in, bringing the gifts and cards his godfather had received all through the day and left at the Burrow. To be perfectly honest, it was all a bit of a pretext, Teddy really wanted to witness for himself, this new beginning of sorts that was happening—his godfather had finally gotten to admitting his feelings to aunt Hermione.

Harry was upstairs in the shower when Hermione knocked lightly on the door to the guest room where James and Albus were already asleep and where Teddy was seated by the desk, drawing in his notebook.

She opened the door slowly, first peaking inside and then entered, shutting it gently behind her. She carried a nice warm blanket, towel and brand-new toothbrush and set it on the desk by Teddy, who watched her rather shyly. Ever since he was a little boy he had a small bit of awe for the witch. She was feisty, intelligent and brave and that admiration had only grown with the years until it became a crush. Now, as he looked at her, he realized that his crush for her wasn't romantic in any way, but just an effect of just how amazing she was and how much he wished she had a more active role in his life. As a mentor, maybe or even just as a friend.

"So, on a scale from one to ten—how much did you miss sleeping on an actual bed?" Teddy chuckled, crinkling the corners of his eyes, his hair having turned curly and brown well before she entered—it was something he unconsciously did since he was a boy, as if to justify his desire to spend time with her.

"I think twelve or thirteen!" He admitted, with a smile. "Camping was nice and the forest of Dean, exquisite."

"Yes, it is, even in the winter. It's funny, I never went back there after the war and I remember so many camping and hiking trips there with my parents as a girl during the summers… I suppose I'm afraid those terrible memories will come rushing back to the surface, and even though it's been sixteen years, it's hard you know?" Teddy nodded.

"Did you give uncle Harry his birthday card?" Teddy asked, "I've been holding on to everything that's come through the post and from the Weasley's all day, nothing from you. I don't mean to pry but…" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"But already prying…" She said with a voice laced with humor, playfully tugging at his ear. Teddy blushed, "I have his gift here with me—is it weird that I don't really have the balls to give it to him?"

"Well, for one it's weird that you even used that expression…" He commented cheekily and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, mockingly. "Why is it weird?"

"Deeply personal gift—more personal than I've ever given anyone, I think. Something I've held on to for a few birthdays now..."

"And then chickened out and given him something completely different?" Hermione nodded. How could a sixteen-year-old be so damn wise? She blamed it on Teddy being a Hufflepuff.

"Of course, he was married then and perhaps it wouldn't be so appropriate, what with Ginny…"

"But for better or worse she isn't here anymore, aunt Minnie…" Teddy told her, using his childhood nickname for her for effect. Hermione's deep brown eyes met with his and nodded.

"What if this whole thing doesn't work out—I mean, it didn't with Ron and for years during and after our marriage our relationship was awful, only now we're beginning to get closer again…"

"Well, even if I had a crystal ball you wouldn't believe me," Teddy remarked. Hermione glared in his direction, eyes sharp. He shrugged. "You're a legend at Hogwarts—your whole 'divination is bollocks!' ordeal is still talked about." Hermione flinched.

"Still true though…" She said, with a smile playing at her lips. "Thank you for the talk, my rainbow Teddy bear." Hermione ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead, he was too late to swerve away from it. Rainbow Teddy bear was what she called him as a baby, up until he was about eight or so, because of how often he changed the color of his hair—it was deeply embarrassing and endearing all at once. Teddy had a bigger control over it now. "I'm glad you're here you know—the family feels incomplete without you." Teddy smiled at this, because though he never doubted his godfather's love and care for him, he had never felt this welcome at the Burrow or at Godric's, not while Ginny was still around. He knew it was nothing personal and that the late redhead was fond of him, but fondness was the furthest it went. He never felt remotely at home at Godric's or in her presence—always as though he was a visitor or intruder. With Hermione it wasn't like this at all.

"Off to bed now…" She ordered, pointing to the large space next to a lightly snoring Albus, who sucked on his thumb greedily.

In this house, with aunt Hermione, his godfather and all the other kids, Teddy didn't feel at all like an intruder—he felt as though he belonged.

Hermione cast the lights off with a swish of her wand and blew him a kiss.

"Goodnight, Ted."

"G'night, aunt Minnie."

…

When she barges into her bedroom, he is standing naked, drying himself with a white towel. Her eyes widen because old habits die hard and she had grown used to having the room all to herself. She blushed profusely and apologized, feeling the mortifying heat of embarrassment on her cheeks.

She muttered an apology under her breath and more than quickly turned around, closing the door behind her, racing down the stairs in just her underdress and robe, feet bare. An overwhelming sensation overtook her as it dawned deep within her, that this was all reality and a very handsome, monument of a man stood in her bedroom just waiting for her to arrive.

Hermione felt her palms becoming cold and sweaty and she recognized the sensation as being her anxiety getting the best out of her. She paced the small floor in front of the stairs before she ran out of the house, letting her crazy instincts, the very irrational part of her brain guide her off.

Despite being summertime, the eleven o'clock night was cool and crisp, the winds of the ocean making her shiver. Still she ran and ran, not knowing exactly the destination until her feet touched sand and she tiredly trudged through it until the bone-freezing temperature of the waves splashed onto her calves, in a way urging her awake.

Hermione was breathless and tired as she took steps back and plopped down onto a dry bit of sand, looking out into the deep midnight color of the ocean, waves crashing—skies heavy with hundreds and hundreds of stars.

She sat there for what felt like hours until she caught sight of the shadow looming from behind her. She knew it was him, by the way he breathed.

To her surprise he handed her a bottle of wine and sat down next to her. She took a large swig. "Fuck, you know me too well." She whispered. He snickered and shook his head.

"Hermione, we're British, we only properly talk feelings when not sober." She smiles at his remark and feels silly all of the sudden, for freaking out and fleeing. It's not the sort of thing one expects from Hermione Granger or that she expects even from herself. It is her normal to face and fight things—or at least it was. She passes the bottle to him and he takes a swig himself. "I love you…" He tells her, looking into his eyes, the stars in the sky reflected on them. How could one man be so bloody perfect?

"I know, and I love you too Harry—more than ever." When she looks at him again her eyes are glistening. "But are you ready? Because I can't—I don't think I have it in me to face another heartbreak, to be honest…" She wipes away a stray tear, looking out into the sea. "I don't want this, whatever it is, to ever end and end badly, you know?" He nodded, quietly. "I couldn't bear to lose you Harry…"

"It scares me shitless too, like nothing else ever did—maybe Voldemort, but that's different. I just—I felt so guilty, because of Ginny and the way she died, how I felt like I was responsible in a way and then how fast my feelings for you grew and changed." Hermione took a large swig of the wine as she listened, passing the bottle on to him. Taking a sip, he continued, "This all really tested by Gryffindor courage—" he chuckled dryly and she snickered, for her it was the same sort of feeling. "I had a bit of time to avoid this subject, this thing between us, but I wasn't able to run away from the truth for too long—and the truth is, Hermione, that I love you and have always loved you and it physically hurts almost. I want to be with you, grow old with you, be driven crazy by your moods and manias—I want to make you happy, I want to raise our children with you, travel the world with you…" He became breathless as he passionately listed, not noticing the sparkle in her eyes, or the smile that she now wore.

"And do you want to make love to me, Potter?" she asked, surprising him by wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled her onto his lap and attempted to tuck her rebellious curls behind her ears, but it was no use with the wind. Her voice was barely above a whisper, raspy, seductive, sexy and beautiful as hell. He pressed his beard to her cheek and felt how it was still wet from her tears. He planted a warm, kiss in that sensitive spot below her ear that he knew was her weak point. When she lightly shivered, he chuckled to himself and continued to minister the kisses, in between nibbles until his hand began to wander inside her open robe, the ivory silk of her camisole, just a think and barely-there layer separating him from the soft and milky texture of Hermione's skin.

Her hands move his face so that she could look at him and she's biting her bottom lip while her eyes take in the very expression of desire on his face—his desire for her, Hermione.

She kisses him on the lips then, her fingers burying themselves in his overgrown raven locks of hair, his hands parting her thighs so that she straddled him fingers gently sliding up her thighs, moving the hem of her camisole upwards so that he could have access to her delightful skin, hands squeezing thighs and continuing their path until they land on her bottom to squeeze them over the delicate lace of her knickers. He can feel her pressing herself deeper against him, feeling the volume of his own arousal against her inner thigh. Her hands leave his body momentarily and he groans until he sees, emerald eyes full of interest, Hermione shrugging off her robe.

He is mesmerized at the sheer beauty of her—like a moon goddess bathed in the pale moonlight, wind blowing her curls behind her, skin flushed and lips swollen and parted from their kissing. Harry doesn't think he's ever seen anything or anyone so utterly alluring and sensual. His hands leave her delicious, shapely legs and travel up the soft silk of her camisole until they are slowly wandering up her belly, taking hold of each of her breasts, nipples hard against his palms.

He hears a moan escape her lips from the sensation of it and he continues to kneed her there, burying his face at the curve of her neck, placing hot, open-mouth kisses there while her hand reaches for the hem of his shirt and they part only for her to eagerly remove it. He gives her a smile and presses his lips to hers as her fingers explore his body, their desperation and need for one another only growing.

His hands cup her breasts again and this time he doesn't waste time, pulling the straps down until they are revealed to him in their utmost glory—areoles a delicate pink and her pale, feather-soft skin pale from the moonlight's glow. He trails kisses from her neck down until one hand kneads her breast and the other captures her sweet, sensitive nipple between his lips and teeth. She moans again, pressing herself harder against his member, still captured within the confines of his flannel pajama pants.

Finally, he flips her over until she is laying there on the sand, biting her bottom lip with anticipation, in that gorgeous and sexy way that Harry is certain she knows drives him crazy and she pulls him by the neck, down on top of her, their tongues battling for dominance, Hermione hungrily nibbling on his lips in a way that he never imagined could be so fucking fantastic.

Her thighs lock tightly around his waist, the heels of her feet pressing against his arse, ever closer. It's just the flimsy fabric of his trousers separating him from the pulsing heat of her womanhood, the lace of her knickers a silly excuse for cover. Her fingers are tugging at the elastic of his pants in order to slide them down when they feel a strong and artificial yellow light on their faces. Both their eyes widen in horror when they hear a grumbled warning:

"OY! You kids better get a bloody room! The beach is no place for shaggin—" Before the patrol guard can finish his sentence Harry reaches for his shirt beside them and they disappear with a 'pop'.

When Hermione finally gets over the stunned feeling of surprise, dread and then apparating she can't help but laugh heartily. Harry laughs too, his chest vibrating against hers. He doesn't think he's felt this young, this alive in a very long time. He rolls off of her and sits, leaning against the headboard. She sits as well and he watches as she pulls something from inside her bedside table's drawer.

"For your birthday, just ten minutes before the actual day is over... I'm sorry I took so long." She says sheepishly, eyeing her alarm clock.

Harry looks at the tiny box and unties the delicate blue ribbon. Inside laying in a white satin cushion was a golden pocket watch with floral and bird engravings. It was beautiful and as delicate as it was antique.

"Open it..." Hermione urges him, uncaring that her chest was entirely bear to him. "There's a tiny key." He found it and did as she asked. When it opened it had minute and hour dials like any watch or clock and ornate Roman algarisms, but on it's lid it read in neat cursive writing:

I carry your heart in me (I carry it in my heart)

Harry immediately recognized the quote as being one from a book of poetry he gifted her many a birthdays ago, by ee cummings. Hermione was always more factual and more prose when it came to her literature, so when confronted for the first time with actual poetry verses and so deeply from the heart, she fell in love. He remembers her telling him as much, at least. He looks closer at the pocket watch and notices that the time handles are not moving.

"This is not your everyday watch is it?" Hermione shakes her head.

"It's a rare artifact, I found it about seven years ago, it works a bit like a pensieve, somewhere you can store your memories, not just one but several. This is one of just five ever created and along these years I've been storing my own memories in it, my memories of you."

"Oh." Hermione shrugs and smiles at just how adorable he looks.

"It's why I'm only giving it to you now, anytime before would have been improper..." He understands what she means and nods. She takes it from his hand and delicately sets it back in the drawer. "You can look at my old memories later, I want to make a new one..." He chuckles at just how bossy and amazing she is and pulls her into his arms.

"Best birthday ever!" He whisper-yells and she rolls her eyes.

He softly caresses her arm, and Hermione kisses him tenderly. His ingertips softly caress her hair, her brown eyes shining as she looks into his eyes. She mutters an accio wand under her lips and waves her bedroom door shut and locked—Harry chuckles.

"No more interruptions tonight…" She tells him and he nods his agreement. To his surprise it's her turn to flip them over and straddle his waist again, finally completely removing her under dress. There is mischief in her eyes, as well as arousal and he vows to make her feel all the pleasure in the world.

Now is only the start.

REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! (So the muse will hurry up with the final chapter) I've always wanted to reach the 200 review mark! ;)