A/N: It's been quite a while, hasn't it? It's difficult for this writer to part from her baby, to say 'hey, I think this is actually finished' when these characters and their shenanigans are constantly on my mind.

It's been 4 unbelievable and crazy years since I posted the first chapter of After the Storm... Wow, wow, wow!

I hope this chapter brings joy and warmth just as writing it the past two years has brought me. Also, you might want to listen to Edward Elgar's Salut d'amour, it's their wedding song and so, so delicate and beautiful.

August 31st

Hermione Granger got up bright and early and as on most days, dragged herself down the stairs to brew the day's first pot of coffee. Today was her baby's Christening. Wow. It felt like Iris had been born just a day ago in the wee hours of a crisp spring morning. Hermione loved that chunky baby with all her heart. How could she not? She was a child made out of so much love...

The baby in question lay quietly in her pram staring at the mobile hung over her in hypnotizing black and white spirals, awake but not crying, a rarity these days. Hermione sighed in relief and even relaxed into a chair with her favorite mug. She glanced at the kitchen clock which marked a quarter to six o'clock. Only now were the first rays of sun streaming in. She opened her book, 'The Buried Giant' by Kazuo Ishiguro, and read like there was no tomorrow, or rather, like she wasn't the mother of five early-rising balls of energy.

Seven pages in and Hermione looked up from her book blowing a curl out of her eyes. She reveled in the quiet and the stillness. Most days were hectic in their household, and because they were she would long for these quiet moments in her kitchen with a good cuppa and a book.

Her mug was empty now, the porcelain cool against her palm. Iris was still quiet, having dozed off suckling on her pacifier. Oddly enough, Hermione now missed the noises, the loud talking and the pitter patter of feet against the floor or the thumping up and down the stairs. She missed Harry humming as he pretended to manually wash the dishes but rather charmed them to wash themselves. She missed telling James and Albus to quit wrestling in the living area or they'd hit their heads on the coffee table and–quite possibly–die; she missed Lily and Hugo watching Peppa Pig on the telly and Rosie going on about the latest book she was reading. The sounds and noises of her home, of her children, they all made Hermione feel utterly complete.

She didn't know why she was thinking about these things at six in the morning but she was. She reckoned the romantic poets were all probably right. True happiness was felt in the moments of stillness, in the moments where not much happened but where everything was okay. The quiet was such that she could hear birds chirping from outside and if she really focused and closed her eyes, she could also hear the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance; motorbikes and cars buzzing through, and her neighbor Corin tuning his violin from across the narrow cobblestone road.

At precisely half-past six she heard Harry's steps trudging down the stairs. In no time he was in front of her yawning, raking his fingers through his messy black hair with gray strands here and there. She loved how Harry hadn't the faintest idea just how handsome he was. Hermione loved him all the more for it.

"Why are you staring? Do I have something on my face?" He asked her. He'd forgotten his glasses upstairs.

"I'm staring because I'm so in love with you it's ridiculous." Her voice came out in an uncharacteristic, breathless, octave higher and she felt her cheeks burn up as soon as the words escaped her lips.

He laughed at her words, she wasn't usually this forward. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, swaying his hips in mock seductiveness. Immediately Hermione felt her cheeks burning and heartbeat accelerating in her chest.

"Care for an omelet, my darling?" His voice was something akin to an old Hollywood leading man. It reminded her of Rhett Butler almost, albeit a Surrey-bound version.

Harry's hand managed to find hers and he tugged on her arm until she rose from her seat and wound up in his arms. His fingers played with the little hairs at the back of her neck.

"The almighty Hermione Granger blushing… That's one hell of a feat."

He leaned in and sweeped her into a kiss.

"Blushing?!" She whispered-yelled in faux-horror once they parted.

Harry's laughter vibrated against her cheek. "Yes, blushing! I'm not that blind!"

He pulled her back into his embrace and placed a kiss on her cheek. She felt herself sigh and delicious goosebumps arise as his fingers grazed up and down her back. A tiny bit more and Hermione might just fall back into bed with him… And possibly do very naughty things to him that might require complex silencing charms.

"Listen, I forgot to tell you. Nell called last night and wants you at hers as soon as possible. Don't ask me what for, I was only half listening."

She rolled her eyes and made a mental note to hex her mother for being the enemy of all sexiness, and Harry for being an oblivious twat at times.

"Oh, honestly Harry. Would it kill you to write down a message properly? The pen and paper are right there by the phone!"

"Yeah but I couldn't find the pen. Apparently Ted needed it for last-minute homework or whatever and I was feeding Moaning Iris. Your mum talks an awful lot, Hermione, it's very easy to tune her out… Or is that a mother-in-law thing? Molly was much the same..." He scratched his head like the absolute arse he was.

"Moaning Iris!" She cried out in horror, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. "What an awful, absolutely cruel comparison!"

As if on cue Iris began to whine, cry and moan from her pram. Harry looked at Hermione and she looked at him, cheeks becoming increasingly red.

"Oh, bloody hell! Point bloody proven."

He eyed her and she eyed him. Her shoulders relaxed and she pinched the bridge of her nose, her lips curving into a smile. They laughed then, like a pair of nutters, as Ron would say… While Iris went on moaning.

…

After breakfast and being just about shooed by Harry and the kids that were already up out the door, Hermione Granger, more oblivious than she probably had ever been in her life, made the short walk from her home to the flat her parents lived on, above her bookshop. She basked in the summer breeze that blew against her face and hair, her flowy blue skirt clinging to her thighs as she went. She hummed a cheery Petula Clark tune, one she remembered from her visits with her Granny and Granddad so many years ago. Life was good.

She was almost breathless when she reached the last step to her Mum's front door. Obviously she could have flooed, but it was exactly the fact that the small journey made her breathless that she set on to walk. She wasn't at all an athletic person, but she wasn't about to let herself go completely or Merlin help her soul.

"Morning darling!" Her mother greeted loudly. The door had flown open before Hermione even knocked.

"Everything okay, Mummy? What's the urgency? Do you finally need help with the christening?"

Helena took her daughter by the arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.

"I need no help whatsoever, Hermione Jean. May I remind you that this is not the first or second nor third Christening I have ever organized in my lifetime."

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn't keen on getting an earful from her mother this early in the day.

"Your dress has been delivered and we need to get you looking beautiful. Not that you aren't, love, it's just that you're more fond of comfort, aren't you?"

"Mum, I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself."

When Hermione entered her mother's dressing room, all pink, florals and froufrou like something Umbridge might've thought fashionable, her eyes landed on a cloth mannequin displaying not the blue silk dress she'd selected for the christening but a beautiful champagne-colored gown of flowy floor-length silk. She did a double take, not believing her bloody eyes. This wasn't your regular christening church dress, not by a million years. It was gorgeous, simple, sleek, elegant but also classic, the way Hermione preferred all things fashion. The dress in question was fit for a bride.

"They didn't send me the wrong order did they?"

"No, they did not, darling."

"What am I wearing for the Christening then? My little black dress would hardly be suitable, or even the yellow one I wore…"

"Hermione, dear. Do sit down please. We've hair and make-up to do, love. That is, if you're willing to marry our Harry. You are, aren't you?"

"I'd be ever willing Mother, if I'd been proposed to properly!"

Helena rolled her eyes, mother of her daughter as she was.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, child. You live together, you have children together… It's not like you've done things in the proper order exactly."

"Yeah but a heads up would've been nice, no?"

Hermione glanced at the utterly beautiful dress on the mannequin. It was so different from her first wedding gown– the large, puffy princessy gown that it was. She'd been twenty then and she was almost forty now.

She glanced at her mother looking at her through the vanity mirror.

"So I'm getting married today, then?"

"If you want to."

Hermione looked down at her hands, her papercut fingers and chipped cornflower nail polish. She felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes and then the tears spilling over and wetting her cheeks. She wiped them away and gazed at her reflection on the mirror.

"He's the love of my life, I daresay my soulmate… Even though I think those things are utter bollocks… 'Cause usually they are."

"It's okay to be romantic and have feelings, Hermione."

"I wanted to shag him just this morning but then I came here!" Hermione wailed, dissolving into tears and sobs.

Helena held her only daughter and covered her with kisses as though she were still that little girl with big bushy hair and scraped knees.

Moments later mother and daughter heard the sound of someone coming in through the fireplace. In just seconds, Professor Minerva McGonagall materialized in all her glory through her mother's dressing room door.

Hermione gasped when she saw her, more shocked than when she saw her wedding dress just minutes before. The Professor was wearing a deep green wedding coat-dress and matching hat, not a witch's hat or anything witchy of any sort. McGonagall was dressed like any English matron dressed for a wedding ceremony, funny church hat, matching clutch purse and all.

"Dear Merlin, Granger. Why aren't you dressed yet? Your wedding's in an hour!"

"In an hour?" Hermione glared at her mother who just shrugged, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "Professor, what on Merlin's beard are you wearing?"

Minerva rolled her eyes and huffed. "I wore this to my great-nephew's wedding a few years ago, figured it deserved wearing again. Such fine taffeta…"

"Shall we crack on then?" Helena said, waving a hairbrush and bobby pins in the air.

"Most certainly, Mrs. Granger."

…

Hermione stared at her own reflection in her mother's mirror. She was a bride from head to toe and what a marvelous yet nerve wracking feeling to wrap one's mind around. The dress fit her like a glove and for once she thought herself beautiful. Her curls were up but not in an overly neat or tight way, although she knew her mother would have preferred a perfect chignon. She decided against wearing a veil, she'd be wed on a windy beach after all… The white gardenias were a lovely and fragrant touch though and reminded Hermione pleasantly of Billie Holiday, one of her favorites.

The make-up was as she preferred it, just enough.

She closed her eyes as she felt the flutter of imaginary butterflies in her belly. After today they would be husband and wife, she would be his forever and always. One might question where her feminist view on life were upon hearing these preposterous words but nevertheless it was the truth.

She'd been his from the moment she sat with him on the Hogwarts Express, she'd been his when he saved her from that awful troll. She'd been his when she tried to protect him and help him at all costs at schools and as they fought the Dark Lord. She'd been his every step of the way until now and would always be his, always, until her last breath. It was just simply amazing that he wanted so badly to be hers too, to the point of thrusting this ridiculously wonderful surprise her way.

In other times she might hex his buttocks off but not now. The dream she never knew she had was about to come true.

Three little knocks on the door and McGonagall shuffled in, as quietly and elegantly as her cat form.

"I've got something for you, that is, if you do not mind."

She produced a rectangle velvet box from behind her and handed it to Hermione.

"I wore these on my wedding day and I would be honored if you'd wear and keep them. As you know, I wasn't blessed with children and so I like to think of it as you being the closest and next best thing. Because I do admire and cherish you."

Inside the box was the prettiest pearl necklace Hermione had ever seen, a beautiful sapphire at the center surrounded by small diamonds. The earrings matched the sapphires but were of delicate teardrop pearls.

"Oh, Minerva, they're splendid… I couldn't possibly…"

"Nonsense, you could possibly, I hope you will, possibly. And a bride should always wear something old and something blue."

Hermione wrapped the older witch in a crushing embrace.

"I admire and cherish you as well, Professor."

…

All was busy at the small and quaint St. Julian's. The stone church right on the beach was perhaps a bit too small for the amount of friends and family Harry and Hermione had accumulated throughout the years, but still he couldn't imagine a more fitting place to get wed. This was their place, their beach. The setting of the first day of the rest of their lives.

It was a simple church, all rustic stone and woods with just a small altar and a red carpet for the bride to come down on. The floral arrangements Neville had created were the exact balance of exuberant with understated, which was very Hermione. Peonies mixed with soft yellow roses, purple irises, lilies and an assortment of herbs and greenery which looked positively pretty. The perfume of burning candles and rosemary sprigs filled the church.

Many guests were seated at their places already. Corin and Mark were tuning their instruments in one corner while the pink-cheeked and wined-up Laurence Granger and Arthur Weasley greeted everyone who came inside.

Molly and Regina fretted over the seven children who were waiting for their cue. Rose, James and Albus were three little balls of nerves in one corner, while Ted, Lily and Hugo were three little terrors. The crown of natural flowers on Lily's head kept slipping off as they ran, jumped and bounced around the room. Regina kept her wand in hand, terrified that they might break a special church vase or ruin the religious paintings on the wood-paneled walls, Molly, the experienced mother of probably too many redheads simply ignored it all and cooed at her baby granddaughter in her pram.

Harry paced the church entrance, tugging at his collar and black bowtie, just worried out of his mind. Hermione hated surprises and his nervous brain made him fret over her fleeing from their wedding like Julia Roberts in that movie with Richard Gere. How he came to know the movie or the particular muggles' names was all Hermione's fault. The fact that Hermione could disapparate with no need for a beautiful white horse or a pair of tennis shoes just made him feel sick in his stomach thinking about it.

"Mate, just breathe, will you? She'll be here soon." Ron's voice was one of amusement. "Honestly, if she didn't abandon me at the altar she definitely won't abandon the likes of you. She's way too polite to do something of the sort anyway. If she hated you she'd just divorce you on Monday like any decent cold-hearted witch"

"Oh Ron, you're just making things worse now!" Susan exclaimed as she waltzed by.

The blue-haired woman had wondrously found a dress that was both floral and containing all the colors in the rainbow. Somehow it went fabulously with her hair.

"But it's true!" Ron snickered, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Jokes aside, I wish you the very best mate. You're my brother, I hope you know that. Also, it's because you're my brother that I haven't hexed you for getting hitched to my ex-wife. Just saying."

"Mr. Weasley! Shouldn't you be at your place by the altar?"

Ron's freckles became ever-prominent upon hearing Professor Minerva McGonagall's voice booming in with that familiar, slightly-menacing Scottish lilt.

"Merlin!" He cried out, a hand over his heart. "On my way, Professor. On my way!" He glanced back at both Harry and Susan, his eyes wide from terror. The two laughed as they watched him scuttle away.

"You too Potter, should be on your way."

"Actually, professor, I'd like a word with Mr. Potter, before I officially become Mrs. Potter, that is."

All three turned to glance at Hermione in full wedding regalia before them. Her mother was just a few steps behind carrying the bouquet and straightening her skirt.

"Oh! In that case then…" Susan said, motioning for McGonagall to accompany her to the pews. "By the way, you look gorgeous, Hermione… And I'm not just saying it because you're my boss. See you on the other side!"

Harry was frozen on his feet. Indeed she looked utterly gorgeous, hell, she was gorgeous in her old t-shirts and stained sweatpants at home too but this was an entire other level of gorgeousness.

"Are you mad?" He asked with a grimace.

She looked down at the checkered black and white church floors and shook her head.

"A bit shocked but not mad."

He sighed in relief.

"I love you," He told her, tears welling up in his eyes, "like so much it hurts and doesn't at the same time? Oddly enough?"

She let out a dry laugh and smiled at him. She had tears in her eyes too.

"Let it be made clear that the only reason I didn't suspect any of this was because I was heavily sleep-deprived due to your youngest daughter!"

"Oh, for sure, part of the strategy," He agreed, tapping his index finger against his temple.

"Also, the vicar must hate us." Hermione added, pointing her chin towards the wooden door from which they could hear their rowdy children and Molly's shrill voice trying to get them to behave.

"Shall we have a go at this marriage ceremony thing, already? I frankly love the dress, the hair, the looks, everything but I really want to shag you in a nice hotel after this. My feet are fucking killing me. Is this what our forties will feel like?"

She roared in laughter at his nervous rambling, a tear escaping her eyes.

"Oh, Harry, stop it or I'll bloody cry."

"You're already crying, silly!" He crossed the space between them and wiped the stray tear away. "Calm a poor old wizard's heart and give him a kiss before the 'I do', will you?" He whispered to her.

As they kissed Corin's violin and Mark's piano began echoing the beautiful notes of Elgar's Salut d'Amour. It was the song she loved and chose. Hermione felt she might die of happiness. She tried her hardest not to cry and ruin her make-up.

"I'll see you in a bit, my love."

"In a bit." She replied, squeezing his cold, trembling hand.

To be continued with a part 3...