Hermione turned the corner, caught her heel in a crack, and nearly dropped her takeout bag. She swore under her breath, stumbling a little, and managed to yank her foot free.

The street was sleepy, off the beaten path, and bordering a small, lush forest along the southern bank of the Thames. Even though night had fallen, and the bare trees were dusted with a thin layer of frost, she could still hear a faint trickle of birdsong as she passed a handful of red brick houses. Harry's neighborhood was old, beautiful — a secluded spot in Barnes, one of the few suburbs of London to which she had never ventured.

The past two days had been a slow-burning whirlwind. After St. Mungo's, she was allowed to return to her house, cats in tow, where Seamus had disabled "most of" the booby-traps and none of the warding. "It's the safest place in England, apart from the Ministry," Kingsley had assured her, and she believed it. Knowing that Electra, Septimus, and the rest of their cohorts had been escorted into Azkaban had done wonders for Hermione's assurance of her own safety — even if a lingering nutjob from Salvation managed to break through the best warding in the country, she knew she could handle it.

The DMLE managed to track down the remaining ex-members of Salvation within the space of about twelve hours, and once they were all behind bars, their stories, alibis, and excuses all crumbled. Septimus finally admitted to firing the AK at Hermione's head and stealing a copy of his brother's schedule in order to corner Hermione at the restaurant. He also admitted to helping Electra Stun and Obliviate a frighteningly large number of Ministry employees to extract their blood and hair, which he and their various operatives then used to impersonate those employees. From his bed at St. Mungo's, Octavius told them about being captured and tortured for information, which he tried not to give. It was extremely satisfying, in a way, to watch all the pieces slide into place, to see where the DMLE's guesses had been right and wrong, to see where security needed to be improved, and where it was already as strong as it could be.

And it helped to distract her from the fact that she hadn't seen Harry since St. Mungo's.

Granted, it had only been about thirty-five hours, but still.

After crawling into bed sometime around three on Saturday morning, Hermione had slept for nine hours straight before she got up, showered, and went to her parents' house. Her mum had taken one look at her and said, "Tell me his name."

It had all come out after that — one long, winding, pile of nonsense that left her buzzing, exhausted, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea with too much honey in it. She'd glanced around the little lavender drawing room, recognizing a few mementos from her childhood, and wondered, not for the first time, what on earth she was supposed to be feeling.

"Sweetheart." Her mum was frowning, pressing her fingers to the inside of Hermione's wrist. "Did you tell anyone?"

Hermione let out a watery chuckle, shaking her head. "I didn't know who to tell, and a part of me thought—" She forced herself to take a breath. "A part of me thought that if I talked about it, I would… I would lose it."

Her mum nodded, her fingers tracing a light circle into Hermione's skin. It meant she was thinking. Eventually, she said, "I'm surprised that Verity had nothing to say about this."

Hermione smiled a genuine smile. "She and her husband are off on some top-secret mission in New York. I'm supposed to hear from her by next weekend, and they probably haven't even seen the news, so they wouldn't know—"

"Hermione." Her mum took Hermione's hands now, looked her dead in the eye. "Whatever happened between you, it isn't… it isn't finished yet."

Hermione swallowed. "I know."

So, after briefly stopping in to the DMLE on Sunday morning under the semi-honest pretext of getting updates on the case, Hermione slipped into the Records Room and managed to find the personnel file for one H. Potter.

It had been an odd, tangible moment of reckoning, realizing that she didn't know where he lived now, or even what his mobile number was. She could've just texted Ron, but that—

Which was how she was here, standing in front of Number 12, Mulberry Lane. Barnes.

Harry's house was a small, squat, single-storey cottage with a half-wild garden and piles of slumbering roses that must have been stunning in the summer. The garden surprised her — she had no idea that Harry went in for that sort of thing — as did the neat, trim exterior of the stone cottage. But as she approached the bright red front door, she found small spots of messiness that made her smile; an untrimmed hedge under the window, a haphazard pair of wellies, an upended blue metal bucket, a scrape of mud on the front steps.

This was almost enough to distract her from the mounting terror seething beneath her skin. She'd never done something like this before. Not for anyone.

"Tits up, Granger," she muttered to herself, then knocked sharply at the front door.

A brief pause. Then, the sound of footsteps approaching, the locks turning, then—

Hermione found herself staring up at a tall, lanky young man with dark blue hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a thin, quizzical mouth.

"Hermione!" he burst out, in a deep, rich voice several pitches lower than she remembered.

She gaped at him, flabbergasted. "Teddy?!"

"It's so good to see you!" Before she could do anything, Teddy closed the distance between them and swept her into a close, warm hug. She clung to him, joy meeting the terror and surprise head-on in her stomach and creating a fresh pool of butterflies. Teddy released her and stepped back, leaning against the door frame, and smiled. "Harry's just been telling me all about all your adventures these past few weeks—"

A fresh jolt of anxiety rippled up her back and she tried to smile in return. "Was he?"

"Yes, I came back as soon as I could — he knows he's only allowed one St. Mungo's visit per year, the Ministry got a message to my head office the moment he came in—"

Her mind spinning, all Hermione could manage was, "Did they?"

But then, a second voice cut in — "Teddy? Who is it?"

And there he was. Harry appeared behind his godson, and he looked… like his old self. A scruffy pair of jeans, a thick turtleneck sweater that had seen better days, a pair of slippers, and his hair was absolutely everywhere. In short, he looked rough and incredible and gorgeous. He stared at her, mirroring her own surprise.

A beat, then —

"Minister," said Harry, like he was trying to remember the word. "What— Is there something— How can I—?"

Hermione mentally kicked herself and tried, again, to smile. "I was wondering if we could talk about the fight at the Manor. Nothing too important, and I know you've already submitted your report, but—"

"Sure," said Harry, and he stepped back into the hall, holding the door open.

Teddy looked from Harry to Hermione and grabbed his coat. "I'll go to the pub, stay out of your hair." And with that, he was halfway down the front path, waving goodbye.

Hermione stared after him, her heart jumping into her throat. In theory, this had sounded like such a good idea, but now that she was actually here, on Harry's doorstep—

"Come in," said Harry, still lingering by the door.

Hermione took a quick breath, steeling herself, and did just that.

The inside of his cottage was homey, snug, and more than a little cluttered. She hung up her coat on a rack that was already full — she spotted a mac that had little dinosaurs on it and was the appropriate size for an eight year-old — and quickly toed off her boots, swaying a little as she—

"What's that?" said Harry, gesturing at the paper bag.

Hermione straightened, heat flooding her neck and face. "Cheeseburgers."

Harry grinned, sudden and bright, and something in her stomach unclenched. "Brilliant. Come through to the kitchen, I'll get the plates."

She followed him around the corner, into a small, warm kitchen with old appliances, lots of plants in the window, and a table with two chairs. The table was covered in old Prophets and a few books, and this almost distracted her from whatever was bubbling in a huge pot on the stove. It smelled incredible, rich and savory and—

"Oh," she said as Harry dug through a cupboard and pulled out two mismatched plates. "I didn't realize you'd already cooked—"

"Oh, that." Harry waved a dismissive hand and started clearing off the table. "I just made that for the week, we weren't going to eat it tonight." He put down their plates and went over to the fridge. "Beer?"

Hermione nodded, sitting down and plopping the bag on top of the table. "Please." She watched the way Harry moved around the kitchen, and she couldn't help but remember how he'd looked in her own kitchen. He looked different here — more at ease, perhaps — but very much the same. "It must be nice, having Teddy back."

Harry grinned again, uncapping the two bottles with a flick of his hand. "Sure. I got a right telling-off, but I guess I sort of deserved it." He sat down and slid a bottle across the table to her. "I hope we don't have to share the fries, I'm not sure I'm feeling quite that generous this evening."

To her surprise, Hermione found herself smiling as she shook her head and opened the bag, breaking the Preserving Spell. "I got plenty."

"Good." Harry pulled out one of the burgers and a packet of fries and spilled everything onto his plate. "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

Hermione glanced at him as she did the same. "I've been thinking about it a lot. Waking up in the cell, how they got us there in the first place, how we managed to break out and sneak up on them…"

When she didn't continue, Harry raised his eyebrows. "And?"

She sat back in her chair, fiddling with a loose fry. "It was too easy."

To her surprise, Harry smiled. "Was it?" he said, then he disassembled his cheeseburger and pulled out the slice of tomato.

"Well, yes. After everything they put us through, we shouldn't have been able to—"

"Shouldn't we?" Harry reached over to the fridge — which was less than two feet away — and got out a bottle of ketchup and a jar of mustard. Then, he reached for a nearby drawer and pulled out a knife, which he used to spread a liberal layer of mustard on his bun. This done, he put his burger back together and took a huge bite. "Ketchup?" he said, pushing the bottle towards her.

Hermione had watched this with a degree of fascination that was almost embarrassing. There was still so much she didn't know about him. "Yes, thanks." She helped herself and dug into her own burger. It was delicious.

"I know you've thought about this even more than I have," said Harry, between bites. "So maybe I'm just pointing out the obvious. But it felt easy because, for the first time since all of that nonsense started, we were the ones in control of the situation."

She chewed, letting that sink in. He had a point.

"They kick things off by shooting an AK at your head like nothing doing," Harry went on with a shrug, "at a public, widely-advertised event that everyone and their great aunt knew about. We panic, thinking that they're going to keep trying big, orchestrated attacks, but no — next thing, the Probity Probes are rigged, which means they've been planning this for a while, so we panic even more. But, they knew that any attempt on the Minister's life would activate certain protocols necessitating the use of more Probity Probes, which is why they bothered to get that sorted so far in advance. I'm sure they had no idea the Probes would end up in your department — they were probably hoping for a random target, which would only increase the fear and suspicion on our end, and widespread panic when the story hit. But because it happened so close to you, we were able to bury it, and the dance continued.

"Next, they cornered you at the restaurant, showing us that they had insider information, and we managed to walk away with a handful of their soldiers. Security tightened, and on Rogers' day off, they—" Harry looked down at his plate, cleared his throat, and continued, "well, we know what they did, and Septimus stepped into the picture. Then, when Draco managed to crack the cure, we planned our first offensive attack, which was a success. Spooked, and in Electra's case, furious, they retaliated by using Septimus' knowledge of your location to plant the bomb — without his approval, apparently, which is interesting. We had no choice but to think that these people were everywhere, and they knew everything, which wasn't exactly true. So when the time came, even though they had the upper hand, they made the mistake of underestimating us, and we took advantage of that." Harry shrugged, licking a dab of ketchup off his finger. "Simple, really."

"Simple," Hermione echoed. She sat there for a moment, allowing her mind to sift through everything Harry had said.

"And," he added, "it didn't help that they really put all their eggs in one basket. Without Electra, what did they have? A skewed ideology and no follow-through. She was the brains behind the operation, Septimus was just the bank account and the foot in the Pureblood social door. And as you know, by the time they captured us, they barely had enough manpower to overwhelm the Broom Regulation Board, let alone the entire DMLE."

"That's true." Hermione nodded. "There's still something I don't understand, though."

Harry gave her a nod. "Go on."

"Septimus was already in disguise as Rogers when you helped Kingsley plan the raid. Why on earth didn't he warn Electra? And why didn't he just kill me and get it over with?"

"Killing you wasn't the point of his being in disguise. Besides, they wanted to get me and Malfoy as well, so they had to time it just right." Harry shifted a little, looking sheepish, and took a sip of beer. "And he didn't warn Electra," he went on, "because I'm a paranoid old goat and I didn't tell anyone on my team about the raid."

Hermione stared at him, fighting the urge to throw a fry in his face. "You what?"

He really looked sheepish now. "We knew that someone was leaking them information, and Kingsley and I agreed that the raid should be need-to-know. The only people who knew about it were you, me, Kingsley, Draco, and the Aurors who conducted the raid."

She stared at him some more. "That was… extremely smart."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, just good old-fashioned paranoia."

"No, really, Harry." Heat flooded her face again. "You really… You're incredible."

He blushed then, and Hermione fought a wave of alarm as he went back to his food.

She had to change the subject. "So, what are you and Teddy going to get up to now that he's back in town?"

Harry smiled, the tension leaking out of his body, and started telling her about some grand plans for a movie marathon at the local cineplex, followed by a pub crawl of monumental proportions. "I have to keep reminding him I'm not in my twenties anymore," Harry finished with a laugh. "I think he forgets, sometimes."

"I'm sure he does," Hermione said, grinning. She polished off her last fry with relish.

Harry looked at her, his bright green eyes seeing far too much. "What about you? Have you told your parents… anything?"

She met his gaze, and there, again, more butterflies. "Yesterday. I told them everything."

Surprise flickered across his features. "Really? And how did that…?"

Hermione shrugged. "It went. They handled it much better than I thought they would. I think they always suspected that something might happen, given that I'm… well, you know."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "A hard-knuckled, tough-as-nails ball-buster?"

A startled laugh burst out of Hermione before she could stop it.

"Sorry," Harry grinned. "A very efficient, hard-knuckled, tough-as-nails ball-buster."

"Stop, Harry." Hermione shook her head, and found her attention drawn once again to the huge copper pot on the stove. Curiosity got the better of her. "What are you making?"

Harry hesitated, and his grin faded. "Beef stew."

Hermione looked at him, and something in his face— "Beef stew," she repeated. Then, before she knew what she was doing, she reached into the silverware drawer, pulled out a spoon, and marched over to the stove. She dipped the spoon into the pot, blew on it gently, and swallowed a mouthful of broth.

It was hearty, salty, and completely familiar. Hermione stared down into the pot and said, "What do you put in it? To get it to taste like that?"

There was a pause, then Harry said, "Nutmeg. Just a little."

"Nutmeg," she repeated, her hands going numb. She dropped the spoon on the stove and whirled round to face him, butterflies exploding from her stomach out through her arms, legs, hands, and he looked embarrassed and nervous all at once. "It was you? You made it? Back at the safe house?"

Harry stared at her for another moment, his expression pleading, and then, then. He nodded. "Yes."

For some reason, for some ridiculous, unfathomable reason, this was too much. Hermione felt something inside of her tremble and break, and she walked out of the kitchen, not looking at him. "I have to go," she mumbled, pushing past the table, stumbling into the hall. "I have to go—"

Harry was there in an instant. "Hermione, don't—"

"No, Harry—" She was fumbled with her coat, then gave up and tried to get her boots on, but her hands couldn't seem to stop shaking, and she— "I can't do this, I can't—"

"Hermione."

Something in his voice, which was so steady, so calm, made her stop and look at him, and the emotions written across his face rattled her where she stood. Hermione dropped her boot, staring at him, wondering what on earth was going to happen now.

"I can't let you leave," said Harry, looking her right in the eye, "without telling you that these past few weeks with you have been some of the best in my entire life."

You're dreaming, Hermione told herself at once. Wake up.

"And I know," Harry continued, "I know that I have no claim to your time, your friendship, or your life. I know that our past is our past, there's no changing it, and that most of the time, I am not your favorite person, that you find me annoying, that you prefer an empty room to one with me in it, and I know that I have no right to tell you any of this, but…" He shook his head, and something in his gaze glimmered. "Yesterday, and today, I woke up without you, and I hated it more than I've hated almost anything else in my entire life."

Hermione's brain switched off entirely. She tried to think, but nothing happened — all she could feel was something swelling in her chest, beneath her sternum. Something warm and exhilarating and dazzling.

Harry took a step closer, his breath catching. "And I've had enough, I've had enough of not telling you exactly what you mean to me. That you are my favorite person, the only person I can see myself spending the rest of my life with, and when you— when we started— what we were doing, I thought that it was all I would ever get to have with you, and I was happy, I was over the fucking moon, and I thought that when it was all over, we could go back — that I could go back — to what we were before, but I can't, Hermione, I just can't." He sucked in a shaky breath. "I want to be in your life, Hermione, in any way that I can. I'll take whatever you are willing to give me, and if you can't give me anything, then that's that, but I couldn't let another day pass by without telling you. You're it for me. Always have been."

A ringing silence fell, and Hermione could only stare at him, wondering how on earth this was happening, wondering how Harry Potter was telling her— "What do you mean," she murmured. "What do you mean, always?"

He smiled. "Hermione," he said, his voice clear, and steady, and full of so much warmth and love that she could hardly believe it. And then, he turned, pointed his wand at the end of the hallway, and said, "Expecto Patronum."

A shining, brilliant Patronus erupted from the tip of his wand, silvery and bright in the low light of the hall, and, as Hermione watched, a small, male otter leapt into the air, spinning and tumbling around Harry's feet, making the little chattering noises she knew so well.

Tears pricked at Hermione's eyes, and she sucked in a shaky breath, her entire body trembling. "Harry," she managed, her voice cracking. "How long?"

He looked up at her, raw and heated all at once, and said, "Since Australia. Maybe before that, I'm not sure."

Suddenly, with the clarity of a brick hitting the ground, Hermione remembered that night at Hogwarts, when Ron had woken her from a nightmare, telling her that she'd cast a Patronus in her sleep, but— "Why—" To her horror, tears leaked down her cheeks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

A deep, unfiltered anguish crossed his features, and the Patronus vanished into thin air. "Because," he said, his voice thick, "I was an idiot, trying to do what I thought was right. What I thought would make everyone happy. Hermione, I— I didn't expect to survive the war, and I didn't want you to— I thought it was for the best, and then Ginny, and Ron—"

"Don't." She squeezed her eyes shut, sending a fresh wave of tears down her face. Joy, anger, love, and frustration were roiling in her stomach, and as she clenched her fists, the light in the kitchen blew out. "Are you really telling me that we've spent years—?"

Harry nodded, taking a step towards her. "Yes."

"And you married her, even though—?"

"Yes." Another step.

"And all this time, we could've—?"

"Yes." He was so close now, she could almost see her reflection in his glasses.

Hermione stared up at him, hardly able to believe it, then gave him a massive shove, sending him stumbling down the hall. "Harry Potter! I could throttle you!"

He gave her a grin, cheeky and adoring, and said, "Okay."

"I mean it!" she sobbed, then she closed the distance between them and threw herself into his arms.

Harry caught her with a laugh, loud and disbelieving, and she clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder. "I'm getting snot," she hiccupped, "all over your jumper, and it's the least you deserve—"

"Go ahead," he replied, rubbing her back. She buried her face in the thick, warm wool, inhaling the clean, fresh scent that was Harry and Harry alone. "Just so we're clear," he murmured, his mouth barely an inch from her ear, and he pressed a kiss to her neck. "I love you."

Hermione choked on another sob, and fisted her hands in the hem of his jumper. This was it. There was no point in pretending, now. "I love you too, Harry."

She felt the shock pass through his body, and he gripped her even harder. "Well," Harry choked out, "good to know we're on the same page."

A laugh burst out of Hermione, and she couldn't stop, and soon, Harry was laughing as well, their joy ringing through the halls of his little cottage.


"You never told me you could cook," she murmured, kissing the dip between his neck and his clavicle.

Harry hummed, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I made you pancakes, didn't I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and squeezed, delighted by the way he shuddered in reply. "That is not the same thing, Harry. Nor is reheating frozen meals from Waitrose, by the way."

His hand skimmed up her arm, along her shoulder. For a brief moment, his expression deepened into something serious. "It was your space," he said quietly. "I didn't want you to feel like I was… taking over, or proving something—"

Hermione gave a mock gasp and squeezed again. Harry let out a grunt this time. "Harry Potter, is that a comment about my abilities in the kitchen?"

"No," he bit out. "No, you're an excellent cook, a wonderful cook, and remember, I didn't say anything when you burnt that chicken—"

She gave an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose that's true. You do know how to hold your tongue when you need to." To prove it, she leaned in and sucked on said tongue, running her own along Harry's teeth. She sighed into his mouth. "Then again, sometimes you don't."

Harry let out a groan of frustration, bucking into her hand, his breath hot on her cheek. "It's— it's your fault, you always—" Her fingers twisted and his groan deepened. "Ugh— know which buttons to press—"

"Oh, really?" Hermione grazed her mouth along his jaw. "What else is my fault?"

"Fucking— beef stew." His eyes fluttered open in a moment of clarity. "I was going to— come to your house tonight, and give it to you, try and tell you— but no, you had to beat me to it, again, fucking typical—"

Hermione leaned away, staring at him, and her hand stilled. "Harry, were you going to use a vat of beef stew as a courting technique?"

A very telling pause. He blinked at her. "No?"

Hermione bit her lip, swallowing a laugh. "No?"

He relented. "Maybe." He gave her that look, that sheepish, nervous, cheeky look that she loved. "Would it have worked?"

"No," she replied, then kissed him as hard as she could, muffling his chuckle.

When she pulled away, sliding down his body, Harry's breath caught and one of his hands fell to her neck, where he stroked her in just the right place to get her to shudder. He watched, and his gaze darkened. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "Breathtaking."

Flustered, Hermione looked away, and nearly kneed him in the shin.

"I'm not going to stop." He was smiling now. "So get used to it."

Hermione didn't say anything, but settled herself between his legs, twisting her fingers again to watch him shudder. It made his whole body ripple, along with his various scars. She ran her thumb along the pink, puckered line by his left hip and met his gaze. "This was your first visit to Mungo's, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded, and his hand shifted, his fingers stroking the skin behind her ear. "Last month. Ridiculous patrol arrest that went south because I made a stupid mistake and the bugger managed to knife me. Would've been fine—" Hermione balked at that— "but the knife was cursed and the skin started to melt—" He broke off when she licked a line up the crease of his pelvis.

"Stop talking," she breathed against his skin, and he did.

She took his cock in her mouth with one fluid movement, swallowing around the head and moving with him as he bucked. Hermione hummed, sucking from root to tip, and relished the shudder she got in reply. She did it again, then slowly pulled away and kissed his thigh, licking a leisurely, lazy pattern across his skin, squeezing his hips, his bum, holding him close. His hands were all over her, his thumbs playing at the skin of her neck, her jaw, and it almost made her head spin. But she had to focus.

Hermione licked her way back up his cock, taking the shaft in hand and pressing her mouth to the soft, velvety skin, her tongue lapping at the thick, pulsing vein along its underside. She was teasing him, of course, and she kept at it, watching the tension build like a slow-rolling thunderstorm beneath his skin. His hands fell to the sheets, which he twisted and gripped as he moaned. She hummed again, sealing her mouth around the head and tonguing the slit, then had to mask her surprise when actual sparks burst out of Harry's fingers.

Fascinated, Hermione took the rest of his cock in hand and started stroking him in time with the movements of her tongue. Harry's breathing hitched and he pulled the sheets taut, but when no sparks appeared, she raised an eyebrow and pressed the thumb of her free hand to the ridged, soft stretch of skin beneath his balls.

That did the trick. Harry made a noise she'd never heard him make before, and once again, sparks burst out of the ends of his fingers, golden and dazzling in the low light of his bedroom.

Thrilled, Hermione sped up, keeping her mouth loose and her hand tight as she worked him over. She could tell he was close, and within a matter of moments, he gave a full-body shudder and grunted, "Hermione— I'm going to—"

His hips twitched, and with a loud, final grunt, he spilled across her tongue. Hermione swallowed, then licked him clean, pressing a gentle kiss to his inner thigh before she slid back up his body, straddling his thigh and pressing her damp crotch into the tense, warm muscle.

Harry's eyes were closed, his chest was heaving, and there was sweat hazed along his hairline. He looked absolutely gorgeous, utterly at ease. She hummed, wrapping her arms around him, thrilled when he mirrored her, his hands coming to rest on her bum.

"No need to look," he murmured, "quite so pleased with yourself."

"No?" Hermione smiled at him, stroking the line of his shoulder. "I suppose you look pleased enough for the both of us."

"Do I?" Harry cupped her head and pulled her in for a kiss that was all tongues and teeth. Hermione shuddered, rocking against his thigh, and he made a pleased little hum against her mouth. "Sorry," he breathed on her cheek, making her shudder all over again. "Were you saying something?"

"I—I—" She cleared her throat and tried to keep her eyes open. "You— where— how did you learn to cook?"

Harry hummed again, his eyes dark and electric as they skated over her. "I taught myself, using something that I believe you're familiar with." His hands grazed her torso, her belly, and he looked right at her as he thumbed her nipple and said, "Books."

Later, when her body was lax with pleasure, Hermione realized that she'd forgotten to ask him something else. They were spooning, Harry's arm wrapped firmly around her stomach and his hand nestled between her breasts, his mouth tickling the back of her neck. His bed, like her own, was the embodiment of luxury, and they were half-buried in a huge, fluffy down comforter that rivaled even her own. He had a small fire going in the fireplace, and the flickering, golden light cast beautiful shadows across his skin, across the lopsided, beautifully-crafted wooden furniture that filled his snug little bedroom.

"Harry," she whispered, and he kissed her shoulder in reply. "If you… felt that way about me… then why…" Hermione paused to swallow, suddenly becoming much more awake. She stared at the doorknob with enough intensity to make it burst into flame. "Why were we always…?"

There was a bit of a pause. His hand shifted and began stroking her arm. "Fighting?"

Hermione blinked. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that."

Harry grazed a line of kisses along the nape of her neck. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, "I wasn't putting it on… if that's what you're worried about."

Enough of this, she thought, and she rolled over. Harry's eyes were only half-open, but he seemed awake enough as he looked down at her and shifted their position, bringing her flush with his chest. He did it so effortlessly that she almost rolled her eyes. "I suppose I'm comforted by that," she said. "But it always felt… so personal."

Harry frowned a little, the well-worn crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Did it?"

Fuck. "Well… yes."

"We were disagreeing about policy, Hermione, and money, and budgets, and laws. The things that people are meant to disagree about." He watched her take that in, then he added, "I'm sorry… if it ever felt like I didn't respect you."

Hermione nodded, something in her chest giving a weird flutter. "I appreciate that." She thumbed at the lower edge of his ribs, loving that she could touch him like this and not berate herself for it. She didn't have to protect herself, anymore.

Then, to her surprise, Harry shook his head, and the crease between his brows deepened. "No, Hermione, it's—" His hand splayed across her lower back, and it steadied her. "I felt like you were the only person in the whole Ministry who would be honest with me."

Now that— Hermione twitched, wondering if she'd fallen into the Twilight Zone. "Sorry," she managed. "You're going to have to explain—"

"You were the only person who ever pushed back," said Harry. "Everyone else, they fell over themselves trying to do whatever I said, whatever I thought was best, even though I was just a kid, I barely knew right from left and I definitely didn't know how to— I don't know, amend sections thirteen and fourteen of the Annual Tax Act—"

Hermione's brain lit up in spite of herself and she nodded. "In 2008, an annual decrease of 2% to account for the crash, then an increase once the market bounced back, then another increase just two years ago thanks to Brexit and those stupid tariffs we've had to—"

Harry was grinning now. "Thank you for proving my point." His thumb traced an arching, ticklish pattern on her lower back. "You knew everything, and you weren't afraid to give it as good as you got it. And, well." That sheepish, cheeky look again. "I liked helping you show off."

Heat flooded Hermione's face and she swatted at him. "How dare you—" she hissed, hating and loving the way he began to laugh. "Show off— I'll show you—"

He muffled her protests with a kiss, his tongue sweeping a brief, burning line along her lower lip before he pulled away. "Besides," he said. "Sometimes it was a bit fun, winding you up."

Hermione spluttered, her blush deepening.

"See?" Harry teased her, brushing a kiss to her nose. When he pulled away, his expression was surprisingly serious. "Hermione," he said, his voice low, "we can disagree — and we will disagree — but still care about each other." Another kiss to her nose. "All that matters is that we agree on the important things."

In spite of herself, she snorted. "Oh, sure, because budget lines aren't important—"

Harry cracked then, grinning again before he brought his mouth to hers. All he really managed to kiss were her teeth, but he didn't seem to mind. "You know what I meant, smart-arse."

Hermione faked a sigh, pulling him even closer. "I suppose I did." She kissed his chin, his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

"And now that I've come clean about the beef stew," he said, kissing her chin in return, "I can apologize for running out of the ward like that without saying goodbye. They told me Teddy was at reception threatening disembowelment to anyone who didn't let him through to see me. By the time I got him calmed down and in a slightly more reasonable mood, you'd left." The corner of his mouth twitched. "And you stole my cheeseburger idea."

Hermione smiled demurely in return. "Well, it is a wonderful idea, Harry." She passed another round of kisses over his face. "So I push back, do I?"

Harry groaned, squeezing her close. "I had a feeling I'd regret telling you that."

A laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. "I didn't know you liked it—"

"I do," he grinned, gently smacking her bum. "You keep me on my toes. Need I remind you about the telling-off you gave me for my wardrobe choices?"

A blush surged up her neck. She felt quite embarrassed about that now — that was an overreaction, in hindsight. "Harry, I should really apologize—"

"Don't you dare." He kissed her nose. "I honestly hadn't realized how lax I'd gotten until you pointed it out." Something in his gaze shifted, getting a little darker, a little more inward. "I was sort of… in a rut, I suppose. But you were right, I need to set a better example." Another gentle smack. "You're the only one who treats me the same as everyone else, and I love it."

Hermione bit her lip. "And, well…" Not point in lying now. "Harry, you do look very good in a suit."

His mouth fell open in a mocking gasp, his expression glowing with delight. "Breaking news! The Minister for Magic had an ulterior motive! She didn't care about regulations, she just wanted a piece of eye candy—"

She launched herself at him, pinning him to the pillows and licking into his mouth, swallowing his laughter.

A few lovely, quiet moments passed like that. Then Hermione pulled away and just looked at him, thrilled that she could, and eventually, Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You've got that face on," he said, his hand tracing a line from the back of her thigh all the way to her shoulder. It felt wonderful. "Come on, what is it?

"I just—" She bit her lip. "I have so many questions—"

Harry chuckled. "I'm sure you do. Is there any chance that they can wait until morning?"

Now that— Hermione blinked. "Morning?"

Something in his face flickered. "You are staying, aren't you?"

She blinked some more. "Sure, I guess I—"

"Oh, the cats—"

"The cats have plenty of food and two new toys, they'll be fine." She frowned. "But what about Teddy?"

As if on cue, there was a grinding noise, followed by a loud thump out in the hall, then a muffled curse. Hermione sat up, heart in her throat, immediately cataloguing where her wand was — her jeans, on the floor — and how close she was to the exit—

Harry's hand on her back, rubbing a soothing circle. "It's the man himself," he assured her, his voice low. "We have this… I don't know, I guess you could call it a game. Whenever he goes out, he has to try to sneak in without me knowing. I get double points for catching him within the first thirty seconds. And it sounds like—" He cocked his head to one side, listening. "He used the window above the stairs. Bit of a risky move, I didn't even know that window could open."

Hermione just stared at him. "You two are insane."

"Yes." Harry sat up and kissed her shoulder, then gave her a look that was entirely unfair. "He adores you, you know. Has done since he was little."

Hermione blushed, lying back down and cuddling into his arms. "You exaggerate."

"No, I don't. He was always asking after you, even when he was at Hogwarts."

She had no idea what to do with this information. "And… I'm assuming he knows about… well, about—"

Harry flashed her a smile. "About us?"

"Well… yes."

"He caught on pretty quickly after I brought you up about eight times in the same conversation over dinner, and that was when he was ten years old. He's sort of… embarrassingly happy about this."

Her blush deepened. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, and he promises to behave." He gave her another look, this one deeper, more searching. "Hermione, I know you have questions. For now, does it help if I say that… anything you want, I'm there?" When she frowned, he added, "If you just want me to take you on dimly-lit romantic dates once a week for the next five years, I'm there. If you want me to march down to the district office first thing tomorrow and get a marriage license, I'm there. If you want me to go buy a minivan, drive to the nearest orphanage, adopt the first five children we see, then quit my job and spend my time running around after them, I'm there. If you want to sneak away to Iceland together and get to the bottom of those halibut conspiracies, I'm there." He looked at her some more, apparently oblivious to the way her heart was bursting out of her chest. "Does that help?"

"Yes," she managed to breathe. "It does."

He smiled, so warm and so sincere that for a second, she thought she might die. "So. Are you staying? I'll make pancakes."

Hermione looked back at him, and a fresh wave of love crested in her chest. She let herself feel it, feel all of it, and it was wonderful. "Yes. I'm staying."


Waking up in Harry's arms was nothing short of bliss. She woke slowly, cocooned in the warmth of the duvet, loving the way their legs were tangled, the way his mouth brushed the back of her head. He felt exquisite, and it took a lot of convincing — on his part — to get her out of bed.

"Come on," he murmured against her shoulder. "We'll have plenty of time to do this later, I promise. You can keep me in bed for as long as you like, but first—"

She kissed him thoroughly, raking her hands through his disastrous hair. "I intend to hold you to that promise, Mr. Potter."

Breakfast was a cozy, delightful affair, especially once Teddy appeared, dressed and bashful and grinning in the morning light. He joined Hermione at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, and soon, she was hearing all about his year in South Africa.

"—then he erupted into these bright purple boils, and he stripped down to his pants and ran out onto the street. It took three of us to catch him and get him to hospital." Teddy shook his head with a laugh. "Just another typical day at the office." He checked his watch. "Speaking of the office, I have to check in—"

"Go." Harry was smiling, sitting back in his chair, his hand resting on Hermione's lower back. "The pubs will still be here when you get back."

Teddy put a hand to his chest, wincing. "You wound me, Harry." But then he winked at Hermione. "He likes the pubs just as much as I do."

In a flash, Harry had a Prophet in hand and he chucked it at his godson, who ducked, grinning. "On that lovely note," said Teddy, swooping in to catch Hermione in a hug that surprised and delighted her. "It's been wonderful to see you, Hermione."

"You, too." She hugged him back, still astonished by how much he'd grown. When he left with a final, jolly wave, she waited until she heard the front door close to turn to Harry and say, "He's wonderful, Harry. You did an amazing job."

Harry ducked his chin, smiling. "It wasn't all me. Andromeda was a force to be reckoned with. And Teddy is quite the master of his own fate."

Hermione nodded, reaching for his hand. "I see… so much of—"

"I know." Harry squeezed her hand in reply. "Me too."

They were silent for a moment, letting their shared grief hang in the air. Then, Harry stood up, Vanished his conjured chair, and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. "So," he said, leaning against the counter, looking ruffled and gorgeous in the morning light, "I believe you had some questions for me."

Hermione sat up a little, rubbing a warming charm into her own mug of coffee. "Yes. If that's all right."

His smile was easy. "Of course."

She looked right at him, and his face was so open that— "Why did you marry her?"

Harry blinked, almost as if he were surprised. "I… thought I was in love. And maybe I was, for a while." He shook his head. "It was my first relationship, and I had nothing to compare it to. I had no way of seeing the flaws and the differences between us until it was too late. And she expected so much of me, there were so many things she wanted, and—" He broke off, and she saw some of that old, unfettered anguish rise to the surface. "Hermione, I— I was so lost, after the war. Living felt like a waking nightmare, like I was swimming through a life that wasn't even mine. I barely knew what I wanted, and it was easier, so much easier, to let other people decide for me." He gave a dry laugh. "And even when I figured out what I did want, there was always something else, someone else, pushing me in the opposite direction."

Something welled inside her, catching in her throat. She remembered the look on his face when Ginny announced that the Harpies wanted her to join the team, the way he'd shut down, his face empty and tired. "Harry—"

He waved a dismissive hand, taking a sip of coffee. "It was a long time ago."

She swallowed. "Were you happy?"

"Sometimes. It wasn't like I was living in some Greek tragedy. There were things I learned to enjoy again, to be content with, but—" He shook his head. "We wanted different things, had different priorities. Ginny didn't want to be a mother at the ripe old age of twenty-one, and she never admitted it, but she never really understood why Teddy was such a central part of my life. She wanted our marriage to be about just me and her, when that was never a possibility. She didn't like…" He gave a rueful smile. "She didn't like sharing me."

Hermione swallowed again. She couldn't seem to get the lump out of her throat.

"So we got into fights, which was inevitable, I guess, and things got harder and harder, and she ended up taking that training session in Germany. That was sort of the nail in the coffin, but if I'm being honest, things were falling apart long before that. Once Teddy went off to Hogwarts and—" he did that dry chuckle again— "half my world went on hold, she seemed to think that was the best time to, well." Harry shrugged, then glanced at her, wincing. "I never apologized, did I, for coming up to you at the pub like that?"

A prickle of something went down Hermione's spine and she shook her head. "It's all right, just forget it—"

"No." Harry took Teddy's abandoned seat across from her at the table, and he looked her right in the eye. "I was being an arse. To me, I hadn't been in a relationship, hadn't been in love, for a very long time, but I know that that wasn't how it looked… to other people. I should've been more considerate, and I shouldn't have been such a jealous prick."

Hermione smiled and took his hand. "Well, at least we can agree on that."

Harry grinned, and for a moment, he didn't look a day older than eighteen. Then, his face softened, and he said, "Can I ask… about you?"

For a moment, she was too surprised to react. "Yes, I mean— of course—"

"Theo," he said, and just for a second, there was a flare of heat in his eyes. "What happened there? You two seemed—"

"He was offered his dream job," said Hermione, and as the memories overtook her, she didn't feel an ounce of regret. "And I was within spitting distance of mine. It was the classic careers-come-first. It hurt, but…" She shrugged. "I got over it."

"Okay." Harry stroked a circle on the back of her hand. "Dare I ask about—?"

She groaned, slumping over her demolished plate of pancakes. "The waste of space? Let's not and say we did. The point is, he's so far out of the picture he's basically in another dimension."

Harry grinned again. "Not that I'm unhappy to hear it, but… Did you end it?"

"No," said Hermione, and nodded when Harry showed his surprise. "I know. Not what you expected. He actually ended it. Said I'd changed, and he didn't like what I was changing into."

"Changed? Changed how?"

Well, there was no beating about this bush. "It was the height of my campaign, and I was really getting the hang of the Wizengamot. I was learning the political ropes, and, to use his words, he didn't like being attached to someone who was apparently ruthless, petty, and self-absorbed."

Harry gave her a knowing look. "Someone with far more power than him, you mean."

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Verity said something along those lines, too."

"Good," said Harry at once. "We'll have to have her over for dinner, I like someone who agrees with me without knowing it."

Hermione chuckled, squeezing his hand. "She'd love that." She looked at him some more. "Harry, do you regret it? Staying at the Ministry? I know it wasn't your first choice, wasn't really what you wanted to do…"

He seemed to roll this through his mind. "No," he said. "But that wasn't how I always felt. Obviously, it's a difficult job, and it comes with its own battles, its own weight. There were plenty of times I considered giving up, but…" He shook his head. "I got to see Teddy go to Hogwarts. I got to see Ron's children grow up. I had a front-row seat to the reign of the youngest Muggle-born on the Wizengamot, then her election to the seat of Minister." He offered her a crooked smile. "I liked staying close to you, Hermione. That shouldn't come as a surprise."

She had to catch her breath a little. "So if you could do… something else…"

"I want to teach," Harry said at once. "I have done, for a long time, it just took me a while to figure it out. But I'm not in any hurry." His gaze softened. "I don't plan on leaving my Minister high and dry. Where she goes, I go."

Her throat thick, Hermione could only nod and squeeze his hand.

They were quiet for a few moments, the only sounds coming from the little clock on the windowsill, the birds chirping in the sunny garden, the hum of the refrigerator. It was Harry who broke the silence first.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I'm sorry it took us so long to get here. It's my fault."

Hermione shook her head. "Maybe, but it was a little bit my fault, too. I knew what I wanted, but…" She gave a rueful sigh. "I was afraid to admit it, and I was afraid to go out and get it on my own."

Harry nodded, then smiled in such a small, delightful way. "It's hard to imagine you being afraid of anything."

She smiled back. "I'm not, anymore."

"Yeah, I noticed." He tapped her hand, then leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of coffee. "So, Granger. What's next?"