Chapter 9

A couple of hours after Hermione left Harry in his kitchen following their talk, they had collectively gotten the boys dressed and ready for the day when Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin arrived to help prepare for the party. Harry had gathered some people who wouldn't feel caught in the middle between him and the Weasley family when he asked them to help him out with the party, and Andromeda and Hermione's parents were the most obvious candidates. Kingsley didn't accompany Andromeda because the two of them were still pretending they weren't in a relationship. Hermione had been rolling her eyes over their attitude for years. But she suddenly felt sympathetic to their situation in a way she never had before. Things weren't always black and white. Disclosing a relationship wasn't always that easy.

So, Hermione kept her comments to herself when Andromeda stayed with the kids while Harry and Hermione left to escort her parents to Grimmauld Place via side-along apparition. They lived within fairly easy driving distance but used magical transportation when possible as traffic and parking made taking a car rather miserable.

When the four of them arrived back at Harry's they made their way to the kitchen where Andromeda was doing prep work for the food that would be served at the party. Hermione had felt trepidation about the look on her mother's face from the moment she set eyes on her. Her fears were confirmed the second her mother opened her mouth once she was inside the heart of Grimmauld Place.

"So," Helen Granger began when they were all gathered in the kitchen, "do you have something you'd like to tell us, Hermione?" She asked with exaggerated cheer.

Hermione suddenly felt a strong foreboding and she automatically looked at Harry, who just shrugged his shoulders. Nothing else had changed in her life, but she couldn't see how her parents could possibly know about the blond- no, the blonds- who were creating such a welcome but unexpected upheaval in her world.

"I don't think so, Mum. Why do you ask?" She replied carefully, innocently.

"Well, we were at the club last night and Courtney was there. She mentioned that she saw you having lunch at Le Dauphin yesterday and that you were canoodling with a boy she described to be a- what did she call him again, Richard?"

"A pretentious prick," Richard Granger responded immediately.

They both looked at Hermione expectantly. She sighed, feeling truly aggrieved. She'd somehow forgotten about her parents' stupid country club and how they ate there almost every Friday night with the Bronsons. She wasn't surprised Courtney had tagged along to essentially tattle on her. She could see Harry shaking with silent laughter out of the corner of her eye at that description of Draco. Andromeda appeared mildly curious. Hermione wanted to groan out loud, she was quite close to the older witch, considering she was Andromeda's grandson's godmother, but Draco was Andromeda's nephew, for Merlin's sake, could this get more awkward?

"Okay, first of all Mother, I am 27 years old, he is not a boy. Second, there is no way she used the word 'canoodling.' Who says that? Third, did she bother to mention that this man is so gorgeous that she couldn't keep her eyes off of him, and I'm quite certain she wouldn't have cared how arrogant he was if he'd been giving her the kind of attention he was giving me? And finally, isn't it just convenient that she happened to come to the club the same day she ran into me?" She spat.

Both Richard and Helen looked taken aback by the ferocity of their daughter's response.

"We were just teasing you love," Helen said gently. "We know to take what Courtney says with a grain of salt when it comes to you. But there is a man?"

Hermione plopped down at the kitchen table and buried her face in her hands.

"Merlin, this is so embarrassing," she bemoaned, her words muffled by her hands. "Yes, there is a man. Or, at least, I had lunch with a man yesterday. I don't know if there is a man in the sense that you're suggesting."

"What do you mean?" Her mother prodded.

"I'm not sure if we're dating or not, we haven't talked about it," she admitted.

"But you were," there was a dramatic pause, "canoodling?" She could hear the humor in her mother's voice.

"No! Seriously, who says that? But we weren't, I mean, we were sitting close and he had his arm around me and he was, um, playing with my hair, but it's not like we were snogging in the middle of the restaurant!" She said very quickly, stumbling through the words, her voice abnormally high by the time she finished.

She squinted her eyes shut for a few moments, knowing how telling her reaction would be to her parents, and probably to Harry and Andromeda as well. She was really just coming to terms with it herself. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes it was to see her parents looking at each other knowingly and she had the childish urge to stomp her feet.

"I didn't think you were, dear. So, this man that you were sitting close to in a romantic French bistro. You say he's gorgeous?" Helen continued to press.

"Unbelievably so," she blurted out.

What was the matter with her? She could practically feel the amusement of the people in the room ratcheting up several notches.

"Ugh!" Groaned Harry in disgust, "I can't believe you think that! He looks way too much like his father!"

"Yeah well," she snorted, "his father may be a terrible human being, but he's a good looking wizard- awful hairstyles aside."

When her brain caught up with her mouth she removed her hands from her face, sat up straight and looked at Harry in horror. His expression matched hers.

"Oh Godric, I can't believe I just thought that, much less said it out loud. Can we forget it ever happened?"

"Already done," he responded, eyes still wide with disbelief.

"You knew about this, Harry?" Helen asked curiously, eyes drifting between Hermione and her best friend.

He turned to her and his expression turned to one of mischievous glee. Hermione was reminded of his late godfather and had a nearly irresistible urge to hide her head in her hands again.

"Oh yes, I even had dinner with them last Saturday. He's had her all atwitter for a week!" He told her eagerly.

"I am not atwitter!" She protested, she could feel her cheeks heating.

"Riiiight," he said sarcastically, "so you didn't practically have a nervous breakdown right there," he pointed to a spot across the kitchen, "when he sent you flowers on Tuesday?"

She cringed and he turned to Andromeda.

"Is it possible that a pureblood would use flowers to send a message to a woman he was interested in?"

She would have shrieked in indignation at Harry's big mouth if she hadn't been so curious about Andromeda's answer.

"In the more traditional families it would not only be possible, but likely," Andromeda responded.

"Traditional families? A family like, oh, I don't know… yours?"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, thinking he'd now gone too far.

"What? You thought they weren't going to ask who he was?" He pointed out sensibly.

"We're talking about Draco?" Andromeda asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," she admitted quietly.

"May I ask the contents of the bouquet?" She asked with carefully detached curiosity.

Merlin, but Slytherins were hard to read. It made it all the more confusing that Draco had been so transparent with her. She wasn't sure if she could trust it, trust him and his motives.

"Purple irises and white calla lilies," she answered hesitantly.

Andromeda actually looked surprised by this revelation. "That's quite an expression of admiration," she said, with what sounded like approval.

Harry shot Hermione a look of triumph. "Tell her about the ones he sent this morning," he urged.

"He sent another, in under a week?" Andromeda asked, and now she sounded downright disbelieving.

Hermione just nodded in response.

"Well?" the other woman prompted.

Hermione hesitated and realized that she was terrified that Andromeda was about to throw a bucket of cold water on her hopes. "Pink roses, lily of the valley, and purple violets," she said in a small voice.

There was a long pause, Hermione physically braced herself and avoided the older witch's eyes. Andromeda reached out and placed a hand over one of Hermione's, she was smiling gently, and her eyes drifted to the flower in the younger witch's hair.

"Hermione, he may not have spoken the words out loud, but in his social circle that is a clear declaration of intent, he's serious about you."

"Are you sure?" She asked desperately, "maybe he thought I wouldn't understand because I'm muggle born and would just think they were pretty. I mean, what about his parents? There's no way they would approve."

Andromeda was shaking her head even while Hermione was still talking. "He wouldn't have taken that risk. And honestly, I'm not sure it would have occurred to him that there was a chance you wouldn't understand, given how these courtship rituals would have been drilled into his head. As for his parents, well, you're right about Lucius, but Draco would know that he was doing this despite his father's opinion and has obviously decided to proceed anyway. Narcissa might actually learn to accept it."

"Really?" One could forgive her for being dubious, but if anybody would know the truth, it would probably be Andromeda.

A few years before, Narcissa Malfoy had reached out to her only living sister and they had been slowly rebuilding their relationship. But Hermione knew that accepting a sister who had married a muggle born was entirely different from accepting the idea of your son being in a relationship with one, it was much more of a stretch. It meant possible half-blood grandchildren, the first half-blood Malfoys ever.

"Draco's happiness is her first priority. If she saw that you made him happy I think it's possible that she could grow to… live with the fact that you're not a pureblood. It helps that-" she cut herself off, but Hermione could already guess what she was going to say.

"It helps that he already has a pureblood heir," she provided derisively.

Andromeda merely looked at her apologetically.

"No matter that the child's mother wants nothing to do with him, as long as she comes from the right kind of family and the bloodline is secure!" She raved sarcastically.

She winced at the bitter sound of her own voice as she finished her little diatribe. It had been a long time since she'd gotten so worked up over the subject of blood prejudice, but the more she talked about Draco the more she realized that things were going really well with him, even if it had only been a week, and she should be allowed to be excited about it. Instead, she was worrying about the same stupid bigotry she'd been fighting since she found out she was a witch. It was exhausting.

"Woah, woah, woah," her father cut in, "I'm getting more than a little concerned here. We're talking about a boy who not only bullied you, but actually fought in a war against you, correct? You admit that his father is a terrible person. And he's already done something to make Courtney think that he's an arrogant jerk. Now you're telling me he has a child? That's a lot of baggage to go into a relationship with."

Hermione felt her temper flare and then snap, she spun around on the bench to face her father completely and pointed an accusing finger in his direction.

"First of all, Scorpius is not baggage. He is a sweet, beautiful, perfect baby; it would be my privilege if Draco allows me to help raise him. Second, the past is the past, we can't change it but he was a child. Hell, I was a child. It would be hypocritical of me to refuse to forgive him when I literally fought a war for a peaceful tolerant world. If you had raised me to be a bigoted bully then I would have been, that's what happened to him. But he learned from his mistakes and I, for one, think that's extremely admirable. And finally, the reason Courtney has such a low opinion of him is because he defended me when she was, as usual, looking down her nose at me. And yes, he was a snob about it, but he stood up for me, and do you know what?" She paused theatrically. "It felt really, really good."

As soon as she stopped talking, or more appropriately, yelling, and looked at her father's stunned face she knew she'd been too harsh and felt immediate remorse.

"Okay," said Harry, cutting through the uncomfortable silence, "I guess he's not the only one who has it bad."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, calming breath."I'm sorry Dad," she said quietly.

Her father took a deep breath. "No, no I'm glad to see you seem to have thought this through, at least. And I'm glad this boy stood up for you. I'm still concerned, but I'll reserve judgement," he said with a small, conciliatory smile, while leaning down to give her a hug.

"Man," she corrected with a smirk, once they'd separated, "your little girl has grown up, deal with it," she poked at him playfully.

He bent over again and kissed her on the forehead. "Ok," he said, taking another deep breath, "I know you could do it with magic, but is there some heavy lifting I could do to take my mind off of my little girl gushing over some boy?" He asked Harry.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

"We can start setting up out back," Harry answered.

They left the kitchen, taking the boys into the garden with them. Helen turned and looked at her daughter, grinning. Hermione wondered absently if she was going to start jumping up and down like an excited child.

"Tell me everything," she demanded and the three women talked until guests began to arrive.

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The party turned out to be as awkward as Hermione had feared it would be. Thank Merlin for the children. And George Weasley, though he was basically a child himself, so perhaps it was the same thing. But he kept everybody distracted and even laughing with his antics.

Hermione and George had gotten quite close after the war. By the time she'd brought her parents back from Australia she had accepted the fact that she needed a therapist. There was no such thing in the wizarding world, but when she told her parents about what she'd been through, and they realized that she was also having regular nightmares and occasional waking flashbacks, they suggested finding a professional that she could talk to. It was tricky, but after a couple of months of research they found the sibling of a muggle born who was a psychiatrist. None of the Weasleys, not even Arthur, would consider the idea of therapy- though she thought it would do all of them good- it was just too alien to their world. They thought it was muggle nonsense. If magic couldn't help them, nothing could. Harry was always reticent to open himself up to a new person, and the idea of talking to a stranger about the horrors of his past absolutely mortified him, and so she had no more luck convincing him to give it a try, despite his muggle upbringing.

So, she attended her sessions and quietly made progress, meanwhile she watched as George slowly fell apart over the course of the next year, unable to cope with the loss of the person who had been the other half of himself. He and Fred had loved life more than any two people she'd ever met, and so it was especially heartbreaking to see George so lifeless; Fred might have been gone, but she simply couldn't stand by and watch when she had something that she truly believed could help his twin. She thought Fred would have approved of the scheme she hatched. He would have done anything for his brother. Which is how she justified tricking George into coming to one of her sessions, they'd pulled worse pranks on her, after all.

She just let him observe with no pressure to participate. Though he had been furious at first, he had stayed, and then he'd asked if he could come along again. After a couple more sessions he'd made an appointment for himself. And then he'd come back to life.

He was the only wizard with whom she could really talk about the war because he had learned, through their shared psychiatrist, the value of talking things out. As a result they formed an invaluable bond. He credited her with saving his life and wouldn't hear a word spoken against her. He was almost as protective of her as Harry was, and when it came to his family he was even more so, because he had no qualms about standing up to them which was much more difficult for Harry.

So, when Ron decided to take advantage of his own nephew's birthday party to twist the knife that was his history with Hermione in a bit further, George was there for her.

"We have an announcement to make!" Ron yelled after they'd all gathered around to sing to Albus.

The group quieted and turned to look at him. He wrapped an arm around his wife's waist and looked at her adoringly. Hermione might have been biased, but she thought it was a little over the top, like they were putting on a show.

"As it turns out, this branch of the Weasley family is growing another twig, who will arrive in about six months. We're having another baby!"

He kissed Lavender passionately and this time Hermione was sure it was for show. Not to mention that metaphor: branch, twig- what a ridiculous thing to say! That didn't keep her chest from burning, or from having to blink rapidly to fight back her tears. Suddenly, a hand was clamped around her upper arm and somebody was issuing directions into her ear.

"Do not let them see you flinch," George ordered, "that little piece of theatre was designed to hurt you and we both know it, don't give them the satisfaction."

She nodded rapidly and stood stoically as everybody issued their congratulations while George remained steady and silent at her side. It was bad enough that Ron had cheated on her, that he'd gotten Lavender pregnant the first time when they hadn't even been trying, but she thought the way he was rubbing her face in it all by the way he'd just announced the coming arrival was nigh near unforgivable.

The entire Weasley family got together at least once a week. He easily could have chosen a time when she wasn't present to make the announcement, but instead he'd decided to publicly remind her of all that he had that she might never be able to obtain. She'd trusted him and he was torturing her.

In the aftermath of the war she'd found out that, due to the injuries she suffered, she might never be able to conceive or carry a child to term. All that the healers had been able to tell her was that they wouldn't know until she tried, though their doubt about her eventual success had been obvious. There was scarring on her uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovaries; the reproductive organs were a fragile system and had been heavily damaged as a result of Bellatrix Lestrange's curse.

But few people survived that level of exposure to the curse and so the healers could only guess as to how her body would respond in the long term. And that was all on top of the damage that had already been inflicted on her body by the slashing curse that had hit her during the battle in the Department of Mysteries.

The healers suggested that she try having children as soon as possible, believing the damage would worsen with age as the scar tissue thickened. Ron had taken it as a personal affront when she wouldn't marry him and try for children immediately. But back then they hadn't finished their educations, didn't have careers, and despite their fame, they had been far from financially independent.

And then there was the fact that their world had still been deep in the recovery period from the war. Hermione hadn't been ready to commit her life to Ron, much less bring another person into the world with him. It was very high on the list of sins she knew he believed that she had committed against him, but she was more and more surprised by how much he was willing to punish her for them. Especially considering that she thought it was now quite obvious that, had they married, they would have made each other miserable and that, in the end, she'd done them both a favor by putting him off, inadvertent though it had been.

She was finally able to slip away to the library without being obvious and George tracked her down, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and sat with her in silent support.

"My brother is a git," he eventually said.

She chuckled. "It's not like that's anything new," she reminded him quietly.

"No, but that was worse than Percy at his prattiest," he sounded disgusted.

"It's not your fault," she soothed.

He took a deep breath. "I'm still sorry," he said solemnly.

She shrugged. "Thank you for talking me down."

He snorted and she felt him shrug in return. "You had it under control, I just wanted to remind you."

She turned in the crook of his arm, wrapped her own arms around his waist, and squeezed. It was the best thanks she felt capable of giving him at the moment. "It's good to have you in my corner," she admitted, a little guiltily for being glad that he was taking her side against his own brother.

"Muggle expression?" He asked with a crooked grin.

"Haha, yeah," she grinned. Even after all this time she sometimes forgot to temper her speech to her audience, "it means that you have my back, that you're on my team. It has to do with boxing."

He nodded thoughtfully. They sat in silence for a long time.

"You'll be a good mum, when the time comes," he finally told her.

"I appreciate the sentiment, George, but I have to accept that it may never happen for me."

"No," he disagreed, shaking his head vehemently, "the war took enough from us, it doesn't get this too," he said in a tone that brokered no argument.

Still, she tried to tell him that it didn't work like that, that life didn't dole out punishments and rewards in a predictable manner. But then she thought about a towheaded baby who could use a mother and about the way his father had wondered- almost wistfully, the night before- about what it would be like to have a partner to parent with, and about what she'd said earlier to her father. How privileged she would feel to help raise Scorpius. She was falling for the little boy as surely as she was falling for Draco. Maybe Scorpius was her shot. She was probably getting way ahead of herself but she already felt, not just protective, but almost possessive of him. She really needed to talk to Draco.

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She had dinner with Hannah and Susan and then they went out for drinks. She had fun, but she knew that they could tell she was distracted. She was just happy they didn't push the issue, she was well aware that she could trust them to keep her secrets, but she just didn't have the emotional fortitude to explain herself. So, after a nice, but slightly tense evening, she returned home to find Harry stretched out on her sofa watching the telly.

"You and Neville finished up early," she commented.

"Are you really surprised? Neville and I aren't exactly partiers," he flashed her a smile.

"I suppose not," she chuckled. "What are you doing here?"

His face softened. "I thought maybe you could use the company."

She wondered to herself when Harry had become so sensitive. His perceptiveness still sometimes gave her emotional whiplash, he had been such a clueless teenager.

"I could," she conceded, she plopped down on the couch at his feet; when he scooted back to make room, she lay down alongside him, and rested her head on his chest. "Thank you for being here," she whispered.

"Always," he swore gruffly.

Hermione squeezed her eyes closed forcefully in an attempt to shield herself from the emotional avalanche. She knew what that single word meant to him. What he was offering her with it. She could never ask for a better friend. She also knew he would not appreciate her verbal thanks.

They just lay there in companionable silence, Hermione blocked out the sounds from the television and just concentrated on the reassuring beat of Harry's heart. They fell asleep at some point and Hermione woke in the middle of the night with a crick in her neck. She shook Harry awake, shuffled him into the guest room, and retired to her own bed.