It was after midnight when Harry and Ron stepped through the floo into the living room. Harry had convinced Ron to join some of their old friends from the auror department for a drink after work, and their night at the pub had gone later than expected. Ginny was on a business trip covering quidditch for the Daily Prophet, and Lily was staying at The Burrow with her grandparents. Harry had originally planned to be home alone, but Ron had convinced him to sleep at their place after staying so late at the pub.

Ron was hanging up his cloak and realized Harry was watching Hermione with a silent laugh.

"She certainly looks like her old self, doesn't she?" he whispered, gesturing at Hermione who had fallen asleep on the sofa surrounded with parchment, quill still in hand. "How many nights did we find her in this state in the Gryffindor Common Room?"

Ron smiled, thinking of some of the nights when he'd found her this way and then simply sat in the chair next to her to watch her sleep. He'd been entranced by this witch for as long as he could remember.

"It's been great to see her get so excited about something again."

"Even if it means we each have to write a children's book?" Harry quipped.

"Well, it's not like nothing interesting has ever happened to you."

"Who wants to read about growing up living under the stairs?"

"Have you not paid attention to any of those muggle Disney movies? They always start with killing off at least one if not both of the parents. Even old muggle books seem to start that way. Who was that one Hermione said they made a musical about? Oscar Trist?"

"Oliver Twist. Blimey. Can you imagine a musical number about Dudley and Uncle Vernon?"

"OK. Maybe not the winning angle. But you could easily write something about a kind giant on a motorbike rescuing a little boy from a mean uncle."

"I know. And she's right. We need more magical children's books."

"Just wait til the books are written. Then she'll start hitting you up for help on the library."

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. And it will be another brilliant plan, but it will absolutely be a pain in both of our arses to get it open."

"Who else has she hit up for books?"

"Well, let's see. Ginny's doing the one on the flying princess. Charlie is doing a whole series on dragons. Luna is doing something on creatures that may or may not be real. Neville is writing one about a boy who loves plants – not quite sure how exciting that one will be actually. Mum is doing one about a little girl who learns to knit with her grandmother's magic knitting needles. Dad is doing one on a little boy who grows up with a muggle neighbor and the boy always sneaks off to the muggle's shed."

"A real stretch, that one."

Ron snickered. "None of them are farfetched. That's what's so funny. Hermione has said they can all write under fake names if they want. Fleur is writing one about a veela and a werewolf, and she's even roped McGonagall into doing a series about a magical cat who transfigures all these different things."

"Fun. I mean, the kids would have loved all of those growing up. But, it's still only a dozen or so books. Going to take a lot more than that to fill even a second aisle at Flourish & Botts."

"I know. And it will take a while. But, she is on a mission, and you bloody well know she will get it done, right?"

"Oh, I know. And, I have to admit. I like this mission better than the house elf hats or the horcruxes. What do the kids think of it?"

"Hard to know, really. They haven't been home since she started in on it all. I know Hermione's mentioned it a bit in her letters to them, but I would assume Hugo has ignored that completely, and Rose thought it was mildly interesting, but didn't get how it has taken over the living room."

"Well, they'll be home next week for Christmas, so time will tell soon enough I suppose."

"I am sure she will have our kids and yours all writing books over the holidays. Like a little literary sweat shop or something."

"Brilliant."

"I love it. The spark is back in her eyes, you know? She is up before her alarm again, and rushes off to work to knock out what she calls the 'paying work' before lunch, and then devotes the rest of her time to either writing or pestering other people to write or publish these books. And she's already picked out the perfect spot in Diagon Alley for the library. It's not too big of a place, but it'll be on the floo network so people can get there from all of the little magical towns. She's convinced George and some of the other shop owners to pitch in, arguing that bringing more families with young kids in on a regular basis will help grow business. The restaurants are especially excited about it. She's talking to them about giving coupons for 'free ice cream with proof of reading 10 books at the library' or something like that. Really cool stuff."

"As interesting as children's books may be, I am quite tipsy and am going to bed. Can I assume the guest bed hasn't been turned into a library quite yet?"

"Well, it wasn't as of this morning, but I would never bet against her. If it's covered in stuff, just move it to the floor. Night, Harry."

Harry nodded and made his way up the stairs to the guest room. Ron looked back down at Hermione, slowly taking the quill from her hand. He then took the stack of parchment she had been working on and went to put in on the end table. The picture Hermione had sketched above the little story caught his eye, and he realized she was writing a children's book about that baby wren who couldn't get off the porch. But this time, the story wasn't about how scared, sad or frustrated the little bird was. The story was about how grateful the little bird was for her best friend, who came back and showed her how to get off the porch and then about the fun adventures they went on together once they were out in the world.

Ron sat back on his heels as he read the story again. He still never ceased to be amazed by how much Hermione loved him. He knew they were an amazing team, and he loved her with every ounce of his being. But, somehow it had never been easy for him to truly believe she chose him.

He glanced up from the parchment to study her face. She was so stunningly gorgeous, but she never believed him when he told her so. The mass of curls hadn't tamed with age, but there were a few more grey curls than there used to be. There were more lines as well, just as there were on his face. But hers weren't spoiled with freckles. He leaned down to kiss her softly, and she stirred, but didn't wake. Chuckling to himself, he scooped her up in his arms as he'd done many times, and carried her up to their bed.

As he crawled into bed next to her, he thought of what his twelve year old self might think. Here he was, once again with Harry and Hermione. She had come up with another cockamamie plan, and they would both do anything they could to see it through for her. The three of them had so many adventures under their belts, and they weren't even forty yet. While he thought they'd done pretty well adjusting to this empty nest, he realized that it was just as much about them getting out of the nest to have more of their own adventures as launching their kids. And he couldn't wait to read the stories she'd make them write about the adventures yet to come.