Getting Old by DonovanPotter

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 26/10/2007
Last Updated: 26/10/2007
Status: Completed

It's Harry's birthday, but a friendly two-on-two Quidditch match didn't go quite to
plan. Harry starts reflecting on his life and what the future may hold. Totally ignores
epilogue.




1. Growing Old
--------------

**A/N – I know, two posts in one day! This one is just a one off and had been knocking around
in my head for a little while. I’ve just recently reached the forty milestone so I thought – why
not have Harry get there too! Hope you enjoy.**

*That hurt,* Harry thought with a grimace as he lay on his back, looking at the cloudless
blue sky.

He tested each limb in turn to see what hurt the most, crying out in pain when he tried his
right ankle, but thankful that a broken ankle seemed the only injury from his fall from the
skies.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

The familiar face of Ron came into view, and together they got Harry into a sitting
position.

“I’m too old for this,” he groaned, leaning back on his arms – Ron just chuckled.

“Bet you got the snitch though,” he said – Harry just replied by releasing the tiny, fluttering
ball he had been gripping tightly, “typical. So, are you hurt?”

“My ankle,” Harry admitted with a sigh, “do you think Hermione saw me fall?”

“Oh yeah, she saw you fall.”

“Bugger.”

“Dad!” Harry looked up to see his son, Jack, hurtling through the air towards him. With the
skill of the flyer that he is, he pulled up just at the right time and landed next to Ron, “are you
okay?” he asked frantically, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you…”

“Don’t ever apologise for being a good Quidditch player, Jack,” Harry told his boy, sighing
again when Ron’s two, Artie and Hugo (Artie had been on Jack’s team while Hugo had partnered Harry)
were now also around him, “you hit me fair and square. I’m just not as quick as I used to be.”

“We still won, though,” Hugo grinned as he nudged his scowling older brother “good going, Uncle
Harry!”

“Uh oh,” Jack suddenly groaned, looking at something beyond Harry’s shoulder, “mum’s going to
kill me!”

“No, your mum’s going to kill me,” Harry muttered, knowing it was Hermione who had his son’s
attention.

Sure enough, his wife was by his side in moments, Ron and his two boys quickly and quietly
moving away.

“Harry,” she exclaimed, kneeling next to him, “are you alright?”

“Pretty much,” Harry answered as Hermione checked him out, grimacing when she touched his
throbbing ankle, “I think I’ve hurt my ankle…”

“You’re lucky that’s all you’ve hurt, Harry Potter,” she stated angrily, “you fell quite a
distance! What possessed you to play Quidditch with boys who are half your age? Honestly!”

“Still caught the snitch though,” Harry muttered under his breath, causing a snicker from those
listening in.

“Well, that’s just lovely, Harry,” Hermione continued, though with a bit more lightness in her
tone, “I’m glad you’ve maintained your near un-beaten record. Now, Cassie is on her way and she can
heal your ankle for you. I’d do it, but the way I’m feeling at the moment, I may cause more harm
than good!”

“I’m really sorry, mum,” Jack spoke up, looking rather sheepish, “I didn’t mean to hurt dad,
what with it being his birthday and all…”

“Oh Jack, it’s not your fault your father forgets that he’s actually forty and not twenty!”
Hermione smiled, sitting down more comfortably on the grass, “in fact, that was a pretty good move
that knocked your dad off his broom. No wonder your team won the Quidditch Cup this year!”

“Yeah, it was kinda wicked,” Jack admitted, glancing at Artie, “thought it might’ve actually
help us win.”

“It was a good try,” Artie told his friend with a grin, whacking him good heartedly on the
shoulder, “right, I’m off to the house. Start on the birthday celebrations while you Potters get
sorted. Hey, Cas.”

Harry looked up in time to see his oldest child stride up to him, a grin plastered on her
face.

“Hey Artie,” she greeted warmly, “what have you been doing to my father?”

“Not me,” he laughed, “blame your brother. Come on Hugo, race you to The Burrow.”

The two Weasley’s departed in a rush, Ron watching them go fondly before turning back to his
friends and their children.

“Better go too,” he shrugged, “before all the food goes. I swear, Artie’s appetite is worse than
mine.”

With a parting wave, Ron began the trek across the field to The Burrow.

“So, what have you done this time, dad?” Cassie asked as she crouched down.

“Broken my ankle, I think,” Harry answered while his daughter did her diagnostic tests on
him.

“Yep, a broken ankle,” she smiled, then shook her head, “I can’t believe that the Head Auror,”
she indicated to the departing Ron, “deputy head of Hogwarts,” a glance at Harry, “and one of the
smartest witches in all of Britain,” a look at Hermione, “waited for a trainee healer to fix a
broken ankle.”

“Felt it was best since neither Ron or Harry did well with healing charms,” Hermione replied,
“and I’m more likely to hex him than heal him at the moment.”

“Not a good day to go and fall off your broom, dad,” Cassie laughed as, with a flick of her
wand, repaired the injury – much to Harry’s relief.

“Thanks sweetie,” Harry grumbled, rotating his foot to test out his no-longer throbbing ankle,
“and I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“You and Jack never do,” Cassie smirked as she stood, “you two are the best practice ever!”

“Anything to help my little girl,” Harry laughed, which died in his throat when Hermione shot
him a furious glare.

“Come on Jack,” Cassie indicated to her brother, “let’s give mum and dad some time…”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary…” Harry hastened but the two were gone and Hermione was looking at
him, arms crossed. He sat back down.

“Why do you keep doing this, Harry?” she asked, her glare softening somewhat, “you don’t need to
keep proving yourself to everyone. We all know you’re a brilliant flyer, and brave and strong and
everything else. You turn forty today my love, you need to start acting like a forty year old.”

“I’m not over the hill yet, Hermione,” he grumbled, “I can still play a game of Quidditch now
and then. I’m not an invalid!”

“Oh, Harry, that’s not what I meant!” Hermione cried, sitting in front of him and taking his
hands in hers, “I’m more than aware that you’re fully capable, but you’re not immortal or
invincible! And you don’t need to compete with people half your age. For goodness sake, Jack and
Hugo have barely turned eighteen!”

“So?” Harry continued to frown, “Dumbledore was, I don’t know, one hundred and fifty or
something when I knew him and he could duel quicker than anyone!”

“Albus Dumbledore was a pure blood wizard,” Hermione started to explain gently, “and pure blood
wizards’ life expectancy is more than half bloods, like you, and quite a lot more than Muggles,
like me. Plus, at some time in his life, he was exposed to the Philosopher’s Stone which may have
also helped him live way beyond his years. You’re not Professor Dumbledore, Harry.”

“I know,” he sighed, “it’s just that…I’m forty!”

“You most certainly are, Mr Potter,” Hermione laughed, standing and dragging him upwards with
her, “and at the moment all your friends and family are waiting to celebrate this momentous
occasion with you!”

“Great,” he moaned, taking her hand as they made their way towards The Burrow, not even limping,
“I hate parties!”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Harry, it’s your birthday!”

“Alright, I’ll enjoy myself – but just for you!” he continued to grumble, though with a
smile.

“You’re a real trooper.”

“Actually, talking about Dumbledore,” Harry said, quickly changing the subject as he smiled
mischievously, “I have some gossip.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, her interest perked, “what?”

“Apparently my long time mentor and idol had an affair with Grindelwald…”

“Gellert Grindelwald?” Hermione stopped mid pace, “*Mr* Gellert Grindelwald?”

Harry nodded at Hermione’s surprise, recalling that he was just as surprised when he found out.
She processed the information, thought for a moment, then went on walking.

“I always wondered why he never married,” she commented with a frown, “I just thought it was
because he had dedicated his life to Hogwarts and the fight against Voldemort. Actually, I thought
he and Professor McGonagall had a little ‘thing’ going…”

“Albus and Minerva?” Harry exclaimed, shocked, “no!”

The debate continued as they made their way to The Burrow and it wasn’t really until that
evening, as he lay in bed waiting for his wife to come out of the bathroom, that Harry had the time
to think about things – the image of his two ex-professors together pushed deep, deep down.

It had been another thought that had preoccupied his mind all day. Even while he was opening
presents, eating, drinking and joking with the wonderful group of people who had come together to
celebrate his getting older, a nagging phrase kept entering his brain.

*…and pure blood wizards’ life expectancy is more than half bloods, like you, and quite a lot
more than Muggles, like me…*

Harry had always just assumed that he would die before Hermione and hadn’t even considered that
not being the case. The idea that she might go before him scared him like never before.

Hermione came into the room tying her hair back into a pony tail, dressed in a very sexy black
negligee – Harry didn’t really notice.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said as she sat down on the bed, his tone telling her that it had
nothing to do with the planned bedroom activities.

“Of course sweetheart,” she answered, concerned.

“What’s the average life expectancy for Muggles?”

“Oh Harry,” she cried, scooting up closer to him on the bed, “is that why you’ve been a bit off
today? I thought it was because of your fall!”

“What’s the average life expectancy for Muggles,” he repeated seriously.

“Muggle women live on average to eighty-seven while for Muggle men its seventy-three,” she
answered.

“Women live longer than men?”

“Generally, yes.”

“How ‘bout wizards?”

“On average, pure blood wizards live to nine-nine,” she told him, “witches to one hundred and
twelve…”

“Half bloods?”

“Wizards to ninety-three and witches to one hundred and one. Harry, what’s this all about?”

“I just always thought that I’d die before you…”

“If you keep pulling off stunts like you did today,” she smiled, “you probably will!”

“Hermione…” he admonished.

“What?” she shot back to him, a frown creasing her brow, “why do you think I’m petrified every
time you go up in the air? Or when Ron asks you to join him for a mission? Or when you go off and
play the hero one more time?” she paused waiting for an answer, continuing when he didn’t say
anything, “because I’m terrified that one day your luck will run out and then I would have to face
a life without you! Do you have any idea how horrid that would be for me?”

“Yes,” he answered quietly, his eyes boring into her.

“Good,” she told him then suddenly her gaze softened, “why are we talking about death?” she
asked, taking his hands in hers, “Harry, it’s your birthday! A celebration! Why are we worrying
about something that may be years and years away!”

“Because when you said that wizards live longer than Muggles, I got scared,” he explained.

“Seeing you fall from that broom petrified me!” she tried to joke before once more sobering up,
“we all have to die sometime, Harry.”

“I know.”

They looked at each other in silence and Harry thought of all of the years she had been with him
– first as a friend, then a lover and now a wife. She had given him the family he had always
wanted, and an endless amount of love, that even over the years, hadn’t diminished. He never wanted
that to end.

“So, Mr Potter,” she purred, moving even closer to him and suddenly making him aware of just
what she was wearing – quickly, rational thought left him, “is there anything I could do to help
you think of happier things? Make you feel better?”

“You’re offering to do anything?” he asked, smirking.

“Absolutely anything,” she answered, kissing the column of his neck, “it is your fortieth after
all.”

“The thing is,” he carried on, closing his eyes as she worked her way down to his chest, “you’re
wearing way too many clothes for what I have in mind.”

“Clothes can be discarded…”

“And we have guests staying in our home…”

“They won’t hear a thing,” and with a wave of her wand, a silencing charm was placed on the room
before her wand returned to the bedside table.

“Well then, Mrs Potter – help me feel young again!”

“My pleasure.”

**A/N 2 – there you go. The figures for Muggles were based on some that were released here
recently, but everything else was random (though women do statistically live longer than
men).**



