Chapter One – Grandmother Figg

Harry blinked a few times and looked of his window on a cold clear morning – Christmas morning, in fact. Reaching for his wand, he lit a fire in the small grate of the bedroom fireplace, hoping to drive the chill from the air before climbing from under the thick down comforter on his bed. He burrowed back under the covers, next to the still sleeping form of Hermione Granger. He eased her gently into his arms, supremely content. Dropping a kiss on her upturned cheek, he whispered “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

He saw her eyelids flutter and then open slowly - brown eyes focusing on him. A lazy smile stretched across her face. She twined her arms around his neck and snuggled close, wishing she could wake every morning in his arms. Harry smiled, having overheard her silent thought. “Maybe you can, Hermione” he thought to himself.

An hour later found them showered, dressed, and in Arabella’s dining room enjoying a truly sumptuous breakfast. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits – Harry, in particular, seemed unusually animated, even proposing a toast to Arabella at breakfast. With an odd gleam in his eye, Harry had gotten to his feet and raised a glass to Arabella, thanking her for her hospitality and saying, “I give you the founder of the feast…” Everyone played along - even wizards are moved by Dickens. Arabella merely laughed at his madness thinking, “After all, it is his first “real” Christmas…”

Hermione had been surprised to find a small package in her chair at the dining room table. She glanced at Harry, who was attempting to look wide-eyed and innocent, and failing utterly. “Open it now…” he whispered. Eagerly she tore at the paper. Inside was a breathtakingly beautiful silk scarf. As she unfolded it she noticed that it had been monogrammed, “HP”. At first she said nothing, wondering why Harry would put is own initials on a distinctly feminine scarf.

“But,” she reasoned, “Maybe he intends it as a reminder of himself”.

After breakfast, Arabella, Harry, Hermione, Sirius, Catherine, Remus, and Dumbledore adjourned to the sitting room and the glorious Christmas tree Harry and Hermione had secured and decorated. The tree seemed to be a living breathing thing – bedecked and be-jeweled, and filling the room with its delicious fragrance. Arabella’s favorite Christmas music played in the background as Hopkins moved noiselessly among them, seeing to the fire and offering mugs of spiced cider and buttered rum.

They tore into their presents like children. Harry was overwhelmed to find in his stocking a note from Arabella saying that the grey Andalusian gelding Harry had ridden so often over the summer (Tahliisman) was now his.

Hermione was equally overwhelmed to unwrap a first edition of “Hogwarts a History” from Harry. As she gently opened the aging cover, she noticed a bookplate carefully pasted inside. In Harry’s bold handwriting, Hermione read, “From the Library of H.G. Potter” She was puzzled, but pleased. “I thought Harry’s middle initial was “J”?” she mused, reaching for another present.

Remus approached Harry and Hermione with two identical boxes – thin and very flat. Carefully, Harry lifted the lid of his box. Inside, written out painstakingly by hand, were pages of sheet music. In an elegant hand at the top of the first page, Hermione saw the name of the piece and gasped. It read, “Firebird and Talons, by R. J. Lupin” She could hardly believe it – Remus had written them a song. Taking the sheet music from her shaking hands, Remus conjured a piano at the back of the room and began to play. Each note filling her with indescribable joy. At times, bold and daring, others sweet and poignant, it captured every mood of their summer in Cornwall. Harry was speechless; Hermione hugged her cousin tightly, whispering, “Lovely, so lovely…thank you”.

When Hermione had sufficiently recovered herself, she opened another gift from Harry – a cashmere sweater, that had been embroidered “HGP”. She was mystified. When she opened a silver brooch, bearing the monogram “HGP”, she realized that Harry must be trying to make some sort of point. But Hermione was too distracted to focus clearly on what that point was, for Harry was about to open one of his presents from her.

Harry grinned happily as he tore the paper from what appeared to be a huge chest. In relief on the lid, an emblem of a Phoenix entwined with a gryffin had been carved. He lifted the lid gingerly and cried, “Hermione!” He was staring in disbelief at a Quaffle, two Bludgers, a set of beaters’ bats, and in its own special compartment behind another emblem of the phoenix and gryffin, a golden snitch. Harry let out a loud whoop and hugged her in joy. “No more practicing with apples or golfballs”, he thought gratefully as he nearly crushed Hermione in an enthusiastic embrace.

“Mrs. H. J. Potter

“Hermione, I’ve loved you from the first moment I met you,” Harry began, as tears welled in Hermione’s eyes, “my life would be nothing without you in it. You’ve sacrificed yourself for my well-being, even for my life, too many times to count. You’ve always loved me for the person I really am, not for what happened to me as a baby. You’ve never failed to give me your unswerving support and devotion, even when I didn’t deserve it. You’ve stood by me when others wouldn’t. You have been my savior and angel for as long as I can remember, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.

Let me do the same for you. Let me try to return the joy and happiness you’ve given me. Let me cherish and protect you for the rest of your life.” Harry paused for a moment, then said in a low voice, his eyes locked on hers,

“Hermione, will you marry me?”

Her tears flowed freely now. “Yes,” she whispered, then louder, “Yes, I’ll marry you, Harry.” Reverently, he slid Lily’s sapphire and diamond engagement ring onto Hermione’s trembling hand. His eyes shone with emotion. Gently he leaned forward and kissed her.

Suddenly, everyone was hugging them, patting Harry on the back and kissing Hermione. Hopkins brought champagne, and just when Harry thought he couldn’t be any happier, Sirius approached him with a small oblong box.

Harry looked inquiringly at Sirius, who could barely contain himself. Lifting the lid, Harry saw a set of old fashioned brass skeleton keys.

They were quite large and wrapped in tissue paper. Harry was about to unwrap one, when Sirius raised a warning hand. “Wait, don’t touch it yet, it’s a portkey.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “to where?” Sirius kept a sphinx-like silence and told Harry and Hermione to get their cloaks.

When they were ready to travel, Sirius said. “You two go first, then we’ll follow”, he said, gesturing to Dumbledore, Arabella, Catherine and Remus.

Dying of curiosity, Harry and Hermione carefully unwrapped one of the large brass port keys and disappeared.

Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel as Arabella’s sitting room was swept from view. He closed his eyes in the rush of wind and held Hermione tightly. They touched down into soft snow and late morning sunlight. Hermione looked around. Harry gasped. “Godric’s Hollow!” Hermione cried. But it was not like Godric’s Hollow as they had ever seen it before. The ruins of the Potter’s old home were gone – lovingly replaced by a charming old manor, identical to the one James and Lily had shared.

There were lights on in the windows, and through the front windows, Harry could see a fully decorated Christmas tree and a fire burning in the hearth.

He and Hermione raced toward the front door. She was about to enter, when he threw an arm across the doorway, barring her entrance. She was taken aback, but then laughed in joy as he scooped her up and carried her across the worn threshold that Sirius and Remus had thoughtfully preserved.

Inside was warm and snug. An atmosphere of peace pervaded, as did the all consuming feeling of magic – of ancient enchantments. It made Harry’s skin tingle. He and Hermione wandered from room to room alternately exclaiming or gasping at the things they found. For re-building Godric’s Hollow had been a labor of love, not just for Sirius, but eventually for Remus, Arabella, and Catherine as well. They had all contributed in some manner to recreating a place that had once been Harry’s home, and now could be again.

For her part, Hermione found that indeed, the things from her rooms in London had been brought to Cornwall, but not to lay in musty storage in Penmarren. They were all here and unpacked. Catherine had skillfully integrated Hermione’s favorite books, photographs, and belongs into the manor in Godric’s Hollow. Hermione gasped as she saw, lying in a chair by the fire, her own worn copy of the Chronicles of Narnia. She ran her fingers lovingly over the cover and her eyes sparkled with unexpected tears.

Harry kissed them away wordlessly and the two continued their exploration. His keen eyes had spotted a drawing of an owl, framed and hanging in an upstairs hall. He gave a start. It was his own drawing – one he had done while staying at the Dursley’s years earlier. “Had Sirius really been to Privet Drive?” Harry thought wildly. “What a meeting that must have been!” he laughed inwardly, trying to picture Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s reaction to meeting the godfather Harry had once described to them as “a convicted murderer, escaped from wizard prison” Harry’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Arabella’s touch was also evident, capturing, just as she had at Paravel, the perfect blend of Muggle and Magic in all the furnishings and decorations. This suited Harry and Hermione exactly, each having spent years in both worlds.

Harry felt Remus’s influence subtly everywhere – in grand piano in the parlor, in the painting of the full moon over the mantle clock; in a book about the Druidness Cliodna on the coffee table. Traces of all the people they loved surrounded them.

Dumbledore, too, had left his own curious mark on the household, for in the kitchen, Harry and Hermione found Dobby and Winky. Hermione was stunned and resisted at first the idea of house-elves, but when Winky at length agreed to accept payment for her services in the form of two tea bags a week, peace was restored.

The party from Paravel arrived and Christmas continued to grow more splendid, if that were possible. Harry threw himself at Sirius, hugging him as if he never meant to let go. “How did you manage all this,” Harry said hoarsely, “And how can I ever thank you?”

Sirius separated himself from Harry, his own emotion evident, and said, “By letting two old bachelors live here with you…”

Harry took his meaning at once and practically shouted, “Are you kidding? Of course you can live here, you and Remus!”

Remus’s eyes sparkled with delight, so, you don’t mind the Grindlylow tank in the bathroom?

“Love it” said Harry firmly.

Arabella reflected on their plans. She thought of the happy years ahead of the family she loved, but knew instinctively that Sirius, Remus, and Harry living in contented bachelorhood at Godric’s Hollow wouldn’t last long. Harry had, after all, just asked Hermione to marry him. Arabella knew that Hermione would be perfectly comfortable if Sirius and Remus never left Godric’s Hollow, even after she became it’s mistress, but she also knew that they wouldn’t. In fact, Arabella felt certain Sirius would be finding himself more and more often in Penmarren. She smiled, remembering the look on Catherine’s face when she had opened her Christmas present from Sirius.

It was a small silver brooch, made to look like a wand. Enclosed was a note: “My dearest Catherine, now that your powers have been finally revealed, it’s time for you to have a wand. It would be my honor to provide it, but as you know, the wand chooses the wizard. Please accept this token as a substitute and as a symbol of my growing affection for you. Next week, I’ll take you to Diagon Alley and together, we’ll get you the real thing – Sirius” Catherine had cried out in delight and hugged Sirius impulsively. They were a remarkably handsome couple, Arabella thought to herself with a twinkle in her eye.

And as if by merely thinking of them, the years did pass rapidly away. Harry and Hermione finished their years at Hogwarts with only a few additional life and death adventures to distress or vex them.

On a warm July evening, the gardens of Godric’s Hollow were filled with guests, who watched with shining eyes as Hermione Granger, clad in lace and carrying lilies walked with certainty toward her future on the arm of Remus Lupin. Harry’s eyes, remarkably like his mothers, had become misty at the sight of Hermione, beautiful beneath her veil. He had felt his throat tighten as if he might never be able to speak again when Remus placed Hermione’s hand in his own. His own. She was to be his wife at last, in word and deed. The deathless vows were spoken, the blessings uttered, and they became forevermore, not two beings but one - fulfilling a destiny set out for them by fate since before their births.

Epilogue VI – And Baby Makes ?

Four years later…

Hermione was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.  She couldn’t understand it.  It was only mid-morning and she had had a great night’s sleep.  She sighed, looking out of the large kitchen windows at Godric’s Hollow.  In the grey light of that November morning, the bare-branched gardens looked sleepy as well.  This was the third or fourth episode of fatigue Hermione had experienced that week.  “Maybe I’m coming down with something…” she thought to herself, filling the kettle for tea.

Making tea for herself was an unaccustomed pleasure.  Normally Dobby or Winky would have died before they let the Mistress make her own tea.  But it was Saturday, and Hermione had forced them to take a day off.  

Harry padded silently up behind her, barefoot, still clad in pajamas.  He wrapped her in a hug, burying his face in her hair, then lifted it aside to kiss the nape of her neck.  She shivered with pleasure at his touch.

It was good to have him home again.  His work at the Ministry often took him away for days at a time.  “He’s going to have to make a decision soon.” she thought.  Harry had been approached by Dumbledore about the possibility of returning to Hogwarts as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.  Hermione was secretly thrilled.  “No more late nights, no more duels with vampires and demons,” she thought and then smiled at the best part of all, Dumbledore said that Harry needn’t live at Hogwarts like the other Professors.  He could apparate home to Godric’s Hollow every day after class. 

Harry knew what she was thinking and sighed.  He couldn’t imagine anything that would make him happier than returning to Hogwarts as a Professor, but he felt a strong sense of obligation to his Ministry colleagues.  They depended on him and had made it plain that they hoped to keep him for at least another two years.   He put it out of his mind.  There were more pressing matters to attend to, the first being Hermione.

“You look a little pale,” he said, gently brushing a stray curl from her face.  “How are you feeling?” 

She smiled, realizing he had changed the subject before she even managed to bring it up.  “Fine, just a little sleepy.  I can’t seem to get enough rest.”

“You’re working too hard,” he said.  Hermione was single-handedly authoring the latest edition of “Hogwarts – A History”. 

She shook her head, “You’re one to talk…”  He was about to reply, when he saw Hermione go slightly green.  She dashed from the room and he heard the bathroom door being flung open.  Now he was concerned.  In the two days he’d been home, that was the third time she had a bout of nausea.  At first, she passed it off as something she’d eaten, but by now, Harry knew better.  He was going to insist that Hermione visit Madam Pomfrey, better yet, he was going to fetch Madam Pomfrey himself, that morning.   

It was funny to think of Madam Pomfrey as their family physician, but Hermione would have no one else.  Certainly not a muggle doctor, and she hated the superior attitudes and condescending tones of the “quacks” at St. Mungo’s - the only wizard hospital in England. 

Harry knocked softly on the bathroom door, “You okay?” he called.  She answered in a strained voice. 

“Yes, I don’t know what it is, Harry.  It just sort of comes and goes.”  He heard her sigh and the sound of cabinets being opened.  She called through the door, “Listen, I’m going to soak in the tub for a while, okay?” 

“Sure!” he called back, and then thought to himself, “That’ll give me just enough time to fetch Poppy.” 

Harry had been right to bring Madam Pomfrey to Godric’s Hollow.  He had also been right about Hermione being mad.  Fuming, in fact, to have climbed out of a bathtub, put on a robe, and then suddenly to be assailed by a disgruntled school nurse.  Harry had had to practically drag Poppy Pomfrey from a beautiful luncheon in The Three Broomsticks for the Hogwarts’ staff, and she was less than thrilled.  But Harry was long immune to her little sighs of exasperation, distracted clucking and fierce looks.

Madam Pomfrey took Hermione by one elbow and propelled her into their bedroom at Godric’s Hollow.  Harry made as if to follow, but the door was unceremoniously shut in his face.  He laughed good-naturedly.  “Have it your way, then! But don’t come out until you know what’s wrong!” he called through the door before sailing downstairs for a bite to eat.

In about a half an hour, Madam Pomfrey appeared in the sitting room.  “Well?” Harry asked. 

“You were right to call me,” she said, matter-of-factly.  Harry looked a question at her, but didn’t speak.  “She is suffering from a condition many women her age experience.” She saw a look of alarm on Harry’s face and rushed to say, “Nothing to worry about though, nothing a few months won’t cure.”  Madam Pomfrey gave him a knowing look that made something in the pit of his stomach lurch.  “I’ll let her tell you all about it…” she called as she apparated back to her luncheon.

Harry bounded upstairs, taking them three at a time.  He found Hermione dressed comfortably and sitting in one of the deep chairs in their bedroom.  She had a dreamy sort of expression on her face.  “What is it, Hermione?” he breathed.  Hermione looked at him with a wondrous smile that seemed to light up her whole face.  There was a curious glow about her.  Realization began to dawn on Harry, and Hermione sensed it.  She gave him the slightest of nods and his face spit into a smile of comprehension.  He fell on his knees at her side, holding her tightly. 

“A baby? Really?” He murmured into her hair. 

“Our baby…” she said softly, her eyes moist with emotion.  Harry laid a hand on her flat tummy. 

“When?” he asked. 

“Sometime in July, I expect…” she said. 

“A baby, their baby, his baby…” the thoughts echoed continually in his brain.  Harry thought his heart would burst with the sheer joy of it.  He laid his head in her lap and she stroked the inky black hair.  “Right now, growing inside her is our child – her flesh, my flesh…” he marveled.  And the age old miracle was made new again in their happiness. 

Harry was devoted to Hermione.  Never had a father been more interested in the phenomenal changes going on inside his wife.  He waited on her slavishly and did his best to keep her entertained for her period of “confinement” as the Muggles used to call it.   In truth, “confinement” was an apt term for a witch who was expecting, because apparition was no longer safe.  Hermione’s world had shrunk dramatically.  But Harry was there as often as work would allow and Arabella made frequent visits, taking Hermione in the old Bentley to the village for shopping or visits to Catherine and Sirius. 

Through the winter, Harry happily tolerated her whims, her moodiness, and cravings that had him popping to the Leaky Cauldron at all hours of the day and night for Tom’s questionable cooking.  When Harry was away, Dobby and Winky took over, seeing to her every comfort, but they sometimes smothered.  It was, after all, their nature.

Hermione watched in wonder as her tummy rounded out, along with her breasts, which had swelled alarmingly.  Some women minded very much “the belly” that came with being pregnant, but not Hermione.  She saw it for what it was, a sign of Harry’s love and devotion.  She was proud to be his wife, to bear his name, and now his child.  For this, Harry loved her even more - and if anything, found her even more desirable.  He loved to kiss the rapidly expanding tummy and was thrilled when he felt the first stirrings and flutterings inside her.  The baby was kicking. 

Harry begged her to tell him whenever a round of kicking had started to that he could feel the movement against the flat of his hand or his cheek.  It was indescribable. 

Warm weather at last arrived and Hermione was growing uncomfortable.  Often, she took to the beach, wading far into the surf, letting the water ease the weight of her now large and lively baby-to-be.  Clio appeared from time to time, fascinated by Hermione’s bulky middle.  Eventually, Hermione managed to convey the reason for her changing shape to Clio, whose eyes flew open wide in wonder.  Like Harry, Clio begged to be allowed to touch Hermione’s tummy and was rewarded by a sharp staccato of kicking against her watery hand.  Clio was in transports of delight and brought daily offerings to the baby – sea shells, clusters of pearls, and a truly impressive array of trinkets from nearby sunken ships.  Hermione was delighted.  It kept her mind off the stray contractions she now had from time to time.  

Hermione had read everything she could get her hands on related to pregnancy and childbirth.  She knew that when the time came, there would be a predictable series of contractions growing closer together with increasing strength.  She would have ample warning to summon Madam Pomfrey.  Hermione felt prepared.  The nursery was kitted out with a beautiful crib and tiny handmade garments.  Diapers and powder stood ready.  But the baby did not come.  July dragged by, hotter and slower than ever.  Hermione grew restless and unable to sleep.  Madam Pomfrey had taken to popping by daily to check her progress.  On the last afternoon in July, Madam Pomfrey said, “It won’t be long now…” 

Hermione was not impressed.  “You said that yesterday.” She groaned.  “and the day before…” 

Poppy sighed, first babies were often late.  “Well, let me know if you need anything” she said and disapparated.

Harry arrived shortly afterward and seemed a bit pre-occupied.  He was too distracted to really enjoy the special birthday dinner Winky had prepared, and his mind was elsewhere as he opened his gifts. 

He had gotten another owl from Dumbledore, pressing him for a response as to the teaching position at Hogwarts and it was weighing heavily on his mind.

He and Hermione lingered over dessert, and at length, Harry came to a decision – the only decision that made sense.  He would leave the Ministry.  As Hermione’s pregnancy had progressed, he had grown increasingly tortured by the idea of being ripped away from his wife and child some night in a meaningless duel with a renegade witch or wizard.  He slammed a fist against the table.  His child would not grow up fatherless, not if he could help it.  Harry would give notice in the morning.  It was that simple.