Iris - Elastic_Heart31 - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Five Years

Chapter Text

Chapter One: Five Years

“The past is a black hole, cut into the present day like a wound, and if you come too close, you can get sucked in. You have to keep moving.”
- Severance, Ling Ma

Morning had always been Hermione’s favourite time of day. Especially in the summer, with the golden, buttery sunlight coming through her window, the world waking outside while she sipped her earl grey, the sounds of the birds and Edinburgh traffic coming into her flat. After putting together her breakfast of tea and toast, she made her way to the old wooden table pressed against the far wall in the small kitchen.

Hermione spread out her work alongside her food. She flipped through the planner, staring at the notes for all that was coming to ahead that week. There was a familiar clench in her chest from seeing one particular date written in her own writing. Overall, she thought she managed the pain of her past rather well—at least better than before. Yet there were still days where she felt the full weight of her emotions crushing her from the inside, and one of them was fast approaching.

She took a deep breath and continued with creating her daily to do list, forcing down the emotions that tried to surface. Pen in a death grip, she tried to focus and she needed to as it was shaping up to be another busy week. Between the shop and finishing up a project for her summer class. Then there was of course all of the usual chaos of her life. She reminded herself it was a good thing; that it would keep her mind off other things.

All she had to do was survive the next week, get past the date she dreaded, and it would be August. There would be a break from work and school. It would be wonderful; she’d finally relax... though she knew that was a lie. When had she ever been able to actually completely let go of anything?

Hermione put the pen down and buried her face in her hands.

Her anxious brain was racing ahead without her and she tried to remember the exercise from the mindfulness book Annie had insisted on lending her. That was her compromise for refusing to go to counselling. With her trademark bluntness, Annie had warned her over and over in her Scottish burr how the ‘bad feelings’ would keep trying to find a way out. Hermione was well aware of this, but it had been almost a year since her last panic attack. She had managed this far on her own. She would be fine. Even if her friend was often full of wise advice, Hermione knew that there was absolutely no way she would ever be able to actually talk to a therapist about her problems. Falling apart under the weight of her emotions was simply not an option. She worked hard to keep the trauma of her late teens sealed tight. There was no choice: she had to stay strong. She had to stay focused on what mattered most.

Her eyes dropped to her arm and she smiled at the sight of the inked flower. She ran her finger over the delicate purple iris, the dark leaves camouflaging the scar that marred the skin underneath.

“Mummy?”

As if summoned by her touch, the inspiration for her tattoo appeared in the doorway. Backlit by the sun, her daughter reminded her of an angel standing there in her white nightgown. Wild loose gold curls framed her face and the light dusting of freckles on her nose that became visible in the summer led the eye to her small mouth which was set in a frown. While her daughter physically resembled her, she did not share her love of early mornings.

Hermione opened her arms. “Good morning my love.”

Iris quickly made her way forward, tucking herself onto her mother’s lap. Her faithful stuffed companion, Prongs remained squeezed in one hand, while her other thumb hung in her mouth; it was a habit Hermione was attempting to break, but didn’t have the heart this early to redirect.

Hermione simply breathed in the scent of her daughter's hair and some of the long-carried anxiety rushed out of her. As long as she had Iris, Hermione had everything she needed, no matter how hard things could be.

The tangible weight of her daughter in her arms, the proof of how much she’d grown, didn’t stop her from struggling to believe that nearly five years had passed in this new life she’d created. One she hadn’t planned when she’d fled Hogwarts a few days after the final battle. Hermione had never intended to leave permanently when she escaped under the cover of darkness. She’d just needed time and space which she’d stated in the note left behind for her two closest friends. There had been promises to be in touch in the summer after she sorted some of her affairs, most importantly retrieving her parents from Australia.

Not that she’s succeeded. It had all been an unmitigated disaster. Unbeknownst to her, Hermione wasn’t exactly alone when she left the UK. It was not until a month later, when she couldn’t stop throwing up over a toilet bowl in Sydney, that she’d become suspicious that it wasn’t just nerves from being unable to reverse the memory charm on her parents that was causing her to feel so stressed and sick. It was confirmed in a weathered motel room; that life as she’d known it would never be the same.

Hermione kissed the top of Iris’s curls in her sunny kitchen, reminding herself that she wasn’t the lonely pregnant teenager that she’d been. While she failed to get her parents memory back, she had found her way as a parent herself. The two of them had a good life together, something she did her best to be grateful for, even in the hard and lonely moments.

She looked down at her daughter, whose green eyes were currently closed. This didn’t matter, she thought of him all the time regardless of if she was staring into the matching set of eyes that Iris shared with him.

Her last year in the magical world had consisted of a different us. Hermione had loved Harry since the moment he’d barged into the girls toilets to save her from a troll. For so many years she suppressed that truth, and had clung to the idea that her love was that only of a friend. She never expected it to be exposed in the middle of the wilderness while running across the country in search of a madman's broken soul.

Remembering that time in any kind of detail still brought her to tears. Those months had changed her, changed the course of her future in ways that she could never have imagined. None of it had been meant to be. A few stolen nights was all they all had and when Ron returned, all of it may as well have been erased. Except for the one night at Shell Cottage. Neither she nor Harry were certain they would survive the next week and the spark between them ignited once more on a chilled spring night in secret. The last time she would truly be alone with him before she left. Never in a million years did she expect it would result in the child she held in her arms.

Hermione pressed another kiss to Iris’s sweet smelling head, and she pulled Iris up so that they were at eye level .

“All right,” she said cheerily, “will it be cereal or scrambled eggs?”

Iris popped her thumb out of her mouth.

“Pancakes,” she replied intently. Her daughter was the queen of negotiations.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, biting back a smile. “Well, we don’t have the ingredients for pancakes, but we do need to pick up some flour this week… Do you remember why?”

Iris furrowed her brow at the denial of pancakes before it clicked and instantly her entire face lit up. “Cake day!”

“Yes! Why don’t we make them on the first day of the summer holidays? But, in the meantime, we will make a cake for your half birthday.”

“How many days left before cake day, Mummy? And hols?!” Iris asked eagerly. Her tiny hands coming to Hermione’s cheeks.

Iris was clearly awake now and Hermione laughed. “Hmm, well today is Monday, and your half birthday is on Thursday, so that is only three sleeps left. And the summer holidays for both of us officially start the day after that, so only four sleeps.”

Iris threw her arms around her mother’s neck and gave a great squeal of delight. Hermione smiled wider, thinking there was nothing better in the entire world than the sound of her daughter's laughter.

--

After the usual morning rush to get out the door on time—amidst at least one short meltdown over hair brushing. Hermione managed to drop Iris off at the nursery school, and rush back towards their street where both the shop and their flat were stacked on top of one another.

The store had a dark red façade with gold lettering with the name MACKENZIE’S BOOKS stamped across the threshold. She had instantly fallen in love with it when she had walked through its doors almost five years ago.

Hermione breezed into her office located at the back, greeting Simon who had already started the process of organising the last shipment of books behind the counter.

“Oi. That small English bugger came by again,” Simon called to her.

Hermione sighed heavily. “Of course he did,” she muttered.

Xavier, a man in his late forties, always dressed in the same tattered blue blazer and insisted that she had a certain book somewhere in the store. He’d been plaguing her for weeks now. She was mostly annoyed, but it was Annie, her close friend and the owner of the shop, who was more on edge claiming she did not like “his aura”—whatever that meant. The book in question was another matter that Hermione didn’t want to dwell on that morning.

She moved swiftly through the store, and quickly stopped at the mythology section to put back a few books she’d been allowed to borrow for her research project. All these years later it was still her favourite spot in the overflowing shop.

Despite dealing with the occasional disgruntled or annoying customer or book seller, Hermione adored her work. It combined her love of reading, research and stories. It also gave her great pleasure to help families with ancestral research-something that reminded her of her father.

MacKenzie’s and its owner Annie had been her life raft when she had been drowning.

When she’d departed Australia, she had wanted to return to somewhere familiar. Scotland, with its familiar landscape, fit the bill. She found herself in Edinburgh, a city that was new but also familiar, where she could disappear into the crowd of locals and the hoards of summer tourists. Quickly she had rented a tiny and inexpensive flat over an old pub with her dwindling savings. It had been cramped and noisy, but silencing charms worked a treat. It was also only a few blocks from the Royal Mile and she’d spent that summer exploring the streets of Edinburgh until her feet ached, her internal monologue a constant barrage of anxiety and uncertainty.

As per usual, she sought solace in books, spending her days exploring bookstores and libraries. She took regular refuge in the Edinburgh Central Library, with its high ceilings and soft yellow walls, the wooden shelves with books towering above the myriad of wooden tables where one could sit and get lost in other worlds. She’d returned to the stories of her childhood, Greek and Celtic mythology, tragedies and triumphs, fairytale and folklore, Hermione had inhaled them. They had provided the perfect escape from the thoughts and decisions she wanted to avoid.

It was in these texts that she found what she would call the little one growing inside of her. Iris: the goddess of sea and sky. A name that held so much within it. The personification of the rainbow and its hope, Greek mythology, Shakespeare, and most importantly, a flower.

The war and its aftermath had taken things from her she would never get back, but it had given her a gift as well. Something that had been made clear the moment Iris was placed in her arms; her rainbow after a terrible storm.

As she’d explored the boulevard and alleyways of her newly adopted city, it had dawned on her just how much different it felt to be part of the Muggle world again. No signs of the horrific war she’d just been a part of could be found in the cobbled streets or marring the sandstone buildings. Carefree people strolled past her, and the heavy weight of her blood status lifted. The breezy Muggle atmosphere was liberating in its own way, and between the city sights and her frequent escape into books, Hermione could easily disconnect from the reality of her situation. Reality, however, had a way of returning.

For Hermione, it had been the looming date at the end of July: Harry’s eighteenth birthday. At that point it had been three months since she’d left Hogwarts and she was no closer to knowing what she should do. In all the time she’d known Harry, she’d never not acknowledged his birthday. It was during that week, while she’d struggled with what to do that she’d stumbled upon Mackenzie’s.

The shop had immediately drawn her in. A bell rang out when she’d entered, and she’d come face to face with the older woman who would become like another mother to her. Not that she’d known this at the time.

Annie had been sitting behind an ancient looking front desk, bent over some paperwork. When they’d made eye contact there had been nothing but kindness in her blue eyes. Their first meeting was short, with Hermione declining Annie’s offer of helping her find anything in particular, but she’d fallen head over heels for the old shop. It’s cramped aisles overflowing with books on every subject. And the mythology section had blown her mind, and on subsequent visits she would learn that Annie’s father, like her own, had a strong passion for old myths. That section, along with Annie’s enthusiasm and knowledge about stories is what had made her continue coming back. The friendship they developed was what had eventually rooted Hermione into her new life in the Muggle world.

Pulling herself back out of her thoughts, Hermione pushed open the door to the office and snuck her body through the narrow space. The addition of another desk for herself had made the room extra snug. Annie insisted they have two desks as she didn’t want to be anywhere near the “blasted machine” —her nickname for the computer Hermione had insisted they needed in order to bring the business of selling books into the 21st Century, not to mention help with the historical research they conducted for clients.

Hermione had only started doing more of the back-end stuff over the last two years, around the time Iris started at nursery full time and she had been accepted into the University of Edinburgh to study Ancient History and Mythology.

She spent the next couple of hours working away at the computer, tracking shipments, placing orders, doing the shop’s correspondence, and putting together a proposal for a client on why a site up in the Highlands may be connected to their ancestors. Her work was certainly never the same day to day. Moving around some of the piles of papers that always seemed to litter the office, she noticed the overdue invoices. She pushed down her annoyance at the clutter and madness that came with sharing an office space with Annie, and started on them immediately. She was about halfway through when the phone started to ring.

“Mackenzie’s Rare Books and Historical Research,”

“Did that buggering eejit come back in?” Hermione did her best to suppress a sigh.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I'm currently buried under a pile of overdue invoices so haven’t gotten out to the floor today.” Hermione loved Annie, but didn’t always have patience for the older woman's paranoia.

“Oh you would know, always demanding to speak to you. Gives me the heebies. I don’t like it.”

“Well maybe he finds me more charming,” Hermione quipped, trying to deflect the conversation. She felt a pang of guilt that she hadn't shown Annie the book in question. She didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of the situation than was necessary.

“More of a lech than anything else. Harassing young women. I just don't like the look of him. But that's not the reason I called you Hen. Wait-” Hermione could hear Rosie, Annie’s sister in the background. “Yes Rosie—wants to know if we're still on for supper Wednesday?”

“Of course! Unless you’re too busy packing? We would love to see you both before you go. Also don’t forget that your itinerary is still in the office.”

“Aye I know, I'm in tomorrow. Finalised the rest today. We head to the airport bright and early Thursday.”

“Not sure if I’ll see you tomorrow, but if not I have left the notes on the Marshall file.”

“Ah thanks love! Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Drown in paperwork?”

Annie barked out her unique laugh. “Aye that is probably true. Tell the sprog I'm coming for her on Wednesday—” She heard more shouting in the background “Rosie has some new paints for her—”

“You're going to spoil her rotten.”

“That’s an auntie’s job isn’t it? Alright, best be off now. See you Wednesday.”

--

“One more story! Please mummy!” Iris begged, lower lip jutting out.

“Hmm love, we’ve already read two chapters tonight. I think that’s enough,” Hermione replied as she attempted to move off the bed but Iris reached out and tugged at her loose t-shirt.

“Please!” Iris begged, her green eyes wide to complete the puppy dog expression. “A short story.”

“These chapters are rather long—”

“Not Peter Pan!” she cried.

The two were on what felt like their hundredth go-around of the classic story which had become a favourite for Iris in the last year.

“Not Peter Pan?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.

“No, one of your stories,” Iris replied, her tone insistent. “Please!” she added as she saw her mother wavering.

Hermione sighed. “Alright, just a short one.”

Iris squealed happily next to Hermione on the mattress.

“A magic story!” she said, holding up her beloved crochet soft toy affectionately called Prongs. Though until recently it had been ‘Pwongs.’

It had been a gift from Annie’s sister, Rosie, who was quite the talented artist. She still recalled the shock when she had opened the gift-wrapped box to find a soft knitted brown fawn, the two sisters smiling at her. She had been speechless, as Rosie said that when she asked Annie, she said that a deer had come to her mind as the perfect companion for Iris.

Her daughter absolutely loved hearing about magic, the Marauders, the Golden Trio, castles and forbidden forests. When Iris had been an infant she had whispered these stories to her as she had rocked her to sleep—all the details, about her father and the adventures she had shared with him, as well as all the Marauders stories that she knew. As Iris got older she continued the stories but altered the details, taking herself and Harry out of the narrative, obscuring important details and for now letting her believe that magic was only make believe. Someday she would tell her everything, but for now her imaginary tales would have to be enough.

“Which one will it be?” Hermione asked, settling her daughter back under the covers which she’d flung off in her excitement.

“The Troll!”

Despite not knowing that it was about her mother and father this was still somehow her favourite. Her most requested was the Time Turner story, but Iris seemed to know that one was too long for tonight. Hermione dimmed the lamp, sat back on the small bed, and told her daughter the well-loved story: how a troll had been let loose in the dungeons of a magical school. How two brave boys, The Boy Who Lived and The King rescued the Brightest Witch (Hermione still disliked these nicknames, but found that she had used them without thinking). Iris always had a good laugh when the wand got shoved into the troll’s nose.

They were now lying side by side on the bed as Hermione finished the familiar tale. She stroked Iris’s hair that was spread out like a messy golden halo around her head, hoping her daughter would drift into sleep.

“Do they fall in love?” Iris whispered in the dim room.

“Who darling?”

“The Brightest Witch and The Boy Who Lived!” Iris exclaimed loudly.

Iris had become rather focused on the concept of true love over the last six months. Hermione blamed those ridiculous Disney films she was always watching at Annie and Rosie’s place. She could feel just how loaded this question could be, and she wasn’t sure if she had the energy to deal with it tonight.

“I'm not sure, my love. It is just a story. They are also quite a bit too young for love,” she said quietly, trying to keep the mood in the room conducive for sleep.

“Do they ever share a true love’s kiss when they grow up?” Iris’s voice had softened back down to a whisper.

Hermione wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready to share that part of the story with the girl in her arms. Yet she also couldn't bring herself to lie to her either.

“Well, we will just have to see. For tonight all I can say is that it’s very much time for bed and not stories.”

“Oh but Mummy—” Iris protested.

“All in good time my love, but for now, you will have to use your own imagination,” she said holding firm.

Iris pouted but seemed to relent, and Hermione gave a silent prayer of gratitude as she kissed her daughter goodnight and tucked her in one last time.

“I love you to the moon,” Hermione whispered into Iris’s hair.

“I love you to the bottom of the sea,” Iris whispered back.

Hermione turned off the light, made her way to the door, and was about to turn the handle when Iris called out.

“Mummy?”

“Yes love?”

Iris was just visible in the soft glow of the streetlight coming through the window.

“I think they fall in love.”

Hermione smiled softly. If only it were so simple.

“Have a good sleep.” Hermione let out the sigh she’d been holding in the moment she closed the door behind her, sagging against it.

All of her emotions were right at the surface, it happened without fail every year at the end of July. Probably why she’d spent half the day ruminating about her past. This also happened like clockwork when the cold mist descended on the city in autumn. Her grief flared at all of the important dates; it felt like she never got more than a couple months reprieve before the calendar would remind her of what had been, and of how much time had passed since.

Missing him was incredibly hard. And watching Iris grow up without a father was even harder. But knowing it had to be this way was the hardest of all. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret what had transpired all those years ago. They had made her feel alive in a way she hadn't felt since. She also wouldn’t trade Iris for anything. Although she wished things could be different.

She pushed herself off the door and made her way through the flat, putting things back in their place as a way to distract herself from the images that threatened to burst through her consciousness. She even considered doing the ridiculous tapping exercise that Annie had shown her claiming it could calm her anxiety. Hermione’s preferred method was to aggressively push back a thought, or become so busy and occupied that there was no room left to think. At least until the emotions eventually overcame her and she froze her into an awful state...but she was getting better at avoiding this.

Although no matter how hard she pushed, certain memories or emotions always surfaced eventually. Over the years the acute panic and fear had mellowed, but another series of awful emotions had taken their place, grief and regret being at the forefront and the hardest to bear. There was no end to either emotion; they were ceaseless pools that she could drown in forever if she let herself.

When there was no longer anything to clean, she headed to the kitchen which doubled as her office at night. She knew sleep wouldn’t come early or easily, so she threw herself into her revisions and citations. Her project was so close to being finished. She was hopeful that by tomorrow it would only need minor edits. Getting lost in stories even of supposedly mythical creatures was preferable to her memories, or fighting the array of emotions that threatened to overtake her.

Hermione burned the midnight oil, only heading to bed when her eyes would barely stay open. She followed her usual routine, which included checking in on Iris who was tucked up tight in bed, before re-setting the wards around the flat—a habit she had never been able to break. Hermione readied herself for bed, then slipped under the covers. She sunk into the mattress completely exhausted. Mercifully she fell asleep relatively quickly, although her last conscious thought was of her best friend. His raven hair messy from her fingers. Unable to forget the feeling of his thin frame pressed up against her, his thumb brushing her cheek as he’d looked down at her with his emerald eyes darkened with desire. Right before he kissed her.

Chapter 2: A Selkie's Skin

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: A Selkie's Skin

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”
― James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

A brilliant blue sky hung above her on the morning walk to school. A rare treat in Scotland with its perpetual cloud cover. Hermione’s steps were lighter as she got closer to school. She always looked forward to Tuesdays. Her one solitary day during the week where she got to focus exclusively on her coursework while Iris was at nursery.

Hermione loved walking the Royal Mile, despite the wall-to-wall crowds that sometimes occur in peak season. The secret she'd learned was to take the side streets and alleyways that dotted the oldest part of the city, which she did as soon as a large group of American tourists headed her way. She was engulfed in shadow as she ducked into the nearest hidden street.

Her heart picked up when she noticed where she was. This narrow side street was one she’d frequented a lot when she’d first arrived in Edinburgh. Unlike the magical community in London which had most of its main shops located behind the Leaky Cauldron, Edinburgh’s magical community was spread out in the old town in small hidden pockets. A series of alleyways and courtyards that might house a few businesses with old wizarding flats nestled above them. She had been delighted by the little details. Brass knobs that needed to be tickled to gain entry to one tucked away garden. A set of secret steps that led to a series of magical pubs underground. An apothecary with a jungle of plants that led to a garden walled off in the middle of the city. All just out of view of the muggle world.

At first she had been drawn to explore the magical areas around the city, occasionally performing a quick glamour to ensure privacy, though mostly she hadn't worried about being recognized. No one seemed to pay her much mind, at least at first. Only one older witch at a small trinket shop in Ellington Square had grabbed her hand, thanking her for her part in the defeat. Hermione had not returned to the square and became more diligent in applying a glamour.

As she turned the corner of the narrow street, she still felt a flutter in her stomach being so near the entrance to Abhainn Alley. When she’d discovered the quaint street five years ago, it had instantly enchanted her.

Eventually it had come to symbolise the time and place where she had finalised her decision to leave her old life behind for good. A decision that had been made outside of one her favourite shops: Flannigan’s Writing Emporium. The stationary shop was deceptively large with its small front that doubled as a newspaper kiosk, but once you entered it was a maze of aisles that were overfilled with every kind of ink, quill, paper, notebook, and an assortment of other magical oddities. She particularly loved the shelf of new and used books at the very back.

She had spent countless hours there, along with the café across the street, Pixie’s Brew, which had taken her newspaper, journal, or a used book and sat for hours in the back booth, letting time pass her by. She’d been sitting in that back booth the first time she’d felt Iris move inside her.

Her pregnancy had been her constant reminder that there were decisions to be made. Yet, it had been the headlines that she’d seen all summer that had made them feel impossible to make.The pictures and words from the front pages were burned into her brain to this day.

LONGTIME GIRLFRIEND OF MAN WHO SAVES COMFORTS AT STATE FUNERAL.

A picture of Ginny, her red hair bright against Harry’s dark funeral robes as she leaned into his side. Harry standing straight, arm around the witch at his side while he looked ahead solemnly. The photo had been everywhere, haunting her each time she stepped foot in the magical part of Edinburgh. Seeing it had always made her feel the urge to sick up, something she had been doing more of than she ever thought possible.

She wanted Harry to be happy—she really did—but it didn’t make the image hurt her any less. All of it just felt like too much.

There had been other headlines that had also paralyzed her:

SORRY LADIES! THIS WIZARD IS OFF THE MARKET: HARRY POTTER AND GINNY WEASLEY SEEN LEAVING LEAKY CAULDRON.

A LOVE STORY FOR THE AGES: WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE WIZARDING WORLD’S POWER COUPLE.

A CHRISTMAS WEDDING FOR THE MAN WHO SAVED AND HIS LOVELY BRIDE.

Hermione knew not to take wizarding newspapers at face value. She doubted the two of them would marry so quickly. Still, the pictures had done enough to cement what she already suspected. Harry was building the life he’d always wanted with Ginny. One of the last photos she ever saw of her best friend was of him leaving the Leaky Cauldron, Ginny right behind him, tucking a strand of hair from her pretty face. Harry was turned away from the cameras, as he often was. There were more photos splashed across papers in the early part of summer, from the award ceremonies and the rebuilding of Hogwarts.

Though the headline in August was the one that had filled her with even more guilt and dread, and contributed to making her feel as if she was once again on the run.

HERMIONE GRANGER: DEAD OR ALIVE? BOYFRIEND’S QUEST TO FIND HIS TRUE LOVE.

Under the headline, a picture of a morose Ron holding a photo of the two of them. She’d retreated even further at that point and began to spend even more of her time in the muggle world. Hermione assumed that Ron had no clue that she’d slept with his best friend, and she was weighed down by the guilt that she had somehow managed to do something that could ruin the happiness of two of the people that mattered most to her.

She wasn’t in love with Ron. A realisation that had broken over her the autumn night when he’d abandoned them. Her endless tears had been the result of her anger and guilt. It would have been so much easier if she'd simply been able to love him instead. If he hadn’t left maybe she could have? Deep down she knew that was a lie. Things would have never worked between them, they were simply too different. Despite all that, she hadn’t wanted to hurt Ron. Having a child with their mutual best friend, who also happened to be dating his sister, seemed like a sure fire way to do so. He'd already blown up when she had chosen Harry over him back in the tent, and she’d shuddered to think of his reaction to this situation.

Hermione paused briefly in the small street, staring at the spot where an iron gate would appear if she had her wand with her. She could still see that September’s day in her mind's eye. The maelstrom of emotions that had brewed inside her all summer and the spellwork she’d done to hide her stomach. That she had ventured out on her nineteenth birthday to Abhainn Alley, determined to feel the sunlight on her face and enjoy a butterbeer sunday, even if her life had fallen apart.

The day had been normal until the sound of a familiar voice had stopped her dead in her tracks. On instinct she’d wedged herself behind a large potted plant, where she watched as Ron and the owner of Flannigan’s carried on a heated conversation. Peeking through the leaves, she’d been able to just make out the back of Ron’s neck which was bright pink.

“YOU’RE MISTAKEN” Ron bellowed at the old man as if he were deaf.

“No, I ‘ve seen her. She comes in all the time — ”

“Listen mate, that is not her. There’s no way — ”

“Aye, but it is. I recognise her from the picture— ”

“She’s NOT pregnant. It's NOT her! You must have been mistaken— ”

Hermione hadn't apparated that quickly since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, the conversation cutting off as she hurtled herself through space.

After that she used more caution, crossing over less and less to the Magical sections of Edinburgh. Eventually there had been posters of her face strewn about the windows. Even now with the search for her likely over, she almost never ventured into the magical pockets of the city she’d come to love.

Ron spearheading the search for her had made one thing clear; her returning would make things worse for everyone. Ron was likely hoping to find her, wanting something from her that she couldn’t give. And Harry…Harry was building his new life with Ginny. And Hermione couldn’t bear to burden him, to get in the way of his happiness.

Hermione closed her eyes, leaning against the alleyway, focusing on the cool stone beneath her hand. With a sigh she pushed herself off and continued to move. When she came out of the darkened street to the bright sunny day she forced her mind back to her final project as she walked away from her past.

==

Hours later, she was parked in her usual spot in the southwest corner of the fourth floor. With its views of the dark green mountain range in the distance and the meadows below, it was one of her favourite places on campus.

Hermione tore her eyes from the window, back to her project; a compilation of work she’d done in her winter session with Professor Roberts that had turned into a special interest class over the summer. Her teacher's passion for the legends of this land and waters was infectious, and Hermione never imagined after leaving the Wizarding World that she would be buried in mythical lore once more.

Back in May she’d joined three other classmates for a fieldwork trip up to Inverness. Annie and Rosie had taken Iris, and it had felt liberating to behave like a normal carefree student, even if it was just for one weekend.

They had spent their time exploring the region and learning more about its legendary Loch Ness Monster, alongside their enthusiastic if slightly eccentric professor. Hermione loved hearing the stories spun by the locals they interviewed, some dead-set that they had seen the elusive creature. She'd kept her own personal knowledge of the very real monster and its connections to kelpies to herself.

With a thud, she shut the giant tome that she’d been combing over that afternoon. She reached for the small book of stories that had captivated her. She’d already covered Asrai and various forms of Sirens, her final and largest section for this project was on the different variations of Selkies. The slim volume of stories in her hands had moved her more than she'd expected.

When you went far enough back, Selkies were historically portrayed as nasty creatures that sought to hurt humans. However, Hermione sensed a sadness in them, and thought that in some cases their cruelty was unintentional.

Like a Selkie, she'd also shed her skin: turning from Hermione Jane Granger into Jane Hermione Everdeen, trying desperately to be someone else. She took her new last name from a classic novel she loved, naming herself after someone deeply flawed, but resilient and capable of independence. She had the flawed part down pat and had desperately hoped that the resiliency and independence would come with time. She liked to think that maybe they had.

Looking back over what she'd written down, she came back to a passage that had struck a chord with her:

“But all was not as it seemed—there was a weight in the Selkie Wife's heart. Many was the time that she was seen to gaze longingly out to the sea. The sea that was her true home.”

There was something she recognized in that passage; the loneliness of belonging to more than one world. Of being exiled, by someone, even if in her case it was oneself.

As much as she loved so many parts of her new life, she did sometimes feel that what she'd undergone in her unplanned permanent transformation was more of a curse. Like the selkies whose true home was the sea, Hermione often felt that she no longer had access to the places she had once called home.

Perhaps it was like that for everyone. Nothing stayed the same. And ‘home’ could vanish in an instant with the loss of a person or place.

Still, Hermione knew she was lucky to have Iris. She loved the home they’d created and the found family that surrounded them. Yet it still so often felt like there was a part of her that was missing. Her heart clenched painfully whenever she thought of her parents, now lost to her forever, her childhood home lived in by strangers—just as she was to her parents now.

Her secondary home for many years had been Hogwarts, though she knew it wasn't that simple. It wasn’t a building that made it a home, but the people you shared it with. For Hermione, it had been the realisation that it was really one person. Harry.

It was hard for her to pinpoint when that had become the case. At twelve when he’d become her friend by rescuing her from a troll. Or Maybe when she'd gone back in time with him? Or any number of other times she’d face impossible things with him. Though it was the simple things she missed most. The nights he’d sat in the library with her, hearing his laugh at the Gryffindor table. Then there was all the time they’d spent alone in the tent. She thought that was likely when it had become clear to her, that home was wherever he was. Even if it was in the middle of nowhere.

As she stared down at the ink drawing of a woman looking wistfully at the sea, she felt the familiar pang of homesickness that never really went away. Every time she read this page, she was brought back to the night at Shell Cottage.

Her first memories of being at Bill and Fleur’s was a blur of pain. What she remembered most was Fleur, her small but efficient hands as she’d tended to the injuries that she’d sustained at Malfoy Manor. Ron’s clinging was the other memory that stood out, and how much harder it had become to pretend she hadn't become a completely different person since he’d left. There was also the terror that had followed her back from the mansion. The way her mind continuously told her that nowhere was safe. Bellatrix’s laughter still found its way into her nightmares all these years later.

But what she remembered most was Harry’s absence from the house. How he’d spent his days out more than in.

When her injuries healed, she did what she always did: she looked for a solution, something that would save them, motivated mainly by her need to find a way to save him.

It was only days before they left for Gringotts that she managed to slip out of the house unnoticed by all the others. Dusk had approached, and she'd been uncertain if she would find him as she followed the path through the tall grass down to the sea.

She remembered how the waves had thundered in the distance as she walked. It was this sound that she’d liked most about staying at the cottage, how it conjured memories of being at the seaside with her parents and grandparents. The beaches of Normandy were what had stuck out in her mind most; remember her grandad telling her stories of how such a beautiful place had once been the site of great bravery and sacrifice, back when she knew nothing of the reality of war.

She spotted him faster than she'd expected. He was seated near the edge of a dune, almost hidden, his dark hair contrasting against the seagrass and sand. His eyes had been cast out towards the turbulent sea and the last bit of sun on the horizon.

Her internal debate at what she should say had been cut off by the sound of his voice.

“Hermione.” He hadn't turned to face her and she'd smiled as she allowed herself to come closer.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, sitting next to him on the grass.

There was enough light that she could still see his face looking toward the horizon, a small smile on his face, one of the few she’d seen since December.

“I think at this point I'll always be able to sense you.”

The combination of his words and the feeling of his arm bumping against hers had made her pulse quicken.

She hadn’t been sure if she trusted herself to speak, though the silence that stretched out between them was not an uncomfortable one despite everything that had happened.

He was still home for her. Even if he didn't feel the same way.

The slightest bit of sun remained, yet the stars had already begun to emerge, the bright gibbous moon had made its appearance. Without thinking her hand had made its way to his, to reassure herself that this wasn’t a dream. Moments later she'd felt a tugging at her wrist that surprised her as Harry rolled up the sleeve of her jumper.

“Har — ” she fell silent when he brought her bandaged arm up to his lips. He peppered light kisses up the white plaster and it sent a pleasant heat through her with each kiss that quickly cut through the chill in the air. That cut right to her heart.

“Hermione…” his voice had suddenly filled with anguish. “I should have...I should have been able to stop them. I’m so sor—”

Without letting herself think she kissed him, expecting him to stop her. He didn't. With practised ease he’d pulled her onto his lap, and without a single thought of the future she had given herself over to him once more. They didn’t talk about the tent, or the strained distance between them since Ron’s return. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care about any of it; how he often seemed to avoid looking at her when anyone else was around, the stilted distance that had grown between them since Boxing Day, or the fact that he would be going back to Ginny if they survived all of this.

It was almost completely dark at this point, but anyone could have come down the hill to where they were. It had to be quick. She wasn’t sure they would live to see the next month, so what they were doing that night didn't count. She pushed away all of the thoughts that were trying to break through and tell her to stop. No one would ever have to know.

“It isn’t like this with other people,” she’d whispered while he was still inside her. She could just make out his face in the gloaming, his expression unreadable.

But she heard and felt his answer through her body. “I know.”

They didn’t speak any words after that. There was a non-verbal understanding that she would go back in first, and she hadn’t been able to resist brushing his head as she had passed him. She was quite certain that she’d left a part of herself on the beach that night with him. That a part of her would always belong to him, even if he would never know. Tracing her finger over the image, she thought she knew what the woman felt, the hollowness of forever missing a part of yourself, the weight of leaving behind what you loved most. To never be able to return home.

==

Hermione continued her work into the late afternoon until her usual standing appointment with her professor. She collected her things and headed across campus to the Department of History and Classics. When she arrived at his door, she was perplexed to once again find it closed. Usually Professor Roberts had his door open as he worked away at his desk. Knocking and not getting a reply, she finally tried the handle only to find it locked. Surveying the area for signs of a note, she looked up and down the corridor. The place was deserted.

With summer holidays the school was sparsely populated. This was now the second appointment of their bi weekly appointments he hadn't shown up for. She’d assumed he’d simply forgotten, as Professor Roberts could often embody the absent-minded professor stereotype quite well, but it was unlike him to repeatedly cancel without contacting her. He’d mentioned upcoming holidays, but she remembered that they were to take place around the same time as hers. He was also supposed to review her work before she submitted—if something had come up surely he would be in touch?

She supposed that he would have to take her submission in without looking at it first. As a perfectionist, that made her uneasy. But there was something else that was bothering her: Hermione knew it was not just her professor's absence—it was that blasted book.

The book had come into her life during the school trip to Inverness. Professor Roberts had stumbled upon it during his research on Orkney and brought it on the trip where he had shown it to her and her classmates. Hermione had sensed its magic instantly, and had hesitated when he offered to let her borrow it for her research as he knew she was trained on handling rare old books.

There had been a section that appeared to be on the Kraken and the Finfolk, an older rendition of Selkies that were more malevolent that he thought would interest her and it had. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her and she’d accepted, had poured over the fragile paper, in awe of the runic writing within. It was infuriating to no longer have access to all of her textbooks and she debated with herself for weeks if it was worth disguising herself to visit one of the magical bookshops that dotted Edinburgh. However, with her busy schedule, she quickly scrapped that idea.

From what she could make out from her memory of school there were definitely some instructions for both spell work and several potions which appeared to have various effects on sea creatures, particularly mermaids. Even Professor Roberts has excitedly pointed that out. “Fascinating! It appears to be an instruction to appease an ancient deity. Absolutely fascinating, you can see how our ancestors still believed in magic.”

Time got away from her, she didn’t get far in her translations. Only in the last few weeks had the book become more of a headache when Xavier appeared at the shop. Hermione had been so focused on a new shipment that had come in, that it wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she looked up.

“Jane Everdeen?”

Startled, she'd jumped slightly.

“Yes?”

There was a long pause and Hermione had little to do but take him in. She would have placed him at not quite fifty. Dark thinning brown hair, average height and build. Nothing unusual, except his eyes. They were such a pale blue and they were searching her face, seemingly studying her.

She’d finally broken the silence.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” He paused again. She noted his London accent. “I have been told that this shop is where I would find a certain book.” She waited for him to continue.

When he didn't, she looked around, the day was nearly over and the shop was empty.

“Do you have a title?”

“Yes,” he slid a piece of paper across the counter. When she’d picked up the note, her stomach had dropped at the familiar title.

Dìomhaireachd na Mara

The title was that of her professor's book. Her instinct was not to reveal what she knew, besides, it wasn't hers to sell.

“I'm sorry but I don't recognize that title.” She tried to keep her tone casual. “We have a lot of other Gaelic titles in the back if you're interested?”

The man smiled but something told her it wasn’t a friendly gesture.

“Hmmm," he said simply as his eyes bore into hers. “Well,” he said, collecting the piece of paper off the desk. “We shall see.”

Unfortunately that hadn’t been the last she had seen of him. There was no noticeable pattern, though he’d been into the shop on at least four occasions, always insisting that the book was in the shop. Hermione kept lying or simply avoiding him by quickly running upstairs, leaving poor Simon to deal with him. Annie had only dealt with him directly one time, but from hearing her talk about it, you would think he was the devil incarnate.

There was something unsettling about him, and her unease was taking a sharp turn upwards. Said book was currently carefully wrapped and protected in her school bag along with about ten other books. One aspect of magic she’d been unable to give up was her extendable bags and feather light charms.

Hermione sighed, looking down the corridor one last time in the hope that Professor Roberts would jog up, white hair and ancient briefcase swinging wildly. Bending down she grabbed a notebook and pen to scribble a note. She shoved it under his door and then headed out into a newly arrived summer storm.

==

The evening had gone by in the usual blur of nursery pick up, rushing home in the rain, cleaning for her and playing for Iris and getting dinner on the table — the usual chaos that came with living with a four-year-old hurricane.

Now seated on the tiled bathroom floor, leaning up against the door while Iris took her bath, her anxiety from earlier crept back in. All of her attempts to rationalise the reasons her Professor might be absent rang hollow as she went over them in her head. The timing of it with Xavier’s appearance gnawed at her. Were they connected?

Hermione bit her lip as she contemplated the events of the last few weeks. Could it simply be a coincidence? Or was she simply being paranoid? Another leftover habit from the war, hypervigilance.

“Mummy!”

She was pulled from her thoughts by the indignant cry of a sopping wet Iris.

“Sorry love, what did you say?” Hermione wiped the puddles that had appeared, before kneeling at the side of the tub. Her daughter had a tendency to make the room look more like Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory.

“I was asking you if mermaids are real people?”

“Real people?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, people or are they creatures? And are they actually real?” Iris replied at rapid speed.

“Hmm, what do you think?” She often found rhetorical questions worked wonders on her curious daughter.

Iris ran her hands through her wet tangled hair, wrinkling her nose. Finally smiling before she gave her answer. “Maybe both!” Adding enthusiastically, “They just haven’t discovered all of them yet!”

Hermione laughed. “That sounds like a very plausible answer.”

“What does plausible mean?”

Annie often joked that Iris was like a talking dictionary, except instead of giving them, she was always asking for definitions.

“It means that what you said is likely true or possible.” Iris nodded before continuing with her line of questioning.

“But Mummy, what would mermaids look like?”

“Well I guess we can’t know for certain until they find them. Perhaps there are different kinds like you said.” She used the distraction of their conversation to start washing Iris’s hair.

“Like Ariel?”

“Hmm maybe Ariel, but from the books I've been reading, people seem to think they have more scales or even fur. I also have a feeling they don’t sound quite as nice when they sing—at least not on land.”

“Ariel looks like the mermaids in Peter Pan, and they're all perfectly lovely and they can sing.”

“They are lovely,” Hermione agreed as she slathered her daughter's hair in shampoo.

“I wish I had hair like Ariel,” Iris sighed dramatically.

Hermione did her best not to laugh, her fingers combing through Iris's wet curls. “You have perfectly lovely hair darling girl.”

“But red hair is more exciting!” Iris exclaimed eagerly.

“Is it now?” She continued rubbing the shampoo into Iris’s hair which had darkened in the water. “Do you mean rare? Is that why it’s exciting?”

“Yes, only one girl in my class has that colour hair, almost everyone else has brown or blonde hair. Mine is boring,” she explained as if that should be obvious. “Most mermaids have red hair, you know.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure about that,” she said, biting back a smile. “Also, lots of people have red hair especially in Scotland. There were lots of people at my school who had red hair when I was growing up.”

“Who?!”

“Oh just lots of students…I was wondering how many kinds of mermaids you think there might be?”

Iris thought for a second. “I think loads, but some might be teeny tiny.” She emphasised just how small with her fingers.

Hermione hummed in agreement. “That is very possible.”

“Like the mermaids from your story? The ones in the Twiwizard Tournament?” She smiled fondly. Iris rarely messed up her Rs and Ws anymore but it always brought her mind back to an even younger version of her daughter.

“Triwizard tournament, love. They are fairly small, at least compared to Ariel,” she said, grabbing the plastic purple cup from the side of the tub. “Now let me rinse.”

“Towel!” Iris cried out.

She passed the facecloth to Iris who buried her face into it as Hermione rinsed the shampoo out of her hair.

Her daughter still moaned in frustration when she inadvertently got a tiny bit of soapy water on her face. There were times when it would just be so much easier to use magic. Hermione had used more magic when Iris had been tiny, but as soon as she’d started to speak, she’d been forced to stop using her wand in front of her. Though it was hard not to miss how convenient being able to summon a nappy across her flat had been, or being able to rinse the shampoo off with the flick of her wand instead of the production it was now

Hermione repeated the task with conditioner, then drained the toy-filled tub. She grabbed a hooded towel from the back of the door and scooped her shivering daughter, wrapping her up tightly. She carried her to the bedroom cradled in her arms like a baby. Iris had always been in the smallest percentile for weight and height, though it still felt as if she was changing whenever Hermione blinked.

Iris was certainly growing into a little girl, the traces of her toddlerhood had mostly faded except for a little bit of remaining baby fat in her face and limbs. She held Iris a little tighter thinking of how fast time was passing.

All week, she’d been distracted and out of sorts. Hermione resolved to not get so overworked over a silly book. She was probably just letting Annie’s paranoia get to her. There was no tangible proof that anything was wrong. She focused on the warm weight of her daughter, anchoring her to the present; which was where she belonged.

Chapter 3: The Hanged Man

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: The Hanged Man

“It’s not the weight you carry

But how you carry it-

Books, bricks, grief-

It’s all in the way you embrace it, balance it, carry it

When you cannot, and would not put it down”

-Mary Oliver

==

Hermione glanced out the window, the grey afternoon a blur outside the glass. She’d spend the entirety of her day frantically trying to catch up on all that needed to be done. By week’s end, both her and Annie would be on holidays for most of August. There was so much to prepare, client’s to contact, and ensuring everything was in order for Simon who would run the shop the two weeks it would remain open at month's end.

She stood with a big yawn. She’d stayed up much too late working on her assignment, although it had paid off, as she had officially finished all of her revising. The watch chimed at the hour. Four o’clock. Only one more hour to go— she could power through. Though some caffeine might be necessary.

There was just one elderly woman browsing the fairytale section. Simon was at the back going over inventory. She gestured to him if he wanted any tea, but he shook his head. Hermione signalled that she would be back down in five and zipped upstairs.

With the limited time, she grabbed her wand to boil the water before hastily adding a bag of Earl Grey to her favourite floral mug. She used the spare few minutes to perform a quick cleaning spell as well. Generally she stuck with doing things the Muggle way, but on days like today and Iris not present, she allowed herself the convenience of magic. She used to put back her wand in her bedroom nightstand, then grabbed her tea and made it back down just as Simon was starting to pack up his bag. She bid him goodbye and perched at the front counter, pulling a few of the books she had stashed underneath to continue some research for another client.

Time passed, the elderly woman left the shop, leaving only the sound of the rain and the tick of the clock. This suited Hermione who enjoyed the quiet reprieve. Around half past four, the silence was broken by the tinkle of the door and a pair of familiar voices.

“Mummy!” Iris ran behind the counter, catapulting into Hermione’s arms.

She squeezed Iris to her, peppering kisses on her daughter’s wet head. “Hello, my love. Did you have a good day?”

Iris nodded enthusiastically. “We went to the shops and we had to run home because it started raining!” Hermione laughed, looking up at Annie, who had her hands full of wet groceries, drenched by the sudden rainstorm.

“Aye, luckily the sprog can run much quicker these days,” Annie said, still out of breath. She gestured towards the stairs at the back, “Gonna put these in their proper place, you coming wee one?”

“I want to stay with Mummy,” Iris declared.

Annie looked to Hermione, who shrugged. “Shop’s empty, I won’t object to a wet cuddle.”

“Alright, be back in a jif,” Annie said, heading upstairs to the flat.

“Is it cake day tomorrow?” Iris inquired looking up at her mother.

“Hmm, that it is. Are you excited?”

Iris gave a great big squeal.

“I take that's a yes?”

Iris smiled, nodding with her whole body. “Yes!”

The two of them continued their usual chatter about their day. Hermione had moved Iris from her lap onto the counter so that her daughter was facing her. She almost didn't hear the bell over the sound of the rain and Iris’s exuberant re-telling of her classmate getting an arm stuck in a book rack.

A familiar throat clearing cut through her daughter’s words and made her freeze. On the other side of the counter stood one of the last people she wanted to see. All of her anxiety from yesterday crashed back in a devastating wave.

“Ms. Everdeen.”

Hermione stood and tried to get herself to speak but her voice was caught in her throat. Iris’s small hand gripped her arm tightly, clearly startled by the sudden appearance of the stranger in front of them.

“Your daughter, I presume?” Xavier’s pale blue eyes moved between them.

She brought Iris to her hip, and her small face burrowed into her shoulder. Her daughter was generally outgoing, but could be rather shy around strangers, and Xavier seemed to radiate something that made others uncomfortable. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was an aura as Annie said, regardless, it was unnerving.

“Yes,” she said, voice shaking.

Xavier’s cool gaze moved between the mother and daughter, a small smile forming on his lips. The look on his face chilled her even further. She felt certain there was a spark of recognition.

“Interesting thing, genetics. Things hidden in blood that are revealed in flesh.”

At his words her heart plummeted to her stomach.

He couldn’t possibly be...her thought was interrupted by the sound of Annie, bustling back down the stairs.

Annie’s face was flushed from her earlier excursion but steadily grew more red, a sign Hermione knew meant she was truly ruffled.

Xavier didn’t seem to take note, more likely deliberately choosing to ignore Annie’s angry expression. “Good evening Ms. Mackenzie. I dropped by to see if that book had turned up?”

“As we have been telling you, there's no such book here. Jane has already suggested the interweb as a solution. We’re unfortunately unable to help.” Annie’s voice was controlled, though Hermione knew her well enough to know she was on edge.

“That is really too bad. I was hoping it would have turned up by now.” He smiled and returned his gaze to Iris.

Hermione could sense Annie’s irritation without looking at her. Her brain was firing in a million directions. She felt defenceless without her wand, an awful sensation that she hadn’t felt since the war.

Annie cut in. “Well, it isn't likely to turn up anytime soon. Again as Jane has already suggested, you may leave your contact information just in case, but unless there's something else we can help you with, we’re getting ready to close up.” Her tone had taken a harder edge as she moved toward Hermione and Iris, going to stand between them and the intruder.

Xavier gave the mother and daughter one last long look. “No, I think I have found everything I need tonight.”

The veins on Annie’s temple were starting to stick out as she pulled herself up to her full height — all five feet of it — but she still managed to look rather intimidating.

Finally after what felt like an eternity, he simply nodded at the trio before turning on his heeled boots and exiting the shop as quickly as he’d appeared.

“That man will do my head in, I swear. He comes back and asks about that bloody book one more time, I’m getting the polis involved,” Annie muttered

Hermione’s heart raced as fast as her thoughts. The look on his face had truly unnerved her. Was it possible he was a wizard? Her blood ran cold as her original assumptions were flipped on their head. Did that mean he’d recognized her?

Hermione had no clue what to say to Annie.

“Mummy, who was that?” Iris's quiet voice pulled her back to the moment, she could feel the tremors going through her small child. Not trusting herself to speak, she just held her closer and rubbed her back, trying to think.

“Just a right idiot,” Annie replied. She paced around the front of the shop, taking her anger out on the books that needed to be sorted. Roughly shoving them onto their proper shelves as she muttered to herself.

“No one darling, just a customer,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“I didn’t like his eyes,” Iris whispered to her softly. Hermione looked around. Annie was distracted with her task and had moved further from the front counter.

“Why is that?” she asked quietly.

Iris looked up at her mother, her green eyes wide. “They were like the sea. Like Captain Hook.”

==

The last bit of her workday felt like she was moving through waist-deep water. She locked the shop early at Annie’s insistence, but had remained downstairs, though not before using the excuse of running to the bathroom so she could grab her wand from her nightstand. She stayed downstairs, trying and failing to finish the last bit of work she had to do. She desperately wanted to be alone to clear her head, and someone needed to let Rosie in when she appeared at five thirty.

Finally, leaving what could be done later for tomorrow, she hurried up the back staircase that connected the shop to the flat upstairs. She heard the commotion in the kitchen but made a beeline to her room. One thing on her mind.

Hurriedly, she changed out of her work clothes, then headed toward the large bookcase at the back of her bedroom. The book in question was easy to spot on the shelf as it was so antiquated. She’d made little progress at uncovering what it was about in the time it had been in her possession. Despite poring over the book, without some access to more specific magical reference books, she hadn't been able to get very far with transcribing the parts that were not in Gaelic. That and there had been precious little time with everything else.

As soon as Xavier had left the shop, her mind had been made up: something was wrong. And having the book on her person was not right. A voice in her head told her to get it to someone else; that something was afoot, she had little evidence yet every cell in her body screamed that this wasn’t something to handle on her own.

She stared at the book in her hands. A plan… she needed to come up with a plan. She took a seat at the small desk in the corner of her room, and flipped through the thin pages. August was fast approaching, leaving her with more time to study the book. Perhaps she could pop back into the magical section of the city — she’d done it before.

That idea burst as quickly as it had come — Iris. She couldn't bring her. Hermione didn't want to involve her in any of this. No, she would get rid of the book. Her gut told her that she had to ensure Xavier didn't get hold of it. Her stomach sank thinking of Professor Roberts. The encounter tonight only cemented her anxiety about the whole mess.

Hermione tried to think rationally, she knew there was little she could do tonight. It would have to wait. A feeling of dread filled her; she would likely need to get help from the Magical World. The weight of it all landed on her like a physical blow. Quickly she grabbed her wand and put up a muffliato so she cry without being heard.

She didn't feel strong enough to face all of this, especially not this week.

Eventually she pulled herself together, brushing the tears from her cheeks. One thing at a time. Tonight she would place the book somewhere safe. Tomorrow she would contact the University. If by Friday she hadn't heard from her Professor, she would force herself to contact an authority in the Magical World. Right now wasn't the time to think about the details of how she would do this, or the repercussions it would have. None of it mattered, having the book no longer felt safe, and her daughter's safety was the single most important thing.

Her mind made up for the night, she grabbed the book and made her way to the safest spot in her flat: Iris’s bedroom. As soon as they’d moved in, the first thing she’d done was ensure that Iris’s room was a fortress. No one would get in without her permission.

Her room also contained what Iris called her “hidey hole,” a small trap door at the back of the cupboard. Annie had mentioned the spot when she moved in, saying it was great for storing important documents or extra cash. A quick extension charm had ensured that it worked wonders at containing some of her most important things; including the few remnants that she still had of her old life. The book could stay there until she knew what the next step was.

==

The scene that greeted her as she entered the small, nearly bursting kitchen instantly helped lift her mood. Annie was busy bustling away at the stove, Rosie and Iris were seated at the table heads bent over a set of paints and paper.

Greeting everyone, she set to work helping Annie get dinner on the table.

“Mummy look!” Iris cried, waving her painting in the air. “I drew Hogwarts!”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. “Oh wow darling! You certainly did.”

“She must get her creativity from her mum!” Rosie laughed, “the two of you and your stories. We really ought to write them down. They’re just so unique, all those names — I don’t know how you do it dear.”

She could see Iris nodding vigorously out of the corner of her eye, “Would you help draw Rosie?”

“Of course! Only if you’ll help me.”

She overheard Iris's enthusiastic reply, as the two of them started discussing what this picture book of magic stories would look like. It was a lovely idea, but something about writing their stories down caused her chest to tighten.

“So do you know if Emily will make it down next month?” Hermione asked.

“Aye, I reckon so! She and Livie should be coming down somewhere around the fifteenth,” Annie said, moving past her to drain the pasta.

“That will be wonderful! I know Iris will be excited to see Livie, right darling?” She turned to smile at Iris.

A very loud yes was shouted from the table, and like a charm, the subject had moved on to their upcoming trip to the Lake District, where the cottage the sisters rented out every year was located. Having been absorbed by the sisters, she and Iris had been joining them for the last four years. They would also be joined by Rosie’s daughter and granddaughter who would come over from Leeds. Livie being only a couple of years older than Iris, was always an excitement for her daughter as the two of them got on like two peas in a pod.

Hermione moved on to clearing the table, and the four of them sat down to enjoy the feast of spaghetti bolognese and garlic bread that Annie had prepared. Once they had their fill of the delicious food, they moved to the cosy sitting room. Iris provided the after dinner entertainment in the form of a dramatic rendition of ‘I want to be where the people are,’ soaking in the adoration from her enthusiastic audience.

All traces of her shyness from the encounter earlier vanished as it always did under the care of those she loved best. Looking over at her daughter as she threw her head back laughing at something Annie said, Hermione felt such a rush of love. She hoped Iris would always stay this open hearted and sure of herself.

Later, Hermione headed back into the kitchen to start the washing up, and she could hear the trio in the living room playing a rousing game of ‘Happy Families.’ It got to be well past Iris’s bedtime so Hermione began the process of getting her ready for sleep with pyjamas and brushing her teeth. Annie was requested for story time, so dressed in her favourite “Wendy” nightgown which was a pretty blue with a matching robe, a vintage treasure bought by the sisters, Iris came to say her goodnites.

“Sleep tight darling,” she said, hugging her. “Be good for Annie. Only one story, it's late.” Hermione then turned to Annie, “And none of those scary ones! Keep your ghouls and banshees to yourself,” she warned, trying but failing to remain stern in the face of her dear friend.

“The wee one is one begging for such things, I'm just obliging.”

“Scary stories are the best stories!” Iris interjected. “And true love stories...and magic ones!”

“Well, stick with the love stories tonight, I need you sleeping in your own bed,” she said, giving her daughter a final kiss before Iris and Annie left the kitchen.

With the washing up complete, she poured another glass of wine for herself and Rosie as they made themselves comfortable around the kitchen table.

“Are you excited for your trip tomorrow?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of her wine.

“Aye, if I can get Annie to lay off the book trek for even one afternoon,” Rosie said, shaking her head. “Unlike you two, I can only handle so many bookshops. I have made her swear that we have to spend at least one afternoon at the Musée D’Orsay.”

Hermione laughed, “That seems reasonable.” Knowing her friends, she imagined there would be a few of their familiar squabbles.

Rosie sighed. “Wish you two were tagging along again. At least that way I could steal off with the wee one and the two of you could lose yourself at whatever bloody auction house. At least Iris showed some excitement for the Eiffel Tower! I mean what is the point of going to Paris if you aren’t going to at least see some of the sights. But no, Annie always has to make these trips focused so much on the business.”

“That would be lovely, but someone has got to be here just in case. Can’t have poor Simon and Elle doing absolutely everything."

“Aye you’re right as always.” Rosie brushed some of her silvery blonde hair behind her ears before she fixed her eyes on Hermione. “How are you really doing, Janie girl?”

Only Annie and Rosie would ever get away with calling her Janie, and both of them seem to have a sixth sense for her moods, no matter how much she tried to mask them.

“I’m alright...managing. My school project’s finally done. I’m dropping it off tomorrow,” she said casually, pushing down the tendrils of anxiety about the more complicated situation..

“Good for you! Annie was telling me about it—she mentioned you were writing about selkies?”

“Yes, that was the final section. I think they're my favourite as well,” she paused, swirling the wine in her glass. “There’s something about those stories...they’re so compelling, so human.”

“Aye they are haunting. You're right, it's the human-like quality of them that makes them stick with you. And the loss,” Rosie finished softly. A quiet settled over them, only two years had passed Rosie’s husband Roger had died after a short illness. He’d been a good man, and Annie had moved in with her sister afterwards, a short distance over in Leith. Which had left Hermione and Iris alone in the flat.

The two continued talking until Annie made her way back from Iris’s bedroom.

“Full of questions lately, that one,” Annie sighed dramatically, sitting with a glass of wine from her sister.

“Yes I know,” Hermione replied, drinking deeply from her glass, “Apparently it's a side effect of being four. Which story did you settle on?”

“Ah, Camelot of course — gotta get her educated on one of the greatest tales of all time.”

“Which part?” Inquired Rosie.

“Lancelot and Guinevere of course. I followed orders, no ghost stories tonight. But ‘true love’ was requested.”

“I’m assuming you took some creative licence, including with the ending,” Rosie said with dismay.

“Of course not! Although I skimmed over the passionate lovemaking,” Annie retorted.

“Not sure if adultery and all that constitutes true love, especially if they don’t get a happy ending?” Rosie asked.

“Almost told her the tale of Tristan and Iseult, so I reckon it was slightly better,” Annie replied.

“Not sure if she’s ready to hear that one,” Hermione said, trying not to laugh. “But it’s probably for the best. I think it's better for her to have realistic expectations. Especially considering all of the other messages she’s getting from those ridiculous films she keeps watching,” she finished offhandedly, as she got up to top up her wine.

Annie pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. Hermione was grateful she didn't push the subject further. Annie and Rosie knew some of her story, but she'd been vague about the details of Iris’s father, telling them simply that they’d been best friends who'd experienced a lot together, and that he was in love with someone else.

Hermione had finally confessed her situation to her new friend at one of their weekly teas that Annie had started inviting her to after her continued visits to the shop. She'd sat crying and shaking on the sofa, and had finally said the words out loud to another person; that she was pregnant and uncertain what to do next, that her best friend was the father, but that he was with someone else. This happened only weeks before she saw Ron in Aberhainn and loose jumpers were no longer enough to conceal the truth of her predicament. Hermione had scarcely been able to look at Annie as the truth had spilled out of her. When she finally did, her expression was full of compassion, and there was a knowing in her kind blue eyes. Annie had taken her hand in hers and when her tears had subsided, offered to help her in any way she could. Hermione still remembered what she’d said to her: “Flowers can grow out of darkness.” It was something she had held onto all of these years.

Rosie’s voice brought her back to the moment.

“Well I think it’s lovely, all that curiosity! I can’t wait to see what that girl grows up to be. She would make a fabulous reporter.”

Hermione blanched at the suggestion, as all she could picture was Iris dressed up as Rita Skeeter.

“A private investigator, or hostage negotiator is more likely,” muttered Annie, and Hermione almost choked on her wine.

The three of them burst out laughing and bantered back and forth about the future possibilities for Iris. When Annie reached into her bag for her tarot cards, Hermione was already several glasses in, otherwise she would never have agreed to a reading. She wasn't a heavy drinker by any means, but she did like the fuzzy, slightly disconnected feeling it gave her — especially tonight with everything in the back of her mind.

Hermione followed Annie’s instruction to shuffle the cards until “it felt just right” and cut the cards into three piles. She picked the middle deck, which Annie moved to the top so that she drew from that pile, laying each card out thoughtfully, one after another, some overlapped, but they formed a distinct shape she called a ‘Celtic Cross.’ This consisted of about ten cards.

“Hmm, interesting.”

“Oh god, what is it?”

“Oh hush, it’s fine. Just give me a second, would you?”

Rosie peered over her sister’s shoulder to also study the cards. “Didn’t that one appear last time? And that one?”

“Aye, that's right.”

Her pulse quickened and through the wine haze Hermione remembered exactly why she hated doing this...it always left her feeling too exposed. Plus it was a load of rubbish.

“The same fellow is back, I need to pull some more cards to find out more.”

“I’m not sure that is necess—” she was cut off by identical hushes from the two women across from her.

“Alright, I think I'm making some sense of it,” Annie finally said after what felt like forever. “The heart of the matter is that same fellow, a court card. I know I have explained it to you but if you've forgotten, that means it can represent an aspect of yourself or it can represent someone in your life. Its position makes me think it is someone you know, someone close to your heart.”

She shrugged, eyeing the figure on the card nervously. A knight with what appeared to be a — “is that a wand?”

“Aye. The knight of wands. Represents Leo which we just entered. He's a bold fella, full of passion, definitely leaps before he looks, but will do anything for those he loves.”

Hermione lost all ability to speak, and sat dumbly as Annie continued.

“Interesting as he appears at your heart center but the opposing matter is one of being blind and not seeing clearly.” Annie pointed at a card that lay opposite it. An imposing card with a woman blindfolded holding two swords. Hermione gulped as she noticed all of the other unpleasant imagery on the cards in front of her.

“Oh Janie, there's a lot here. There's so much confusion and hurt looking back. Lots of swords at play, that signals a conflict or miscommunication. The tower appears in the future position which signifies it will all come down around—”

“Are you okay, love?” Rosie reached for her hand, cutting off whatever Annie was going to say. Hermione hadn't even noticed that she'd started crying.

“Ah hen, I’m sorry. I was looking at the cards, I’ll stop.”

Hermione shook her head. “No it’s — it’s fine. I don’t know why I’m like this right now. It’s so — so silly of me,” she squeaked, trying to stop the tears with her sleeve.

“The cards aren't always gentle. I can stop but there's a lot of good to come, see here after the tower, the clarifiers are the star and ten of pentacles. Hope and a happy home.” Annie pointed at the cards she'd pulled next to the burning tower.

“Lots of major arcana have shown up, big messages but there's so much here, lots of wonderful things.” Annie paused and grabbed her other hand.

“But what I will say — see this fellow hanging here? That’s you Janie. He's telling you that whatever it is that's holding you back, that you need to face it. You cannot stay there forever.” Annie squeezed her hand. “There's also so much to look forward to, see here, the final outcome-the Lovers. There will be challenges and mountains to climb to get there... though at the end there is love, so much love. Connection and harmony too.” She gently placed the card in the hand she'd been holding. A naked man and woman held hands, a glorious sun shining down on them with an angel overhead.

Hermione felt her resolve crumble as she began to cry harder.

Rosie came around the table and wrapped her arms around her, while Annie squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said, gathering herself. “It must be the wine.”

“Wine makes me weepy too love,” Rosie said, giving her a final squeeze before releasing her.

When she finally looked up at Annie, she saw a familiar look, one that seemed to look into her soul. She wasn't sure she could bear to be seen right now.

“Any practical advice in there about parenting a four year old? Maybe how to get her to stay in her own bed at night?”

Her words had the intended effect and Annie shook her head smiling, finally breaking her gaze to look down at the cards. “I do see themes of patience and perseverance so I think that's your answer,” she replied, taking a sip of her wine before she grinned.

“Ah, so helpful. Such wisdom.” She gave a watery laugh.

Annie winked back at her.

“Well I for one want to know a bit more about this mysterious fellow. Where does one acquire a mystery man?” Rosie joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately. Her friends were sensitive about her past, but it didn't stop them from occasionally teasing her about her love life. Not that there was much there to discuss. Not that it stopped them from occasionally making wild speculation or as Annie put it “living vicariously through her youth and beauty.”

She didn’t actively date for a variety of reasons, but she wasn't dead! When she’d started attending classes two years ago, she’d taken note of the young and carefree people who surrounded her in class. There were simply too many things that separated her from her peers for her to truly blend in.

Although she’d had some brushes. Her classmate Colin had hinted on more than one occasion at being interested, which she'd side stepped for months, even though he was perfectly nice. The only real date she'd been on was last fall with Josip in her advanced Latin class. His dark brown messy hair had instantly jolted her the first time she’d laid eyes on him. He sat next to her and they’d struck up a friendship. At the encouragement of the two women in front of her, she’d even let herself go out with him a couple of times. He came from a small town in Croatia. He didn't divulge much detail, but she’d recognized something in him. She often wondered if those who’d experienced trauma could see it in others—or if it was a sixth sense that alerted you that they too had seen horrible things that they would never be able to forget.

As lovely as Josip was, it wasn't meant to be. There were too many layers that separated them, she’d never be able to open up to him about what she’d gone through. Even if she could have told him about all that she’d witnessed in the war that had torn apart the wizarding world. There was an even bigger problem.

She was still in love with her best friend.

Hermione had been cognizant of this despite her repeated attempts to bury her feelings over the years. As fate would have it, on her second and last date with Josip, she’d found herself at the pub with him when the familiar lyrics washed over her.

Hey, little train! Wait for me!

I once was blind but now I see

Have you left a seat for me?

Is that such a stretch of the imagination?

Right then she was back in the tent, his green eyes searching hers, the flicker of awareness that something was different between them. Which had scared her, the intensity of the feeling had made her walk away from him. Not conscious of where they were headed, moving closer to the precipice of the cliff they'd eventually fall over.

Citing a sudden headache, she'd managed to get outside, leaving a bewildered Josip behind in the pub.

The pain of living without Harry only got worse as the years went on. The trauma of all of it had settled in her bones.

Even now sitting in her warm cosy kitchen with Annie and Rosie, the images came easily. The worst one was of his apparent death. It had hollowed her out. The relief that had swept through her when he moved had been indescribable. Then once the final battle was over, another reality had slammed into her; he was alive, but he wasn’t hers.

The image lived behind her eyelids. Ginny wrapped in Harry’s arms, how delicately he'd run his hands through the strands of her red hair, tangled with blood. Whatever had fractured in her from thinking he was dead finally broke then. And she’d hated herself for it.

She lasted three days at Hogwarts after the battle. Between Ron’s persistence, Harry’s distance, and then the conversation that had finally made her snap and flee, she had to leave. Not that she’d ever imagined that she would never come back.

The wine was coppery on her tongue, she touched her lip absently and that’s when she noted that she’d bit them so hard she’d drawn blood. Rosie and Annie were in the middle of an argument over something or other. Hermione gripped her wine glass and breathed out. The past was the past. She had to eventually accept her fate; that she would always love him, and that was okay. Maybe someday, she would fall in love again. Love was expansive, she believed that the heart could hold more than one person. Iris had already proven just how much bigger her heart could grow. She had to believe it could expand even more.

For now her life was too busy, too complicated. The scars of her youth still fresh. She needed more time before she made any decision around the direction of her love life—despite what others had to say on the matter.

“Well what about Harry then?”

The name snapped her back to the present.

“You must be joking, the boy's practically illiterate apparently. He’d never be good enough for our Janie!”

“Annie! You're always so harsh, what has that poor boy ever done to you?”

Not this absurd conversation again. Her marrying one of the young princes had become a regular point of conversation whenever the subject of her love life came up—ever since Prince William had started attending St Andrews.

She didn't bother to suppress her groan.

“This is completely preposterous. There's no reason for us to talk about this imaginary scenario ever again! Hell will freeze over before the third in line to the throne marries a single mum who works in a bookshop.”

Or a witch for that matter, she thought to herself as she finally extricated herself from the table to clear their now-empty glasses. The sisters continued to bicker mindlessly as they moved to grab their things. Hermione didn't envy them having to board a plane after all this wine tomorrow morning. The three women shared a round of hugs and farewells. With promises to ‘send a postcard for Iris,’ they finally departed.

Hermione’s mind whirled with the day's events as she grabbed her wand from the bedroom and went about checking her wards — the anxiety crept back in despite the haze of alcohol in her veins. She doubled back when she was finished and checked again, and again, before finally heading to bed.

==

Everything was upside down. She was having a hard time making sense of what she saw. From this angle it was fire and stone. There were blurs, figures, she couldn’t be sure of. Everything seemed to be moving too fast.

When she craned her neck, there were brown fur coats strewn about the ground, as if revellers from an upscale party had tossed all of their furs out a window. A loud cry drew her gaze to the side. Professor Roberts ran past her, eyes filled with terror. Her cry to him was muffled, which alerted her to the gag in her mouth.

Her hands stuck to her side, all she could do was writhe. Panic spread through her body like the flames in front of her. Something deep within her could sense that Iris needed her. The fire before her continued to rage and more stone crumbled to the ground. Suddenly a warm weight on her ankle steadied her. The touch was familiar. Someone supported her legs as the bindings around her came loose. She was lifted and the world righted itself. The blood rushed back into her body, making her dizzy as she took in the scene in front of her.

Her first thought was Edinburgh castle, but now she saw that it was Hogwarts. And it wasn't brown coats: it was seal skins. And nude bodies. All of which were strewn about the school grounds. The black lake pulsated, dark and strange.

Her brain was so busy trying to take in everything, she almost forgot about the strong arms keeping her aloft. Then she looked down, saw the pale skin and rolled up sleeves. She knew those arms. Finally she looked up and saw the face she expected. The one she always wanted to see. His glasses reflected some of the flames, rendering his expression unreadable. Her hand moved without her awareness, touching the warmth of his skin. His head tilted and then she could see his eyes clearly. The piercing green. They bore into hers as they stared at one another, the world falling apart around them. He leaned down so that his nose was touching hers.

“It isn’t like this with other people,” he whispered. She tried to answer him, only to find the gag still in her mouth.

“Mummy!!!”

Harry continued to look at her, while her mind scrambled to place where her daughter’s voice was coming from.

“Mummy!!”

The last thing she saw was the devastation in his green eyes before she was ripped out of her sleep as her daughter's small body slammed into hers.

“Iris?” she gasped, her arms quickly wrapped around her crying child.

“I — I had a— bad dream!” Iris wailed, her voice shrill. Hermione rocked her, trying to settle both of them from their respective nightmares.

“Me too, my darling. Me too,” she murmured into Iris’s curls.

Chapter 4: Do you Believe in Fairies?

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Do You Believe in Fairies?

“When you feel homesick,’ he said, ‘just look up. Because the moon is the same wherever you go.”

-Donna Tart, The Goldfinch

Hermione awoke to the bright light streaming through her window. An errant curl of her daughter’s hair was stuck in her mouth, dread filled her stomach and a raging hangover was wreaking havoc on her body. Still, she’d known exactly what day it was the moment her eyes blinked open.

Iris continued to sleep deeply despite the sunlight. In her sleep, the similarities between mother and daughter were even more evident, especially with her green eyes hidden. Hermione laid there, waging an internal debate on how bad it would be if she simply ignored everything she was supposed to do. Her brain acted as if it wanted to escape her head by banging against her skull. Between the riot in her gut and her head, she wasn't sure how she would manage anything.

She sighed. There wasn’t a choice. She had responsibilities to attend to, even if it was Harry’s Birthday and all she wanted to do was curl up under her sheets. Reluctantly she made herself leave the comfort of her bed and daughter to start the day.

==

The morning had been a disaster as she popped pain meds, cursing herself for no longer having the supplies to brew a hangover potion. Luckily, Iris was as sunny and bright as the day outside and didn't seem to notice her mother’s dark mood. Hermione did her best to shake it off, and luckily her last day of work was busy, keeping her focused on other things. Her spirits were lifted by the greasy breakfast sandwich brought in by Simon (“Annie said you may need this today”).

In the early afternoon, Hermione left the shop in Simon’s capable hands to close up. She took a long walk across town to drop off her portion of the research project in her professor's mail slot now. Part of this was an act of hope — that maybe if she acted like everything was fine, it would be.

The events of yesterday, including her nightmare, were at the forefront of her mind, but she followed her plan. She wandered into the administration building and inquired about Professor Roberts' whereabouts, only to be told by an annoyed secretary that she could not pass along personal contact information to students.

Hermione swallowed her dread, heading towards her professor’s unoccupied office and sliding her project under the door. Anxious and frustrated, she left school. As she weaved her way through the throngs of summer tourists, her next step hung over like a storm cloud waiting to burst. Performers were all over the city, making things extra crowded and lively. Tomorrow would be the start of the world-renowned Edinburgh Fringe Festival and the streets would only grow busier over the coming month, making her even more eager for their upcoming escape to the Lake District. All she wanted to do was focus on this escape, and not the bomb that might go off if she had to make contact with the Magical world.

Once she arrived at the nursery Iris practically flung herself into her arms at first sight. They meandered the cobblestone streets of Stockbridge, stopping at their favourite chippy along the way before the duo made their way to Dean Gardens. As they sat on the lush grass, Hermione happily listened while Iris chatted about her day and the new skill she’d learned.

“Matilda showed me mummy, and I had to try, like a hundred times but I finally got it!” Iris exclaimed, her green eyes shining with pride.

“That’s wonderful darling!”

“I’ll show you one second — ” Iris scrambled up off the ground, still chewing the chips in her mouth, and wiping the grease from her hand onto her grey pinafore.

“Hold on a second! Use your napkin!” Hermione laughed as she wiped Iris down, “Also no aerobics with your mouth full like that.”

Iris grinned showing the half chewed food in her mouth.

“Such cheek!” The sternness of her voice was overshadowed by the smile she was fighting to contain. “Not sure if I should allow any cake baking tonight with such manners.”

“Oh Mummy, I was only joking. Also look, no more chips!” And with that, Iris proceeded to cartwheel away from her mother.

Hermione watched her daughter do one flip then another, her small body so graceful as she projected herself into the air using just her hands to carry herself over. She loved watching the way Iris moved through the world: so unselfconscious and full of life. Her purple shorts were on full display as she whizzed around, her twin plaits, that had somewhat contained her hair at the start of the day, were now in full disarray. Her daughter had to continuously move her wild hair from her face when returning to her feet, before flinging herself at the earth once more.

She knew she would see him in her, had expected it, still she was surprised at how often it took her breath away.

Strangers would often make comments about the pair of them, that the resemblance was remarkable. But Hermione suspected that the Potter genetics had won out in terms of overall strength. While Iris shared her hair, certainly (although Iris was still a bit lighter in youth), heart shaped face, her nose... the rest of her was her father’s side. She shared the same striking emerald eyes as her father and paternal grandmother. And when she smiled it pulled up on the same side of her mouth as his.

Like her father, Iris also wore her emotions clearly on her face, and when she was happy, it radiated out of her. Although the same was true of her other moods. Iris was generally a pretty content child, though she wasn’t shy about expressing her other strong emotions when they surfaced. She also had a physical fearlessness that often set off Hermione’s anxiety, and she most certainly didn't get that from her side. Though what most tied her to Harry was their big hearts. Her daughter hated to see anyone else get hurt, and had already had a few negative run-ins with some other children at nursery over disagreements around unkind words being spoken to one of her friends by one particular boy. Iris was in the process of learning that she needed to bring the issue up with her teacher rather than taking matters into her own hands. And if that wasn't the most Harry Potter tendency in the world, Hermione didn't know what was. She was grateful Iris’s magic hadn't come in strongly yet, as she really didn't know what she would do if Iris followed in her father’s footsteps and blew anyone up.

Hermione let out a shaky breath. Whether she was ready for it or not, the world she’d built for herself and Iris could crash down around her. She thought of the crumbling tower on the card and from her dream. Her mind continued to wander over all the options. Years had passed since she’d properly read any news about the magical world. She was unsure how much to trust the Ministry. She could take Iris to Hogwarts, get in contact with Professor McGonagall, the school mostly empty over the summer. She imagined walking the stone corridors with Iris on her hip. A fierce mixture of emotions rolled through her because of course Hogwarts always made her think of one thing, or one person.

Taking in the sound of her daughter's laughter, she let herself release the swirling thoughts. It wasn't the time to make decisions; solutions could wait until tomorrow.

After letting Iris work out a bit more of her pent-up energy on the grassy slope, the two of them made their way back along the River Leith to Stockbridge. Once home the twosome got straight to whisking together the ingredients needed for a birthday cake. Iris, eager to do everything herself, seemed to have just as much flour on her as there was in the mixing bowl. Once the cake was in the oven, they got to work on the buttercream frosting. Rustling through the baking cupboard, Hermione grabbed the food colouring options and placed them on the counter.

“Alright, what will it be?” she asked her daughter.

Iris eyed the bottles closely, concentration etched on her face.

“Hmmm, I'm not sure.”

“Not purple?”

“Well, the cake is for Daddy too, isn’t it? I’m not sure what his favourite colour is,” Iris said, peering up at her.

Hermione gazed into her daughter’s eyes, a mix of anxiety and guilt pooling in her stomach. She should have expected this. This was the first cake day that Iris knew the double meaning, and yet she still felt caught off guard by her daughter's innocent question.

An inquisitive child, Iris had started asking about her father fairly young. Right before she turned three she’d asked Hermione why she didn't have a daddy like her other friends at nursery. She'd always done her best to answer Iris truthfully, no matter how complex or difficult the subject matter, but Harry was the one topic she struggled with the most. In the early years, she'd simply told Iris that she did have a father but that he lived far away, which felt true, as the magic world often felt a million miles away from them. Iris had mostly accepted this at face value until last month in the run up to Father’s Day.

Iris had been sullen the entire way home from nursery which wasn't like her. Hermione had done everything she could think to break her daughter out of her stormy mood to no avail. It wasn't until bedtime that the façade crumbled and her daughter had tucked herself into Hermione’s side, small body trembling, and told her about the boy at school.

“He — he said that if my — my daddy’s gone...” Iris had gasped through big sobs, “it’s — it’s because he didn’t want me.”

Hermione’s heart had sunk right into her stomach.

“Oh darling, nothing could be further from the truth about your father,” she whispered quietly into Iris's hair. “He would never have left because of you.”

Iris quieted, her body still quivering, she moved her head to look at her. “Then — then why is he so far away?” she asked, her voice still full of tears.

Because I’m a coward .

Hermione felt the familiar flush of shame that appeared when she thought of how she'd left. It pulled at the part of her that continued to question the decision she’d made. Iris was clever, and vague answers were no longer going to satisfy her. She owed her as much of the truth as she could tell her now.

She took a steadying breath, “He didn't leave you Iris. I left him.” Her daughter had stilled, eyes full of questions. “There’s so much I want to tell you darling, but some of it...it’s something I need to save for when you’re a little older but—” she continued seeing the indignation on Iris's face at having to wait. “I want to tell you as much as I can.”

Slowly the story spilled out of her, with magic omitted. Hermione had told Iris about how she'd gone away to a school, far away from her parents when she’d been eleven years old— how she'd struggled to make any friends, and then one day two boys saved her from some trouble, and from then on it had been the three of them.

“One of those boys... he’s your father. The thing I want you to know most about him is that he has the biggest heart, just like you. Whenever I ran into danger, I — I always knew he’d come and find me, just like the day we became friends.” She took another deep breath, her throat constricting as she spoke of him. “He was one of my best friends all through school, but things got more complicated when we got older. I love your father very much. He’s one of the best wi — humans I’ve ever known.”

“Mummy, what does com — plicated mean?” Iris had asked quietly, struggling to pronounce the new to her word.

Hermione’s own tears fell, as her daughter's tear streaked face looked up at her.

“Oh darling, it just means there were no simple answers. That I — we...there were a lot of things happening all at once. I promise that when you’re older I’ll explain more.” They laid there quietly for a long time as she held her child close. “I see so much of him in you.” She traced her finger down Iris’s nose, moving to trace the delicate skin above her eyes, “Your eyes.” Her fingers moved down to her daughter's rose bud mouth, “Your smile.” Her hand finally settled over her daughter's heart and she held their hands together there, “And especially, your heart.” Iris’s eyes widened and Hermione smiled through her tears, “You have so much of your father’s love and bravery inside of you. I should've told you all of this… I haven't been very brave, but I know it's important that you know more about him, and where you come from.” Hermione let out another shaky breath. “And I’ll do my best to answer your questions to the best of my ability...and I promise one day you’ll know everything my sweet girl.”

“Mummy…” Iris said, after a long moment, “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Hermione brushed the hair from her daughter's face. “Ask me anything.”

“What’s his name?”

Such a simple question, one loaded with so much emotion. How had Hermione failed to convey such a simple fact about the man who helped her create the child in her arms?

“Harry. Your father’s name is Harry.”

“Harry,” Iris whispered, a smile spreading across her face. “His name is Harry?”

“Yes, my love.”

That had opened the floodgates, and Iris was regularly peppering in small questions about her father and Hermione did her best to answer them. Which had led to Iris knowing that her half birthday also happened to be her father’s actual birthday.

“Do you know his favourite colour Mummy?” Iris's voice brought her back to the present.

“Oh. Uh...I'm not sure. I do think he always liked green but I'm not absolutely certain.”

“That’s alright, I like green too.” Iris grabbed the green bottle off the table and handed it to Hermione. “Maybe we can do green and purple!” she exclaimed, her excitement returning as she also handed her mother the purple bottle.

“That sounds wonderful,” Hermione said, and she proceeded to divide the frosting into separate bowls for Iris's new vision.

Together they continued working on the cake. Finally getting quite a bit past Iris’s bedtime, their hard work paid off. A slightly lopsided two-layer vanilla cake covered in a swirl of green and purple icing sat proudly on the kitchen table. Iris clapped in excitement as Hermione lit all five candles with one pushed further in to represent that Iris was now officially four and a half, not just four. They both sang the traditional song with the lyrics changed to “Happy half birthday to you” as the two of them giggled.

“Alright, make a wish, my love.”

Iris closed her eyes, her face scrunched up in concentration lit up by the glow of the candlelight, she paused for a long beat before finally taking several blows to extinguish her candles. Hermione cheered and Iris beamed before pulling out the candles so she could lick off the icing.

Hermione cut them each a slice, not quite believing that she was loading her small child with sugar this late, although one only turned four and a half once. She knew her parents would have disapproved, along with her half hearted attempts to get Iris to stop sucking her thumb. She could even hear the lecture they’d give her in her mind. With her parents unaware of her existence, and the start of her holidays tomorrow, she decided to not fret and just enjoy this time with her daughter.

She had just taken another bit of cake, when Iris piped up “Mummy, where do you think Daddy is right now?”

Hermione took her time to finish chewing, to buy herself time to think. One thing with Iris’s age: she wasn’t always sure exactly how literal her daughter was being.

“Right this second?”

“ Yes, it’s his fully real birthday. Do you think he's eating cake too?”

“Hmm, he very well could be.” An image flashed through her mind of Harry surrounded by the Weasleys and all their friends, a sheepish smile on his face as they sang to him, his face illuminated by the twenty three candles. She felt a physical pang looking at Iris. Just the two of them at the table. Annie and Rosie in Paris. Her parents on another continent, completely oblivious that they even had a daughter and grandchild. No larger community of loved ones. It was so painful to want so many things that couldn’t co exist.

“You don’t know where he is? Not even at all?” Iris asked, eyes wide and frosting smeared across her cheek.

Hermione reached over to wipe the icing off with her thumb.

“I’m not sure Iris...” She paused, trying to think. “All I know is... well — we’re under the same sky,” she said as she squeezed her daughter's hand.

Iris paused, taking in what her mother had just said before her lip pulled up into a smile.

“Second to the right, and straight on till morning?"

A surprised laugh escaped her. She loved how her daughter's mind worked, their shared love of stories. Iris’s current obsession with the tale of Peter Pan spilled out in unexpected ways, her imagination and brilliant mind always coming up with lovely and interesting ideas.

“I think that sounds about right.”

==

“Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.” Hermione read the familiar words out loud, Iris tucked into the corner of her arm as they lay on the small brass bed.

“Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees. “Do you believe?’ he cried.”

Popping her thumb out of her mouth, Iris asked “Mummy, do you believe in fairies?”

“Of course!” Hermione replied back smiling down at Iris.

“For real live life?” she asked seriously.

Hermione tried not to laugh at the intensity of Iris’s inquiry. “We must believe in some types of magic my love,” she said, before turning back to the book, and continued.

“Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate. She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure.

‘What do you think?’ she asked Peter.

‘If you believe,’ he shouted to them, ‘clap your hands; don't let Tink die.’"

Hermione placed the book in her lap, and mother and daughter completed the ritual of clapping to ensure Tinkerbell's survival.

One of her favourite parts of parenting was sharing the things she’d once done with her own parents. It allowed her to feel connected to them, despite the vast physical and psychological distance.

She'd also wanted to know about fairies when she was Iris’s age, her imagination alight, and right before the magic of her childhood disappeared, real magic had entered. Eventually she'd discovered that fairies were real, along with many other lovely, strange and frightening things. Magic which ran through her veins, without a doubt also ran inside the inquisitive child beside her. It was also one of the things she felt most uncertain about: when was the right time to introduce your magical child to magic when she lived in the muggle world?

Besides, all of it led to one thing: having to tell Harry. She’d always known she would, he deserved to know. She was aware that Iris would grow up and have even more questions, and most importantly she would go to Hogwarts someday. It was not an if, but a when.

Her fear of how Harry would react played a major part in why she’d stayed away in the first place. Over the years she had tried to imagine how she would tell him, over and over, since even before Iris was born. Fear always struck her dumb, leaving her stuck and frozen with how to undo the act.

As she flipped the page, she looked down at her daughter whose entire body melted against her, a stance full of trust and love. Hermione felt the familiar wave of guilt and uncertainty, that she was failing her — by keeping her from magic, which was her birthright, but also by keeping her from her father.

Despite all of her fears, both rational and irrational, Harry had the biggest heart of anyone she'd ever known. Deep down she believed, or at least she hoped, he would love Iris with all of it. And that made her feel both so incredibly full and awful.

She had no idea how Iris would fit into his life. He was more than likely married at this point, maybe even had another child of his own. She hated to admit to herself how much that pained her, despite desperately wishing him nothing but happiness. It had been this reason, above all others, why she’d stayed away; so that he could have the time to build that life for himself.

Still, there were other reasons as well. The wizarding world could be a cruel and terrifying place. She worried about the leftover Death Eaters and the risk they posed to Iris because of who she was. There was dark magic, prejudice and the less serious, but still intimidating, prying eyes of the entire wizarding society. The possible brush with magic this week had left her feeling hollowed out and all the trauma of the war had rushed back in.

In her small bedroom, with its sloped ceiling, floral wallpaper, her picture books and fairy tale castle playmobil set — Iris was safe. She wasn’t the target of any madmen seeking revenge, she wasn’t fodder for gossip rags; she was just a little girl.

“He signed to them not to give vent to any cry of admiration that might rouse suspicion. Then he went on ticking.” How apt, she thought. She often felt she could hear the tick of time, that her past would catch up with her— especially in light of the last few days. She gently closed the book and Iris slowly lifted her head, meeting her eyes.

“Peter Pan is rather brave, Mummy,” she said with a yawn.

“That he is, sweetheart. Are you feeling sleepy yet?”

Iris shook her head lazily side to side, her movement giving away the falseness of her gesture.

“Well, it appears that the sun is going to bed, which means it’s bedtime for all the little girls in Neverland,” Hermione said, smoothing back the hair that had fallen into her daughter's face.

Iris grinned up at her. “Silly Mummy, we’re not in Neverland , we’re in Scotland.”

“Ah, you seem to be correct, little one — though it appears that they share the same time for when children need to be tucked into their beds... or they risk being tickled until they comply!” Iris let out a playful shriek as Hermione lightly started tickling her side. She knelt down and gently pulled the duvet around her daughter’s small body.

Hermione pressed a kiss to Iris’s forehead, “I love you my darling girl.”

“I love you Mummy, wider than the sky.”

“I love you, wider than the galaxy.”

“I love you more than the whole universe!”

Hermione laughed and peppered a few more kisses across Iris’s face. She rose from the bed. “Well I'm not sure if I can top that! Sweet dreams love.”

“G’night Mummy,” Iris mumbled, pulling Prongs up to her face. She looked back at her with a conspiratorial look and cheeky grin. “Don’t forget our pancakes tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

==

With Iris finally tucked into bed, Hermione shuffled to the kitchen, made herself some tea and headed up the small spiral stairs to the roof.

Her little oasis in the city. She'd promised Annie she wouldn't let her hard work go to waste. Hermione didn’t have much of a green thumb, but a very subtle self watering charm meant that the abundance of perennials that Annie had planted on the small rooftop terrace didn’t perish under her care.

She stood at the railing overlooking the city, the top of the castle glowing in the distance. The scent of climbing roses mixed with the distinctive smell of Edinburgh, which was hard to describe, but tonight the warm wind seemed to carry the slight hint of the sea that lay beyond her view, mixed with the old distillery and car exhaust. The city lights were too bright to make out many stars or the constellations.

A waxing moon shone brightly. The sky was the gorgeous deep blue that occurred right before night truly fell. As she stared up at the moon, she couldn’t help remembering another moonlit evening on a colder night all those years ago. The last time she'd been with him alone. All week she’d been bombarded with memories. At this moment, gazing up at the sky, she didn't want to focus on the war, all that had come after, this week and what lay ahead. She wanted to simply think of him on his birthday.

Hermione tilted her head upwards, eyes closed and allowed herself to conjure him up in her mind.

The images came easily. the one summer afternoon they’d spent together before they’d been running for their lives, swimming in the chilled river. All the time alone in the tent. How he’d reached his hand out to her in the tent inviting her to dance and they'd laughed together for the first time in the aftermath of Ron’s departure. All the small and large moments between them as they’d drawn closer and closer together. From washing blood out of her hair, to being in his arms when she’d confessed her deepest fear of losing him, to the feel of him pressed against her in the candlelit church she’d once attended with her grandmother.

Then there was the night that had cemented the change between them. An alcohol-infused game where they’d moved unconsciously towards something more. The shy and reverent look in his eyes the first time he’d pressed his lips to her, the intensity when he’d kissed her again. The first time they slept together, and the last, the chilly spring evening when he’d been inside her. What it had felt like to be connected to him in that way.

Her memory pushed back even further, to the years they’d grown up together. All the small details that made him Harry. How he’d come back dishevelled after Quidditch practice and how the smell of grass and air clung to his clothes. His natural grace in the air. The way he’d push his glasses up when he was studying. That look he’d give her across the room when they both seemed to be thinking the same thing. His laugh, which was too rare in the last couple of years, but which she’d been lucky enough to experience alone in the tent. Her exasperation and admiration for all of the stunts he pulled in their younger years. His stubbornness. How genuinely kind he was, something she’d immediately noticed on the train back in first year, how humble and unassuming he’d been despite who he was. Finally, how her heart had been his from the moment he’d saved her from a mountain troll and become the first real friend she’d ever had.

And always, no matter what she did, she thought of their daughter, and how much alike they were. Hermione couldn't help but wish she could get her hands on a pensive; there was so much she wanted to preserve, to keep her memories safe and held somewhere safe.

Opening her eyes, she peered up at the moon. She let herself hope that wherever he was that he was happy...that he’d built the life for himself that he always wanted.

“Happy Birthday Harry,” she whispered to the sky.

Chapter 5: The Knight of Wands

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: The Knight of Wands

“…still when I lost her, I lost sight of any landmark that might have led me someplace happier, to some more populated or congenial life…” -Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

==

Harry woke up on the morning of his twenty-third birthday to the sound of his godson singing Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs. He was also nursing a rough hangover. He'd been persuaded by his teammates to go out for pre-birthday drinks after a post-work scrimmage game. A choice he was bitterly regretting as he felt Teddy scramble up on the bed.

“Uncle Harry! Get. Up !” Teddy huffed as he climbed on top of said Uncle's sleeping form.

He stifled a groan from the pain in his head. Although there was no persuading Teddy once he set his mind on something.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep and from having had to shout at the crowded pub.

“We have a surprise for you! But you have to come now,” Teddy exclaimed, finally climbing off his back so that Harry could get up.

“Give me a second. I’ll be right behind you.” He turned to look at his godson who had crossed his arms and looked unimpressed.

“I need two minutes. I'll follow you.” Harry scrubbed his hands over his face trying to think over the pounding in his head. “Er — maybe you should make sure the surprise is all set?”

This seemed to appease the mini tyrant, who quickly ran out the door, but not before yelling, “Two minutes!”

Harry flopped back down onto his mattress and released another groan.

A promising start to a notoriously sh*tty day.

He knew he would probably feel differently once he had some hangover potion. There’d better bloody well be some potion in the cupboard or so help him — his thought was cut off by the fuzzy creature who hopped up on his bed, squashed face glaring at him. Then it clicked. He’d forgotten to feed him last night.

“Ah sh*te. Sorry Crooks, it’s coming.”

He used the guilt to propel him out of his bed. Harry quickly threw on his glasses, a t-shirt, and jogging bottoms before padding down the hallway of his flat to the small kitchen at the back. “Flat” was maybe not the exact term to describe his place; it was more like a separate wing within the larger residence of Grimmauld Place. It consisted of his bedroom and ensuite, a guest bedroom, a study, living room, kitchen and another bathroom. It could be described as private as it was self-contained, but remained connected to the rest of the home from a door off the hallway that he seldom kept locked.

The rest of the manor was occupied by his godson Teddy, and Teddy’s father Remus and Remus’s mother in law Andromeda Tonks, who insisted they call Andie. There was also Kreacher, who mostly kept to himself.

A loud meow was emitted by the furry resident that occupied this part of the house with him as Harry flicked his wand, adding an extra generous helping of food into Crookshanks bowl. He felt a wave of gratitude when he spotted a few more vials of hangover potion in the cupboard. With a swig of the stuff, he immediately felt better, and not a moment too soon as he heard the sound of running and a loud disgruntled “Uncle Harry!”

“I’m coming,” he said as he made it to the hallway and scooped up his godson, who let out a playful shriek.

The twosome made their way through the enormous manor to the first floor, which housed the large kitchen and the once darkened dining room. The entire place had been transformed slowly over the last five years. The kitchen now housed a smaller table that they used for meals when there were no guests. Remus currently sat there reading the paper, while Andie arranged something on a plate. They both looked up smiling as they entered the kitchen, while Teddy shouted “Surprise!” from his arms.

There was a mish-mash of streamers that blinked different colours strung along the high cabinets. A giant stack of pancakes, crispy bacon, fresh summer fruit and a pitcher of fresh orange juice on the table. Harry grinned despite himself. This day might have had its negative memories, but having the people who were like family surrounding him helped.

After stuffing themselves, Harry was about to get up when Teddy pulled a small bundle of presents from under the table.

“You have to open your presents before you leave!”

Harry glanced at the clock, and then back at Remus, who happened to also be his superior at work. He simply smiled and shrugged. Harry took the permission to be late and opened the assortment of wrapped packages: a new book on the art of defence from Remus, some hand knitted socks and a new quill from Andie and an assortment of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products and sweets from Teddy.

At Teddy’s encouragement and Andie saying she was willing to turn a blind eye to sweets at breakfast, they tucked into a couple packages of chocolate frogs. While opening his second frog the reality of the day washed over him. There on the infamous cards was the person he missed most.

Hermione Granger, born on the 19th of September, 1979, a Muggle-born who was sorted into Gryffindor House. Often referred to as the brightest witch of her age, she's best known for being instrumental in helping Harry Potter defeat Lord Voldemort and her role in the Battle of Hogwarts. Recipient of the Order of Merlin First Class. She went missing shortly after the war and her whereabouts are currently unknown.

The last line crushed him every time he read it. He sucked in a breath, trying to stifle his reaction so as not to draw attention from Teddy. Remus had already left and Andie was busy clearing up. He slipped the card into the pocket of his joggers and excused himself, ruffling his godson's hair as he exited the kitchen and headed back to his flat.

It was getting way past time for him to get ready but he couldn’t help it — the card had triggered something in him. He headed to his study, or as Ron often used to refer to it, his ‘obsession lair.’ In many ways it was what one would expect in a study. A desk that overlooked the back garden, several bookcases, and a set of overstuffed brown leather chairs. What differentiated it was that the entire right wall consisted of a large map and several cork boards filled with papers, letters and pictures. He couldn't bring himself to take it down.

Taking out the chocolate frog picture, he used his wand to create an adhesive and added to the fragments he still had of her. To the right of it he could see the letter she'd left behind all those years ago. Ron had been the one to discover it. Short and to the point, she’d told them that she needed some space to clear her head, and wanted to retrieve her parents on her own. It had also been Ron who had wanted to chase her down in Australia, and while Harry also wanted to go to her, he knew that when Hermione made a decision it was best to listen to her. He hadn't always in the past, and as much as it had pained him, he'd wanted to respect her wishes. Now one of the biggest regrets of his life.

He never could have imagined a universe in which she would choose to leave permanently. There’d been no hint of that in her letter. She'd ended it by saying she’d be in touch by the summer. May passed. She didn’t come back for the mass funeral. Then June slipped by. Part way through July was when both he and Ron became increasingly concerned. By his eighteenth birthday, the worry had turned to panic. Over the course of their friendship, she’d never missed his birthday, not once. Something had to be wrong.

They'd immediately arranged a portkey to Australia. In Sydney they found Mr. and Mrs. Granger still living under their aliases, memories wiped of their previous life. Only the receptionist seemed to have any recollection of a young woman with curly brown hair visiting the dental office. There was little information to go on. Weeks later they were able to uncover the return location of her portkey in the records, which showed that she’d returned to Hogsmeade.

When they made their way back to England, the two of them immediately started up a task force of their closest friends and some volunteers from what remained of the Order. He and Ron had a spectacular row about the best way to go about working with the press. Harry was wary of contacting them, wanting to use the resources they had. Ron insisted that the public might help, and Harry eventually conceded. Although displeased with the way it had unfolded— the pleas to find her got attention. Every single witch and wizard seemed to be on alert and the tips had begun to pour in. They'd explored every promising lead, traipsing around the entire United Kingdom and many other cities abroad.

As the relentless search for her unfolded, Harry never once admitted to anyone how much his feelings for his best friend had changed. Ron had become completely unglued by Hermione’s disappearance and he lacked the courage to tell his best mate that he was also in love with their other best friend. He’d worried a confession would derail their search, so he’d stayed quiet. The only thing that had mattered was finding her.

Those first six months they’d done nothing but search, chasing down leads, putting up a reward and having the Aurors help interrogate leftover Death Eaters. Harry’s biggest fear was that someone had gone after her as revenge against him. That exact scenario had been one of the main reasons he'd been so careful to keep his feelings about her to himself in the first place.

By the new year Ron had finally thrown in the towel. Harry hadn't been willing to stop. Without an answer, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to. Not completely.

Eventually he accepted his spot with the Aurors, though he’d often spent weekends and downtime tracking down the ever dwindling leads. Several of his friends had tried to hold interventions about his insistence on keeping the map up. Ron had pointed out that it wasn’t exactly the work of someone whose sanity was intact, that it would also “scare away any worthwhile witches...anyone who sees that and doesn’t run should bloody terrify you.”

Harry didn’t really care; it wasn't as if he was bringing a lot of witches over anyways.

Five years later he could no longer deny, at least to himself, how deeply he'd fallen for his best friend. His feelings for her had caught him completely off guard when they'd started. When they'd finally kissed, it had lit a fire inside him, one that he’d desperately tried to extinguish.

Harry stared at the picture now affixed to the wall. It was from their sixth year at Hogwarts, in the common room, a book on her lap. She kept glancing from the book to the left of her, at someone, or something off camera, a playful smile on her face.

Her beauty shone so clearly through the photograph. Why had he not noticed then? He'd always thought her pretty, but he’d been so blind to what was right next to him. Hermione was not only beautiful, she was fiercely loyal, compassionate, brilliant and intense in everything she did. He missed every single thing about her. The familiar ache flared up right in his chest, as if his lungs were filled with stones.

Forcing himself to exhale, he tore his eyes away and quickly surveyed the map. The last credible sighting of her was about a year ago in Paris, but she was long gone by the time he'd made it over and spoke to the man who had claimed to see her at a restaurant near the Latin Quarter. Although it was always possible it hadn't been her… that she was truly nowhere on this earth.

He ran his trembling hands through his messy jet-black hair, before placing them on his head. He sighed deeply as he stared at her photograph, while the same thought passed through his mind just as it did each and every day:

Where are you Hermione?

==

Harry made his way through the rows of open cubicles to the space he shared with his current work partner, Seamus Finnegan.

“If it isn’t the birthday boy! How were ya feeling this morning?” Never one for subtleties, Seamus hadn't bothered to lower his voice.

“Absolutely fabulous, thanks.” Harry didn't try to hide the sarcasm from his reply.

“Ready for round two?” Seamus said eyebrows raised suggestively, “Maybe find you a fit bird to bring on the weekend, when we do round three?”

Harry didn't bother dignifying that with a verbal response, just grunted at his desk mate before turning to his work. His friends had become less subtle over the last year at trying to pair him off with literally anyone. Seamus wasn't deterred. “I know you can rally Potter. You only turn twenty three once! Round three is certain to be the wildest… besides you only have so many youthful years left,” he added with a sh*t eating grin.

“Round three? I’m not even sure there will be a second round.”

Seamus laughed, “Of course there will be, yesterday was just the preview for tonight.”

“Hmm, let’s try and get through the day first, yeah?”

“Ah, we’ll see about that,” Seamus replied with a wink.

Waving off the Irish wizard, Harry finally turned to the mountain of paperwork that awaited him. People often thought that chasing after dark wizards was all excitement and adrenaline, not realising that it was only about twenty percent those things. Another fifty percent was paperwork, with the remaining other thirty percent taken up by meetings, check-ins and often tedious stake outs.

Around ten forty five, they were approached by one of the more senior Aurors, Vera. “Meeting in conference room two. Five minutes.” As one of only two former Slytherins in the department, she didn't often mince words.

“Will there be food?” Seamus asked hopefully, from the withering look Vera sent the younger Auror, the answer was unlikely.

“Is it on the Mullins case?” Harry asked, reaching for the thick file he had just put away.

Vera shook her head, dark ponytail moving side to side. “Bring any of the documentation you have from Aberdeen.” With that she turned on her heels and left.

“She’s a right laugh,” Seamus said, stretching his arms over his head in an undignified manner.

“Well, we need some serious people on the team, to balance out the likes of you.”

“Said by Mr. Serious himself. Reckon they’ll be any birthday cake at this meeting?”

Harry shook his head, internally cringing at the thought of any kind of public birthday spectacle.

“Yeah—if it was anyone other than Vera, I’d maybe let myself get me hopes up,” Seamus said, shrugging. “Have you shown Teddy the film I gave ya?”

“Not yet. I promised him we would do a film night this weekend before he leaves on holiday.”

“Guaranteed, he'll love it. It’s got everything. Pirates, sword fighting, rodents of unusual size, a beautiful lady,” he said, smiling and giving him another wink. Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s good craic. One of me favourites as a kid,” he said as he stood up. “Gonna hit the loo — ”

Gathering the documents he may need for the meeting, Harry proceeded to the back of the department. Several rooms were designated for meetings and interviewing witnesses or suspected criminals. The largest was room two and several people were already settled.

“Potter! Were you feeling grand this morning?” Terry Boot called out to him from the other end of the table as Harry took a seat. He remembered why he didn't usually drink heavily during the work week.

Before he could respond, Stella, who was on his right, nudged his arm and gave him a wink. “Ignore Terry, he's just jealous he can’t handle his liquor as well as you.”

Harry chuckled, as Terry sputtered, “What's that supposed to mean?”

Ignoring the indignant wizard at the other end of the table, she turned to Harry. “Happy Birthday, by the way. Anderson was supposed to run out and get you a cake but then the meeting was called.” Harry did his best not to show his relief at having avoided that. The last few Aurors entered the room, and Remus used his wand to shut the door behind Seamus, who rushed in last. His close friend and supervisor had a resigned look on his face, his mouth set in a grim line.

“There’s been another report from our contact in Aberdeen.”

A hush fell over the room at this news. Over the last two months a series of disappearances and murders had been taking place across the UK with the majority taking place in the northern part of Scotland. There didn’t appear to be much rhyme or reason, at least not that they’d figured out yet.

Remus pulled out a set of photographs and placed them on the table. They showed an older gentleman laying on the forested ground. Dead.

“Jonathan Roberts. Muggle. Another unknown curse. He was found in Cairngorms near one of the lochs. It appeared that he was camping, but there's evidence to show that his body may have simply been placed there and that it's unlikely that he was actually camped out. He'd been reported missing the day before. His wife was on holiday and hadn't heard from him for almost two weeks, although for some reason that was not unusual. She came home to find their house completely ransacked, nothing missing except him. He was found this morning by some hikers.”

“Same curse as the others?” Anderson asked.

“It appears likely. We won’t know for sure until they find out exactly what curse it is,” Remus replied as he looked around the space.

A tense silence fell over the room. As the months went past with little forward progress the Auror team had grown more weary. Muggles and even a few wizards had been killed, yet so far there had been nothing to connect them other than the fact that most of the bodies were found near bodies of water and the cause of death was not the usual killing curse.

“Vera and Draco, I'm sending you up to Cairngorms. I’ve already sent Adams to pass off with the liaison up there. We need you to do a full scope of the scene and bring the body back for further testing.”

The senior and junior Auror nodded. It was a bit of a running joke that the only two Slytherins had been partnered together, but it had more to do with both of them having a firm grasp on some of the darker magic they encountered. It had been strange learning to trust Malfoy, especially after everything that happened during the war, but his inside knowledge had been key in arresting many Death Eaters. His testimony had also ensured the arrest of his father for his war crimes. Harry wouldn’t say they were friends, they had become decent colleagues over the last few years.

As for Vera, she had already joined the Auror team before the war and had fought in the war on their side. Harry was under the impression that she had long been estranged from her family, many of whom were in Azkaban.

Remus turned his attention towards the other end of the table. “Harry, Seamus, Stella, and Terry of course, also Anderson: we’re sending you to the home of Jonathan Roberts. It will need a full sweep. Aamir is there now.”

There was another beat of silence, then Remus conjured up a map of Scotland in the middle of the large table. It had a large scattering of red arrows; a red arrow for every death in the last few months. He used his wand to add another one to the National Park in the North of Scotland.

“The rest of the team will stay here and continue to look over our files. We will compile everything we learn from this case by the end of the day...or more realistically by tomorrow where we can see how this one fits in with the others.”

After a short discussion, everyone split up to follow through on their assigned tasks.

Seamus, Harry, Terry, Stella and Anderson apparated to the Georgian townhouse of Jonathan Roberts. Anderson made his way over to the Muggle Relations Liaisons and another Auror, Aamir, who’d secured the premises, while the junior Aurors got to work on starting the investigation of the house, heading up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. The house was cluttered with books, furniture, antiques and other oddities. The inhabitants appeared to be quite the collectors. Just about everything in the flat had been strewn about, furniture knocked over and not a thing seemed to be in its rightful place.

“Reckon, someone was trying to find something?” Terry said, his tone both bemused and horrified.

Stella took delicate steps over the wreckage of possessions all over the ground. She gently pressed her hand to the wall of the hallway near where a spell had landed. It was one of the only markings, as clearly the inhabitant of the home had been unable to fight back.

Harry looked about the open landing. The bookcases that were knocked over had clearly been picked over. “Someone was looking for something,” he said as his eyes took in the chaos around them.

“Whatever it was, I wonder if the poor bloke even had it?” Terry said as he followed Stella up the hall.

The four of them worked mostly in silence. Eventually Stella began to chat about visiting her parents in Newcastle and that her sister was expecting yet another baby, to which Seamus made a suggestive joke that Harry didn't quite catch, but was sure had rightfully earned the shove Stella gave him. Terry told them to stop messing about. The only other conversation that didn’t revolve around what they were cataloguing and searching through centered around Quidditch. The semi-finals were on in the evening and everyone was eager to see who would make it through.

“You going to try and attend?” Stella asked him as they made their way through the destroyed bedroom.

“Maybe, haven’t really thought about it. I know the Weasleys will get a box if the Harpies make it through.”

“That sounds lovely,” Stella replied with a soft smile. Harry was glad it was her and not the two wizards arguing in the other room. The younger witch was new to the team, but already excellent and an easy collegue to get along with, with her warmth and sense of humour. He could see why Seamus was smitten with her... even if the idiot was too obtuse to admit it himself.

It was past three when Remus appeared at the house. "We will need to send some of you over to his workplace — the University of Edinburgh. From this scene it appears that someone was looking for something, it will mean we will have to search his office as well. According to what the Muggle police found out from the wife, the man spent a lot of time there. Said he is... was passionate about his work.”

“What did he teach?” Stella asked quietly.

“History. A focus on mythology and folklore,” Remus replied.

“Muggles go to school to study mythology?” Terry asked, surprised.

Seamus snorted. “You never noticed their fixation on things such as I dunno... sexy vampires?”

“Yes, mythology is a part of Muggle interest,” Remus added, cutting off Terry’s retort.

“Do we think he was targeted due to this?” Harry asked, ignoring as Terry and Seamus started bickering in the background before Stella shushed them.

“It's possible. We really don't know anything for sure. Though it's a curious connection,” Remus said, shaking his head and looking around the destroyed sitting room. “Harry and Seamus, I'm sending you to the university. Stella and Terry you will stay here with Anderson and finish up. We’ll aim to have a debrief at Headquarters around five for those who can make it... there will be another one in the morning.”

Harry was relieved to get out of the townhouse, he felt bad for Stella who looked crestfallen at having to stay behind. She didn't often get to go out for that part of the job despite being Muggle-born since being paired up with Terry. Remus rarely let purebloods handle dealing with the non-magic public after an incident in which a massive-scale memory charm had to be performed on an entire football stadium following an incident with a dark wizard targeting a match.

“I'm starved,” Seamus moaned as they descended the stairs. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop?”

“I don't know. We probably should get there quickly,” he sighed. “Who knows how long it will take.”

“Ah, please Potter, I won’t make it through the next few hours without something. There’s this amazing spot off the Royal Mile that has the best sandwiches. It’ll be quick!”

Knowing that dealing with a hungry Seamus would be its own setback, he relented which was how he came to find himself moments later walking on the famous crowded street after popping out of the nearest apparition point. They turned off near one of the numerous pubs down an alley that was undetected by the many Muggle tourists passing by it. Eventually they ended up in the grand old courtyard known as Ellington Square.

Harry felt the familiar pang of grief and failure as he took in the familiar shops. It had been here, where he had gotten his hopes up that maybe, just maybe they were coming close to finding her.

When they’d gone public with the fact that Hermione was missing, it soon became clear that there had been an incredibly high amount of sightings in Edinburgh. He and Ron had planted themselves in the city in September and stayed for weeks — though it seemed they were too late. She’d vanished again.

He observed the shop across the way where he'd spoken with a kind and eccentric older witch who’d reported having seen Hermione. Harry had believed her, and the others he’d talked to. There had been so many leads that he and Ron had split up as they covered the city. By the end of September, empty-handed, they'd exhausted every single one.

In hindsight there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione had been in Edinburgh. But had she stayed? Harry had returned several times over the last few years. He had re-interviewed everyone and as always it led nowhere.

Edinburgh seemed to him a city of ghosts, filled with all the places she may have once gone. Harry stared at the shops where they had eventually resorted to desperately taking up flyers. What gave him hope that she was alive, was the fact that they’d never found any proof otherwise. Remus had pointed out how unlikely it would be for a Death Eater to do something to one of Harry Potter’s closest friends without taking responsibility in order to gloat. Harry clung to this, even though he was keenly aware of the other horrors of the world. All of the possibilities, especially the worst ones, were always present in the back of his mind.

He took a steadying breath. He wasn't sure if it was getting any easier, or if he was simply better at managing the strong undercurrent of trauma and emotion that he carried. Though both could still knock him flat like a tidal wave if he wasn't mindful.

Seamus finally re-appeared with their sandwiches. He'd been right and they were quite excellent and he felt the wave recede—for now. They ate quickly on one of the many benches in the square, Seamus going on between mouthfuls about the Quidditch semi-finals. They then apparated to a designated point near the University, stashing their robes into a small backpack Harry enlarged from his pocket so as not to stand out.

They made their way to the Department of History and Classics, he noted that despite the numerous people outside, the halls were barren. They approached a bored-looking administrator seated alone at a desk, reading a magazine. At first she brushed off their questions huffily, saying she had just explained to someone else that they couldn't release information on any professors, but her eyes widened and she straightened up when they told her they were with the police. Babbling, she explained that she didn't have the keys and her superior was away on holiday, but she could get her number for them.

“That's fine for now. Can we get the location? We’ll just leave a note,” Harry assured her.

The two of them followed her directions down the hallway and up three flights of echoing stairs to the top floor where they reached a corridor filled with offices.

Seamus kept a lookout as Harry pulled out his wand to perform the simple unlocking spell. The insides of the office were in a similar state to the house, with books and papers strewn all over. Again, someone had been searching for something. He stepped over a thick stack of papers and a note. It stood out as most of the mess of the office was contained farther in and it had clearly been shoved under the door.

Harry bent down and retrieved the note, immediately scanning it.

“Another f*cking mess,” Seamus mumbled as he made his way around the piles on the floor.

“I think this is important,” Harry said, holding the note up and quickly performing a sealing charm to ensure they could check it back at headquarters.

“What does it say?”

“Professor Roberts, I seem to have missed you again. Hoping everything’s alright. I still have your book and was hoping to touch base around my final section before submitting. I’ve included my phone number just in case. Will stop by Thursday with my assignment either way. Really hoping we can review together,” Harry read aloud. “It’s signed Jane.”

“There’s a number at least?”

“Yeah,” he said simply as he turned his attention to the larger stack that was beside the letter that he picked up. “Another note — ‘Hi Professor, I still haven’t heard back from you. I hope my portion of the assignment is satisfactory. Please contact me when you have a chance. Sincerely Jane.’ It’s clearly her report,” he said as his eyes scanned the document. “Jane Everdeen. Northern Tales of the Sea and Lochs.”

Looking through it, he added, “It appears to be about mermaids, selkies...”

Seamus shook his head. “Selkies? Strange the magic that Muggles believe in. I remember my grandmum on me dad’s side would always tell the same selkie story... and she still has no clue that Mam’s a witch.”

Harry looked back over the note, likely written in a rush, but the penmanship was tidy. His instincts told him that they needed to talk to Jane Everdeen.

“Should we call the number?” he asked, turning to Seamus, who was still trying to sort through the mass amounts of paper at the desk.

“Can’t hurt...wait, I think…” he rummaged around before finally clearing some papers on one side, an older rotary phone underneath. “What’s the number?” he asked.

“I’ll do it,” Harry said suddenly, holding the note in his hand, he felt a strange tremor go through him as he made his way towards the phone.

Seamus shrugged and moved aside. Harry stood at the cluttered desk and dialled the set of numbers written on the original note. It rang and rang, and he found he had forgotten to breathe. A generic answering machine finally picked up, he hung up as he finally released a breath. He would consult Remus before leaving a message.

The two of them continued for the better part of two hours as they went through everything, documenting the little they found. Somehow the man’s office felt even more personal than his home, as Harry got the sense that the home reflected his wife’s interest more than his own.

They found out that Professor Roberts had a strong affinity for the Loch Ness Monster, judging by the various figurines. It was well past six when the two of them concluded their search, organising all the paperwork that would have to be gone through even more thoroughly over the next couple of days.

They had documented the scene, checked for spell work (finding none) and so finally put the office back in order. Harry felt a pang of sorrow, as he used his wand to rearrange the tiny Loch Ness Monsters back into their place. Hopefully they would find some answers soon.

Apparating back to the Ministry, they found that most of their colleagues were back at their desks documenting the day's work. Seamus and Harry followed suit and parked themselves at their desks. An hour into cataloguing all of his notes, he was so engrossed that Seamus actually managed to startle him by using his wand to shut his report and file it away.

“Hey!” Harry said, shooting him an annoyed look.

“Sorry Potter, but Remus’s orders. It's almost eight. Night crew's taking over some of the forensics and sorting. Strict orders,” he said, his smirk full of mirth. Harry hadn't even noted his absence from their cubicle.

“I can’t — ” he protested.

“Nope, we have a meeting first thing tomorrow since we missed the one this afternoon.”

Harry bit down hard on his cheek, he hadn't had a chance to ask Remus about the phone number. He'd skimmed the report that Jane had left, the hair on the back of his arms standing up as he'd read. It was connected, he was sure of it.

Seamus looked at him exacerbated, “What? You’ve cracked the case in one day? That’s a record, even for you.”

“No,” Harry said, annoyed. “But I wanted to talk to Remus, I have some thoughts on—”

“Remus's not even in! He had one last meeting back in Scotland with the liaison and was heading home, even he knows when it's time to start again in the morning,” Seamus said pointedly, cutting off any more of Harry’s protest.

Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes and into his hair, wondering if it would be completely inappropriate to hex his co-worker. He hated being pulled out of his work when he was fixated on something.

“Look Potter, I’m sure you want to hex me right now, but trust me, I know what's good for you. Have I ever steered you wrong before?” he asked, somehow saying that with true sincerity.

Harry stared at Seamus blankly.

“Alright, alright, there was the one time with the Red Caps… and that — alright, you know what, don’t look at me like that. You know perfectly well that I'm right! I told Ron, you're wound so f*cking tight that if you shoved a piece of coal up your arse... in two weeks you'd have a diamond...which the bastard didn’t even understand that reference… but I know I'm right! Your friends want to celebrate your birthday, but you're so f*cking focused on using your work to exorcise… whatever strange guilt you still carry around about — ” Seamus stopped, his cheeks flushed from his passionate speech. Harry was grateful he didn't finish that sentence, he really couldn't bear hearing that. Not today. Seamus, seeing Harry wavering, continued, “No, you're coming out with us and you're going to have a grand f*cking time. We'll make sure of it!”

Harry knew he was a stubborn bastard. Seamus was right, so was Remus, it could wait for tomorrow.

There was a long silence, because he wasn't going to give him the immediate satisfaction of having changed his mind. “Fine.”

“Ah thank f*ck, I was worried I was going to have to drag you out of here in a full body bind,” he said, sighing.

“I’d like to see you try,” Harry replied with a smirk as he gathered his things. The two of them bickered over who had the superior duelling skills (having beaten the most powerful dark wizard, Seamus argued, was not a trump card), as the two of them made their way to the apparition station.

Chapter 6: The Tower

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: The Tower

“Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery. ”

― Wendell Berry, Hannah Coulter

At the first blaring ring of her wards going off, Hermione leapt from her bed disorientated. Dread rose in her throat because they were strong, if someone could break through them, it was bad.

Her mind focused singularly on one thing. Iris.

She grasped her wand from the drawer of her bedside table and scrambled out of her room, then down the narrow hall to her daughter’s bedroom door. Yanking the door open, Iris immediately shot into her arms.

Hermione tried to think. Apparate. She rarely did it anymore, but it was their best chance for getting out.

She tried to think of where they should go. The first place that came to mind was Grimmauld Place. This wasn't how she ever envisioned seeing Harry for the first time in five years, but she couldn’t think of anywhere safer. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and held even tighter to a trembling Iris in her arms.

Nothing happened.

Perhaps he’d disabled her access and she was no longer admitted. There was no time for her to process the sadness of that as she could feel the wards weakening and her resolve along with them. Her next thought was the Burrow. Then Hogsmeade. The Leaky Cauldron. Nothing. She was still in the threshold of Iris’s bedroom when it clicked. Someone had blocked her home. Even more terror seeped inside her. This left her with one option. She rushed back into Iris’s room and gently pulled her daughter from her chest. Iris's cheeks were flushed and tear stained, Hermione pressed her lips to her forehead and spoke against her soft skin.

“Iris, I need you to be really brave right now.” Confusion shone in Iris’s eyes when her head tilted up. “I need to leave you here. It's the best way I can keep you safe. Stay in your bed. The door will lock. Don’t open it for anyone. I'll come for you.”

Her daughter gripped onto her pyjama shirt tighter, shaking her head but no words came from her except broken gasps and more tears.

“I’m so sorry my love, but you have to be brave and stay here.” She managed to manoeuvre Iris back into the small bed. “Try to keep quiet and stay right here. I will come for you.”

“Mummy — ”

“Shh — darling. It’ll be alright. I'll be right outside. Remember what I said. I will always come for you. I — I know it’s hard but right now you need to use all of your courage.” Hermione could barely hear herself over the alarm and her own rising panic.

Iris curled up in the bed, the look on her face absolutely devastated Hermione.

“I am so sorry, sweet girl. I’ll come back. I won’t let anything happen to you. And I — I will come for you,” she said, fighting her own tears. “I love you.”

She didn't wait for Iris’s response. Iris's sobs started back up as soon as the door closed. Sickness rose in her throat and she could feel the wards giving in, her magic pulsating around her. The cloud of panic made it hard to think straight and she shook herself, there was only one thing she could do.

Quickly, she summoned the knife from her kitchen, cutting her palm. She cast the spell she had researched years before, and bit back a sob as she placed her hand on the glass doorknob.

“Praesidium!”

Iris’s cries were quietening.

“You are so brave, my love,” She said, through the door. Any reply was drowned out by an ear-splitting crack as the last of her wards gave in. She turned with her wand held up, preparing to face the intruder.

==

Over two hours had passed since Seamus forced him to leave the office and head straight to a poorly disguised surprise party. Luckily, Neville, whose birthday was the day before, was also being celebrated. Half the guests were already smashed by the time they arrived. Currently he was surrounded by close to twenty of his friends, coworkers and their partners in one of the spacious rooms of what had recently become their newest designated drinking spot, The Tipsy Quaffle.

Seamus often joked it should have been named 'The Smashed Bludger' as the latter was more true to the state they left in. The establishment had been opened in the previous year by Ron and George as they continued to expand the Weasley Wizard Wheezes empire. It had actually been on some of their frantic trips abroad in search of Hermione where Ron had first been introduced to the concept of a dedicated pub for sports. Several years later, he and George had taken the plunge and opened the first pub dedicated entirely to Quidditch. There'd been some intense debates on the decor, with Ron arguing for a Chudley Cannons theme which George had vetoed. The walls ended up being charmed to change colours depending on which teams were playing. In lieu of Muggle televisions, holograms of games were projected above tables, and in different parts of the space. The entire first floor was an open concept, and on big game days like tonight, would be packed to the gills.

Only in its second year in business, it was a hit, and there were already talks of expanding. Ron had mentioned that he'd already spoken with some interested parties in Galway, Cardiff, and even Berlin about franchise opportunities.

On the second floor, large private booths and rooms could be rented for a small fee, to host private viewings and parties, which was where Harry found himself now. His friends had reserved the largest room which hummed with the sound of people talking, music and the muffled sound of the Quidditch game at the back of the room.

Harry was currently listening to Neville talk about the trip he and Hannah had taken for their summer holiday. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seamus challenging Stella to a drinking game with Terry, Dean, Hannah, Angelina, Padma and Parvati looking on. The two of them were quite the spectacle as they were both already fairly pissed, making both their Irish and Geordie accents come back in full force.

“Yeah, Thailand was amazing! The plants they have down there are out of this world. The heat was intense though. Thank Merlin for cooling charms!” Neville said.

Harry nodded along as he listened. Thailand did sound cool.

“The food! It was to die for,” Hannah added enthusiastically as she made her way back from the drinking game, her brown eyes glassy but her smile radiant and showing the dimples in her cheeks as she hooked her arm through Neville’s. The two of them exchanged loving glances.

Harry did his best to smile at them, but inside he felt the familiar tug of loss. He’d never been the most comfortable with physical affection. Though Hermione had always been tugging at his hand to drag him somewhere, and had thought nothing of moving the hair out of his face or hugging him goodbye. He hated how much he'd taken her physical presence for granted over their years of friendship. It was one of the hardest parts of missing her... not feeling that close with anyone since.

“Any summer plans for August?” Neville’s question pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Nothing planned. Work’s been intense, long hours.” Neville nodded in sympathy. One of the reasons he'd quit the Auror team after three years was his desire for a more normal work schedule, which was something Harry longed for once in a while himself. Although the intensity and business worked for him most of the time — less time to think about other things that way.

“Hagrid sends his love by the way,” Hannah added, “We had tea with him yesterday. Says you’ve not been up for a visit in quite a while!”

Neville and Hannah had recently moved to Hogsmeads as they were both starting at Hogwarts in September. Neville as the new Herbology professor, and Hannah training under Madam Pomfrey. Harry did his best to smile at the earnest witch instead of grimace, he knew he was overdue for a visit with one of his oldest friends, but work always seemed to get in the way.

Just then Hannah’s best friend Susan made her way over to them.

“Well, I think I’ll be off. I'm knackered,” Susan huffed, Hannah pulled her in for a hug which was more challenging as Susan was currently eight months pregnant.

“Growing a person is hard work!” Hannah exclaimed as she pecked her friend on the cheek. “Is Ron going with you?”

“You know him, he'll shut the place down. At least until they find someone to hire as manager.” Susan said, as she steadied her low back with both hands. Ron had been in and out of the party all night, as the teams were in the semi finals, which meant that the downstairs portion of the pub was packed. The game had ended, but the crowds would still be out in force.

“Hopefully that’s sooner than later,” Neville added with a grin, gesturing towards Susan’s very noticeable bump.

“They're interviewing some candidates so it’s a start. I told him to live it up now, as I reckon we will be more like sleep deprived Inferi soon enough,” she said, grimacing. “Also it is a special occasion.” Susan nudged Harry who was next to her, and winked at Neville.

His cheeks warmed and he took another sip of his Ogden’s. Susan laughed. “Sorry Harry, I know you don’t like any added attention... though I guess you will be bracing yourself for Saturday?”

Saturday was his birthday dinner at the Weasley’s. He actually enjoyed the family dinners, despite the inevitable singing and cake.

“Easier to get lost in the chaos at a family dinner, especially as it seems there are more children each year... even if I am the guest of honour,” he said with a grin. Susan was about to reply, when a familiar voice piped up from behind them.

“Oi. Who said you are the guest of honour? It also happens to be Pig’s birthday, though I'm sure he'll share the limelight with you.”

Ron came to stand beside his wife, giving her a quick peck on the top of her auburn hair. The two had only married a few months ago in the spring, after it became clear their family would be expanding by the end of the summer. Not that it had been a surprise, they’d been together a few years and were crazy about one another.

Both couples that flanked him got together within months of each other. Susan, who was a good friend of Seamus's, had been introduced to Neville as they both shared a love of plants. Only friendship had blossomed between the two, though Neville had been instrumental in helping Susan source many plants for the line of skin care products she'd created. As friend groups became enmeshed, a spark formed with Susan’s best friend Hannah and Neville. Only months later the same had happened with Susan and Ron.

Harry was happy that two of his closest friends had found love. Funny the way people seemed to pair off so young in the Wizarding World. Still standing with them, he felt her absence again, almost like a phantom limb. She should be here — there was even a gap beside him where she would fit. Somehow her absence took up so much room. He’d felt it several times during the day, even more so, once he was off work and surrounded by his friends.

It was a particular type of loneliness, missing her in a crowd of people.

Harry could so clearly picture her being among their friends. How much she would have enjoyed the earlier conversation with Hannah and Stella about the Muggle university class Hannah had taken. Could easily imagine the look she would have given him at Luna’s earlier insistence on the existence of whatever creature she had gone on about. Mostly he thought about what it would be like to have her next to him right then, leaning into his side after one too many glasses of wine.

The group roared with laughter at something Ron said, and Harry realised that he'd zoned out again. He appreciated that his friends wanted to celebrate, but this day felt endless.

Ron left to walk Susan to the Floo in the staff room, and he tried to think of a plausible excuse so that he could leave early when he felt a tug at his sleeve.

“Wha — ” his question was cut off, as Stella began dragging him over to the other side of the room. “Sorry, Harry but we need you to be the tie breaker. Seamus said so,” she added, in response to the look on his face.

With both Seamus and Stella plastered, there would be no getting out of it. He found himself in the middle of a round of Quidditch Pong: a mini Quidditch pitch erected on a table with the goal of scoring the most points by getting a small ball through the other’s hoop and dodging the mini bludgers that roamed the table… something that got harder the more alcohol you consumed.

He’d been placed on a team with Stella and Dean against Seamus, Parvati and Padma. It proved to be a good distraction, hard to think about the stress of the day while trying to dodge bludgers and aim correctly. Stella’s competitive drive to annihilate Seamus was also contagious.

“You call that a throw, Princess?” Seamus shouted across the table at Stella.

Stella raised her middle finger in response to the nickname Seamus had taken to calling her after a few drinks, due to Stella’s slight resemblance to the late Princess Diana. She did have the big blue eyes, blonde hair and cheeky grin similar to the face that had adorned many of the tabloids that his Aunt Petunia had kept at the house when he was growing up.

She steadied herself before trying again and throwing a perfect middle shot, hugging Harry and Dean before turning back to Seamus and yelling a string of insults he could barely decipher over her slurring and now thick Geordie accent.

“You kiss your mam with that mouth? Swearings not very posh,” Seamus yelled, the biggest sh*t eating grin on his face.

With a flick of her wand Stella sent an unpleasant kissing hex, which left a trail of slobber up Seamus face. “Hey!” he yelled, batting away the invisible lips and tongue that were attacking his face.

Some of the tension of the day finally released from his shoulders as he laughed loudly. Against his better judgement he got talked into another round, this time with Ron and Seamus on his team against Stella, Hannah and Luna, who for someone who so often seemed to be up in the clouds had surprisingly good aim.

As the night wore on, the crowd dwindled. Eventually it was less than half the group remaining: Harry, Ron, Seamus, Stella, Neville, Hannah, Dean and Parvati. The tables converted into a giant sectional couch as everyone left at the party was quite intoxicated after several rounds of Quidditch Pong and no one had the energy to stand anymore. Seamus and Ron were to his left, and he could hear them arguing about the merits of television for the millionth time.

“How do you not understand the concept?” Seamus asked, exasperated.

“It doesn’t make any sense! Tiny people reciting something someone else wrote. It’s not even real most of the time...except for that stupid cooking show Harry watches,” Ron added in, his words slurring slightly. He'd somehow managed to close up the bar downstairs at midnight even with plenty of drinks in his system.

“Harry, tell him about how f*cking cool the last Lord of the Rings was. We couldn’t take you because you cannot be trusted in cinemas after last time.” Harry didn’t bother replying as Ron was already arguing back.

“Reckon, it wasn’t such a bad birthday?” Neville asked, seated to his right.

“Suppose so. You?”

“Can’t complain,” he said with a chuckle. Hannah and Stella were deep in a rather drunken conversation on the other side, faces close and intense the way girls seemed to get with each other after a few drinks.

Harry nodded and closed his eyes as he leaned back and thought of how he really should get home; tomorrow was likely to be as long as today had been.

A small hand grabbed his arm, forcing his eyes to blink open. Hannah had reached her body over Neville to get his attention.

“Harry!” she giggled.

“Yeah?” he finally asked, as the blondes on the other side of Neville couldn't seem to stop laughing. “Can we set you up for a date? Seamus mentioned that you were looking to take someone out this weekend?” This was said in a rush and Harry could see Neville shake his head at the ridiculousness going on in his lap.

Seamus — that Irish bastard.

“Er — I dunno.” He was too drunk for this conversation. “I — er, you know Seamus, he’s just messing around. Work's been intense... So — no I — I don’t think so.” For someone who was totally in control at work, and who had spent years building up his confidence in the roles that had been thrust on him…he was still pants when it came to discussing his love life. While he had dated Ginny twice, and there’d been a few meaningless nights over the years, overall he kept to himself. As his friends began pairing off, it seemed they were determined that Harry should do the same. He'd been unable to bring himself to tell them the reason why he couldn’t bring himself to commit to anyone.

“Are you daft?” Seamus yelled in his ear.

“You know how busy work is,” he argued half heartedly, cheeks warm.

“You have someone, offering to pair you up with one of her attractive friends and you say no?” Seamus went on.

“Come on Harry! My sister’s friend Caroline's very sweet. Just started in the Muggle Liaison Office,” Hannah added.

“Hannah’s sister's friends are fit! You definitely should take her up on that,” Ron chimed in. Hannah stretched across all of them to pinch Ron on the arm before Neville pulled her back.

“Ow! What was that for?” Ron asked, rubbing the spot.

“For Susan,” Hannah replied from Neville’s lap huffily.

“Well it’s true! Suz doesn’t give a sh*t if I point out facts Hannah!”

Harry had to agree with Ron, one of the things about Susan— she was very chill. Which worked out well, considering that his best friend still had a tendency to put his entire foot in his mouth on occasion.

“Maybe we could do a large group date? Us, Susan and Ron, you should go out before the baby's here, Stella and Seamus?” Hannah seemed to see what his co-workers were avoiding, and likely wanted to kill two birds with one stone.

“Er — I’m not sure... I also promised to spend the weekend with Teddy.”

“He’s what, five? Come out when he’s gone to bed! That can’t be later than eight,” Hannah continued on. Many people thought she was quiet when they met her but after a couple of drinks she had an intensity and single-mindedness that was hard to escape when she targeted you.

“Alright, fine,” he relented, a total pushover that day apparently.

He could always cancel at the last minute, he thought, running a hand over his face as his friends cheered. Moving on was such a strange concept… was anyone ever really ready?

The pain was still so raw years later. It was hard to fathom it ever not being there. There were simply too many unanswered questions as well, no sense of closure. Was she out there somewhere? If he did move on and she returned, how would he deal with this? Or if she never returned, and he died alone waiting for someone who may or may not still be on this earth. Or if she even wanted him, he'd never forgotten the last proper conversation they’d had about the future right before Ron returned. His head and heart hurt just thinking about it.

Besides, he and Ron had had this exact argument almost a year ago. Ron's words embedded in his mind.

“Let’s say the worst is true and she’s dead. Do you think she'd want to see you living like this? She would hate to see you wasting your life, avoiding getting close to anyone. Determined to die alone because you feel guilty that she’s gone!”

That fight was also the one time Ron had point blank asked him if something had happened between them. His chance to come clean. Harry wasn't sure why he’d simply shaken his head. Ron had moved on and was happy. They would have worked through it. The perfect opportunity to unburden himself of his guilt, yet he had stayed silent. He hadn't felt that he deserved to take the weight of it off himself.

A hand landed on his shoulder, bringing him out of his exhausted haze of memories.

“You all right, Harry?” Neville asked him quietly as the others had moved on to other topics that were thankfully not centred on his love life.

Straightening up, he nodded and attempted a smile. “Yeah, just...long day.”

“Yeah,” Neville said, taking a sip of his drink. “I don’t miss those. Miss seeing you guys every day though.”

“Nah, we're better in small doses. Especially Seamus,” he added, as he and Neville exchanged amused glances.

“I heard that Pot — ter,” Seamus said, his serious tone lost in the way he stumbled over his name.

“Lucky, with the amount you drank tonight you won’t remember it in the morning,” Harry replied.

“Nah, I have the memory of a goddamn elephant. Hold a grudge better than Filch as well,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“More like Moaning Myrtle,” Ron added, slapping him on the back.

Before Seamus could make a retort, a burst of white blue light came into the room forming into a wolf. Remus's voice came through his Patronus.

“Another incident in Edinburgh. Everyone needed stat.” Harry’s badge grew hot in his pocket. An address blinked up at him when he pulled it out.

Harry was up in a blink. “Ron please tell me you have some sobering potion in the back?”

Ron ran out of the room. The festive mood had instantly become tense. Stella and Seamus were standing unsteadily on their feet, eyes wide. Neville and Hannah started gathering their things, and Parvati and Dean on the far end of the sectional did the same.

“Ah f*ck!” Seamus's exclamation broke the quiet that had descended. He swayed on his feet and put his hands on his head.

Stella reached out to grab his arm to steady him, her blue eyes wide. “Harry... is it related to the case from today?” she asked quietly as she held onto Seamus.

Harry blinked, all he had to go on was a sinking feeling.

“No clue,” he finally said, just as Ron burst through the door, several vials of potion in his arm. The Aurors in the room immediately grabbed them and choked them down.

“You think someone could create one of these that doesn’t taste like troll piss,” Seamus said, gagging as he finished off the green liquid.

Harry wiped his hand across his mouth before grabbing Seamus and Stella’s arm. With a nod to their friends they turned together and disappeared into thin air.

Chapter 7: Neverland

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Neverland

“Just always be waiting for me.”

― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

They arrived to vaguely controlled chaos in a Muggle residential area. Despite the late hour, whatever had transpired had clearly gotten the attention of the neighbourhood. People were out in pyjamas, gawking. Harry knew it would be a long night for the Muggle Liaison Office as well.

“Blimey!” Seamus exclaimed.

None of them took their eyes off the scene in front of them. A shopfront looked as if a bomb had exploded inside. The front entrance had a massive hole blown into it, where presumably the door once was. Several Aurors were already there, transitioning the crime scene from the Muggle police to the Auror Task Force. Glancing up, he could see Edinburgh castle in the distance.

The fact that this was his second time in the city today was likely not a coincidence.

The junior Aurors stood together outside the wreckage as they awaited instructions, with more of the team joining as the minutes wore on. Remus’s message had clearly made its rounds.

“What the hell do you think happened?” Harry overheard Terry ask Seamus.

“It looks like a bookshop,” Stella added, who held onto Seamus. She was right, he could just make out the word, “books” on a sign that had been partially blown off. The glass window had also exploded with whatever force had been used to get in. His mind raced, that much force indicated the likely presence of some type of wards.

“It’s a Muggle area, why target one of their shops?” Seamus mused.

Harry heard a resigned sigh beside him as he turned to see Draco standing there. “It’s not just a shop.” He pointed upwards. “All these businesses have flats above them.”

There was a window above the shop; white curtains showed that there was still a light shining inside. A hush fell over the group. Harry’s shoulders tensed, they would have to prepare themselves for whatever it was they would find inside.

Not a moment later, Remus emerged from the gaping entrance and beckoned the small group inside.

What they walked into was even more chaotic. The bookshop had been turned inside out; shelves had been knocked over with books strewn all over the floor, making it impossible for them not to step on them. Glass from the windows was mixed in with all the books making the floor even more precarious.

“Thank you all for coming so quickly. I know it's been a long day.” Remus looked at all of them, resignation on his face. “We're not sure if this is connected to the other Edinburgh case yet, but both homes have been ransacked in similar manners. It is likely not a coincidence.” He gestured around the shop.

“Here is what we know so far. The shop and flat are registered to an Anne MacKenzie— no indication of any ties to the magical community. That said, unlike the other break-in, someone clearly had to work much harder to get in and there is evidence of a struggle...that both parties were casting spells. Harry, Seamus and Draco, I want to walk you through what we think happened. Stella and Terry, Adams is on his way back down, he will fill you in but we thought it was best if you start here.”

Making a gesture to follow him, Remus turned and headed toward a door that opened to a narrow staircase. They ascended the cramped stairs and emerged into a flat that was also in complete disarray. The sitting room they were standing in had been pillaged. A large bookshelf was turned on its side and was crushing a coffee table and an old fashioned pink sofa underneath.

“We're not sure if Anne Mackenzie still lives in this flat. According to the records we found, she would be about fifty nine. We have reason to believe a child also lives here, but it could be a grandchild.” The three men all audibly sucked in a breath. Cases with children were always the hardest.

Looking around the room, Harry noticed the tipped over basket of toys near the sofa. There was the strong smell of spellwork that always reminded him of the scent that lingered after fireworks.

“We believe someone fought back against whatever intruder made their way in.” He pointed at various defensive spell marks around the room. “The battle went through most of the flat, but ended in the kitchen.” They followed him to the next room down a small corridor to the small kitchen, where glass was shattered all over the floor except for an outline in the shape of a…

“They got them here,” Harry said, as he stared at the spot where someone had fallen. Before returning his gaze to Remus, who nodded.

“Yes, it appears so.”

There was silence as all the Aurors took in the scene. Harry noticed another door. As if sensing his train of thought Remus pointed at the door in question.

“We believe that whoever lives here was attempting to make an escape through that door; it leads to the rooftop. Adams has already run some diagnosis. It appears that an Anti-Apparition ward was put into place. The victim may have been trying to flee on foot by the roof. All of this tells us that whoever fought back, definitely had a wand and a strong ability to use it.”

Vera appeared suddenly in the doorway of the kitchen. “Remus. Still nothing.”

At that news, Remus gave a heavy sigh. “This way,” he said, and they followed him out of the kitchen, back into the hallway. They passed two closed doors but they didn’t stop until the very end at a white door, decorated with purple ‘I.’ Harry did the calculations in his head. The window outside with the light, this must be the room.

“I mean it must be blood magic,” Vera was saying. “It’s the only explanation.”

Remus nodded before turning to Draco.

“Will you take the sample?” Draco nodded moving forward, as the senior Aurors stepped back. “We believe the door has some form of blood magic, a protective spell. There’s a smear on the handle and droplets up the hallway, and into the kitchen. I’m sure it will be a match.”

Harry caught sight of the crystal door knob and there was a dark substance on just the handle, the rest of the door was white without a single scratch mark, yet the wall surrounding the door had clearly taken a beating. Not a single spell had gotten through.

Draco had set to work getting the sample into a clear vial with his wand, then running some diagnostics. He was quickly becoming the most knowledgeable on blood magic in the department, something Remus had encouraged.

“Definitely a protective spell,” Draco finally said.

“Right. Hopefully we will have an idea of what spell it is by morning. We really need to get into that room.” Remus’s comment seemed to hang in the air.

==

With the others dispersing through the flat to continue collecting evidence, Harry found that he couldn’t tear himself away from the door. He hesitantly placed his hand on the round crystal door handle and turned it. There was a soft click as it opened. Harry released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He paused only for a moment before he pushed the door all the way open.

“Holy sh*te.”

Seamus had made his way back up the hallway. Upon hearing the exclamation, all of the other Aurors came running. Harry barely paid attention as he’d already entered the small bedroom with his wand out. It was clearly the room of a young girl. The overhead light was on ensuring that everything in the room was in focus. About five steps brought him to the twin size bed that was pushed against the sloped ceiling. The walls had white wallpaper with pale yellow flowers, and the floors, like the rest of the flat, were hardwood but there was a light pink rug near the bed. A few toys were strewn about the room, but otherwise the only thing out of place was the dishevelled duvet which was thrown halfway off the bed.

He could hear the others coming in behind him, making the small room exceptionally crowded.

“How on earth did you open that door, Harry?” Vera asked, shock evident in her voice.

Harry didn’t answer. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. The smell of spellwork and smoke drifted in from the hallway, yet underneath there was a faint floral smell. It was tantalisingly familiar, like a word on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t access. He found it hard to think at all. He may have taken a sobering potion, but he was still not feeling at the top of his game.

His eyes continued taking in the room, movement out of the corner of his eyes made him turn back towards the bed. He was certain the duvet had moved a couple of inches. Looking back at his colleagues he saw that Draco’s eyes were also glued to the bed. The room was eerily quiet with just the sound of their breath, underneath he could almost make out the sound. It hit him all at once. Muffled crying.

He caught Draco’s attention and mouthed, “ Under the bed?”

The blonde wizard looked at him and nodded before mouthing back. “Child.”

Remus hadn’t missed any of the exchange and he quickly motioned them all towards the door. Once they were back in the hallway, he whispered his instructions. “It appears we have found the child who lives here. We don’t want to add any more stress than is necessary. I think two of you would be sufficient for talking with her. I was thinking Ver—”

“What? Do you think I am qualified because I'm a woman?!” she whispered angrily.

“No, but from all appearances, this child has lived with a woman, so we want them to be comfortable.” Remus’s voice was calm but after all these years Harry recognized the tension on his supervisor's face.

“What about Stella? She has like ten nieces and nephews! Plus she's Muggle-born, it is a Muggle child we're dealing with isn’t it?”

Remus sighed; Vera was never afraid to speak her mind. “Right, Seamus, could you run downstairs and grab Stella?” Turning to Harry and Draco, “Which one of you wants to talk with her, I'm assuming it's a little girl we are dealing with.”

“I will.” The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop himself. Draco looked relieved at not having to volunteer.

“Excellent,” Remus said. “Vera, I would like you and Draco to continue the forensics. We need to try and get a full picture of all the spells that were used in this flat.”

Harry’s colleagues dispersed, leaving Remus and him in the dimly lit hallway, the door to the bedroom wide open in front of them. “Do you remember the training on child witnesses? I know it was a while back.” Remus spoke in a low voice. Harry nodded.

Stella came rushing down the hallway, blonde braid waving behind her. “Sir, there’s a child?”

“Yes, thank you Stella. Vera made a good point that you have a lot of experience with children. I wanted to send at least one of you in with Harry, as we want to make sure she’s comfortable. From all appearances it's just her, and what we presume is the grandmother, or maybe her mother who lives here. We’re still unsure. All the pictures have been burnt.” He pointed at a frame on the wall, where that had been an image was now just black, as if it had been set on fire from the inside.

“She's under the bed and likely frightened. We’ll figure out what to do once we get more information. I’m going to contact the liaison with the Muggle police. We’ll need to interview her, but that’s not the goal for right now.” Remus took a moment, and looked between the two of them. “Your goal is to reassure her, we want to minimise any secondary trauma. The hope is that she comes out from under the bed of her own free will, ensure she's not injured and then get her to a safe location. The proper interview will probably have to wait until tomorrow. Judging from the room and other things around the flat, I doubt we are dealing with a child any older than seven, probably younger.”

They nodded, then quietly made their way back into the small bedroom. The duvet had moved again.

“Hello?” Stella called out quietly. “Is someone in here?”

She walked cautiously towards the bed. She gestured for him to follow. As soon as he’d stepped back into the room, his arms prickled with gooseflesh. They listened, pausing close to the bed, muffled crying and ragged breathing was just barely audible.

“My name’s Stella and I'm here with my... friend, my friend Harry.” The crying intensified. “Is it okay if I kneel down? I'm hoping to see you... we just want to make sure you're alright.” There was no reply and Stella took in a breath. “Alright sweetheart, I know you must be really scared. We’re with the Aur—police. We just really want to make sure that you’re okay.” They heard some faint rustling, but still there was no reply. Stella looked back at him, blue eyes wide and concerned. “I'm going to kneel down now, you’ll see my face. I have blonde hair, you’ll see me in a moment.” Harry watched as Stella slowly got to her knees so that she could peer under the bed and gingerly lifted the duvet.

“Aye, it’s lovely to see your face. I see that you have curly hair. Also a cuddly toy with you! I'm glad you've had them with you to keep you company.”

He had to hand it to Stella, she was a natural. He wouldn't have had a clue of where to start.

“I still have mine at me mam and dad’s. They’re wonderful aren’t they? Such loyal companions.” Stella was smiling at the small child under the bed, her Geordie accent cheerful and melodic as she spoke to them gently.

“I saw the I, on your door. Is that the first letter of your name?” Stella smiled wider, “It is? Can you tell me what the I stands for?”

It was faint but he heard it, a soft little voice. “Iris.”

“Iris, what a beautiful name.” Stella stared up at him from the floor before looking back under the bed. “Iris, I’d like to introduce you to my friend Harry, he's very nice. Would that be alright with you?”

The child must have nodded because Stella gestured for him to come forward. He followed Stella’s lead and carefully made his way so that he was crouched on the floor, right over the pink rug. He reached up and lifted the sheet that was hanging down. He had to learn forward, almost putting his entire body on the ground. It was dark under the bed, but there was enough light in the room that he could just see her. A tiny child. Dishevelled curls hid most of her face and she clutched a soft toy to her chest, knees pulled up to her chin, and her thumb in her mouth as she cowered in the corner against the wall.

His heart stuttered at the sight. She was so small, much smaller than he’d been envisioning.

“This is Harry! It's actually his birthday today, isn’t that exciting? How old are you Iris?”

It was hard to see all the details of the child’s face as she was partially in shadow where she was sitting, but he could see and hear that she spoke around the thumb that was still jammed into her mouth.

“Four.”

“Wow. Four is pretty big,” Stella said smiling.

Iris mumbled something neither of them could make out.

“What was that Iris?” Stella asked.

Pulling the thumb from her mouth she said. “Four and a half.”

Harry and Stella exchanged matching looks and grinned. It definitely reminded him of something Teddy would say.

“That is a good age,” he said quietly. “Er—I'm Harry.”

The child, Iris, finally looked up, her eyes seeking out his. “Harry?”

“Yes, that's my name.” He smiled at her, “It’s nice to meet you Iris.”

“Iris, we were wondering if you could tell us who else lives here with you?” Stella asked. There was no response at first. “Maybe your mam? Granny? Maybe your daddy?”

Iris pressed her face back into her knees.

“Mummy,” she said, tears evident in her voice.

“Do you know where your mummy went?”

Iris shook her head and placed her thumb back in her mouth. There was a beat of silence.

“What about your dad?” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to ask, but he did.

The small child looked at him, co*cking her head to the side. It was too dark to make out her expression. Pulling the thumb from her mouth again, she finally spoke, “Neverland...Daddy’s in Neverland.”

The two of them exchanged glances. “Like Peter Pan?” Stella asked, trying but failing to hide her confusion.

Iris nodded, eyes wide. “Uh huh. Mummy too. I think that's where he took her.”

“Who took her, Iris?” he asked quietly.

“Captain Hook.” Her voice quivered with fear as she spoke the name.

He made a note to follow up on this tomorrow. The three of them grew quiet, the two adults stumped by Iris’s declaration. Stella looked at him, eyes filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you a daddy?”

Iris’s question caught him so off guard he almost laughed despite how unfunny the situation was.

“No, I'm not, I have a nephew though. His name is Teddy and he's five.”

Iris buried her face back into her knees.

“Who else lives in the flat with you Iris? Is it just you and mum?” Stella asked.

“Mummy and me.” Her voice trembled and was muffled. “Mummy said she would come back.”

Iris’s shoulders heaved, crying in earnest again and his heart squeezed painfully at the sound.

“Iris you mentioned Captain Hook... that's not your daddy, right?” Stella asked gently. They had to cover their bases in case this was a domestic situation, even if it seemed unlikely.

“No!” Iris said in a strangled voice almost yelling the word, causing the two Aurors to exchange startled looks. “Daddy is good,” she said quietly and then continued crying into her knees as they tried to think of what to say next.

“Iris, we really want to help find your mummy,” Harry started. “If she's in Neverland, we'll help find her. But for right now, we need to make sure you're safe. Will you come out from under the bed?” Thinking of Remus’s words, he hoped desperately that they wouldn’t have to force the tiny girl in front of them out.

There was a long pause before she gave a slow nod. Without letting himself overthink it, he reached his hand out to her. She stared at it for what felt like an eternity before her impossibly small hand was in his. A jolt seemed to leap from her hand to his, sending more goosebumps up his arm, stronger than when he’d entered the room.

Iris slowly made her way out from the dark of the bed, her head covered in golden wavy curls came first, followed by a pale blue nightgown clad body.

Stella and him were on their knees to be closer in height to the small child. Iris still had her hand in his and stood directly in front of him. Taking her in, he froze. Her face was eerily familiar. Iris blinked against the harshness of the overhead light, her small nose scrunched up. Wet tears still clung to her cheeks and eyelashes. Green, red-rimmed eyes stared back at him. His brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but it couldn’t.

“And who is this?” Stella asked, pointing at what Iris was holding, oblivious to Harry’s stupor.

Iris and Harry both looked down at the soft knitted toy in her hand. It was a deer. A fawn. With her free hand, Iris lifted the toy to show Stella. “Prongs,” she replied in a whisper.

“That’s a lovely name. Have you had him for a long time?” Harry didn’t hear Iris’s reply over the roaring in his ear.

“Harry!?” Remus was calling him. He tore his eyes from the fawn, back to the little girl in front of him. Iris looked right at him, her expression instantly recognizable, and it stole whatever breath that was left inside of him. It had been five years since he had seen it. A mixture of curiosity, the wheels turning in her mind as she tried to make sense of something. A look he had seen whenever she jumped into whatever needed her brilliant mind. It belonged to Hermione.

Harry fell back onto his heels, breaking the connection between his hand and Iris’s, missing it instantly. A series of events happened all at once. Stella scooped Iris into her arms and there was talking, but he heard none of it, unable to look away from her as her eyes bore into his. He watched while she was carried out of the room by Stella before his body caught up with his mind, and he stood to go after her. Remus’s hand pressed firmly into his shoulder, stopping him. He could hear Iris cry briefly from the hallway before the sound grew faint, and then disappeared as he struggled against his close friend.

“Harry! I need you to calm down, we have to—”

Finally finding his voice, “No, I need—”

“Harry, listen to me. She's okay. Stella’s taking her to Grimmauld. We know she’s Hermione’s daughter. She'll be safe there.”

Harry slumped back down on the floor, tears he had not realised he was shedding were clouding his vision.

Hermione had a child.

Her name was Iris.

Every fibre in his being knew she was his.

Remus sat on the bed in front of him, and Harry finally tuned into what the older wizard was saying to him.

His voice was gentle. “I take it from your reaction, and the pair of green eyes I spotted on the little one, that she is yours?”

“I—I—I didn’t know—”

“Of course you didn’t know, Harry. You would never leave your child,” he responded quickly. “Must have been quite the shock. Did your magic react to her?”

Harry just looked at him in disbelief.

“Your magic. It probably recognized her. I felt it the first time I held Teddy.”

The goosebumps, the jolt. He just nodded. “ I—I didn’t know, we—she—I don’t understand.”

“You're in shock Harry. It’s understandable. None of us were expecting this.”

Harry said nothing. He felt too many emotions at the same time. He had no idea what to say, think or feel.

“We did some more diagnostic spells. Seamus was the one to figure it out. Hermione tried to send a patronus but it was blocked. He recognized the otter first. She tried to Apparate—to Grimmauld, Harry. Whoever attacked her put up an Anti-Apparation ward. They trapped her in the flat.” Harry buried his face in his hands. They sat in silence as Remus’s words sunk in. “I had wondered over the years, if something had happened between the two of you... There are obviously a lot of questions, and we're not going to find all the answers tonight.” He paused to take a deep breath before continuing. “Harry, Hermione needs you. And your little girl needs her mother back.”

Little girl... he had a little girl. Harry finally looked up into Remus’s amber eyes, filled with compassion. The two of them sat there for a long time. Overwhelmed he hadn’t noticed Draco and Vera who had made their way into the room.

“Remus, I need you in the other bedroom, we may have found something.”

“One moment Vera. Harry, I'm sending you home for the evening. It's been a long day and it will probably be an even longer day tomorrow. I want you to take Andie’s sleeping draught and try and get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to get up just yet. His legs felt as if they would give out from under him. He heard Remus give instructions to Draco and Seamus who had now joined them. His commander eventually turned back to him, and in one swoop had him on his feet. “We got the floo connected, I’ll follow you back home.” He allowed himself to be walked down the hallway, they were almost at the sitting room when Seamus cried for them to wait.

“Harry, Remus wait a sec—”

He jogged up to them, something clutched in his hand. “The pictures in the child’s room. The spell didn’t get them. She...or you, might want this.” It was a satin white photo album. Harry clutched it tightly, his throat constricted, thinking what he would find in its pages.

Remus quickly poked his head into the other bedroom, Hermione’s bedroom he realised, to say something to Vera, before bringing him to the fireplace. The two of them went into the emerald flames to join Iris.

==

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace into the siting room at Grimmauld Place, Remus right behind him. Andie and Stella immediately stood up from the nearest sofa upon seeing them.

“Where is she?” The words flew out of his mouth as soon as he made eye contact with Stella.

“She’s sleeping,” Andie said softly.

“Finally,” added Stella, the strain of the day evident in her voice.

“Poor little lamb. She was absolutely petrified.” Andie’s eyes were shone with tears. “It took a double dose to finally settle her. She’s in Teddy’s room.” She moved towards Harry and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“She's beautiful. I can see your mother and father in her.” A sad smile graced her face as she looked up at him. Andie had been in the original Order, had known his parents... and now she had met his daughter. Her words almost undid him. The reality of the situation felt like it kept hitting him in waves.

He had to sit down, Andie seemed to sense this and guided him towards the cushy red sofa.

Stella and Remus were talking quietly near the fireplace, but Harry couldn’t make out much of what they were saying. He felt Andie sit down next to him, as she patted his back reassuringly, like she did with Teddy when he was upset.

All he could do was stare ahead; his mind spinning in circles. He barely noticed the sound of Stella’s departure or Remus who’d pulled up one of the chairs so that he was in front of him.

“Harry, I need you to listen to me. Your instructions for tonight are to sleep. Andie already has some sleeping draught prepared in the kitchen. Hopefully the others will have tracked down some witnesses or anyone who knows Hermione.” He paused, his eyes searching to see if Harry was listening. “I talked with Stella, we’re going to consult with someone who knows more about children about how to approach Iris. We’ll need to interview her. I have to ask this because we need to have a plan on how to best handle things with her. Do you think she knew who you were?” Harry couldn’t make sense of those words. “Stella said she didn’t say anything that indicated she knew, and that she was rather disorientated by the floo. It appears she hasn't been exposed to magic, at least as far as we can tell. Hopefully we’ll find out more tomorrow.”

Did his daughter recognize him? It didn't seem possible. She hadn't said anything, but it had been such a blur once she came out from under the bed. She had said her father was in Neverland. “I don’t think so,” he finally answered. “I—It was hard to get a sense of much.”

Remus turned towards Andie. “What was your impression?”

She rubbed her temple. “I don’t think she knows about magic. Stella made a point of not using any obvious magic on her after the floo as that had already set her off—she was quite hysterical.” She sighed deeply and brushed a tear from her cheek. “She, uh, she had wet her nightgown and instead of charming her dry, we grabbed a pair of Teddy’s old pyjamas... we waited until she was asleep to perform a cleansing charm.” She gave another weary sigh. “She was quite resistant. Stella eventually convinced her to take the potion, but it took two doses to get her sleepy enough that she stopped crying and we were able to tuck her into bed. She’s on the spare bed in Teddy’s room. The potion should ensure that she doesn’t wake before him... she did see him before falling asleep, but I’m sure she'll still have a shock tomorrow,” she trailed off. “I get the sense she has spent very little time away from her mother... poor thing was calling out for her until the potion took effect.”

Merlin. He hadn’t thought his heart could break anymore tonight but that image did it.

The three of them were quiet for a moment as Andie’s words hung in the air. Finally Remus gave a heavy sigh. “Harry... I'm not sure if we should tell her much more. Magic may be unavoidable. That will already be huge, alongside what she went through tonight. Plus you'll need to stay focused on finding Hermione. You are one of our best Aurors, junior or otherwise.”

“I don’t know if I can lie to her, Remus.” His words came out choked.

Remus just shook his head. “Not lies, Harry, but an omission. If tomorrow she knows who you are, that’s wonderful. I’m just saying, wait. The way you can best help your daughter right now is by bringing her mother back to her.”

Andie was wringing her hands. Harry turned to her, “Andie?”

“I think Remus might be right dear... she’s already had quite the shock. Also, if we tell her, I imagine she'll want to be near you... which is a good thing obviously, but you’ll need to be working. It may cause you both more strife when you’re gone.”

He knew they were right. It would be selfish to tell her and then not be able to be there for her in the way he wanted. All he could do was hope that the truth would come out in proper time, ideally with Hermione found safe. His mind could not handle thinking of any of the alternatives.

“Can I see her?” His voice was hoarse even to his own ears.

Andie looked to Remus and back to him, “Of course. In Teddy’s room. She won’t wake. I’ve left the potion for you in the kitchen as well.”

The three of them stood up, Remus made his way back towards the floo. He would have to return to Hermione’s flat.

On weary legs he made his way upstairs to his godson’s bedroom. Gently he pushed open the door. Teddy was sprawled out in his bed, his breathing light, his scarlet bedspread almost completely kicked off the bed. Harry shifted his attention to the otherside of the room. Iris was tucked into the spare bed. Moving carefully he approached his daughter.

His daughter. He had a daughter.

Unlike Teddy, she was curled up tight, ‘Prongs’ clutched in her hands and pressed up near her face. He hesitated for a moment before carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. Andie had told him she wouldn’t wake. A slice of moonlight came in through the window, making her glow silver in its light.

Iris looked so much like her mother. On instinct he reached out a hand and brushed a curl away from her face. Her hair... her nose. The dull ache that was always in his chest had intensified and become unbearable since he ‘d found out the person they were looking for was the same one he’d been searching for all these years. That he had failed to find her, that he might fail again.

Then there was Iris. Her child. His child. He’d made the calculation on his way up to the bedroom; Shell Cottage.

Tears blurred his vision as he softly stroked Iris’s forehead. Her eyelids fluttered but she didn’t open. She was the most incredible thing Harry had ever seen. Leaning down he brushed his lips to her forehead before he could stop himself. What he’d been told about parenthood turned out to be true, he loved her instantly.

Chapter 8: Promises

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Promises

“Maybe another person couldn’t irrevocably save you, but they could sometimes calm you down, and that felt like an exquisitely magical thing.” -Claire Lombardo

Despite the sleeping draught he’d taken the night before, Harry woke up in a cold sweat, utterly exhausted. His dream dissipated almost immediately, though he was sure it was one of the dreams he had regularly— only this time it had been Iris passing him by on the Hogwarts express. Not Hermione.

A child, he had a child. This knowledge had wedged itself inside of him.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. All of it landed like a great weight on his chest. He had a daughter. Hermione was alive. He had a daughter.

And he’d been none the wiser.

He wanted to rush to Iris, but knew he needed to get his head straight first. Harry decided to shower before making his way downstairs. He would use that time to get a grip: he couldn't let her see his distress. Iris needed him to keep his head. With that plan he forced himself out of his bed and into the adjoining bathroom.

After emerging from his room showered and dressed, he stopped in his kitchen to quickly feed Crookshanks. Another wave of disbelief washed over him as he petted his ginger fur. Straightening up, a dull ache went through him when he spotted the white photo album.

Against his better judgement, he took the three strides over to the kitchen table. The album almost glowed against the dark grain of the wood. He ran a finger over the satin cover. The name Iris was stitched in gold thread. Absurdly he wondered if it had been charmed to repel stains, as it appeared pristine.

Sucking in a breath, he carefully opened the first page. In front of him was Hermione, looking young and fragile as she sat in a hospital bed. Her familiar curls spilled down her shoulders and were more dishevelled than usual, and her skin seemed to glow despite the exhaustion painted on her face. Cradled in her arms was a tiny baby, with a shock of dark hair and rosy cheeks wrapped in a pink blanket.

Hermione's eyes were glued on her daughter... their daughter. A tenderness filled the photo. He’d once been privileged to have this directed towards him over the years, yet here it was amplified tenfold and transformative. She was a mother. The proof of it was evident in this single photograph. Undeniable and nearly as shocking as Iris standing in front of him, blinking her green eyes.

Reality knocked into him like a rogue bludger. A family, he had a family without knowing.

He shut the album firmly, using his wand to move it to the high shelf of his living room. He forced himself to make his way downstairs. The photo had broken something in him, but it had also served to make him more desperate to lay eyes on his child again.

He found Andie puttering around the kitchen, and she spoke over her shoulder. “Iris and Teddy are in the sitting room,” she said. Harry swallowed and she smiled tiredly in his direction as she turned from the stove. “Teddy was up first—I managed to catch him before he woke her up. Of course he was a bit startled. She only woke up about forty minutes ago.” Andie looked at the door that led to the sitting room. “She’s still distressed. I gave her something mild for the anxiety but she refused to eat anything.” The older witch shook her head, gesturing to the assortment of breakfast food laid out on the counter. “Teddy wanted to show her some of his toys and I’m taking it as a good sign that she didn’t protest, although she’s said little... I just popped back in here to see if there is anything I can get her to eat.”

He nodded along. His own stomach was knotted from the night before so he wasn’t surprised that Iris didn't have much of an appetite.

“I’ll go check in on them,” he said, making his way across the room. “Is Remus in?”

Andie had already returned to cutting up strawberries. “He returned around three I believe. He’s already been up. Said he’d have to go back in soon.”

Harry had made it to the door to the sitting room. He listened to what he could hear from the other side. Teddy’s animated voice came through but he didn't hear a second one.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The informal sitting room off the kitchen was a cosy space often used. It consisted of two plush sofas and several armchairs, the walls lined with artwork that Andie had brought with her to replace the darker works. A large fireplace took up the far wall, and a television he’d bought for Teddy sat in the opposite corner. Toys currently littered the ground and he easily spotted the two figures on the burgundy sofa. At his sudden appearance, Teddy leaped off up and made his way towards him.

“Uncle Harry!” He had only a moment to brace himself before his godson threw himself into his arms.

“Morning Teddy Bear,” he said as he gave him a squeeze, peering over the young boy. His daughter appeared tiny sitting on the sofa with her knees drawn up to her chest. She peered up at them with wide eyes. He recognized the navy Weasley jumper and rainbow soft trousers as Teddy’s, now too small for him, though Iris practically swam in the jumper. Harry had done the calculations. She was roughly a year younger than Teddy, but seemed small for her age. Her beloved stuffed toy was clenched tightly in her hands, which peeked out between her knees.

“There’s a girl here! She was so sad earlier, but I think Gran helped her feel better. She’s never seen a toy racing broom before! I showed her some of my toys. Her name is Iris and she’s four and a half, but I'm five so I’m still older... and taller.”

Unsure exactly what to say in response to Teddy’s excited babble, he slowly approached the sofa, hoping the expression he wore was a reassuring one.

“Good morning Iris,” he said as he manoeuvred Teddy out of his arms and back on the ground and took a seat on the other end of the sofa.

Iris peered up at him, and he was happy to note that she looked calmer than he expected.

“She doesn't talk much, Uncle Harry. Gran said she has had a ‘tramatic’ experience,” he said sagely.

Harry did his best to keep his face neutral, and thankfully Iris didn’t react much to Teddy’s words, though she’d gone back to staring at her knees.

“Hey, I think your Gran could use your help in the kitchen,” he said, standing up and taking Teddy gently by the shoulders.

“But I am still showing Iris all my toys — ”

“That’s very nice of you and I'm sure you can show her more later, but I really need you to head to the kitchen. We'll join you in a moment.” He squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as he directed him towards the kitchen, “Maybe later you can show her how the broom works in the garden, if she wants to.” The words were like magic as Teddy beamed before racing through the swinging door.

Harry went back and sat on the sofa. Acutely aware that he was sitting next to his daughter for the first time.

“Er — ” he paused. Being a stranger to her hit him like a punch in the gut.

At his faltering, Iris looked up at him. There was a long moment where the two simply gazed at one another with matching green eyes. He was surprised when Iris broke the silence first.

“Are you going to find Mummy today?” she asked quietly.

He sucked in a breath. “I hope so. I—we’ll look for her until we find her,” he answered, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

“But can you find her today?” Her eyes were so wide, so hopeful.

“We’ll do our best Iris. We can’t be certain how long it will take — ”

At his words she buried her face into her knees, small shoulders shaking.

Not letting himself overthink it, he scooted closer. Hesitating only for a second before he placed his hand on her upper back. Her spine felt so delicate beneath his palm, all of her practically vibrating.

“Mummy—Mummy was supp—pose to make pancakes with m—me.” Iris stuttered out through her tears.

“I’m so sorry Iris,” he said. He was sorry: for the fact that Hermione was gone, for the fact that he’d missed everything. “I know you want your mum here with you. I wish she was here too. I can promise you that I’ll do everything I can to find her and bring her back to you.”

After saying those words, a small miracle occurred. His daughter turned to him and burrowed into his side. His heart leapt into his throat at the sudden contact and he held her close.

“I know it’s not the same as having your mum here with you but I happen to make pretty good pancakes... would you be willing to try some?” he asked her softly.

Iris made no move from her current position at his side. Finally she looked up at him, tears still in her eyes. “With blueberries?”

A genuine smile pulled at his lips at her question. A memory from their time camping flashed through his mind; when Hermione managed to find some late season bilberries, her eyes shining with delight as she showed him and Ron. She’d insisted they would be a suitable substitute for blueberries, which her mother always added to thicker pancakes. The bilberries had somewhat worked, although Hermione noted they were much more sour and promised she would make a proper batch someday. Later during one of her supermarket break-ins she’d snagged some frozen blueberries and true to her word it had been one of the best meals they ate together while on the run. Harry had made them the same ever since.

“Is there any other way to make pancakes?” he asked Iris. She shook her head and his heart soared when a small smile appeared on her face despite the tears that clung to her cheeks like raindrops. Using his thumb he wiped them away.

Within minutes Teddy ran back into the sitting room. “Gran made bacon!” he shouted excitedly rushing towards them.

“That’s great timing, Iris and I were just about to head to the kitchen and whip up some blueberry pancakes.”

“I’ll tell Gran!” Teddy exclaimed before racing back to the kitchen. Harry looked back down at Iris, “Don’t mind Teddy, he’s just very passionate about... well, everything. Are you ready?” She nodded in a way that reminded him so much of Hermione. Slowly he removed his arm from around her and stood up, offering his hand to her. There was no hesitation this time. Hand in hand the two of them made their way into the kitchen.

Having clearly been told the plan, Andie had already brought down most of the ingredients they would need for pancakes. “Do you both want to help?” he asked, an enthusiastic yes was shouted by Teddy and he was delighted to see another smile on Iris’s face as she nodded timidly. Quickly he duplicated the kitchen stool and children’s apron.

Iris’s eyes went wide. Right... magic. He had no clue what she knew — if she knew anything at all. Despite the questions evident in her eyes, she didn't ask about his wand, although he saw that she continued to look at it closely.

They got the two young kitchen helpers settled on either side of him and he started making the batter the Muggle way, allowing both children to take turns adding the ingredients and stirring. It was slow going and messy, but the entire mess was worth it because he heard his daughter giggle for the first time when the bag of flour fired a handful straight into his face (courtesy of Teddy who had hidden a Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes product in the bag). He was certain it was the best sound in the entire universe.

He was pouring batter in the pan when Remus appeared in the doorway. His mentor looked absolutely beat and the reality of the day ahead dropped on him like an anvil. The anxiety about Hermione’s safety had been like a steady background noise since last night, a more heightened version of the fear he had carried around these last five years, now suddenly blaring to the forefront of his mind.

Noting Harry’s flour-covered appearance, he flashed a quick smile before pointing towards the sitting room. Getting the message, Harry quickly used his wand to clean the flour off himself and passed the spatula to Andie. He only got a few steps towards the door when he heard scraping and footsteps, turning around just in time to see the blur of golden curls cling to his leg. “Don’t go!”

Bending down so he could scoop her up properly, he felt her trembling again as she pressed her face against his neck. “I’m not leaving yet Iris. I’ll say goodbye properly when I do and I'll be back,” he said softly, wishing desperately he could be in two places at once as he held her to him.

She pulled back, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Mummy promised she would come back... and I was left all alone.”

Her words were another kick to the gut. “I'm so sorry Iris. I promise I'll do everything I can to come back soon but I need to be out looking for your mum... that way we can help her keep her promise and bring her back to you.”

Her lips quivered, though she seemed to take in what he’d said as she nodded. Rubbing her arms until he felt her posture relax, he placed her back on her feet and knelt down so that he was eye level with her taking her tiny hands into his.

“How about I promise to check in with you every evening. I’ll either come home or fl — call the house? I have to help look for your mum. But I promise to be around, I'll check in to make sure you’re alright. You’re not alone, not ever, do you understand?” He paused, hoping his words would sink in. Unable to resist, Harry tucked a piece of stray hair behind her delicate little ear. “I’ll be here when I can. Andie and Teddy are part of my family and I know you will be safe with them while we look for your mum.”

Iris stared at him for a long moment. He stared into her achingly sweet and familiar face. Finally, after a long moment she nodded. Harry guided her back to the kitchen stool, noting that Teddy’s eyebrows had shot right into his fringe. Harry had a feeling there would be a lot of sensitive questions to answer later. Quickly he ruffled Teddy’s hair, and settled on lightly brushing the top of Iris’s head before he made his way to the sitting room.

Remus was pacing near the fireplace.

“Are there any updates?”

He stopped pacing and sat down heavily. “Yes, we haven't found the owner of the shop, but we did track down another employee. Simon Winter. Thirty three. Has worked at the shop for three years and most importantly he knows Hermione.” Those words caused Harry to have to take a seat on one of the armchairs nearby. “According to him, she’s worked there in some capacity since 1998 and has lived above the shop for years. He mentioned that she's very close with the owner, Annie, who owns both the shop and flat. She's currently in Paris with her sister Rose. But here’s the big breakthrough... Hermione has been living as Jane Everdeen.”

Harry sat back in shock. The Roberts case. Remus nodded, seeing Harry make the connection. “It appears that Hermione was a student of Roberts. We still need to look more into it as Mr. Winters didn’t know much about the details of her schooling, only that she was doing a large research project as part of a mythology course. Which, after speaking with Seamus, he mentioned you found in Robert's office.”

Hermione was a university student. She’d been living an entire life on the other side of the UK. She was Jane... he had called her yesterday. Harry felt all the blood drain out of his face, head coming to rest in his hands. He could have found her.

He didn't have to look up to know that Remus had approached him.

“Seamus filled me in on trying to contact Jane and I know you're probably beating yourself up. I want to remind you that there was no way you could have known. No one could have predicted any of this. You and Seamus followed protocol.” His friend paused, letting his words sink in. Harry wasn’t so sure that he would be able to easily let go of just how close he’d been. That he could have been speaking to her last night if he had tried calling her again.

“Harry, I'm not taking you off the case as you are too valuable and we need your help finding her. You know her best.” He paused and those words landed on him heavily, he wasn’t sure he knew her at all after last night. “Though I know that none of this can be easy for you and you’ll feel pulled in a lot of directions.” He nodded towards the kitchen. “I'm not putting you in the lead junior position.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue but Remus held up a hand. “We need you but this is going to be tough in every aspect. Those of us who know you well, Harry, we know the toll the last five years have had on you. What happened last night ripped that wound right open — not to mention all of the other unexpected developments. Despite what many insist, you are only human. I will have you working closely on the case but I need to ensure that you can handle what we may or may not find, with you intact.”

Harry felt frozen to the spot. He hadn’t let his mind go to those places, not yet, but hearing her name connected with the man whose dead body he had seen in those photographs yesterday filled him with a sick dread. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Concern was etched on Remus’s face. “Don’t lose hope Harry. Hermione is an incredibly powerful witch. There was no trace of any killing curse. All evidence points to her being taken alive.”

Releasing a shuddered breath, some of the tension eased from his body hearing those words.

“I’d like you to come with me back to her flat. I want to walk you through one more time. Some of the team has been up most of the night and I’ve sent them home to rest up. Seamus was the one to interview Simon. I’ll get him to show you the notes when he’s in later. He mentioned a gentleman who was asking about a book, but he couldn’t remember the title. Said he’d been asking after Hermione and that the owner was uncomfortable, but that’s all we know.”

“When will Iris be interviewed?” Harry asked, already tense at the prospect.

“I’ve sent Stella home to sleep but she’ll be back in the afternoon to do the interview. She suggested we use Hannah Abbott—she’s studied child psychology through some Muggle university alongside her healer training.”

Harry nodded his agreement and Remus glanced around the room. “The tentative plan is to interview her here this afternoon. We’ll set up a two way mirror so we can observe. Marta will join as well and bring the pensieve. She’s our only real witness at this point so it’s important that it’s done properly.”

He swallowed the stress of what was to come and forced himself to his feet. He would worry about it later, first he needed to see Hermione’s flat again.

==

After a thankfully tear-free goodbye with Iris, he was able to pull himself from the kitchen, but not before telling the two small children he would do his best to be back soon. Teddy was trying to hold him to his original promise of watching a film.

Taking the floo back to Hermione’s flat, he found it eerie walking around in the daylight, the disarray even more evident with the added light. Reality finally sunk in, he was in her home. He could tell it would be a lovely space if not for whatever had taken place. Remus’s words came floating back to him from yesterday. Someone had trapped her. He shuddered at the thought, even if it was clear that Hermione had fought back valiantly.

“Harry, in here.”

Following Remus’s voice, he made his way to the master bedroom, Hermione’s bedroom. Judging from the clean walls, it appeared that the fighting had not extended into here. As soon as he stepped over the threshold he was hit with it—her scent. The floral shampoo and whatever else it was that was simply her. Fainter in Iris’s room, and without expecting it, he’d been unable to place it. Entering the quiet bedroom, he felt overwhelmed with it and his memories of her.

The room itself was a mess, with books and parchment strewn all over the floor. Someone or several people had been searching for something. Remus stood by a small desk on the far side of the room.

“Vera found some notes about a project. We believe it’s the one she was working on for Roberts's class. She’s already collected it into evidence. There was a note to the administration of the school asking about Roberts. Hermione had clearly noted his absence.”

“There were other notes in his office from her. She never missed much.” Although as the words came out of his mouth, he felt doubt about what he did or didn’t know about her anymore.

“No she didn’t,” Remus said with a sigh. “I have a feeling your daughter is the same. I’m hoping that we’ll get something we can use, because currently we don’t have a lot to go on, and I doubt time is on our side. We have people working on tracking down the owner of the bookshop.”

Harry looked at his watch: it was already after ten. “When are the others coming?”

“Anderson, Vera and Terry will be back around noon. Draco will be checking results at Headquarters and will report his findings at our evening brief.”

“Did you find her wand?”

“Yes, it’s been taken back to headquarters for testing.” The knowledge that Hermione was currently without her wand sent a fresh wave of anxiety through him.

“I thought we could go through the scene again, and then you could grab some items for Iris — so she doesn't have to keep dressing like Teddy,” he said with a faint smile. “There are notes for you to catch up on, but you can take them back to Grimmauld. Stella will meet you there to prepare for the interview.”

“Will I be conducting it with her?”

“I think it might be best if you watch, although as a parent you have a right to be present though it might be a distraction for Iris.”

“Distraction?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice.

“She may not know you’re her father, but it appears she’s taken strongly to you. We want her focused and the less people in the room the better. I’m thinking just Stella and Hannah; with you, Marta and myself observing in the next room.” Harry nodded, simply glad he’d be nearby. “We also found this,” Remus said as he turned towards the bed and picked up some red material that was laying on the tangled sheets. He handed the garment to him. Harry’s brow wrinkled in confusion before it suddenly struck him what he was holding; one of his old quidditch jerseys. Harry hadn’t seen it since...an image flashed to his mind of Hermione wearing it while sleeping on the cot in the tent. The word POTTER stamped across the back in gold. He felt heat rise to his cheeks at the other memories that came to mind.

“It appears to have been charmed,” Remus added quietly.

“Charmed?” he asked, perplexed.

“Draco found it but it was Stella who noticed. It still has your scent. A preservation spell had been repeatedly used,” he replied. Harry looked up from the jersey to Remus’s face. The older wizard sported an introspective expression. “I have a feeling she’s missed you,” he added gently.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He wasn’t sure that was even possible; because otherwise why would she have stayed away?

==

They spent the rest of the morning going through the flat. Before leaving, Harry went into Iris’s room to grab some of her things. He took it in with fresh eyes. It was the same as the night before, except now he knew that it was the place where his daughter slept each night.

He lightly traced his finger over the books on her side table, next to the small antique lamp. Peter Pan was right at the top. He picked up the clearly well-loved copy and opened the well-worn spine. The name Hermione Jane Granger, September 19th 1979 was written in ink on the first page. Underneath was Iris Grace Everdeen, January 31st, 1999. His heart broke at having to find out his daughter's birthday from a book. He read her full name, which drove home that his involvement in creating her was all but erased.

A new emotion washed over him. Hot and furious, churning his stomach. The feeling had hovered on the edges of his consciousness, threatening to surface, but the shock had kept it at bay. When he’d looked at the photograph of the two of them that morning, it had been pure heartbreak that threatened to undo him. Now, standing in his daughter's room again, he felt the shift. The familiar mantra of “Where are you now?” still echoed inside him, except not it was followed by “How could you?”

Harry sunk down onto the small bed, palms slick with sweat as he pushed them through his hair, tugging violently in an effort to direct the pain somewhere else. His chest felt like it was being engulfed in flames, all of the knowledge he’d once held dear about his best friends, crumbling like stone, falling to ruin.

There was no one else he trusted more than Hermione. Yet she had betrayed him, betrayed him in a way he never could have fathomed before last night. Seven years he’d known her, how fiercely loyal and kind she was. He’d been in awe of her selflessness when she’d left everything behind to be with him, to have never left his side, even when everyone else had.

He didn’t know how to make sense of the image of her, the one he’d clung to so tightly as the years had slipped by without her, being irrevocably changed. Hermione knew him, and had loved him, he’d always been so certain of that. Never had he felt more lonely or betrayed then he did sitting there in his daughter’s bedroom. His eyes burned as he stared at the floral wallpaper, the pink rug, the toys and books, at the life he’d been left out of.

Chapter 9: Halo

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Halo

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them”

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

After a quick stop by Headquarters to grab his notes from yesterday, Harry rushed back to Grimmauld. The first thing he did was search out the children. Entering the toy-strewn playroom on the second floor, he heard but could not see his daughter and godson.

“Anyone in here?” he called out as he stepped over a toy replica of Hogwarts.

Iris’s head popped out of the massive blanket fort at the back of the room. The smile on her face when she saw him lightened the weight on his heart considerably. She quickly made her way towards him and his smile grew wider noting the pink princess costume she wore.

“You came back!” she exclaimed, now in front of him. He crouched down to be at her level. Teddy poke his head out from beneath the blanket fort, his face obscured by his dragon mask, but he didn't come forward.

“I did. Are you running away from that dragon?” he asked, nodding his head in Teddy’s direction.

“No, I’m taming him! He needs to learn some manners,” she answered seriously.

“Hey!” Teddy shouted from the fort.

Iris glanced back at Teddy sheepishly, a small blush appearing on her cheeks. “I’m only joking... a little bit,” she added, fidgeting with the puffy sleeve of her dress. “Are you staying?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

He took her small hand in his, his heart picked up as he took her in. Her wild wavy curls framed her heart-shaped face, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. Harry was seeing her happy for the first time, which somehow only increased her likeness to Hermione. He couldn't put his finger on it, if it was the way her whole face lit up, or the way her nose had scrunched up when she smiled.

Harry could also see parts of himself in her face too, the eyes, her crooked smile, and something else. Every time he looked at her he noticed something different. He wondered if others who grew up with their family took this for granted; being able to look into another person's face and see yourself reflected in their features. To him it felt miraculous. That somehow the two of them had made this whole entire person standing before him.

Gently he squeezed her hands. “Sadly I have to go upstairs for a little bit. I do, however, have something for you first.” He grabbed the bag of her things from behind him and placed the duffel bag in front of her. “Some of your things... Er — I — we want you to feel more…comfortable. While you stay with us.” He bit down on his tongue to avoid saying the word “home.”

Instead of replying, she threw her arms around his neck. After a second of surprise, he circled his arms around her tiny frame, noting that Iris hugged very much like her mother.

==

Harry tore himself away from Iris eventually. Now he was seated in his kitchen going over the paperwork he’d missed. He felt unable to stomach sitting in his office, where he’d have to look at the map and its red circle around the city where they had finally found her — or rather her absence.

He picked up a copy of the note he’d found in Robert's office, taking it in for the first time with the knowledge it had been written by Hermione. Her phone number at the bottom. He sucked in a breath.

How different would today be if she’d picked up?

He ran a calloused finger over the words. He’d spent hours examining the letter she had left behind at Hogwarts. The penmanship was clearly the same, the familiar slant and curls of her hand writing. He felt like a colossal idiot for not seeing it immediately. Sighing heavily, he moved on to documenting as much of the night before as he could remember for Stella and Hannah to help them interview Iris. Which was harder than he’d anticipated, his brain firing in a million directions, distracted and unfocused, by the swirl of questions he had for Hermione.

At three he received Stella’s patronus that she was downstairs. He gathered his notes and made his way to the kitchen where he found her and Remus deep in conversation.

“Where are the children?” he asked Remus, making his way to the fridge as his stomach had begun to rumble, having skipped any kind of proper meal.

“Andie is with them in the garden. She’ll take Teddy to run some errands so that the house is clear. There’s no sense trying to conduct it at headquarters. The plan is to charm the wall to show us the sitting room so we can observe. Marta will be here soon and Seamus will join as well.”

Before Harry could respond, the floo alarm went off. Hannah had arrived. Remus left to greet her. Harry felt a wave of overwhelm as he sunk in a seat next to Stella. She gave him a hesitant smile. “I’ve been thinking of you... and Iris... and of course Hermione.” He tried but failed to return her smile.

Hannah and Remus came through the kitchen door and she rushed over, taking the other seat next to his. “Oh Harry, I don’t even know what to say.” There were tears in her eyes. Unsure if he could handle anyone else's tears, he attempted a smile. “It’s fine, Hannah. Really. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. Neville and I want you to know if there’s anything you need, we're here.”

Harry was unsure how much more pity he could handle. They still had to alert the rest of their circle on the unexpected change to his parental status and the fact that Hermione was still gone — and likely now in grave danger.

Mercifully at that moment, the floo went off again, and soon they were all crowded into the kitchen. Remus was the only one who stayed standing.

“Thank you all for coming. I know it's been an intense couple of days. We’re gathered here for the purpose of getting whatever information we can from our only eyewitness.” He surveyed them with his golden eyes. “We've had some unexpected developments and the person we’re searching for is a former classmate and friend to many of you in this room, Hermione Granger, who has been living under the name Jane Everdeen.”

Harry’s stomach twisted at the word “friend.” It felt inadequate, in more than one way.

“As many of you know, interviewing children is a much different process than adults. We often get a much shorter window to get it right. I’ve asked Marta to lend her expertise on the new pensieve system, as we are hoping that this combined with the interview may provide us the best chance at finding a break that will help us locate our witness's mother.”

A hush came over the group and Harry was aware that all the eyes in the room had landed on him.

“Stella and Harry have both done write-ups. Did you receive them Hannah?” Remus asked. Hannah nodded and held up a folder.

“Excellent. Andie will be bringing the children to the sitting room in approximately twenty minutes. Stella and Hannah, do you want to follow me and ensure things are set up appropriately?” The two blondes nodded and made their way to the next room.

The trio left, leaving Seamus, Harry, and Marta, who wasted no time pulling an assortment of things out of her bag and setting them up at the far side of the table. It was unusual to be with a speechless Seamus.

“Look mate, I’m so sor — ” Seamus started.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, cutting Seamus off. He didn’t have it in him to talk about it right then. He also didn’t know Marta, a recent transfer from Germany, very well. The small amount of emotional and mental energy that he had left over needed to be conserved for Iris. “Seriously. I know. I don’t know what to say either. It’s fine,” he added in response to the doubtful look on the other wizard's face.

Harry’s stomach growled, which broke the tension. “Want some leftovers? Andie’s famous beef and ale stew,” he asked Seamus.

At the mention of food, Seamus gave him a proper grin. He offered some to Marta, which she declined, continuing to set up. The two of them settled at the table and Seamus stuck to the topic of Quidditch. Harry half-listened, with one eye on the clock near the door. Marta came and went into the sitting room to pass something to Stella before returning to the strange modern looking pensieve, its glassy black stone surface sleek and shiny.

The sound of the children’s voices could suddenly be heard coming from the sitting room. This was followed by the sound of the Floo. There was a moment of silence before the sound of Iris crying reached him. Ignoring the past instructions to remain in the kitchen, he made his way through the swinging door leaving Seamus mid conversation.

Iris stood near the Floo, Stella kneeling in front of her and Remus at her other side. Like a magnet she moved towards Harry as soon as she registered his presence. He bent down to be at her eye level and reached his hand out to her which she quickly took.

“Hello Iris, are you doing alright? Did you manage to tame that dragon?” he asked her softly, rubbing his thumb over her tiny knuckles. Iris nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “Do you remember Stella? She was there when we met last night?” Her eyes flickered to where Stella stood, then back to him and she gave a tiny nod.

“Well she's very smart and very nice, as is my good friend Hannah over there on the couch.”

Iris turned to look where Harry pointed to Hannah who gave a small wave from the sofa.

“They were hoping to ask you some questions if that’s alright with you? Er — ah yes, and some drawing,” he added, as Hannah held up the packet of markers.

Iris stared at the two blonde witches who smiled at her warmly, before she turned her gaze back to him. There was a beat of hesitation before she reached up to whisper in his ear. “Will you stay?”

Harry looked at the others in the room. He could see how she might not want to leave his side, which of course filled his heart right up. He loved that she seemed to gravitate towards him. Yet he knew the interview was too important for distractions.

“I was thinking it might be fun for you to colour with just the three of you. How about I promise to be nearby? I have a little bit more work to do, but I’ll finish it early so we can spend some time together before dinner? Teddy and Andie will be back and if I get everything done I’ll probably have time for that film Teddy was begging to watch. Does that sound like a good plan?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she nodded. He smiled back, tucking a loose piece of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll be close by in the house if you need me. Although let me introduce you to Hannah first.” Harry said. Iris allowed him to lead her over to the red sofa. “Iris this is Hannah, Hannah this is Iris.”

Hannah gave them both a big smile, dimples showing. “It’s so lovely to meet you Iris. I have some colour-changing markers and I was hoping you might want to draw something with me and Stella?”

“Uh huh.” It was quiet but affirmative. Giving Iris’s hand one last quick squeeze and brushing the top of her head with the other, he let her go.

“Alright, have fun you three. Remus, should we head to the kitchen?”

The two of them made their way back to the kitchen and it took all of his willpower to not look back.

Once in the kitchen, they gathered near the wall closest to the sitting room. With the wave of Remus’s wand, the wall became a large window. Harry stared at the scene. All of them were seated on cushions, surrounding the low coffee table. Iris on her knees in order to reach.

Suddenly, at the flick of Remus's wand, sound came through.

“Oh a purple one, does that happen to be your favourite colour?” Hannah asked Iris who smiled and gave a nod.

“Purple’s my favourite... but I also like green, pink, gold and rainbow.” Her voice was soft but there was no trace of her earlier tears.

“Those are all really wonderful colours. I also like rainbows,” Stella said encouragingly.

“Mummy says I’m her rainbow,” she said softly.

Hannah and Stella exchanged a quick glance. Hannah turned back to Iris first. “That’s lovely! Your trousers even match the name.” Iris looked down at them, giving another small smile.

“Iris, I’m curious: what is the best thing about your mummy?” Hannah asked, her tone light.

Iris had started drawing again but paused. “She loves me to the moon and to the bottom of the sea. And she um, takes care of me. And she is very smart and knows almost everything.” Pausing to cap her lid, she looked up at the two witches. “She’s also good and kind... and positively lovely!” She stopped again, while she absently ran her free hand through her hair. “Mummy is not her real name though.”

Watching from the other room, Harry felt as if he was observing the scene from much further away.

There was another quick non verbal exchange between the two witches. “It’s not?” Hannah asked curiously

“She has two names. Actually three,” she replied, eagerness in her voice.

“What are they?” Stella leaned closer to her.

“Jane, Janie and Hermione,” she replied. “Oh and Mummy! But only I call her that.” Iris declared with a giggle, smiling and shaking her head at her perceived slip up.

“Who calls her Hermione?” Stella pressed.

“That was her name when she was a little girl.” Iris’s voice was suddenly serious as she refocused on her artwork.

“Is there anyone that you know that calls her that?” Stella asked, following up.

Iris shook her head. “Mummy doesn’t have any of her real family. Annie and Rosie are our friend family.” The other two nodded, not rushing to fill the silence.

Harry sucked in a breath as Iris’s words landed squarely on him. None of this had to be this way. All of his emotions surfaced at once, including the flare of anger that he forced down. He couldn’t make sense of it. Why the hell had she thought it was best to be all alone?

“Do you know where her other family is?” Hannah finally asked, her voice steady as she mirrored Iris and continued to draw.

“Far away,” Iris stated, focused on her colouring.

“Iris, do you know what her job is?” Stella asked after complementing her drawing.

“She reads books, lots and lots of books,” Iris offered, not looking up.

There was a pause as the three of them focused on their art again — at least Iris did. Harry noted that Hannah and Stella seemed to be communicating something with their eyes.

“Iris, do you know what a memory is?” Stella asked.

Iris stopped and nodded, “A memory is when you remember something that happened in the past.”

“That’s right!” Stella said smiling, “I have a really neat object with me, it helps people remember things. Would you like to see?”

Iris went utterly still, eyes focused on Stella. “Yes.”

Stella pulled a silver round circle from her bag. “Do you know what a halo is?”

“Like an angel?” Iris inquired, tilting her head to the side.

“Exactly! Except this one only looks like one. It helps with people's memory,” Stella explained as she placed the object on the table.

“How?” Iris leaned forward, in that moment the similarity between her and Hermione was staggering.

“Well it helps see the pictures in your head and puts them somewhere safe,” Stella explained as she held the halo out so that Iris could look at it.

“Like magic?” Iris whispered.

“Yes, like magic,” Stella replied softly. There was a long pause.

“Magic is not a story,” Iris finally said, but it was more of a statement than a question, as she looked between the two women in front of her. “Is magic for real? Like for real live life?” Her delicate eyebrows drew together as she searched their faces.

Harry tensed. The enormity of his oversight of not already having asked Iris about magic hit him. He should have sat her down first and explained. Guilt roiled in his gut at having left this conversation to his friends. It should be her parents' responsibility, a thought that immediately made him wince. Not that he’d had a chance to be her parent.

Stella and Hannah exchanged stunned looks before they seemed to come to a consensus. Hannah turned back to the small child. “Yes Iris. Magic is real. Does it feel strange to hear that?” she asked gently.

“No,” she whispered softly.

There was another long pause before Stella asked Iris once more if she minded wearing the halo. To which she agreed. Delicately she placed it above Iris’s head, where it turned from silver to bright white as it hovered over her golden hair. She really did look like an angel.

“It doesn’t hurt!” Iris said shyly as her eyes rolled up towards her forehead, trying in vain to see.

The group watching behind the mirror gave a surprised chuckle. “Rather Gryffindor of her, eh Potter?” Seamus said, smirking over at him. Harry couldn’t help but grin.

“We wouldn’t put something on you that hurts! Do you want to see what it looks like in the mirror?” Stella was clearly trying not to laugh.

Iris nodded excitedly. Hannah used her wand to shrink and move the large gold mirror above the fireplace so that it fit in her hand.

Iris giggled at her reflection, seemingly delighted by what she saw. Harry’s heart leapt at the sound.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions to jog your memory, alright?”

Iris nodded but her attention was focused on Hannah as she restored the mirror above the mantel with her wand.

“Iris, is there a reason you already believe in magic?” Stella asked. Iris turned her attention back to Stella and nodded. “Do you have any memory of magic?”

“Mummy’s stick. I think it has magic,” Iris said hesitantly, as the halo above her glowed brighter.

“You saw that your mummy has a stick? Does it look a bit like this?” Hannah asked, showing Iris the wand she’d just used to bring the mirror over.

“Yes. Mummy keeps it in her bedroom. It is a light colour instead.” Her eyes were glued to the wand and Hannah made a gesture showing her that she could touch it if she wanted. “I saw another one this morning when we made pancakes,” Iris added.

“Does your mummy ever use magic?” Stella asked, pointing at the wand.

“It’s plausible,” she replied after a moment. Hannah and Stella exchanged amused glances but Iris didn’t notice, her eyes locked on the wand in front of her. “I think sometimes... when she doesn't know that I can see her.” She reached out and delicately touched the wand with her index finger. The halo flickered softly above her.

The two blonde witches nodded in unison, “Thank you for telling us that Iris. You’re clearly very observant,” Hannah emphasised.

“Iris, do you remember what you did yesterday, in the morning?” Stella asked.

“Mummy took me to my school,” she said after a moment. The halo flashed white again, and Harry looked at Marta who was focused intently at the pensieve, in her lap.

“And what did you do at school?” Stella prompted.

“Played outside. Matilda showed me how to do a cartwheel.” She flashed a proud smile, her halo glowing exceptionally bright.

“Oh a cartwheel! That sounds pretty hard. Maybe you can show us after?” Hannah said genuinely, as she and Iris exchanged smiles.

Iris nodded enthusiastically, her halo staying perfectly in place.

“What did you do after Nursery?” Stella asked.

“Hmmm… Mummy picked me up and we went to our park. And then we made cake!” The halo glowed even brighter as if matching Iris’s enthusiasm.

“Your park? Where is that Iris?” Stella asked, while also writing on the non-coloured half of her drawing.

“Yes. We always go there with our pass. It has very green grass, and a playground... the river and even an ancient well!” Iris exclaimed.

“That sounds like a lovely spot! You also made a cake? That sounds fun, what kind of cake?” Stella asked as she seemed to note the change in the halo.

“A vanilla birthday cake! It was cake day,” Iris chimed, happily.

“Cake day?” Hannah asked, confusion in her voice.

“What is cake day?” Stella asked at the same time. Harry had never heard of cake day and they all exchanged bemused looks.

“It’s when you celebrate your half birthday. It wasn’t just cake day though,” Iris insisted before growing quiet.

“No?” Stella was unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

“It was also Daddy’s birthday... that’s what made it a real birthday cake,” Iris added with a shy smile.

The air seemed to be sucked out of the kitchen as they watched through the glass. Harry’s mouth parted, then closed. Another shock made its way through him as he stared at his small child. He wished he could see into the pensieve right now or that he could read her mind.

“It was?” Hannah asked with a small smile on her face.

“Yes!” Iris declared. There was a long pause, she picked up another marker and continued to draw. Watching intently from the window, Harry's heart began to race.

“Who was at cake day?” Hannah asked finally.

“Me and Mummy,” she shared, not looking up from her artwork.

“What happened after cake?” Stella inquired. She glanced quickly at the wall, seeming to stare right at him before turning back to Iris. Harry swallowed the bile already rising in his throat.

Iris stopped colouring. “Mummy read me Peter Pan.”

“You seem to really like Peter Pan, don’t you Iris?” Stella smiled at her kindly.

She nodded, biting her lip. Hannah reached out and gently laid her hand on Iris’s arm.

“I know this might be hard to talk about, Iris, but we need to ask you what happened before Stella and... Harry, found you.” There was a long silence.

Finally, Iris took a deep breath, “It was really loud and woke me up.”

“What woke you up?” Stella asked gently.

“The ringing. It shook me out of my dream.” The halo started blinking rapidly.

In the kitchen, they all turned towards Marta who sensing the eyes on her, tore her gaze from the pensieve to those in the room. “She is remembering something frightening,” she stated matter-of-factly. “It will blink and the memory may be harder to decipher,” she added before turning back to the pensieve. Harry felt another wave of dread: the thought of Iris being scared made his heart sink. Tuning back into the conversation, it was still on the previous night.

“I screamed for Mummy and she came into my room,” Iris was saying, gripping the marker in her hand, her lip trembling.

“What was Mummy like?” Stella asked, as Hannah continued to rub Iris’s arm soothingly.

“Scared,” Iris whispered.

“What did she say to you?”

“Be brave,” Iris murmured, her voice quivering.

“Did she say anything else?” Stella asked gently.

Iris's small body shook, eyes bright with tears and Harry felt the overwhelming urge to go to her in her distress but knew he had to resist it. Hannah and Stella were doing an amazing job. She was safe with them.

“She said I love you... That I’m very brave. And she said she would come back for me. She promised.” Her tears began to fall and Hannah continued to rub her arm.

“That sounds like it was really scary,” Hannah replied, her voice filled with compassion.

Iris nodded. “Then I was all alone... I went under my bed to hide.”

“Were you hiding from someone?” Stella asked, keeping her voice low and gentle.

The only sound for a moment was Iris’s sniffling, “Captain Hook,” she said, fear evident in her voice. The same name and fear from the night before.

“Did you see Captain Hook that night, Iris?”

She shook her head, “Before...”

“You saw him before?” Stella clarified. Iris nodded, as she bowed her head.

“Can you remember when that was? Where you were?”

“The shop. With Mummy... and Annie,” she said, hiccuping.

“Are you remembering it?” Stella asked and Iris nodded again, cheeks wet with tears.

“I know it's hard to remember things that scare you, your mam was right, you are a very brave little girl,” Stella added as she looked at Iris with her big blue eyes filled. They gave Iris a moment. He was grateful when the halo stopped flashing.

“One last question Iris: you said that you think she’s in Neverland, that both your parents are there. Why do you think that?” Stella asked.

“Because Neverland is far away,” Iris whispered tearfully, she paused and pointed at one of the pictures she had drawn. “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.”

The two witches peered at the picture, but they couldn’t see it from the kitchen. “You think your parents are far away?” Hannah asked, trying and failing to hide her confusion.

“Yes. Captain Hook… I think he took Mummy.” She paused looking up at Stella, “But my daddy will help her,” she added quietly.

“Your daddy?” Stella responded softly, exchanging looks with Hannah.

“Yes, he is brave like Peter Pan. Mummy told me so,” Iris told them, her eyes wide.

“She did?”

“Uh huh. Honest!” Iris nodded, looking directly at Stella, “Mummy said he would always find her when she was in danger.” She had stopped crying and her voice carried the certainty of the childhood belief in one's parents.

The two witches were clearly speechless at Iris’s declaration. Watching from the window he was also utterly speechless, as it seemed were his friends and colleagues.

“Do you know where your daddy is now?” Hannah asked quietly and Harry held his breath.

Iris’s eyebrows knitted together. She turned her head and he could no longer read the expression on her face but she shook her head. And he felt as if his heart had fractured. Suddenly the ‘window’ turned back into a solid wall.

“I think we have everything we need.” Harry felt Remus’s hand settle on his shoulder. “Teddy and Andie will be back shortly, do you need anything?”

Harry shook his head, devastated, but he knew that he had to stay focused. They needed to find Hermione. Telling Iris the truth would have to wait.

==

Everyone agreed that a short break was in order and they all dispersed. Harry remained in the with Marta, who was hunched over the pensieve. She moved her wand over the images in front of her, a small earpiece he recognized as a newer Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes product fully encircled her right ear. George, with his own hearing loss, had expanded their line of products to include audio and visual enhancements, and many of them were now used by the Auror team.

He looked towards the sitting room and with a deep breath made his way through the swinging door. Three variations of golden hair were bent over the coffee table. Iris lifted her head, beaming and his breath caught at the familiar expression.

“Hi Harry!” Hannah called. “Do you like our drawings?” She lifted up what appeared to be a flying unicorn going into a rainbow. “The unicorn was Iris’s suggestion.” She winked at Iris who grinned back. He still felt the heartbreak from what he’d heard from the kitchen, but it was impossible not to smile at Iris’s happiness; he had seen far too little of it.

He crouched down so he was at the unoccupied side of the small table, taking in the many drawings that graced its surface.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said. “Who knew there were so many artists in the room?”

“Well I think Iris gets most of the credit,” Stella responded. Most of the colourful pages had obviously been done by a small child.

“Yes, she certainly seems to have lots of experience, isn’t that right?” Hannah asked, beginning to clear up some of the pens.

“Uh huh, I draw almost every day,” she said confidently. Harry enjoyed seeing this side of her; he had a feeling it was closer to what she was like at home. His heart again tightened at the thought. Working to not show his feelings, he instead pointed to one of her drawings: two figures flying in the air.

“What’s going on here?”

“It’s Peter and Wendy. I did not draw John and Michael though, as they are rather silly,” Iris answered, nose scrunching.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Harry nodded and fought a smile, exchanging amused glances with his friends.

“Yes, I drew them because they're in love.”

“They are?” he asked, placing the drawing back down, looking at Stella who wore a puzzled look on her face.

“They are! True love,” she insisted, looking up from her drawing.

“True love?” Stella asked, bewildered.

“Yes, true love. It means you love each other forever and you get married… well, most of the time. At least in the happy stories,” Iris replied, her tone indicating that this should be rather obvious. The room went completely silent. None of the adults quite knew what to say to that.

“Hmmm, did someone tell you that?” Hannah finally asked.

Iris thought for a moment. “I don’t know...” She shrugged her small shoulders. “In some of the best stories… like Ariel and Beauty and the Beast, they always get married... but not in Peter Pan.” She tilted her head, staring at her drawing, “And not in most of Mummy and Annie’s stories.” Her nose scrunched again.

“No?!” Hannah exclaimed.

“Their stories are com — plicated,” Iris began, trying to wrap her mouth around that word. “Mummy says not all love stories end with weddings but I like when they do. But I also love her magic stories, those are my other favourites.”

Pausing before adding; “Except Mummy’s stories never have weddings or true love’s kiss.” She sighed and shook her head, as if she could not comprehend why this would be.

Another silence stretched between them, Iris didn’t seem to notice, once again becoming absorbed in her colouring.

Chapter 10: Hey Jealousy

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

“Love is like infinity: You can't have more or less infinity, and you can't compare two things to see if they're ‘equally infinite.’ Infinity just is, and that's the way I think love is, too.”

-Fred Rogers

The silence that had fallen over them was broken by the sound of the floo. And Teddy, then Andie emerged.

“Aw you got to colour! Not fair! I had to do boring shopping,” Teddy huffed as he rushed towards the coffee table.

Hannah grabbed the other pack of markers she had put away. “Would you like to join, Teddy?” This was all the prompting he needed to grab a cushion from the other sofa and join in.

Taking advantage of the children’s distraction, Harry made his way over to Andie. “Remus has already spoken with Kreacher and told him to expect around seven for dinner. Seamus and Stella are going to stay.”

Andie nodded, her eyes moving towards the scene behind Harry.

“How did it go?” she asked softly.

“Good, I think. Stella and Hannah were wonderful with her. Iris seems okay. I may have had to promise her that I’ll watch that silly film with her and Teddy though.” He couldn’t help smiling at the last sentence.

“And you're alright?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, smile faltering. Andie gave his arm a quick pat and headed to the kitchen to unload her bags.

“Uncle Harry!” Teddy yelled from the floor near the coffee table. “Are we really going to watch that film tonight?!”

“Yes, I have made a promise. So, granted there are no emergencies, I'm at your service.”.

“Can we stay up extra late too?” Teddy added eagerly.

“Hmmm. I’ll have to think that one over,” Harry said, rubbing his chin. He winked at Teddy before sitting down on the cushion-free couch next to Stella.

“Aw, please Uncle Harry!” his godson begged. He glanced over at Iris and then back to him. “Just the two of us! I'm over five... so I should be allowed to stay up later.”

Iris’s head shot up, quickly scowling with indignation.

“That's rubbish! I can stay up late too!” Iris exclaimed. “Mummy lets me stay up late all the time.”

“Well he’s my uncle,” Teddy replied, his blonde hair flashing scarlet.

Several emotions passed over Iris’s face. She opened her mouth to reply, then promptly shut it, chin trembling.

The room went silent. Harry frowned— this was not his godson’s normal behaviour... then again nothing had been normal in the last twenty four hours. Harry moved to sit next to Iris. She’d drawn her knees up, chin tucked to her chest.

“Teddy. That wasn't kind. Iris is old enough to stay up late and watch a film with us. You need to apologise,” he reprimanded. Harry reached out a hand and placed it on her small shoulder. “Four and a half is quite big isn’t it?” he asked her softly. She met his gaze; her green eyes blinked back tears.

“Why do you like her more than me?!” Teddy shouted.

Before Harry could say anything, Teddy sprinted from the room towards the stairs. Stella and Hannah exchanged a nervous glance and Harry removed his hand from Iris to rub his face. Harry was used to the occasional outburst. He was like an extra parent to Teddy, so often saw the gamut of emotions that children expressed. Yet now he suddenly had a daughter, now it felt like he’d been thrust into having what was essentially two warring siblings. He was out of his depth.

A stifled sob cut through the silence. Harry touched her back, heart aching at her shaking body.

“I— I miss my mummy.” The muffled words reached his ears and as always landed like a heavy blow.

“I know, this is all very hard. Everyone in this room is going to help look for her... we want you to have her back.”

“Harry's right, Iris,” Stella added gently. She was now seated between him and Hannah, on the floor. “We all want to help find her. You’ve been so strong, which is very hard work.” Iris’s cries subsided and she leaned her small body into his arm.

Seamus walked into the room, his smile fading as he took in the scene before him.

“Ah... Remus said to meet in the library in fifteen,” he said hesitantly.

“Excellent,” Stella replied, quickly manoeuvring herself off the floor as Hannah did the same.

“Iris, is there anything you need right now? A snack? I have a meeting but then we can eat supper together?” He asked, he felt the shake of her head against his arm. “Hannah, are you okay with staying with Iris for a moment?” Hannah nodded. “I’m going to have a quick word with Teddy. Have you had a chance to try one of the brooms outside?” He asked, redirecting his gaze to her.

“No... we played in the tree house.”

“Well I will talk to Teddy. I have a feeling he'll come around if it involves Quidditch,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Quidditch?” Iris asked, tilting her head up to look at him.

“Quidditch. It’s a sport played on flying brooms,” he replied, brushing some of the stray hair out of her face.

“I know,” she said quietly.

“You do?”

“Yes. It’s in Mummy’s stories.”

“Your mum told you about Quidditch?”

“Is it for real live life?” she asked, more questions forming in her large green eyes.

“Yes, Iris it is. This is probably all very confusing,” he replied softly. He tore his eyes away from hers. Seamus and Stella were talking quietly closer to the kitchen but Hannah was perched on the sofa and had clearly heard what Iris had said.

“Hannah, would you and Iris want to head out to the garden?” he asked, helping Iris up.

“I would love to. Would you still be willing to show me how to do a cartwheel?”

Iris perked up at that suggestion. He told Seamus and Stella he would meet them in the library, and to tell Remus to start without him if he was running late. He hurried upstairs to where he was fairly sure he would find his godson. Sure enough, Teddy sat in the blanket fort they had assembled months ago, refusing to take it down.

“Thought I would find you here,” he said, taking a seat in the spacious area under the magically suspended blankets.

Teddy didn't reply, his arms and legs crossed as he sat hunched over, refusing to look at him. Thankfully his hair was back to its usual golden blonde, which Harry took as a good sign. Teddy’s hair had changed constantly as a baby, but now it only seemed to change of its own accord if he was particularly angry.

“Do you want to talk about what’s upsetting you?”

Teddy shrugged and continued to avoid meeting his gaze.

“Would I be right if I said that it has to do with Iris?” Teddy nodded slowly. “What is it that makes you upset about her being here?”

Teddy finally met his eyes, crestfallen and fat tears falling down his cheeks. “You like her more than me now.”

Merlin’s beard. Both children were going to kill him with those heartbroken expressions.

“Teddy, that's not true,” he replied gently.

“Yes, you do. You’ve only known her one day…” he trailed off and wiped at his eyes with pudgy fists.

“And?” Harry prompted, moving his arm so that he could pull his godson into his side.

Teddy settled next to him. “You love her, and it doesn't make sense... she’s a stranger.”

“Teddy. Iris is not a stranger,” he finally replied softly.

“Then how come we only just met her?”

Harry sighed heavily. “It’s a long story Teddy. Did your Gran explain to you why she is staying with us?”

Teddy’s brow furrowed. “She said that she needed a safe place to stay. That you and Dad are looking for her mum...”

“That’s right, but there's more to it than that,” he replied, with a calm he did not feel. “I can't explain it all right this second, but you remember us telling you about our friend? Your Aunt Hermione?”

“Aunt Hermione?” His eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. Harry knew he would have heard the stories about her over the years, although having never met her, he assumed his godson had a hard time understanding that she was a real person, and not a more mythical figure like Merlin, or Circe.

“Yes, she was my best friend in school. And Uncle Ron’s.” Harry forced himself to breathe. “Well, she's Iris’s mum.”

Teddy’s mouth fell open. “I...you said she was gone.”

“She was... and well... she is... again. It’s... complicated.” He was using Iris’s word, as ‘a giant f*cking mess’ was probably not the appropriate response for a five year old. He sighed. “Hermione means a lot to me... to all of us, so it’s the same for Iris. Even if we only just met her.”

“You didn’t meet her before?” Teddy asked, not knowing how his words sliced through him.

Harry paused. “No. I wish I had.” The understatement of the century. Ruffling his godson’s hair, he searched his mind for a change in topic. “Did you have fun playing with her earlier?”

“Oh. Well yes,” he replied, a smile finally appearing on his face, before he quirked his head to the side. “She’s fun I suppose... but she can be a bit bossy.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that, knowing his daughter came by that honestly.

“Says the boss himself?” He teased, tweaking Teddy’s nose. “Also I think the better term is assertive,” he said, trying not to laugh at the look on his godson’s face. “So you do like Iris?” Teddy nodded and leaned his head more firmly onto Harry’s shoulder. “You were just worried I liked her more?”

He felt Teddy nod against his arm.

“Teddy, I’ve loved you since you were a baby. I’ll never stop,” he said, squeezing Teddy to him. “Though I will love other people too... love doesn’t divide if more people come into our lives. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Teddy replied. looking back up at him. “Like if you have a baby, like Uncle Ron is?” Harry felt some of his resolve crumble at those words, managing to whisper a quiet yes.

A thick silence hung above them much like the blankets. “But Uncle Harry... You do love Iris though... already?”

“Yes, Teddy I do. It doesn’t make me love you any less. I know we had plans for the weekend, I still want to spend time together, but things are very busy.” He paused to tilt Teddy’s chin back up so he could look into his eyes. “Iris needs all of us right now. Would you help me make her feel comfortable here?”

Teddy nodded. “Uncle Harry, does her being Auntie Hermione’s daughter make you and Ron her uncles too?" Aware of his godson's gaze, he worked hard to not betray the hurt and panic that question made him feel.

“Iris is family, Teddy. You know what though... I asked her if she wanted to try flying a broom and she said yes. I think she’s waiting outside for you with Han—” He didn’t have to finish the sentence, Teddy was already scrambling out of the fort.

Harry sent off a quick patronus to Andie to tell her that the children would be outside. He followed behind Teddy. When he made his way out back, he smiled at the sight that greeted him. Hannah was seated on the grass, grinning, her shoulder-length hair askew. Iris was in the midst of demonstrating a cartwheel to Teddy, who attempted to mimic her movement.

“No, no, no, stop.” She adjusted his arm so that he was pointing them up. “Now, put your foot out like this.” Iris demonstrated once again as she moved her body gracefully through the air and landed on her feet. Harry and Hannah exchanged bemused glances. He could see his godson getting frustrated as he failed to do a cartwheel the way Iris was doing it.

“Alright, does anyone here want to do some flying?”

A resounding yes was shouted by both children, who picked themselves off the grass and dashed over to him. Grabbing his wand he summoned the toy brooms from the shed. They had been upgraded from the toddler brooms, going from skimming the grass to now flying about four feet off the ground, which required him to also summon two helmets. Hannah stood up and brushed herself off,and Andie appeared out the back door as he clipped the helmet’s strap under Iris’s chin.

“Sorry about that, just getting super on. I can take over,” she said when she got to them.

“Not to worry.” Harry glanced at his watch. The meeting had started five minutes before. “I should get going though.”

“You aren't going to watch?” Teddy asked, unhappily.

“I do have to get going—” Harry was cut off by the familiar mantra.

“Two more minutes!”

A tugging at his sleeve got his attention. Iris blinked up at him. “Please... can you stay a little bit longer?” Her voice was quiet, but it was the hope in her green eyes that solidified his decision. He knew when it came to denying her anything, he was done for.

“Alright, you two have convinced me,” he said smiling, as Teddy and Iris cheered. “But I can’t stay long.”

He and Teddy showed Iris how to hold her hand up and say ‘up’ with meaning. The child-size broom flew right into her small hand, lifting her about an inch off the ground, which made her laugh in surprise. Teddy mounted his broom and took off across the lawn. Harry showed Iris how to mount the broom, following his instructions, she now hovered next to him while he kept one hand on either side of her tiny body to keep her steady.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Iris turned to him, a determined look on her face under her white helmet.

“Yes,” she replied, giving him a sparkling smile.

“Alright, keep two hands on your broom. Lean forward and look towards where you want to go,” Harry told her one last time, before he let her go. She hovered only a second, then was off like a shot. Watching his daughter zoom across the yard towards Teddy filled him with a golden warm feeling: pride. He had missed so many milestones, but watching her laughing as she rode a broom for the first time, he vowed he would be there for the rest. After a few more minutes of watching and calling out encouraging comments. in equal measure to both Iris and Teddy, he waved at them one final time and made his departure with Hannah.

“Thanks again for everything,” he said as they approached the fireplace.

Hannah smiled. “Anytime, Harry. She's absolutely lovely,” she replied sincerely. “Are you bringing her to the Weasleys’ tomorrow? Ron and Susan told us to come since Neville’s gran is unwell and cancelled supper.”

“I haven't even had time to think about it,” he answered honestly. Time had felt meaningless since meeting Iris. “I'm not sure. Depends on how things are going with the case. We’ll have to tell everyone soon enough.”

“It’s a shock of course. Everyone will adore her though. It’s impossible not to.” Harry smiled at that. Taking a deep breath, he asked Hannah what had been weighing on his mind since the interview.

“Did she seem okay to you... just with everything that happened,” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Hannah paused for a moment, sucking her cheeks. Finally she nodded.

“She’s one strong little girl. I think she's doing remarkably well for what she experienced and missing her mum. You’ll probably want to sit down with her and explain more about magic as I'm sure this is all very confusing. I had to explain to her that Peter Pan was still a story, as she got rather excited about the possibility of pixie dust.” She gave him a warm smile. “I understand why you haven’t told her about your connection, but it will be important that you explain why when the time comes. Another important thing to remember is that children tend to think quite literally. Abstract concepts like magic are hard for them to process, yet their minds are still so wide open, that they want to believe in it. Iris has a wonderful imagination. She's probably been told that magic is... as she has put it, just a story.”

Harry sighed deeply in both relief and anxiousness. “I have no idea if I'm doing any of this right.”

“I think you’re doing just fine. But if you two need anything, Neville and I are here. And if I think of anything after going back through my notes I'll let you know.”

Hannah gave his arm a squeeze before she tossed the powder into the flames and disappeared in a flash of green. Turning on his heels, he jogged upstairs. Entering the library, he found everyone seated in a semi circle. All three of them were looking ahead at Marta who had set up a hologram to project against the cream coloured wall, the image projecting in 3D from the sleek black pensieve on the coffee table.

All four stopped and with a wave of Marta’s wand the image froze. The sight of which also froze him.

Hermione and Iris were seated on the small twin bed, the worn copy of Peter Pan held in Hermione’s hands and Iris leaned into her mother. It was almost like watching a film, except the images were not contained to a flat surface, instead they rose in front. Almost like a set he could walk onto the scene, only it was smaller and playing out several feet off the ground.

He’d gone to the seminar months back, when Marta had joined the team as an expert in the new advancement in memory work that was coming out of Germany. His mind couldn't bring up any of that information, unable to tear his eyes away. Hermione looked different and the same simultaneously. Her hair was more tamed than he’d seen it when they had been on the run. Her eyes were focused on the book, but he could see their warmth from where he stood. He took in the shape of her mouth, knowing she was just starting to smile.

“Harry?” Remus called, from the way the others were watching him he got the sense that it was not the first time his name had been called. He was flooded with too many other emotions to add embarrassment to the list. He simply forced himself to move towards the sofa and sat down next to Stella. Marta looked to Remus, who nodded at her to continue.

“As I was saying, the memories from yesterday of her going about the day are rather clear despite her age and how children process time. It is when the memories are farther back that they get more out of focus. The same will be true with the next sequence when she is experiencing fear.” Using her wand, Marta unpaused the frame and used her wand in a series of complex movements that made the image fast forward.

Harry tried to study the images from the scene in front of him as they moved by. Hermione reading to Iris, the two of them talking and Hermione laughing. His memory tried to conjure up the last memory of her laughing; and he hated that he couldn’t. Harry noted that while she read to Iris, a series of emotions flicked across her face. At a few points Harry saw the familiar expression on her face that she was lost in thought. Soon the night time ritual came to a close, with Hermione tucking their daughter into bed as the two of them exchanged kisses, hugs. He swallowed the hard lump that had appeared in his throat.

Marta paused again on a now sleeping Iris who was just visible in the darkness with the light coming in the window. “We’ll have to do a deeper analysis to get a timeframe. That may also be inaccurate as memory is unreliable even with perfect conditions. With the witness's age, her drowsy state and fear, we may not get an accurate time of attack, but we’ll do our best.” Marta paused to look back from the screen to the four of them to see if they were following. “Right here is where she regains consciousness. It will be loud.” That was her quick warning before the memory played back. All of them plugged their ears as the sound of the wards going off, blared through the library.

“Is it possible to turn it down?” Remus asked, shouting to be heard over the noise.

Marta simply nodded and the volume mercifully went down. The images had a different quality. They were in darkness and there was also a shaky and blurry quality to what they were looking at. The scene that enfolded in front of him was absolutely devastating. Hermione opened the room and light flooded in when she turned on the overhead light switch with Iris in her arms. It was impossible to hear what they were saying over the background noise and with the volume down. He watched Hermione try to apparate with their child, terror plainly on her face. It was gutting. Finally, Hermione placed Iris in the bed. The exchange played out in front of them; he could hear Stella trying to steady her breath.

Marta cut off the memory with her wand. “As you can see, the child didn’t see the intruder that evening. Hermione put her in the bedroom, the assumption being to protect her by putting some kind of spell on the room.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Harry finally tore his eyes from the frozen scene in front of him. Unable to look at his daughter’s distress any longer.

“Did the older memory work?” Remus finally asked.

“Yes, luckily it appears to only be a couple days old so despite her fear I was able to get a clear image,” Marta replied.

“An image of what?” Seamus interjected. Harry noted that his friend had moved his arm around Stella, whose tears had dried on her cheeks.

“Of this supposed ‘Captain Hook.’” Marta stated as she fiddled with the pensieve, adjusting something that stuck out from the side of it with her wand.

Whoever Captain Hook was, he had clearly made an impression on her— and not a favourable one judging by the way she’d spoken yesterday and today.

Marta finished her adjustments and waved her wand, which started up a new scene. At first it was clear, almost as clear as when Hermione had been reading to Iris. Harry took in the surroundings, the bookshop before it had been destroyed. He almost smiled at the sight of Iris seated on the counter in front of Hermione. The two of them were smiling at one another. With another wave of her wand, the scene in front of them came to life. Iris’s cheerful little voice reached them, “And then... he got stuck!”

“He did?!” Hermione exclaimed. Her hands rested on Iris's legs that dangled off the counter.

“Honest! Miss Charlotte didn’t know what to do!” Hermione’s smile turned into a laugh, which cut straight into him, finally hearing it after all this time. A faint trill of a bell rang through the room, yet the two of them didn't seem to hear.

“Yes, she had to call the caretaker Mr— ” Whatever Iris was about to say was cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat. Suddenly a gentleman came into view. Harry took in his face for a moment before looking back at Hermione. There was recognition in her eyes, and fear. The scene continued to unfold but it took on a slightly blurrier quality.

“Interesting things genetics are, things hidden in blood that are revealed in flesh.” At those words, Harry felt his own blood run cold. What the f*ck was that supposed to mean? He could see from Hermione's face that the words jarred her considerably. The Iris in the scene clung tightly to her mother, but peeked out at the stranger.

All of the Aurors in the room watched as an older woman burst in and stood in front of Hermione and Iris, appearing to try and block them from this strange man. She seemed to also know who this man was and told him off.

It wasn’t long after that the man left. Marta let the scene continue. Hermione rubbed Iris’s back, worry radiating off of her. He wished desperately that he could hear what she was thinking. Iris’s voice was small and shaky when she asked her mum who the stranger was. Hermione turned her focus back to Iris.

“They were like the sea, like Captain Hook,” Iris said. There it was . Marta froze the scene, with Hermione and Iris gazing at each other.

“Captain Hook.” It was so quiet, Harry almost missed what Stella had said. The man Iris was convinced had taken her mum.

Remus stood up from his chair, but kept his eye on the image in front of them. “Thank you Marta. Will you be able to get some still images of him?”

She nodded affirmatively. “Very likely.”

“Excellent. It’s a start. I think Iris’s intuition is right on track. Mr Winters mentioned someone asking about a book.” Rubbing his chin, Remus sighed. “We’ll have a meeting with all of the data and notes from today, first thing tomorrow. Seamus, will you be okay to meet with Mr Winters again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Harry, you’ll go with him. If you’re up for it. I’ll check in with Aamir, see if he has made progress on tracking down Mrs Mackenzie, who I believe to be the older woman we saw.” Remus glanced at the grandfather clock. “It’s about time for another break. Everyone is welcome to stay for supper and other than taking notes, I’m not sure if there is much more that can be done... at least for tonight. The others are going through all the evidence as we speak. I know it’s been two very long days.”

It had been only two days, it felt like a lifetime to Harry.

“She asked about you,” Stella murmured.

“What?”

Seamus cut in. “Your little one. She asked Hermione what your favourite colour was... also asked about where you were?”

“She did?”

Stella smiled, her eyes filled with tears that spilled over. “Neverland. Hermione said that you were under the same sky. Iris quoted Peter Pan.”

His chest clenched painfully at the familiar words. Her words from a lifetime ago.

“Second star, to the right and straight on ‘til morning,” Stella whispered. “In her imagination that is what her mother meant. That's why she thinks you're both there.”

Harry rubbed his hand across his face and into his hair, not caring how crazy he would look after. He already felt as if he was losing his mind.

“She's clearly told Iris about you. I think she might know, Harry.” He finally looked up at his two friends.

“Obviously not enough for her to know it’s me. Otherwise Iris would have said something by now,” he insisted. Hermione had let their daughter believe he was in Neverland for Godric’s sake. Iris may as well think he lived on the moon, or was from another bloody planet.

Stella looked as if she wanted to say more but Seamus squeezed her arm gently.

“Shall we find the two trouble makers? I believe supper is anytime now.” Seamus declared as he stood up, offering his hand to Stella.

“Yeah. I’ll meet up with you in one sec,” he told them. After the two of them vacated the library, Harry made his way over to Remus and Marta.

“Harry, the children alright? Seamus mentioned you were helping put out the flames of jealousy?” A small smile made an appearance on his otherwise tired face.

“Er—yeah. Nothing a little chat and flying couldn’t fix,” he said, attempting a smile. “Can I have a quick word. Privately... when you have a moment?”

“Of course. Marta and I are wrapping up. I've convinced her to stay for a bite to eat before she heads back off to headquarters to get everything we’ll need for tomorrow.”

“I’m packed up. I will see you two downstairs,” Marta interjected as she picked up the bag that contained all of her tools.

Remus didn't rush to fill in the silence when the door closed behind Marta.

“Everything alright, Harry?”

Harry sighed. “No. Yes. I don’t know. Do you think it was that man who took her?”

“Well, I hate to say I hope so, but it will help us greatly if he did. Having an image to go off of is a start... more than what we currently have. The entire team’s focused on this case. I’m hopeful that with Iris’s memory and Marta’s hard work, we’ll have something to go off of tomorrow. Aamir will start circulating the image with his sources.”

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to meet his friend and mentor’s eyes. “We’re doing everything possible to find her, Harry.” Dropping his head back down, Harry tried to take in a breath. “You can’t expect to be at the top of your game right now. Besides, there’s nothing to go on yet, at least not until tonight. Hopefully, we’re a little closer after interviewing Iris. You’re a big part of the reason that interview was successful.”

“Stella and Hannah did everything,” he insisted.

“They may have been the ones to ask questions, yet so far you are the only one who can calm her down. That’s one of the biggest parts of being a parent, just being there when your child needs you the most.” Remus squeezed his shoulder lightly. “You're already doing a wonderful job at that.”

==

The two of them made their way back downstairs, following the sound of voices to the dining room. Instead of cramming everyone into the kitchen, dinner was being served in the more spacious dining room, with its long wooden table. The once dark and narrow room had been made more spacious with the removal of many of the towering dark cabinets that had lined it, a fresh coat of sage green paint, and windows that actually let in light.

Grass-stained and happy, the two children greeted them excitedly, eager to tell them all about their time flying before Kreacher entered with the food floating behind him, which made them all take a seat. Iris stared in wonder at the house elf, and Harry made another mental note to discuss magic with her soon.

The meal was almost over and Seamus was regaling the children with a story about how he and Harry had once had to corral a real life banshee that was terrorising a Muggle tourist attraction in Belfast, leaving out the criminals who had instigated it, when the floo alarm went off.

Harry turned to look at Remus —had they been expecting someone? From the look on his friend's face, he didn't think so. Few people had direct access to Grimmauld unless invited. As he made his way to stand, Ron burst through the door.

“Harry! What is go—” Ron stopped mid sentence taking in all the people staring at him. Harry jumped up and wound his way around the long table to grab his friend by the arm.

Ron gazed at him, confusion and worry on his pale face. “Harry, Susan didn’t get any details but she said it's about Hermione. Is everything alright?”

Harry sighed. He would have had to tell Ron eventually, but here in front of everyone, was not the place. Ron didn't say anything else, obviously registering the answer on Harry’s face. His head whipped back to the table as if he expected Hermione to be sitting there. His eyes quickly landed on Iris who was watching them intently with that familiar look on her face that was all Hermione. Harry looked from Iris to Ron and saw his friend do the same with him and Iris, before any remaining colour drained out of his face.

“Merlin's—” Without wasting another second, he dragged Ron into the hallway and apparated the two of them to his flat.

Chapter 11: Inconceivable!

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Inconceivable!

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.”

-Louis Lowrey, The Giver

Harry and Ron landed in the living room of his quarters. In his haste he'd almost slammed them right into his coffee table. They simply looked at one another, the air thick with tension.

“Harry, who the hell was that?” Ron finally asked, his eyes wide. Harry could only stare back. “She’s Hermione’s isn’t she?”

Harry could only bring himself to nod. After another long pause he added, “She’s yours too.”

His tone was almost matter of fact. Harry felt himself nod again as tears suddenly sprung to his eyes, talking about it with Ron made the enormity of it hit him all at once.

“Bloody hell,” Ron declared, sinking onto the tufted grey sofa nearby.

All the guilt he'd felt about lying to Ron all these years bubbled up. He opened his mouth to try and find the words to say something, anything, but Ron beat him to it.

“What’s her name?” he asked, voice shaking.

Harry took a deep breath in. “Iris... she called her Iris.” He forced himself to meet his eyes. “Look Ron, I’m so sorry I should have—”

“Did you know?!” Ron bellowed, face growing red.

“Of course I didn’t know!” There was another strained silence. Suddenly it was as if Ron deflated. “Right. I know that.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “You’d have actually combusted if you had any clue... you'd already gone mental about her disappearing.”

Harry breathed in deeply again. He still wasn't sure exactly what to make of the expression on Ron’s face. “Are you angry?” Harry asked him.

“Yeah, I’m bloody angry. Why didn’t you tell me Harry? About you and Hermione,” he reprimanded forcibly.

Harry sighed. “I don’t know. At first, it was guilt and then... I guess I didn’t know if she would want me to tell anyone... or really I just didn’t know where to start,” he replied, shaking his head. “Er—I didn’t see the point. She was gone,” he said, voice wavering. “I was being selfish... I didn't want to lose you too.”

Ron’s shoulders relaxed, but he still stared at him incredulously. “You still should've told me. You’ve been lying to me... for years.” The redhead shook his head again, sounding irate. “I mean you could have said… last year when I asked,” he added. “I mean... Hermione…”

Something in Ron’s face shifted and he bolted off the sofa. “Where the hell is she?” His voice flooded with panic. “Susan said Hannah was crying and wouldn’t say anything... just that I should contact you. Merlin—she’s alive isn’t she?!” He practically shouted the last part, his demeanour one of pure anxiety.

“We hope so... I have to believe it. There’s no proof otherwise.”

He had to constantly suppress what Ron had brought up because otherwise he would stop functioning at all.

Some of the panic seeped out of his best friend. “Right. Thank Merlin.” Ron sighed as he sank heavily back down on the sofa

Harry nodded, not wanting to spend another moment thinking of the worst outcome. “I wanted to tell you. I just... honestly, I didn’t know how...”. He felt like more and more of an arsehole by the second.

“Tell me what exactly... that you slept with my ex-girlfriend and didn’t tell me?” Ron said, his tone biting.

The tension from earlier was back. Harry finally turned away from Ron and wiped his hands over his face. Ron had every right to be angry, still annoyance grated at him. He knew he only had himself to blame, they could have had this conversation years before.

“You're in love with her. Aren't you?” Ron stated. Harry forced himself to face him. Ron appeared more wretched than furious, which only made it worse.

There would be no more lying. He no longer had it in him to deny it.

“Yes. I am.” He swallowed, throat dry. “Er—I uh.” He took another shaky breath. “I have been... for a long time.

Ron’s eyes bore into his. seemingly trying to suss out if Harry was being honest. After a long moment, he dragged his hands across his face and moaned. “Merlin’s balls. Susan was right. Why's she always f*cking right!”

“What do you mean?”

He gave a small shake, head buried in his hands. “Susan has been insisting for years that you’re in love with Hermione. I told her you would've told me by now if that was true,” Ron said, shaking his head again. Harry’s cheeks grew hot, guilt twisting his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said hoarsely. “For lying. It was wrong to do that.” Ron moved his hands and held his gaze. “But... I don’t think I can be sorry for loving her.”

He wasn’t. Even now, despite everything.

Ron shook his head vigorously, his red hair had grown past his ears in a similar style to when they had been all of fourteen and it swung with his movement. “You know I’m not even angry about that, yeah?” He was stunned into silence. “Well I mean... I guess a part of me is... I would've been bloody pissed if you'd told me straight off the bat.” He paused. “I get it. I was an immature prick. I would've been f*cking pissed that you slept with my girlfri—”

Harry went to say something, but Ron ploughed through in halting sentences. “No. Listen. Hermione and I... it was also well… a bit of a mess. But she technically had been my girlfriend, or I thought we would—look it doesn’t matter. It was sh*tty for you to sleep with her and not tell me. Either of you not saying anything was sh*tty. I deserved to know. Even if I was an enormous git.” He said the last part with the ghost of a smile before his face turned serious once more. “I mean. We were still children fighting that f*cking war and…”a far-off look came over him. “None of us knew what the hell we were doing, and... I eventually realised that. She and I... look it doesn’t matter now... but you know I also loved her, right?” he said, his voice wobbling at the end.

“I know,” he replied after a beat of silence. His throat tight and eyes burning.

Ron gave another sigh. “I wish you'd at least told me last year when I asked,” he repeated.

“Me too.”

Finally after another long pause. Ron groaned and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m gonna be out ten gallons…”When he looked towards him, he sighed at the look on his face. “I’m joking. Kind of.” He grimaced, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “But honestly, Susan has been wanting to hold an intervention. Not just her. Seamus and Hannah as well. Although I don’t know what they had in mind considering you couldn’t be bothered to tell your oldest friend something that... fundamental. Short of torturing you... I'm not sure how we would've ever gotten you to confess.”

“Was it that obvious?” Harry asked, wincing.

Ron shrugged as their eyes met again. “I don’t know mate. I was pretty convinced that you wouldn’t keep that from me . I mean being in love with our missing best friend is kind of monumental. Susan said she always wondered if there was something between you two back at school... but everyone always thought that. Probably part of why I was such a giant git about everything,” he said, looking towards the fireplace that held an array of photos, most of which showed the three of them at Hogwarts. “She had this whole spiel about it. How your face changed whenever Hermione came up in conversation, that bloody psycho board you have up in your office, how you avoid being set up on a date like it’s a bat bogey hex... which also leads to her point about how you and Ginny never worked out.”

Harry’s stomach sank further with each new thing Ron said.

“I was starting to suspect she was right... except…” Ron stopped, his eyes now trained towards the carpeting.

“What?” Harry asked, trying and failing to hide the anxiety from his voice.

“What you said in the Forest of Dean,” he murmured softly. “I believed you. The locket... it showed what you two had done.” Harry suppressed his own groan. That f*cking locket.

“It wasn’t like that.”

The Riddle versions of them taunting their best friend, a twisted version of themselves. Harry had hated the image that had been projected, Hermione’s beauty turned into razor sharp edges, all the warmth and kindness stripped from her.

Ron gave a rather undignified snort. “Yeah, I get that but I assume the naked kissing part was true?”

“I lied to you,” he replied after a moment. “Those words I said... they weren’t true.” He still felt sick, remembering it. How he’d clenched his fists to keep them from shaking as he lied to Ron in the snowy forest. Unable to look him in the eye while he said it.

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Only the faint tick of the clock filled the space. Eventually Ron shook his head. “Yeah, especially ‘the loving her like a sister part?’ I hate to break it to you Harry, but that's not what brothers and sisters are supposed to do.” His tone was serious, but when Harry forced himself to look at his face, Ron didn't look angry. He could swear there was almost a hint of mirth in his eyes at getting to call him out.

“Yeah... I know. I just…” He really didn't know what to say to that. It had felt so wrong coming out of his mouth, but he’d been so desperate to try and fix everything. “I know.”

“So you lied... so that I wouldn’t abandon you guys again?” Ron asked, fixing him with an intense stare. Harry thought about mentioning the giant sword Ron had been wielding—he almost wanted to laugh despite the sombre conversation at the absurdity of the entire situation. It was much more complex than that, and not because he realistically thought Ron would chop him in half with that bloody sword.

“Yes and no,” he finally mumbled.

“Gee thanks, that really clears it up.”

Harry sighed deeply. “I don’t really know where to start.”

“Well, how about the beginning then?” Ron offered.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry relented and he took a seat next to Ron on the sofa. He hesitated before mustering the courage to dive back into the past. Harry had never spoken about what had transpired while hunting for horcruxes, not to anyone.

“Alright,” he sighed.

Slowly and haltingly, Harry told him everything. Starting with that summer day by the river—the first moment he’d noticed Hermione in that way. That he’d tried to convince himself it was nothing. Then everything changed when Ron left them. How slowly they’d grown even closer. Then there was the close call on Halloween, where Hermione had been injured. He skimmed over the shower but still he grew warm, awkwardly recounting how they’d shared a bed for the first time.

Nothing happened, but after that they’d spent more nights side by side. His feelings had built up over weeks until a moment of clarity.

“It’s hard to explain. We went into this church, it was important to her—I could tell. She—she looked so beautiful. I knew at that moment that I couldn’t live without her. I—I tried to fight my feelings, knew it wasn’t the right time or—anyway, a week later we spent the night drinking and playing a game…”

“What game?”

“Friends Tell Each Other Things mainly.”

He saw as Ron nodded out of his peripheral vision.

“I—er— I kissed her,” he stopped short. Not really wanting to tell Ron the details. How beautiful she’d looked, how much he’d wanted to kiss her again immediately.

They’d agreed that the kiss would stay between them, but he told him how later that day after another brush with some snatchers they’d decided to take charge of what they could. Which had led to them sleeping with each other. He trailed off and made himself look back at Ron, who appeared gobsmacked.

“Look…I don’t uh need the details though I’m going to assume it didn’t stay a one time thing? Did it?” Ron asked cautiously.

“No. It kept happening until—until Godric’s Hollow.” Ron already knew the story of their near escape.

Ron was silent before he focused on his face. “Look, I don’t need to know the uh—finer points.” He grimaced, shaking his head as if that act could prevent any inappropriate images of his best friends in any compromising situations. “But please, just tell me the truth. Did it stop just because I came back?”

“Yes and no,” he said again. Ron rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that simple,” he sighed, as he thought back to that time. How painful it had been to pull away from her.

It was quiet between them again before Ron spoke up, his voice held a deep sadness.

“So I messed everything up by finding you two?”

Harry shook his head. That wasn't true. They'd needed him, he was unsure if they would have survived the lake, or Malfoy Manor, or Gringotts without him. “No. I was glad you were back.”

That was the truth. As hard as it had been to give up what he had started with Hermione, what Harry cared most about was her safety and her happiness. Him loving her guaranteed her none of that.

“Truly... I thought you were what she wanted.”

Ron stared at him blankly for a long moment. “You were wrong about that one,” he stated, as he leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know... she had... nevermind. It was also what was best,” he said quietly, not bothering to delve deeper into something he couldn't possibly know without actually speaking to Hermione.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Ron blurted out, opening his eyes again.

“It means that Hermione deserved to be with someone who was likely to live into adulthood,” Harry replied plainly. Ron just looked at him dumbfounded and he sighed. “Back then, I knew. I knew that I shouldn't love her that way. For a lot of reasons, the most important being that it was far too dangerous. If Voldemort... if he figured it out... I couldn’t bear it Ron. She was already a target. I couldn’t make it any more dangerous for her than it already was.” His words had gotten sharp and his fist clenched thinking about it.

“So you forced yourself to suppress your feelings for her to keep her safe?”

“Yes,” Harry replied tersely.

“And because you were convinced you were going to... die?” he asked, ignoring his tone.

“Yes, that as well.” Harry’s stomach was in knots from rehashing all of it. How dangerous his feelings had been. His impending death had hung over him like an ominous cloud the entire year, until somehow miraculously he’d survived.

“What does you possibly dying have to do with anything?” Ron asked.

Harry groaned. “I hoped that maybe… that maybe you could make her happy. That she would be safer with you. That perhaps it was what she wanted. I just—I wanted her to be safe…to be happy, and I—I couldn’t give her that.” he concluded.

Ron went completely still before he shook his head and leaned forward. “You're such a bloody idiot.”

“Wha—”

“Hermione was always going to be in danger whether you loved her like that or not.”

“No. You’re wrong. Can you imagine if Voldemort or his cronies had gotten wind of everything? If they'd known what she was to me.” He said, voice heated.

Ron stared blankly. “Didn’t stop Bellatrix from going after her.” His voice was low and tight.

His words landed like a punch to the gut. Her screams still reverberated through his nightmares all these years later. “If Bellatrix had thought Hermione was my girlfriend, she would’ve killed her right then and there,” he whispered vehemently.

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Who's to say she would have found out?!”

Harry bit his lip to stop himself from saying something he might regret. Taking a moment to breathe before he replied. “If she had, Ron... I would have never been able to live with myself. Do you understand?”

He sat back, exhausted . Reliving everything felt like being surrounded by a swarm of dementors.

“Okay fine. I get it... that night was horrible enough as it was,” Ron said with defeat. Neither of them had a follow-up to that. Both sitting there lost in the awful memory of it. “When the hell did you realise you still love her?”

He scrubbed at his face, pushing his glasses up and sighing. “I mean it was always there. It’s never stopped. I—I just—when I actually survived the war I was in shock. A huge part of me was desperately sad that she might actually want to be with you..and then she left.”

Ron sighed next to him as he leaned back, mirroring him. “What a bloody f*cking mess.”

Harry didn't bother replying, numb and spent from their conversation.

“So she must have been several months along when she left?” Ron said, his voice rattled. “It doesn’t make sense... she was so f*cking thin, I remember thinking that when I held onto her... when you…”

Harry didn't need to ask to know what he meant. “I'd never seen her like that before...I—I didn’t know how she would get through it. How any of us would get through it. The sound she made—” Ron stopped as he rubbed his face, seemingly not wanting to continue.

Harry had never stopped to consider what that had done to her. His heart tightened at the thought of how it would have felt the other way around. Desperately he wanted to go back, to gather her in his arms when the battle was over. To have made sure she was alright.

Ron sat up. “I... I just don’t get it though. She was always quite small, and she was so thin from everything,” he repeated. “How could she have been pregnant?”

Harry suppressed another deep sigh. “She didn't get pregnant in December.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Well when the hell did it happen?”

He let out another sigh. “Shell Cottage.”

“Blimey—with all of us around!? I thought you said it stopped when I got back!” His tone was incredulous, seemingly irritated at the omission.

Harry ran his hand over his face and into his hair before answering. “It did... but there was one night…Iris was born in January.”

Ron shot him an annoyed look. “You know I'm useless with arithmetic Harry.”

“I doubt she knew she was pregnant when she left...it would have been too soon to know.” He had given the subject plenty of thought since yesterday.

Ron rubbed his hand over his chin. “Yeah, now that I think about it, Suz didn't realise for at least a few weeks. Thought she was just stressed out.” Ron turned to him. “I don’t know what to say. It’s such a bloody mess.” Yet another silence descended on the room. Ron’s comment had his mind racing again. He desperately wanted to know when she’d found out, and more importantly why she’d decided to keep it from him.

“And uh, Iris. Wha—I mean how? How did you find her?” Ron finally asked, bringing Harry back to the present.

“We left the pub and it was a break-in... a Muggle neighbourhood, but the place had been heavily warded. It was clear there’d been a duel. There was a child’s bedroom... it was locked. No one could get in… but then... I don’t know. I put my hand on the knob... and it opened.”

“How?”

“We still don’t know. Draco said something about blood magic.” Ron grimaced at the name, having still not moved past his dislike of him.

“Isn’t that dark magic?”

“Apparently not always. It can be used for protection...” Harry didn't know how to even begin to describe how it had felt, entering Iris’s bedroom. “She was under the bed. I saw her small hand for a second—” He swallowed forcibly. “Remus. He told Stella and I to go talk to her, to convince her to come out. She was so scared, Ron.” His friend had grown even more white.

“Was she hurt?”

The thought alone was enough to make him shudder. “No. Thank Merlin. But she was scared.” Images from Iris’s memory came to his mind, the look on Hermione and Iris’s face, now burned in his own memory.

“How did you figure out…”

Harry sighed. “My magic seemed to recognize her. When she finally came out from under the bed... it just. I mean... you saw her.” Ron nodded, a knowing look in his eye.

Someone would have to be blind to miss the similarity between Iris and Hermione.

“She... er—also had this soft toy... a deer. Told Stella his name was Prongs. That’s when all of it really clicked.”

Ron’s faint brows drew together. “Did she recognize you?”

“No,” Harry replied quietly. “She thinks her father’s in Neverland or... well in any case she didn’t know it was me.”

Ron frowned. “Where the hell is Neverland?”

“It’s from a story. A Muggle story. She thinks Hermione is there too. Hannah said young children often confuse stories with real life.”

Ron looked up at him, his face in a perplexed frown. “What did she say? When you told her?”

Harry wasn’t following. “Told her what?”

Ron gave an exasperated sigh. “Uh I dunno… maybe that you're her bloody father? What else?”

Now It was his turn to sigh. “I haven’t exactly told her that part yet.”

Ron looked incredulous. “Well that’s stupid… why wouldn’t you tell her that?”

Harry could feel another rush of emotion trying to break through. He turned towards the fireplace, where he was faced with old photographs of the three of them. “It hasn’t exactly come up,” he finally stated.

Forcing himself to look back at Ron, Harry saw a mixture of confusion and dismay on his friend's face.

“That doesn’t make any sense… hasn’t she been here all day?”

At those words something in Harry snapped. “Yes. Though I haven’t exactly been able to spend much time with her, seeing as I have to run around looking for Hermione with next to no leads to go off of.”

Ron’s face went slack, but he continued feeling unable to stop the torrent of fury spilling out of him. He started to pace the room.

“No, or maybe I should've said something when she was crying for her mum this morning, ‘by the way Iris I’m your dad, nice meeting you but can’t stay and chat because your mum’s been f*cking kidnapped and I have to help find her.’ I’m sure that would have gone down just great. I mean I’ve already failed completely as a father considering I didn’t know she even existed until last night—”

His thoughts began to spiral, voice shaking with rage and resentment. Ron put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Right fine,” Ron said emphatically, before his voice softened. “I hadn’t thought of all that…”

Harry and Ron didn’t speak, sitting back down on the sofa simultaneously. Finally, Ron looked at him, a glint of hope in his eyes. “There’ll be time, yeah? When Hermione’s back.”

Harry’s heart seized, terrified that Ron could be wrong. All of the anger seemed to rush out of him at once, replaced by a cold feeling of dread. He removed his glasses and pushed his palms hard into his eye sockets.

There was another long lull where the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own harsh breathing as he tried to calm himself down.

Ron’s voice was barely more than a whisper when he broke the silence. “You’ll find her, Harry. The team... she'll be back.” Harry felt Ron clasp his shoulder making him look at him. “I can’t believe you have a kid…” Ron sounded just as astonished as he was at this fact.

“I know,” Harry replied. He was still thrown off by the sudden appearance of his daughter, at the love he already felt.

“What’s she like?”

“What?”

“Your daughter you git! What’s she like?”

“Oh, Yeah.” The mention of Iris made his mouth pull up into the first true smile since they’d started their long conversation. “She’s wonderful. She’s a lot like Hermione.”

Ron gave him a genuine grin. “So brilliant, but scary?”

Harry gave a surprised laugh. “That’s about right. I can’t believe she’s real.” He shook his head, relieved to have shifted to talking about Iris. “She’s a sweetheart... super clever. Likes to draw, loves stories... assertive,” he added, his mouth pulling up. “She also rode a broom for the first time today and she did amazing.” The warm feeling of pride surfaced at the memory.

Ron grinned back before thumping him on the back. “Of course. She's got to have something from you.”

Harry rolled his eyes in a more lighthearted manner before he returned his best mate's grin. “Yeah... I suppose so. She has my eyes. The rest of her is Hermione though.”

“Yeah, I saw the look on her face. For a split second, I thought you had found Hermione but she'd somehow been shrunken down,” Ron finished, his voice sounded astonished, before another cloud of uncertainty rolled over his face. “So you don’t know where she is? At all?”

Harry tugged at his hair, sighing. “No. it’s infuriating... we were so close.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry explained as best he could, leaving out sensitive details about the case. But that he’d found a note yesterday, one from Hermione, who knew one of the victims, was one of his students.

“I called her Ron and I missed her... and now she’s been taken by some bastard.”

“She was in London?!” Ron exclaimed, eyes wide. “This whole time?!”

“What? No. We were in Edinburgh. She’s a student at the University there.”

Ron went utterly silent, Harry could see his mind racing. Of course, he would be thinking of their fruitless search in the historic old city. Suddenly, all the colour drained out of Ron’s face once more.

“Bloody f*cki—” Ron was up and racing away from the living room.

Alarmed and confused, Harry quickly followed behind him. Ron burst into the office, walking right up to the map on the wall.

“What is it?!” Harry demanded, coming to stand next to him.

Ron didn't answer, his hand moving across the map to land on the giant red circle around Edinburgh.

“Edinburgh?” he said in a strangled voice.

“Yeah, Ron, what is it?”

Ron let out a long line of curse words as he slammed his hand against the map. Before placing his hands on his head, face in an anguished grimace. “That old guy. He wasn’t mad after all.”

Harry felt the blood pounding in his ears. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Harry... we, I. Someone tried to tell me... a—and I—I didn’t believe him,” Ron stuttered.

“What?! What do you mean?”

None of what Ron was telling him made any sense.

Ron groaned. “That old sod... the one from that shop that I told you about, Harry. He told me she was pregnant.”

Chapter 12: As You Wish

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: As You Wish

“Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of

beaches.” ― William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Ron’s confession hung in the air above them before they came to their senses. Harry immediately rushed over and yanked open the cabinet containing all the files from their search. He grabbed the giant folder that took up almost an entire drawer; Ron was right behind him and they dropped to the floor, pawing through the array of documentation. After what felt like ages, Ron pulled out the right one.

Harry had made them write reports on each person they spoke to, not wanting to leave anything to chance. Needless to say, his work was much longer and more thorough than Ron’s. Why had he not insisted they do every single interview together? Ron’s eyes scanned back through his notes, and Harry fought the urge to rip them from his hands.

“Here. That’s him. Flannigan. Owned the shop. The one in that alley.” Harry, no longer able to control his impulse, grabbed the file from him.

The stationery shop. He saw the name and the attached photo of the shopfront. Harry had gone back almost a year later to follow up. He remembered thinking how easily he could picture Hermione browsing its aisles. Glancing through the file, he saw his follow-up report from when he’d spoken to the granddaughter of the shop owner, as Flannigan had just passed away. He read what Ron had written in his hasty scrawl.

Spoke to the shop owner on September 19th at approx 1400. Claimed to have seen her throughout summer. Seemed promising but turned out to be another mental case.

“You didn’t report what he said?” He cried, unable to keep the outrage from his voice.

Ron blanched. “Why would I? I didn’t report the lady who claimed Hermione was living amongst a colony of leprechauns?! Or the person who thought he had seen her fly past his window like a bloody giant bird?”

“Being pregnant isn't the same! It’s something actually in the realm of possibility!”

“Considering you didn’t see it fit to tell me anything before we went off running around the globe like a bunch of useless gits, maybe I would have known it was even a possibility!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the map. His volume increased. “The last time I saw her she showed no signs of being pregnant. And oh yeah, I thought we were an item, and I sure as hell didn’t bloody sleep with her! That was you! And you never told anyone!”

The two of them glowered at each other before Harry looked away. He knew on some level that Ron was right. They encountered so many lunatics on their search and without context it would have seemed absurd. As his anger broke he was slammed with regret once again.

When he looked back at Ron, he was sitting with his ridiculously long legs drawn up so his forearms rested on his knees, his face buried in his hands. Harry felt even more regret for his outburst. Ron could be a lot of things, but he knew even in his youthful immaturity, he was not a liar. Although apparently lying had become Harry’s default and maybe also Hermione's.

“It’s not your fault,” he finally managed to choke out. Ron didn’t lift his head. “You were right. I should have told you. I should have ensured we’d gone together to every lead. You were missing important information... it was wrong to keep it from you.”

Ron’s face was pale and anguished. Staring into his friend’s eyes it was clear to Harry that the last five years hadn’t just taken a toll on him. Hermione was both their best friend. Either one of them would have taken a killing curse for her. Ron had desperately wanted to find her too.

“Do you think it would have made a difference?” Ron asked him, Harry could almost see the sadness radiating out of him.

“I have no idea.” The only thing he knew for certain was that Ron had been right when they’d first started talking; if she had been missing and Harry knew she was carrying his child, he would have combusted. Harry exhaled, trying to breathe around the heavy weight in his chest. “We still wouldn’t have known where she was. At any rate, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Such a bloody f*cking mess,” Ron finally croaked, wiping his hands across his face.

Harry just nodded, neither one of them moved from the floor.

==

After gathering themselves and hastily placing the files back in the drawer, he glanced at the clock which only added an extra layer of guilt to his consciousness, it was already after seven. Teddy was generally in bed by eight. They headed back downstairs together.Approaching the main floor, they followed the sounds of muffled voices and he heard a playful shriek that sounded like it came from Iris.A strange sight greeted them as they entered the sitting room. Both children stood on the sofa and he was chuffed to note the child size Gryffindor robes and toy wands they were using to shoot sparks at Seamus. Stella was closer to the door and also wearing some Gryffindor robes that were several sizes too small. She gave them a grin when she noticed them come into the room.

Ron observed Iris with a smile. Her hair was now in a plait identical to the one Stella was sporting, yet it was already attempting to escape. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and she threw her head back laughing as Teddy jumped from the couch to Seamus’ back.

“Blimey…”

“What?” Harry asked quietly.

“Her laugh…” Ron said, astounded. “It’s the exact same.”

“Uncle Harry! I got the troll! I conquered him,” Teddy exclaimed from Seamus’s back. Seamus faced them and looked much less delighted than the children.

“Wait! You’ve not shoved your wand into his nose yet!” Iris cried.

A look of horror crossed Seamus's face. “Yeah, alright, no thanks. I think you’ve finally conquered me. No need for that,” he said as he attempted to move Teddy from his back.

“But it’s part of the story!” Iris continued resolutely, placing her hand on her hip.

Harry and Ron exchanged befuddled looks before turning to Stella who rolled her eyes at them. “Here’s a hint. I'm you.” She pointed at Ron.

“What?” Ron replied.

Stella continued. “Seamus is the infamous troll, which suits him well enough,” she said with a cheeky smile. “Teddy is you.” She pointed at his godson who he noted had transformed his usual blonde locks to a raven imitation of his. “And Iris is…” she trailed off. The realisation dawned all at once.

Both children had tackled Seamus to the ground so that he lay supine and attempted to protect his face from having any wands shoved into his nasal cavity.

“Oi! A little help?!” Seamus called out to the other three adults in the room.

Shaking off his surprise, Harry moved forward. “Alright you two, I think that’s enough. Let’s give the troll a break.”

The laughing children fell from Seamus, who wasted no time scrambling off the ground and collapsing onto the sofa.

“Look, Uncle Harry! I’m you!” Teddy said as he grabbed hold of his leg. He couldn’t help smiling, it always made him laugh when he saw his crazy hair on his godson.

“No, you're not!” Iris cried, drawing his attention back up towards her as she stood with her hands on her hips, looking quite austere. “You're The Boy Who Lived, silly!”

Teddy let go of his leg and turned to face Iris. “They’re the same person!”

Iris glared at Teddy. “Rubbish.”

Teddy’s face turned pink, going to stand in front of her. “No! It’s not rubbish! Don’t be stupid!”

Harry went to reprimand Teddy about the word stupid, a conversation he felt they’d already had a million times but was cut off.

“No he isn’t!!” Iris countered, her eyes narrowed further as she took a step forward. “You’re the stupid one! The Boy Who Lived is just a story!”

Both children were almost nose to nose, though Teddy was almost a head taller. Iris didn't seem to care.

“I am not! It is not!” Teddy cried, his hair going back to the scarlet hue it often took when he was cross.

Sensing the possibility of an even bigger explosion of emotion he crouched down, putting a hand on each of their small shoulders to gently pull them back.

“First of all, both of you need to apologise. Using the word stupid isn’t kind,” he said firmly. The children folded their arms in defiance, seemingly equally capable of holding a grudge. “Second, clearly there’s a misunderstanding here. Why don’t we take a moment to sort it out.” Harry guided the stubborn children to the other sofa, so Seamus could continue recovering in peace.

“Alright,” he said after the three of them settled, a child on either side of him. “First things first, I need to hear apologies from both of you, to each other.” The children both looked away from him and Harry sighed. “Well, I guess if we can’t all get along, there won’t be any point in putting a film on, will there?” He saw Iris and Teddy waver, before Teddy was the first to mumble an apology, with Iris following suit. Neither particularly genuine but it was good enough for now.

“Okay now let’s sort out this misunderstanding. Let’s start with Teddy. You were playing a game based on ‘The Troll Story’?”

Teddy nodded. “Yes, the one you tell me sometimes before bed.”

“Did you explain the game to Iris?” Harry asked. Teddy shook his head, suddenly looking confused.

“No… she knew it already. I thought you told her,” he said, staring back up at him.

He turned to look at his daughter. “Iris, you know the troll story?”

Iris nodded, she’d pulled her knees up to her chin, a position he was starting to recognize meant she was uncomfortable. All of a sudden it hit him. Magic stories— she had told him herself that they were her favourite. Thinking quickly, he turned to Teddy.

“Hey Teddy Bear, I was thinking… you still want to watch the film soon?”

“Yes!”

“Why don’t you go find your Gran. Tell her I said we need some treats for watchi—” Teddy had rocketed off the sofa before he could finish. It was an absurd time to start a film, or give the children sweets, but desperate times and all that. He glanced around the room, Stella and Seamus were talking with Ron on the other sofa.

Iris remained in the familiar pose. “I think you and I really need to talk about magic, don’t we?” he said softly as he brought his hand to rest on her upper back. Iris nodded and leaned into him slightly. “Your mum…” he started, taking a breath. “She told you stories about magic?”

Iris tilted her head up, her eyes meeting his. “Yes. For my whole life,” she replied quietly.

Her words were like a sharp jab to his heart. “Er—wow. That’s a long time.” He paused, willing himself to continue. “So, magic stories. What makes them magic?”

Iris stared back down at her knees, but she leaned further into his arm, and Harry took the opportunity to adjust so that she could rest against him.

“They have magic characters...” she finally said. “And they happen at a magical place.”

“Hmm, is that place called Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” she replied softly.

Here goes nothing , he thought. “So your mum told you about Hogwarts?” he clarified and he felt Iris nod against his arm. “What did she tell you about Hogwarts?”

“Lots of things... mostly about the Golden Trio.”

A shock of surprise went through him at hearing that, despite her already having mentioned his godawful nickname. “The Golden Trio?”

Iris nodded again. “She told me about their adventures. Also the Marauders.”

His mouth went dry. “Is that why you call your stuffed toy Prongs?”

Iris’s eyebrows knitted together. “Uh huh. Mummy said he would help look after me while I’m sleeping. I’ve had him since I was a baby.” The image of that pulled at his self control, but he did his best to keep his face neutral.

“The Golden Trio, do you know their names?”

“They don’t have real names,” she said with a small smile, shaking her head at his silliness. “They have nicknames.”

Harry couldn’t help it. It was impossible not to return her smile. “Yeah? Will you tell me about them?”

Iris gave him a determined nod. “The Boy Who Lived… he is very brave. He is good and kind. He always protects his friends and he has to fight lots of bad guys even when he was a baby!” Harry was glad Iris had looked away because he definitely grimaced at that last part. “He’s my favourite.”

It was ridiculous what that statement did to his heart—even if she had no clue it was him.

“The King is very silly. He makes lots of jokes and he’s also a good friend and lots of fun, he has lots of freckles... and he is very afraid of spiders!” Iris laughed at the last line, which made him laugh as well. He was aware that the others in the room could probably hear this including Ron, which made him smile a little wider. His karma was that he was distracted by this and didn’t brace for what she would say next.

“The Brightest Witch, she’s clever. She has to solve lots of puzzles. She always wants to help her friends and she breaks the rules... when it’s important.” If Iris noticed his face fall, she didn’t show it, only twirling her plait around her small fingers, as she rested her head more firmly against him. “They’re all very brave which is why they are in Gryffindor and they’re all the best of friends.”

Harry brushed a strand of escaped hair from her face, which caused her to look back up at him and smile. “So your mum told you all about their adventures?” he asked her gently.

Iris nodded, eyes once again locked on his. “Yes, but they’re just a story,” she said firmly. “Like Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan.”

He sucked in a breath in preparation for what he would say next. She deserved whatever truth he could give her right now.

“Iris, I know this is very confusing because you’ve just learnt about magic, and I know that Hannah explained to you that while magic is real, stories are still stories… but in this case, that isn’t true,” he said, questions filled her eyes, but he placed a gentle hand on the back of her head. “Hogwarts isn't a story. It’s a real place,”Her green eyes grew wider. “The Golden Trio are real people and have real names.”

There was another pause. The kitchen door swung open and out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron intercede Teddy, who was making a beeline for them. Harry overheard Ron say something about more sweets as they moved out of the room.

Finally Iris spoke. “Does Mummy know it’s real?” she asked, confusion lacing her voice.

He debated for a moment before settling on the truth. Hermione was one third of ‘The Golden Trio.’ There would be no leaving her out of it. “Yes Iris. She would,” he answered.

Iris co*cked her head to the side, brow furrowed. “Why did she say it was a story?”

“I’m not sure…”

Iris shook her head, still frowning. “Mummy said it isn’t good to lie,” She sounded very serious and that tone never failed to make him think of Hermione when he first met her.

“No, it’s not.” He used his free hand to quickly rub his eyes under his glasses. “Iris, there’s one more thing. The people in the story. The Golden Trio. Well they are real and um... well,” Harry stopped as Iris’s eyes were once again searching his.

Suddenly she moved from his side, coming to balance on her heels as she turned to face him properly. Her eyes took in his face once more, before carefully she leaned upwards. Iris was practically standing on the couch to reach him and he circled his arm around her rainbow clad legs to steady her. Harry barely had time to contemplate what was happening before he felt her warm tiny hands on his face. He froze, unsure what she was doing, when suddenly her palm moved across his forehead, shifting the messy strands of his hair.

Her small thumb made contact with the now faint scar that was hidden beneath his fringe. She held his face in her hands, as they looked at one other. “It is you,” she said, finally. Her voice filled with wonder. “You're The Boy Who Lived.”

==

Harry couldn’t be sure how long they stayed like that. Iris’s eyes hadn’t left his, and she looked at him like a puzzle she wanted to solve. This close, he could see the faint smattering of freckles on her nose. Just like her mum’s.

The loud arrival of Teddy and Ron returning broke the moment and Iris’s attention was drawn away from him. He released his hold on her and she jumped down from the sofa to greet Teddy, whose arms were overfilled with sweets. It took Harry a few more moments to break the trance that had befallen him when she’d touched his scar. Hermione had told Iris about him. She’d just left out the part about him being her father. Or a real person.

Forcing himself up, he made his way to the other sofa where everyone was gathered. Teddy had dumped the sweets on the coffee table. Harry was delighted to catch what appeared to be the tail end of a more sincere apology between two of his favourite people: Iris threw herself at Teddy, who looked alarmed but pleased to have the smaller girl's arms around his midsection and quickly squeezed her back, unable to resist the urge to lift her up. Iris laughed, causing them both to tumble on the carpet.

“Right, we should get going,” Seamus said, “Still have notes and Remus told us before leaving that the meeting is first thing tomorrow morning now.”

Harry turned to his friends, “Of course, thanks again for everything,” he said sincerely.

“Anytime, Harry.” Stella smiled, turning to the children who were rolling around on the ground like puppies. “And thanks for all the fun you two. I always thought Seamus would make an excellent troll and you proved me right.”

“Hey!” Seamus called out, turning back from where he stood near the floo. Stella shot Harry a conspiring smile before following the Irish wizard.

Iris and Teddy laughed loudly at the exchange, but made no move to get off the floor, their Gryffindor robes tangled around them. He could see that they’d crossed over into that hysterical mania that only young children and the deranged seemed capable of. Harry waved to the two adults one last time before they disappeared into the green flames. Glancing around the room, he noticed Ron’s absence.

It took him several attempts to get any response from Teddy who was too busy pinning Iris to the ground, the two of them using their arms to hold the other one back, the goal of which appeared to lick the other one first. “Alright, you two I think we need to settle down or we’ll not have time to watch a film.”

“No!” They both cried, as they scrambled off the floor.

“Uncle Harry, you promised,” Teddy whined.

“You did!” Iris added, placing her hands on her hips.

“I know but it’s late. If we’re watching it, it needs to be soon.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. He looked around the sitting room. Where the hell was Ron? Sighing, he turned back around to address the children. “Alright, let’s get you into some pyjamas first. Did Uncle Ron say where he was going?”

“He had to floo call Aunt Susan,” Teddy managed to answer through his distraction. They had resumed the licking game while standing. In a split second, he made a decision. Scooping up a child in each arm, he headed upstairs to get them ready for bed before he put on that bloody film.

As with all things involving small children it seemed to take ages, but eventually they returned downstairs. Teddy in his Chudley Cannon short set and Iris in something she deemed her ‘Ariel nightgown’ which had a cartoon picture of a mermaid with an alarming amount of red hair and a crab.

When they entered the sitting room, Ron was lounging on the sofa already indulging in a box of Bertie Bott’s.

“Hey! You were supposed to wait for us!” Teddy cried as he approached Ron, already stretching out his hand for some of the flavoured beans.

“Yeah, while you lot were taking forever. Here—” He reached across and placed an unopened box into Teddy’s hand.

Iris approached Ron and Teddy, who were now both seated on the sofa, eyeing the sweets on the coffee table. A look of curiosity as she lightly touched the edge of a chocolate frog box.

“Is there anything you want to try?” Harry asked her, as he crouched down next to her.

“I don’t know…” She turned her green eyes to him.

He placed his hand on her back, pulling one of the boxes of chocolate frogs off the table. “Probably haven’t seen these before have you?” Iris shook her head. “Well why don’t we show you some of them, but first I haven’t had the chance to introduce you to my friend.” Harry looked at Ron, who was leaning forward on the sofa. Teddy seemed mostly oblivious next to him as he dug around in his box of sweets.

Harry turned them so that they were directly in front of the sofa, pushing the coffee table out of the way. “Iris, I want you to meet Ron. He’s one of my oldest and closest friends.”

“Hello Iris, it’s a pleasure to meet you—officially,” Ron said with a grin.

Harry felt Iris sidle up a little closer to him, but she met Ron’s gaze. “Hello,” she replied softly.

The two of them simply looked at one another for a long moment. Harry could see that Ron was about to break the silence when Iris piped up suddenly. “I know you.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “You do, do you?”

Iris nodded, a smile forming on her face. “Yes. You are the King.”

There was another quiet moment, the sound of Teddy eating his sweets the only noise before Ron started chuckling.

“Glad to see my legendary status holds up. Am I what you imagined?”

“Yes. You do have lots of freckles,” Iris replied, tilting her head. “You’re rather old now though.”

Harry and Ron exchange startled looks before they both burst out laughing. “Yeah I reckon I have aged since taking down that troll.”

Iris nodded her agreement and smiled. “You’re a grown up now.”

Ron shook his head smiling. “Yeah, I reckon I am.”

Iris turned her head between the two of them. Her mind clearly working again, the familiar expression that so resembled her mother. “You’re The Boy Who Lived,” she stated, staring into his eyes, her small hand coming up to clutch his arm. Before he could answer she looked back towards Ron. “And you’re the King.”

Ron nodded, his eyes flashing to Harry’s.

“Where is The Brightest Witch?”

Both him and Ron sucked in a breath. Realising too late that he should have clarified this earlier, but the shock of her recognition had thrown him off. Harry opened his mouth although Iris seemed to already have the answer, her small mouth having dropped open. He swallowed the lump in his throat and brought his other hand to gently rub Iris's small hand that was still holding his arm.

Iris released a rush of air. “Mummy?” It was almost a squeak.

“Yes,” Harry said quietly. “Your mummy is The Brightest Witch… our best friend.”

Ron’s face was solemn as he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, she’s my aunt Hermione!” Teddy chimed in.

Iris appeared even more confused than when she’d been told about magic. To Harry’s distress, she suddenly burst into tears. On instinct, he pulled Iris into his arms and she quickly latched onto him, crying into his shirt. He did his best to soothe her, rubbing her back. Teddy sat wide eyed in alarm, while Ron appeared stricken at Iris’s anguished confusion.

‘What do we do?’ Ron mouthed.

Harry just shook his head. “Hey Iris, maybe we should save the film for another night? It’s been a really long day. I can take you upstairs and read you a story. Answer any questions you probably have,” he said to her quietly as he continued holding her in his arms.

Iris pulled back suddenly, shaking her head. “No,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I want to watch the princess story with you.” Her cheeks were still wet, but she’d stopped crying.

“Are you sure? We can always watch it tomorrow.”

“No! Uncle Harry, she said she wants to! You Promised!” Teddy exclaimed. “And Uncle Ron is here. Oh Please, Oh please!”

Harry sighed, it felt much too late for the children to still be up. His eyes met those of his daughter and he saw the determination in them.

“Alright, but we’re turning it on immediately,” he said. It took them only a few more moments to rearrange the sofas comfortably around the television and get everyone settled in with their treats. Ron was sitting on one end of the large sofa with Teddy sprawled out on the other side. Harry sat with Iris who was now happily eating a chocolate frog next to him on the loveseat.

Both Iris and Teddy seemed enthralled with the first part of ‘The Princess Bride’ Teddy for the possibility of pirates and Iris's delight about true love that was quickly dashed as she somberly looked at him with Westley’s death.

What the bloody hell was Seamus thinking? he thought to himself.

Harry cringed during the kidnapping scene. Luckily, Iris didn’t seem to notice any parallels and was enchanted by the character that was eerily reminiscent of Hagrid. He smiled thinking of them hopefully meeting soon.

Harry felt his tense muscles relax for the first time all day, with Iris snuggled up to him, showing no sign of her earlier distress. He loved the way she would look up at him when she seemed to particularly like a certain scene.

The sitting room was dim and warm. If it wasn’t for the sound coming from the television and the children’s giggles, he could probably fall asleep. Then again there was also Ron’s commentary.

Humperdink? Who looks at a baby and names him Humperdink?

You reckon he's actually part giant? Is that possible?

When they got to the part where the pirate was working to save Princess Buttercup, the floo went off.

“Dad!” Teddy launched himself off the sofa and threw himself at his father. Remus picked the boy up, giving a tired smile as he saw them all sitting around the tele.

“You’re up,” he said, in an exhausted but amused voice. He sat down on one of the squashy armchairs next to where Harry and Iris were sitting.

Harry shot him an apologetic look. “Long story.”

“What are you watching?”

“The Princess Bride!” Teddy replied excitedly. “It’s got pirates, true love, revenge and a giant that looks like Hagrid!” Remus smiled down at his son.

“Sounds interesting.”

“Will you stay and watch, Dad? Please!” Remus was just as much of a sucker as Harry and he shot his friend a commiserating look.

They continued to watch the film and Iris let out a thrilled gasp when the Westley bloke turned out to be alive after all. By the time the duo on screen had made it through the fire swamp, and hope seemed lost once more, several of the occupants of the room had fallen asleep.

Harry glanced around: Teddy was passed out on his father’s lap, Ron was lightly snoring, having taken advantage of the newfound room on the sofa to lie all the way down, and Iris was now fully pressed against his side, using him as a pillow. Her hair had mostly escaped the confines of her plait and had fallen into her face. The gentleness of her breathing and fluttering eyelashes, told him she was truly asleep. His own eyelids were heavy, despite the film being only half over. He turned towards Remus who met his eye and smiled.

“How are things back at Headquarters?” Harry whispered.

Remus shrugged. “Fine. Everything is set for the meeting. I told everyone 7:30 which I know is early but we have a lot of ground to cover.” His volume matched Harry’s, as he ran a hand over Teddy’s golden head. They continued watching the film for a few more minutes before he saw Remus gesture towards Ron.

“I take it that went alright?”

Harry nodded, too exhausted to rehash everything right now. “Iris knew about the ‘Golden Trio,’” he said quietly instead.

Even in the low light, he saw the surprise on Remus’s face.

“She did?”

“Yeah and now she knows it’s us. Ron, me… Hermione.”

Remus nodded, turning back towards the television. “Hmm. I’m sure that was another shock.”

“Yeah,” he stated simply as he rubbed his hands under his glasses, feeling the strain of absolutely everything.

“You’re doing the right thing, Harry,” Remus said, with a small smile.

“Am I?” Harry asked, not quite believing Remus despite the fact that in many ways he was the closest thing he had to a living father of his own.

“Yes. Tomorrow will be a long day but hopefully we’ll start making some progress. Aamir has made contact with the shop owner. They’ll be back from Paris tomorrow so we will speak to her, see if she knows anything,” Harry was relieved to hear some tentative hope in Remus’s voice, though thinking of tomorrow was daunting.

“I’m going to take this one up to bed,” Remus said, before he gently stood up, cradling his son in his arms.

Harry nodded, looking down at his daughter. “I’ll take her up, shortly.”

“Have a good night’s rest, Harry,” Remus told him as he made his way out of the sitting room. “I think there’s some more draught in the kitchen if you need some. I know Andie brewed some more.”

Harry sat letting his mind wander, as the tele played. The lovers reunited after the protagonist had thought her love dead. Of course his mind jumped right to Hermione. How long would it take them to find her? Harry felt the awful desperation that had been inside of him all these years flare up into a physical ache deep in his chest. What would he do if they were too late and there was no second chance? This train of thought was interrupted by an undignified snort as Ron bolted upright.

“What—” Harry shushed him and instantly cast a wandless silencing charm, only removing it once Ron had gotten his bearings.

“Sorry, mate. Forgot where I was for a second,” he whispered, stifling a yawn.

Harry nodded, absently letting himself stroke Iris’s hair as she burrowed further into him in her sleep. He smiled down at her, she was curled up in a way that reminded him of Crookshanks.

“I think I’m going to head home. I’m sure Suz has already passed out. This part of the pregnancy is really taking it out of her.”

“Growing a human is hard work,” Harry replied, echoing Hannah’s sentiment from the night before. How the hell was that only the night before? That was so bewildering.

“True that... I mean I reckon. Merlin, I’m glad I’m a bloke,” he said, shaking his head and forcing himself off the sofa.

Harry felt a rush of sadness. He’d missed all of it. Suddenly Ron was crouched in front of them. He took a long look at Iris before tentatively reaching out a hand to lightly touch her head.

“She’s brilliant. I’m glad I got to meet her tonight,” Ron said quietly, his eyes meeting his and Harry could see the sadness in them. “Makes me miss Hermione even more though.”

His eyes burned as he nodded in agreement.

“Will we see you lot tomorrow?” Ron asked as he straightened up.

“No clue. Remus said it’ll be a long day,” Harry replied.

“Maybe Iris can come with Andie and Teddy?” he asked hopefully.

Harry sighed. “I dunno… she’s already had to take a lot in. I’m not sure if she’s ready for all that.”

“Might be right, family dinners aren’t exactly what I would consider uneventful most of the time. But it could be good for her, getting to play with all the other kiddos? I’m sure she and Vic would have a blast together.”

Harry smiled at that image. “We’ll see…” he said softly. “I kind of wanted to wait until we’ve found Hermione… or until I can explain… you know, more to her.” Harry resisted the impulse to cringe as his addled brain raced with thoughts of his earlier conversation with Iris.

“I still don’t get why you haven’t just told her? I mean it’s obvious that she already loves you.” He gestured at Iris who was asleep on him, her face peaceful and looking very much like she’d always belonged there.

His stomach jolted at Ron’s words. “Remus and Andie, even Hannah who knows a lot about children, believe it’s already a lot to take in at one time... I don’t know honestly. I will soon. If we don’t find Hermione in the next couple of days. I Just—I want to give her a little more time to adjust to everything else.”

Ron shrugged, “Whatever you say mate. I’d say, though, with that mind of hers, she’ll probably figure it out on her own first,” he said as he moved toward the fireplace. “Brilliant but scary, and all that,” he added with a grin.

A chuckle escaped him and he waved goodbye before his friend disappeared into the emerald flames.

Harry flicked his wand towards the television, and it went black. He sat for a few minutes in the now dim room. As gently as possible, he shifted so that Iris was now off of him and he could properly stand. Bending down, he took her into his arms. Harry had held her at least once before, but not cradled in his arms like this, like a baby. He was still overwhelmed with just how tiny she was. He was used to Teddy who was more solid and sturdy.

Iris felt as if she had bird bones, fragile yet strong. Seemingly made to fly.

Reaching the bedroom, he could make out Teddy already tucked into his bed. Soundlessly he made his way to the spare bed, moving the duvet back before carefully placing Iris on the mattress and tucking her in. Harry peered down at her in the almost darkness. Unable to resist the urge, he placed a soft kiss to her head. When he pulled back, her eyes blinked open.

“Is it over?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

He hummed, guilt tugging at him for having woken her.

“Did they get married?”

Harry moved some of the hair off her face. “I think you’ll have to re-watch it tomorrow to make sure.”

He could feel her nod under his hand. “I liked that story.” Harry realised she wouldn't be drifting right back to sleep, so got onto his knees so he could be closer to her. As his eyes adjusted more he could make out that Iris was smiling. “Princess Buttercup is absolutely lovely.”

Harry nodded, smiling back at her. “She is.”

“So is the boy. I’m glad he didn’t die.”

Harry continued to stroke Iris’s head as she talked. “Hmmm.”

Iris sighed dramatically. “I wish my name was Buttercup and that I had very long hair.”

“Lucky for you, hair generally keeps growing,” he said, his own smile growing, as he twisted a lock of her wavy curls between his fingers.

Her eyes seem to light up even in the dark. “Maybe when I’m bigger, I could let it grow to my bum?!” she whispered.

Biting his lip to stop himself from laughing, he eventually managed to reply. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“Buttercup is a flower too, like my name."

“It is,” he said, softly. Harry loved that she had a flower name. It reminded him of his mum.

Iris reached out and her small hand rest on his cheek. “Maybe I can be a buttercup too?”

“I don’t see why not... your hair’s not so different from hers, just more… lively,” She beamed at him, her joy almost luminescent.

There was a long moment of silence as he continued to simply stroke her hair. “Will Mummy be back soon?” He could hear the melancholy shift his daughter’s voice.

“I hope so,” he replied, sincerely. “We won’t stop until we find her.”

Iris moved her hand to rest on his arm. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Harry smiled down as the miracle in front of him. His child. “As you wish,” he replied, and by saying that, what he really meant was I love you.

Chapter 13: Breathe Me

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Breathe Me

When it was dark I called and you came

When it was dark I saw shapes

When I see stars I feel your hand

And I see stars and I reel again

==

The sun was out and the rays warmed Hermione's face as she strode down the busy street towards her destination.

Today she was officially nineteen. Only months ago she’d been uncertain that she’d reach this milestone. Now she found herself alone, uncertain about everything.

Hermione ducked down the alley, swerving around a street performer juggling several different fruits.

Soon enough she was at the archway off hidden within the alley. She looked over her shoulder, then pulled out her wand and discreetly performed a causal glamour. It didn’t change her appearance dramatically, only smoothing and lightening her hair a bit, turning her brown eyes blue.

Hermione placed a hand on the small swell, no longer easily hidden under her loose blouse. So she performed a form of a ‘notice me not’ charm she’d read about. She’d quickly learned that in the Muggle world, or Magical one, being pregnant seemed to invite curiousity.

Now hidden in plain sight, she tapped the entrance and stepped onto her favourite street in Edinburgh.

Nothing about her life was going as planned, but she was determined to have at least some enjoyment on her birthday. And all week she’d been craving a butterbeer sundae.

It was hard to decide where to look when strolling along Aberheinn Alley. The small flats above the shops had the most gorgeous grand windows. Hermione often fantasised about leaving her tiny dreary (but cheap) flat to live here instead, though this was about as likely as her taking over for Professor Trelawney.

An undercurrent of magic hummed through her veins. Almost like a recharging, making her feel more alive.

Her favourite shop came into view and it felt so good to feel any kind of happiness, but flannigans always did. She adored the stationary shop filled with treasures and best of all: books. As she walked past the large, colourful planters that dotted the street, and then stopped.

A wave of déjà-vu came over her with an intensity that nearly left her breathless. The hairs on the back of her arms stood up and her stomach swooped. Then again, it could just be the baby moving over, something that had become more frequent. She placed a hand on her wand, taking in her surroundings. Nothing was out of place, the street it’s usual bustle of people and sounds.Hermione shook her head, letting go of her wand, she’d grown used to these moments of panic. She’d lived with them for almost a year, at least this one wasn’t liable to escalate into an episode, where she lost all sense.

Though something about this felt different. And not in a way she could pinpoint. She took a steadying breath and faced the shop. The little kiosk outside wasn’t manned, the owner must be inside—A lovely older gentleman who always said a kind greeting when she visited.

Hermione stepped over the threshold, and craned her neck over the maze of cramped aisles. She made her way to the back, passing by the little office. There was the owner, his bald head turned her way, and she gave a quick wave as she went past.

The tall row of books still gave her a thrill whenever she approached them. As her life had fallen apart, her identity in flux, books and reading were a small slice of herself that she held onto like a talisman.

Scanning the shelves, she approached a row on magical legends and folklore. Her recent conversations with her new friend, Annie had sparked more of an interest in reading both the Muggle and Magical versions. She was contemplating whether, in her current state, she could even bend down for a closer look at the bottom shelf when she heard it.

“Hermione?”

It wasn’t just the fact that someone was saying her real name for the first time in months, it was the voice that made her freeze. She’d recognize it anywhere.

“Hermione.” Closer now. She still hadn’t turned. Every nerve ending attuned to the fact that he was there. A presence as familiar as her own. His hand brushed her arm, sending a spark through the thin material of her cardigan. It was that soft shock that made her head move upwards.

Harry stared down at her. His eyes, wild with disbelief, roaming all over her face.

“It’s you,” he said so quietly, she barely heard it over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

Her lips parted but no sound came out, lungs seizing. His hand trembled against her, eyes still glued to her face. Hermione couldn’t look away, though her vision began to blur.

His large hands came to touch her face and the gesture broke through her inertia, as his thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. Everything slammed into her at once.

Her head dropped to her chest as she tried to breathe, and Harry, solid and tall in front of her, moved forward and that was where she came to rest, her face pressed above his heart. His heart beating against her. Real. Here.

Harry held her, their bodies pressing together. A second later she felt him tense.

“It—it’s true. Isn’t it?” his voice rasped.

Hermione couldn’t be sure if it was the baby or her own sickness at having kept it from him, but her entire stomach seemed to flip upside down, too shocked to fathom how he seemed to already know. In the end, all she could do was nod. His arms flexed around her and he took in a sharp breath.

“We need to leave. Now,” he said, bending to talk right in her ear. At his words she finally looked up, his green eyes bore into hers with an intensity that took the last ounce of air from her. She nodded mutely and allowed him to take her hand, leading them from the shop.

The last time she’d held his hand they’d been running for their lives at Hogwarts. Now people streamed past them, laughing and talking. Hermione felt as if she’d left her body, watching from above as they moved behind a large floral display.

“Can you apparate?” She nodded again, completely numb. “Take us somewhere. Private. Please.” His last word came out hard and jagged.

Harry's arm wrapped around her and Hermione didn’t break the connection of their hands, feeling the tug at her navel. A lurch, made more uncomfortable by the new weight there.

The two of them landed in her tiny flat, and as soon as her legs were on solid ground they gave out from under her. Harry grabbed her and before she could comprehend, she was in his arms as he brought her over to the sofa.

Her head felt like a vice, as if she was still being squeezed by the apparition. All the blood seemed to be recycling strangely in her body. The feeling of a cold glass being pressed into her hand brought her back into herself.

“Drink it.”

How was this happening?

“Please.” His voice broke on the last word and her eyes finally focused on him. Confusion, concern and fear, among other things, were etched onto his handsome face. God, she’d missed looking at it. It was the same as it had been, except for more stubble on his jaw.

A sharp sensation near her kidney made her inhale and wince, leaning forward as she gasped involuntarily. She could see that her hair was back to its normal shade and the charm had worn off her middle. All of it made her awareness return—reminding her that she wasn’t watching a film as she kept sensing but that she was here, on the red sofa the two of them had stolen from a charity shop almost a year ago. Harry crouched in front of her, trying to force a glass of water into her trembling hands.

“Harry... I—” The tears that had halted came back in full force as she stared at him.

She wasn’t aware of where the water went or the exact way it happened but Harry was next to her, and she was all but in his lap. Her face buried between his shoulder and neck, his scent enveloping her as the sobs wracked her body.

It easily could have been an entire lifetime that they sat there, in her flat. The dying summer light peeking through the window as she tried to stop crying.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She felt his words against the nape of her neck.

“I don’t—I don’t—”

The room fell silent as it seemed neither of them were even breathing.

“You were going to... tell me. Right?”At this point, she had no answer for him. Her mind had never been so scattered, not even when she’d been tortured. “Hermione—”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I—I don’t know... I don’t know... anything anymore.”

Her voice sounded ragged and hopeless. She was ragged and hopeless. Each passing month had made her feel more and more as though she was in danger of slipping away from everything she’d known and loved. His hand tensed where it was resting on her leg.

Harry pulled back. “Why would you... I don’t understand. Why?”

“I—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.” The panic flared through her whole body. The pain sucked away the rest of her air, her mind already clouded with anxiety at the thought of what he would say next.

Harry gripped her tighter and she could just hear him over the ringing in her ears. “Hermione, you need to breathe.”

“I—I can’t—”

“Do you have any potion left? The one Fleur gave to you?”

How did he know about that? And no, she didn’t. She’d run out by the time she’d returned to Scotland. Harry’s hands were holding her cheeks. Her mind blanking again.

“You need to breathe.”

With a whoosh of air, she felt it come through her nose.

“Good. Keep doing that.”

Harry continued to hold her face and slowly Hermione returned to her body again. A part of her kept feeling as if she wasn’t really there, that she was a spectator but as her hands reached up to cover his, the sensation brought her back, his skin warm beneath her palm.

“The panic attacks. Why didn’t you tell me they’d gotten that bad?”

Her eyes finally met his properly.

“I—I didn’t want to worry you.”

He sighed heavily and glanced down briefly before looking into her face again. She could see him wrestling the muscles of his face into a mask of neutrality, but the movement of his jaw and the spark of frustration in his eyes betrayed just how hard he was working to stay in control. Hermione could tell—she’d spent years studying him.

“Well. Disappearing without a trace isn’t exactly the way to accomplish that,” he said, flatly.

Hermione bit her lip, which was good. It made her stay there, in the present. Not float away while they had this surreal conversation. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders in an effort to steady herself.

“I—I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her words breaking again.

“You keep saying that,” he sighed heavily, his eyes searching hers. “I don’t want to set you off again. I—”

Harry moved his hand from her face, and pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses, another sigh came from deep within him.

“I was so scared,” he finally whispered, voice cracking. “I—we. We’ve been looking for months. I—I thought that someone had gotten to you. That you weren’t—” He stopped abruptly as his grip tightened on her. “I didn’t know what to do... I’ve done nothing but try to find you. Seeing you in the shop—I thought maybe—” his eyes flicked down again, taking in her stomach with its new dimension.

“I—unless... I’m not... it’s not...” He was stuttering over his words as his eyes moved back to hers. The agony playing across his face made her eyes well up again.

“There’s never been anyone else.”

He exhaled and nodded absently. Hermione continued to clutch his shoulders, unsure what to say next.

“Then why... why wouldn’t you come to me? I’d—”

Hermione’s vision blurred again. She shook her head. “I—I didn’t want to make you—”

“Make me what?”

“Make you give up your—your happiness. The life... The life you always wanted,” she replied tearily, as she tried to keep herself from bursting into sobs again.

“What?”

“With Ginny. Everything. What you’ve always wanted... you didn’t ask for this. I—I don—”

“Ginny?” His eyebrows had risen all the way up disappearing into his messy fringe, eyes wide.

“Yes... I saw the headlines. You’re happy and I—I didn’t want—”

“Happy?” Harry repeated, quietly.

Hermione nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “I just… I want you to be happy... you deserve that. More than anyone...”

Harry’s mouth opened and then closed into a thin, tight line.

In a rush of adrenaline and nerves she kept going, trying to explain. “It’s all my fault. I—I made a mess of everything. My potion…it stopped working. I didn’t realise. It’s all my fault. I’d failed you—” A sob escaped her but she sucked in a breath and forced herself to continue. “I’d disappoint everyone. Wreck everything. I’m—I can’t—”

“Hermione—” Harry cut her off, his voice laced with incredulousness. “I can’t be happy without you. Do you not understand that?”

Now she was stunned. “I—I don’t—”

“I’m not in love with Ginny,” he said, looking at her with disbelief. He touched her cheek with his hand. He swallowed, his dark green eyes boring into hers, hesitating only for a second before a look of determination came over his features. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

Hermione would have fallen over if she hadn’t been sitting, his arm keeping her steady. She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t know?” he challenged, dropping his hand. Jaw clenched and eyes flashing with frustration.

“I—”

“I think the proof of my feelings for you are quite visible,” he said, his voice low. His hand hesitated near her stomach before settling near her hip instead.

“I—I don’t—”

Harry swallowed and then released a shaky exhale, crestfallen as he looked down. “I—I understand. If you don’t feel the same way.”

His words made her gasp. “What? No. I—I’ve loved you practically my whole life.”

His eyes moved back to hers. The two of them stared at one another. Slowly, his hand reached back up to touch her face and she leaned into him, almost afraid to move, as if she could slip out of this moment at any time.

Harry’s thumb brushed her cheek. Hope flooded his face and for the first time in months, she saw the corner of his mouth turn up into a smile. The smile she loved so much. “Mountain troll?”

She nodded, tears falling down her cheeks and onto his fingers. “Yes. I never stopped.”

Harry leaned in and kissed her. Like a rift in the space time continuum, they were here, kissing on this sofa, the similarities between the first kiss and this one disorienting.

Hermione deepened the kiss, desperate for more of him, to make sure it was real. Harry responded, his tongue swept into her mouth and she moaned in relief at the taste of him. When they finally broke away to breathe, Harry leaned his forehead against hers. He was smiling at her almost shyly, his cheeks flushed, his dark hair standing on end from where she’d run her fingers through the silky strands.

His hand moved from her face to her arm, he leaned back slightly to look at her. He lifted his hand from her hip, hesitating as their eyes met, his expression hopeful, nervous... reverent even. The way he’d looked at her the first time he’d kissed her.

He swallowed before asking her, voice hoarse but gentle. “Can I?”

It took her a second to realise what he was asking. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him so vulnerable. She returned his shy smile and took hold of his hand, placing it on the swell of her stomach.

He sucked in a breath and she reached back up to cup his face. “You don’t have to ask,” she told him softly.

They stayed like that, the two of them quiet, the sounds of Edinburgh traffic filtered through the window. He kept his hand pressed there, and he looked at her with wide startled eyes when a particularly intense movement happened under his palm. His astonished expression made her close the distance between them and kiss him again.

==

Hermione could hear her name, but it seemed to come from a great distance. Her eyelids were heavy like they had magnets on them, keeping them shut. She knew that voice and she felt a desperate urge to see him. There was another one, a female one she couldn’t place.

Words were beyond her. A cool sensation on her temple. Eventually, after however many thwarted attempts, her eyes opened, and the light started to come in. It took her a few blinks to see clearly. The first thing she saw was part of a white ceiling and a dimly lit room. Seconds later, Harry’s worried face came into view.

“Hermione?” There was hope and terror intertwined in her name.

“Harry?” Her voice was weak, her thirst coming to her all at once.

His head came to rest on her arm. “You scared me.”

Hermione tried to piece together what he was saying. She felt the icky feeling of having been asleep for too long. Though having Harry so close made her heart beat faster. When she hadn’t replied, he lifted his head and it finally clicked that he’d been crying.

“What is it?” she finally managed to ask. Was this a strange dream?

His hand came to her cheek; he seemed to be inspecting her. “Do you not remember?”

With more effort than it should have taken, she shook her head. He sighed heavily and scrubbed his free hand across his face. “I came home and you were on the floor of the living room.”

“Living room?” He nodded and his hand moved from her face to her side and down to her rounded stomach, the sight of which made it click into place. They were at the house they’d just moved into. Harry had gone out to the shops. She remembered all at once. She’d been feeling sluggish all day, had been glued to the sofa.

“I—I found you and you weren’t moving. I—” her heart clenched at the pain on his face. It came to her then. How she’d sat up too quickly and it had all gone dark.

Gently, she reached out and touched his cheek, feeling the short beard. The warmth of him under her palm was reassuring.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left when you were feeling ill.”

“Harry. Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided, trying to sit up, but Harry tightened his grip on her.

He bent down and rested his head lightly against her side. She felt his quiet words rumble against her. “I—I can’t lose you. Not again.”

“You won’t,” she whispered, bringing a hand to run through his hair, trying to soothe him.

He simply gripped her tighter and the two of them stayed like that as the minutes passed.

“Was someone else here?” she finally asked.

Harry nodded against her. “Maeve. She’ll be back soon with a potion that should help with your iron.”

“My iron?” As she said it, she had the most peculiar feeling, those words familiar in a way she couldn’t place.

“Yeah. That’s what she said made you faint. It’s common apparently,” he said quietly.

“Oh.”

Minutes later, the Floo went off, and Harry straightened up as an older, dark-haired woman with a face full of freckles came in. “Glad to see you awake,” she said in her soothing Irish accent.

It took Hermione a moment to place Maeve, her midwife of course.Which made her feel ridiculous. Hermione dismissed the thought, sitting up and allowing Harry to help prop her up with a pillow.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve felt better,” she said, and at the stricken look Harry gave her she waved a hand. “but I’m fine. Really.”

Maeve gave her a knowing smile and pulled the vial of a purple looking potion out of her bag. “This should help. I want you to take this everyday until our next appointment.”

Hermione didn’t argue and took it. The potion had a metallic taste, though compared to others it was palatable. She followed it with a large glass of water that helped soothe her parched throat. When Maeve had done another check with her wand and then another with her hands across Hermione’s abdomen, she declared everything completely fine. She wished them well and departed.

Harry had been mostly silent throughout this time. Hermione could sense his anxiety even when she wasn’t looking at him.

Maeve had said to rest but there was no way she was staying another moment in bed. She hadn’t even gotten the covers off before Harry was right there, looking at her as if she’d just announced her desire to go camping in the Forbidden Forest.

“Hermione! You have to rest!”

“I will. I’m going to pop to the loo.”

Harry sighed but helped her up and Hermione made her way to the bathroom.

“Are you going to insist on following me there too?”

He glowered in response, but from his posture it was clear he wouldn’t be budging from outside the door. Hermione briefly thought about locking it just to make a point, though she knew he wasn’t trying to be obtuse. Fear always seemed to bring out Harry’s petulant side.

When she came out, he was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and shoulders tense. “Bed.”

“Sofa,” she countered.

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. “Fine.”

She padded towards the living room. It was still strange adjusting to all this space. It wasn’t an extravagant house. A cottage really, though in comparison to the tiny flat she’d spent the summer in and most of the previous year in a tent, it felt like a palace. Better than that: it already felt infinitely more like home with Harry there.

Hermione went to sit on the sofa, and Harry was right behind her, already moving to help her, which was only slightly over-the-top.

She stretched out, studying him as he settled at the other end, looking anything but relaxed.

“Are you going to stop being in a bad mood?”

Harry didn’t respond, scooping her feet onto his lap before he started to rub them, which made her not care what he said as long as he kept doing it. She let herself lean heavily against the pile of cushions.

“I picked up that series you like,” he mumbled.

Hermione lifted her head back up to look at him. “Which one?”

“The long one... with the broody git who doesn’t realise he loves her until the end.”

“Pride and Prejudice?” Harry nodded and Hermione bit back a laugh. “He always loved her.”

“Yeah, he did.”

His mouth pulled up into a soft smile, she was grateful to see a bit of his normal self. It took some effort but she made herself scoot over to him. He caught on and moved closer. There was no choice after he said something like that: she had to kiss him.

==

Hermione gasped, jolted awake by the terror. The sensation was like being dropped into her body from a large distance. She laid there in the dark and tried to remember where she was. She moved a hand to her round stomach and her memory was blurred, until it came to her with clarity. She was in her bed, it was just a nightmare.

The disorientation that came every time she had one always made her head spin, bile lodging in her throat. A jab at her side made her wince, bringing her fully back to her body. Normally when the baby was active at night, it kept her awake and frustrated. But with the images from her nightmare still burned behind her eyelids, the physical proof that it wasn’t real was a relief.

The mattress shifted, a warm hand coming to her side. “Hermione?”

Her throat was clogged with unshed tears making it impossible to answer.

His hand slipped down, and his warm body pressed against her back. She could feel his heartbeat against her, which allowed her lungs to finally release the imprisoned air.

“Same one?”

She nodded, tears wetting her pillow. Harry pressed a kiss to her head. His thumb moved across the taut skin of her stomach.

“It’s not happening. You’re safe. She can’t hurt you, or the baby.”

Hermione knew he was right, but the fear wouldn’t leave her. It seemed to live in the lining of her skin.

“Try to breathe. I know it’s hard, but I’m right here.” A shuddered breath left her, and as they lay in the dark, Harry continued to hold her. “She’s awake too,” he whispered.

“Hmm, yes.”

“Was that a backflip”

“Felt like one.”

“Practising her Quidditch skills.”

“Our child will not be doing any acrobatics on a broom,” she said, trying to sound stern, though her voice was still wobbly.

“Not sure if we’ll have a choice,” he said with quiet amusem*nt “If she’s anything like us, she’ll just do as she pleases.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s a truly terrifying thought.”

She felt his chuckle with her whole body. Her tears finally began to subside, with the feeling of him wrapped around her.

“You keep calling her ‘she,’” she said softly.

“Well Annie keeps insisting. Who am I to contradict her?”

“That’s probably wise.”

“You don’t think she’s right?” he asked quietly. She could feel him tracing patterns where the baby was pushing against her from inside, tapping out some unknowable morse code.

Hermione did believe her. She’d felt it early on, though she would eat her hat before admitting that to anyone. It was so illogical—the kind of wishy washy belief that Lavender and Parvati had always rattled on about. Intuition over logic. Then again, nothing about the situation they were in felt logical.

“Well, she has a fifty percent chance of being right,” she told him, trying to keep her voice steady. Something about laying in the dark together made her feel like they were back in the tent. Only the rhythmic kicks and swoops inside her helped her differentiate that it wasn’t.

Another quiet laugh escaped him. “I suppose you’re right. Seems like good odds though... I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

==

When Hermione awoke, her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and there was an intense need to relieve her bladder. Her eyes opened and a groan escaped her.

“You missed the best part.”

At the familiar voice, she tried to move but only managed to groan again. Why did she feel as if she was weighed down by a thousand pound boulder?

She felt a light pressure on her foot and with great effort she moved her head and turned to look at the other side of the sofa. Even with just the glow of the television she could see that he was trying not to laugh.

“What?” she asked, confusion and sleep lacing her voice.

“The part where the little kid outsmarts the idiot robbers.”

“What?”

His eyebrows drew up before he shuffled closer on the sofa. Now right against her, almost overtop of her even with most of the lower half of her draped across him. “Are you alright?”

Was she? Hermione felt rather sluggish and sore. Clearly she’d fallen into one of those naps that made you question what century it was when you woke up. Wait, what century was it?

“I have to use the toilet.” The words came out of her mouth without any forethought. As she said them, she realised they were very true. Harry let out a snort of laughter.

“When don’t you have to?”

She sighed, slightly annoyed and not sure why. Right that moment a sharp kick to her ribs made her grimace. Looking down, the reason she could hardly move became clear. Her stomach was ginormous. All at once she knew exactly where she was. Christmas had just passed and they were in the hazy stretch of time before the New Year. She and Harry had scarcely moved off the sofa since the day before, a series of mostly holiday films and specials playing across the television.

Before Hermione could say anything else, Harry carefully extracted himself from her legs and the blankets draped over them. He yawned and stretched as he pulled himself to his full height, and when he saw her watching him, he gave her a lopsided grin and bent down slightly, offering her his hand.

Hermione just stared at him. Harry was here. Why was that so wonderfully strange?

“Do you want me to carry you there again?”

She shook her head, brushing his hand away as she started the process of getting herself off the sofa. It took her a full minute before she relented and took Harry’s hand when he offered it again. She rolled her eyes at the satisfied smile on his face.

Hermione hated this part of being pregnant: the constant helpless feeling. As she stood and stretched her tired muscles, the feeling of Harry coming behind her and pressing on her back made her sigh with relief.

Harry kissed her neck before pulling away and turning her around to face him. “Do you want anything to eat before I put on the next one?”

“Is there more Toblerone?”

“Of course. Can't risk running out of that,” he replied seriously.

“Good.”

“The baby’s going to come out of you clutching one of those bars in her hand. A gingernut in the other.”

Hermione didn’t dignify his comment with a response, sticking out her tongue as he gave her another grin. She moved past him to use the loo before she wet her pyjamas. When she came back into the living room, Harry was already back on the sofa, a huge Toblerone bar on his lap as promised.

For some reason the sight of it made her breath catch and all she could do was stare at him. Harry’s smile quickly morphed into concern.

“Hermione?” The sound of her name pulled her back.

She made her way towards him, coming to stand between his legs. She placed her hands on his face as he tilted his head to look up at her, his eyebrows drawn up in confusion. “Is something the matter?”

Hermione shook her head. “I just needed to feel you for a moment.”

Harry’s face softened and his arms came to her hips. “I’m right here.”

He placed a kiss on her bump before taking her hand from his face and pressing a kiss to her palm. “Do you want to pick the next film?”

“Which ones do we still have?”

She started moving to sit on the sofa next to Harry, who helped her lower herself -not particularly gracefully—before leaning over to the coffee table to grab the stack of VHS’s.

“Well we’ve already watched the one with the bloke you think looks like a more handsome Snape.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from laughing. “I never said he was handsome. Just better looking.”

“He doesn’t look anything like him!” he exclaimed.

“He does. It’s a quality,” she insisted.

“The guy has a German accent.”

“Well the actor is actually British.”

“You would know that wouldn’t you. Know everything about him, I bet.”

Hermione ignored his remark. “I don’t see how that was a Christmas film,” she said, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“It takes place at Christmas,” he said, with mock exasperation.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Does that matter? All they did was blow things up and shoot people.”

Harry simply nodded. “Okay if we’re going to play the ‘Does This Count as a Christmas Film’ game—why did we get Titanic? Again?”

“Because it does.”

“A valid point,” he said matter of factly, but she saw him fighting a smile.

She stuck out her tongue and Harry gave a small nod as he broke into a bigger grin. “Another valid point. Solid argument. I’ll just bring up the fact that it doesn’t take place at Christmas. And yes things don’t blow up but a bunch of people drown... which isn’t exactly uplifting. It’s also approximately ten hours long.” He picked up the chunky double VHS cassette as evidence.

“It’s three.”

“You also end up sobbing into my shirt every time.”

Hermione flushed at the unfortunate truth of that statement and Harry put his arm around her. “Not that I mind.”

“All I do is cry lately,” she sighed, leaning against him.

“Well you still haven’t turned into Moaning Myrtle though you do join me in the shower most of the time.”

She groaned into his chest and she could feel his laugh through her body.

“We have that classic one,” he said quietly against her temple.

“Let’s do that.”

After some more rearranging, which was a full ordeal of finding a way to take at least some of the pressure off her heavy abdomen, she finally settled, partially propped up with pillows against the armrest and her feet in Harry’s lap.

As the film played out, they sat and ate the Toblerone bar. Hermione’s mind wandered and she found her eyes flicking over to Harry, his face just visible in the glow of the television. He caught her a few times and would squeeze her foot lightly and give her a warm smile. Something about the gesture made her heart ache, but not in an unpleasant way.

She eventually got more absorbed in the film, despite her exhaustion. On the tele, Judy Garland started singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas and Hermione was overwhelmed with the loneliest feeling she’d ever experienced. It started right at her heart and spread outwards, as if the blood in her veins was turning to ice.

“Hermione?” Harry sounded alarmed and within moments, he was pulling her towards him.

“What’s wrong?”

She was trembling too hard to get words out and was only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face.

“Is it the baby?”

As if she heard him, there was a hard thump under his hand that was holding her to him. She could feel his heavy sigh of relief against her head.

Harry continued to hold her, rubbing a soothing hand up her arm and across her swollen stomach as she buried her face in his shoulder. “Is it about your parents again?” he asked her softly after a while.

She nodded, but something told her that wasn’t it. Not all of it at least.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “We don’t have to talk about it but I promise we’ll figure something out.”

It took her a moment to register what he was saying. All at once remembering that they had talked about a plan. There had been a meeting with Professor McGonagall who would talk to Flitwick. The row they’d had shortly after also came back to her.

Harry hadn’t been able to understand why she wouldn’t want to try again. She’d burst into gulping sobs, and finally admitted how terrified she was: that she would never get them back no matter what, scared to get her hopes up only to have them crushed again. And finally the more difficult truth of being absolutely petrified of what they’d think of her now—not only if they’d ever forgive her for what she’d done to them, but also what they would think of everything else. She had confessed to Harry that while she loved her parents deeply, they had expectations of her. She was still worried that they’d be disappointed in her. Couldn’t imagine how they’d react to her being a young mother. That she had failed to be the daughter they wanted.

Harry had held her as she’d sobbed and hadn’t pushed since then. She knew he was right. It was worth exploring, though there were more pressing matters—such as the fact that she was only weeks away from her due date.

The now familiar panic was also part of the awful feeling coursing through her. As uncomfortable as she was this far into her pregnancy, this was the happiest she’d been in years. What came next felt like such an unknown. She didn’t know how to be a mother. Her panic intensified, causing her heart to race, unsure if she was ready to be solely responsible for someone so small and fragile. To give birth to a baby. All alone. The loneliness crashed over, catching her off guard.

Harry was here. She stared at him, unable to shake the feeling, that she would blink and he would vanish. The feeling hit her again like a rogue wave. She gasped through her tears. Harry tightened his grip around her and murmured in her ear, asking her to talk to him. She half-consciously moved her hand over his chest and could feel his heartbeat. He was here. Real.

When her sobs subsided. Harry pressed his lips against her head and whispered. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“I just got the most awful feeling,” she managed to say through her tears. “I—I can’t…explain. It’s… the loneliest… feeling. All through my body. The feeling that—that I’d never been so... alone.”

Harry moved his hands to her face, their eyes locked.

“You’re not alone.”

Her vision blurred at his words. “I’ll never let you feel alone like you did before.”

She nodded as more tears slipped down her face. “I know.”

Harry kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and continued to hold her while she regained control of her breathing.

“I know you’re scared. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She knew this was true. Despite everything, she had always felt safest with him. Had held his hand through countless traumatic experiences, clung to him on the back of a hippogriff and faced a three-headed dog as a child, amongst so many other things.

He was here. They would figure this out too. They stayed like that a little longer, before she allowed him to help her off the sofa and walk her towards their bedroom.

==

The pain ripped through her, and she gasped. Like crashing into a brick wall, except instead of shattering, an unbearable tightening. Her brain scrambled to make sense of what was happening. Only when she felt a large hand cover her clenched one did she open her eyes.

Harry eye's were blown wide with worry. She tried to speak but another wave of pain washed over her, making it hard for her to register that he’d moved even closer until his hand came to her back and another on her arm. “Remember what Andie said, it’s not like anything else that’s been done to you, it’s just you. Your body.”

Hermione could barely think through the extreme cramping, struggling to form thoughts, let alone words. What was he talking about? The pain was strangely familiar, and he was right, it was coming from her. Still, something about it reminded her of an echo—calling back to something she couldn’t remember.

When it passed, she opened her eyes once more. Harry’s brows were creased in concern as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her sweaty forehead. Hermione finally looked around the room. She was on a large soft bed, a tall window nearby showed only darkness outside. All of a sudden it came to her. She was in their bedroom. She was having a baby.

Within minutes of this realisation, she was doubled over again. Without any thought she reached out and Harry was there. She clung to him, burying her face in the cotton of his t-shirt, using the feel of him to ground herself back into her body. The body that was trying to tear her in half.

Time ceased to make any sense. Hermione became aware that there was another person there. Maeve. Her midwife. How had she forgotten? Maeve mostly took a hands off approach, coming in and out of the room, performing a few spells to check on the baby and how far along she was, and gave them both some encouragement. The only thing that made Hermione feel calmer was the feeling of him being near, his familiar smell and the sound of his voice.

She was slightly tempted to strangle him when he kept reminding her to breathe, but to her chagrin it was easier to handle the surging pain when she listened to him and did exactly that: breathing through the waves as they crested over her. Using Harry as a liferaft, clutching him as she tried to savour the spaces of rest between each new wave of pain.

At some point, the intensity shifted lower in her body. A ragged cry left her as she continued to cling to Harry, who had stayed right at her side for however long this was taking—Hermione hadn’t the faintest idea.

Maeve with her quiet, gentle presence moved closer and urged Hermione to sit back against Harry on the bed. The pain, while still agonising, started to feel like it had purpose. Time stretched again, and she focused everything on getting this baby out of her. After another long push, she leaned back against him. “You’re brilliant. Did you know that?” he whispered against her shoulder, and she smiled before another surge required all of her concentration. There was a strange sense of pride and awe at what her body was capable of.

During a tiny reprieve between contractions, she glanced back at Harry. His eyes were focused on hers, his face pale and eyes lined with tears, hating to see her suffering. Before she could register anything else another broke over her as she tried to breathe and focus on the gentle instructions from her midwife.

Then time did stop and with one final push and loud almost roar from her, she felt a rush of release and relief. A cry cutting through the room, her baby immediately placed into her shaky arms. The tiny, wriggly baby on her chest let out a raspy upset wail, face squished and beet-red.

“Hi baby,” she crooned, overwhelmed with a rush of love so intense it left her breathless. At the sound of her voice, the small being in her arms turned her head upwards. And Hermione knew that she knew her already. Goosebumps erupted over her as she touched her daughter’s skin… was it magic or biology—the peculiar feeling of recognition? She looked at the tiny human who’d kept her company all those months. When she’d been at her loneliest, she’d never been truly alone. Iris had been there the whole time.

Hermione heard a sharp intake of breath, and she tipped her head back to see him. He was there. Her heart skipped a beat with relief, the idea that she’d ever thought she could do this without him was unfathomable.

His own face was one of shock and awe. All the love he carried in his heart on full display, which made her start to cry in earnest. He stared at their baby with wonder before meeting her eyes, glassy with his own tears. She knew that the smile on her face was probably delirious but she couldn’t help it.

She turned back to Iris, who was still displeased to have been removed from the warmth of her first home. Hermione sagged further into his chest and felt his arms tighten around her, his face pressing into her shoulder to kiss her.

Hermione murmured unconsciously as she brought her child higher up on her chest, her skin pressing into hers. Harry slowly and carefully reached over to touch Iris. Their baby looked even tinier as Harry’s hand covered her entire back. With both her parent’s hands on her, she stopped crying. Her small face turned up, her eyes open and looking right at them.

==

It was dark when she woke up with a start, feeling like she’d crash-landed into her body which ached. Something heavy crushing her chest. Then she heard the cry—Iris. She went to sit up, but a hand gently touched her thigh. “I’ve got it—”

The voice was Harry’s. He was here with them. She heard him moving around, his hushed voice talking to Iris before he brought her to Hermione. Still dazed, the familiar autopilot kicked in as she latched her baby.

Her heart, which had been racing when she woke up, was already settling with the comfort of Harry’s hand resting on her side, helping her relax from the earlier sensation that had awoken her. The sound of Iris feeding filled the room and Hermione released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. They were safe.

Hermione had only just drifted asleep, when all of a sudden she was surrounded by bright daylight. A beach. The waves lapping on the shore. She was seated on a striped towel. Turning her head, she found Harry next to her with Iris propped on his knees. He was making silly faces at her while she kicked her legs excitedly against him.

It was all so real: the warmth from the sun, the sound of Harry making ridiculous noises, Iris babbling in response, all of it mixing with the ocean air and sea. She could feel the cool sand on her feet and the swimsuit on her body underneath the sundress she was wearing. She recognized the tiny bathing suit on Iris: pale yellow with pink butterflies. A memory. Hermione was remembering something.

Before her mind grabbed hold of it she felt her body lurch. And another scene unfolded. She was in a house, standing in a daze. She stared absently at the pale walls, before she could take in the photographs Harry walked into the room, Iris in his arms. A small chubby fist was stuffed in her mouth and drool running down her chin.

“What did McGonagall say?” he asked, as he leaned down to press a kiss to her head. Hermione stared up at him. One moment she was looking up at Harry, the next she was in darkness again.

Now an unfamiliar room, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. Had she been asleep? She wasn’t alone, even without light could sense it was Harry next to her. He was speaking to someone. Hermione could just make out his whispers. “I know you think it’s the middle of the day. Technically you are correct. Though right now we really should be trying to sleep.”

A loud squeal was given in response.

“Hmm. Interesting point, but I’m afraid if you can’t be reasoned with we’ll have to leave the room. Your mum has a really big day tomorrow.”

Hermione heard the sound of Iris babbling and she desperately wanted to reach over and touch them. They were so close, but her arms were like lead. Then she was gone.

When she opened her eyes, she was seated on an outdoor sofa, a breeze ruffling her hair, and the sight of the vast ocean stretching on the horizon in front of her. Not an English sea, but an impossibly bright blue.

“How are you holding up?” The sound of his voice made her turn to her right.

Harry was seated next to her on the wicker sofa. Iris in his arms once again. Her eyes roamed over the two of them. Harry’s brows pinched in concern, though he continued to bounce Iris lightly. Her dimpled hands grabbed at his glasses, and he gently took them in one of his.

She went to speak, and found no words would come out. Instead she simply took them in. All the small details of the scene. Harry was dressed nicely in a white shirt and khaki chinos. Iris, wore a light blue dress, bare chubby legs pressed against her father, a look of pure delight on her small face as she looked up at him. Hermione knew she was about six months old. Was this a dream? Had this really happened?

“I’m fine.” The words left her mouth. Was she? Her pulse beat erratically and she could feel her hands were shaking. Harry moved closer and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“It will get easier,” he whispered. She nodded, suddenly fighting tears. Iris squealed loudly and Harry pulled back, grinning at her. Iris returned it, a couple teeth showing in her otherwise gummy smile. Side by side she could see it clearly—they had the same smile. That was the last thought she had before she was gone.

Hermione could feel grass under her feet. When she looked up, she gasped at the magnificent fjord in front of her.

The dark blue ocean below. The endless vista.

A touch to her back, made her turn. Harry stood there, eyes shining and hair even wilder in the wind. Iris was in his arms, still impossibly tiny, but no longer a baby, her hair pulled up into a wispy golden ponytail right on top of her head. Both of them looked at her with their beautiful green eyes.

Iris seemed put out by the elements, she covered her ears with her small hands, brows drawn together, stray wisps of hair falling into her eyes. Hermione’s hand moved of its own accord, reaching for Iris, intending to brush the hair from her face, when her eyes caught a flash of something brilliant. She stared down, on her ring finger was a ruby, surrounded by a cluster of smaller diamonds.

“Are you alright?” she heard him say over the howling wind. She felt herself nod, but it was happening without her. Internally she was frozen in place.

Like mist, the scene dissolved around her. She felt another jolt. As if she’d fallen an even greater distance. She was in a bedroom, a very large and ornate one. A hotel. How did she know that?

Her heart stopped when she spotted him on the edge of the enormous bed. He wore what appeared to be dress robes without the outer layer, white shirt untucked, the sleeves rolled up, bow tie hanging off his neck. His expression made her breath catch.

“Come here,” his voice was low, and on shaky legs she moved towards him. It was only as she walked that she noticed the long elegant skirt of her dress swishing around her. She was too distracted by the sight of him to focus on anything else. Hermione was overcome with the desire to touch him. Worried that if she didn’t, she would cease to exist.

He grinned up at her as she held his face in her hands. Her eyes desperately roamed over his familiar features. His hands encircled her and pulled her onto his lap, despite the amount of material—too much—that separated them. He pressed his lips to her neck and her eyes closed involuntarily. “Have I told you how beautiful you look in pink?”

All at once it came to her: the wedding. Before she could open her eyes again she was swept away.

The room she landed in was familiar, but different. Where was she now? When she turned around she was distracted from trying to get her bearings by the sight of Harry in front of her. The desperation from before was only stronger as she moved towards him.

He was smiling at her, his mouth opening to say something when a frustrated wail cut through the air. In seconds a blur of curls and sparkling purple was throwing herself at Harry’s legs. Hermione watched in shock as he scooped her up.

Iris’s cheeks were blotchy and wet but her lips were pouting in the way that told Hermione her tears were likely more from frustration or anger than any kind of physical hurt. “He—he called me a baby!” she hiccuped in her toddler voice.

She watched, fascinated as Harry nodded sympathetically, his eyes flashing to hers quickly, some kind of joke they shared between the two of them, yet she couldn’t grasp it. What was happening?

“I’m sorry, pumpkin. That wasn’t very nice, maybe we should go speak with him?” Harry said sincerely, as he rubbed their daughter’s back, and Hermione watched like magic as Iris melted into him. She was certain if she’d said the same thing, it would have escalated into even more tears. Before anything else could happen, she felt herself pulled up and away.

Another thud, more violent, and Hermione was in a field. It took her longer to get her bearings as she trembled. Everything felt like it was speeding up and she couldn’t make sense of time or space. When she looked up, she saw the crooked house, dotted with chimneys. The Burrow. The air buzzed with crickets, birdsong, and the hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter.

“Mummy!” Iris’s excited high little voice called to her but before she could turn, she was gone again.

The daylight once more became darkness. Asleep, then suddenly awake. “Daddy?” Hermione tried to sit up but her body wouldn’t cooperate. “I—I had a bad dream.” The distress in Iris’s voice made her try harder, to no avail.

“It’s alright, pumpkin. Come up with us,” Harry replied before she could, his own voice thick with sleep. His body brushed against her, the mattress shifting and then Iris was placed between them, her small warm body curling into hers.

In a blink, her frozen body was now upright. She sat at a desk, crowded with paper. Another room. She didn’t know it until suddenly she did. Home, but not the one she knew. A feeling of ease flowed through her despite the whirring of her mind.

“Supper’s ready.” She spun around and Harry stood in the doorframe. The smile he gave her made her stomach erupt with butterflies. Hermione stood up and moved towards him. Reaching for him-

More dissolving and then she was standing in a dining room, dimly lit by candlelight. At what she saw in front of her, she couldn't move or even breathe. Crowded around a large table was Harry with Iris on his lap, Annie, Rosie and... her parents. They looked at her with eyes that knew her. All of them were smiling, faces flickering in the flames on a rainbow sprinkle cake. The sight filled and shattered her heart all at once before it all disappeared.

When her eyes opened, it was cold and dark. And she was completely alone.

Chapter 14: Running Up That Hill

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: Running Up That Hill

“The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse. ”

― Ian McEwan, Atonement

Hermione couldn’t be sure how long she laid there in the dark. Her ears pounded as if she’d suddenly surfaced from a great depth. The world felt as if it had tilted on its axis and she had the sensation of falling despite being flat on her back. Her head felt heavy with the images she’d seen -experienced? They’d been so real, as if she’d been in her body and her right mind. Stronger than any dream.

Her eyes couldn’t find purchase in the room. Only a sliver of a window high up let in some light but the shutter over top made it so that it didn’t get very far. Not to where she was down on the floor, a lumpy mattress under her body.

It took a moment for the memories—or whatever they were—to clear enough for reality to slam into her at full force: Iris. With every ounce of strength she possessed she made herself sit up, and that’s when she felt it: the searing pain in her chest.

She bit back a yelp of pain as it tore through her sternum with her movement. Gingerly, she reached under her shirt and her skin burned, right where her scar was.

A loud pop startled her and she reared back, coming back down on the mattress. She groaned, pain flaring like a roaring fire inside her. All she could do was curl onto her side.

“I’m sorry miss. Ceely did not mean to scare you,” a squeaky voice said.

She gritted her teeth and took a breath to steady herself before she moved herself enough to look up. In the dimness a pair of large golden eyes stared back. Hermione was speechless, the agony making it hard to think.

“Ceely is sorry to disturb you but I’ve brought food for you Miss.”

All at once it clicked: a house elf. She must be at someone’s house or likely an estate or manor. Xavier’s? She grimaced thinking of his smug smile when he’d finally cornered her.

“I—thank you,” she managed to whisper, voice hoarse.

“No—no thank you! You are a most special guest. Ceely has not had any guests stay in a very, very long time.

Suddenly there was a soft glow. A lamp on the wall came to life with a flicker. It took Hermione’s eyes a moment to adjust. She could see the small house elf. Smaller than Dobby had been, a female, with large, golden doe eyes, a round button nose and a small mouth smiling shyly at her. She had a tuft of pink hair, which reminded Hermione a little of the troll dolls she’d had as a child.

“Miss must eat quickly before Master sees. Master must not know.” The clear anxiety in the elf’s voice made her heart race even faster. Hermione was at a loss for words. She eyed the plate of food in front of her, which had some cut-up apples and a scone.

“Hurry! Miss should eat.”

Hermione felt like she would vomit anything she attempted to eat, but she reached for the plate and the elf’s eyes gleamed with happiness. She wondered vaguely if this was somehow a trap, but the sincerity on Ceely’s small face reminded her so much of Dobby that she did as told. She chewed on the scone, barely tasting it, thinking only if Iris. She’d performed the spell she’d researched all those years ago. It would hold—it had to. But she had to get back. No one else would be able to unlock it if she’d done it properly. She’d never planned for this scenario. She placed the scone back on the plate as a wave of nausea hit her, how the hell was she going to get back to her daughter?

She took the water that Ceely offered her. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper, tears clogging her throat.

“It was my pleasure, Miss. I have longed for a guest and you are an honoured one Miss Granger.”

She froze. “How—how did you know my name?”

“I heard Master… Master is very pleased to have the famous Miss Granger. Ceely knew the name. Ceely has heard the stories of what you and your friends have done in defeating You Know Who,” she squeaked.

Hermione was speechless as the elf continued. “You are friends with the famous Harry Potter, friend of Dobby. A free elf.” She whispered the last part.

“I—”Hermione started, but the distant sound of footsteps halted her speech. Ceely gave her a terrified look and in an instant Hermione was back in darkness, a soft pop telling her that Ceely was gone.

She barely had a minute to think before the door opened and the lights were back on.

As she expected, it was the last face she’d seen loom over her flat. The most noticeable difference was he no longer sported the worn Muggle blazer. Instead he had on a crisp, white shirt and dark trousers with a navy outer robe that gleamed and moved around him like swirling currents.

He was giving her the same smile he’d given her when she’d seen him in the shop with Iris. The memory immediately made her feel sick. The physical absence of her daughter felt like it radiated out from her chest, making it hard to distinguish the physical pain she was experiencing from the distress for her child. As he approached, it dawned on her how stupid she’d been not to have immediately contacted the authorities. The sinister gleam in his eye as he surveyed her made her blood run cold. How could she have been so blind to the danger right in front of her?

“Well, Miss Granger. Did you rest nicely?”

She wanted to ask about Iris, but a sickening feeling told her that she wasn’t likely to get answers. Not from him.

“What did you do to me?” She hated that her voice shook.

He chuckled softly. “All in good time.” He continued to study her. At whatever he’d seemed to find, he nodded. “Excellent. As I suspected—there is a marker. Excellent.”

She sat there keenly feeling how defenceless she was without her wand. The pain spasmed in her chest. She grit her teeth, not wanting him to see. It didn’t seem to matter. He started to circle her, smiling as if he already sensed it.

“The wound is where the light enters. Are you familiar with that saying?” he said offhandedly.

She didn’t respond, though she made herself hold his piercing gaze. Iris’s words came to her: eyes like the sea. Not a kind one.

“What you saw. I assume they were pleasing?” he asked,

It took all her willpower to keep her face neutral. She’d witnessed one of the hardest years of her life overwritten with something lovely. False but beautiful. The comfort of his arms. The image of him holding a tiny Iris. The happiness her daughter brought her had been magnified by Harry’s presence. All the suffering erased, or minimised. She did her best, yet a traitorous tear slipped down her cheek and she hated the satisfied smirk he gave her.

“Hmmm. I’m curious, Miss Granger… what would you say if I told you that what you saw—that it was a reality?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

His smirk only grew wider. “It’s good to be sceptical. One shouldn’t believe everything one sees. Though I assure you, Miss Granger, the images you saw were certainly real.”

“No.” She refused to play whatever game he was trying. The back of her mind was a whirlwind, with one purpose; getting back to Iris. Though the pain and panic was clouding her normally logical mind, and nothing came to her.”

Xavier gave a small, graceful shrug. Despite his thinning hair and the age that showed with the wrinkles on his face, there was something effortless about his movements, an agility that frightened her. That of a predator. “You can choose not to believe me for now. Though I wonder would it help to revisit what really happened?”

At his words, she recoiled and it became harder to meet his gaze. Did he mean to take her into a Pensieve? Part of her knew she had no clue what he could do—he had, after all, been able to send her into some kind of fantasy. At whatever look she was giving him, he gave a terse shake of his head—as if he was disappointed in her for not keeping up.

“I can see that you don’t understand. What I’m hoping to show you by keeping you here is just how easy it can be to convince people when you know what they want more than anything else in this world or in some cases… beyond it. I sensed that in you as early as our first meeting. That there was likely something you’d give anything to undo. Seeing your daughter confirmed it. Tell me, did you take any pleasure from depriving the nation’s hero from knowing about his own child?”

Her head snapped up at the mention of Harry. “How—”

“For someone whose reputation for brilliance generally precedes her, don’t act as if it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone with even a passing knowledge of the famous Golden Trio. You, hiding in a Muggle bookshop after all these years. A small child.”

“You don’t know anything.” The anger finally cut through her fear.

Shaking his head, he gave a light chuckle that made her stomach flip. “Oh, but I do. I know everything about you: the truth that you hide, the truth that scares you most of all. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

He pointed his wand at her. In a bright flash of light it felt like the wound on her chest was being ripped open and then the world went dark once again.

--

Hermione couldn’t be sure how much time passed before the darkness gave way to bright daylight. The jolt of landing somewhere else reminded her of the sensation that Harry had described to her about Pensieves. This made less sense. She wasn’t watching the scene unfold. She was in it, yet now she could feel her current mind swirling with the thoughts from both this memory and her present self. The pain had vanished entirely in her nineteen year old body.

Once more she was on a familiar sunlit street, her body on autopilot as it moved through the past. A past she’d already visited. She had absolutely no control as she kept walking despite her brain telling her to stop and turn around. There was no control—even of the direction of her head.

When she did happen to glance down, she recognized the outfit—knew what was hidden underneath the white blouse with a spell. Then she heard his voice. Her body jumped behind the large floral display and the adrenaline from the past coursing through her. When her head peeked out, she saw him: arguing pink-faced with the shop owner, who’d apparently noticed her secret. The thought raced through her head and made her heart seize. I can’t do this!—before she disappeared. The part of her that knew it was a memory could do nothing more than hold on as she was pulled from her body.

--

Her eyes wouldn’t open. The same awareness followed, along with the feeling of sandpaper in her throat, the heaviness of her eyelids, the ringing in her ears. When her eyes opened this time it was stark whiteness. A hospital room. No face that she desperately longed to see.

Hermione groaned as she tried to sit up, but she felt a gentle hand on hers. “Oh thank heavens you’re awake!”

She blinked trying to focus on the voice, her head turned and there was Rosie next to her bedside smiling at her with watery eyes. Behind her stood Annie who had clearly been pacing, looking wan and dishevelled. She came to sit next to Rosie and was watching Hermione with weary relief.

“You scared us half to death,” Annie said, sounding exhausted.

“What happened?” she managed to ask, her voice scratchy. It was a relief to accept the glass of water from Rosie. It didn’t matter that she knew what came next, it was happening despite herself. When she was done drinking. Rosie answered her question.

“Annie said she left you upstairs in the flat doing research while she was at the shop. When she closed up and went upstairs…you…you were-”

“You were on the floor, white as a sheet. I thought you’d died!” Annie exclaimed, unable to take Rosie’s slower explanation.

The panic rose up in her despite already knowing the answer.

“The baby?” she whispered, looking down at her lap.

“Is perfectly fine. Thank heavens. Both of you,” Rosie assured her.

“It was your iron,” Annie added.

“My iron?” Her brain felt fuzzy as this memory collided with… whatever had been before.

“You can’t be living off of biscuits and tea, toast and apples!” Annie chided.

Hermione grimaced. Rosie gave Annie a pointed look before turning back to Hermione, her face filled with its usual gentleness. “What she means is that we want to help. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands these days. I’ll bring you round some more meals—”

“You don’t have to do that,” Hermione said, shaking her head and trying to sit up further in the bed.

“Nonsense. It’s nothing,” Rosie insisted as she took her hand in hers, her hands warm against her own cold ones.

“We’re buying you a phone too,” Annie added firmly.

“Annie—”

“Have you gotten on benefits yet like I told you?” Annie ignored her as she continued. The longer she sat in the hospital bed the more firmly she felt herself lodged in the memory as the old conversation happened once more. This… this had been real once.

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone you want us to contact?” Rosie asked with her blue eyes searching hers with concern.

Hermione felt her old self unable to speak the lie so instead she shook her head. Her current mind screamed out—she should have contacted Harry or at least tried. It was no use. The loneliness from that time filled her body once more.

“Oh Janie. I’m so sorry. We want to help,” she sighed, squeezing her hand. “Is there anything we can do?”

Hermione was crying. The feeling that she didn’t deserve their kindness radiating through her.

Annie sighed, her hands fidgeting nervously which was unlike her. “Rosie, can you give us a moment?”

The two of them exchanged their looks that always seemed to convey an entire conversation. “Of course,” Rosie finally said softly, squeezing Hermione’s hand once again before she left the room. “I’ll go call Roger.”

Annie moved to the chair that Rosie had just vacated.

Hermione felt herself trying to regain control of her emotions as she wiped her eyes. “I—I’m so sorry. I’m a mess.”

“You’re allowed. What you’re going through is not easy,” she said, calmly. They sat there in silence as Annie gave her another moment to try and compose herself. Hermione could see the hesitation on her friend's face. Now more familiar to her than it had been all those years ago. “I-” she started before sighing heavily once more, looking down at the bed. “Look. When I was around your age. I—“

It was obvious even then how painful what she was about to say to her was going to be.

“I—I found myself in a similar situation. All alone. Rosie was still in school and couldn’t help. My older sister—” she stopped, and Hermione saw a deeper flash of pain. The part of her that knew it was a memory ached at the sight, now knowing the full story. “Anyway, my parents… I know now that they were just doing what was best, but a lot of decisions were made for me because… because I didn’t have many other options. Do you understand?”

Hermione nodded and Annie continued, her face softening so she could see the vulnerability that her friend often guarded so well. “I see a lot of myself in you, Janie. Stubborn and wanting to do it all on your own but what you need to understand... There are some things that require other people. If…if you don’t have anyone else, you can have us. We’ll help.”

Hermione felt the ache of gratitude again but a haze of guilt seemed to float overtop.. Had there been another way? Was what she’d experienced in the fake memory even possible? Not likely, as whatever it was she’d seen had clearly been some kind of wishful thinking, but still. What she’d always known, but now felt with urgency. Harry should have known.

Could you be grateful for the things that had fallen in your path even if it wasn’t a path you should have taken? Her mind swirled with these scattered thoughts before she was somewhere else again.

--

A flash of green light and her eyes flew open. Her heart pounded harshly. The nightmare. Her entire body was tense with adrenaline, even as awareness seeped into her that this was just a nightmare. No matter how much she repeated that to herself, it didn’t help.

Tears poured out of her, soaking her pillow as she lay alone in the bed, still in her tiny flat above the pub in Edinburgh, utterly alone. Then, the movement in her abdomen reminded her that was not technically true. Still, the loneliness engulfed her in the dark. No warm arm came around her, no whispered comforting words, no distraction or laughter. The pain was almost worse with the two memories—one real, one made up, one superimposed over the other, with her stuck between them in her heavy and exhausted body.

It took ages to fall off the cliff of whatever consciousness she was experiencing into the sleep, sleep that she desperately hoped would take her away. Hopefully back to where she could try and do something, anything to get to Iris. Anxiety continued to course through her. The only small comfort was the rhythmic kicks inside her, a reminder that at least here, Iris was safe.

--

Hermione fought her way through a fog as she came to. She noted after a moment that she was on a sofa, her eyes adjusted and she saw it was her old tiny flat. The television illuminated the dark. Next to it was the small potted Christmas tree that Annie had brought her. There was a moment and then it clicked, this would be after the holiday, where she had barely moved from her sofa. Right after Christmas dinner with Annie and Rosie’s family which had been lovely, but returning to her empty flat something inside her had broken—contributing to her inability to do absolutely anything.

The tape of Titanic that she’d finally caved and bought herself was on again. She’d watched it between whatever else she could find on the four channels her television picked up. She survived off the generous leftovers the sisters had insisted she take (she was convinced they’d made extra for this exact purpose), along with the Toblerone bars she’d purchased in bulk with her benefits cheque to satisfy her unending craving for chocolate.

Only when her past self struggled to get up from the sofa did the two memories collide. Harry’s absence made her want to be sick, yet there was nothing to be done. Her body could only do as it had done in the past. She struggled before, getting her wand levitating herself up, which always made her feel annoyed, and helpless. She had started to despise being this pregnant—even the memories of it now made her feel a mixture of sorrow and rage.

When she returned to the empty room, the memory played out as she knew it would, with her watching the television, eyes glazed over and sore from crying. Titanic was on for the second day in a row because she was truly pathetic.

The two heroes of the story, held one another. Promising if you jump, I jump. She wiped her tears, eyes shifting to the Christmas tree next with its twinkling lights.

An array of memories from her childhood surfaced all at once: her father humming Christmas carols as he hung up the decorations her mother passed him, ordering him about in the way that Hermione had inherited despite herself. The smell of cookies baking. Watching Christmas films wrapped up in blankets in the living room, and how much her mother loved the classics. The church service that they only attended in December with her grandmother. The hush of the snow, the fresh pristine world that her father always insisted they walk in whenever they visited up north.

Those were followed by even more memories conjured by her past self; the jaw-dropping decoration at Hogwarts, mornings in the boy’s dormitory opening presents with Harry and Ron.

Finally there was the previous year’s disastrously awful Christmas. How she’d watched Harry writhe and scream in agony for hours. He’d been upset with her over his wand but they’d talked; he’d let her hold him as he broke down. At least they’d been together. Her heart ached for all of it.The feeling spread through her like ice. Her heart vibrated with the intensity of it—a loneliness so painful she was sure she wouldn’t survive it. Her thoughts spiralled out towards the future: A baby she already loved desperately, but that she wasn’t ready for.

There was no one there to dry her tears. No one to reassure her and calm her down. Instead she curled into a ball as best she could with a body that no longer felt like hers and cried until there was nothing left. The part of her mind that knew this was a memory derived very little comfort from this.

Then before she could draw a breath, she was gone. When she blinked, she was upright, but it was still her old flat.. The moon coming through the window told her that it was late. Then the searing pain told her exactly what night she was remembering.

The awareness that this was a memory did nothing to ease the intensity of the sensation holding her body hostage. She doubled over near the sofa. The cramping made it so that she could scarcely breathe, adrift in the sea of pain that was pummeling her. Nothing to hold onto.

As soon as it was over and she had a small moment where she could think again—her mind raced. Hermione could hear her past self thinking and this time she tried to influence the decision even though it was futile. Her thoughts, when not consumed by the misery of what was happening to her, were focusing on him. The need to have him with her, feeling like he was the only thing that would assuage her terror.

The next contraction was the worst yet. It felt like it was ripping her in half. When it finally ended, she moved towards the only other source of light, a lamp on her small bedside table. She picked up her wand and once more, despite knowing it was a memory, she found herself internally screaming at herself to do it. One spell and he would be there or at least she hoped—not that it mattered or was of any use. She had no control over what would happen next... it had already happened years before.

She could only experience the emotion all over again. The fear that was so looming and intense—that it took her a moment to realise another wave was crashing over her.

Her wand fell to the floor with a loud clatter as she leaned against the bed, her eyes squeezed shut, begging for it to pass. For it to be over. For a different life.

Like she knew she would, she didn’t reach back down for her wand. She would never actually try to summon him, too afraid of what might happen. It took her several more contractions to get across the room and call Annie, and then an ambulance.

--

When she came to, it was a different type of pain in her body. A dull heavy ache in her chest as the piercing cry emanated from the bassinet next to her. She managed to sit herself up and reached over for Iris, her past self not even bothering to turn on the light. Hermione could remember the two of them figuring out how to do this together.

Iris quieted as she latched and drank hungrily. Hermione sucked in a breath at the tenderness she could feel in her breast. Her mind tried to find where she was in time.

Iris was teeny tiny and the tears leaking down her own face made her surmise this was in the early days, where the lost feeling only intensified. Iris was wonderful, and filled her heart with so much love it felt like it would explode—despite never sleeping more than a few hours at a time, which meant neither did she. But it was a roller coaster of recovery, and she spent the majority of her time on her own, desperately wondering if she was doing it right. Trying to be strong and take on the responsibility that was hers.

She wasn’t sure who cried more, her or Iris.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she knew she was still in the flat above the pub. This was before the day months later when Annie had found her and Iris on the sofa, both inconsolable. How hard she’d tried to hide this from anyone else, knowing that doing anything about her situation meant having to make a decision—something that only grew harder after having Iris.

Annie had put her foot down upon realising just how much she was struggling and insisted that she come and live with her, even if it was temporary.

Her future self knew this and still the swirl of overwhelming love and exhaustion flooded her as she glanced down at Iris. Her present mind was aware of how much of a relief it was to see her, but it was quickly overcome with the knowledge that this was a memory.

The panic filtered in, yet made no difference as the memory continued to play out. Iris finished feeding and Hermione traced her features with her finger as her daughter’s eyelids fluttered open, peering up at her. Her eyes were still blue but already undeniably his in shape, a hint of moonlight reflected in them.

Like a wisp of smoke, the images of another bedroom at night crept across the moment as she lay there in the dark, Iris’s small and fragile body pressing against her: the memory of a warm hand resting on her, the comfort of his touch. The reassurance that he’d provided lingered in her consciousness and it was all too much, and then she was gone.

--

The jolt was sharper as she was suddenly in motion. The sky above her was grey with blue fighting through the heavy English clouds. A double decker bus passed her on the busy street as she moved along the cobbled pavement. The scent of exhaust mixed with the new blossoms. She walked briskly past stately terraced houses, their front gardens starting to awake from their winter slumber. When she finally looked down, the weight on her chest became visible. Her own spring flower.

Iris’s small face was tilted up towards her in her sling carrier. She was trying to move around, her eyes taking in the new sights as she practised her ability to support the weight of her own head and control its movements. Her hair was still a tuft of dark brown, and her full cheeks were tear-stained from an earlier bout of uncontrollable crying, but the shock of apparition had seemed to render her completely “speechless.”

Hermione continued up the street, the neighbourhood growing rougher with each crossing—she knew exactly where she was going. The dread, panic, and desperation circled through her. Like the night she’d given birth to Iris, her current mind had no influence on what was about to unfold.

The two of them approached the street. One more crossing and she’d be there. She came to a stop. It was the red telephone booth that had marked the closest she’d come before this, a memory within a memory. She’d once stood there on a blazing hot August afternoon, the baby on her chest the size of a lemon inside her.

She could remember the same wave of uncertainty and fear that had stopped her before, now even greater as she stood there again, seven months later.

Not that it mattered. She was stuck in this moment that would never change.

The thoughts of her past self infiltrated. Her brain told her that Iris would be better off without her. That she could leave her there—that maybe it would be easier if she let Harry take her. Leaving her there on the doorstep with a note. It would be less disruptive and hopefully Ginny would be willing to raise her with him. She hated herself even for thinking this; how cruel the echo would be to his own origins. No. She knew the right thing to do would be to simply be brave and go there now and tell him the truth... no matter how difficult. Yet she couldn’t picture what that would look like—it was simply a terrifying openness where all her fears could pool together, unsure which dreamt-up scenario was worse.

Her internal screaming to move forward, to see if the wards would let her in, was wasted. It was Iris that eventually pulled her past self’s attention, a small fist resting on her chest. Hermione started sobbing harder as her daughter looked up at her with her sweet face. Knowing then and there, she could no more leave Iris than will herself to stop breathing. As she knew she would, she turned back the way she came from, never stepping foot on the street that would bring her to him.

One road faded into the next and suddenly she wasn’t in London. She hurried up a smaller alleyway, in Edinburgh again. The internal worry of her past once more collided with her present consciousness as she was carried along the cobblestone street. The alley she’d sworn to never return to opened itself in front of her with the movement of her wand.She wasn’t encumbered with the weight of her infant, she knew or remembered that Iris was with Rosie. No-she was at the flat? Or was she? Her thoughts continued to bounce around in her brain without purchase.

The street was busy, and she weaved her way through the witches and wizards, the hum of magic surrounding her for the first time in over a year. Spotting the apothecary she moved faster, forcing herself not to sprint or draw attention to herself, even with the glamour in place, the paranoia clung to her.

She tried to act naturally as she waved down the attendant. Her voice shook as she explained that her baby was ill. A fever that wouldn’t go down and it was now the second day. The older witch gave her a strange look asking carefully why she hadn’t already tried a dose of healing potion and bitterroot paste.

Hermione did her best not to glare or hex the woman as she explained, trying to keep her tone light despite the anxiety strumming through her entire body, that it had slipped her mind and her mother had reminded her when she’d flooed. The lie fell off her tongue more quickly than she expected.

The witch raised her eyebrows but mercifully didn’t add anymore commentary while she sold her the ingredients that any good magical mother probably already kept in stock. Hermione was too worried to care about the obvious judgement on her parenting skills.

The perfectionist in her had taken a massive hit when she’d become a mum, not that she still didn’t constantly berate herself over everything. Since she’d left Hogwarts at the end of sixth year, survival had trumped perfection. Her future mind would have laughed at the irony of how far she’d fallen on the parenting scale if it didn’t make her want to rip her hair out. There was nothing to be done as she continued to be held hostage by the past and move along with the memory.

As she exited the shop, she glanced back at the shop that she’d once enjoyed exploring, where she’d fled almost a year ago from one of her best friends. Noting it had been ages since she’d checked on the Magical world. Stealing a breath, she took the handful of steps that would bring her in line with word of the world she no longer belonged to anymore. Her eyes scanned the headlines, relieved to see no deaths or war reports. Peace time apparently holding. Then she saw it—the top of a black messy head of hair.

Gingerly she reached out and picked up the glossy magazine. The headline blared out POTTER/WEASLEY WEDDING CONFIRMED BY INSIDE SOURCE. A photo from a Quidditch game zoomed in so that it was just the two of them in focus. Harry and Ginny were focused on the game in front of them, clearly not expecting to be photographed. Ginny leaned in and whispered something to Harry who gave a small smile as he briefly turned to look at her and said something that made Ginny laugh.

Hermione didn’t need to read the accompanying article. It didn’t matter. Harry was happy…that should make her happy. It told her she’d done the right thing. Carefully she put the magazine back, ignoring the gnawing in her chest. Past and present didn’t matter; it hurt across time.

Then she was gone.

--

Hermione felt blinded by the pain as it slammed back into her as she came into her body, once more on the bare mattress.

“I think that’s enough for this evening. There will be plenty of time later,” Xavier said simply, as Hermione tried to catch her breath.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You denied me something I needed so I had to take matters into my own hands. Women like you need to learn your place…to understand that you don’t get to do whatever you please.” His eyes hardened as they swept over her. “The pain will only get worse. Ceely will bring you a potion.”

She looked up at him, his face was set in a neutral expression as if he hadn’t just done… whatever that had been.

“Why—why should I take it? Or trust you?” She managed to hiss between breaths.

“Because you want to live long enough to find out everything you need to know. You’ll do as you're told this time. If you don’t it won’t just be you who suffers the consequences.”

At those words, he gave her a curt nod and turned on his heels and Hermione felt the panic burst out of her.

“Wait! Iris. Where is she?”

He didn’t turn around, his back to her as he opened the door into a dim looking corridor. She could just make out scarlet wallpaper. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

His answer was like a slap to the face. “Good evening Miss Granger.”

With a snap, the door closed and she was once again surrounded by darkness.

Chapter 15: Hiraeth

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: Hiraeth

“The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

--

Harry sat at his desk at Headquarters, hands rooted in his hair as he leaned over the briefing. His third cup of coffee was growing cold, but he took another sip. His sleep last night had been anything but restful.

He only looked up when Seamus rushed into the cubicle, bags under his eyes and uniform dishevelled.

“Late night?”

“You can say that,” Seamus huffed, as he rubbed his bleary eyes. “Reckon I’m gonna need to harass Vera for some of the stamina potion.”

The two of them didn’t speak much after that. Which suited Harry, his anxiety was getting the better of him that day. It had killed him not to stop and check on Iris that morning, but he knew if he had, he’d never have been able to tear himself away.

Around seven they headed into conference room two. He let out a sigh of relief at being the first ones there and he sat strategically so he wouldn't have to see if people stared and hunkered down in his seat. Another wave of relief came when Stella took the seat on the other side of him and shot him a quick smile.

Soon the room was full, with almost the entire team present, even Dawlish who had voluntarily returned from his holiday in order to help, his ears sunburnt from the Spanish sun. Right as Harry declined one of the cauldron cakes that were being passed around, Remus entered the room and the door swiftly closed behind him. Harry that Marta, thankfully appeared to not have the pensieve with her. He breathed a little easier knowing what they watched last night wouldn’t be shown to the entire department.

“Good morning everyone. Thank you all for coming early on such short notice, I know this was not the original plan.” A weary Remus addresses the room with a small smile “I know it has been a rather intense few days. But we’ll not be slowing down until we’ve found Ms Everdeen, also known as Ms Granger.”

The room stayed mercifully silent, but Harry still swore that he could hear people’s eyeballs rotating towards him.

“I want to thank you all for your tireless work. As of this morning we have some other leads to follow up. Most importantly, we have an image of a potential suspect. Thanks to Marta, Stella, Harry and the help of Ms Abbott, we were able to interview the only witness. She didn’t see the perpetrator that evening, but may have seen him before. From another interview conducted by Seamus we have reason to suspect he could be connected. Marta, can you please pull up the image?”

Using her wand, Marta projected a series of still images of that strange man from Iris's memory. “This is the man. We’re not sure exactly what date this was, but have reason to believe it wasn’t more than a few days ago,” Remus explained. “From the interview with Ms Granger’s co-worker, we know a man was asking about a book, and that this had the owner and Hermione… ‘on edge’ was the term he used. In the retrieved memory there was a reference to him asking about a book, though we don’t have a title, or know if it in fact was in the possession of Ms Granger, or Ms Mackenzie.

“For today, the two most important things will be, first, Anderson’s team circulating the image among their contacts with Dawlish, who was kind enough to come back to help, and second, trying to find out more about this book.”

His gaze moved around the room once more and he nodded to Anderson, who left the room.

“A reminder: this is all a theory for right now, so as always, keep your minds open to all possibilities.” Remus then handed the floor to Malfoy and Vera who gave their report on the spellwork that was used. Harry’s stomach clenched at hearing how Hermione was overpowered, but he was relieved that, as suspected, there was no trace of any illegal curses. After Vera finished, Malfoy went into detail on the blood magic that had been used to seal Iris’s room.

“It’s a rare spell, but it appears to be from the Secrets of the Darkest Art. There are only a few in circulation and one of them is apparently still missing from the Hogwarts library,” Malfoy said as his eyed landed on Harry.

Harry knew she’d stolen several books at the end of sixth year. Ron had made a comment about her becoming a book thief and Hermione had snapped at him that she would return them after the war.

A copy of the book was held up by Vera. The crimson cover immediately brought up another memory: Hermione curled up on the red sofa in the tent on one of the many cold November nights, eyes red rimmed and glassy from being awake all night. He remembered that he’d tried to pry it from her hands. That he’d threatened to throw her over his shoulder. He made himself tune back in as Malfoy continued.

“...a complex and difficult one to conjure and would have required pre-planning. She would have had to take a small or even a trace amount,” Malfoy swallowed and looked down at his notes before continuing. “of the child's blood in order to create the barrier. This may have been done years in advance. It would only activate with the contact of her own blood and be disarmed with contact by someone who shares DNA with a person whose blood was used in the first instance.”

Harry was grateful when Malfoy stopped there; he could sense that at this point all the eyes in the room were on him without having to lift his head. That was why he’d been able to get to Iris. Of course she would think of something like that. Hermione may have been living as a Muggle for the most part, but it was clear from this and the solid wards that had been in place that she’d remained a witch where it counted.

After everyone was assigned their tasks for the day, they split up. Harry was grateful that, other than Dawlish stopping by to give his shoulder a quick squeeze and say hello to him and Seamus, everyone seemed to leave him be.

It was already approaching nine. They would be going to Edinburgh for eleven to meet with the shop owner, Annie who had been in Iris’s memory and Simon, whom Seamus had already interviewed. The prospect of sitting at his desk to kill time when he felt all this pent up anxiety made it impossible to sit still.

When Seamus left to run something by Stella and Terry, Harry didn’t let himself second guess his next move. Unlocking the file under his desk, he grabbed what he needed and swiftly moved through the row of cubicles to what was referred to as the memory room. In recent years, the department had invested a substantial amount of galleons into tools that would help with investigating crimes: pensieves. Marta and another team member, Phillip were the experts, but all of them had received training on preserving their own memories in order to look back on a case.

Each of them had been given the supplies in order to store their memories in specially designed jars that could then be used for the communal pensieve that the department owned.

Harry knew that his memory of finding Iris would likely not be needed for future use, but he felt the need to put it aside regardless. Locking the door behind him he approached the stone basin, nothing like the new sleek one Marta carried around.

He grabbed his wand and pressed it against his temple, pulling the memory of finding Iris and then the next morning at Hermione’s flat. He dumped them into the swirling white mist, not having it in him to go back and relive it right now. Instead he put them in the speciality holding jars, which always reminded Harry of Muggle test tubes. He would then have to label and store it in the special crate that each of them had, to be locked up at his desk.

He felt a pang writing the date and casefile: Everdeen. It did not sit right with him, but that was the assigned name. Using his hands instead of his wand, he slotted them into place as the crate expanded and then compressed to take in the new memories. Harry flicked through the different slots and his eyes passed over the familiar selection: Misc. While not an official policy, Harry knew from others in the department that they too had used this extra room for their own personal memories, when not interfering with other work, of course. And within reason -there had been a rather embarrassing memo that had circulated after a now sacked trainee had been caught using the pensieve for inappropriate purposes.

Harry glanced at his watch, he had one hour. He let his fingers trace over the bottled memories until they landed on the one inscribed ‘Mirror.’ Without letting himself overthink if he should or shouldn’t do it, he pulled out the glass vial and used his wand to transfer it to the misty bowl in front of him. He sucked in a gasp of air, then plunged straight into his past.

His feet landed on the hard stone, though his body hardly felt the impact. Stone walls surrounded him, and when he glanced towards the heavy oak door it banged open. He had the surreal experience of watching himself from three years before burst into the empty classroom, followed by Ron and Neville who were heaving under the weight of a massive canvas-wrapped object. He stood back, a ghost, as the three of them carefully set the object down at the back of the small room.

Ron bent over panting, his hands on his knees. “Bloody hell that thing’s heavy.”

Neville sat down and wiped his forehead with his shirt. Even though his present self couldn’t feel it, he remembered how uncharacteristically hot that day had been. None of them were used to being at Hogwarts in early July. “Right, so we just leave it here? Like McGonagall said?” Neville was looking towards Harry’s past self.

His past self nodded absently while not taking his eyes from the object in front of them. “You want to look at it,” Ron stated, light brows drawn together.

The other Harry shrugged. Harry still remembered how his fingers itched to tear the canvas from its surface. Yet the depth of his desire had also frightened him.

There was a beat of silence. Ron gave them an impish grin. “Well... she never said we couldn’t? Might be our only chance to see it before it’s moved after the summer.”

“I can hardly believe it’s back at the castle,” his younger self said with a sigh. Anticipation and nerves had flooded his body, Harry felt the echoes of it even now. Apparently like his eleven year old self, he couldn’t resist the appeal. “I think we should,” he added softly, finally turning to look back at his friends.

Neville shrugged. “Just a quick look. Can’t hurt right?”

Ron grinned. “Reckon I won’t be Head boy this time or Quidditch captain… maybe I’ll have upgraded the fantasy to Minister of Magic.”

Neville and his past self grinned. “You’d never want to do that much paperwork,” Harry said. Ron rolled his eyes, then the three of them worked together to pull off the canvas, finally revealing the gold mirror that held so much promise. All three of them backed away slowly.

“Right, so who’s first?” Neville asked apprehensively.

Ron looked between the two of them, “Suppose I’ll go if neither of you are volunteering.”

Harry and Neville backed up further, and Ron gingerly stepped in front of the ornate frame. Both versions of Harry watched Ron’s face as it simultaneously lit up and his eyes grew glassy. The room was completely silent as Ron scanned the mirror for several long minutes. Finally he released a shuddered breath and stepped away.

His jovial nature from a few minutes ago was gone, replaced with a presence familiar to all of them since the war.

Ron didn’t make eye contact with them, but mumbled something about finding some food, and quickly left the room. Both versions of himself and Neville watched him leave.

Harry now knew what Ron had seen, and had discussed it months later with Ron after a few bottles of firewhisky -something that had become too common an occurrence for him at that time. “It was us standing around, then we all sat down for a family dinner. Just a family dinner. Except…” His composure slipped as he started to cry. It was one of the first times Harry had seen Ron fully lose it since right after the war, and over Hermione disappearing. “Everyone was there. Fred-” he choked out as he rubbed a hand across his face. “He was messing about with George, taking the mickey out of Percy. I can’t believe I ever took that for granted. That I’d wanted such... trivial...” He’d paused, tears falling over his freckled face. “Because really what does it matter? Without…” he had trailed off.

Ron didn’t need to explain to Harry. It was almost impossible to get through life without losing someone you loved deeply. He knew that more than most people; that it might be the singular worst feeling to want something so simple, like a family meal with everyone present, yet have it be so completely out of reach.

“Did you see her?” he’d finally forced himself to ask.

Ron nodded. “Yeah...”

“What was she like?” he managed to ask, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

Ron had looked over at him, his eyes bloodshot. “Happy,” he said quietly, eventually adding. “She was right there, sitting between us. Like always.”

Harry forced himself back to the memory he was currently standing in. Both Harrys saw Neville swallow nervously. “I guess that wasn’t very promising,” his past self joked weakly.

Neville gave him a nervous smile but didn’t reply. He moved to stand in front of the mirror. Neville’s reaction was less extreme, he simply smiled sadly at the reflection that greeted him. Harry never asked, but he imagined what Neville saw was not so different from what Harry had seen all those years ago. His parents may not be dead, but he’d never really known them as they were before. As they should be.

Past Harry turned to give Neville some privacy, only turning back when he felt Neville’s hand on his shoulder. His past self and Neville exchanged knowing looks.

“I’m gonna catch up with Ron. You have the map?” Neville asked, his voice shaky. Harry tapped his pocket in response. “Is he headed towards the kitchen?”

They checked the map, and noted Ron was headed outside the castle moving quickly, already almost to the Black Lake. “Right, I’ll go get him and come back for you. Maybe we can head to the kitchen after?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Neville departed, leaving just the two Harrys with the mirror. He watched another version of him take a deep breath, then move slowly towards the mirror. His present self took in the look of pure astonishment and happiness on his own face. He approached, standing next to him so that he to could see what was in the mirror again.

There was wonderment on the other Harry’s face as he saw Hermione next to him. Even now she took his breath away. Her chestnut curls hanging down her back, warm brown eyes meeting his as she smiled back at them. She tilted her head up towards the mirror version of him. His other self looked sideways in disbelief. The realness made him turn and check, just as he’d done at eleven.

Both of them watched in awe as Hermione reached up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. A moment later another person appeared. Harry had braced for it, but he saw his past self physically reel backwards in utter disbelief as a toddler wandered into the frame. A tiny girl in a rainbow outfit similar to what Teddy used to wear -one of those little jumpsuits. The child could be no more than two. Her wavy hair was pulled into a ponytail at the top of her head in such a way that reminded him of a fountain spout. Her rosy cheeks were round with baby fat, tiny teeth noticeable in her open grin. Green eyes shining with glee at seeing them, and she reached out her pudgy small hands up to the version of him in the mirror who quickly bent down to swoop her up.

No sound came from the mirror, but the little girl was clearly squealing with delight as she pressed her face into his. His mirror self was acting of its own accord as both Harrys watched, making the toddler giggle by blowing raspberries on her neck. He didn’t bother to look at his other self, knowing he would just see himself in a state of complete shock, instead he moved closer to the mirror as he took in her familiar face. Knowing without a doubt that it was her. He didn’t need to race home and open the photo album to be sure. He would know her anywhere.

Harry had seen his daughter before... She was one of his greatest desires even before he had known she existed. How was that possible?

He watched helplessly alongside himself, as the image continued. His mirror self continued to hold Iris, Hermione leaned over to pepper kisses on their daughter’s hair before turning to plant a quick kiss on his lips. Harry let himself stay for what he knew would come next. More people entered the frame. His parents and Sirius… as they would be now. Starting to grey at the temples, but vivacious and alive.

His mother tenderly cupped Iris’s face as she still sat in his mirrored self’s arms. Seeing their profiles side by side, he thought he saw what Andie was talking about. It was strange how Iris could look so much like Hermione but when he saw her right next to his mother, there was a resemblance beyond their green eyes that was hard to place.

His current self knew that it would feel like an eternity passed as he watched an impossible vision play out in front of him. Except as he watched the memory, he now felt another emotion: Anger. Worse than just anger -bitterness. The same emotion he’d been battling with since the day before, as half of the image that he had seen was real. His younger self stood there, oblivious to the fact that the child in the mirror was real, already out in the world without him.

Harry forced himself out of the memory before what he knew would come next: Ron and Neville finding his past self sitting in front of the mirror, unshed tears blurring his vision. He’d been grateful when neither of them said a word, simply covering the mirror up. The three of them had left, locking the room as they’d been instructed, leaving Hogwarts without the meal they had planned on -all of them suddenly not hungry.

Back in the small room at Headquarters, Harry clenched the side of the pensieve, his breath coming in hard and fast as if he had just sprinted across the Quidditch pitch. He was no stranger to anger. This was different, hurt in a visceral and all consuming way. Hermione had always been the one person who stood by him, when no one else had. She’d always been there when it counted. Harry had been heartbroken when Hermione had disappeared all those years ago, but never angry with her. Now he was so filled with it, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His brain was a constant barrage of asking himself what he could have done to make her do this. It was all too much. The image of an even tinier Iris fitting perfectly in his arms was burned into his brain.

“Pull yourself together,” he hissed to himself. Taking one last deep breath, he put on what he thought of as his ‘Auror’ face, grabbed his things and stalked out of the room.

“Just so you know Remus is coming. Should be there already with someone from MLO,” Seamus said, barely keeping up with Harry’s strides.

Harry nodded. “Do you have the address?” They were almost at the apparition station.

Seamus glanced at him. “Yeah… Everything okay Potter?”

Harry swallowed a grimace. “Fine,” he said. Which was the truth. What other choice did he have? He grabbed Seamus’s arm at the gate and allowed himself to be transported across the country.

They appeared in an overgrown, but beautiful garden. Harry could faintly smell the sea mixed with the climbing roses on the trellis going up the wall in front of them, next to a wooden door painted a cheery yellow. “Did Remus say to knock? Or send a patronus?” Harry asked, taking in their surroundings.

“Knock, I think, being Muggles and all. Although I think we should go around to the front. There-” He pointed at a gate to their left. The two of them made their way around the side of the small home to the front whose grass was just slightly overgrown.

Harry took in the view of the quiet street before turning back towards the cottage. “This is where you interviewed the bloke? Simon?”

“Yeah. He was house sitting for the sisters who were in Paris. He’s a second cousin or somethin’,” Seamus replied as they slowly approached the front steps. Harry remembered from the report. Annie Mackenzie was the person Hermione had worked for these last years and according to Iris, she and the sister, Rosie were the closest thing to family the two of them had. His entire body grew tense when they got to the front stoop. What had Hermione said about his absence over the last five years?

Seamus was the one to knock. A moment later a petite, middle aged woman with silvery blonde hair answered the door. It was obvious that she had recently been crying, her eyes rimmed red as they flitted nervously between him and Seamus.

“Hello ma’am. We’re with the special task force that’s been sent. Our supervisor should already be here with another colleague.”

The women gave them a genuine smile though Harry could sense her nerves from where he stood. “Aye. Of course. Please come in. We’re so glad you’re here to help.” She had a soothing Scottish lilt, though her voice caught on the word help. The two of them came inside past a narrow hallway into a more formal living room. “The others are just in the parlour, this way,” the woman said as they followed her through the warm, mostly pink room, which would have reminded him of Umbridge's office, except for the distinct lack of cat imagery. Instead there were paintings, mostly of flowers and landscapes.

One painting in particular looked similar to the artwork he’d seen Iris make the night before. They went through a rustic country kitchen into a less formal sitting room.

Harry noted Remus and the Muggle Liaison Office commissioner Margaret Henson sitting on one of the love seats. A man with pale reddish hair, whom Harry assumed to be Simon, sat on the other sofa, while a woman who could only be the other sister with matching silvery strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a low bun paced in front of the unlit fireplace. Her face was flushed, cheeks ruddy and a little fuller in figure than her sister. There was a grace to her features that made you want to look at her, though at the moment it was twisted in a mix of fury and fear. Whatever they’d been talking about came to a grinding halt as they entered the room.

“Shall I put on some more tea?” asked the woman who’d let them in.

“Thank you, Mrs Callaway. That would be wonderful,” Remus answered, standing up from the sofa. “Hello, come in, let us make introductions.”

“Oh I’ll grab some more chairs as well, just a moment.” Mrs Callaway, who Harry deduced from the last name would be Rosie, made quick work of bringing in a couple of kitchen chairs. The other woman, Annie was staring into the empty fireplace and barely glanced their way. “Mrs Mackenzie, Mrs Callaway, these are my colleagues, Mr Finnigan and Mr Potter. Mr Winters, I believe you are already acquainted with Mr Finnigan.” The two men exchanged friendly nods as they all took seats around the coffee table.

“Lovely to meet you both,” Rosie said softly before she left the room once more.

“We were just speaking about the incident that happened at the shop. Mr Winter was going over the gentleman who had been coming in quite regularly to ask about a certain bo-”

“It’s him. I know it,” Annie muttered sharply, cutting Remus off. “Sorry, but it is. I can feel it.” She had resumed her pacing and looked mutinous at the mention of the man Harry could only assume they’d begun to refer to as Captain Hook. He looked around the room and noticed that Simon watched Annie apprehensively.

Annie had spotted that too apparently. “Don’t look at me like that Simon! I’ve been telling you for weeks that I don’t like the looks of him and now look what’s happened!” Her eyes were red-rimmed like Rosie’s but she looked furious instead of despondent. “And you! Why is this not in the papers? Why won’t you tell us where Jane and Iris are?” She had turned to Remus who took her wrath in stride.

“As I’ve explained, we’ll get to that part shortly.”

“No! It has to be now. They are safe aren’t they? They're not in hospital?”

“Again Mrs Mackenzie, I cannot provide details at this mom—”

“Then what can you do? I don’t care about the shop! Jane and Iris are what matter right now! Why is she not here? Why has Simon not heard from her?”

Harry could see Remus mulling over his options. “Mr Winters. I want to thank you again for your help and speaking with Mr Finnigan, he will see you out now if you don’t mind. There’s some sensitive information related to the er—” he turned to Margaret.

“Insurance,” she said, making eye contact with Remus and looking towards Simon. “That is why I’m here.”

“Oh right,” Simon said before he stood up awkwardly.

“I don’t care about the bloody insurance,” Annie shouted. Rosie had come back in, she glanced around nervously before hastily placing the tea tray on the table.

“Annie...”

“No! Rose, they won’t tell us anything about Janie or Iris.”

“We will in a moment but we need to cover some things first,” Remus said calmly, Harry wasn’t sure how he did it but he had to hand it to him; he had a way of diffusing tension that was almost a magic of its own.

Annie clearly wanted to say more, physically biting her lips to keep from speaking, several veins now standing out on her temple.

“Right, Mr. Finnigan, do you mind showing Mr Winters out? Maybe running through his statement outside one last time?”

Both men nodded. Simon gave Annie an awkward wave before dropping a kiss on Rosie’s head as she took his place on the loveseat.

No one spoke until they heard the sound of the front door close.

“You are correct Mrs Mackenzie. Insurance’s not important right now. We’re here because of Miss Everdeen and her daughter Iris.”

Both sisters inhaled at the same time, Annie moving towards the loveseat to collapse next to Rosie as they blindly reached for one another’s hand. In that split second Harry could see all the love that these two women had for Hermione and his daughter.

“Oh dear God. Oh dear God,” Rosie murmured, her eyes filling with tears.

“First I want to assure you that Iris is safe. She’s at a secure location. No harm came to her and she didn’t see the attacker.” There was an exhalation of relief.

“And Jane? Is she alright?” Rosie whispered.

“We have every reason to believe she is alive, but we currently are unsure of her whereabouts.”

“That f*cking bastard!” Annie yelled, jumping up from the couch. “I’ll kill him—”

“Annie, please,” Rosie cried. “We don’t know anything yet.”

Annie stood looking at the three of them, her eyes burning. “You do know it’s him right?”

“We have our suspicions... but if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat? There’s more to it than that. I need to ask you some questions about Jane.”

Annie stood staring at Remus incredulously before Rosie tugged on her arm and she once again sat back on the sofa stiff as a board, looking like she very much minded.

“We need to ask you what you know about Jane’s past. What has she told you about herself?”

Both women stared at Remus speechless. “Well…” Rosie started before trailing off, looking at Annie helplessly. “Jane has always been rather… private.”

There was another silence before Annie spoke. “Yes, we’ve tried to respect her privacy.” Rosie shot Annie a quick look that passed between them instantly. “Well, as much as we can,” she added.

“So you don’t know where she was born? Or where she went to school?”

“Well, I know she’s from just outside London. Her parents were dentists but they, ah— do not currently have a relationship. They’re all the way in Australia. Don’t reckon she’s spoken to them since before she had the little one. I pushed her once…” Annie looked towards the fireplace. “She, uh, got very emotional so I let it be…”

There was a heavy silence with just the sound of Rosie’s sniffles before the front door opened and Harry heard Seamus make his way back into the room, nodding at Remus.

“And school? Did she mention where she attended?” Remus continued.

“Aye. Somewhere remote from the sounds of it. Again she wasn’t very forthcoming. Never got a name from her. We assumed it might be some posh spot up in the wilderness,” Annie replied, her face was back into a hard mask of concern.

“I always assumed it was Gordonstoun or the like... Janie always seems to know her way around the outdoors, much better than you or I!” Rosie said with a watery laugh, before her eyes filled with tears again.

“Yeah, still didn’t make me want to go camping ever again,” Annie muttered. “But frankly, I’m not sure why we are focusing on this. Jane told me she had never met that man…she never let on that she’d known him previously... if that’s what you’re getting at?”

“Not exactly, Mrs Mackenzie,” Remus sighed, turning to glance at Margaret, who had started rifling through her leather bag pulling out several scrolls of paper. She nodded at Remus before turning to the two sisters across from them.

“Mrs Mackenzie, Mrs Callaway: did Miss Everdeen ever mention magic to you?”

The two women stared blankly at them. Harry saw Annie turn to look at him and Seamus, taking them in properly for the first time. She appeared to be looking for confirmation that she’d heard his superiors correctly. He swallowed nervously under her piercing gaze before she turned her blue eyes back to Remus.

“I beg your pardon?”

No one in the room made a sound. Harry could hear the faint tick of a clock but the sisters appeared to be frozen in place. Remus and Margaret simply sat in silence. Harry had witnessed only one other meeting where the MLO had to be involved to the extent where they actively told people about magic. In most of the cases they dealt with, any Muggle witnesses' memories would usually just be wiped of the incident. He wasn’t sure what the endgame would be here.

Both sisters turned to look at one another, appearing to communicate wordlessly before turning back to once again look towards his superiors.

Remus leaned forward, meeting their gaze. “I know this will be quite the shock, but please, if you will let us explain.” He gestured towards Margaret who began the familiar spiel about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy that was always performed at these meetings which was a part of Clause 23.

Annie and Rosie had a series of emotions from confusion to disbelief cross their faces at eerily similar intervals as Margaret went on to explain what they needed to know for the purposes of the investigation, what they could and could not ask, how they were subject to possible memory removal on breach of information from the day’s meeting.

“I know that is a lot to digest. Especially in light of the stress you’re under already,” Remus said gently when Margaret finished.

“You must be joking,” Annie replied, disbelief evident in her voice.

“It is a lot to take in. We are aware of that. Jane would have also been shocked by this news as a child. Her family background is non-magical, but she is indeed a witch... the same will be true for Iris.” The sisters looked as if they’d been stunned. Harry felt for them, learning about magic could do that to a person.

“Can either of you remember a time involving Jane or Iris, where maybe something happened... something that you couldn’t explain.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Rosie suddenly jerked her head up, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

Annie looked over at her sister, bewildered. “What?!”

Rosie stuttered as she wrung her hands in her lap. “I... I thought I was seeing things. But… oh my god!”

“What? What is it?” Annie asked forcibly.

Rosie shook her head before finally sputtering out. “I thought I—I was seeing things... getting like Da.”

“What was it Mrs Callaway?” Remus asked in the same calm manner as before.

“I was watching the wee one. It— it was when you two were at that conference in March,” she said, turning to Annie. “She wanted a biscuit. I explained to her that she would have to wait until after supper.” Suddenly, Rosie stood up on her shaky legs and sprinted into the kitchen.

“Wha—” Before Annie could finish her sentence, Rosie had raced back in brandishing what appeared to be a blue ceramic jar. She held out the jar to Remus who tentatively took it from her.

“She—I... I left her downstairs in front of the tele... to put away the laundry. I came back down and she was standing in the kitchen and the jar... it was floating in the air. Just above her. Iris was reaching for it. I shrieked and it fell to the ground... but it didn’t land on her or break... it seemed to... seemed to swerve and bounce. Poor thing. I startled her and she started crying.” Rosie was staring at Remus and Margaret, her eyes blown even wider, before turning back to her sister. “I thought that maybe I was losing my mind...” Harry didn’t know what to make of this, but it made sense that Iris would have already started showing some signs of magic by now. Most children did. He wondered if Hermione knew.

Annie, who’d been bright pink with confusion and anger was now drained of colour.

“Annie?” Rosie placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

Annie was silent staring off in the direction of the fireplace. For the first time, Harry noticed the picture frames on the ledge. “I’m just thinking about Jane... there... have been things. I just. Aye Christ.” Annie shook her head and looked back at Remus, her expression apprehensive.

“I take it there has probably been more than one moment that you cannot explain.”

Annie nodded.

“Mrs. Mackenzie, Mrs Call—”

“Please. Call us Rosie and Annie,” Rosie cut in speaking softly.

“Of course, Annie and Rosie. I believe it would be best if I gave you some more information about Jane’s past. It might fill in some of your questions. I also hope that you may be able to jog your memory for some more information on anything even if it does not seem connected, that might help us locate her.”

“And Iris?” Annie asked intensely.

“I promise to tell you everything I can but please take my word that she is being taken care of,” Remus assured her.

Annie’s mouth tightened and Rosie looked between Remus and her sister worriedly.

“I would prefer more than your word,” Annie said.

Remus nodded agreeably. “We can arrange for you to speak with her after the meeting. We don’t generally use telephones in the magical world but we can arrange something.”

“Sir—”

Remus turned at the interruption. “Yes Seamus?”

All the eyes in the room landed on the Irish wizard next to Harry. “I ehm, I have a mobile. I can help arrange that now if you would like?” This shouldn’t have taken Harry so by surprise as Seamus was always eager to try new Muggle technology.

Remus seemed relieved at this suggestion. “Thank you, that would be wonderful. Floo Andie from Headquarters and she’ll let you in.”

Seamus shot up from his chair to leave, and had almost left the room before turning on his heels. “On it. Mrs—ah. I mean Rosie or Annie, can I get the home number?” Rosie nodded as she and Seamus quickly made their way into the other room before the sound of Seamus apparating crackled through the first floor, startling Annie near the fireplace.

There was another silence at his departure as Rosie re-appeared, the same shell-shocked look on her face.

“Andie?” Annie asked, breaking the silence, her eyebrows drawn.

Remus nodded and gave both women a tired smile. “My mother in law. Iris is currently with her and my son, Teddy. He’s five.” Before they could ask more questions Remus kept going. “I will explain a bit more about that and where she is staying and why. But first please give me a moment to explain a bit more about Jane.”

Rosie joined her sister on the sofa and Harry saw as they grasped each other’s hands tightly again.

“First. I should tell you that Jane Everdeen is not her real name. Her name is Hermione Granger. Jane is her middle name.”

“We know that,” Rosie said quietly as Annie looked down at her lap, her face tight.

“You do?” Remus' surprised voice replied. Harry saw Margaret jot something down in her notebook.

“Well… technically. Jane didn’t tell us per se…” Annie interrupted her sister briskly. “Look, that part isn’t important. She went by Jane and we didn’t question it.”

Remus nodded, not pushing the subject further. “Earlier we mentioned that she wasn’t born into a magical family. Hermione would not have known she was a witch until she got her letter to Hogwarts—”

“Oh my god,” Rosie whispered. She and Annie looked at one another again.

“Did she tell you about it?” Remus asked gently.

“Yes... but we—we thought it was all make believe…a story,” Rosie squeaked.

“So you're saying all those tales she was always telling the wee one... they’re all true?”

“Yes. We don’t know exactly what she’s told you or her daughter, but I have a feeling if anything, Hermione would be more likely to downplay than exaggerate what went on in her schooling years.”

Annie’s face flashed with shock before flushing with anger. “What does that mean exactly?”

“In these stories did she ever mention an evil wizard?” Remus inquired as he met Annie’s intense gaze.

Rosie nodded but seemed unable to speak. Annie finally answered, concern now also flashing across her face. “Yes. What’s his face...”

Finding her words, Rosie spoke up. “Lord something. Voldermor?”

“Voldemort?” Remus supplied.

“Aye,” Annie and Rosie answered at the same time.

Remus went on to explain to the two women how Voldemort came to power a second time while Hermione was at school. He did not get into extraneous detail but rather summarised the events that took place at Hogwarts. Harry was grateful that he didn’t mention names or point him out. He had watched the two sisters and the sparks of recognition as they took in what his superior told them.

“She was instrumental in bringing him down in what we are now calling the Second Wizarding War,” Remus finished.

Annie’s face had hardened again as Remus recounted the rise of the evil wizard. Rosie looked dumbstruck. “Janie… fought in a war?”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. She was at the front of the final battle.”

“We never would have won without her.” The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could think it through. But it was the truth.

The women turned to him as if seeing him for the first time. No one knew how to respond. Remus gave him a sad knowing smile before continuing.

“What we are telling you… does it explain anything?” Remus asked.

There was a long silence before Rosie spoke. “I don’t know… I—I mean she never said anything…”

“It does,” Annie said quietly. She stared into the empty fireplace, her face impossible to read.

Rosie physically recoiled in surprise at her sister’s words. “It does? I thought you said you thought it was—”

“I didn’t know. I just assumed. We still don’t know that part either.” The two of them looked at one another, seeming to communicate in their shorthand again with a series of facial expressions. Annie finally turned back to Remus. “Never mind… It does explain some things. She’s always been evasive about her past and I ah... sensed something.” Annie sighed. “I mean the girl is as jumpy as a barn cat for one…”

“Poor thing, always startles so easily,” Rosie added, tears welling up once more. “I mean when we travel or go out, you know how she is,” she said, turning to her sister. “The slightest sound wakes her and she has such a hard time relaxing… especially in crowds when she has the wee one...the time at the festival.” The sisters exchanged another pained look.

Harry grimaced at this information, recognizing his own emotional scars from the aftermath of being on the run for so long. The wards they’d found at her flat. The sisters’ anecdotes settled over all of them. The silence was cut by the shrill ring of the telephone.

Rosie jumped up and ran to the kitchen to answer.

“Hello? Oh sweet child it’s you!” They heard her exclaim from the other room. Annie muttered something about grabbing the cordless before stiffly getting up from the sofa.

“You are! Oh that sounds lovely! Aye! I can hear him. Oh Iris, you are well then? You promise? We’ve missed you!”

Remus gave Harry a tentative smile and Harry did his best to settle himself while the women assured themselves that Iris was alright. Their words were still sitting heavily on what felt like his thin reservoir of self composure.

Both women could be heard on the phone, but Harry had a hard time following the conversation as they both interjected and spoke quickly, nor could he hear what Iris was saying. A little time passed and then Annie re-entered the room, a cordless phone pressed to her ear.

“Hmm. Aye, Iris that does sound wonderful. Alright, you said you wanted to speak to someone?” Annie looked at them questioningly, before settling on Harry. It was hard to read the expression on the older woman’s face but Harry could feel her eyes as they took him in, as if she could see everything.

“Alright love, I’m so glad to hear from you. You’ll call us if you need anything. Aye, we’ll see you soon. I can promise you that... Here he is.”

Annie said nothing, her eyes not leaving his as she passed the phone to his outstretched hand.

“Hello?” he said, pressing the chunky beige telephone up to his ear, he tore his eyes from Annie but continued to feel the weight of her gaze.

“UNCLE HARRY!” he heard in the background—clearly Teddy but he heard Iris giggling and breathing into the receiver.

“Hello Teddy,” he said, shooting Remus a grin.

“I’m here too!” Iris’s high little voice piped in.

His grin widened. “Of course you are. Hello Iris. You having a good day?”

Iris gave a loud huff. “Why didn’t you visit us this morning?” Her anxious tone pulled tightly at the tangle of guilt inside him.

“YEAH!” Teddy shouted in the background.

“Sorry about that, I wanted to but I had to be at work early today.”

Undeterred Iris replied, “You should have woken me up.” Harry almost wanted to laugh. Of course his daughter would be this stubborn and he knew he was at least partially to blame for that.

“Well I’ve heard it’s rude to wake up sleeping princesses.”

Iris giggled through the phone. “Will we see you today?”

“I hope so. There’s a lot going on but I’ll try my best.”

“Are you coming to the party?” Iris asked.

“Wha—” Before Harry could finish the question, he heard Teddy in the background. “THE BURROW!”

sh*t. He’d forgotten about the party. “Uh, I dunno you two. I am not sur—”

“Oh please! Will you come?” Iris interjected, pleading.

“Er—I’m not sure if I can with work… also I haven’t talked to Andie and I’m not sure you two are going—”

“Yes we are!” both children managed to yell into the receiver at the same time, causing Harry to momentarily remove the phone from his ear. He allowed himself the sigh he’d been holding in and rubbed his free hand under his glasses trying to think straight.

“There’s a lot going on right now you two, I’ll have to discuss it with Andie,” he said finally.

He heard Teddy groan in the background. “Oh but… we really want to go,” Iris’s tone was heartbroken.

“I know you do Buttercup, but it might not be the right time.”

“That doesn’t make any sense Uncle Harry! We always go to the Burrow!” Teddy hollered, his voice thankfully not right at the mouth piece.

“I know but this isn't a normal time right now—”

“WHY?!” Both children were back to yelling. Trying to have a rational conversation with children under the age of five over the phone was a feat akin to defeating a dark lord.

Harry pivoted, “Alright, I’m not saying no.” Cheers erupted on the other end. “But I’ll have to floo back and check with your Gran later.”

“Do you promise to come back later?” she asked quickly.

“I solemnly swear.”

Iris gave another delighted giggle, “Oh good.”

He could still hear Teddy carrying on in the background. “Tell Teddy I can hear him but I do have to get back to work. So does Seamus, but I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright.” Hearing the note of anxiety in her voice made his chest tighten.

He kept his voice steady. “I promise Buttercup, I’ll try my hardest to be there soon. Alright?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly, and he could only just hear her over the background noise.

Harry heard Seamus’s voice and then the phone disconnected.

There was a long silence, Harry turned to pass the phone back to Annie but she just stared at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could also see Rosie standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

They held eye contact for a beat before all the colour drained from her face. “Christ. It’s you... You’re...” She stopped and continued staring before eventually turning towards her sister.

“Rosie it’s him.”

Rosie looked between Harry and Annie with her mouth slightly open before softly murmuring. “Oh dear god in Heaven.”

Annie looked back at Harry, looking just as stunned as when she’d been told about magic. “You’re Iris’s father.”

Chapter 16: The Burrow

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: The Burrow

Annie’s declaration hung in the room. Harry swallowed, unsure what to say.

Remus’s calm voice answered for him. “You are correct. Harry is Iris’s father. Which is why she’s staying with us.”

Annie looked between the two of them. “Are you two…?”

“No!” they said at the same time.

Remus sighed. “It’s a long story but I was good friends with Harry’s father. We are—well, family at this point. He's been a very important part of helping myself and my mother-in-law raise my son after his mother was killed in the war.”

“Oh my god,” Rosie whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

Harry stared at the floor, trying to steady his breathing.

“Well where the hell were you?” Annie’s question tore through the quiet room and through Harry.

“I can assure you Mrs MacKenzie, if Harry had known where he could have found Hermione… Jane, he would have. As for Iris, no one knew Miss Granger was with child when she left after the battle. We’re still uncertain why she wouldn’t have returned.”

“So you didn’t know?” Rosie finally asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said, sounding strangled to his own ears.

“Annie!” Rosie’s voice had jumped up several octaves. “You can’t just go ’round accusing people of things! Janie’s told us nothing but it hasn’t stopped you from—”

“Alright,” Annie cut in, but her voice was softer and pained. Harry still couldn’t bring himself to look at them, mortified at what they’d have assumed of him because why wouldn’t they?

“Christ,” he heard Annie mutter before she blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Harry nodded but continued looking at the floor, not trusting himself to catch anyone's eye.

“Potter, you said that when you came in. Of course. Harry Potter. That’s why I couldn’t find you.” At Annie’s statement, he finally looked up and saw that Rosie was crying and Annie was white as a sheet.

“What?” he managed to ask Annie, who sighed and sat down heavily on the loveseat.

Rosie came over from the doorway, sitting down next to her. “Just tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Harry was sitting up straight now, eyeing the woman nervously.

“After Iris was born. I—ah. I looked for you. Well, I looked you up.”

Harry's mouth dropped open at her words.

“I felt awful going behind Jane’s back like that. She was just so evasive about you. I worried... I mean now I know she survived a bloody war,” she sighed heavily before continuing. “But back then, I was trying to make sense of it. She was so skittish. Had all those awful markings... Even once we got close and she trusted me—us, she kept her cards close to her chest, if you know what I mean…”

Rosie grabbed her hand. “Go on. Tell him.”

Annie sighed heavily again. “We worried you might be some kind of criminal… or... I…”

Rose inhaled and teared up which made Annie’s voice start shaking. “Never mind that. What’s important is that I betrayed Jane’s trust. I never told her that I looked you up. I used my research connections, checked every system. Found nothing. As far as I could tell you didn’t exist. No property, no taxes… no death record. I never did tell Jane what I did,” she finished shakily.

“She told you my name?”

“Christ, no!” Annie groaned. “That’s what made me feel so awful about it.”

Remus and him exchanged looks. “How—?”

“After she had the little one. At the hospital. I stayed in the room with Iris for a moment and I noticed on the side table… she’d finally filled out the birth certificate. I knew I shouldn’t look, that it wasn’t my business. I just, I had to make sure they were safe… that if there was something malevolent that she wasn’t telling me, that I would know. I—I needed to know if we needed to keep our guard up. I—it’s not worth diving into right now, but we, ah—” Rosie started crying and a flash of pain went across Annie’s face.

“Oh don’t Rosie, you’ll set me off. We know first hand that you can never be too careful.” She released a shuddered breath. “I never found anything… so, I dunno. I didn’t tell her I’d looked. Turns out I just didn’t know where to look... you were in a parallel world to ours… I guess? Is that how it works?”

Remus nodded. “Not exactly parallel. But you would be right, Harry would likely not turn up in the non-wizarding records.”

Harry sat in shock until the sound of Seamus apparating into the house drew everyone’s attention.

“Ah Mr Finnigan, thank you for that,” Remus said as he entered the room.

Rosie wiped her tears as she smiled at him. “Yes, thank you. It helped being able to hear the wee one’s voice.”

“No worries, ma’am,” Seamus replied as he sat back down in the chair next to Harry.

“I know you likely have more questions. We’ll try to answer them as best we can but first I need to ask a few more questions,” Remus said, gently.

The sisters nodded. “Do you remember what the book was called that he was asking about?” Remus asked.

“I have it written down somewhere, it was Gaelic I know that,” Annie replied.

“Do you think Jane had any knowledge of it?”

Annie shook her head and sighed. “I couldn’t tell you. I mean she didn’t mention she was a witch... so I’m not really certain of anything right now…”

“So it’s possible?”

“Aye.”

“If she did have it. Is there a place she would keep it? We’ve searched but have come up empty handed so far.”

Annie sat up straight, her blue eyes wide. “Have you checked the wee one’s room?”

All of them nodded. It had been thoroughly checked after they’d retrieved Iris.

“The cupboard,” Annie and Rosie said in unison. Annie continued. “We used to hide things in there when it was our grandfather’s flat—when we were small.”

“Where?” Remus asked.

“Under the chest of drawers, in the cupboard. It blends into the floor but it’s there,” Annie told him, she appeared older, more weary, the fire in her eyes replaced with worry.

“Seamus? Has that been looked into?”

Seamus shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Right, that should be the next place we look. Maybe I’ll send you off there now Seamus. Margaret, why don’t we get the paperwork finished quickly. Ladies, if you have a bit more time I may have a couple more questions and want to be available to answer any more you may have before leaving,” he explained, and there was a flurry of movement. Harry felt like a large stone in a river as everyone rushed around him and he sat unmoving.

“You coming mate?” Seamus’s question and hand on his shoulder finally dislodged him from his thoughts.

“Er—”

“Harry will follow shortly,” Remus answered for him.

With a wave of goodbyes, it was now only the four of them left in the sitting room.

“Thank you again. You’ve been most helpful. I apologise for the shock of all the information we’ve had to throw at you. We won’t keep you much longer but wanted to follow up with a few more questions. With the suspect in question, is there any small detail you want to add, even if it seems insignificant?”

There was a beat before Annie answered. “I didn’t like the way he looked at her.” Her eyes hardened. “Like he knew something.”

Harry felt his blood run cold at her words.

Remus nodded. “It seems that he may have recognized her. We still can’t be certain of anything right now. Which brings me to my next question. Is there anyone else in Jane’s life that we should be aware of? Friends or…”

It took Harry a moment to understand what Remus meant and his stomach and fists clenched.

“Jane kept to herself a lot. I know she has a few friends at University. Nothing sticks out though,” Annie replied carefully.

“Oh,” Rosie stopped suddenly.

Annie turned towards her sister, confusion etched into her face “What—”

“I dunno…” Rosie bit down on her lip.

“Even if it’s small, we want to make sure we don’t miss any leads,” Remus stated.

“Well didn’t she go on a date not that long ago?” Rosie whispered to Annie.

Annie rolled her eyes. “Aye, she’d probably kill us for calling it that.”

“So Jane was seeing someone?” Remus asked carefully, sparing a glance at Harry.

“No!” “Possibly?” they replied simultaneously, which caused them to look at one another, seemingly not used to being on the wrong page.

Rosie twisted her hands anxiously at Annie’s startled face. “I dunno, I was just thinking. After the cards you pulled and Iris—”

“What about Iris?” Harry asked, attempting to keep his voice even.

“Oh, well she said something that I wasn’t certain about…”

“Anything you can tell us could be important,” Remus reassured her.

Rosie’s voice trembled as she spoke. “She said that her mummy was in love with someone… she wouldn’t say who, had that wee smile on her face. It was during one of our tea parties and I wasn’t sure if she was just being silly and pulling my leg but now…”

“When was this?” Remus asked, scribbling something down and Harry felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room.

“A few weeks ago I believe.”

“And you said there’s no one that Jane could be involved with? You don’t have any names?” Remus asked.

“Colin Ricter,” Annie stated, quietly.

“So there’s a possibility she’s involved with him?”

“Again, Janie keeps things close to her. She wouldn’t be likely to tell us unless things were serious. Claimed they were only working on a project together… he drove her up to Inverness for a research project,” Annie replied.

“Thank you. We will look into this as well.”

No one spoke after Remus. Harry very much wanted to break something.

“Are there any pressing questions that we can try and answer before we leave?” Remus said, filling the silence.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Annie asked bluntly, as Rosie gave a little sob

“We have no reason to believe otherwise,” Remus assured her.

“Is there a plan for the worst case?” Her words cut through Harry’s anger and he was back to feeling an unbearable dread.

“We haven’t let ourselves go there.”

“I bring it up because you’re going into the cupboard. Jane told me there were letters… and information in there, in case,” she said, speaking quickly. “Take those with you. I haven’t read them but I think I’m starting to understand what they contain.”

“Annie don’t talk like that,” Rosie whimpered, swiping at her tears.

“We have to be practical, Rosie, and think of Iris. Da always said hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” She patted Rosie’s knee and turned back to Remus.

“I do have another question,” Annie continued. “What exactly is a Mudblood? Is that to do with the stuff with what’s his name? From the stories?”

Harry sucked in a breath and found it hard to speak.

“Yes, you are correct. I assume you would be referring to the injury on her arm?” Annie nodded. “Hermione received that while fighting in the war. It is a horrible word, meant as a slur for those from a non-magical background.”

Harry shot out of his seat and began to pace the room. Fingers digging into his palms, as he tried not to think of that day.

“Who would do such a thing?” Rosie asked, horrified.

“Luckily the woman who hurt her is now dead,” Remus said gently. “I will leave you the contact for the Muggle Liaison Office if you need anything from us, though we will stay in touch.”

“Iris—”

“We will ensure you stay in contact with her.”

Harry had ended up near the fireplace, staring at the mantle loaded with photographs. Some appeared to date back almost a century, with various events and happy moments captured over the decades.

His eyes soon landed on two familiar faces. They were on a beach, the ocean behind them. Hermione sitting on a picnic blanket, smiling, the wind blowing her curls around her. Iris was in her lap and couldn’t be older than two. Her hair was more fair and wispy, and her small nose scrunched as she made a face for the camera.

He reached out a trembling hand to lightly touch the frame as he continued to absorb all the details. More than Iris’s face, it was the outfit that made him freeze, she was wearing a little rainbow jumpsuit. Just like the one… but how?

A hand gently touched his arm, catching him off guard. Rosie stood next to him, her eyes searching his.

“Your eyes. They’re the same,” she whispered, a hand coming to cover her mouth. “Oh, you’re a good one. I can sense it.”

Harry swallowed thickly, unsure how to respond.

“I’m so sorry. We made so many assumptions. I always felt in my bones, or rather hoped, you’d be good. Iris—” Her voice caught. “She’s a special little girl. She’s never wanted for anything except a good father… and I hoped, I hoped it would be someone like you.”

At her words, the carefully guarded composure he’d been attempting slipped, and the tears he’d been fighting all day clouded his vision.

“Oh, I’m sorry, this must be so hard on you. Would it be okay to give you a hug? It’s alright if you aren’t comfortable.”

Harry nodded, uncertain what else to do. Rosie wrapped her thin but surprisingly strong arms around him and held him tightly. He wasn’t used to hugging people he didn’t know well, but Rosie’s embrace was nice.

She pulled back and wiped away a few of her own stray tears. “We of course wish you could stay longer but understand: you must find Janie. She and Iris, well they’re like family to us.” She glanced at her sister and Remus who were talking on the other side of the room. “I’m sorry about my sister. She means well. She’s just—well she’s protective of Janie. She’s really quite soft, though she doesn’t like to show it.”

“I…”

He met Rosie’s eyes, who nodded understandingly. “It’s alright dear. Let’s hope Janie is found quickly and things can be sorted out. I hope there will be time to get to know you properly. I’ve always wondered who made up the other half of Iris, she… she’s one of a kind,” she finished with a warm smile.

“Yeah, she is,” he replied softly. Rosie was certainly right about that. She was one of a kind and he was grateful to be hers.

--

Harry and Remus apparated directly to Hermione’s flat. Harry noted that much of the original mess had been set right and he could get more of a sense of the place. The flat appeared larger without the mess, though it was still on the cramped side.

Multiple bookcases flanked the living room, a pink sofa and a brown leather armchair squished in. He noted a small television sat on a wardrobe with mismatched handles. A child-sized easel and an open wooden crate filled with toys showed Iris’s presence. All the art and photographs that hung on the wall remained scorched. Several voices floated down the hall, which gave away that the team was already at work.

He told Remus he would join in a minute and floo called Ron, who assured him that it would be fine at supper.

“Tell Andie to come around quarter after five. I’ll go earlier and talk to everyone. It’s a smaller crew than expected anyways. It’ll just be Bill’s family, George and Angie, us, plus we invited Neville and Hannah.”

“Thanks—that’s great. Not sure how long I’ll be, but I’ll do my best.”

After saying a quick goodbye, he shot off a patronus to Andie to tell her the plan and then made his way to his daughter’s bedroom. There he found Stella, Remus and Terry standing as Seamus and Draco kneeled down in front of the open closet. The chest of drawers that had been inside was now shoved awkwardly near the end of the bed, and as they’d been told there was indeed a secret compartment built into the floorboards.

“Hi, Harry,” Stella said as she moved towards him.

“Any luck?"

“They’re just going through it now. Hermione used an extending charm so it’s larger than expected and there are quite a few things.”

“Granger seems to have an entire library of books in here,” Draco grunted as he used his hand to reach down and grab what he’d just summoned.

This did not surprise Harry in the least.

For a few minutes it was quiet except for the sound of Draco rooting around in the compartment. Harry noticed a few other items scattered around including a pear shaped bottle of dittany and a cauldron.

“I think I got it,” Draco moved more of his body into the cupboard. “This section is all books.” With a flick of his wand the books flew out and arranged themselves into a series of neat piles on the twin bed. The rest of the team crowded around to look. It was mostly magical books with a few Muggle ones intermixed. His eyes landed on the title ‘A Guide to Your Magical Pregnancy’ and he tamped down the flare of grief.

After a moment of scanning, Harry saw it. The book was much older and dingier than the others, and the title was Gaelic. Remus had noticed as well and moved forward to cast a few detecting spells. “There’s no obvious dark magic, though it will need further analysis. Draco, do you mind collecting it to take back to Headquarters?”

Draco nodded and Remus turned his attention to the rest of them.

“Stella and Terry please go through the rest of the cupboard to make sure there isn’t anything else that may be pertinent.”

Remus glanced at his watch. “Seamus and Harry, I’ll leave it up to you. If you want to help them that’s great, though I know you’ll need time to write up some of the notes. We’ll try and schedule a short check in around five at headquarters. I need to follow up with Aamir’s team as well.”

Seamus and Harry looked at one another. “Remus, I—er… think I’ll stay.”

“That’s fine. Seamus, are you okay doing the notes and checking over Margaret’s documentation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, we will leave it at that for now. Dawlish and Anderson are stationed outside to keep an eye on things.” Remus squeezed Harry’s shoulder gently before leaving with Seamus.

Harry turned his attention back to the now vacant closet as Stella and Terry continued to look through the books. He kneeled on the hardwood floor and forced himself to take a breath before he reached his arm down.

With the books cleared, there were only a few items left. Harry pulled out what appeared to be a magical first aid kit that he recognized from their time on the run. He placed it next to the dittany that he noted was sealed and unopened. Reaching in he felt the edges of a small crate that he hauled up. He lifted the lid to find a series of notebooks piled high. Nervously he reached in and opened one only to find it blank. He frowned and opened several others.

“Journals,” Stella’s voice made him look up.

“What?”

“They’re blank inside but I bet they’re journals. Probably enchanted so only she can read them. Or maybe they have a password.”

“Oh…” Harry murmured, unsure what to think about the pile of Hermione’s thoughts, not that he could read them. Maybe the answers to why she’d left were in there. A memory flashed to his mind of her scribbling away in the tent. He’d never asked what she’d been doing.

He shoved the crate aside with everything else in the cramped corner at the end of the bed. Soon he found another crate. Of course, Hermione would have everything organised into individual compartments.

This one revealed a variety of baby items. Carefully he held up a tiny knitted jumper, barely bigger than his hand. His throat was in a vice as he forced himself to close the lid and place it aside. The only thing left was a small box. Even before he lifted the lid, he knew it was the one Annie was talking about.

He found several different sized envelopes. The largest one was labelled as her will. Just reading those words made his stomach lurch. There were a few other envelopes that were labelled ‘Finances,’ a larger one labelled ‘Iris Documents,’ one that was labelled ‘Monica and Wendell Wilkins.’ Then the smaller, cream-coloured ones were in his hand. One had the word ‘Annie’ written across the front and another one, ‘Iris.’

Harry stuffed everything back into the box and walked out of the room with it under his arm. He said nothing, unsure if he could form any words. He walked down the corridor, needing to be alone. He hesitated for a second in front of Hermione’s room, before moving on.

At the end of the hall he entered the now clean kitchen. Warm and cosy, it offered a place to sit at the well worn wooden table under a window that let in the afternoon sunlight. Sitting down, he forced himself to open the will first. He skimmed through the document, but it was a lot of legal jargon. Not that unlike his own. He got to the part that talked about Iris. Hermione, of course, left everything to her. The next section highlighted guardianship.

The child, Iris Grace Everdeen, will remain in the care of one Anne McKenzie and Rose Callaway until she comes of age. Further instructions/desires will be outlined privately by Ms Everdeen.

Father’s whereabouts are unknown.

The last line made him feel sick. She wasn’t going to give him Iris even if the worst thing possible happened. It felt like another nail in the coffin of their friendship—the concealment of their child apparently something that was meant to remain permanent.

He stared at the letters attached. With a steadying breath, Harry gently touched the letter with his daughter’s name on it. The anger quickly turned to panic; he realised he might very well have to give this letter to Iris at some point. He needed to know what she’d said. Carefully he opened the envelope to reveal two sheets of paper with her familiar handwriting.

Dear Iris,

The first thing I want to tell you is that I love you with my whole heart. I want you to know that. If I’m gone from you, I’m so sorry. It breaks my heart to even write this letter and I can only hope that you never ever have to read it. Aside from letting you know how much I love you, there’s so much else I need to say.

As I write this, you’re asleep next to me in our bed. There’s so much I need to explain to you, as you’re still so young. So after my love for you, I need you to know that I’m a witch and so are you. Sorry to be so blunt love, but it’s better to just say it. I have sensed your magic since I first held you in my arms. If I’m not there to guide you through this, first and foremost I want to tell you: do not be afraid. There is nothing wrong with you because of the things you can make happen. I didn’t know this growing up. Neither did your father.

Which brings me to the other most important thing I have to tell you: your father also comes from magic. He’s also kind hearted and brave. He’s my best friend and I wish desperately that things had been different. You might recognize him as the boy from our stories. I’ve always told you our stories, only recently I’ve had to change the names. I have to believe you already know the truth deep down in your heart.

I know you’ll have so many questions. I wish I was there to answer them all. My greatest desire is to watch you grow up and it breaks my heart that, if you're reading this, you’ll feel as if I’m far away. Something I’ve learned from your father is that death is not the end. He told me once that our loved ones never really leave us. Hopefully he’ll be able to explain better than I can. Just know that I love you completely and that I’ll always be with you. Like the moon and the sea, even when out of sight of each other, they are connected.

I wish I had a hundred years or more on this earth, a hundred years I could give to you.

Love you to the moon and to the bottom of the sea,

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Love, your Mummy

Harry put the letter down numbly. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at the tears that had begun to blur his vision. She’s not dead. She’s not dead. He repeated this even as anxiety rolled through him. He wasn’t sure how long he sat at the small wooden table before he finally reached a shaky hand to open the next letter.

Dear Annie,

I need you to know first and foremost, how grateful I am for all the support you’ve given me. I was a frightened teenager with nowhere to turn and you gave me a place to go, helped me reclaim my life. You and Rosie guided me through the tumultuous waters of new motherhood. I owe you so much and now I’ve apparently died on you and left behind my child. It’s not funny, yet I feel as if I don’t make light of it as I write this I’ll curl up in a ball and weep.

You’ve been so good and loved us, so there’s no one else to whom I can imagine leaving the responsibility of Iris. This is where it gets a bit more complicated. I wasn’t able to put it in the will officially, but I trust you and Rosie to do what’s best for Iris, and what’s best for her is to be with her father. I know you’ve asked over the years and I’ve said nothing. Knowing you, you’ve assumed the worst, even though I’ve told you it’s not his fault (it isn’t). I told you as much of the truth as I could. That we were young, best friends, things were difficult and Iris was very much unplanned. We were also both sort of involved with other people which further complicated matters. I couldn’t face any of it and I ran away from the life I’d had. But Iris’s father is a good person. Really one of the best I’ve ever known.

My hope is that you’ll never read this letter and I will deal with my own mess. I plan to do that sooner than later, so here’s hoping. Regardless, if you are reading this then everything has gone sideways. I started putting together my will after the horror story Rosie shared about her friend’s daughter, and I had the most awful realisation that if I didn’t arrange something, Iris would possibly never learn the full truth—or she’d learn it all at once, far too late. The thought of that is too unbearable.

So here, it goes: I’m a witch and no, I haven't gone mad. I found out when I was eleven years old. My parents are not magic. In fact I removed my parents’ memories of me to protect them and was unable to put them right when the time came. That is why we don’t speak, not because of any falling out over Iris.

I didn’t attend my last year at Hogwarts (yes from my stories, they’re all true). I fought in a war alongside my best friends. It was awful and I’m not sure I can elaborate further. It was so dark and painful, I needed to leave when it was over. I didn’t realise I was pregnant. I didn’t tell anyone or return to the people I care about. I hid instead.

Iris’s father is Harry Potter. He’s well known in the wizarding world. I’ve left instructions on how to contact him. If he doesn’t respond, I’ve enclosed the contact information for my old Professor, Minerva McGonagall. It’s important that Iris knows where she comes from. I’m uncertain of how things will go, but I plan to leave a letter for Harry as well.

I have to hope that Iris will fit into Harry’s life. Ideally I would want her to spend time with both you and Rosie, and with Harry’s family. I trust your judgement and have legally left it up to you to decide. I trust you’ll do what’s best for Iris. Also I know how you can get, Annie. Please be gentle with him. He’s a good man. So much of the best parts of Iris come from him. You’ll see when you meet him.

Honestly, there are a million things I should try and write down. My brain is spiralling into all the things I wouldn’t be able to tell Iris and it makes me feel mad. I’ve left all my journals behind as well. When she’s old enough I’d like her to have them. She’ll be able to read them—I’ve made sure of it.

Part of me thinks you’ll read this letter and assume I’ve gone insane, but a part of me thinks you’ve always sensed something. Regardless, I know you’ll do what’s right for Iris.

Thank you for being there. You and Rosie. You’ve been two of my flowers in the darkness. I’m eternally grateful. Iris and I are so lucky to be loved by you.

Your Janie.

Harry put down the letter and buried his head in his hands. None of it made sense. Hermione wanted Iris to meet him, and had written that nearly two years ago. Then why the hell hadn’t she done something about it? Suddenly it dawned on him. A letter for Harry. He combed through the box and found nothing. Wasting no time, he raced back to the room. Stella and Terry watched in alarm as he desperately rooted around in the hole in the floor. Nothing. It wasn’t there. Quickly he moved over to the bed and started searching through the books.

“Harry? What are you doing?” Stella asked, her voice laced with confusion.

“Have you seen a letter addressed to me?”

Stella frowned and looked around the room with uncertainty. “No. Here. Try summoning it.”

He did. Nothing. There was no letter.

--

Harry wasn’t sure how he made it through the rest of the afternoon. He had to shift into autopilot as he helped Terry and Stella organise everything and put it back in the closet. He shrunk the box of documents and put it in his pocket, not letting himself acknowledge why he may need them.

Later, he sat through the meeting blank-faced, not really absorbing anything, his mind replaying her words from the letters over and over.

I couldn’t face any of it and I ran

It’s not his fault.

I’m going to leave a letter for Harry

He’s my best friend

I wish desperately that things had been different.

fit into Harry’s life

He was stumped, especially by the last line. How could his own child not fit into his life? What the hell could she be thinking?

She chose to put them into this situation by not speaking with him, or even seeing him once she knew about Iris. They hadn’t been fighting when she left; what would make her think she couldn’t come to him? They’d been together on the beach right before Gringotts. He’d let himself hope at the time that it meant something.

Harry was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the meeting break up and his co-workers leaving the room. A firm hand on his shoulder brought him out of his anxious reverie. He looked up to see Remus watching him thoughtfully.

“Did you find what Annie said you would?” Harry nodded. “I thought so. I take it you still have more questions than answers,” Remus said, carefully.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed as he scrubbed his face with his hands.

“Go to the Burrow, Harry.”

“I haven’t done—”

Remus shook his head and squeezed his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. I see the toll this is taking on you. Go. Be with your daughter.”

“I shouldn’t leave it all to Seamus.”

“Seamus will be fine. He’s already way ahead of documenting everything we need. Go. I know Iris and Teddy will be thrilled to see you,” he said as he moved to collect some of the files off the table. “I’ll let you know if anything changes. If you’d listened in the meeting you’d know we’re still mostly stuck. But the book holds promise,” he said with a soft smile. “We have the team on it right now.”

Harry relented. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” When Remus departed, Harry checked his watch to see it was almost five thirty. He quickly made his way up the marble corridor to the apparition station.

In an instant he was standing in the front yard of the Burrow. The crooked house stood tall against the early evening sky. Harry took a moment to steady himself. He pushed the contents of the letter to the back of his mind and tried to tamp down his anxious thoughts. Everyone inside would already know about Iris. He wanted everyone to know she was his. He did. But there was still an undercurrent of shame. Even though it wasn’t the truth, guilt sat heavy on his chest—the feeling that in some way he’d abandoned his own child, that he’d failed her. A feeling he wasn’t sure would ever lift.

Not bothering to knock, he made his way inside and was greeted by the usual bustle of Mrs Weasley frantically finishing up the dinner preparations.

“Harry, dear!” Mrs Weasley cried as she spotted him, stopping to come over and give him a hug. He saw Fleur give him a half smile over Mrs Weasley’s shoulder as she stood at the counter.

Mrs Weasley pulled back to look at him, her eyes searching his. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered, a mixture of emotions playing on her face. “I—”She stopped, patting Harry’s cheek. It was rare to see her lost for words. “Anyways, you’ll be wanting to see her.” Right as she finished speaking, Teddy and Victoire sprinted through the room. Fleur called out something to them in French that he was pretty sure translated to not running in the kitchen.

“She’s in the sitting room with Andie and the others. She’s feeling a little shy, which is to be expected. You were quite the quiet mouse when we first met you,” she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before she returned to the supper preparations.

Harry passed by George and Angelina who greeted him normally, for which he felt a wave of gratitude. He spotted Iris quickly and though he heard the greetings being called to him, his focus was on her. Iris sat pressed against Andie on one of the smaller loveseats. Ron was crouched in front, saying something to her. Iris tore her eyes from Ron, and he delighted in seeing the happiness that bloomed on her face.

His best friend looked over his shoulder to see where Iris was looking. “Ah, see? Told you he’d be here soon,” he said, before he stood up and moved out of the way. Ron clapped him on the back then moved over to the other couch with Susan, and Harry took his place.

Iris stared at him in wonder. “You came,” she said quietly.

The first real smile he’d felt in hours graced his face as he took her in. She looked adorable in her red and white chequered dress, but the way her knees were pulled up to her chin told him that she was uncertain of being around so many people. “I did. Are you having fun?”

His daughter looked down at her knees and shrugged her small shoulders.

“I’m going to see if Molly needs any help, Harry do you want to take my seat?” Andie asked as she stood up. Harry nodded and sat down on the snug sofa. Iris scooted over so that her small legs were right next his and he gently moved some of the hair off her face.

“Did you have a nice day?”

She nodded, eyes still locked on her knees.

“Is everything alright?” Her lip wobbled at his words. As soon as his hand touched her back she drew herself to him and Harry pulled her onto his lap.

He felt her trembling in his arms and he rubbed across her shoulders. “Did something happen?”

“N—no,” she mumbled into his chest.

Harry carefully touched her small chin so that she’d look up at him. “Are you just feeling overwhelmed?”

Iris nodded, eyes glassy as they met his. “I know the feeling,” he whispered. Suddenly an idea came to him. “Hey, Iris, have you ever seen a garden gnome?

Her eyebrows moved up in the way that never failed to make him think of Hermione before she gave a hesitant little nod. “Yes, in Rosie's garden. He has a fishing pole and he's sat on a toadstool,” she told him quietly.

He smiled. “Those ones are nice, but what about real ones?” She pulled back, mouth opening into a little o. His grin widened. “Well I happen to know where we might find some, would you want to see?”

A smile broke across her cherubic face and she nodded eagerly.

“Great! Maybe Teddy and Victoire will want to help?” he suggested, scanning the room for the familiar blonde heads.

“Uncle Ron too?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.” He glanced over at Ron. She must be copying Teddy.

Harry got off the sofa still holding Iris, and when he told Ron the plan he gave an exaggerated sigh, but agreed to come out as Susan gave him a playful push off the loveseat.

“Oi, you two, you want to come to the garden?” Ron bellowed up the stairs. Teddy and Victoire came thundering down excitedly and they all headed outside. The sun was even lower in the sky and they cast long shadows as they made their way outside.

Ron put his hand to his forehead and squinted at a large patch of Mrs Weasley’s vegetable garden. “George was out here earlier so not sure how many of the little buggers are left.”

They all looked around the perimeter of the bed. “Oh there’s one—” Teddy pointed between two large cabbages.

Iris leaned out of his arms to see. “Isn’t that a potato?” she asked, before rearing her head in alarm as it darted out from a leaf. “Why is it moving?!”

“No, he’s right,” Ron grunted, moving forward and grabbing it by the ankle.

“It does look a bit like a potato,” Harry said, trying not to laugh. The little creature made an annoyed sound.

Ron spun in a circle and then threw the gnome clear across the field which caused Iris to shriek.

Harry rubbed her arm, “It’s alright Buttercup.”

“Yeah, doesn’t hurt ‘em.” Ron said, turning back towards them.

“That’s not nice!” Iris cried.

Harry grimaced; he hadn’t expected that reaction. “Ron’s right, it doesn’t hurt them. They just get a little dizzy so they can’t come back right away.”

Iris furrowed her brow and he saw Ron turn to hide his laughter, certain he was thinking the same thing. His daughter had the same look on her face as Hermione when she was talking about S.P.E.W.

Pure righteous indignation.

The other children were already bored and he didn’t want to continue upsetting Iris. “Er—maybe we can do something else.”

“Yeah, I don’t think there are many here anyways,” Ron said, inspecting another row of vegetables.

“The swing!” Victoire cried before racing across the yard and Teddy quickly followed.

Iris perked up at the suggestion and soon enough she wiggled out of his arms and joined the other children as they took turns leaping off the wooden swing at the top of the incline and rolled down the hill. The sound of their laughter joined the hum of crickets and the rush of the river that flowed near the house.

“Anything new?” Ron asked.

“Yes and no,” Harry sighed. “We might have a clue but we can’t be sure.”

“Right,” Ron said quietly, his eyes on the children. “I hope it’s a clue.”

“Me too,” he replied. They watched Teddy attempt a dangerous manoeuvre on the swing and Harry performed a quick cushioning spell as he landed awkwardly. He called out a warning and the children just laughed.

“So are you going to tell her tonight?”

“Tell her?”

Ron gave him a pointed look as he gestured towards Iris. Harry sighed. “I might. If not tonight, tomorrow. I—I know I can’t put it off much longer. I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, probably not the place to tell her at a family dinner. She seemed overwhelmed enough as it was. It’s nice to see her now though. I had a feeling she’d have a good time.”

“Thanks for sitting with her and Andie.” Ron waved him off.

“Of course, it’s what Uncles do, right?”

“I suppose so. Still not exactly sure what a father’s supposed to do.”

Ron shrugged and grinned at him. “Me neither mate. If you figure it out, let me know.”

Harry returned his grin. “I guess everyone kind of has to wing it.”

“I reckon you’re right.” His eyes shot back to the kids. “Oi, not in the woods! You need to stay where we can see you.” The children had rolled down the slope and moved towards the forest that lined the property, but scampered back at Ron’s booming command.

“That was pretty good actually,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well I guess it’s good practice. I mean you’ve always been great with Teddy. It’s not that different, reckon it’s just more intense.”

Harry nodded, then looked to see his daughter twirling in the grass with Victoire as Teddy laid sprawled out next to them. “Yeah... it is,” he sighed. It was hard to put into words. It wasn’t that he loved Teddy less than Iris. It was somehow different though in a way that was hard to pinpoint. The level of responsibility was staggering. “I er— I saw Hermione’s will today.”

Ron physically recoiled at his words. “Bloody hell. What, why?”

“Nothing’s happened. Obviously.” Ron nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “We talked with the people who Hermione has been close to—in her new life. One of them mentioned it. Anyways, it—er, yeah. I found it when I went to her flat.”

“What did it say? Was it a magic will? Those are binding.”

Harry shook his head. “No, Muggle. She left Iris’s care to the two women—”

“She WHAT!?”

The children glanced over and Harry forced himself to smile and wave before he pulled Ron’s arm and turned him so they were facing the house.

“I know. It’s—she left instructions to them on how to find me. There were letters, Ron.”

“Letters?”

“Yes.”

“Wha—”

“I can’t get into it right now but she—she did want Iris to know about magic, about me,” he told him, forcing himself to breathe.

Ron still looked perplexed. “That’s good... I guess.”

“Yeah…” Before they could continue the front door banged open and George emerged holding a large Muggle cowbell. He grinned at them before heading towards the children, using his wand to set it off and hollering to them in a ridiculous falsetto much to their utter delight, and they came scurrying from the tall grass.

Harry bit back a laugh when he saw that Iris’s white tights were almost completely green. She ran towards him and he couldn’t resist picking her up.

“Are you having fun?” She nodded, and more grass fell from her hair.

“Are you sure you haven’t turned into a woodland fairy?” he asked as he removed some of the remaining grass.

She giggled. “No, we were playing ghosts.”

“Well you’re a pretty green ghost,” he said brushing a hand over her stained tights.

“That’s silly, ghosts are white,” she said, shaking her head.

“Hmm I’d say they’re more see-through.”

Iris suddenly looked at him quite seriously. “Can I ask you a question?”

He suddenly found it hard to swallow but managed to nod. “Anything.”

“Is your favourite colour green?”

He tapped his chin pretending to mull it over. “Hmmm, that’s a hard one.” Looking into her green eyes, the answer was rather obvious.

“I haven’t thought about that in a while but I would say it is.” She gave him an enigmatic little smile. Not for the first time he wished he could see what was going on in that fascinating mind of hers. “Can I guess what yours is?” Iris’s smile widened. “Let me think, I’m going to go with… purple.”

“Yes, that’s my favourite, favourite. How did you know?”

“Part of my job, to notice these kinds of things,” he told her as she let out a giggle before he placed her back on the ground.

At this point Mrs Weasley stuck her body out of the doorway and gave Ron a stern look. “Hurry up!”

“Alright you heard her, let’s go,” Harry said to the children before Ron or George could say something to antagonise her.

“Whatever you say, Uncle Harry,” Teddy called out cheekily as he moved past him into the house, Victoire and Iris parroting him. Hearing the word Uncle out of Iris’s mouth made him almost groan. He really needed to talk to her soon.

Mrs Weasley tutted as the children came in completely dishevelled and dirty, performing a quick cleaning charm on all three. The grass stains lifted instantly from their clothes.

Everyone sat around the long table. It was a “smaller” crowd than usual with Percy’s family absent, Charlie in Romania as usual, Ginny away at finals and, of course, the gaping hole left by Fred’s absence. The shadow of the old family clock could still be seen on the wall, from where Mrs Weasley had torn it off and broken it into pieces with her frying pan shortly after the last battle in a fit of grief. Another reminder of what could never be fixed.

At supper, Iris and Teddy sat on either side of him. George was across and they talked about the business and the upcoming wedding, with George saying how good he’d look in white at which Angelina rolled her eyes affectionately. Later when Harry looked around the table he saw that Ron was saying something that made Iris and Susan laugh. Mrs Weasley, Andie and Fleur were deep in conversation at one end of the table and Mr Weasley was talking enthusiastically to Neville about something at the other end.

After the meal was over, the lights dimmed and Mrs Weasley and Mr Weasley brought out two cakes, a pumpkin spice cake for Harry and a vanilla sponge cake for Neville, who blushed furiously at the unexpected gesture. Iris had migrated to his lap towards the end of the meal, having her with him made it infinitely better. Even if someone was missing.

“You want to help me make a wish?” he whispered, she tilted her head up to his and beamed. As they blew out the candles together, he had a feeling they both wished for the same thing.

Once everyone was truly stuffed, they moved to the sitting room. Harry was grateful to see that Iris had warmed up and now happily played with Teddy and Victoire, weaving in and out of all the adults and giggling. Every so often she would stop and look for him, and when they made eye contact he would smile at her before she continued to play. She fit in perfectly.

After the stress of the last few days, Harry was finally finding that he was enjoying himself. Currently he sat with Ron, Susan, Neville and Hannah. Though the empty spot next to him still gave him pause.

Eventually Neville and Hannah bid everyone goodbye, and Harry smiled when Iris happily hugged Hannah who promised they’d do some more colouring together soon.

Iris came bounding over to them. Ron and Susan were now on the smaller loveseat, with Harry across from them in one of the armchairs.

“Are you having fun?” he asked. Iris replied with an enthusiastic head nod. She placed her small hands on his knees to balance as she was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, teeming with energy.

“Thought you and Vic would be fast friends,” Ron said with a yawn and a stretch.

Harry looked at the clock. Nearly seven. They needed to leave soon. Though Iris looked as if going to bed was the last thing on her mind.

“Uncle Ron, why do so many people here have red hair?” Iris asked, as she spun around taking in everyone in the room.

That seemed to catch Ron off guard, “Er—good question. I guess most of us are related… and it’s in the family. Dunno,” he looked helplessly at Susan, who bit back a smile.

“He’s not completely wrong. Though thankfully the two of us aren’t related,” she told Iris.

Ron's ears turned bright pink and Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his laugh.

“‘Related’ means you’re in the same family,” Iris stated, seeming to double check.

“You’re right. Ron and I aren’t related the way everyone else is… even though we both have red hair,” Susan said with a laugh.

Iris's brow furrowed in confusion and Susan smiled at her. “I guess we haven’t explained. We’re married. So well… we are family, but not through our parents.”

Ron made a face and Harry bit back another laugh.

“So you’re in love?” Iris asked, moving towards Susan so that she was standing right next to her.

“Hmmm, let me check? Would you say that’s accurate?”

“I’d reckon that’s about right,” Ron replied, dropping a kiss on Susan’s head.

Iris turned suddenly and she grabbed one of his knees, her eyes focused on his face intensely.

“Are you married?”

His cheeks grew warm and his throat tightened uncomfortably. “Er—no…”

“Why?” she asked, undeterred.

“Oh,” was all he managed to get out before a silence fell over their group.

“Harry’s still young, I’m sure he’ll marry someday though,” Susan said, swooping in to his rescue.

Iris’s frown deepened at Susan’s answer, head swishing between them before she moved to lean against the armrest of the couch. The face she made told him she was thinking about something deeply.

“Why does it look like you have a football under your shirt?”

Ron looked confused and Susan and Harry locked eyes and started laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” Iris asked, with a huff.

“Is that the one that kinda looks like a quaffle?” Ron asked, turning to Susan who nodded, still trying to contain her laughter and Harry tried to answer Iris.

“You’re just really funny sometimes,” he managed to say.

Iris’s eyebrow shot up. “I am?”

Harry nodded, unable to resist leaning over and tweaking her nose lightly.

“Nah, she’s not smuggling sporting goods,” Ron said with a grin.

“What does smuggling mean?” Before any of them replied she moved on to her next question. “Why is your tummy all round like that?”

“Well, there’s a baby in there actually,” Susan said, patting said rounded stomach. Harry had to admit it did look rather like a football, though he wondered if he should say something to her about not pointing out people’s physical characteristics quite so… bluntly.

Looking back at Iris, he wasn’t sure if Iris’s eyebrows could go any higher but they did.

“Honest?”

All three of them nodded.

“You're not joking?” she asked, in disbelief.

“Yeah, we’re having a baby,” Ron told her as she eyed them warily. He saw as she glanced across the room to where Bill was standing talking to Mr Weasley and George, ten month old Dominique in his arms.

“That does not make any sense," she replied, frowning. "How did a baby get in there?”

All three adults clammed up at her question. Ron went bright pink all over as he opened his mouth but nothing came out. Eventually he managed to sputter. “Well, I er... dunno about that.”

“You don’t?” Susan teased and Ron just looked at her alarmed. “I think you have managed to make him speechless for once Iris, no small feat!”

Iris only looked more perplexed. “Do you not know?”

Ron looked like he’d swallowed something unpleasant. “Erm…”

“If it's your baby did you put it there?” she asked, turning her attention back to Ron. Who had now gone completely white instead, making his freckles stand out even more.

“Ah…”

“Is it because you’re married? Do you have to be married to have a baby?”

There was a long silence and Ron turned to him, eyes wide. Harry wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cringe.

“He’s just being silly,” Susan said after a moment, taking pity on him. “It’s normal to have questions about that. Though I’m not sure if we’re the people to ask.”

“Why?”

Harry couldn’t help smiling, imagining Iris interrogating some of the suspects they took into headquarters. Harry had a feeling her relentlessness would eventually break most of them.

She’d turned back to Ron. “Why can’t you tell me Uncle Ron?”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to form some words. “I er... I reckon it’s something you should ask your par—” Ron froze, eyes darting to Harry before he cleared his throat. “I mean your... mum.”

“When she comes back?” Iris asked, her face a mask of confusion and inquiry.

“Yes,” Susan replied gently. Iris didn’t seem appeased at that answer as her eyebrows drew up into a line, eyes moving between Ron and Susan.

“Have you ever seen a brand new baby?” Susan asked her.

He saw Iris hesitate, seeming to search her memory. “I’m not sure. I don't remember being a baby. Not really,” Iris told her as she ran her hand through her curls. Harry felt his stomach sink as he thought of the tiny jumper he’d seen earlier.

“It was a few years ago so I’m not surprised. You’ll be able to meet this one soon,” Susan said, kindly.

“When?” Iris’s eyes were wide as she studied Susan’s stomach.

“Oh a few weeks or so.”

"It will come out?” she asked, baffled.

“Yes,” Susan said, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing. Ron continued to look extremely uncomfortable with the subject matter.

“How? With magic?”

“I suppose it’s a little bit like magic.”

He saw as Iris opened her mouth to ask another question, and he intervened. “Er—Iris do you want to grab Teddy? We should get going. Let’s say goodbye to Uncle Ron and Aunt Susan.”

Iris glanced back at him and nodded, before re-focusing her attention on Susan. “Are you really my auntie?” Iris asked quietly.

“If you’ll have me. I’d love that,” Susan said leaning forward as much as her belly would allow. “You look so much like your mum, Iris. I knew her in school and always thought she was a lovely person.”

“You went to Hogwarts?”

She nodded, smiling. “I’m glad I got to finally meet you. Uncle Ron told me such good things.” Iris returned the smile, and to his astonishment she hugged Susan who looked surprised but thrilled before moving to Ron and doing the same.

Everyone was starting to gather up their things, and they started saying their goodbyes. It was in the middle of all the bustle that Remus’s patronus came barreling through the room to Harry.

“Harry, come to headquarters straight away.” There was no more information and Harry felt his heart start racing. A tugging at his leg, drew his eyes downward. Iris stared up at him wide eyed.

He crouched down. “I’m sorry Iris I have to go—”

“Is it Mummy?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I’m not sure but I have to go. Be good for Andie.” He forced himself to take a breath. He cupped her cheek, looking into her eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning. I promise.”

He took in her face once more and tried not to think about the fact that his line of work never fully guaranteed a tomorrow. He dropped a kiss on her head, turned on his heels, and apparated out of the Burrow.

Chapter 17: Elastic Heart

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: Elastic Heart

"Once she was born, I was never not afraid."

-Joan Didion, Blue Nights.

At some point Hermione must have lost consciousness because the next thing she knew there was a small hand pressed to her cheek. For a split second, a spark of hope. But a squeaky voice brought her back to reality. “Miss! Miss must drink the potion.”

Hermione attempted to move her head but her body was rigid. A rush of agony filled her chest, seeming to wrap around each rib, constricting her ability to breathe.

Ceely murmured as she tried to pour liquid into Hermione’s cracked lips. Hermione tried to fight it, but she could barely move, and the elf was surprisingly strong for her small size.

Though she be but little, she is fierce!

Iris. Annie used that line to describe Iris. Where was Iris?

At some point she stopped fighting and allowed the potion to be given to her. To her shock, it worked. There was still a deep ache yet she could move again. She managed to sit up.

Ceely had made the lights come on low, and she stared at Hermione. Her wide, sad eyes reminded her of something, but her brain was still hazy, still coming out of the fog of intense pain and confusion.

“Miss feels much better?”

Hermione forced herself to nod. Even if that wasn’t true. There would be no feeling better until she was with her daughter.

“Good. Ceely will bring food. Potion will make Miss tired but Ceely will take care of her guest.”

Her voice was nearly non existent when she found it, “Ceely… where—where am I?”

“Master’s house,” she said quietly. “The attic room.”

“Where is that?”

Ceely shook her small head. “In the countryside.” Before Hermione could ask anything else the elf gave a small curtsy. “Ceely must go.”

A loud pop and Hermione was alone once more. Ceely hadn’t dimmed the lights, and for the first time Hermione was able to get more of her bearings. She indeed appeared to be in an attic, the sloped ceilings and large beams making it fairly obvious. There was also only one window, far away and covered in a layer of dust.

She winced at the dull ache near her heart, looking down she saw that her skin was an angry red. Carefully, she moved the fabric aside and gasped when she saw her once mostly-healed scar appeared fresh. Her thumb grazed the skin near it and she could feel its heat. The sensation made her head spin. She pulled her knees up, despite the pain it caused her to do so, and tried to focus on breathing.

Flashes of the things she’d experienced raced through her mind, Xavier’s words floated to her, intangible and disjointed. Her scar… he’d said it had something to do with what she had seen, but how? That her magic was strong. Hermione tried to think back. The curse that had been lobbed at her all those years ago had been relatively unknown, but Madam Pomfrey had guessed that it had something to do with her internal organs, that its aim had been to attack them. It had only failed because it was cast silently.

Hermione felt the familiar and insistent pull of panic. Her last panic attack had been nearly a year ago, and she knew if it built up there would be no coming back until it passed. She counted her breaths, and tried to focus her eyes on one point, the grimy window. She harnessed all of her willpower to stay in control. Iris needed her. She had to be strong and come up with a plan.

Her eyes cut back to the door. Was it locked? On shaky legs she moved towards it, and as she suspected there was no give. Bile rose up her throat. Iris was also in a room. Her bedroom. Desperately, she tried to think: how long until the spell wore off? Did it open if Iris touched the knob herself?

She’d placed the spell years ago. Iris hadn’t been old enough to get out of her cot, let alone reach a door handle. The split second decision haunted her more with every passing second.

She circled the room, easier to think if she paced and the pain was there no matter what. She noted the toilet in the corner and her stomach lurched: her stay wasn’t to remain a short one. The only other object in the room was a bare mattress and, curiously, a low bookcase that she approached. Her stomach swooped. A series of books. Was she supposed to look?

Despite the weak light, she could make out the titles and her stomach dropped further: A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. A Muggle book. Several Muggle books from the looks of it. Finally two older, thick books that, when she pulled back, reminded her of some of the large reference books from the Hogwarts library. Other Worlds, one was titled. The larger one a volume titled Mermaids: A Guide Across Centuries and Continents. Below the faded lettering a familiar name jumped out to her: Newt Scamander.

Mermaids. The book. The book that was under the floor in Iris’s cupboard. She thought back to its contents. There had been some spells, even a few potions that had been related to some creatures, a kraken, maybe the merfolk of the North. It had mostly been in Gaelic, so she’d only given it a cursory glance, too preoccupied with her other research, the shop, her daughter.

He wanted the book. She wanted her daughter back. It wasn’t something she had to think twice about. But as she glanced at the books, the prickle of dread she’d sensed since meeting him flared stronger than ever. She tried to make connections through everything she had read and nothing clicked—her mind only bringing up random bits of information from her own research, all of which was focused on the history of folklore, nothing about the reality of magic.

Her regret was like a stone on her chest, sinking her into a sea of regret. Why hadn’t she contacted Professor McGonagall, or someone at the first inkling that Xavier was a wizard?

As her eyes landed on the book about time travel another thought hit her like an anvil: Harry. She should have contacted him. A given, she should have talked to him years and years ago. The memories of seeing him flooded her once more. Different sensations and images rolled through her. His forest green eyes, how his smile pulled at his lips in a way that lit them up. The feeling of his soft messy hair between her fingers, his lips pressed against her, the same taste and smell that was him. Fresh like the air after it rains.

It didn’t matter if it was all in her mind. The way he’d looked at her as if she was the whole world. The image of him and Iris. Her heart stuttered at the onslaught of memories. The love between them had been as solid as the floor beneath her feet.

But she had never given him the chance to love their daughter. She was certain of his feelings for her. Yet this wasn’t about that, it was about Iris, and with an aching certainty, she knew that he would have helped if she’d contacted him. Iris would be safe and not…

Her stomach lurched, vision blurring. Hermione felt the desperate urge to claw her way back to Iris. She continued her pacing despite the exhaustion that made her light headed. Nothing came to her. No way out.

Time was hard to track; the weak light that now crept through the window told her that night had passed, but rather than discourage her, it spurred her on. She eyed the books, but hesitated at picking them up, feeling as if by doing so she could risk sealing her fate.

She covered every inch of the room, legs numb, every step like pins and needles as she took stock of a room that offered no escape. It would be futile until she saw him again. Maybe she could overpower him… he had several inches on her and, more importantly, a wand. Hermione wanted to scream.

Eventually she laid back on the mattress, absolutely spent considering how little she’d done. Her fingers brushed against her scar and she flinched. Tears sprung to her eyes as she laid in the small room—a prison. At some point she fell asleep. Her dreams were a strange blur of her daughter and Harry, the images slipping past her too quickly to make sense of, like words she knew but could not name.

An image of a newborn Iris being cradled in Harry’s arms, a morning with their daughter between them in bed, passing her to Harry in a warm sunlit kitchen, Harry blowing raspberries onto Iris’s neck as she squealed, Iris lifting her arms up and demanding his attention somewhere outside—a forest? The three of them in a car—Iris strapped into a car seat in the back, the ocean passing by her window in the distance.

The clearing of a throat pulled her from sleep, the images vanishing like mist. She flinched, holding in a groan of pain as she sat up.

“Resting well Miss Granger?” She tried to breathe through the sharp sensation in her chest, ignoring his question. “Do you know the main difference between hope and fear?”

His eyes bored into hers. Just as she was debating how to reply he spoke again, his voice slightly softer.

“You don’t hide it well.”

“What?” Her voice was hoarse when she finally found it.

He gave her a small patronising smile. “Your fear.”

She wanted to say she wasn’t afraid, but that wasn’t true.

Xavier gave a little nod not breaking his gaze. “The truth is always in the eyes.”

They regarded one another. His eyes revealed no answers, a flat blue-grey in the dim lighting. No storm, but also no warmth.

Hermione swallowed, ready to formulate an answer, something that would lead the conversation back to Iris.

“You want to discuss your daughter’s whereabouts. You seem much more eager to discuss what I asked you for these last few weeks.”

She froze. All at once she knew. He hadn’t gotten that from her eyes.

“You know Legilimency.”

His smile widened, a charming smile of someone adept at using it to get what he wanted. “Ah, there it is. That brightness you’re so known for. Your daughter, she's clever like you.” At the mention of Iris her entire body tensed. His wand whipped to her forehead. “But that’s only half of who she is.” There was no mistaking the shape he traced.

He knew the worst thing she’d ever done. This was what he would use to get back at her. Hermione wasn’t a mind reader, but he was right. It was in the eyes.

The realisation filled her with dread. All pride evaporated all at once as it became just how much danger Iris was in, how much danger she was in. “I’ll give you what you want. Just—please let me get to her. You can restrain me. Take us back to the flat and I’ll—”

He raised a hand and shook his head interrupting her. “We will get to that part when it’s time.”

“No I need—”

With the wave of his hand he silenced her.

“I told you the other day that I would show you something that would enlighten you. So I’ll ask you again. What do you think the biggest difference is between hope and fear?”

Even if Hermione had her voice, she didn’t have an answer. His words impossible to grasp. What did he want, what did she have to say?

Her frustration mounted as did her fear, clouding her thoughts. Her past self would have figured something out. How many situations had she escaped during the war or before? Had she lost that ability? At once it dawned at her—all those times she hadn’t been alone. Harry had been there.

When she’d been with him she had hope.

Xavier smiled and her stomach turned. “The fear is stronger in you. It’s clear. What a pity.”

Anger shot through her. She hated how powerless she felt. Hated him being in her mind—hated him . Her mind raced. She had done the research, closing her eyes she tried desperately to think of how to perform Occlumency. The sound of his laughter filled the room.

“You should have known it wouldn’t work. That is a powerful bit of magic for someone who has barely used their wand for years.” Hermione ignored him, using every ounce of concentration she had, but still nothing happened.

No matter how hard she tried, her mind remained open and defenceless. She released a ragged breath. Hermione didn’t have to open her eyes to hear the smirk in his voice.

“You’ve lost track. I asked you a question.”

Hope and fear. His smile grew as did her fear.

“Of course you wouldn’t recognise it. You’ve never been good at hoping for the best… at least as time went on. You didn’t look at the books I left for you,” he gave a small shake of his head. “Maybe you’ve lost that spark. The one to not leave any stone unturned.”

His words hit their mark. She was well aware of how far she’d fallen from the person she’d once been. With a wave of his hand she felt the spell break, her vocal cords quivered at being released.

“Tell me… am I wrong?”

Defiance welled up in her despite herself. “You don’t know anything.”

He gave a slight shake of his head as he clicked his tongue. “Oh but I do. I know everything about you Miss Granger. The truths that you hide. Even the ones you keep from yourself. I’ve seen inside many minds. Yours is unique.”

She was used to being singled out for her mind but this felt different. Dangerous.

“Funny enough, I’ve asked you a rather simple question and you haven’t answered.” Hermione could only stare at him, his lips curled slightly. “What is hope Miss Granger?”

Hope? An image of Harry laughing next to her on the sofa. The feeling of his body pressed close. The look in his eyes when Iris was born. Hope was the promise of joy that made reality cut even deeper when it shattered into a million jagged pieces—something she’d experienced before, in the shadows of a ruined castle. How hope flickered like a flame, making it so much darker when it was extinguished.

Xavier nodded, looking pleased. “Good. You're starting to understand. It’s rather sad. You weren’t always like this. Then again not all scars are visible,” he gestured to the scar on her chest. “Now fear. That is more comfortable for you. You’ve made a home of it. Funny enough if someone asked you point blank… would you even be able to articulate what it is you’re so afraid of?

“You already seem to have the answer,” she spat. There was no keeping the bitterness out of her voice despite the way it shook.

“Hmmm it’s not as simple as that. It's interesting... how they all weave together to bind you in place.” He observed her, no longer smiling. “Some prisons are of our own making.”

It took her minutes to make herself speak. “And some are real.”

He didn’t seem fazed by her anger. “This one is only temporary,” he said, dismissively. His face took on a calculating look as it swept over her. “There’s limited energy to work with so we’ll be selective.” Hermione had no clue what that meant but her body already started bracing as she saw him move his wand—yet he didn’t cast a spell, only stared at her.

“You had the same fear for years. And from such a young age. You agonised over it and then it finally happened.”

Immediately her mind went to it. Knew exactly what he had seen. The image of Harry dead in Hagrid’s arms.

“A false alarm,” he said, with only the quirk of his lips before his face once more became pensive. “That one isn’t worth exploring, you won’t learn anything from it. No. There’s other things to look at. Fear, like hope, tells us something about ourselves. I’m doing you a favour. We can’t improve ourselves if we hide from the truth.”

She shook her head as panic flooded her. “No. I’ll make a trade. I just want Iris. I don’t want to—”

“It’s not about what you want,” he said as he silenced her once more. The last thing she saw was the knowing smile, the same from that afternoon in the shop, and then the world went dark.

- -

She landed once again on a London street, a sheen of sweat on her brow as she weaved through the crowd. The day was muggy and overcast. She felt the disorienting sensation of strong déjà-vu, but the awful feeling coursing through her drowned it out. Hermione felt both inside and outside herself; there was a haze-like quality to her surroundings that sharpened as she moved. All she could do was continue walking. The scenery changed gradually from stately homes, to graffiti, whistles and yells shouted her way, but she paid them no mind.

Her wand was hidden just out of sight. Again she stopped at the telephone booth. A ragged breath left her as she unconsciously placed a hand on her abdomen, her secret still easy to hide from the world.

She could have apparated straight there. Instead she’d walked for miles and miles despite the uncomfortable summer heat that seemed to only touch London for a few days each year. The fine curls that had escaped her ponytail were plastered to her face, as she walked towards the home that, thankfully, slowly revealed itself to her as she approached.

As the bell rang out, she stood at the massive front door, heart hammering in her chest. The door opened, revealing no one until she looked down and saw Kreacher looking up at her with surprise.

“Hello Kreacher… Is—is Harry here?”

Kreacher nodded, scurrying off, which she took as a sign to follow. Hermione found herself in the gloomy foyer of the house that belonged to her best friend. Her insides twisted as she stood there. It was only minutes later when she heard quick footsteps upstairs. “Hermione?!”

Her head swivelled up and she saw him, barely registering what was happening before he came down the stairs two at a time and pulled her into a hug. As soon as his arms were around her, she felt it: the feeling of home that she hadn’t found on the other side of the globe.

He pulled back, keeping one hand on her waist only inches away from the barely detectable swell under her shirt. Suddenly it was hard to take in a breath. “How was Australia?” Hermione could sense his eyes on her as she studied their feet. He wore white socks, and his tracksuit bottoms and loose t-shirt made it appear that he’d only just gotten out of bed.

When she finally looked up at him, she was certain she actually stopped breathing. His eyes bright behind his glasses, the lopsided grin that pulled up to one side. Her heart constricted at being close to him again. His scent and the warmth of his hand on her overwhelmed her, making speech impossible.

Harry’s face shifted into concern, his mouth opening to speak as she remained motionless in front of him. A soft voice came from above.

“Harry, who is it?”

The two of them turned at the same time to see Ginny at the top of the stairs. Her loose t-shirt was clearly Harry’s.

“Look who it is!” he called up to her.

Ginny’s eyes widened, then an enormous smile lit up her pretty freckled face and she scrambled down the stairs. Suddenly Hermione was being embraced again. “Oh we’ve missed you! Ron’s been beside himself!”

Ron. Of course she’d thought about him despite how much of her mind had been occupied with Harry since… if she was honest with herself, since way before she vomited for days on end in a Sydney motel room.

Harry was smiling at the two of them when Ginny took a step back, keeping a hand on Hermione as she looked her over. “You look lovely!” She turned to Harry. “Summon Ron! He’ll want to see her.”

Harry pulled out his wand and sent a Patronus with a simple message: “You’ll want to see who's here.”

When he pocketed his wand, his arm came to wrap around Ginny. The two of them stared at her expectantly. After a long moment of silence, Harry frowned. “How are your parents?”

Her mouth opened and no words formed. Her eyes were too busy taking in the small details that said a thousand words. If she hadn’t already vomited up everything in her system, she was certain she would now, all over the antique rug under her feet. Harry took a step forward. “Hermione? What is it? Is it your parents?” The concern in his voice only made it worse.

A loud crack resounded behind them and automatically she whirled around. Ron looked at her with disbelief written across his pale freckled face. “Merlin. You’re back!” His long legs brought him to her in only three strides before he hugged her tightly. “Why didn’t you write? We’ve tried contacting you… they all came back with nothing.”

He let her go, and she stepped back, feeling the sickness brewing in her stomach. The happiness morphed into concern on the three expectant faces, which seemed to suddenly freeze as the moment slipped away from her. No words passed her lips; she had always been too afraid to imagine the fallout.

--

When her eyes adjusted, she could see that she was in her tiny flat. Harry was seated on the other side of the sofa. His face pale in the weak winter sunlight, shoulders hunched. For a split second her heart fluttered in relief at the sight of him, but when his red rimmed eyes turned to hers, it sunk into her stomach.

“What now?” he asked, hoarsely.

“I don’t know,” the words left her. Once more she wasn’t in control of any of this. Or was she? She’d imagined this over and over at one point hadn’t she?

Harry scrubbed his hands under his glasses.

“I guess I’ll tell them. Unless... you want to tell Ron together?” Hermione shook her head. He sighed heavily. “Yeah. That’s fair. It—er... probably won’t be pretty…” he finished awkwardly.

Hermione hummed in agreement and when she looked down at her lap, she noticed she was pregnant. Again. Judging by the size of her stomach, it was likely not for much longer.

“Not exactly something we can hide if we meet up with him,” Harry said, his eyes flashing to her before staring straight ahead. Hermione could tell he was trying to mask his anguish. “I—I’ll tell Ginny on my own. Tell her first—” he let out a sigh, head tipping back against the sofa. He wiped at his eyes and instantly her own tears surfaced again, along with guilt.

“Harry,” she whispered, willing herself to continue. “I—I’m so sorry—”

He kept his eyes closed but he shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t get that way on your own. I’m sorry too.”

She buried her head in her hands. Harry moved closer and carefully put an arm around her. She let herself lean against him, though it almost made it worse: having him close, his scent enveloping her, his touch, so desperately wanted for months on end. Now she had it but it was all wrong. As she’d known; he was in love with someone else, and their predicament might ruin everything for him.

To her embarrassment, she only started crying harder. Even with her mind reminding her that none of it was real, the pain didn’t ease.

“It will be alright Hermione. We—we’ll sort something out,” he murmured against her head.

When she eventually cried what seemed like all the liquid out of her body, she felt Harry place a kiss against her head before he moved to get up, stretching when he stood. His eyes were trained on something over her shoulder, his face blank . Her heart broke even further at the sight.

“I’ll come around tomorrow. If… well, if I’m still alive,” he joked, but it came out rather flat.

Hermione winced. Harry gave her an apologetic look, offering his hand that she gratefully took. At this point she struggled to do a lot of things without assistance.

They stood in stilted silence at her door.

“I guess I’ll floo—I mean. Call?”

“You have a phone?”

He shook his head. “No, but I can find a payphone. I’ll call to tell you when I’m coming. I er—don’t know how long it will take.”

“You can just come whenever. I’ll be home all day. I—I’m not going out much lately.”

Harry nodded, his eyes flicked down to her stomach, shocked uncertainty flitted across his face again. He gave her another strained smile though it didn’t reach his eyes.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes and for a split second let herself imagine it was out of more than friendship. Even though she knew she’d pay for it later.

“See you,” he said quietly.

“Goodnight,” she whispered. He left and she stood there even more lonely than before she’d reached out. All of his good intentions left her feeling empty. While she’d managed to help Harry stay alive, now she was the one responsible for destroying his happily ever after.

--

The pain ripped through her body as she doubled over, trying to endure it, aware this time that she had just been here, once again both inside and outside herself. Everything seemed to press in on her for a moment as her surroundings stretched around her, as if through a distorted lens, before it righted itself.

The last contraction had broken her will. She couldn’t do this. She needed him. Like before, she moved towards the small nightstand. Grabbing her wand, she felt the debate in her brain. It took every ounce of her will to conjure enough happiness as the fear coursed through her.

Her determination won out and with a flick of her hand, the otter flew out of the room, “Please come.” Those were the only words she could get herself to speak. As soon as it was done, another wave hit her and she leaned against the bed. Her eyes squeezed shut, begging for it to pass under her breath.

She gasped as it finished, almost as if she had been wrung out like a wet washcloth, leaving her spent as she sat on the bed panting.

It was right before the next contraction overtook her that the stag appeared. “Hermione? Is everything okay? We've been worried sick. Look I—I’m sorry but I’m actually out of the country until next week with Ginny, or I’d come. Have you contacted Ron? He really wants to hear from you. We all do. I’ve got the coordinates. If I don’t hear back that everything is fine, I’ll send them to Ron. I really hope you’re alright. Please follow up.”

Hermione could barely hear the last half of the message, her body trembling from the pain and the regret of what she’d just done. Suddenly the physical pain stopped and she was somewhere else instead.

She found herself sitting on a plush sofa. It took her a moment to recognize it as Grimmauld Place as it felt more like looking at a picture until she settled into her body. In front of her, sat a shocked Harry and Ginny. Silent tears slid down Ginny’s cheeks, her eyes trained to the floor, unable to look at them.

Harry stared at Iris like some kind of exotic creature: Beautiful, eye-catching, but unfamiliar and possibly dangerous.

The warm weight of her daughter in her arms was the only thing that anchored her to the scene, the fallout happening in slow motion. Ginny finally fled the room and Harry’s eyes tore themselves away from Iris—a mixture of guilt and fear on his face as he watched her leave.

Hermione tried to concentrate on the feeling of her daughter’s small, fragile body braced against hers. A small mercy was that she was the only one in the room not currently fighting tears. Although, Iris was starting to wiggle more as her open mouth gummed at Hermione’s shoulder, clearly getting hungry.

Her heartbreak and shame were palpable. She had done exactly what she’d feared: set off a bomb in Harry’s perfect life, exploding it to pieces. It didn’t help that he appeared shellshocked.

Iris’s jerky movements increased as she started to coo and grunt in a way that Hermione knew would give way to crying if she didn’t address them soon. All she wanted was to go back to their tiny flat and feed her. It wasn’t home. Not really. But today confirmed that there was no other home to return to.

Running a hand over Iris’s soft head, she tried to make herself breathe. At least she could be home for her daughter. Maybe Harry and Ginny would be willing to provide a home for her as well, in time. She hated herself for the way that thought made her heart spasm —not wanting to hand her baby over, to be without her. Harry remained silent and Hermione finally made herself look at him. The tears he’d been fighting were finally falling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now.”

He didn’t respond but his eyes were glued on Iris once more.

Hermione hesitated for a moment and looked back down at her infant. She needed to feed her soon but felt as if she was supposed to ask him anyways. “I—do you want to hold her?”

His eyes met hers and the devastation in them made her stomach clench. “I don’t know.”

She had never been able to figure out what would happen next. Within seconds she was dissolving again and when her eyes blinked open she was at the fence of Iris’s nursery. She knew this scenario well. Harry was already next to her, his posture rigid. Hands buried in his pockets. He finally broke the silence.

“Look… I—I’m glad you told me,” he sighed heavily, the resignation in his voice dripping from every word like black mould. “I just… I wish you’d said something sooner. This isn’t a good time. Ginny, she’s on bedrest and the healer said she has to take it easy... no er—stress…”

She kept her eyes on Iris in the distance. A notice-me-not charm would ensure she wouldn’t see them watching through the chainlink fence of the playground where her agile nearly three-year-old self was running, her wild hair flying in the wind behind her. Hermione’s vision went in and out of focus and she was uncertain if it was tears or whatever this was—the world around her not fully solid.

Which quickly began to dissolve again. Harry was now yelling and pacing in front of her. Her brain couldn’t take in his words. The last time she saw him lose his temper this severely was at Remus, or after they’d seen the snatchers at the Christmas market in York. All at once the sickening guilt was filling her entire body. His rage was incandescent and yet somehow it was a relief, better than the indifference, but before that thought could fully take form, she was gone.

Harry was in front of her again, this time with his face in his hands, shoulders heaving. It was nighttime but the moonlight coming through the window was illuminating her flat with its pale light. When he finally looked up at her, tears streaming down, the devastation on his face made her heart twist and once more she was swept away.

She couldn’t be sure how many more of those fragments she’d slipped through helplessly. An accumulation of all the ways she’d pictured it over the years—all the ways she had tried to imagine Harry’s reaction once Iris was born.

They varied from reluctance, to inconvenience, to rage, to deep sorrow and everything in between. All of them lingered when she closed her eyes at night. All of them made her feel like she would sick up her own guts.

All these years later, she still didn’t know which scenario was most painful. Still didn’t have an answer when she finally landed heavily in her body, and could already feel the solidarity instead of the rushing from before. When she looked down, Iris was there and smiling up at her nervously.

Hermione felt her breath catch at the sight. There was her daughter. Only she was slightly older, several inches taller. She looked so grown up with the intricate braided crown in her hair, and when she spoke the first thing Hermione noticed was her missing milk teeth right at the front.

“Mummy? Are you going to ring the bell?”

When Hermione didn’t move to do it, Iris gave her a curious look. She removed her hand from her mother’s and reached up on her tiptoes to press the small button with her gloved finger.

For the first time Hermione noticed the sheer size of the house they were standing in front of. Then the ornate oak door, with its massive Christmas wreath, swung inwards revealing Ginny Weasley. Ginny Potter.

This particular scenario she knew, she dreamed of it frequently.

Ginny was dressed in an elegant green wrap dress, ginger hair swept off her flawless face. The only things that stood out were the woollen slippers that signalled that she was at home, and the small bump on her otherwise slim figure.

“Hello, Iris!” Her voice was warm, but Hermione didn’t miss the hardening of Ginny’s gaze when it landed on her. “Hermione.”

“Ginny,” she managed to say, knowing the smile on her own face was tentative and meek. Hermione could sense that this place made her feel lower than dirt.

“Your dad’s at work, but James is excited to see you. He’s in the playroom.”

Iris smiled at Ginny before turning to Hermione, and on autopilot she bent down to hold her daughter. She breathed in the smell of her, felt the loss of her before she’d left her arms.

“Be good,” she whispered against her temple, when they’d released their embrace.

“I will,” Iris told her, giving her one last lopsided smile. Hermione watched as Iris was swallowed up by the large house.

“Can you still pick up on the 27th?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded and she made herself look at the woman who had once been her friend.

“Of course.”

“Good,” she said, “Also don’t forget we have a meeting with the solicitor in January.” Her tone was light but Hermione didn’t miss the weight of the words.

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Right then. Have a good holiday.”

Hermione tried to make herself smile, but she was sure it was more of a grimace. “You too,” she managed to reply. The words had barely left her mouth when Ginny nodded curtly, shutting the door behind her.

She turned around and instead of apparating from the doorstep, she slowly made her way through the light sprinkling of snow, glancing back at the large stately home with its illuminated windows for a moment. Within its harsh lines and grandiosity, it now housed her heart. She blew a kiss and before her tears could fall she disappeared into the night.

Then there was light. Lots of it, bright and streaming through the kitchen window. Her hands were in the sink, which was currently filled with soapy dishes. Her mind scrambled to keep up as once again her body was on autopilot, fully within the control of what had been her imagination. The sound of footsteps made her want to turn around, but she stayed rooted in place.

“Is this okay?”

The voice, familiar yet wholly different made her heart stutter. When she turned around she was greeted by Iris in the doorway. Hermione didn’t have to guess, she was eleven. Almost eleven and a half.

As she took her in, she could see bits of the four-year-old still, but also more hints at the woman she would become. Iris wore a black flared dress covered in white polka dots that came to her knobby knees, with white ankle socks on her feet. Summer freckles dotted her nose like stardust. Her hair was half up; she’d clearly made an effort to tame her curls that had darkened since her early childhood, yet still held lighter streaks from the sun. Of course, a few pieces escaped. Iris’s mouth was pressed together in a thin line as she waited for a response.

The large green eyes Hermione loved so much were staring at her with trepidation. Her stature was on the short side, though she had a fleeting thought about if she’d have a sudden growth spurt like her father someday. Her adult face seemed to hide just beneath the childlike vulnerability and traces of softness that still clung to her, which was a relief. Hermione wasn’t quite prepared to see her all grown up.

“You look lovely.”

Her comment was met with an exaggerated eye roll before Iris crossed her thin arms. “I feel stupid,” she muttered as she made her way to the kitchen table, throwing herself into her chair with a dramatic flounce before hunching over.

The look on her face was one she hadn’t inherited from her. All at once Hermione knew where this was going; this particular scenario she'd envisioned had started after she’d told Iris about Harry last month.

“You don’t look stupid,” she replied. Inexplicably she continued washing the dishes.

Iris didn’t respond right away. The tension between them was palpable and made her heart ache.

“Why am I even dressing up anyway?”

“I never said you had to dress up.”

“You said to put on something nice.”

“I meant presentable. As long as it was clean and rip-free.”

“This whole thing is stupid,” Iris said darkly. At that Hermione looked up. Iris’s face was tilted down at the table with a scowl.

Hermione sighed again. “It’s not. It’s important that we do this.”

Iris glared out the window. Her daughter had definitely inherited her father’s petulant streak. Hermione grabbed her wand from the counter. After years of only using magic alone, it still felt strange to wave it and get the dishes to finish washing themselves in front of Iris. The sight of her mother using magic didn’t seem to draw her attention, or she pretended not to care anyway. Her daughter was still as stubborn as anything when she got like this, but Hermione knew better.

She took a seat across from her pre-teen who still refused to look at her.

“I know this is difficult,” she said, to which Iris snorted. “I also know I should have told you all of this a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause and Iris released her bottom lip that was imprinted with her teeth. “You keep saying that.”

“I know, but I am sorry. I—I didn’t mean to let it go on for this long,” she told her. Despite whatever this was, her real self could feel the emotion clearly, the intensity of the regret and sorrow that she was trying to maintain control of in front of Iris.

Iris shook her head and her green eyes finally met hers, eyebrows high on her forehead. “But... why? I don’t understand even though you’ve already... explained.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair, rubbing her hand over her heart. “I was afraid. I was selfish. I—I didn’t know how to stop hiding.”

All of this was true. It pulled at the darkest parts of herself that she didn’t like to acknowledge were there, the awful kernel of bitterness deep inside her that didn’t want to live through the scenario from before... for years on end.

Harry got his happily ever after, the life he’d always wanted. She indulged the selfish part of her—the part of her that was unfairly angry at him; for not loving her back, for his silence after everything, for what he’d said to Ron—she cut off that thought. It didn't matter.

This scenario right now, where she hadn’t been brave, strong or selfless enough to pass the child who was her whole heart off to others, was where she found herself. Hermione hated this version of herself. As she sat there, she knew it was a terrible mistake. Only wanting to undo her actions. She hated that she’d let herself give into this dark impulse. The part of her that knew this wasn’t real was screaming at her, but it was weaker than the emotions that made this moment feel real, impossibly real. One of her deepest fears come to life; that she was capable of this much selfishness.

Another long silence stretched between them. She could see the conflicting emotions playing across Iris’s features. Could still read her daughter's face like a book.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione finally asked, not able to take her normally talkative daughter’s silence.

“Fine,” she replied too quickly, her words hollow.

Hermione reached across and gently took both of Iris’s hands into hers. They were still small, yet so much bigger than her tiny four-year-old ones. The words of a poem went through her mind as she admired her graceful fingers, smiling softly when she noticed for the first time that Iris had inherited them from her. Thinking of rain, spring air, time.

Her inner voice quieted, immersed in this moment with her daughter—still she felt the echo of her absence in the present like an irregular pulse.

When she looked up, Iris was finally meeting her eyes, wavering between several emotions at once. She squeezed her hands lightly in encouragement.

“I—I don’t know,” Iris finally said, quietly, biting her lip. “I—I just it’s…” She stopped and looked helplessly at Hermione, who felt the guilt surge through her. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

The words were so quiet, she would have missed them if she wasn’t sitting so close. They pierced her like an arrow. The familiar feeling of failure filled her. She stood up and moved to the other side of the table, pulling Iris into her arms. As soon as she was holding her she felt her shudder.

Rubbing her hand up and down Iris’s back, she whispered against her head what she knew to be true. “That’s not possible.”

Iris’s voice was muffled against her. “He—he already has other children... He probably doesn’t want another one.”

Hermione sighed heavily and continued to hold her, rocking slightly as she’d done when she was much smaller. “That’s not really how children work sweetheart. You don’t love one less because you have another.”

Iris didn’t say anything right away. “Easy for you to say. You only have me.” It was still said through tears but her daughter’s familiar cheek made her lips twitch into a faint smile.

“That’s true, but I know I’m right. Plus you were so wonderful. I didn’t need any more.”

“You—you have to say that,” Iris rasped, trying to sound sullen but Hermione heard the barest hint of endearment.

“Why do I have to say that?”

Iris shook her head against her, pulling back slightly. Her tearstained face made her look much more like her younger self. “It—it’s in the rulebook or something.”

Hermione tried hard not to smile. “What rulebook?”

She rolled her eyes, her tone much more sarcastic than she’d ever heard it. “The one on how to be a good mum.”

“Oh, I haven’t read that. It sounds useful.”

Iris gave a hiccoughing laugh before her face twisted and she started crying again. Hermione held her tighter. There was a hitch in her breath before Iris spoke again. “What if he doesn’t—what if he doesn’t love me?”

Her eyes burned with tears at Iris’s whispered confession. Failure coursed through her, shame. Only a terrible mother would allow this. “Even less possible.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. Your father has a huge heart. Just like yours. They’re the same. I’ve told you that because it’s true. He’ll love you with all of it. I promise,” she whispered with all the intention she could. Harry was a stranger to her now, but still she didn’t doubt it for a second—despite fears that had always tried to tell her otherwise

Iris’s thin frame tensed, and knew she wanted to argue with her, which broke her heart. She squeezed her tighter. “He will,” she repeated.

They stayed like that for a while as Iris’s tears mostly subsided before her body tensed again.

“What if she’s awful?” she murmured. It took her a moment to process what she meant

“She’s not,” she replied automatically as she swept a hand over Iris’s head.

“How do you know? Aren’t stepmothers meant to be wicked or something?”

Hermione sighed. “That is an outdated and harmful stereotype. You’re also forgetting that I knew her too. She’s not awful. None of them are.”

Iris paused before asking another difficult question. “Then why did you leave?”

The Great Hall. Her cracked heart finally shattered in the shadows of crumbling stone. Still, that wasn’t a good enough explanation. At least not one that justified the last twelve years. So instead she repeated a portion of what she’d already said in the other part of this scenario, a conversation that was liable to continue in spiralling circles—maybe indefinitely.

“I was young. I needed to figure things out. I shouldn’t have stayed away though. That wasn’t fair. Don’t be mad at him... or any of them for my mistake alright? I can take it. Be angry with me.”

“It’s hard,” Iris huffed. “I love you.”

Hermione couldn’t help the small smile. Part of her felt selfish for the relief she felt at her words. Though she was sure Iris’s anger would come. “You’ll love them too. They’ll also be your family,” she told her, rubbing her back.

“And yours?”

That was more complicated and after her meeting with Harry, she very much doubted that. “I—I don’t know. You’re what matters most here. Alright?”

Iris nodded but didn’t move to pull away, and Hermione waited for what she knew she was likely to say next. “I don’t know… I wanted a dad,” she said softly and Hermione could hear the pain in her voice. She held Iris tighter. “But he’s a stranger and I—I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to like him just because…”

“Because what?”

Iris didn’t reply right away, shaking her head. “Just because—I mean... he wasn’t there. He’s not like a real dad. At least… to me.”

“He will be,” she said quietly against Iris’s head. “Can you promise me you’ll give him a chance?” She could feel her daughter’s strong will. The careful way she was guarding her heart. The difference between the open hearted, small child and the more wary pre-teen made her ache. “He’s good, Iris. I’ve also always told you that. I should have been braver. It’s a lot more at once than is fair. Magic, your father, and with Hogwarts starting in a few months. I’m—”

“I know. It’s fine Mum,” she said, as she wiped her tears and started to sit up. Hermione squeezed her before loosening her hold so they could look at one another.

“It’s really not. Though I’m glad you don’t hate me yet,” she replied, trying to lighten the mood. They didn’t have much time before they had to leave.

“Only sometimes,” she deadpanned.

“Hey!”

Hermione’s heart still leapt at the sight of his lopsided grin on her daughter’s beautiful face. “I’m only joking.”

She kissed her daughter’s forehead before resting hers there. “I love you to the moon.”

“I love you to the bottom of the sea,” Iris whispered. Neither of them moved for a long moment and Hermione savoured the feeling of having Iris in her arms like this.

Reluctantly she pulled away, craning to see the clock on the wall. She turned back to face Iris. “Are you ready?”

The brief flash of fear made the ache in her heart flare up once more. Gently she took Iris’s face in her hands and stared into her beautiful green eyes, his eyes. “You have nothing to be afraid of my love. I promise.”

The conflicting warmth and guilt from that moment stayed in her body as she felt herself being pulled away.

Pain was the first signal that she was back in the room. There was no holding it in this time, she moaned in agony as she curled in on herself, her chest on fire. She tried to get her bearings, mind racing, her thoughts full of Iris and of Harry. What she had just experienced—that couldn’t happen.

She felt a manic urge to claw her way past her captor and out of this room. She had to get to Iris. She had to tell Harry. She’d always known that. Yet now the sheer level of adrenaline and determination made her know this time was different. There would be no more hiding from her past. She would not let the worst parts of herself win. Too much time had already slipped through her fingers.

The jumbled mess of her mind along with the pain were so intense it took her a moment to take in that Xavier was speaking.

“You really think there’s anything you can do to fix what you’ve done?”

Her eyes shot to his face as he stared down at her, his expression bemused, but she didn’t miss the contempt shining in his eyes.

She opened her mouth, but he started speaking again. “You know deep down it’s too late.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to tell him. I was always going to tell him.”

He chuckled. “Intentions mean nothing Ms Granger. They don’t undo what’s been done. That part of you—the cruel, selfish part of you that you like to pretend doesn’t exist. The one I’ve seen. That’s what we are addressing by doing this. So that you can’t not look at it.”

“Why do you care about any of this?” She asked, anger flooding her.

He stared at her for a long moment. “I don’t. It’s necessary though. You’re the best chance I’ve got.” Hermione hadn’t the faintest clue what that could mean.

He smiled as she flinched at his words before she straightened her spine even with the pain it caused her to do so. Her newfound determination flowed through her once more. She couldn’t take back what she’d done, but she could try to get back to the person she once was—the person she was before everything had fallen apart.

She didn’t need to speak as he’d read it on her and sneered. “You think there won’t be consequences? If I opened the door behind me…” Her eyes darted to the door and her heart lurched. If only it were that simple. “He would be more within his rights to take what’s his.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that.” Her voice, clear and strong. That she knew for certain. Harry was a better person than her.

He stood stock still for a moment. Hermione kept her face straight and attempted to make her mind blank though she knew it was useless. He was scanning her—she could sense it now. “Would he have said the same about you at one point?”

His question had the intended effect and her shoulders dropped before she steadied herself once more, her hand coming to rest on her chest, trying to stay upright as the throbbing sensation only grew stronger.

Xavier took a step closer so he was looming over her once more. “How well do you know each other after all? Do you even recognize yourself? Would he still see the girl he once knew? The one the papers have on a pedestal? How far the fall from grace will be if the truth is ever revealed.”

He continued to stare at her and she wanted to look away but felt trapped in this terrible moment with him. Nowhere to hide, her legs frozen under her as his eyes narrowed.

“Yes. I know what you are. You’re like so many women. Selfish. Callous. Destructive. Liars. You thought you could get away with it, take what wasn’t yours… but there are always consequences. You seem to forget that it isn’t yours to decide everything, that you don’t do anything without consulting me.” Something in his face contorted, like a mask slipping to reveal something even more terrifying underneath. Hermione went numb with fear as he went on, voice fervent -almost as if he was no longer seeing her.

“This isn’t about me despite what you think. It’s about you Ms Granger. The decisions you made. ”Xavier stopped just as suddenly. Only the slightly manic gleam in his eyes and flush gave away what had happened—that it hadn’t been intentional.

He shook himself and a careful smile almost self conscious which was strangely human. Somehow it was all the more frightening, that most monsters were just that—human.

He started pacing slowly, as he spoke to her calmly, an undercurrent of malice in his voice. “All that energy and time. Agonising over it. Not realising the effect of the consequences of your actions spreading out like cracks in a vase. Until all the water leaked out without you noticing.”

There was no making sense of it. Why was he speaking of a vase? Her lungs felt like they would collapse with the pressure in her chest and her need to see Iris.

“What’s a vase without water to keep the flower alive?”

The panic was hard to differentiate from the pain. A vase. A flower. Suddenly she knew what he was speaking about. Iris.

He only tipped his head in acknowledgement of the thought she’d had. “I think you know what I’m going to show you.”

His words seeped into her. He had been building up to this and she could see it in the way he was carrying himself as he moved towards her once more.

“There were too many to choose from. She became the thing you couldn’t live without. It’s hard to decide. All the times you thought something would happen before she was born?”

Flashes of the lonely months when she’d agonised over something going wrong. How she had avoided seeing a doctor because of her denial and fear. The relief when she’d heard Iris cry for the first time.

He shook his head. “That’s the past. I think this one is best for now. It’s the same jolt of fear all parents have at some point. A door left open, a child running towards something completely unaware of the danger, losing sight in a crowd,” his lips curled and she knew what he had seen.

“Yes, I think this is a good one to start with,” he said, simply.

With a wave of his wand the pain intensified and then she was somewhere else.

Iris’s small hand was in hers. Hermione instantly knew where she was—that it wasn’t the present. As always there was no control. Her past self would have rather carried her, but Iris had insisted that she “Do it myself,” her new favourite sentence. They moved slowly as her two-year-old was constantly stopping and staring in wonder at the sights around them. People in traditional garb passed by them, a sense of gaiety in the air as people revelled in the magic of the Highland games.

Annie grumbled about the price of the mead and Hermione shared a look with Rosie, who was fanning herself with a brochure. The sun was out in full force fighting the heavy clouds.

This was the first time Hermione and Iris had joined the sisters for one of their favourite traditions. They were making their way to one of the caber tosses that would be starting shortly. She could feel her thoughts swirling together as she tried to distinguish the anxiety from the past with that of the present that felt fainter and fainter as she walked through the large field.

Hermione tried to focus on breathing. The old thoughts dominated her mind. Why hadn’t she brought her wand? Over the last year she had come to rely on it less and less, as Iris started saying more words each day.

She still hated crowds.. She always felt herself looking for him when she was surrounded by too many people, a motion done out of habit. She wondered if it would ever go away.

Iris called out happily as they passed an area to pet Clydesdales and tugged her hand with all of her small might. “Horses!” she cried.

“Yes, darling,” she said, her eyes trained ahead. A large bald man blocked her ability to see where they were headed. The term constant vigilance passed through her mind as she grimaced, unable to stop scanning their surroundings.

“I want to see, Mummy,” Iris begged and when Hermione glanced down she saw her pouting.

“Not now.”

The memory carried on and Hermione felt like a ghost in her own body as they made their way closer to the field. Iris decided to hold onto Rosie, despite Hermione’s protest. She didn’t fancy publicly going toe to toe with her stubborn daughter when she was already struggling to keep herself together.

Once they were seated, Annie kept trying to get her to relax and handed her a lukewarm cup of mead. Hermione decided she hated mead. She drank it anyway, hoping it would take the edge off her frayed nerves.

It happened all at once—as nightmares do. Rosie frantically called for Iris and Hermione’s entire body went rigid. Then she was up and moving, her entire universe collapsing in on her.

“She was right here!” Rosie cried. The panic in her mind made it impossible to think. Frantically they searched under the stands and soon enough others were helping. There was part of her that knew that this was a memory. Not the imaginings of before, this had actually happened.

As Hermione rushed in the direction they came, her daughter’s name lodged in her throat. She saw the stable. That was where Iris had gone. Coming around the corner, her heart hammered with anxiety and anticipation. Iris would be there in her tiny kilt that Annie had bought her for the occasion, talking in her cheerful little voice to the mini shetland pony in his stall, her plaits swinging when she finally looked up beaming at her mother as if nothing was amiss.

Hermione stepped forward and the pony came into view, but Iris was nowhere in sight.

A million images assaulted her at once as they blended the past and her present. Iris gone. Iris missing. Iris hurt. The loch nearby. A paedophile. An escaped Deatheater. A madman. A locked room. Every awful thing all at once.

The scream was the only thing that followed her; it came from far away yet it was emanating from inside her. She came back to her body on the mattress, her voice hoarse and raw, the room silent except for her ragged breathing. Xavier peered down at her.

“You still think of it don’t you?”

Hermione couldn’t reply. The pain in her chest was worse than before as it collided with the awful sensation from that memory—dream? Iris had been there. Why was she gone?

“There’s no need to draw this out much longer,” he said, twirling his wand, the smirk not leaving his face. “But there’s one more. See that one at least was rational. Every parent’s worst nightmare is it not? A child vanishing out of thin air,” he mused. “Fear, though, is often the relinquishing of logic, which is why this is not the one that haunts you.”

He smiled knowingly and she felt her heart plunge into her stomach. There was only a second before his wand slashed through the air, yet Hermione already knew where she was going.

Chapter 18: Lost and Found

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen: Lost and Found

“He was discovering that being in love was not a steady state, but a matter of fresh surges or waves, and he was experiencing one now.”

― Ian McEwan, On Chesil Beach

Hermione landed in her body, prone to the hard floor. The agony was everywhere, the source of her pain indistinguishable. Her every nerve on fire.

A loud, maniacal cackle moved towards her, carried by high-heeled footsteps that reverberated around the large room. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know who it was. “Well, well, well the little Mudblood is back.”

There was no responding until suddenly the curse stopped. The pain echoed inside her muscles, limbs twitching without her control.

Her eyes opened and the ghostly white face of Bellatrix Lestrange grinned down with her rotting teeth.

“Have you had enough yet?” she asked, clearly not expecting an answer. “I thought we could… mix it up.”

Her arms throbbed from the fresh cut and she yelped when Bellatrix kicked it. “Sit up you stupid girl.”

It took every ounce of strength she had, shaking violently as she tried to bring herself slowly to a seated position. Her torturer grew impatient, and with a slash of her wand Hermione jolted upright, her bones snapping to attention as magic kept her rigidly in place. “This is getting boring. We have a show for you to watch,” she announced.

Bellatrix motioned behind her, and Dolohov entered the room. Her heart stopped at the sight:

Iris in her pale blue nightgown, motionless in his arms.

“Oh, don’t worry. She isn’t dead,” Bellatrix told her, emphasising the last word so it landed like a punch to her stomach. “She simply wasn’t being… shall we say co-operative?”

Hermione watched frozen on the cold marble floor as Dolohov placed Iris a few feet from her, a look of pure triumph on his face. She was so small. So still.

But she could see the slight movement of her chest—still breathing.

“Like her parents, she doesn’t know any better. Like when to give up the fight.”

There was no time to think of how she did it but her body broke out of the hold, desperate to get to her child. She attempted to crawl forward, her arms shaking beneath her as she was driven by something more powerful than magic. But she wasn’t fast enough.

“Incarcerous!”

She fell back down as thick ropes wrapped themselves around her. They covered her entire body except for her face, so that she was forced to look at the daughter she could not reach.

Bellatrix moved to stand over her. “Tsk tsk. You don’t move unless I say so, Mudblood. Your filthy-blooded child will be the one to pay the price for your carelessness.”

“Please—take me instead!” she begged desperately, knowing it was futile.

Bellaxtrix laughed once more, looming over Hermione, her wand pointed at Iris. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be next. I just wanted to be sure to see your face when I do this.”

There was no time to get any words out. With a gleeful flourish, it was over. The flash of green was so blinding, Hermione’s eyes shut involuntarily as an unearthly wail was ripped from her throat.

This time, she was still screaming when she came back to the room. Xavier waved his wand and silenced her. It didn’t matter; the sensations continued to pour out of her despite the silence. An involuntary release of anguish that she couldn’t stop, worse than any curse.

There was no telling how long she stayed in that state. Her rational mind knew it wasn’t real. It was the same nightmare she had been having for five years, and it only got worse with the passage of time. It had been so much more bearable when it had been herself at the other end of the killing curse.

“Funny what the mind focuses on, what sticks in the subconscious. It’s interesting to note… how you know how irrational this is. At least you must see that, as bright as you supposedly are, Bellatrix Lestrange has been dead for years... and yet still you fear her. Death Eaters. The wizarding world is always so quick to turn on those of your blood status. I myself have never gotten the fuss. Magic is magic. Blood is blood.”

Hermione wouldn’t have been able to speak in that moment even if her life depended on it, and the look he gave her told her he knew that.

“Your child is no less because of your parentage. The child of the Boy Who Lived and The Brightest Witch of her age. The potential within her is clear. The innocence of childhood. Pure of heart is she not?”

Her throat released and Hermione blinked back tears.“What do you want?” she asked, her voice broken from her screams. She didn’t want to talk about Iris with him. She only wanted to be with her daughter. She’d throw away every ideal she’d ever held in order to hold her child once more. “I’ll give you the book. Anything. Just let me go.”

It took a moment to register the sound he was making: a rumbling sound like thunder that made her heart seize.

“I always knew this might happen. Maybe I should have led with that. It might have spared her.” At the blank look of shock, his lips twitched upwards. “See, you already sealed her fate that night when you performed that charm. Sealed her into a bedroom. Now a tomb.” She could scarcely hear him over the fog that seemed to overcome her brain. “Ms Granger, do you know how many days a child can survive without water?”

A fog of panic wiped away Hermione’s every thought, except for a steady whine of terror. It was a feeling of complete and utter collapse.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, the feeling from the dream building back up inside her—too much sensation at once.

“There’s no room for belief when it comes to death,” he said with a little shake of his head.

Her mind scrambled to find the lie. What he was saying couldn’t be true.

She stared at him, willing herself to think. They’d duelled. Most clearly, outside her fear for Iris, she remembered the sound. She had forgotten how loud magic could be. The smoky smell that hung in the air after certain curses. Hermione shook her head against what he was saying.

“You’re lying. Simon would have come to the shop. The police would come.” She held tight to hope like the lip of a ledge that she was holding by her fingertips. “They—they’d contact the Aurors—they’ll find you too.”

“Hmm is that so?”

“Yes. Someone will help her.” Hermione tried to think back to the spell on the door, how many years ago she researched it. Iris might be able to free herself—no longer a baby in her cot. “She’s old enough to open the door. Iris will run for help—she’s brave and strong and clever.”

He gave another empty laugh before he tilted his head, pretending to think it over.

“You seem to think she’s capable of far more than she is. She is, after all, a small child. One who's been on her own for days. I can assure you that no help has come. The door has stayed firmly shut. No Muggles, or Aurors, have come. I have seen to that. Though if they had, would it have made a difference? How exactly would they open the door?”

Hermione gaped in horror at him, and a smile spread across his face. “I’ve already seen in your mind now. Your secret that you’ve hidden, attempts to protect her that ultimately only doomed her.” He shook his head with mock sadness. “So if someone turned up at the flat as you are insisting they would. Tell me… is there a single soul who would know the only other person who held the key in the palm of his hand?”

He laid it out there. The worst thing she’d ever done—the selfishness of her secret. That Iris would pay the price.

“Take me to her. Please,” she managed to choke out. Her throat was constricted so tightly she was sure she would suffocate. “I’ll open it—”

He shook his head looking far too pleased. “Why would I take you there now? You aren’t going anywhere until I decide—”

There was no thought, just pure adrenaline and instinct as she lunged at him. For the first time in however long she’d been there, she caught her captor off guard. He fell to the ground with a hard thud, his wand clattering ahead of them. Hermione used every last ounce of strength to scramble for it, her fingers closing around the dark wood. On trembling legs, her teeth gritted against the searing pain in her chest, she ran to the door. She was only inches away when a hand closed around her wrist in an iron grip, the wand pulled from her hand with magic.

“You silly girl. Did you really think that would work? You have no idea what I’m capable of,” he hissed. He held the wand to her throat, the tip digging into the delicate skin. “You don’t do anything unless I say so.” His voice was hard-edged, no mirth left as he spoke directly into her ear. “You’ll learn. I always get what I want one way or the other—even if it takes time. I’m not sure you’re as clever or as brave as you think you are. If you’d been paying attention instead of focusing on the mistake locked in her bedroom maybe you’d have learned something.”

Without another word she felt his grip tighten further, crushing the bones in her wrist, before he threw her back towards the mattress. The pain was everywhere. He took slow and steady steps towards her. His face was settling back into the cool, calm one he’d had when he came into the book shop. He ran a hand over his hair, straightening up and looking at her dead in the eye.

“You’ll stay here until you're needed. I’ll release the enchantments so that your Muggle friend remembers to check in on her shop. Your spell has been broken. It no longer works when there’s no heart left to pump the blood that activates it. She’ll find your daughter and give her a proper funeral. Your secret shame will be buried in the earth. No need for anyone to find out.” He gave her a knowing smile. Harry. She felt her stomach heave. It couldn’t be true. An image too horrible to comprehend formed in her mind and he nodded.

“Good. No need to show you. You already see it.” He pursed his lips, seeming to think something over, but Hermione struggled to hear him over the roaring in her ears. “The book is already mine despite your best efforts.” He didn’t even attempt to look remorseful, his voice like steel. Though the pleasure he was taking in this had returned to his eyes. “She will pay for your selfishness.”

“Why?” She didn’t understand. Iris had done nothing wrong. Numbness swept through her body, shaking as he came closer, looming over her once more, his wand raised as if daring her to move again. But it was his words more than anything that pinned her to the mattress.

“I wanted you to understand that everyone has something that can make them act immorally—that can look terrible to those who don’t understand. You and I aren’t so different are we? Except you still see hope as love instead of possibility.” His lips curled up and she couldn’t form words as she stared into his detached and unfeeling blue eyes, her own vision blurred with tears. “The two of us might have been able to sort something out, if you’d been willing to help. If you’d given me the book in the first place. If you’d acted like the logical and brilliant witch everyone said you were, maybe we could have. But you're like all of them. Driven by emotions. Thinking only of your own self interest. To do as you're told.”

With a wave of his wand she was wrapped in ropes, everywhere but her face. Hermione, with revulsion and terror, remembered why déjà-vu was said to be felt when dreams spilled into real life.

“It’s a pity you chose this, as it’s inconvenienced me as well. All of this waiting around for her to die. Having to deal with your fears and the darkness you carry inside you—the only way this will work now is by cleansing it. The only way to do that is to face it.” At this he flashed a cruel smile before continuing. “It was also because I enjoyed it.” He gave a movement that might have been a shrug as he twirled his wand between his fingers.

She could do nothing frozen in her grief and shock. “Goodbye for now, Ms Granger. You’ll need your strength for what’s next. Ceely will bring the potion… though I doubt it will help with the grief you’ve caused yourself.” With a last nod of his head he moved swiftly out of the room.

--

Hermione had never been sure exactly what she believed when it came to souls, but the moment he told her Iris was dead, hers shattered like glass. Her grief echoed off the walls—she was hardly aware that the terrible sounds were from her as she drowned under the weight of it. Her body felt like nothing more than an empty shell, her mind scattered alongside her soul in the dim room.

There was no coming back from this. Without Iris there was nothing left. She would never resurface. She had failed to provide the bare necessities to keep her child alive. Iris was small, vulnerable, and it had been her job to protect her. That had been the main purpose of her life these last five years. Yet her protection had failed. She had failed. Her mind sharply spun to Harry. He would never have let this happen. She had allowed their child to be killed and he didn’t even know. All her fears of how to tell him were ridiculous in the harsh light of loss. The thought of Harry never meeting Iris only added another layer of excruciating pain and regret. What had she done?

She had never wanted to live less than she did at that moment.

The sudden loud pop that signified Ceely’s arrival barely registered.

“Oh Miss… Ceely has the potion! It will help.”

Hermione could barely get herself to move her head. The pain in her chest made it impossible, heaving under the now quieter, muffled sound of her jagged sobs.

A gentle touch to her arm only made her cry harder. “Oh I am sorry Miss but you must… the potion. It helps,” her voice was high and shaky with nerves.“If Miss does not take her potion it will only get worse. Miss will die! Ceely couldn’t take that. Ceely would be a very bad elf.” All she could do was shake her head. Any words she tried to form felt foreign on her tongue. Nothing mattered anymore.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” Ceely encouraged, continuing to move her small hand over Hermione’s arm over the thick ropes. “It will make it better.”

“Nothing—nothing can make it—it better,” she sobbed.

“It can—”

“No!” The anger startled even herself. There were too many emotions all at once culminating into an awful storm of excruciating pain. “Iris,” she whimpered, saying the name, breaking her open again. She would never get to call her daughter by her name again.

“Miss must drink the potion so she can see her.” At Ceely’s kind words of misunderstanding she cried harder. “Potion will make it better, Miss. It works very fast. Miss will be much better, just like last night.”

Last night. Something in her grabbed on to this. Time seemed to have lost its meaning. But if Ceely had come to her twice before…“Ceely… what day is it?” she gasped.

“Saturday, Miss,” Ceely said, anxiously.

Saturday. He had lied. Unless… It had been over a week? That didn’t seem possible. There could be time. She hoped there was time. She tried to move but couldn’t, the ropes and also the way it felt as if her chest would tear in half.

“Ceely. I—I need your help.”

“Take the potion Miss. Please,” the elf pleaded.

“I’ll take it but—but I need you to help me. Please! I need to get help for my daughter,” she whispered.

“Your daughter?” Ceely stared at her perplexed, her head tipped to the side.

“Yes. My daughter,” Hermione told her, taking a steadying breath before she told her what she hoped would get her attention. Something she had never told anyone else out loud. “Her—her father is Harry Potter.”

Ceely’s eyes grew impossibly wide.

“Friend of Dobby the free elf?” she whispered with awe.

Hermione nodded despite the shooting pain it caused her to do so. “Yes. She’s in danger. There isn’t much time. Can you deliver a message or I—”

“Ceely must not go against Master,” she said, as she started trembling.

Hermione stared into Ceely’s large eyes, wishing desperately her hands were free to clasp her small ones. “I know but I—I’m—she’s in trouble. I—I’m desperate. Please. It’s the only chance she has. She’ll die if I don’t get to her.” She ignored the dread that it might be too late. “Is there a way? Please, I'll do anything.”

She could see the conflict on the elf’s face even in the shadows.

“Master Xavier isn't Ceely's only master,” she whispered, sounding scared.

“He isn’t?”

Ceely nodded solemnly. “Master left and Master Xavier took his place.”

They stared for a moment before it came to her—her only chance. “Would your old master help me?” she asked softly, biting her lip as another wave of pain radiated out from her chest.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Master would do anything for his child.”

Hope bloomed in her chest, contrasting with the sharp pain. “Please help me. I—I know someone who can help us.”

Ceely’s eyes brightened with understanding. “Harry Potter?”

Hermione was able to nod, though her vision was starting to blur around her as the pain spread. “Yes.”

--

As soon as Harry arrived at the Ministry apparition point, he sprinted towards Auror Headquarters, desperately trying to squash the ringing panic in his mind that was clouding his ability to think. When he finally flung himself through the doors, the first thing he noticed was that the office was a hub of activity despite the time. His eyes scanned the room for Remus, coming up empty.

“Harry!” Seamus called and he ran towards him, cutting through a throng of senior Aurors. His co-worker looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Hermione. Where is she?” His voice was forceful as he towered over Seamus who didn’t flinch.

“She’s at Hogwarts,” he said, tiredly but calmly.

That was the last place he’d expected her to be. “What?!” His brain caught up to him and the panic was louder. “Is she okay?”

“I dunno.” That was all Seamus got out before Harry felt his restraint break.

“You don’t know?” he hissed.

Seamus held his hands up as Harry had inadvertently backed him into a desk. “Look. I don’t know all the details. It all happened quickly. Remus is there now—he told me to keep an eye out for you. McGonagall contacted us and the Floo has been set up to her office. Remus already left and I said I’d bring you when you came.”

He only tried to process this for a second before he took off to the back of the department where there was a floo connection. As Harry stepped into the green flames his heart twisted. The only thing he knew for certain was that she had to be okay.

Professor McGonagall’s office was empty when he stumbled out. He didn’t wait for Seamus and sprinted straight towards the Hospital Wing, desperately hoping that his instincts were wrong, and she was fine and simply talking with Remus and McGonagall somewhere else in the castle. A clatter behind him told him Seamus was following, but he could only focus on getting there without breaking his neck on the many staircases.

Bursting through the heavy doors, he was greeted by the familiar sight of the row of pristine white beds and blue curtains. Near the back was a murmur of voices and people moving in shadow behind the curtain. He froze for a moment, the dread of what he might find suddenly turning his body to stone. The sound of Seamus panting beside him, hands on his knees brought him back to himself.

At that moment Hannah popped out from behind the blue curtain and rushed over to them.

“Hermione…” It came out in a strangled whisper.

Hannah nodded. “She’s here.” And at the unspoken question in his eyes: “She’s alive, Harry. She’s been hurt but she’s alive.”

Harry almost collapsed under the weight of his relief. He felt Seamus steady him as he swayed. Remus made his way over looking exhausted but relieved. “Harry. Seamus. We have her. Madam Pomfrey assured me that she’ll recover.”

“What happened?” Seamus asked. Harry was still unable to form words. Hermione was in the same room. It was unfathomable. He’d spent the last five years not having a clue where the hell she was.

“We aren’t entirely certain yet. She appeared in the kitchens with the house elves. Anderson is finishing the interviews now. Hopefully we’ll get a better idea when Ms Granger wakes up,” Remus was telling them but Harry had a hard time taking anything in.

“You’re sure she’ll be fine?” Harry asked. It wasn’t until Hannah patted his arm that he became aware he was gripping her hand tightly.

“It will probably take quite a few days for her to fully heal… but yes, with proper support and rest she will be back to herself.”

“Can I see her?”

Hannah squeezed his hand before letting it go. “Of course.”

He followed Hannah, walking a bit like he was concussed. He took a deep breath before he made it around the curtain. It didn’t matter, as it felt like all the air was stolen from his lungs when his eyes landed on her.

She was there. It was really her. After all this time.

Hermione was as pale as the sheets, dark circles under her eyes. The gentle rise and fall of her chest was proof of life. He stood at the end of the bed, trying to process that she was actually in front of him.

“Take a seat, Potter.” The voice of Professor McGonagall brought him back to the room.

His old professor was seated on the other side of the bed, weary as she stared at her former favourite student.

He made himself sit down. Nobody spoke, and only the sounds of footsteps from the others could be heard along Hermione’s gentle breathing. He’d never been so grateful to hear any other sound. Professor McGonagall excused herself quietly, and then they were alone.

He saw her arm lying in front of him. Bruises in the shape of someone’s hand blossomed underneath the skin and he felt a wave of nausea and anger. Slowly he reached out and gently touched her still fingers.

In an instant he was transported to being twelve years old, seeing her petrified. His fingertips moved to her wrist and he remembered the relief when Neville found a pulse, that one heartbeat of a moment when he’d thought she’d died, the terror of it. As he moved his hand further up, he noticed it: the scar from Malfoy Manor. Instead now, it was a flower. A purple one, with a dark green stem and leaves that covered those awful words. Seeing it, everything he’d been holding back rushed to the surface. He moved his face into his hands as he leaned over the bed, his tears spilling into her open palm.

He took a shuddered breath and propped himself up against the mattress so he could look at her again. Before he could stop himself he brought her hand up to his lips. He kissed her palm, her pulse point, the now-covered scar, pouring all of the love he’d had stored up over the last five years into each brush of his lips on her skin. He loved her. He would always love her. The intensity of that realisation made him feel weak.

He had no idea what that meant going forward. So much had happened and none of it could be undone. Everything still hurt as if he himself was covered in bruises, yet all of his other emotions felt as if they were on hold in another room—there was no space for them with the overwhelming feeling of relief that she was alive.

He couldn’t be sure how long he sat like that before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Harry looked up to see Remus, who also looked exhausted, but his eyes shone with relief.

“She’s here. She’s alive. It’s all going to be okay Harry.”

“How?” he whispered.

“We still don’t have many answers. As I said, she appeared suddenly in the kitchens.”

At his look of disbelief Remus continued. “She was with a house elf. She was bound in ropes.” Harry flinched and Remus squeezed his shoulder. “Hermione lost consciousness almost as soon as she got here. The house elves came and alerted McGonagall. According to those we interviewed she said something about Iris. The house elf, Ceely, mentioned you.”

“Me?

“Ceely said that Hermione said you’d help them,” Remus told him, gently.

Harry felt more confused at Remus’s words.

“We don’t really know more than that. Ceely told us that she needed to help Harry Potter’s child.” Remus sighed, rubbing his tired face. “We also know that Hermione was being kept somewhere. A manor where the house elf worked—we’re still getting information from her so we can find it. She’s very distraught but has been convinced to stay. She has a relative at the school.”

Harry looked up at Remus. “A relative?”

He nodded. “I was told you might know her. Winky.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. Remus gave him an exhausted smile. “She also mentioned wanting to help the friends of Dobby—a free elf.”

At the mention of Dobby another wave of emotion crashed over him. His friend had, even in death, been a connection that had gotten Hermione to safety

Remus clasped his shoulder again. “Good deeds expand outwards, sometimes in unexpected ways.

He worked on steadying himself “How did it happen? The injuries… how extensive are they?”

“What they know for sure is that she suffered a fractured wrist, that she was dehydrated. Some of the other spell diagnoses that are coming back are incomprehensible. The main injury is curious, though, as it appears to be an old injury that’s been reopened.”

Harry stared at Hermione, and his eyes settled on her chest, a bandage peeking out of the hospital gown. All at once it clicked. Her scar.

“The Department of Mysteries?” he whispered.

“Yes. We aren’t sure how exactly, but the wound was reopened. Poppy said she has never seen the traces from it before. It appears that it was a way that whatever magic was used on her went in. The injury as you know was quite severe and affected several internal organs. If she hadn’t gotten medical attention when she did the damage from the injury would have continued to spread….”

At Remus’s words, his head sunk to his hands. “It didn’t happen. She’s safe now. I’ve been reassured she will make a full recovery,” he said with reassurance.

Harry nodded but kept his face in his hands. Remus gave his shoulder another squeeze. “I have to get back to Headquarters and fill in the rest of the team on what we know. Anderson is still here and will be staying the night to keep an eye on things. I’ve sent Seamus home. When you’re ready I’d urge you to do the same.”

He shook his head. “I can’t leave her.”

“Take as long as you need, but you’ll need your rest. I think it goes without saying that you won’t be coming in tomorrow.”

“I—”

“No. That’s final. Your involvement will have to be limited due to the personal connection you have.”

At his attempt to protest, Remus shook his head firmly. “We can talk about this later, Harry. I will, however, urge you to go home and sleep. Be there in the morning when Iris wakes up so you can tell her everything she needs to know. She’ll want her father there.”

At Remus’s words he found his throat tightening again. He held Hermione’s hand. Any anxiety he’d felt about Iris was minimised with the relief that at least he had good news to tell her. Maybe he would wait until Hermione was awake to talk to her together about him being her father. That was a real possibility now, not simply wishful thinking.

He didn’t move from the chair after Remus left or when Hannah and Poppy came by to continually monitor Hermione’s vitals. He watched as Hannah rubbed in a paste that smelled slightly of peppermint into the bruises on Hermione’s arms and he watched with relief as they slowly faded.

As the hours passed both women started making small comments about him going home to rest but he shook his head. The thought of leaving made him more nauseous and, it being the middle of the night, Iris was asleep.

He desperately wanted to be there when Hermione woke up. To tell her… he had no idea what he should say to her. He wanted to tell her that Iris was safe. The rest was too large to try and think of in his state. There was simply too much to ask and he found that a part of him was afraid of the answers she would give... what he could have done to make her leave. His brain combed through everything to try and find an explanation as he sat there.

He came up empty every time.

In the low lighting of the hospital wing at night he could still make out her face. It was surreal being able to see her outside of a photograph. He studied her features. It had been five years and still he knew her face better than any other.

She looked impossibly young. Not much different than when she left. It hurt how much he could still see all of her, the girl who had become one of his first real friends. Her wild hair, her well-meaning, but all-knowing and assertive tone, which was the voice of reason he still heard in his own mind.

There were glimpses of the brave young woman who had taken down Death Eaters.

He could also see the girl who had sat on a sun-warmed rock, smiling over her shoulder at him as something shifted between them. He studied her face: her full lips that he had once kissed, her summer freckles, the slope of her nose, the same as Iris’s. Her heart-shaped face and long lashes resting against her cheek that he willed to open, knowing it would feel even more real once he could see her familiar brown eyes. Maybe he would find the answers to his question when he could look into them once more.

At some point in the night her hand twitched in his and his breath caught in his throat. “Hermione?” he whispered.

She didn’t respond, but her eyebrows furrowed and a low moan escaped her. He was about to summon the healers when he swore he heard his name followed by Iris.

“I’m right here. She’s safe. You’re safe.”

His thumb brushed her pale cheek until she relaxed once more.

Eventually his head came to rest on the mattress as he drifted in and out of not-quite-sleep but whatever came before.

“Poppy wants me to kick you out.”

Harry raised his head to see Hannah standing there with her arms crossed. Exhaustion was visible on her face, but the slight upturn of her mouth made it clear she wasn’t actually cross. Harry managed to grunt. He could barely swallow past the giant lump lodged in his throat.

“She won’t wake up yet. Poppy has her under pretty deep so her body can heal. It’s unlikely she’ll come to for at least twelve more hours.”

Harry glanced at his watch. It was somehow almost four in the morning. He had barely noticed the passing of time, so consumed with his thoughts.

He heard the scraping of a chair and when he looked up, Hannah had levitated the other one next to him.

“Hope you don’t mind the company. Poppy’s sleeping and I’m knackered.”

He nodded, attempting a smile but the muscles of his face wouldn’t cooperate.

“I’d say the same to you. You’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow as well,” she said through a yawn.

“Hmmm.”

Hannah was unfettered by his silence. “It’ll be hard to talk to her if you can barely think straight.”

After a moment he sighed deeply. “It’ll be hard to talk to her no matter what.”

“That’s true. I’d ask how you’re holding up but it’s pretty clear from looking at you.”

He raised his eyebrows.

She sucked on her cheek which revealed her dimple before she let it go to speak. “I’d highly suggest a shower and a kip before you come back.”

At that he finally managed to smile. Hannah was at the very least always honest. “Noted.”

It was silent between them again for a while as they both watched Hermione. “Have you thought of what you’ll say to Iris?”

“I have no bloody clue.”

Hannah hummed. “Fair enough.”

He turned to Hannah whose eyes were already on him. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Well I’m not exactly in the best state to give out advice.”

“I’ll take anything. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. At all.”

“The secret is,” she said leaning in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper, “No one does.” She leaned back again and yawned once more before finishing, “But I can try and help.”

He waited for Hannah as she seemed to go somewhere in her mind. “I’d tell her the truth. She’s bright. There’s no use lying to her. Tell her that her mum is back and you’ll bring her to see her as soon as possible.”

He nodded. That made sense. “And the rest? Do I tell her on my own? Or do I wait…”

Hannah shrugged as she adjusted her short hair into a small bun. “I think she’ll be fine either way, Harry. It’s up to you.”At his uncertain look she sighed. “Look. That little girl already adores you. It’s not bad news you're giving her, but it is big news. She’s brilliant and wicked smart, as Ron said, but she’s still four. It will be overwhelming for her, though I suspect that her primary emotion will be happiness.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” she said warmly, patting his arm again. “All she wanted was her mum back, and from what she said to me and Stella she very much has an idea of her father being a good person—luckily you fit the bill nicely. She’ll be so happy.”

“I…” He wanted to believe Hannah, but he didn’t know where on earth he would start.

“What?”

A shuddered breath left him. “I’m worried… that I won’t be what she’s expecting, or that it will be a huge shock.”

“I don’t think it will be a huge shock,” Hannah said, quietly but confidently. “Harry. She loves you. Do you not see that?”

He nodded. Deep down he felt she was right. Every time she reached for him or gave him a certain look where she beamed with happiness, he felt it.

“Do you know about Attachment Theory?” she asked. He shook his head. “I learned about it in that Muggle child psychology course I took. The primary idea is that children need to form secure bonds with adults to have the best chance at good emotional health and to feel safe enough to explore the world around them.”

“Hmm right.”

He nodded, it made sense though he felt a pang as he did anytime he reflected on his own childhood. Hannah must have seen it on his face because she added hastily.

“I—well I still think you and Neville are miraculous. Both of you with your bloody Uncles chucking you out windows and nailing doors shut—” she stopped herself and shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he mumbled.

“You’re already that person for Iris,” Hannah said, her tone reassuring as she gave him another smile. Harry looked at her wanting to believe what she was saying. “I’ve noticed it from the moment I met her. She was upset before the interview and as soon as she saw you she calmed down. Knowing you were nearby was enough for her to talk with us.”

The memory of holding her small hand as he walked her over to Hannah and Stella came floating up. Earlier that day as well, when she’d buried her head in his side, how she’d allowed him to hold her, had been comfortable enough to fall asleep on him later that night.

Hannah smiled and went on. “I also saw it at the Burrow. It wasn’t until you arrived that she felt safe enough to play and mingle with everyone. She looks at you as if you hung the moon. I don’t think anyone could see the two of you together and not know… I suspect she knows something deep down—there’s all sorts of theories about magic bonds. How they differ from the biological and the psychological.” Hannah looked back at Hermione. “It’s fascinating stuff, but still poorly understood. Though there’s clearly something to it. I think she senses it.”

The jolt when he’d touched her hand the first time came back to him. The look in her eyes as if she was searching for something when she’d stared at him.

“Yeah. I—it makes sense,” he said. “Thank you. I feel a bit better.”

She gave him another tired smile. “I’m glad to help. I don’t think there’s anything you have to worry about. Children are more clever than people give them credit for… but keep it simple.”

“What if she asks why I wasn’t there?” he asked, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

“Tell her the truth. You didn’t know. You have to talk to her mum and all of you will talk together after… as a family,” she said, softly moving back to squeeze his arm. “None of what comes next will be easy. It just won’t. When it’s hard, try to remember you both love that little girl more than anything alright?”

At her words he breathed a sigh of relief. One thing at a time. “Thanks Hannah.”

“Anytime,” she released him and yawned again, looking at the time on the wall clock. “I still think you should go home and get some sleep before Iris wakes up. That’s not a conversation you will want to have completely knackered.”

“I’ll leave soon. Just… not yet,” he said, his eyes on Hermione, who hadn’t moved the entire time they’d been talking.

Hannah sighed. “Alright then. Ring that button if you need anything.”

Her soft footsteps grew faint and he stayed where was. He thought over what Hannah had said, feeling a bit lighter. He knew she was right: The look on Iris’s face when she saw him at the Burrow. The night before, when she had asked him to stay with her until she fell asleep again. It gave him hope that at least that part of the conversation wouldn’t be as hard. He didn’t have to talk to her about everything all at once. Hermione was back and would recover. She and Iris were safe. He already knew they would stay at Grimmauld until whatever bastard had done this was caught—though they would leave again at some point, which made his heart stutter painfully.

His head felt impossibly heavy and eventually dropped onto his chest. His arm was numb from holding Hermione’s hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The feel of her skin was the only thing helping him keep the shock at bay. That she was truly here. That he wouldn’t blink and she’d be gone. These were his last conscious thoughts.

--

“Bloody Hell.”

His head shot up in a jerky bob, vision blurry as he’d left his glasses on the mattress at some point, but he didn’t need to see to know who it was.

Ron moved closer and Harry put his glasses back on and took in the look of bewilderment on his friend's face.

“Merlin. It’s her. It’s really her,” he said, his voice filled with disbelief and wonder. Harry could only nod before they both stared at their best friend’s sleeping form. Ron’s gaze eventually fell on him.

“You look like sh*t mate,” he said with a sigh. “I’m here to kick you out since Hannah said she hasn’t managed to yet.” His lips twitched up as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You know her, prefers to be passive aggressive so she sent me.”

Harry didn’t move. His body felt as if it had become one with the chair.

At his lack of acknowledgment. Ron sighed. “I’m serious, Harry.”

Harry wiped his hand under his glasses. “Didn’t know you could get up before six in the morning,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

“Haha. Yeah, well when it’s important.”

His facial muscles were so tired but his lips pulled up despite himself. They were silent again for a while before Ron moved closer standing right next to the chair.

“Go home Harry. She’ll be alright.”

“I know.”

“Then go,” Ron said, “Hannah will Floo you as soon as there’s anything to know.”

“I just don’t feel right leaving her.”

“Well you won’t be much use to her being the walking dead like you are right now,” Ron told him, trying to keep his tone light but at the look on Harry’s face he became more sober. “I’ll be here for a bit, then Neville. And Hannah will be around, she won’t ever be alone.”

At his wavering Ron nudged his shoulder. “Go. Tell your daughter that you brought her mum back.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry said, flatly. “Hermione saved herself.”

Ron snorted and Harry looked up to see him grinning. “Course she did. We always needed her more anyways. You know, other than the troll incident, she was the one who usually saved our arses.”

A huff of laughter escaped him at the truth of Ron’s statement. “Yeah. She did.”

Ron began to extract him from the chair and Harry was shocked it worked, that his body wasn’t actually fused to its surface. “Get going then. Someone will be here the whole time, even Susan said she’d take a turn.”

Harry nodded blankly. The exhaustion hit him more as he stood.

“Susan and I’ll stop by Grimmauld later as well, bring supper.”

“You don’t—”

Ron shook his head insistently as he plopped himself in Harry’s spot. “I told you we’d help. You can’t do it all on your own. Especially once Andie and Teddy leave tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.

“Of course. Now leave. She’ll be fine. Iris will want to see you after last night.”

“Was she alright?”

“She was upset but Susan talked to her and that seemed to help.”

“That’s good,” he said, with a nod, and his vision blurred with the movement. He was already starting to regret not sleeping. He’d been too overwhelmed to think about transfiguring the chair into a bed which would have been the smarter thing to do.

“Go see your daughter,” he urged, before he gave another small smile. “Trust me.”

He hesitated, but then took a step forward closer to the head of her bed, taking in her face again. Without letting himself overthink it, he brushed his lips against her temple. “I’ll come back,” he whispered, even though she likely couldn’t hear anything.

Ron sat down in the chair that Harry had been occupying, face pale and drawn, revealing he’d likely slept little last night either.

“I still can’t believe it,” Ron said after a moment, as his blue eyes flicked back to him. Harry wasn’t sure he could believe it either.

--

It was still early morning when he made his way through the Floo to Grimmauld Place. The sitting room was dim and quiet, and he didn’t hear any voices in the kitchen. The exhaustion hit him like an anvil from the sky. He slowly made his way into the hallway. Maybe he’d head up to his flat and shower before Iris and Teddy woke up. He’d also beg Andie to brew him some stamina potion.

He had just reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard his name. Wrapped in her dressing gown, Andie stood at the top of the staircase.

“Are the children awake?” he asked, loud enough for his question to float up to the landing. The sound of footsteps answered before she could.

Iris appeared next to Andie in her blue nightgown, hair wild from sleep. Her entire face lit up when she locked eyes with him.

“Daddy!” she cried as she started down the stairs. He had no time to properly register what she’d said when she was leaping from one of the bottom stairs into his arms.

He was utterly speechless as his daughter clung to him. He glanced up and saw Andie’s eyes wide, her hand over her mouth and Teddy in front of her grinning.

Iris finally pulled back, eyes shining with excitement. “You found Mummy?!”

“I—yeah. She’s back,” he managed to say.

She squealed and threw her arms back around his neck. “I knew you’d find her, Daddy. I knew it. I knew it!”

“Iris… you know?” he whispered into her hair. He felt her nod against his shoulder. “How?”

“How?” Iris repeated and pulled back again, so they were face to face. He swallowed, taking her in. After just coming from seeing Hermione, the similarity between them was even more surreal.

“How… how did you know that I’m your—that I’m your dad? Did someone tell you?” he asked softly, heart in his throat.

“No one told me,” she said her eyebrows, knitting together as she tilted her head to the side.

“They didn’t?”

She shook her head, placing her tiny hands on his cheeks. “My heart knew when my eyes saw you…when you came and found me in my room,” she said, a dazzling smile appearing on her face. “I wished for you and then you came!” His jaw dropped at her words.

“A wish?”

“Yes, on cake day! Which is your birthday—I asked for you and it came true!” she told him excitedly before her smile faltered. “But you didn’t know you were my daddy.”

His stomach twisted instantly. “I’m so sorry Iris,” he whispered, reaching to gently touch her face. She met his eyes again and patted his cheek affectionately before her smile returned even brighter.

“It’s okay, I didn’t tell you because my brain wanted to make sure it was really you first. So I looked for clues.”

“Clues?”

“Mummy told me all about you and so I looked for the things she said.”

“She did?”

“Uh huh,” she said, nodding her head rapidly. “She said you like the colour green best and that your name is Harry,” Iris paused and then smiled wider. “She also said I’m a lot like you. That we have the same heart!”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Yes, you’re just like she said you’d be,” Iris replied as she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck.

“I am?”

Iris nodded before she buried her face back into his shoulder. “She said you would always find her if she was in trouble.” He wanted to say something about how her mother had saved herself but her next words stole his ability to speak. “I always wanted a daddy for my whole life.”

The tears he’d been fighting since she’d lept into his arms started falling. A swirl of love, relief, guilt and heartache gripped him as he held her tightly.

“I’m very glad it’s you,” she said quietly against his neck. “Because I love you very much and you always make me feel better.” He choked back a sob. The heartache of the last few days subsided for a moment at her words.

“I love you Iris. You—you’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he told her as he kissed the side of her head.

“Really?” Iris asked, sitting back in his arms to look at him. Harry nodded and her small hands touched his cheeks again, her green eyes wide. “Are you sad, Daddy?”

Harry shook his head, smiling at his daughter. “I’ve never been happier.”

Chapter 19: Varúð

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen

“I missed her so much I wanted to die: a hard, physical longing, like a craving for air underwater.”

-Donna Tart, The Goldfinch

Hermione was underwater. Light beams winked at her from above, the gold penetrated the darkness surrounding her. Using every ounce of strength remaining she pushed upwards. She reached, her fingers stretching in desperation to break the membrane of liquid that separated her from above. She had to get to the light… to Iris. She started to feel the strain as she tried in vain to move. Her mouth opened in her distress, her daughter’s name spilling from her lips.

A shuddered gasp tore her from the dream. The light beams were all around her, the words finally coming out. She tried to sit up, but her body felt heavy as if she was still fighting the pressure of the water.

“Iris! Iris! Iris!”

A voice she knew and couldn’t place came into focus. “Hermione! It’s alright. Shhh.”

Hermione groaned. The voice wasn’t listening. She needed to see Iris now.

A warm pressure on her arm finally made her eyes open. Her old classmate Hannah Abbot was standing in front of her, backlit by the sun.

“Iris is safe. I promise. You’re at Hogwarts.”

Painfully, she forced her head up and found that she was indeed at her old school, with its high, vaulted ceiling and large windows that felt as if they were blinding her. Panic flooded her body as she thought about what mattered most to her: her child.

“It’s alright. I’ll try and explain in a moment. I have a potion that will help. Here.”

Hermione didn’t have much choice as Hannah brought the vial to her lips. The bitter liquid passed down her throat and after a few moments, her body settled slightly. Some of the pain that she hadn’t even realised was radiating through her became momentarily more noticeable before it slowly faded to a duller ache. Hannah had pulled up a chair and Hermione's eyes were able to focus on her. Her old classmate looked relatively similar to when she’d last seen her. With a shudder she realised it had been right before she left Hogwarts, in those strange hazy days right after the last battle.

Her blonde hair was shorter, yet otherwise she had the same pink cheeks and dimples. She was looking at her sympathetically, her eyes shining with tears. At the sight of this, Hermione’s mind went blank with fear.

“Iris? W—where—”

“She’s safe. I promise, Hermione,” Hannah responded quickly, leaning closer. Hermione searched her eyes, trying to suss out the truth as her mind raced.

“I—I need… I need—to see her.”

Hannah nodded, talking softly. “I understand, we were waiting for you to wake up. You’ve been out since last night. Remus was hoping to speak with you first. Some of the Aurors are outside.”

Hermione shook her head frantically. “No. No. No. I—I need her, please. Where is she? Is—is she—.”

“She’s safe,” Hannah replied, her voice softening further as she gently rested her hand on Hermione’s arm. Such a powerful wave of relief swept over Hermione that she felt light-headed, but it was fleeting. She was still not there. It still felt uncertain.

“Where? How?”

“Herm—”

“I need—I need her here. Please -please, I—I—I can’t...”

Hannah nodded. “I hear you. I’m going to go and let everyone know that you’re up. I’ll get Iris to you. I promise. She’s…” Hannah stopped for a moment and looked down. Her stomach sank faster than a stone in water.

“Wha—”

“She’s been well looked after,” Hannah said quickly as patted her arm. “I have another potion that might help but could make you drow—”

“I—I just want her. Please Hannah, I—I can’t…” She didn’t have the words to explain that she couldn’t breathe without seeing that her daughter was safe.

The last image of her anguished face flashed through her mind, along with Xavier’s words. Hannah was telling her that it wasn’t true—that he’d lied. It didn’t matter, she needed to see Iris for herself.

Hannah patted her arm one more time before getting up. “I’ll be right back.”

--

The day had passed by in a blur of attempting to nap while Teddy and Iris played around him. It had been mostly unsuccessful. He’d attempted to go back to his flat at Andie’s suggestion that morning, though when he’d tried to leave Iris had a full-on fit. Harry had never seen her so upset. She’d thrown herself at him in a mess of tears, face red as she wailed and so there wasn’t really another option .

He did eventually manage to get away to shower when he put on a film, but he had to swear he’d be right back. He spent the rest of the day on the sofa with the children. His eyes would close for a few precious moments before one of them insisted that he needed a pretend cup of tea or to ask him a question such as if dragons slept at night or during the day.

Iris had already fired off a list of questions about her mum, and Harry had fought through his mental fog to reassure her that her mum would be fine. That he would explain more soon. The truth was he still had no idea what to tell her about anything. She’d figured out that he was her father on her own, which after his initial shock was unsurprising considering who her mother was.

From his reclined spot on the sofa, he watched Iris tell Teddy exactly how they needed to defeat the evil sea witch. He smiled, seeing them getting along.

When Andie had returned from running a last minute errand for her and Teddy’s upcoming trip (something that had almost entirely slipped Harry's mind), she relented and gave him the stamina potion, which meant he would crash harder, but later.

Once the potion kicked in he tried to focus on being present for the children. He knew he should be thankful: that they knew where Hermione was and that she was safe, that Iris was safe, that she knew he was her father… that she loved him. It was wonderful, and he was grateful for these things, yet the dread of what was to come also pulled at him.

“Daddy! Look!” Even after hearing it all day, the word made his heart soar. He brought his direct focus on his daughter as she flew closer to where he was seated on the grass in the garden.

“I’m watching,” he called back.

Iris was hovering a few feet away, before she suddenly jerked her body sideways. Harry reflexively jumped to his feet, but right as he stood up he saw that she was simply spinning her broom in a surprisingly graceful circle. Iris beamed at him from under her helmet when she was right side up. “Did you see!?”

“Wonder where she gets that from?”

Harry whipped around to see Ron and Susan approaching. Harry lifted one shoulder in a half shrug but returned his friend's grin.

“Hard to say,” he replied casually, his eyes returning to Iris, who looked at him expectantly. “That was amazing, Buttercup! You’re a natural.” Her smile turned sheepish at his praise, but her eyes glowed with pride. Teddy raced over to them.

“Wanna try a double spin?” Teddy asked Iris. She only hesitated for a second before nodding. “Watch us!” he shouted.

Obeying, they trained their eyes on the children who had turned to face one another. “Okay! One, two, three!”

Harry already had his wand out, knowing how this usually went. Teddy half came off his broom on his second spin, managing to hold on with one arm. Iris was not quite so lucky, but before she touched the ground Harry had performed a cushioning spell. He felt relief as he heard Iris laugh at the sensation of bouncing on the grass. Teddy, seeing this, let go and joined her, the two of them giggling like mad as they tested out the novel sensation under their bodies.

“Oi, you two. I’ve got something you might like,” Ron declared loud enough to get their attention. Harry saw Teddy’s eye gleam, a knowing look on his face.

“New things from the shop?!”

Ron’s smile was all the confirmation Teddy needed before he stood like a colt on the shaky grass. Harry immediately removed the charm and the children came running towards them. Ron pulled out an orange and purple bag, and Teddy immediately started rummaging around.

“Fireworks! Oh is it a dragon?!”

Harry looked at Susan, who was watching the unfolding scene a few feet away with a fond look on her face before her eyes met his. “How are you doing Harry?” she asked quietly.

“I’m fine…”

Susan gave him a small knowing smile, her eyes kind. “That’s good.”

She was never one to push, which was one of the reasons he most liked talking to Susan. There was a gentleness to her. Not that she was a pushover, not by a long shot. But one of the reasons she and Ron worked so well together was that she grounded him, made him see his blind spots in her soft way, which had also helped soften his best friend.

She held his eyes and he released a deep breath. “Yeah, it’s just been… so much… all at once.”

“I can imagine,” she replied. “It can’t be an easy thing to process, especially all at once.”

Harry nodded. He looked back towards the children and couldn’t help but smile when he saw bubbles coming out of their mouths through spurts of laughter.

“Daddy… do... you... see?” Iris called to him between fits of bubbles.

“Me... too…” Teddy added.

Having been given some attention, they turned back to Ron to see what other treasures he had for them.

“He’ll be a great dad,” Harry said.

She smiled warmly, meeting his eyes again. “He will.”

“Are you two ready? Got everything sorted?”

“Hmmm, just about. George finally picked a new manager this weekend for the pub and I just have a few things to finish up but yes, on the whole. I mean I’m not sure how prepared one can ever be.” Noticing Harry flinch, her eyes softened further. “I think if you have months to wrap your mind around it, or it comes to you all at once… I suppose it’s like nothing else. As my Gran said, all one can do is the next right thing.”

Harry let her words wash over him as he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He glanced back at his daughter, who threw her head back in a full body laugh as Teddy mooed like a very realistic cow.

“How do you reckon you know what the next right thing even is?”

Susan gave a small laugh, “That’s the hard part. I suppose you don’t really. You just have to trust yourself, that you’ll sense it.”

Before Harry could reply, the children were bounding over to them with Ron following. “Daddy! My hair’s pink!” And it was. Both of them had shed their helmets and currently had matching pink hair. “It’s the chewing gum! It changes your hair. Now I can be like Teddy... well, while I chew it!”

“It suits you,” he said as he tousled her hair, which was still windswept and messy from flying and now candyfloss pink.

Ron put an arm around Susan and turned to the others. “I dunno about you lot but I’m starving. We brought fried chicken and bread from Mum’s. She cooked up several days worth of food for all of you.”

“She didn’t have to do that,” Harry said, surprised.

“You know her. It’s her way of coping.”

“She’s already in her manic cooking mode anyways,” Susan added. “I mean I’m grateful but our icebox is overflowing. I'm pregnant, not an invalid. I actually find cooking relaxes me.”

“Ah, that’s why you're Ron’s dream woman,” Harry quipped.

Susan didn’t bother stifling her laugh as Ron rolled his eyes, but a smile blossomed on his face when he looked down at his wife. Harry looked towards the children, trying to push down the pang of heartache that had only worsened knowing Hermione had chosen to stay away from him.

==

An hour later they were finishing up with their pudding of peach crumble when the Floo alarm sounded. Everyone went silent, even Teddy and Iris who seemed to sense the tension of all the adults in the room. The slight reprieve Harry had felt was gone, replaced with the ever-present clench in his chest as he got up from the table.

“Daddy?” Iris’s quiet voice broke the silence.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her head. “I just have to answer that Buttercup, I’ll be right back.” As soon as he was out of sight of the dining room he started jogging.

Seeing Hannah’s head in the Floo, his heart clenched even harder. “Hannah?”

“She’s awake. I’ve already told the Aurors here and they said they’d contact Remus.” The buzz of anxiety dropped momentarily and he gave a deep sigh of relief. “Harry, I need you to bring Iris... I-” Hannah stopped, her face drawn as she thought of what to say next. His stomach heaves, his thoughts immediately jumping to all the awful things that could come next.

Seeing the look on his face, Hannah quickly shook her head. “It’s fine! Merlin, sorry. She’s fine. My brain keeps skipping about—everything’s fine. I have run her diagnostics and while... it’s a lot to explain over Floo. What matters is that she’s okay and should be fully healed in a few days.” The tension in his shoulders dropped at her words and Hannah paused, face still serious. “She really needs to see Iris. I’ve tried giving her some more potion but she’s spiralling and won’t take it. It’s a panic attack. I’m sure of it. I’m going to try and talk her down a bit but I don’t think she’ll listen or take anything unless I tell her Iris is on her way.”

He’d been bracing for this all day but it still hit him like a herd of hippogriffs. He was going to see Hermione awake. Harry had assumed he’d get a chance to speak to her before being in the same room as both her and Iris.

“I know it’s a lot, Harry,” Hannah said sympathetically. “Would you prefer if I come through to Grimmauld and bring her on my own?”

“No. Thank you Hannah. I—It’s been a lot for her, I think she needs me with her. We’ll come right away.”

“Alright, good. Minerva will be expecting you in her office.”

Harry nodded once more and Hannah vanished. He forced himself to get up and head back to the dining room, feeling that if he stopped he would turn to stone.

Iris’s anxious eyes were on him as soon as he came through the doorway.

“Is everything alright?” Susan asked, hesitantly.

Harry nodded before swallowing. Looking around at all of his friends and loved ones in the room he felt unsure where to even begin. “It was Hannah. Hermione’s awake.”

There was a collective sigh of relief from the adults, Teddy looked confused and Iris went from uncertain to elated in a blink, racing out of her chair and rushing to him. Harry scooped her up.

“Can we see her right now?” his daughter pleaded quietly as she clutched his shirt. Her eyes searched his face desperately.

“Yes,” he replied, as he tried to exude a calmness he didn’t feel. “We’re going to go there now.”

“Do you want us to go with you mate?” Ron asked as he came to stand by them.

Harry shook his head. “I think just us. Hermione wants to see her right away.”

“Of course she does,” Susan said calmly.

Andie nodded in agreement, squeezing Harry’s shoulder before she hurried out of the room. “I’ll get Iris something warmer to wear, she’ll freeze as she is.”

Harry nodded after her, holding Iris closer.

“Right,” said Ron, “Floo us tomorrow. I’ve already told George I won’t be in.”

“You don’t—”

“I do. You need us. We’ll be here. George understands,” Ron said firmly.

Harry let out a shaky breath. “Thanks.” As bad as he felt having his friends put their lives on hold for them, he was grateful for the support, unsure how he would do any of this on his own.

Andie returned, holding a pair of Teddy’s old flannel pyjamas—dark red and Quidditch themed of course, a pair of blue wool socks and Iris’s favourite soft toy.

Iris seemed relieved to have Prongs with her and Harry felt relief at this. “Thanks. We’ll be back soon.

Harry could hear Teddy complain to his Gran that he wanted to also go to Hogwarts as he rushed out of the room with Iris, who was uncharacteristically silent.

He quickly changed her into the warmer clothes once they were in the sitting room, before grabbing the powder. Her arms became a vice around his neck as he went to step into the flames. He paused for a second at the feeling of her limbs trembling.

“It’s alright. I didn’t like doing this at first either. I’ve got you. I promise. It’s important to keep your mouth closed. Maybe put your head right here.” Iris buried her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder and Harry stepped with her into the green flames.

Within seconds they appeared in front of a solemn looking Professor McGonagall.

“Hello Professor.”

“Good evening, Potter. Nice to see you both, although I wish the circ*mstances were less... extraordinary,” she said. His professor appeared to be her usual poised self, except for the nervous tension tugging at her mouth.

Iris finally pulled her head from his shoulder, cautiously peering around the room. Her eyes were wide as she took in the stone walls and bookshelves of his old professor’s office. “Daddy… is this really Hogwarts?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.”

“You are correct, young lady. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet,” Professor McGonagall said. As she held Iris in her gaze, Harry saw a rare sentimental look flash across her face.

“Iris, I’d like you to meet Professor McGonagall. Minerva, this is my daughter Iris.”

His daughter looked at his former teacher, her face taking on the familiar gleam of inquisitiveness. There was a pause before Iris hesitantly asked. “Can you really turn into a cat?”

“Correct again,” she said, a warm smile appearing on her face. “I see you take after your mother. Except for the eyes. You have your father’s eyes.” McGonagall gave Harry a brief, misty-eyed look. “We’d best get going. She’s expecting you.” Harry and Iris followed McGonagall out of her office and down the spiral staircase into the rest of the castle. Even in the middle of summer the stone walls gave off a cool draft, and he was grateful Iris was dressed warmly.

He kept glancing at Iris, whose mouth had dropped open in awe as they strode through the castle that she had thought was only a beloved story. They kept a good pace and before long had come to the closed door of the hospital wing. The sight of which made his heart race. This was it. Harry turned to McGonagall who gestured for him to go ahead.

Harry gripped Iris a little tighter, forced himself to take a deep breath and pushed open the heavy oak doors. He felt a strange sense of déjà-vu at seeing the rows of beds once more. He heard a hushed voice that stopped suddenly. Hannah popped up from behind a bed at the farther end of the room, a relieved smile forming as she saw it was them. She strode forward until she was right at the door.

“Hi,” she whispered. “I’ve told her what I could… about the past few days. I’m unsure how much she’s taken in with her current state, but she’s calmed down a smidge. There’ll be time later to clarify things.”

She turned her attention to Iris. “Are you ready to see your mummy?” Iris's eyes were still blown wide with shock but she nodded. Hannah smiled more genuinely at the small child. “Well, I have it on good authority that she would really like to see you. She’s a bit poorly but she’s getting better quickly. She’s missed you loads and loads, too. Shall we go see her?” Iris looked at him and back at Hannah.

“Go on, I’ll be right behind you.” Reluctantly, she released her grip on Harry and he placed her on the ground. He winced as he realised he’d not put shoes on her. Neither Hannah nor Iris seemed to think it was a problem and she took Hannah’s hand and padded along the stone floor in her socks to where Hermione was waiting.

--

Hermione tried to breathe through the rush of adrenaline that was coursing through her body, her limbs shaking involuntarily, brain unable to form a coherent thought, her usually logical and rational mind having taken flight, hijacked by the churning of fear and anxiety that radiated from her chest, her heart beating to the sound of her daughter’s name. A desperate plea.

All of a sudden Hannah was standing and Hermione tried to take a breath. Please, please let it be her.

It felt like an eternity when in slow motion, like a dream, her daughter appeared around the curtain. She could see her face, all the features she loved so much, finally in her line of sight. “Iris.” The word passed through her lips like a prayer.

“Mummy!” Within moments Iris was at her side. Ignoring the searing pain in her body, she desperately reached down and pulled her daughter up and into her arms with Hannah’s assistance.

She was alive. He had lied.

Hermione had missed Iris with an intensity that had sucked the air out of her lungs: a hard, physical longing, like a craving for air underwater. She could finally breathe again, and broke through the surface of her panic as she clutched Iris to her, gasping for air.

She peppered kisses over her, running a hand over Iris’s hair as she tried to calm them both, tried to tell every shaking nerve this was real. Iris was not dead. She was here. The days apart had been torturous. Being convinced she’d left her child to die alone in her bedroom. It had made her want to die too.

She was aware that Iris was whimpering into her chest, and Hermione tried to console her, mumbling through her own sobs into Iris’s hair between kisses, unsure if anything that came was coherent. She held Iris to her as she had when she was an infant, rocking her back and forth, continuing to ignore the physical pain it caused her to do so. Her daughter was an anchor that tethered her back to the world. She buried her head in her curls, the smell of her skin the same as ever but there were new smells as well, a different shampoo and something that was also familiar. A smell she’d once known by heart.

A heavy warmth settled on her knee, which finally drew her attention outwards. The sight of him should have shocked her more, but it didn’t. Like a million pieces of sand that had been swirling in the tide before settling on the shore, the fragmented and hazy information came together. Harry. Iris had been with Harry.

No one spoke. Hermione became vaguely aware that Hannah was on the other side of the bed, but her focus was torn between the weight of her daughter on her lap and that of Harry’s hand on her knee. She felt the old familiar electric jolt as he squeezed it softly, his eyes not leaving hers.

The overwhelming wonder at seeing him collided with the shock that it was happening—the sudden terror that this was another trick, another vision, and she was still in that attic room. Though was this hope or fear? Her overwrought brain was certain she’d never imagined a scenario like this.

His eyes were red-rimmed, brows knotted as he looked at her, and like a rogue wave, the gravity of her betrayal knocked into her harder than ever. Her lofty plans to come back at some perfect time dashed violently against the reality of what she’d done by leaving. There was no perfect time to come back with Iris. Not at any age. She should never have left. Her mind was finally processing everything all at once. This time it was guilt rather than fear that paralyzed her.

She couldn’t be sure how long they looked at one another. Hermione felt certain that if it wasn’t for Iris in her lap and his hand on her knee, that she would simply float away, or wake up again in that dark room. She was so dazed that it wasn’t until she felt a tugging on her gown that she was able to tear her gaze from his.

Iris looked up at her with her tearstained face, eyes wide. “Iris,” she trailed off, her voice caught in her throat. She had no idea what to say to her daughter. To Harry.

“Mummy, are you very ill?” At Iris’s words, she felt Harry’s hand slide off her knee. Her eyes darted over to him but he was looking at the ground as he rubbed his face with his hands. Hermione looked back at her daughter and her mind went blank.

Was this really happening? Was it somehow still a dream? Please don’t let it be a dream.

That thought constantly thrummed in the background since she’d looked up to see Harry.

“Is this real?”

“Is what real?” Hannah, asked gently.

Hermione hadn’t realised the words had slipped out. She felt frozen on the bed. She could feel the softness of Iris’s skin under her hands, the tangible feeling of having her in her arms—but hadn’t that been true before?

All she could do was stare down at her daughter. That’s all she’d wanted. Her heart seized, terrified that this was simply a vision of hope. What she wanted more than anything.

“I’m real, Mummy,” said Iris, her voice shaking, the anxiety on her face deepening, delicate brows high on her forehead.

“It’s alright, Hermione. You’re here at Hogwarts. With Iris, Harry and me. Remember?”

She turned to look at Hannah. She’d never imagined this. When her eyes met Harry’s, the anguish and concern she found there was familiar, yet this scenario was new. Iris gripped her nightgown tighter and Hermione tried to breathe. Her mind flashed through everything. In the happy visions she’d been completely unaware of the fact that it wasn’t real.

Yet in her memories and fears she had known, hadn’t she? Had felt both inside and outside of herself. This wasn’t a memory, at least not one she could make sense of, with Iris here on her lap, Harry with his eyes filled with heartbreak, and her painful body so grounded in the infirmary bed.

Gently she moved to cup her daughter’s cheek with her free hand, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb. She could move it of her own free will. That was a good sign, but she had to be sure.

“Iris, what did we have for supper with Annie and Rosie last time?”

A flash of confusion passed over Iris’s face. “Spaghetti,” she replied, softly.

Quickly, she tried to think of something else from their life, something that would help her match the past to the present. An image from last winter popped into her mind, Iris radiant all in white with an edge of nervousness as she stood in a room full of people. “At Christmas, who did you play in the nativity play at school?”

There was a moment where Iris simply looked at her, small chest rising and falling before she sucked in a breath and replied barely above a whisper.

“The angel. Gabriel.”

Hermione nodded, relief sweeping through her once more as she brushed the hair off Iris’s forehead. She stared at her, her daughter who was real and had been without her for days.

“Y—yes,” Hermione managed to say as she continued to absently rubbed her hand over Iris’s hair. This was real and Iris needed her. “I’m sorry love, I—I just missed you so much.”

Iris seemed comforted at those words. She put her thumb into her mouth and clutched the material of Hermione’s hospital gown over her heart, worrying the fabric between her small fingers. Hermione could feel that she was still crying but a small smile graced her lips for the first time in days as she observed her daughter.

She remembered the way Iris had done the same thing when she’d nursed her. As she had done then she began to trace her features with her finger. Mother and daughter were in their own world, and Hermione jumped slightly when she felt Hannah’s hand on her arm.

“Sorry Hermione, but Remus is here. Is it okay if he asks you a few questions once Harry and Iris leave? I told him I have to give you your next round of potions so he won’t have long.””

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“I don’t want to leave,” Iris pleaded, the tears coming back as she pressed herself further into her mother, small body trembling.

“We won’t leave yet,” Harry reassured Iris, in a low, measured voice.

Hermione’s heart stuttered at hearing him speak. She couldn’t help looking at him. She registered properly for the first time the changes in his face. His jaw was held tightly, sharper under a five o’clock shadow and his cheekbones more defined than she remembered. There was a maturity that hadn’t fully been there when she’d last seen him at seventeen—at least since she’d seen him for real.

She noted the dark circles and that his green eyes were bloodshot under his glasses. His dark hair was slightly shorter than when she’d last ran her hands through it and sticking up from having had his hands in it. He was avoiding her eyes, instead looking at their daughter. Iris had turned at his voice as well. Hermione watched her looking at Harry.

“You promise?” she asked, quietly.

“I promise,” Harry answered her, his gaze sincere before he slowly stood up.

“Will you stay too?” There was no missing the stress in her daughter’s voice.

He placed a hand on Iris’s head, bending down to talk to her softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Iris seemed satisfied with his promise and snuggled back into Hermione who could do little except try not to stare at him. The dynamic between them rendered her incapable of speech, the shadow of panic creeping back in. She purposely squeezed her fist—real. All of this real.

She had been so engrossed in what was happening in front of her, that she’d missed Hannah’s departure and was startled by her sudden return. “Harry, Remus wants to speak with us first.”

Hermione’s eyes followed Harry, who avoided her gaze. He whispered to Iris that he’d be back. His tall frame held an air of defeat and her stomach flipped violently before he disappeared from view.

“Mummy?” Hermione looked back down to see her daughter’s tears had dried on her face. Her eyes matched Harry’s even more as they were now also bloodshot.

“Yes, love?”

Iris chewed on her lip, eyes searching her mother’s. Hermione could see her daughter’s mind at work and all of a sudden it hit her that she would have to try and explain everything to her very observant and inquisitive child. Where would she even start?

“Magic is not a story,” Iris finally said seriously in her small voice.

Hermione forced herself to take a breath. I guess that they would start from there. “No. It’s not a story.”

“Why did you say that?” Iris whispered, confused and accusing. Hermione sighed; she knew she owed Iris a proper explanation—the truth—although she wasn’t sure what that was anymore.

“Because I was afraid,” she answered after a moment. She let her hand brush the soft skin of Iris’s forehead.

“Why?” She paused. The answer to that was far more complicated than she had the capacity for at that moment.

“For a lot of reasons. I—” All at once a jumble of conflicting memories arose: Harry grim-faced on the sofa as he took on the responsibility of their actions. Another, the awe in his eyes after Iris was born. There were so many of them, all contradicting one another. Yet none of the images lined up with reality.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you, I’m so sorry my love.”

She was. Her lies had put Iris in danger and seeing Harry tonight, the weight of her decision slammed into her once more. The naked pain in his eyes had cemented what a terrible mistake she’d made. The years she’d spent imagining his reaction, she couldn’t believe how stupid she had been to have ever thought he would be anything but heartbroken by what she’d done.

She looked down at Iris, whose eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Hermione wanted to ask her about the last few days, how it had been, what had happened, if she’d been happy... if she liked her new family. Her breath caught and she halted that train of thought.