Chapter Text
Witness and Aggressor. A good man who lost his way.
Ron entered Mr McKeen's office at the exact time he had been summoned.
Sweat and tension were evident on his forehead. He didn’t want to be there, and the reason was obvious. He sat in the chair opposite his boss's desk, who continued reading some contract, indifferent to Ron's presence. He waited in silence for nearly twenty minutes before hearing McKeen's voice.
“I let my emotions get the better of me, Mr Weasley. That’s not something I usually allow, and I deeply regret it now.”
“Mr McKeen, I…”
“Let me speak.”
Ron closed his mouth. He hated being told to shut up all the time. It happened at every one of his jobs, especially on days like that one. He clenched his fists as he received his boss's speech. The same one he’d heard for twelve years. You were a hero, a celebrity… I expected more from you… I hired you for publicity, but you bring more problems than benefits… Irresponsible… Were you really ever friends with Harry Potter?… Fame ruins anyone… You don’t work well in a team, let alone on your own… The last incident was the final straw…
The conclusion was always the same.
“So, you’re fired, Mr Weasley. Please gather your things.”
Ron nodded. Truth be told, he didn’t like the job—it wasn’t much of a loss.
He returned to his desk to clear it out and then left for home, without saying goodbye to his colleagues. None of them were truly his friends.
The first thing he did when he got to his small flat was collapse onto the bed. Thank goodness a portion of the money the Ministry had given him more than a decade ago, for helping to defeat Voldemort, had been invested in this place, or he’d be living with Molly. His mouth turned bitter at the memory of how he’d spent the rest of the reward.
Once again, without a job or any plans for the future, he lay motionless on his bed for hours. Tomorrow, he’d begin the tedious task of going to interviews again; presenting himself as the ideal candidate for whatever pathetic position they were offering. Something told him that his story of having been the best friend of the Saviour no longer carried the weight it once did. No one cared anymore. Voldemort was old news.
He looked disheartened at the latest letter from the Department of Magical Security. Another rejection from the Auror Academy. It was unbelievable that he couldn’t pass the damn entrance exam. How had he then survived the hunt for the Horcruxes or the Battle of Hogwarts?
He was surely holding a record for the most failed attempts to enrol. Ron Weasley, twelve-time loser.
In any case, he felt old compared to the newly graduated Hogwarts students who were aspiring to become Aurors. He had no desire to spend time with seventeen-year-olds who could run and act much faster than he ever could.
Dragging his feet, he went to the kitchen. All he really wanted was a bowl of cereal. Simple and easy, his speciality. He poured the cornflakes, uncorked a bottle of vodka, and poured it into the cereal. Perfect.
He ended up unconscious, sprawled in the middle of the living room, with the empty bowl and bottle beside him.
A week later, he found a job. Nothing fancy or well-paid, and certainly well below his abilities, but it gave him enough to eat. The uniform was the worst part: a pink apron, a white hat, and a scarf that read Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the best ice cream since 1602 .
His duties were simple—keep the parlour clean, serve, and handle payments. So simple, it was suffocating.
After the first month, Ron thought that maybe he could stay in that job for quite some time. It didn’t demand enough to leave him exhausted at the end of the day, and he got discounts on the ice cream. He just had to ignore Mr Fortescue’s unexpected visits, where he would ramble on for hours about his youth.
There was a small bell at the door of the shop to announce the arrival of new customers. Ron usually sat at the counter reading magazines and never looked up when he heard the jingle, but for some reason that day, at that moment, he did.
Two boys walked in, laughing. The older one, who seemed to be about twelve, had electric blue hair and green eyes. The other, around nine years old, had messy black hair, like a bird’s nest, and bright honey-coloured eyes. Both wore high-quality robes, though not extravagant. Their cheeks were flushed, a sign of good health and happiness.
"I told you I'd win!" the older boy said, catching his breath.
The younger one, still holding the door open, replied, "It's not fair, your legs are longer!"
A moment later, a woman entered carrying a little girl with brown curls and green eyes, wearing a yellow ribbon in her hair. She gave the boys a warning look.
“If you cross the street like that again, you’ll be grounded until you graduate, understood?”
The boys rolled their eyes, both responding at the same time, “Yes, Mum…”
Ron froze, his heart lodged in his throat as he looked at the woman. She was just as beautiful as ever. Maybe even more so. Her chocolate-coloured hair fell in waves halfway down her back, tied in a loose braid. Her angular face, with prominent cheekbones and full, well-moisturised lips, needed no makeup. It wasn’t necessary. The allure was all in her brown eyes. And her body… Merlin, her chest had definitely grown, probably from the two pregnancies, and her legs were just as firm and shapely…
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, boys, I invented that move.”
The children grinned mischievously before running towards the ice cream display.
The woman headed to one of the tables and almost collapsed, exhausted, into the booth. She said something to the little girl, sending her off to join her brothers, and then pulled out her phone.
"Excuse me, sir..."
Ron turned to see the boy with black hair. "Yes?" he said, his voice trembling.
"Do you have pancake flavour with chocolate chips and blackberries?"
"Of course..." he pointed to one of the hundreds of silver tubs inside the display case.
The boy with blue hair stepped closer. "You look familiar."
His brother grinned. "Right? I thought the same thing, Teddy."
Behind them, the little girl with brown curls chimed in, "Honestly, isn’t it obvious? He’s Ronald Weasley. He’s on the Chocolate Frog cards."
Ron swallowed hard. He glanced again at the woman sitting at the table, but she was focused on her phone screen.
"What’s a famous wizard doing working in an ice cream parlour?" the black-haired boy said thoughtfully.
"Don’t talk about him as if he’s not here, Terry, that’s rude," the girl replied in a know-it-all tone.
Teddy ruffled his younger siblings’ hair. "Who cares? Let’s just get our ice creams."
Ron served the three double cones and a cup of vanilla ice cream with a shot of coffee. During those minutes, he watched the interaction between his customers.
Teddy, the eldest, had an ever-present wolfish grin, was very patient with the girl, and a bit more teasing with the boy. Terry, on the other hand, was serious, shy, a mirror image of his father’s personality when he first entered Hogwarts, and he seemed to exude magic with every breath—he was powerful. Lastly, the little green-eyed girl wouldn’t stop talking, rattling off facts about the ice creams and how they were made, all in a pompous and rapid manner, barely pausing to breathe between her words. Her brothers seemed immune to her rapid-fire speech, sometimes even commenting on something she said.
Once they had their ice creams, they went over to their mother. Teddy placed the cup of ice cream with coffee in front of her, earning a kiss on the forehead. They sat in the booth, chatting and laughing. The woman put away her phone and joined in their conversation.
They stayed like that until the ice creams were finished, and then the three children asked if they could go play on the swings out on the balcony. Their mother agreed, but only after making them promise to take care and keep an eye on the youngest.
They ran off. The mother moved to a different table where she could watch them easily, unintentionally turning her back on Ron.
The redhead spent the next half hour wondering what to do. The last time he had spoken to her was the night before her wedding, when he had begged her not to marry. That was a decade ago. He thought he could forget her...
Merlin, she looked stunning in that midnight blue dress with its triangular neckline. How would it feel to slide his hands beneath that fabric? Was she still married? He wanted to slap himself for his naivety. Of course she was still married. Not only would it have been the scandal of the century, plastered across every newspaper and magazine, but she would’ve taken off that enormous emerald on her ring finger, which could be seen from five metres away. Bloody hell, with his fortune.
It wasn’t fair.
He heard a soft ringtone. The woman at the table answered her phone.
"Sorceress Granger… Oh, hi, Sue, I'm well, and you?"
Ron let out a snort. He would never have allowed her to keep her maiden name. How else would the world know she belonged to him? Especially after earning the title of Sorceress. Something that significant deserved a family surname.
"Really?" the brunette continued, letting out a soft laugh. Ron trembled at hearing her so close. Her tone was sarcastic as she spoke to her friend. "I’m so glad you can make it to Temperance’s birthday, your goddaughter… Yeah. Seven years old… I know, time flies… Harry will be thrilled… Sure, Sue, we’ll speak later… Bye."
He watched her pull out a book, but her attention remained on the three children playing on the terrace. She didn’t even turn a page.
Ron thought maybe he should greet her, just out of courtesy. They had once been best friends, hadn’t they? That should still mean something. Maybe when she saw him, her eyes would fill with tears, her beautiful, full lips trembling...
Oh, Ron, I’m so unhappy... I realised too late that you’re the man I love. I’m afraid to leave Harry—his reaction would be disastrous! And the kids...
He could dream, couldn’t he?
In any case, his response would be...
Calm down, my love. I forgive you. Let’s run away together and start a new life. Leave the kids with Harry, because we won’t have room for them in my flat. Besides, you’re not too old yet, you can still give me a child or two.
Or better yet...
I’ll forgive you if you leave Harry and take his money, so you and I can live happily ever after .
Yes, that sounded much better.
Suddenly, Terry rushed over to his mother.
“I’m thirsty!”
The witch pulled three juice boxes from her tiny bag.
“Give the others to your siblings.”
Terry inspected the juices. “Can you chill them? Please?”
“No. You can do it.”
“But Mum…”
“Trust yourself, Terry,” she said softly, placing a hand on her son’s chin. “I trust you.”
The boy smiled shyly. “What if I make them explode like last time?”
“Well, then we’ll clean it up like last time. It’s not right to be afraid of your magic. Remember what Dad said.”
"That there isn’t anything in the world I can’t make explode?"
The woman stifled a laugh. “No! And you know he was joking when he said that.” From Terry’s grin, it was obvious he did. “He said you’re his pride.”
“…Alright, I’ll try.”
Ron raised his eyebrows as he watched the little nine-year-old struggle to control his magic. It was easy to predict that this boy would become an extraordinary wizard. With that power and half of his mother’s brain, nothing would stop him.
The juice boxes froze.
“Drat!” Terry grumbled.
His mother hugged him. “You almost did it! Don’t worry, I’ll fix them. I’m so proud of you.”
“But it didn’t work, Mum.”
“But you tried, sweetheart. That’s how you learn.”
Terry didn’t seem convinced by his mother’s kind words. It was clearly a sensitive subject between them.
“I just want my wand already,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at the witch.
“It won’t be long now. Practice that patience. Take the juices.”
“Thanks,” he said, turning to run off, but his mother stopped him.
“Wait, wait. Come here.”
“Oh, Mum, don’t start…”
She scooped him up and covered his face in kisses until he laughed.
“Now you can go.”
They exchanged a glance—half playful, half protective—and then parted. The woman sighed, worried.
Ron wondered why, but before he could think any further, he heard a commotion outside. Through the windows, he saw Harry Potter approaching. Still causing a stir among the citizens… Unbelievable .
Without wasting a second, Ron ducked behind the counter. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to see him in Florean Fortescue’s ridiculous uniform. He heard the bell on the door jingle. Carefully, he slid over to the display case, where he could watch without being noticed.
It was routine to see Harry in the newspapers or magazines, but none of that prepared him to see him in person, up close. He looked strong, broad, with the same messy hair from his youth and the same round glasses. He was wearing the robes of the International Confederation of Wizards, along with his diplomat’s insignia.
Bloody show-off.
Silently, Harry positioned himself behind his wife, and with feline grace, leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.
The brunette jumped, caught off guard, and pointed her wand at him, but Harry was already pulling her against his chest, covering her full lips with his own.
Ron timed it. Forty-eight seconds.
When they finally pulled apart, they had those ridiculous smiles on their faces, like lovesick teenagers. The Sorceress's heels dangled in the air.
"How did you know we were here?" she asked happily.
"I always know where my family is," he replied before gently setting her down.
“Aren’t you supposed to take a Portkey to Prague?”
He shrugged. “The visit got cancelled. They rescheduled it for next week...”
“Harry! You promised Tempy you'd be at her birthday party.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling their bodies together. “And I would never break a promise to my kids. I asked Ernie to cover for me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for getting cross without letting you explai—”
Another kiss. Twenty-five seconds.
"You taste like vanilla," he said as they pulled apart, giving her a playful smile that made Hermione both smile and blush. Then Harry glanced around them. "Where are the kids?"
“Playing on the terrace.”
They both looked over at the children. Harry smiled with absurd satisfaction. To Ron, it seemed excessive—they were just kids playing, for Merlin's sake!
"Terry tried to chill the juice boxes. Ended up with three blocks of ice."
Harry’s smile faded. "I’ll practise with him when Ted goes off to Hogwarts. For now, I don’t think it’s a good idea to separate them."
"I know. Terry misses his older brother so much. And Temperance even more."
"Soon all three of them will be at Hogwarts, and then it’ll be you and me wandering sadly around the house."
The witch leaned against his chest. "Don’t remind me. I’ve been thinking about applying as a teacher just to see them every day, but I think I’d ruin their experience."
"And you’d ruin my plans."
She looked at him, curious. "What plans?"
Harry checked to make sure no one else was in the shop, then lifted his wife, grabbing her by the thighs, and propped her onto the table.
"All the things I’m going to do to you with no kids in the house."
"Harry, we’re in public!" she shouted, unable to stop smiling.
He kissed her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her.
“I miss you so much. When was the last time…?”
The brunette closed her eyes, maybe lost in the pleasure she felt at her neck. She responded with a soft purr, “Two weeks? When you went to Tokyo for that thing with—ah!”
Ron licked his lips. He never imagined she could sound so… sexy.
“Two weeks? How have I survived?” Harry growled, slipping his hands under the midnight blue dress.
Ron couldn’t believe it. Less than an hour ago, he had wondered what it would feel like to do that, and now Harry was giving him a demonstration. The bastard...
“The kids could come in,” she murmured, fingers tangled in her husband's dark hair.
“I’m watching them from the corner of my eye, don’t worry.”
“What if someone from the street sees us?”
Harry withdrew one hand from under her skirt, flicked his wrist, and the shop’s door shimmered.
“Trust me,” he said before kissing her again.
Ron pressed his hands over his mouth to stifle any sound that might give him away. He watched in frustration as Harry buried his face in his wife's cleavage, pressing his pelvis against hers. His hands roamed all over her body, caressing her waist and soft legs. Merlin, she looked so soft.
One of her heels dropped to the floor, unnoticed by either of them.
“I miss you. I miss you so much,” Harry murmured in a husky voice.
She crossed her ankles over Harry’s hips, pulling their bodies even closer.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this here.”
Harry chuckled against her chest. “Better than in the Minister’s office, right?”
The blush on the brunette’s face was epic. “Don’t remind me.”
They kissed again, breathless.
Ron turned away, deciding he couldn’t watch this anymore. He heard them whispering sweet, tender things to each other, followed by words that were not so sweet, but more intense.
There was a slight noise as the table slid across the shiny floor of Florean Fortescue's. At the same time, the couple let out a sigh of relief.
Ron closed his eyes. The sound of the table and the brunette’s soft sighs transported him to another world. It wasn’t Harry with her—it was him. Only him. With force and desperation.
“Oh, Harry!”
That shattered the fantasy.
Ron watched grimly as the married couple reached their peak of pleasure. Their faces filled with kisses, whispering endless promises of affection to each other.
When they finally calmed down, they separated. Harry waved his wand, and in an instant, their clothes readjusted, the door shimmered again, and the table returned to its place.
“That was…”
The witch smiled, her cheeks still flushed. “I love how you look after making love. So calm. So satisfied. So mine.”
They embraced.
The joyous shout of their three children filled the parlour.
“DAD!”
In a flash, Harry was nearly knocked over by his kids. With one arm, he scooped up Ted, swung Terry onto his shoulder with the other, and then lifted Temperance against his chest.
The children laughed, kicking their legs with excitement.
“What a racket!” their father said, smiling. “Anyone would think I never see you lot!”
Temperance stroked his scratchy cheek. “We thought you were going on a trip, Daddy?”
“Not anymore. In fact, I’m on holiday until next month.”
“Yaay!” the Potter children cheered in unison.
Harry let out a sigh as he set his children down. “It’s getting harder and harder to carry all three of you at the same time.”
His daughter clung to his neck. “Don’t leave me, Daddy.”
The Sorceress placed a hand on her children’s heads. “Let’s not take too long. Your grandparents are waiting for us.”
Harry’s eyes lit up. “Is Richard making a barbecue?”
“And we promised to bring dessert,” his wife added.
Ted pointed to the display case. “We could get ice cream. Grandma loves mint chocolate chip.”
Temperance squeezed her hands on her father’s shoulders. “You promised to take me to the bookshop!”
Terry tugged at Harry’s arm. “I want to go too!”
“Just like their mother,” Harry chuckled. “Alright, let’s go to the bookshop, but only half an hour, or we’ll never make it to your grandparents’.”
The brunette placed her hand on Ted’s shoulder. “We’ll stay behind to settle the bill and get the ice cream for the barbecue. See you in half an hour, then?”
“Of course, love.” He leaned down to kiss her, with Temperance smiling between them.
“Do you want a book, Mum?” Terry asked.
She started describing the book she wanted, while Harry spoke to Ted.
“Guess who I ran into? Victoire! She came with Fleur to get a new robe…”
“Dad, I already told you I’m not interested…”
Harry looked at him incredulously. “So you’re not curious about what she said about you?”
Ted’s hair instantly turned a bright, neon pink. “What? What did she say? What did she say? Dad…!”
Temperance giggled. “You’re silly, Teddy.”
Her father ruffled his hair. “I’ll tell you at your grandparents’.”
Finally, they parted ways.
Ron tried to come up with a plan to leave without having to speak to her, but nothing came to mind.
He heard Teddy speak, "Do you think Victoire said something nice about me, Mum?"
"Ted Potter-Granger, I don’t want to have to remind you that you’re too young to be charming witches, understood?"
"Mum, I’m not 'charming witches'. Besides, Victoire is more than just any witch..."
"Oh, I’ve lost you. I’m far too young a mother to be going through this."
"Stop joking!"
Hermione’s laugh shook Ron to his core once again.
"Calm down, love. Let’s get the ice cream... Though I don’t see anyone to help us."
"That’s odd, Ronald Weasley was here a moment ago."
A painful silence followed.
Then Hermione’s voice, breaking slightly, "Ron?"
With no other option, Ron stood up, coming face to face with his old friend.
"Hello… Hermione."
After twelve years of not saying her name, of not even thinking her name, his lips moved like they belonged to someone else. The name of this woman tasted sweeter than any ice cream in his mouth. It was unbelievable how much he missed her.
He watched her go from pale to flushed in seconds.
"Were you here the whole time?"
Narrowing his eyes, Ron replied, "Don’t say that like you’re scolding me. I wasn’t the one who decided to have se—"
"Sense!" she interrupted just in time, glancing awkwardly at Ted.
Ron scoffed, "Right, sense."
Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear, looking nervous. Her eyes travelled over his pink apron and little hat.
"You work here…" she said, still in disbelief.
"I’m just doing Florean a favour," he lied without hesitation.
Teddy looked between them, confused. "Do you two know each other?"
Ron felt his already low self-esteem sink further. Ted not only had no idea that Ron had played a direct role in Voldemort’s downfall, and was once close to his parents, but it seemed neither Harry nor Hermione had ever mentioned his name at home. Nothing. He was nothing in their lives anymore.
Hermione nodded. "At Hogwarts."
That was all she said.
Ron decided to hurry through the awful situation. "What are you getting?"
Teddy responded, happy to get his order going.
Ron prepared the three litres of ice cream Teddy asked for, rang up the total, collected the payment, and handed it over.
“Son, go ahead and catch up with your dad,” Hermione said.
“Are you sure?” the young wizard eyed Ron suspiciously.
“Do as I say. I won’t be long.”
It was clear that Ted didn’t want to leave his mother alone with Ron. Maybe he sensed the not-so-innocent interest the redhead had in her or noticed how Ron’s gaze drifted to her neckline. Ron knew that as soon as that boy reached Harry, he’d inform him of the situation.
The bell chimed as Ted left, finally leaving them alone.
Ron looked at Hermione, knowing this was the perfect moment for her to ask him to rescue her from her failed, sad, and mistaken marriage.
“Ron… Do you need help?”
That confused him.
“What?”
He watched her bite her lower lip. Was she flirting with him?
“It’s not right for you to be working in an ice cream shop at thirty, with all your talent and opportunities. That’s why I’m asking again—do you need help?”
Ron took a step back. “I’m doing Florean a favour!”
She flinched slightly at his outburst, instinctively glancing at her wedding ring. That unsettled Ron even more. Could she call Harry somehow?
He took a deep breath, regaining control. He couldn’t waste this opportunity. He needed to gain her trust, only then would she be honest with him about her married life.
“You—you have three kids now,” he blurted out. Asking about her children was the best way to put her at ease.
Seeing the huge smile on Hermione’s face, he knew he had hit the mark.
“Yes. I suppose you already knew about Teddy, right? We adopted him officially not long after the wedding. Then came Terrance—handsome, isn’t he? He looks so much like Harry, except for his eyes, which are mine. And finally, my precious Temperance. Harry says she’s a mini-me. Did you see her eyes? They’re Harry’s. My little girl will be a stunning witch when she grows up.”
“Ted, Terrance, and Temperance. Lots of T’s.”
Hermione leaned against the counter, completely absorbed in the subject.
“Well, I’ve always liked the name Terry, and when my girl was born, it just made sense to stick with the T’s. It’s a bit cheesy, right?” she laughed softly.
“You look beautiful,” he said without thinking. It was so true in that moment.
He saw her pull back slightly from the counter, suddenly on alert again. “And how have you been?”
Terrible. Alone. A failure.
“Oh, you know, here and there. I’m not one to settle down—I get bored easily.”
They fell into silence. For Ron, each passing second felt like it was bringing him closer to the biggest failure of his life, which, in his case, was overwhelming.
"Do you remember what I said the night before your wedding?" Ron asked, avoiding her gaze.
"Unfortunately, yes."
Ron swallowed hard. That night, he had offended, threatened, and hurt her. He had been young and impulsive, though that would never excuse his actions. The terror of losing her had blinded him back then, making him believe that by shouting all those things, he could somehow keep her by his side.
It was the worst mistake of his life.
"I want you to know, Hermione, not a day goes by that I don’t regret it."
"I’m glad," she replied, holding back tears, "because you were cruel and unfair. You destroyed years of friendship and trust. With me, and with Harry. You have no idea how long it took us to recover from the damage you caused. We reached a point where we couldn’t even say your name. We were always the three of us once. Together until the end. And then you left us. All because you thought you loved me…"
"I didn’t think ! Have you lost your mind? I love you! I always have, and I haven’t been able to forget you!"
She slapped him.
His cheek burned, and for a second, everything spun.
"You don’t know what love is! You’re selfish, stubborn, childish..."
Ron moved around the counter toward her, his hands grabbing her waist.
"Hermione, are you really happy? Don’t you ask yourself every day if you’d be better off with me?"
She looked at him as if he were a ghost. "It’s been twelve years. You can’t still be holding onto this idea."
"It’s because I know you loved me once. You’re not the kind of woman who lets go of her feelings easily. The flame has to still be there."
Hermione broke into laughter and tears. "You extinguished any flame that was left, Ron. Yes, I loved you when I was fifteen and sixteen, but I was insecure, naive, and immature. Later, I realised that feeling was a lie, a trick of my low self-esteem to keep me from wanting something better, from demanding the respect and love I deserved. It was when I realised that the love I had for Harry was healthy, beautiful in every way, and, most importantly, mutual."
Ron's hands trembled. He held her tighter, burying his face in her neck. She smelled of honeysuckle, warm crystal, and books.
"You're confused," he murmured against her skin, his breath making her shiver.
"I’m not. Now let go of me, Ronald."
"You love me. I know it."
He couldn’t hold back anymore and ran the tip of his tongue along her neck.
She tried to kick him. He pinned her against the counter.
"No, please, Hermione, listen to me. I know we still have a chance to be happy," he said, kissing her neck again. With one arm, he held her tightly against the counter, and with his free hand, he caressed her hip.
"Ron! Snap out of it! What you're doing is a crime! Ron! Please... I don't want to hurt you..."
She reached for her wand, but Ron grabbed her delicate wrist, twisting it. He pulled away from her neck and kissed her lips.
"Mum!" came a voice from behind him, followed by a surge of electricity that burned his back.
He screamed. Both he and Hermione collapsed to the floor.
Ted hurried to help her, while Terry stood in front of Ron, his honey-coloured eyes still glowing with magic.
Ron tried to stand, but an invisible force held him down against the floor.
Hermione let out a pained whimper as Ted tried to take her hand. That made Terry even angrier. The air around Ron crackled with tiny sparks.
"Mum’s hurt," the boy said, his eyes welling with tears.
Hermione heard him and immediately masked her pain. "I'm fine, love. You helped me. It's over now. Come here..."
Ron couldn’t see much with his face pressed nearly into the ground, but he recognised the fear in Hermione’s voice. Something was wrong.
"I saw you cry," Terry whispered.
Ted spoke softly, "Don’t think about that. Come with us, brother."
"I’m okay now. Come to me, I want to hug both of you."
That seemed to calm Terry a little. Ron felt the sparks in the air dissipate, and the tension lightened. When he managed to get up, he was horrified to see Hermione holding her children close to her chest, fighting back tears, her wrist swollen and turning a deep shade of purple. But the worst part was her expression: pure hatred.
She had never looked at him like that before, not even the night before her wedding, when she had endured every insult he could think of. This time, though, he knew he had crossed a line—one from which there was no return.
"Leave before Harry gets back," Hermione said, her voice shaky.
Ron wanted to approach her, to help, to apologise. But as soon as he took a step forward, she pulled her children behind her, shielding them from him. In her left hand, she held her wand, ready to do whatever it took to protect them.
"I’m not going to hurt them," Ron tried to explain. "You know I love you..."
"Don’t ever say that again. Leave, Ronald. Seriously."
Terry’s eyes shifted towards the door, his frightened expression changing to one of relief.
"Dad’s coming," he announced.
Ron glanced once more at Hermione’s injured wrist, not wanting to find out if Terry could somehow really sense his father’s arrival. A wave of terror washed over him.
He Disapparated.
Harry cursed himself for not enchanting the package of books they’d bought to make it lighter, adjusting Temperance in his other arm while listening to her chatter on about something. He adored his daughter, just as much as his wife, but both could be relentless when they explained something.
He kept walking down the street, seeing Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour in the distance. When Ted had run off to get Terry earlier, Harry knew something wasn’t right, but he wanted to give his kids the chance to handle it with their mother. Especially since it would help Terry gain more confidence in his magic. However, now there was a strange discomfort growing in his chest.
“Daddy? Are you sad?”
He smiled at his daughter. “No, I’m just thinking about a lot of things, Tempy.”
“Don’t worry. Terry already sorted everything out.”
That worried him even more. Somehow, his three kids always knew what was going on, even when they were apart. He quickened his pace towards the parlour.
As soon as he entered, the bell chiming above his head, the scene filled him with dread. A fear so deep, he knew nothing would ever compare. His family was hurt .
On the floor, Hermione was clutching her wrist. Terry was holding onto her neck, wrapped around her as he calmed his magic. Standing like a little guardian, Ted was fixated on a point in the empty shop.
"What happened?" Harry heard his voice, not believing it was his own. It was hollow, hoarse, a mix of pain and promises of vengeance.
“Dad!” The children smiled as they saw him, even Hermione looked relieved to see him.
Harry gently set Temperance down on the floor, dropped the package of books, and rushed to his wife, who seemed to be the only one injured. He scooped up her body and kissed her desperately, terrified that something had happened to her.
Their children gathered around them, grabbing at her arms or her dress.
"Are you okay?" he asked more calmly, never breaking eye contact.
She nodded. "It’s just my wrist that hurts a little."
"Good." He took a deep breath and looked down at their sons. "Are you both okay?"
Ted and Terry nodded.
"I’m so lucky," his wife said, "I have the bravest children in the world. They protected me."
The children puffed out their chests with pride, but Harry tensed again.
"They protected you from what or who?"
Hermione gave him a look. At that moment, Harry would have preferred not to understand his wife’s silences so well, because the last thing he wanted was to put off the conversation.
“Let’s go to my parents’,” the Sorceress said in the tone she knew Harry could never resist.
Harry pressed his lips together to hold back his frustration and agreed.
Ted grabbed the ice cream tubs and took Tempy’s hand. Terry still clung to his mother, so all Harry had to do was touch Teddy, and they Disapparated as a family.
A couple of hours later, Harry still couldn’t take his eyes off Hermione. Fortunately, their children seemed to have forgotten the incident, distracted by playing with their grandmother. But Hermione remained sad, and that broke Harry’s heart much more than seeing her angry.
“Are you two fighting?” Richard, his father-in-law, asked, sitting down next to him. “It’d be, what, the fourth time in your marriage, right?”
Harry accepted the beer Richard offered. “We’re not fighting. Something happened in Diagon Alley. She hasn’t told me what.”
Richard watched his daughter for a while. “Don’t worry, you know she’ll tell you everything in the end.”
“I hope so,” Harry muttered.
The barbecue lasted until midnight. Harry managed to conjure a small bonfire so his kids could roast marshmallows, but eventually, exhaustion won them over.
Cameron lovingly carried a drowsy Temperance, who could barely keep her eyes open for more than two seconds. Terry and Ted followed their grandmother to the guest room where they always stayed.
Harry watched as Terry hesitated before entering the house and came back over to where his mother was sitting.
“Mum, you only love Dad, right?”
Hermione set her glass of wine on the bench and pulled her son onto her lap.
“No. I also love you, Ted, and Temperance. And the grandparents. Oh, and Uncle Neville, Aunt Luna, and…”
“But only Dad, like a husband, right?”
Harry smiled at the innocence of the question. His wife glanced at him from across the garden, amused by the situation.
“Of course. Harry is the only man I love that way. And it will always be that way. Why?”
Terry fidgeted with his hands, clearly nervous. “Because that man said he loves you. And he kissed you. Does that mean you’re going to leave with him?”
Harry’s beer bottle shattered in his hand. Richard calmly grabbed a cloth to clean the table.
“Are you okay? You cut yourself…”
Hermione and Terry looked over at them, concerned.
“I’m fine. Thanks,” Harry said, his voice tight.
His wife carried Terry inside, comforting him as she went. “Nothing and no one will ever separate me from your father or you. I promise, my love.”
Harry watched as his son immediately believed his mother’s words, a result of a life free from parental disappointments. Their children trusted them completely; it was an overwhelming responsibility.
He waited for Hermione to return after putting the kids to bed. Richard used the time to heal Harry’s hand.
“I never took you for a jealous man, Harry,” Richard said with a smirk.
Harry looked at his father-in-law, both amused and irritated. “I never had a reason to be. Hermione loves me. And no wizard in their right mind would be stupid enough to mess with the ‘Saviour’s’ wife.”
Richard chuckled. “Remember Joseph? The owner of that Italian restaurant Cameron loves? He flirted with Hermione—poor Muggle didn’t know who he was dealing with.”
Harry had to smile at the memory. That had been quite amusing.
Richard gave him a pat on the shoulder. “That’s better. You’ll get more out of my daughter with that smile than with the murderous look you had earlier. Breathe deep and talk to her.”
“Thanks, Richard.”
When Hermione returned, only Harry was left in the garden.
They shared an awkward look, something that almost never happened. It felt as if there were a vast desert between them, rather than just the Grangers’ backyard.
Harry remembered his father-in-law’s words and realised he was right. The worst thing he could do at that moment was accuse Hermione of anything or let his jealousy explode. She looked scared, sad, hurt. The situation called for a gentler approach.
He rose from his chair and drew his wand. With a simple spell, the garden filled with soft music—the same song they had danced to at their wedding.
Hermione’s shoulders relaxed, touched, as she always was, by the voice of Chet Baker, her favourite jazz musician.
Harry wrapped his arm around her waist, taking her injured wrist with all the love and tenderness he could muster. He swayed to the rhythm of the trumpet and piano, resting his cheek against her forehead. In a quiet voice, careful not to disturb the music, he sang softly to her.
“I've never been in love before, now all at once it's you. It's you forever more.”
He let go of her briefly, spinning her around. The blue dress shimmered in the moonlight, and for a moment, Harry thought she might become part of the night itself. He kissed her. It was gentle. Sweet. In the background, the trumpet surrounded them with a trembling passion, full of certainty. Chet Baker’s voice finished the song.
They stayed embraced in silence, swaying as if the music continued. Finally, Hermione spoke.
“I never thanked you, Harry, for choosing me to be your partner in life.”
“You can’t thank someone for a gift. You are the most perfect and wonderful gift. My best friend, my wife, the mother of my children…”
“You say that now, almost thirteen years after we started our relationship, but do you remember how it was at the beginning? We had different plans, contradicting goals. And Merlin, learning to live together was awful. I still don’t know how we do it. You still leave your shoes in the middle of the room, and I still trip over them.”
“And you still wake me up in the middle of the night to explain some genius idea you’ve had. And I still listen to you until you finish and fall asleep, even though I can’t get back to sleep afterward.”
“Oh, and you still let the kids eat cookies in bed, leaving crumbs everywhere.”
“And you still make them read at least one book a month.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
She playfully hit his arm, and Harry laughed.
“It still drives me crazy that when you cook, you leave everything open or unorganised.”
“And it drives me crazy that you won’t go to bed until you’ve coordinated your outfit for the next day, including your underwear, shoes, and earrings.”
Hermione looked offended. “I can’t go to work dressed poorly.”
“Sure, it’s not like you end up throwing the Wizengamot robes over everything, and no one sees your clothes.”
“Sometimes it gets too hot, and I take them off... I’ll stop doing that at night if you promise to stop falling asleep with the television on.”
“We’ve had this conversation. We didn’t manage it.”
“Really?”
Harry nodded. “I think Teddy was five years old.”
“Oh, I remember now. That was when you practically had to live in Morocco to prevent the declaration of war.”
“We fought a lot back then.”
Hermione’s face saddened at the memory. “Yes. I missed you so much, and I had to take care of two kids. Plus, I was pregnant with Temperance. It was terrible. I thought I’d never forgive you for being so far away.”
He held her tighter. “But here we are still.”
“And we always will be… right?”
Harry looked at her with certainty. “For me, there’s no other possibility. I want to grow old with you, Hermione. I want to be your husband for the rest of my life. To watch our kids start their own families. And then spoil our grandchildren. I know it won’t be easy. We’re both stubborn and obsessive, but what I vowed to you at our wedding will remain true until the day I die: with you, I’m the happiest man on earth.”
His wife blinked back tears. “I love you, Harry.”
They continued kissing for the rest of the night. Harry decided not to push his wife any further about what had happened at Fortescue’s—perhaps they could talk about it the next day. For now, he would settle for the romantic evening that had unfolded so spontaneously. What did it matter that another man had dared to touch her? One day, that man would pay for his audacity. In the meantime, Harry would savour his time with his wife.
Life, he thought between kisses and caresses, was perfect—flawed and full of doubts, but always with the woman who had given him everything from the very beginning and still did to this day. He was hers, and she was his.