Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Father and Orphan. The good man who took years to find safety.

Harry tried to recognise the small space he was in. It was damp, cramped, and dusty, just big enough for him to lie down… which made him notice something far more terrifying than waking up in this miserable hole: his body had shrunk.  

Frantically, he searched for his wand. It wasn’t there. His hands brushed against the walls, tracing the bricks. His heart pounded in his ears. Why did this tiny space feel so familiar? His breathing quickened. He thought about Disapparating home, but he couldn’t reach his magic, as if it didn’t exist. That horrifying realisation made him scream.  

Where was his magic? He kicked the walls in a frenzy. If only there was some light…  

Suddenly, a shrill voice filled with hatred cut through the walls.  

"Shut up! Or do you want me to make you quiet?"  

Harry instinctively curled up, hugging his ribs. It was his Uncle Vernon. What did this mean? Could it be… Merlin… could he have travelled back in time?  

"Stop crying or I’ll drag you out of there! Don’t test me, freak, because you know it’ll be worse!"  

He covered his face with his hands, rocking without realising it. A devastating thought flashed through his panicked mind: What if magic, Hogwarts, Gryffindor… never existed? What if it was all a dream? What if he never met Hermione? No! No!  

NO!  

Someone grabbed his arm. Harry turned, terrified. The darkness was no longer so deep. A soft, white light—probably moonlight—bathed the beautiful bedroom. In front of him, wearing a charming nightgown, his wife looked at him with a touch of shyness, her white teeth biting her lower lip.  

“I’m sorry for waking you,” she whispered. “It’s just that I had an idea…”  

Harry nodded slowly, more out of thirty-eight years of habit than out of understanding what was happening. Hermione’s voice floated through the room, listing the benefits of the new law she planned to propose the next day at the Wizengamot. Her brown eyes dissolved the intense fear Harry had felt minutes earlier.  

It was just a nightmare. He hadn’t gone back in time, nor woken up as a child locked in his cupboard, hallucinating about false worlds. It was just a bloody nightmare.  

He sighed in relief, settling back against the pillows to watch his wife continue her passionate speech, as if she were standing before the Wizengamot. After four mentions of liberty, she stopped whispering and nearly started shouting.

She will definitely wake the children, again. But then, sadly, he corrected himself: there were no children in the house anymore. His kids were adults now, each with their own independent lives. The last Potter-Granger left was Tempy, who would be spending her final night at home, before moving to Liverpool tomorrow to live with her best friend, Simone.

Hermione suddenly stopped mid-sentence.  

"Are you alright? You look pale."  

Harry took her hands and kissed them. "I’m fine, love. Why don’t you finish telling me why you think Tickenns will oppose your proposal?"  

"That heartless man..."  

The witch launched back into her fierce argument.  

Harry didn’t make much effort to listen properly. Hermione had been working on this for eight months, so he already knew every detail by heart. It was normal for her to wake up nervous the night before presenting something to the Wizengamot, needing to go over everything again. He nodded here and there, encouraging her to keep talking, so she could soon get it off her chest and rest. Meanwhile, he thought about how strange it was to have had a nightmare about the Dursleys.

When he said goodbye to them in 1997, it had been a bittersweet relief: even on that last day, he had not been accepted by the only family he had left. Of course, over the years, Dudley and he had formed a friendship of sorts, though it had been difficult at first. Today, it was an honest relationship, thanks largely to Patricia, Dudley’s wife, who had insisted that family should always stick together. She had made Dudley a better man. Petunia and Vernon, however, were far removed from that human reform. They preferred to keep Harry out of their lives, which, deep down—buried in that hidden, childlike corner that remains in every adult—still hurt him.

What would the magical world think of its great hero if they knew he still woke up terrified by the memory of a Muggle, a cupboard under the stairs, and a family that rejected and humiliated him in every possible way?

He propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at Hermione.  

She had saved him. So quickly and effectively since the day they met, it had taken Harry nearly eight years to fully realise it. Love, friendship, trust, loyalty. With perseverance, Hermione had healed every wound, until one day, she had even gifted him a new family.  

It hadn’t been easy. If anyone had asked him after Dumbledore’s death who he thought he’d spend his life with, his answer would have been closer to a certain redhead than the incredible woman now lying beside him. He wanted to laugh at how foolish he’d been in his teenage years but held it in so as not to interrupt Hermione. He was surprised to realise that it had been about ten or twelve years since he had last thought about Ginny. What would his life have been like with her? The thought gave him chills. Ginny Weasley hadn’t turned out to be the person he once thought she was. Maybe in her youth she had been kind and brave, but time had shaped her into something Harry preferred to avoid. He couldn’t blame her either. Years, work, responsibilities—everything changes you. Some fare better than others…

"Thank you for listening," Hermione purred, sliding under the covers.  "I love you, goodnight."  

"Sleep well, my love," he replied, kissing her forehead.

Harry smiled resignedly as she fell asleep within seconds. How many times had this happened in their marriage? In the end, it was always him who couldn’t go back to sleep. He spent a good while simply appreciating the deep, steady rhythm of her breathing. Those little details made him happy.

In the distance, he heard Tempy’s alarm go off. He checked his watch: five in the morning. Merlin, these Granger women and their need to rise early. Cameron, Hermione, and Temperance, so alike it was sometimes ridiculous.

His wife murmured something in her sleep about her alarm. She’d get to sleep for another hour, thankfully…  

Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to just lie in bed all day, so he put on his robe and headed to the kitchen. He felt old and sentimental, almost tearing up at all the family photos on the stairway wall. By the end of the day, their home would officially feel incomplete. All three children far away. Why did they have to grow up?

In the kitchen, Harry put on the coffee pot (since neither his wife nor his daughter were typical English people who enjoyed a proper cup of tea to start the day) and began preparing his daughter’s favourite breakfast. 

His hands trembled slightly. It wasn’t that he would be unhappy with just Hermione in the house—in fact, it was something they had both been looking forward to for a long time. 

They had plans to remodel the library, the dining room, and one of the bedrooms to turn it into a guest room. They also wanted to take a well-deserved holiday and finally adopt that dog they’d been talking about. 

Harry should have felt happy that his children were so independent, not melancholic and emotional. Usually, it was Hermione who said goodbye to the kids with tears in her eyes—each time they left for Hogwarts, university, moved out, or came for an occasional visit.  

He smiled, catching himself thinking of them as "children" again. Well, what did it matter? They would always be his children.  

“It smells delicious,” came his daughter’s voice as she walked into the kitchen.  

He turned with a spatula in hand. “Your favourite.”  

Temperance was already dressed for work: practical and professional, just like her mother. Her chestnut hair was tied back in a neat bun, highlighting her large green eyes.  

“What’s wrong, Dad? You’ve got the same look on your face as when Mum made you throw out your old, broken Firebolt.”  

Harry turned back around, avoiding his daughter’s gaze. “Nothing, nothing. You look great. Ready for the start of your official adult life? Remember, now you’ll have to cook for yourself, do your laundry, pay taxes on your flat, and be very responsible with your safety…”

His daughter let out a laugh.  

“Oh, you’re sad because I’m leaving! Dad, you’re so sweet.”  

She kissed his cheek, standing on her tiptoes. The resemblance to Hermione was almost uncanny.  

“Why would I be sad? It’s not like I won’t ever see you again. When I visit the Ministry, I can stop by to say hello…”  

“Don’t you dare, Dad. It’s already enough being the daughter of the Minister for Magic, the most important diplomat in the UK, and the younger sister of the next Merlin. I need to build my own reputation, prove I earned my position through my own effort, not because of who my parents are. I don’t even want to imagine what my colleagues would think if Harry Potter popped in to visit his little girl at work.”  

Harry tried not to let her words hurt him. “Of course. You’re right.”  

He placed the plate of food in front of his daughter and moved away to pour the coffee.  

He admired Temperance’s stubborn determination to show the world that she was valuable in her own right, not because of her family. It wasn’t easy, especially with the towering figures she had to compete against. She’d always felt overshadowed by Terry’s brilliant mind and his extraordinary magical ability, not to mention the position her mother held at the Ministry, and the never-ending legend of the Potter name. At least Ted lived a more relaxed life as a professor at Beauxbatons.  

Harry spilled the coffee as he realised it had been over a month since he’d seen Ted. Maybe tomorrow they could arrange a Portkey to Cannes. He was sure Hermione would want to come along.  

He set the cup down in front of Temperance and sat across from her. They drank their coffee in silence, still a bit uneasy after her earlier outburst.  

“Do you think Mum will get her new law passed?”  

“Absolutely.”  

Temperance gave him a smile that melted Harry’s heart in an instant.  

“I love how you two always support each other. Even after thirty years of marriage.”  

Harry grinned and corrected her, teasingly, “Thirty-eight years. I’ve been married to your mum since I was eleven, it just took me a bit of time to realise it. Ah, someday you’ll know what it’s like to have a love so deep that you’ll never doubt your partner.”  

Tempy rolled her eyes, perfectly mimicking her mother.  

“No, thank you. Love isn’t in my plans. First, I need to build my career. I want to become the best in my field, indispensable to the Ministry…”  

“Take it easy. You know, your mum and I don’t expect you to prove anything. You’re already perfect. If you wanted, you wouldn’t need to work a day in your life. You could just study or travel…”  

“I’d go crazy. I need to work, to progress. I’m not doing it for you, it’s something I have to do for myself.”

Harry took her hand. "I just want you to be happy."  

"Then let me work."  

"Leave Tempy alone," said Hermione as she entered the kitchen. She was already wearing the red Wizengamot robes, complete with the official hat. Harry couldn’t help but think that, even in that outfit, his wife still looked incredibly attractive. "What you really want is for her to tell you she’s not moving out, but she’s made her decision."  

Temperance smiled as her mother kissed her cheek, then shot a triumphant look at her father.  

"I’m moving in with Simone, Dad. You’ve known her my whole life. We’ll have a great time working at the Ministry and studying legal reforms."  

Harry sighed. "Ravenclaw! I still say we should’ve had another child, Hermione. I bet he would’ve been a Gryffindor. Then we would’ve had all four Houses covered."  

His wife made a horrified face. "Get that idea out of your head, Potter. Three kids are more than enough."  

"Mum’s right. Raising and educating children is hard. That’s why I’m not having any."  

Harry looked shocked. "What? Don’t be selfish, remember, I want to be a grandad!"  

Temperance grinned. "You’re asking the wrong kid. Ask Ted. I don’t know how Victoire isn’t pregnant yet. Between my brother’s hormones and my sister-in-law’s beauty..."  

Hermione cut her off. "Because Victoire’s job is high-risk. It wouldn’t be a good idea to have a baby in those circumstances. They’re being very responsible."  

Her pride for their eldest son was clear in her tone.  

Temperance wasn’t letting the subject drop. "Well, you might as well give up on the idea of being grandparents. Terrance will never be a dad. Neither will I."  

Hermione’s smile faltered. "What about Justine? She’s been his best friend since Hogwarts."  

"Oh, Mum, that whole ‘best friends fall in love and live happily ever after’ story? You and Dad already stole that one. It just doesn’t happen in real life."  

Harry almost choked on his coffee. "Aren’t we living in real life?"  

"You know what I mean, Dad."  

Hermione continued stirring her coffee, distracted. "I know Justine loves Terry, and I know my son loves her. They just need a little nudge..."  

"Don’t you dare, Mum. Let them be."  

Harry refilled his daughter’s cup. "Your mother won’t rest until she sees her favourite son with her favourite student."  

Hermione blushed. "Terry is not my favourite. I love all three of my children equally. I can’t say the same about Justine, though—of course, she is my favourite student."  

Temperance smiled, playing along. "Alright, Mum. We all know Terry’s your favourite, just like I’m Dad’s favourite... though there’s still Teddy."  

Hermione scoffed, "That’s because Teddy is both your father’s and my favourite at the same time. Tough luck for you and Terrance."  

All three of them laughed, the conversation growing livelier. Harry cherished every second of that breakfast, knowing it could be a long time before he had his beloved daughter at the dining table again.  

Soon enough, it was time for both witches to leave. They gathered their bags, cloaks, and wands. Just as they were about to step out, Harry stopped them.  

“I almost forgot, it’s important, Tempy. Wait.”  

He rushed to his study, where he did most of his diplomatic work to avoid the dull offices at the embassy. He grabbed a small box from his desk and hurried back to his witches. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he overheard them talking.  

“…so don’t let it beat you. I know what it means to fight against a society to be recognised. It’s taken me many years, but I made it. I’m not the Minister because I’m Harry’s wife, or because I helped in the war. Every achievement in my life has come from honest, hard work. Never doubt yourself. You’ll surpass your father’s legacy, my career at the Ministry, and any magical breakthroughs your brother makes. You, my beautiful Temperance, will be the best version of this family.”  

Her daughter sniffled, "Thank you, Mum."  

Harry approached them, pleased to see them holding each other in an embrace. His daughter wiped her tears when she noticed him, always trying to appear unshakeable in front of him.  

“I’ve got something for you.”  

He handed her the small box. She untied the ribbon and pulled out a delicate gold chain with three initials: TPG. The same initials representing the three Potter children. The necklace was simple, something Temperance could hide under her shirt, which Harry knew she would appreciate, as she wasn’t one for showing off. When Ted and Terry had left the house, they had received similar gifts.  

Temperance looked at him, amused but touched. "Dad, this is overflowing with protective enchantments."  

“It’s also an emergency Portkey, just in case you feel in danger or if you simply miss your parents.”  

Hermione gave him a grateful look, as she too worried about their young daughter’s safety.  

Harry kissed and hugged Temperance once more, feeling the same way he had when he sent her off to Hogwarts for the first time.  

After saying goodbye to both of them, Harry found himself feeling miserable and abandoned in the house he had chosen thirty years ago to be the home where his family would grow. “Such is life,” he thought.  

Two hours later, he had already cleaned the kitchen, organised papers for the magical bridge between Spain and England, listened to the news, and taken a shower. He loved working from home. 

Stepping into the back garden, he imagined where he might build the dog’s house, then lit a cigarette. He wasn’t addicted (or so he convinced himself), he only smoked one or two a week and never in front of his wife. It helped him unwind from work.

Those days, Harry was particularly anxious about the approval of the magical bridge, a commercial and tourist link that would boost the national economy and perhaps even broaden England’s traditionalist outlook compared to other magical societies. A private company wanted to donate an extraordinary sum in exchange for building a natural aquarium in the middle of the ocean under the bridge. Harry wasn’t sure if he should support the offer, as it might undermine the spirit of friendship between the two countries if only one side had a business venture on the bridge. And there had already been enough drama negotiating the tax for crossing it. He’d have to talk to José Vázquez, the diplomat who served as his counterpart in Spain.

He stubbed out his cigarette. Maybe he should also ask a certain very clever wizard for advice. Terry was an expert in politics and history, two of his many specialties. He could probably help Harry see the issue from all angles.

Harry grabbed the last of the biscuits Cameron had baked (who would have thought that, with three grandchildren, the eldest Granger would finally learn to cook something properly?), a book Hermione had bought for Terry but hadn’t had time to give him, and Disapparated.

The small building of blue bricks was… imposing. “Four floors of wisdom,” as Terry called it. The first three floors housed Muggle and magical laboratories, libraries, experimental zones, and rooms Harry didn’t quite understand (Hermione, on the other hand, loved them). The fourth floor was a luxury apartment with three bedrooms: one for Terry, another for Justine—his best friend—and the last for guests, usually one of their siblings.

Harry knocked on the amethyst door, an extravagance Terry had chosen for its high protective qualities, though Harry honestly found it hideous. Terry often swung between the ridiculous and sheer brilliance with his ideas.

Almost immediately, a small house-elf, proudly dressed in a purple wool suit, opened the door.  

“Welcome, Mr Potter, sir.”  

“Hello, Puckett. Is my son around?”  

“The master is with Miss Justy in Lab Three. Come in.”  

Harry thanked him and entered. He was still amazed that Hermione had forgiven Terry for acquiring a house-elf, although Terry, of course, paid Puckett a salary and gave him days off and holidays. Harry supposed that not even Hermione could change Terry’s mind when it was made up. Besides, his son was the most absent-minded person in the universe, capable of spending an entire week lost in a discovery and forgetting to eat or sleep. Justine was wonderful at keeping him breathing, but she had a life of her own. Puckett, on the other hand, loved serving Terry 24 hours a day. Both Terry and the elf suffered whenever Puckett had to take his mandatory holidays.

Harry arrived at Lab 3. Justine, as light and brilliant as ever, was tidily transcribing some notes. Without lifting her eyes from her notebook, she spoke.

"Too soon, Potter-Granger. I’m not talking to you until I’ve calmed down."

Harry placed the biscuits beside her.  

"What has my son done this time?"  

Justine jumped, startled. When she saw him, she smiled sheepishly.  

"I didn’t know you were coming, Mr. Potter."  

"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?"  

Justine closed her notebook. "Not at all. I’ll call Terrance…"  

Harry grew worried. Whenever Justine used Terry’s full name, it meant trouble.  

"Do you want to talk about what happened between you two?" he suggested cautiously. He wasn’t particularly close to Justine, though he cared for her due to her long friendship with Terry and her being one of Hermione’s students for five years.  

He frowned as he studied her more closely. Justine had dark blonde hair, long honey-coloured eyelashes, and a petite frame. She didn’t make much of an impression until she got angry or started talking about her favourite subjects. She was like an impressionist painting—beautiful from afar, but magnificent when examined up close. Harry was sure his son had loved her for half his life, but for some reason, he hadn’t made any progress with her. He worried that Justine would grow tired of waiting and leave for another wizard. That would devastate Terry.  

"I wish Terry were more like you, Mr Potter. With a home, a… family. I suppose I have to accept that Terry’s priority will always be his studies. Nothing else."  

Harry panicked when he saw tears welling up in her eyes. Merlin, after thirty years, he had learned how to respond when Hermione cried, but there was no guarantee that the same response would work on another woman. If he knew anything, it was that biscuits would help. He pressed them into her hands.  

"I’ll talk to him," he said quickly. "You know he cares about you, right?"  

"That stopped being enough years ago…"  

Harry headed straight to the office where he sensed Terry would be. When he entered, he found his son sitting by the radio, one hand under his chin, listening intently to the live broadcast from the Wizengamot. Hermione’s voice, as passionate as it had been the previous night, was introducing the new law that would change the magical method at Hogwarts.  

"Mum’s going to make it this time," Terry said with the same certainty he had when predicting the outcomes of his experiments. "Tickness lost the vote when he argued that pure-blood children don’t have any more advantages than the children of non-magical people. At least he didn’t say 'Muggles.' It’s fascinating that after years of debating the same issue, he’s going to lose on a rhetorical point. I’m sure Mum’s smiling right now."

Harry wanted to smile too, proud of his wife’s success. But he couldn’t. Justine seemed determined to leave.

Terry finally looked at him. "You’re upset."

It wasn’t a question.  

"I spoke with Justine."  

Hearing his best friend’s name, Terry lowered his gaze.  

"What did she say?"  

"That she’s tired of your studies always being your top priority."  

"Is that all?"  

"Is there more to add?"

Moments like these made Harry wonder if he was overstepping his parental duties. Shouldn’t he allow his adult son the space to figure out his own love life? But at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself. His priority wasn’t his diplomatic career or even world peace—it was his family. His children. Even Terry, with his extraordinary mind, needed guidance sometimes, a shake of the shoulders. Someone who cared enough to ensure their happiness. Because his children deserve nothing less than pure joy.

"I don’t know what to do," Terry confessed. "Justine needs someone else... someone more focused. I can’t give her what she wants."  

"Why? Did she ask you to stop studying? To close the labs?"  

It was the only thing Harry could think of that Terry wouldn’t give up, not even for Justine.  

"No, no… We both love what we do."  

"Then what’s the issue?"

Terry looked embarrassed.  

"I’ve concluded that I’m afraid of commitment."

Harry sat down slowly in the chair opposite his son.  

"What on earth are you talking about? This isn’t just any woman you’d be committing to. You’ve known her since you were eleven! She’s your best friend."  

"Exactly. That’s the point. She’s the last woman I’d ever want to hurt. Justine deserves better than me."  

It was unbelievable to hear one of the century’s brightest minds feeling sorry for himself. And it was painful, especially coming from the pride of his life.  

"Do you really believe another man could make Justine happier than you?"  

Harry watched patiently as jealousy flickered across the young wizard’s face.  

"Whoever dares to approach Justine better devote himself entirely to making her happy, or I’ll…"  

"Stop acting like a fool," Harry interrupted. "Be honest. Why are you letting her go?"

Terry took a couple of minutes to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, filled with shame.  

"I can’t be like you."

Harry felt a blow from those words.  

"I never expected you to be. What does that have to do with this?"  

"You and Mum. You’re the most stable and loving couple I’ve ever known. It’s overwhelming. Not even Ted and Victoire can compare, and I think they’re amazing together. Justine deserves 'that,' whatever it is you give Mum every day. I can’t give her that."  

"Oh, son, you’ve got it all wrong. You probably don’t remember because you were too young, or maybe too absorbed in some project, but your mother and I only barely managed to achieve that stability. Merlin, in the beginning, it was a mess. We got married very young. She had a thousand plans. I wanted a family. She wanted to travel. I wanted to buy a house. She wanted to save the world. I wanted to dedicate my life to raising my children. It felt like the love we had wasn’t enough."

Harry paused for a moment, his voice softening with the weight of memory.  

"When Hermione got pregnant, I know she wasn’t happy. She still had half of her law degree to finish. Then I left for something that had little to do with work and more to do with my stupid reputation as the 'Saviour.' Your mum was left alone—pregnant, looking after Ted, studying. Do you know how many years it took for her to forgive me for that? Not because she didn’t love me, or because she didn’t understand that leaving was the right thing to do, but because we were young, scared that our marriage would fail, and that everything Ron said about us would come true."

Harry stopped speaking. Remembering those days was hard. A few minutes later, he continued.  

"And I was an idiot. Impulsive, desperate to have a family, putting that above everything practical. I should’ve planned it better, let your mother finish her degree, taken her to see the world. I should’ve focused on her, not on my childhood traumas. I wasn’t fair to Hermione, and for some divine reason, she stuck with me. She endured everything with me. I should have treated her and cared for her the way I do now, but wisdom came too late. All I can do is make her happy for the rest of the time we have left."

He paused again, reflecting on the darkest moments of his marriage. How could he have made so many mistakes with the person he loved most?

"So," he finally said, "son, the fact that you’re already putting Justine before yourself means you’re doing better than I ever did. I’m glad you’re not like me. You’re a thousand times better. Don’t waste real love over foolish fears. You and Justine will have your own problems and tough times. All you have to do is work hard to overcome them. One day, you’ll feel like you’ve reached the same stability that your mother and I have. Ted and Victoire will get there too, but for that to happen, you’ve got to stop hiding here and go apologise to your best friend. Now ."

Terry smiled at him. "Yes, Dad."

Harry nodded as he stood up. "I’ll leave you two to talk. Send me an owl to let me know how it goes."  

They walked toward the door, but Terry stopped.  

"What did you come here for?"  

Harry smiled. "I was going to use the magical bridge as an excuse to check on you."  

"You don’t need excuses to visit me, Dad," Terry reminded him with a grin. "But since you brought it up—don’t let them build the aquarium. It would be a disaster."  

"I figured as much, thanks."  

Terry eyed him suspiciously. "Isn’t today the day Tempy moves out?"  

"Uh… I think so."  

His son burst out laughing. "Don’t pretend. You’re sad."  

Harry’s shoulders slumped. "Maybe a little."  

"How about Justine and I come for dinner tomorrow? We can also celebrate Mum’s victory at the Wizengamot."  

"Do you think Justine will have forgiven you by tomorrow?"  

Terry puffed out his chest. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she forgives me."  

"Then I’ll see you both at eight tomorrow."  

They hugged a little longer than usual. As they parted, Terry whispered his thanks.  

"I’ll always be here when you need me," Harry replied, filled with the overwhelming certainty that it was entirely true.

Harry decided to walk home. Terry’s house was just twenty blocks from his. That was the only reason Hermione had agreed to let their son move out at seventeen.

Halfway home, Harry came across an abandoned cardboard box. Inside was a white puppy with brown ears and paws. He didn’t hesitate. In the next moment, he scooped up the puppy and continued walking.

When Hermione arrived home, she was immediately greeted by the excited little dog. It took her two seconds to drop her bag and start petting their new family member.  

"Oh, Harry, where did you find him? He’s beautiful."  

"I found him abandoned," Harry said proudly, standing beside her. He kissed her on the cheek. "I was waiting for you to pick a name. Congratulations on the law passing."  

His wife smiled with the satisfaction that only came from making the magical world a little better.  

"You should’ve seen Tickness’s face. At least he had the decency to leave before the press could enter the chamber."  

Harry picked up her bag and helped her stand. The puppy eagerly followed them, wagging its tail.

"I took the dog to Patricia for vaccinations and all that. I didn’t have time to make dinner. Do you want to order something?"  

"What would Tempy fancy?"  

Harry looked at her with a bittersweet smile. "Tempy doesn’t live here anymore."  

Hermione blushed. "Right. I… oh…" She lowered her shoulders, looking around at the empty house. "It’s the first time I’ve accomplished something in the Wizengamot and my girl isn’t here to celebrate with me."  

"I know, but don’t get discouraged. Tomorrow we’ll have dinner with Terry and Justine."

That made her smile. "How are they? Did you visit them?"  

"I think their relationship is progressing."  

Hermione kicked off her heels and sank into her favourite armchair. The puppy immediately jumped into her lap. "Finally! I was worried Justine might grow tired of waiting. You have no idea how much I want her in the family."  

Harry conjured a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "Of course I know. She’s like another daughter to you."  

"And how’s Patricia? She must’ve been thrilled we finally adopted a dog."  

He thought of the towering vet, his cousin's wife, with arms strong enough to lift a tree if necessary.  

"Full of life," he replied.

Hermione closed her eyes, savouring the wine. "No offence, but I still don’t understand what she saw in Dudley."  

"Whatever it is, I’m grateful. My cousin has really changed."  

He sat beside her, lifting her legs onto his lap. Hermione let out a soft sigh of pleasure.  

"I’m so tired."  

"Aren’t you hungry?"  

That perked her up. "Starving! Let’s order Lebanese, now that Tempy’s not here."  

Harry picked up the phone. "I never understood why she didn’t like it."  

"Because she’s a spoiled girl who only wants her dad’s cooking."  

"What can I say? I’m an amazing chef."  

They ordered food and continued chatting about their day. Harry still marveled at the sheer number of people his wife interacted with daily, while Hermione remained amazed at how peacefully he could spend his time without getting restless. They then moved on to discussing dog names. 

The food arrived, they opened another bottle of wine, and lit up all the lights in the house, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence and darkness. Hermione put some jazz on the record player. Inevitably, the conversation drifted to their children, and Harry knew it was time to head to bed when his wife insisted on looking through baby albums.

They cleaned up, set the puppy in a makeshift box with blankets in the kitchen, and headed to the master bedroom.  

Harry kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the middle of the room, and approached his wife, who sat at her vanity, removing the light makeup she wore.  

He placed his hands on her delicate shoulders, admiring the texture of her skin.  

"Do you regret marrying me?"  

The question clearly surprised her, but she answered without hesitation.  

"Of course not, what are you on about?"  

"We were so young. You had so many plans. You could’ve become Minister so much sooner…"  

"Obviously," she interrupted, slightly annoyed. "I estimate at least six years earlier—what does that matter?"

Harry pressed her shoulders, starting a gentle massage. "Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just curious. Are you satisfied with your life?"  

He watched her in the mirror of the vanity. Without makeup, her age was more noticeable. Her hair was a mess, her eyes slightly glassy from the wine, and her robe was wrinkled.  

Harry thought she looked incredibly sexy. How long had it been since they’d had sex? At least two months, something they would have never allowed in their youth.  

"I haven’t asked myself that question in a long time," Hermione replied slowly. "I’ve been so busy since I took the Minister's position… I don’t know. I think today, I’m not satisfied with my life. We’re about to start a new phase, one without the kids in the house. I’m afraid I won’t be as happy as I used to be."  

"I thought you’d feel relieved? I know you love the kids, but they’ve limited your career for years."  

"Oh, get over that, love. I was a young woman desperate to change the world in a single night. I don’t know what would’ve become of me without the constant distraction of the children. Maybe I would’ve been consumed by work. Maybe when I finally reached the top of the Ministry, I wouldn’t have the experience I have now. I also don’t think our marriage would’ve survived. In the worst times, we found strength because of the kids. Love was never lacking, but there were truly exhausting days. It horrifies me to think we could’ve divorced."  

Harry leaned in to kiss her neck. "Don’t worry. I’m sure we would’ve worked it out, no matter what."  

Hermione closed her eyes, tilting her head to give him better access. "I don’t think I’ll ever be fully satisfied, you know? That’s just not how I’m wired. When I’ve done everything I can at work, when I’ve exhausted every possibility in something I’m passionate about, when I can’t give any more without pushing my body too far, I still find I’m unsatisfied. There’s always something more. And I look for it. And I fight for it. That applies to every part of my life. But if you’re asking if I’m happy… yes. The answer is solid and absolute: yes! And a lot of that happiness is because of you."

Harry blinked back his tears. What was wrong with him today, feeling like he was on the verge of crying all the time?

"Are you satisfied with your life?" Hermione asked.

"I think that’s where we’re different, because I can say without hesitation, yes. I’m also happy. I have everything I ever dreamed of and more."

"I’m glad to hear that," she said, cupping his face to kiss him.

Harry took the opportunity to scoop her up, carrying her straight to bed. He slid smoothly on top of her, savouring the warm touch. Even the way they made love was different from their youth, but no less incredible for it.

As he fell asleep, wrapped around Hermione, there were no nightmares.

The next day, Harry entered the Ministry through one of the fireplaces, greeting as politely as possible the dozens of witches and wizards who stopped him on his way to his wife’s office. He was grateful he’d anticipated the delays by leaving home much earlier.

He walked straight into Hermione’s office without announcing himself and found her in a discussion with Susan Bones about the new budget for the Department of Magical Security. The redhead didn’t look pleased but brightened up the moment she saw him.

"Harry! My friend, Harry, the ex-Auror!" she greeted enthusiastically.

Hermione smiled at his arrival too, though she couldn’t hide her surprise.

"I’m not here to help you get more money for the DMS, Sue," Harry replied, kissing her cheek.

"Oh, come on, for old times' sake? We still have your badge in the display case. And who better than you to change the Minister's mind?"

Harry laughed. "Our marriage has survived because we don’t mix work with personal matters."

Hermione stepped closer to kiss him. "Besides, I’m the one who changes Harry’s mind, not the other way around."

"How could I ever go against the woman who saved my life?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "When you two get like this, you're unbearable. I’m leaving, but don’t think I’m dropping this, Granger."

Hermione replied, "I wouldn’t expect anything less from you."

Once Susan left, the Minister sank into her chair.

"Merlin, I can never make all the department heads happy. It’s exhausting."

"That’s politics," Harry said.

His wife gave him a sad smile. "I suppose I’ll have to accept that someday. Anyway, why are you here? I promised I’d be home by eight for dinner with Terrance and Justine," she checked her watch, "and it’s only seven-forty."

Harry sat on the edge of the desk, a privilege no one else had.

"Terry sent me an owl. He wants us to have dinner at Dupont Delicatessen. It seems important."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "But what about all the food you prepared?"

"It doesn’t matter. Terry wants to treat Justine, not take her to his parents’ house for dinner."

Hermione looked incredulous. "At least tell me you mentioned you spent the whole afternoon making his favourite dessert?"

"No, and it doesn’t matter," Harry added quickly as he saw her about to protest. "Justine deserves a special evening after the row they had. Let’s indulge the kids."

"You always indulge the kids, even when you end up worse off. They’re adults now; they can handle their father being firm once in a while."

"Their father wants them to be happy. For some reason, Terry wants the dinner at the restaurant. Let’s trust him."

Hermione pressed her lips together, as she had done countless times during their discussions about their children, but ultimately, she respected Harry’s decision. She slid towards the coat rack to grab her handbag, subtly shifting the topic to avoid further argument.

"Isn't Dupont Victoire's favourite restaurant? We haven't been there since Ted and she moved to France."

Harry moved closer to place her black coat on her shoulders. "How about we go to Cannes this weekend? I miss Ted."

"I’m not sure if I can. There’s an urgent issue in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. You wouldn’t believe what a group of wizards did with a drone, an owl, and a fork."

Harry grimaced. "I don’t want to know…"

He felt warmth in his chest as Hermione pressed her body closer, wrapping her hands around his neck. Her voice, husky with a whisper, tickled his ear.

"I love you."

Harry lifted her slightly to kiss her. With Hermione in his arms, the world seemed easier. He leaned her against the wall, undoing the carefully crafted hairstyle she’d spent hours perfecting for work. Her brown curls looked darker now, contrasted by the silver strands scattered throughout. She had few greys, tastefully distributed across her wild mane. Harry loved seeing them up close; they were proof of the years passing, without pause. He could never understand other men who grew bored of the same woman after years together. Perhaps they hadn’t chosen something as valuable as friendship to anchor their enduring love.

They had been kissing for quite a while when they heard the office door creak open.

“Minister, there’s a package that requires your signature—oh! I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

The young secretary dashed out in a hurry.

Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised glances, then burst into laughter.

“We should probably head to the restaurant now,” Hermione suggested.

Harry took her arm in that familiar way he had perfected over the years whenever they were about to Apparate. In a blink, they were standing in a quiet alleyway.

“You didn’t even let me say goodbye to Christine!” Hermione protested.

Harry grinned, mischievously. “If I had let you say goodbye to your secretary, we wouldn’t have left for at least three hours. I know how you two are. Never stop working.”

Still arm-in-arm, they began to walk. The muggle street was damp from recent rain, and the soft glow from nearby cafes and restaurants lent a romantic atmosphere to the scene.

“You know my job is overwhelming. Don’t start.”

“That wasn’t a complaint, it was just an observation,” Harry replied.

Hermione shot him a sharp look. “I’ve never taken ‘three’ hours to say goodbye to Christine. That’s not a fact.”

“Remember Christmas two years ago?”

“That was two and a half hours, not three!”

“Merlin save me for exaggerating by half an hour.”

“I’m just saying it’s not a fact.”

They arrived at the restaurant, a lovely two-storey establishment adorned with balconies draped in twinkling gold lights. Harry held the door open for Hermione.

“Admit it—if I’d let you say goodbye, we’d be arriving just in time for dessert,” he teased.

“Admit that whisking me away from my office without warning was rude,” Hermione countered.

The hostess greeted them. “Table for two, or are you meeting someone?”

“We’re expected. Under the name Potter-Granger,” Harry responded.

As they were led through the restaurant, the debate continued.

“I’ve been grabbing your arm for thirty years before Apparating. You could’ve anticipated it and stopped me.”

“Oh, so now I have to be able to read your body language?” Hermione shot back.

“You’re being irrational…”

“Don’t pull that line, Potter. You always use it to end an argument.”

“Only when you get upset over something trivial.”

“I was in my office, with my employees, during my working hours…”

“I hate when you bring up your position at the Ministry to justify an argument.”

“Well, I hate when you overlook the effort and dedication it took for me to get there.”

“How could I forget when you remind me every day?”

“You tell me! Clearly, you forgot when you decided to drag me out of my office without even letting me tell Christine she could go home.”

They followed the hostess up the stairs, Hermione’s heels echoing against the wooden floor. A man passed by, glancing at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Harry instinctively placed a hand on her waist, a pang of jealousy surging through him. He was so used to the wizarding world where no one dared flirt with her, either out of fear of him or out of respect for the Minister's formidable reputation.

“You’re impossible when you think you’re right,” Harry muttered.

“That’s because I am right!” she shot back.

They came to a stop.

Harry weighed the argument and the potential fallout of pushing it further. Continuing down this path would almost certainly ruin the evening, and frankly, it wasn’t a battle worth winning. Not when their arguments were so few and far between, and especially not when Hermione was right most of the time anyway. Better to save his energy for a more important disagreement down the road.

“I won’t do it again, alright? I’ll apologise to Christine.”

Hermione’s irritation melted away instantly. “Thank you… and maybe I’ll try not to take so long saying goodbye to Chris next time.”

“You won’t,” Harry teased, resuming their walk.

The hostess gave them a somewhat relieved smile as she continued leading the way.

Hermione, walking alongside him, smiled too. “No, I won’t,” she admitted.

They had reached a stage in their marriage where lying was pointless. Harry leaned down for a quick kiss. She looked up at him through her lashes, accepting the gesture of peace.

They had also reached a point where disagreements no longer led to long silences or awkward days. Instead, they served as brief reminders that, despite everything, they were still two distinct individuals. Even a lifetime together wouldn’t make them the same.

Harry felt a wave of happiness as he took in the sight of the large table awaiting them. There they were, all three of his children, with their respective partners. Hermione let out an excited gasp and ran straight into Ted’s arms, who stood up to lift her in an embrace.

“Congratulations, Mum!” Ted said cheerfully, referring to the law she had successfully passed the previous day.

Harry didn’t know whom to greet first. He wished they were little again, small enough to scoop up all at once. Temperance must have read his mind because she grabbed Terry and pulled him into a hug. As soon as Ted was released from his mother’s embrace, he joined in.

Harry had to step back as his hands trembled slightly. How could he ever explain to his children the overwhelming emotion of feeling truly loved by his family? Some old fears never quite go away.

“Do you like the surprise, Dad?” Temperance grinned. “I bet you thought you wouldn’t see me for months.”

“Or me,” Ted added.

“I loved it,” Harry smiled warmly.

They all took their seats. They greeted Victoire and Justine, both of whom seemed delighted to be part of the family gathering.

Harry let Hermione ask all the questions, catching up on their children's lives. He sat back contentedly, just listening as his children laughed and shared their latest adventures. Even Temperance, after only two days away from home, had plenty to tell.

The waiters came and went, but the marvellous food was almost forgotten amidst the conversations. Harry wished the night would never end.

Then Terry made an announcement that made everyone stop. He had proposed to Justine. The blonde, blushing, raised her left hand, revealing a platinum band with twinkling stars—an engagement ring perfectly suited for the wife of the genius of the age.

Hermione, of course, cried. Harry embraced his son and future daughter-in-law. Temperance looked surprised. She’d genuinely believed her stubborn brother would never go through with the whole tedious ritual of marriage.

“That’s not the only news tonight,” Ted said once the excitement had settled down a bit.

Hermione smiled knowingly. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t going to surprise her.

“I’ve requested a transfer to Hogwarts. I’m going to be the new Potions professor. Victoire and I are moving back to England.”

As congratulations filled the air, Harry noticed that Victoire seemed resigned. He knew how much she loved the French countryside of her maternal family, having moved there at the first opportunity. Ted had followed her two days later.

Victoire looked curiously at Hermione. “Did you already know about Ted’s transfer?”

“I’m on the Hogwarts inspection and protection committee. I was notified three weeks ago.”

Harry turned to his wife, feigning outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I figured Ted wanted it to be a surprise.”

Ted nodded. “That was the plan. Thanks, Mum… but that’s not the only news.”

Harry looked closely at his son, sensing there was more to come. He couldn’t help but think about how proud Remus and Tonks would have been of him. A twinge of guilt pricked him—after all, he had somewhat taken over the role of father from the late werewolf.

At first, when he held baby Ted in his arms, he had planned to be the best godfather, to protect him and remind him of who his parents were. But after Ted had thrown up on him, kept him awake all night with crying, changed his hair to bubble-gum pink, and somehow broken his beloved Firebolt, Harry wasn’t sure he could do it. Then one night, after another long and exhausting day, Ted fell asleep on his chest and mumbled, “Dad.”

In that moment, Harry knew it would work. Even when Terry was born, he never stopped seeing Ted as his own son. There was something between them that transcended blood.

Victoire was the one who dropped the news.

Harry felt Hermione's hand grip his, her skin as soft as it had been when she was twenty, still warm and reassuring. His anchor to the world. He looked over at her, his heart thudding in his ears. She smiled through teary eyes.

Temperance, Terry, and Justine congratulated the soon-to-be parents. Then everyone had to congratulate the soon-to-be grandparents, who were too overwhelmed with joy to say anything at first.

Dessert arrived, but the witches couldn’t stop talking about the baby. Justine took the opportunity to mention, in passing, that she and Terry were going to adopt a cat. Terry did not take it well.

"What if it contaminates the labs? Or knocks over a cauldron with a new potion?"

"Aren’t they just adorable and soft?" Justine countered.

Terry frowned. "Not anywhere near my labs."

"Oh, Terry," Justine said sweetly, leaning in to kiss him. When they pulled apart, he had a wide smile on his face. Poor lad, he didn’t even realise he’d just lost that argument.

Harry and Ted exchanged resigned glances. They were victims of these feminine wiles every day.

Hermione winked at Justine. Clearly her star pupil.

Harry excused himself, saying he was heading to the loo, but really, he snuck out to the alley behind the restaurant for a quick smoke.

Alright, maybe he was a bit addicted…

But he needed it more than ever now. He was going to be a grandfather! His mind started racing, making all kinds of plans—retirement, for one, so he could focus all his time on his grandchild. 

The alleyway behind the restaurant had five large, grimy bins, all pushed against the wall. A lamppost flickered, casting most of the area in shadow. The kitchen door stood open, letting through the shouts of an irate chef.

"...a complete mess! How can you be so incompetent? I’ll dock it from your pay! Be grateful I’m not sacking you, you idiot!"

Harry lit his cigarette and felt a bit sorry for the poor employee getting such a dressing down. He leaned against one of the walls, hiding in the shadows in case Hermione came looking for him. That would give him time to ditch the cigarette. He took a long drag, wondering if it was too soon to buy a toy broom. What if Victoire had twins? Better make that two brooms.

The metal door creaked open. A man in a kitchen uniform stormed out, swearing under his breath. There was hatred in his voice. The lamplight caught the receding hairline of his flaming red hair.

Harry froze.

"Bloody Muggles. Especially him! He's younger than me, and he shouts at me! I don’t care if he’s the chef. He can shove his bloody hat up his arse. What do a few broken plates matter?"

The man paced in circles like a raging bull. He shoved his wet hands into his apron and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He put one in his mouth.

“Damn it, no lighter,” he cursed, kicking the brick wall. Then, he noticed another presence in the alleyway. From his perspective, in the shadows, only one thing was clear: the glowing orange tip of a lit cigarette.

“Oi,” he called out, stepping closer, “got a light?”

Harry clenched his jaw as those familiar blue eyes met his. Slowly, like a predator about to strike, he offered his cigarette.

The redhead took it and used it to light his own. He exhaled through his nose, the image of an enraged bull growing stronger.

“Cheers,” he said, handing the cigarette back.

Harry remained still, leaving his hand outstretched. His mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts: unpunished vengeance, years of adolescent friendship, grudges he thought were buried. And, above all, Hermione’s words from years ago, about that encounter in an ice cream parlour. The stolen kiss. The aggressive hands. The repulsive saliva.

For years, Harry had served as an ambassador, striving to prevent violence between nations, supporting every proposal his wife put forward to reduce crime, being the model father so his children would never stray down the easy path of aggression. And now, in this moment, all he wanted was to wrap his hands around this man’s neck, squeeze, tighten, dig his fingers in, and erase his existence from the world.

To kill the miserable bastard who had hurt Hermione in every conceivable way.

His wife.

Ron frowned, irritated by the lack of response. He tossed his cigarette aside, deciding to ignore yet another Muggle.

Harry took three short steps forward, the light from the lamppost illuminating his black hair and green eyes, creating an almost divine halo around him. His face was frozen in the most dangerous expression of his life.

His former friend reacted like a rat, but not quickly enough. He tripped over his own shoes and fell backwards into a foul-smelling puddle. The realisation of standing before someone truly dangerous flickered in his eyes.

“Har- Harry… ”

Ron’s pathetic voice only fuelled Harry’s anger. He locked eyes with him and plunged into his thoughts. A whirlwind of images, the usual chaos of a terrified mind, memories tangled with conclusions. He saw himself as a child next to the redhead. There had been real affection between them once. Two lonely boys who weren’t good at much—at least in the beginning. Then came the evolution of their friendship. The jealousy and envy when one of them stopped being useless. Then the blow of love.

Countless memories of Hermione flooded Ron’s mind. So many smiles with her slightly larger front teeth. So many hugs, laughs, scoldings, arguments—so many arguments. Tears. Accusations. Threats. He saw her, young and beautiful in her pyjamas the night before her wedding, begging him to overcome his jealousy and mend their friendship. He saw himself pushing Hermione, insulting her. Harry experienced every one of those insults firsthand. He realised that Hermione had never truly told him everything she endured that night.

Then he saw a scene from her wedding, distant, as if he were hiding in some remote corner. He saw his nineteen-year-old self dancing with Hermione to Chet Baker’s jazz. The start of a new family. And the disgust that accompanied that memory was unmistakable. Ron would have rather seen Hermione dead than with Harry. From that point on, the memories spiralled downward. A chain of bad decisions, ridiculous jobs, random women in his bed, women with brown hair or bossy voices. 

And finally, the memory Harry had been searching for: that afternoon at the ice cream parlour.

Hermione had been very clear about that day: “I don’t want him to know he’s still hurting us. I’d rather he remain ignorant, forgotten. He doesn’t deserve even a spark of your magic.” Those were her words before she made Harry swear not to go after Ron.

He’d had to agree. Partly because he’d never heard such bitterness in Hermione before. She was always kind, compassionate, and forgiving. For someone to have pushed her to that extreme was more painful than infuriating. Partly because their children were still young and needed a good example. But in truth, he hadn’t acted because facing Ron meant confronting a wound in his life that still bled.

How could he forget the friend he had once considered a brother? The one for whom he would have laid down his life. The one who made him laugh, who made him feel special. Now, Harry accepted his mistake. It wasn’t his fault he had grown up without love, arriving at Hogwarts so desperate that he clung to the first hand extended to him. But it was his fault for letting Ron’s mistreatment slide, his betrayals, always excusing his actions because, in the end, Ron would return to his side. Their relationship had been violent, manipulative. Harry had played the role of the battered woman, forgiving the husband over and over again. All because he had craved acceptance and family with a sick intensity.

Even as an adult (almost a grandfather!), he realised the complex that would follow him to his grave. Wasn’t he still a clingy father? One of those who lived solely for his family. He couldn’t say if it was right, wrong, or pathological that his obsession was his children and his wife. It was simply how he was. The difference was that they also loved, respected, and protected him—a stark contrast to the pitiful "friendship" Ron had offered him years ago.

Harry had always thought, in all honesty, that he would never have the courage to confront Ron. It was like voluntarily locking himself back into the cupboard at Number Four, Privet Drive. That was where his demons lived. Not even the fleeting memory of Voldemort compared to the horrifying possibility that if he hadn’t realised in time how deeply he loved Hermione, the story might have been entirely different. No Potter-Granger children, no four decades of passionate, hard-earned marriage, no precious night where his children gathered for him , knowing he needed it, giving him the gift of a grandchild. A growing family.

Hermione had told him once, as if confessing a shameful secret, one whose impact she had never fully realised: “There was a time I thought I’d marry Ron, and you’d marry Ginny. I imagined us taking our children to King’s Cross together. A massive red-headed family. I was fourteen when I thought it. How sad my idea of love was back then.” Harry hadn’t replied. He was too ashamed to admit that he, too, had once shared that absurd dream for their future.

He bent over Ron, towering like a mountain in the middle of the alley. The redhead tried to prop himself up on one elbow, desperate to create more distance between them.

"He’s going to kill me. He found me, and he’s come to kill me," Ron thought in panic.

Harry let go of the idea. He no longer feared the man who could have taken everything from him. Nor did he feel any more hatred or resentment. Instead, a profound sense of relief washed over him. He focused and allowed Ron to glimpse select memories of his life. The births of his children. The most important arguments between him and Hermione. The decoration of a loving home. The childhood wonders and achievements of their children. Watching them grow into admirable people. Letting them go. Having them return to share their lives. Knowing every quirk and aspiration of his wife, the good and the bad. Loving her so intensely it hurt.

It only lasted two or three seconds. Harry didn’t want Ron to retain that information forever, just the emotion it evoked.

He straightened up, satisfied as he saw bitter tears stream down Ronald Weasley’s face. That was the worst punishment he could give him: a taste of what he would never have, all because of his selfishness.

Harry walked towards the end of the alley, ready to return to his family. But as a precaution, he glanced back at Ron and said, as clearly and firmly as possible:

"Never touch, never even look at Hermione again. You don’t want to know what I’m capable of."

He waited for a response. Ron shook his head, lost in his self-pity, misery, and fear.

Harry returned to the restaurant, closing that chapter of his life forever.

Back at home, Harry listened to Hermione talking about finding new homes for their two children. Ted and Victoire needed a stable place in London to raise the baby, preferably with four bedrooms in case they wanted another. Terry and Justine simply couldn’t live in that flat any longer. With the wedding approaching, they needed to find a proper house that would be the beginning of their own family. Hermione was already making plans to view a house for sale nearby.

Harry smiled, nodding along. He loved seeing her in such a good mood, brushing her hair in the mirror, just like when she was twenty and would tell him about her university classes.

"Do you know what Victoire told me?" Hermione said, glancing at him. "They’ve already chosen a name for the baby."

"Already?" he replied, surprised.

Hermione set the brush down and crawled across the bed to him, resting her head on his chest and looking up at him through her lashes.

"Yes. Do you want to know, or would you rather it be a surprise?"

"Tell me, wife. I want to know everything about our grandchild."

She smiled. "If it’s a girl, they’re going to name her Augustine Potter-Granger."

"That’s a bit strong for a baby, don’t you think?"

"I think it’s a lovely name. Besides, she won’t be a baby forever..."

"Let’s not start with that so soon."

"Did you know Justine asked Victoire not to use my name? She said if she has a daughter, she wants to name her Hermione."

Harry smiled. "That girl loves you like you’re her mother."

"Well, given the circumstances with her own mother, it’s no surprise..."

"And if it’s a boy?"

"What?"

"Our grandson, if it's a boy, what will they name him?"

His wife trailed her hand up his chest, leaving a teasing path of tickling sensations. Suddenly, she straddled him, placing one perfect leg on either side of his hips. She kissed him with passion, tangling her hands in his hair.

Harry lost track of the conversation; he could never get enough of having her on top of him. That’s where she belonged.

They continued kissing, their hands exploring familiar folds, each knowing exactly what brought the other the most pleasure.

"Harry."

"Hermione," he panted, his green eyes fixated on her thin white camisole clinging to her bare chest, now transparent with sweat.

She lifted his face with her hands, a playful smile on her lips.

"Harry Potter-Granger, I mean," she whispered.

The wizard closed his eyes, embarrassed as they welled with tears. He was so weak when it came to these things…

Hermione pressed her forehead against his.

"It’s alright, love. It’s just us here. I understand what Ted’s decision means to you."

Harry embraced his wife, trembling. She did understand, because long ago, she had listened to every hurt and humiliation he suffered with the Dursleys. But none of that mattered anymore. That name, that anti-family, had been erased from his life that night—just like the memory of Ron Weasley. 

For the first time in his life, Harry felt like he was exactly where he belonged.

Chapter Text

Minister and life partner. A woman who chose the right path.

Hermione entered the antechamber of the Wizengamot, knowing that in an hour she would have another session before the rest of the panel to review the week’s political agenda. The usual routine. However, the atmosphere was tense and expectant. 

On the black oak round table, directly in front of the chair assigned to her (the same size as the others, without any distinguishing decoration), there was a freshly poured glass of cognac. She decided not to alter the neutral expression on her face and took her place at the table. The other twelve members of the Wizengamot and their assistants exchanged glances.

"I hope it’s from my cellar. I don’t drink cheap liquor," she said as she settled into her chair. Her burgundy robe opened just enough to reveal the pearl-coloured suit she was wearing, matched with a tilted hat. On her chest, emerald necklaces gave a soft tinkling sound.

"It’s a gift, Madam Minister, from Ambassador Dowrie," explained Theodore Nott, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, with a slightly mocking tone. "The bottle is French, of course. Your favourite."

Susan Bones, head of the Department of Magical Security, let out a snort. "You have to give him credit: the man is persistent."

"Stubborn," Hermione corrected before taking a sip of the brandy. The aroma of white grapes enveloped her tongue.

The antechamber fell silent again. Apart from Nott and Bones, the rest of the members of the Wizengamot were politicians far too young to dare joke like that with the Minister. Children of her former Hogwarts classmates. New people. Desperate people.

"What’s on the agenda?" she asked, closing her eyes. She had the habit of listening for hours to the series of discussions in the antechamber. It was rare for her to participate. At the end of the session, she would simply indicate who she granted the victory to. Decades of practice meant she rarely made mistakes.

"The ministerial election," said Auden Longbottom, her assistant. His tone of voice was unmistakable to Hermione.

She opened her eyes, knowing this was a discussion she couldn't abstain from. "Let’s not waste time, resources, or budget on something so absurd. We know the election’s outcome."

Auden fiddled with his stack of parchments. "Madam Minister, with all due respect… don’t you think it’s time to step down?"

Susan lit a cigar, as she did every session where she knew they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

Hermione smiled at him. "Are you planning to run to replace me, Ady?"

The young wizard blushed with embarrassment, looking even younger than his 21 years. He hated being called the nickname his grandfather Neville had so affectionately given him as a baby.

"Auden is serious," Jackson Willow suddenly said, having made it his personal mission to remove Hermione from power.

The Minister turned her attention to Willow. The old purist shrank in his chair, while Auden remained firm. A perfect Gryffindor…

"Let’s be fair, gentlemen," she negotiated without a hint of insecurity. "Run for office. If my city votes for you, I’ll step down. That’s politics."

"Cambridge will always vote for you, Madam Minister," Auden muttered. "As will London, Sussex, Kent, and Liverpool. Your presence… your reputation is untouchable."

"The people love you more than they care for their own needs," Willow hissed.

"Are you suggesting I neglect the needs of my country?"

Auden looked at her incredulously. "It’s everyone’s country, Madam Minister. Not just yours."

"Do you believe that too, Longbottom?"

Her assistant finally lowered his gaze. Willow regained his courage:

"Let’s be honest: you no longer have the strength to meet the needs of our country."

Hermione realised why they had put the damned brandy on the table.

Theodore interceded. "The Madam Minister’s popularity remains over seventy percent. That’s more than any other Minister has achieved in our history, Auden."

Willow looked offended that everyone else was still addressing Auden, for some reason he didn’t understand. They were ignoring him!

He interrupted again, cutting off Longbottom’s response.

"It’s necessary for the leader of our government to travel constantly, sometimes for months, to engage as an equal with other governmental representatives. Mrs Granger no longer has the energy for such journeys, and her presence intimidates half the world."

Susan scoffed. "She’s turning fifty-five! For a witch, that’s nothing."

Willow didn’t stop. "For political strategy, we need to place a more experienced and solid wizard in the seat. The war…"

"It will not touch my lands," Hermione cut him off, removing her hat. "Let me repeat myself, in case you didn’t catch it, Willow: if my city votes for you, I will step down. In the meantime, I will use that ‘intimidation’ I apparently have over half the world to ensure that the United Kingdom is not dragged into war. Stepping down now would be an act of cowardice! I am a Gryffindor! And the splendour of England is because of me! The reforms, the changes in the constitution, the education—those are because of me!" She stood up, furious. "Never in our history have we had such low rates of poverty, theft, and misuse of magic. I dare say almost every person in my country can read and write. The Department of Human Rights is the least busy because there are no violations to mediate. And by Merlin, no clever soul has thought to call themselves a Dark wizard under my leadership. Would you like me to explain our situation with natural resources and renewable energy as well? Let’s not forget the programmes against racism, classism, and discrimination. Perhaps I need to give a general lesson on domestic policy, because otherwise"—she glanced in frustration at Auden—"you wouldn’t have gone along with this." She turned back to Willow. "There’s only one way you’ll get me out of this ministerial chair: dead! It’s my seat, my responsibility, my country, my decision. Understood?"

"Hermione," Auden whispered, summoning the last of his courage, "be reasonable. Listen to yourself! You sound like a... dictator!"

Susan stubbed out her cigar. Theodore covered his face with his hands.

The Minister sat back down, astonishingly calm after her outburst. "The meeting is over. Christine will inform you of my decisions on the week’s agenda. Dismissed."

Everyone obeyed.

"Not you, Auden."

The young man froze mid-motion, nervously waiting as the members of the Wizengamot left.

"I didn’t mean to upset you," he blurted out, "especially today, of all days..."

Hermione raised her hand, silencing him. They sat in silence for the next few minutes. The witch calmly drank her brandy, seemingly uninterested as she read through the parchments Susan had left behind when she exited.

"Madam Minister," Auden finally whispered, overwhelmed by nerves. It was a lot of pressure knowing his boss was upset with him... his godmother. "Please, say something."

She looked at him with amusement. "'Dictator'? Really?"

"You must admit, the tone of your speech... it's totalitarian, authoritarian, despotic..."

"I'm well-versed in rhetoric. What surprised me was that you had the courage to say it."

Auden lifted his chin. "You taught me to speak the truth, to fight for equality, for an honest, altruistic government."

"Yes, you were my best student," Hermione smiled, suddenly looking at him with deep affection. "You were part of the first class to graduate from the university I founded. I’ve never felt such pride for another student. Though perhaps my granddaughter will soon take that title from you."

The young man blushed. "I’m sure Miss Mione will be a thousand times better than me..."

"Oh, Ady, you still don’t understand, do you?"

"What?"

Hermione looked at him, enjoying how much he resembled Neville, though Auden’s features were more refined, and those hazel eyes could melt hearts.

"I can’t step down yet. You’re too young to take the seat."

"What?"

"You’ll have my support," she interrupted, placing the empty glass on the table. "I’ll ensure every one of my supporters votes for you. You won’t have a rival when you run for the ministerial seat. If necessary, I’ll ask Harry to take a picture with you to be the face of the campaign."

"But I never thought... Me? Minister?"

"Don’t make that face. There are still years before that happens."

"Uh..."

"Be smarter, Auden. The world is at war. Any political leader will have a hard time in this era. It’s too great a risk for my country to lose you as my successor now, just because your youth prevents you from being patient or evading Willow’s manipulations. Let the war end with me. Let my experience serve as your example. You've learned from me how to lead a country in times of peace. Now it’s time for you to learn how to do so when we could be attacked at any moment."

"Godmother," he interrupted, distressed, forgetting formalities. "Don’t say that. It’s not fair to you. You deserve to retire at the height of your glory. You’ve done so much for the country..."

"Auden, that doesn’t matter to me. I know that if I stay in this seat, I risk becoming a bad memory for this country. But today, I am the only one capable of stopping enemy nations. I’m the only one with the power and influence to keep our country from falling into war. And if that means I have to extend my mandate, I will. When things calm down… I will gladly support your candidacy."

"It’s not my interest to replace you, godmother. I took this job because you asked me to…"

"And now I’m asking you to take a deep breath and understand that I chose you to be the next Minister. Susan and Theo agree; they’re preparing everything to help you keep learning… even if something happens to me."

"No! Please! You could lose your life on any visit to another country. You’re too tempting a target. Step down, godmother…"

"It’s not your job to worry about me."

Auden played the only card he had left. "Think about your family… about your granddaughter. Mione would be devastated if something happened to you…"

Hermione burst out laughing. "And here I was thinking you were worried about me. It's Mione you're fighting with me about today."

The young wizard blushed again. "Of course, I worry about you too. You’re my godmother."

It was a privilege to be the only godchild of the legendary Hermione Granger, but Auden truly adored and admired her.

"Indeed, I know you care for me, just not as much as for my granddaughter. It’s all right, Auden. I’ve known for a long time. Don’t be ashamed of love. You’re going to need it, you know? When you sit in my chair, you’ll need love. Without it, you won’t withstand the pressure."

"Madam Minister," Auden’s tone suddenly grew very serious. "Do you want to support my candidacy because I love your granddaughter?"

Hermione put her hat on and stood, tired. "No. I’ll support you because you had the courage to call me a ‘dictator’ in front of the Wizengamot. That shows me I raised you well. I’m proud of you, Ady."

"Was that a test?" he chuckled, thinking of how foolish he must have looked in front of Nott and Bones.

"Learn this as well: in politics, you’re always being tested. I’m off. I have a very tiring day ahead of me."

Auden rushed to open the door for her. "My grandfather sends his congratulations, by the way. I do too. Happy birthday, Madam Minister."

He hugged her tightly, desperate. He feared the war might spiral out of control, and that incredible woman might lose her life.

"Tell Neville I expect to see him at the surprise party my husband is organising," she said, kissing him on the jaw. "You’ve been invited too, I suppose?"

Auden nodded, comforted by the unexpected show of affection.  

"Yes, I have."  

"Well, change out of that robe. You look ten years older dressed like that, for Merlin’s sake. Mione won’t like it."  

"How did you know about the surprise party?" he asked, ignoring the last comment. Seriously, was his infatuation with her sweet granddaughter that obvious?  

"There's nothing that happens in this country that I’m unaware of," she huffed, walking briskly toward the Ministry’s atrium. Then she let out another laugh, drawing the attention of several officials.  "The truth is, Harry is terrible at hiding things from me. I’ll see you later, Auden. Mérdad!"  

A pale young man with crimson eyes appeared beside her. His golden hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he had a goatee. He was wearing an Auror's robe.  

"The meeting finished earlier, madame," he said with a slight French accent.

"Even better. How are the preparations for my party?"  

"Your husband is having trouble getting Miss Temperance to arrive on time. I believe he’s also upset because Ambassador Dowrie sent you a special gift. Something… dazzling."  

Hermione smiled cunningly. Dowrie was a Marquess from Australia who had been trying to seduce her for a year, ever since her visit to Sydney before the war began.  

"Nothing good will come of that. Anyway, all I want is to make it to my meeting with my granddaughter. She’s in charge of 'distracting' me for the rest of the day so I won’t find out about the party."

"The usual place, madame?" He extended his arm.

"Apparate us."  

Half a second later, they materialised in a small Victorian restaurant, with arched stained glass windows and chandeliers of various sizes hanging from the vaulted ceilings. The Minister was immediately led to her favourite table. Her bodyguard stood behind her, motionless.

"Pretend you're breathing, Mérdad. You're making me nervous." the witch whispered, opening her briefcase. She spread the papers across the table. There was no need to take her order—she always chose the same thing.  

She looked up, curious, when she heard one of the waiters curse.  

Like her bodyguard, Hermione stopped breathing. For a moment, she thought she had travelled back in time. The young man before her was lanky, freckled, with large blue eyes and orange hair. His gait lacked confidence, and he wasn’t particularly graceful—he nearly dropped the tray twice on his way to her table.  

"Y-your meal, Madam Minister," he stammered, placing the dish down rather clumsily. He set a glass in front of her and then attempted to open the bottle of wine. The cork snapped in the neck, contaminating the liquid.  

"Shit!"

The boy turned, frightened, toward the manager. The tips of his ears flushed red.

"Hugo!" hissed the older man, rushing over to them. He looked at Hermione, distressed. "Madam Minister, I’m so sorry, how embarrassing, of course, the meal is on the house. I deeply apologise…"

"No," Hermione cut him off, smiling. "This is my favourite restaurant. I would never let a small mistake by a new boy change that. Please, Ray, bring me another bottle and let me pay for the meal… or I won’t come back."

Raymond rolled his eyes, defeated by the kindness of such a special customer. "How could I deny you, Madam Minister? I’ll get your bottle right away. Is there anything else you need?" He placed a hand on the young redhead’s shoulder, gently but firmly guiding him away from the Minister.

"Yes. Let the boy sit down. I’d like to talk to him."

Manager and waiter exchanged confused glances. Raymond managed a polite smile and nudged Hugo into the chair opposite the witch. His hands gave another firm squeeze on the boy’s shoulders, silently warning him of the serious consequences if he didn’t win over the restaurant's most important customer.

Hugo slumped in his chair, scared.

Hermione closed the folders she had been reviewing. With a flick of her wrist, her belongings reorganised themselves into the briefcase, clearing the table.

"I love this place," she said, keeping her eyes on the redhead. "I come here for lunch every Thursday."

Hugo nodded, trying to disappear into the chair.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, placing the plate in the middle of the table.

He shook his head.

"I heard you curse a moment ago. I know you can speak, so speak, boy."

"Uh... no, I mean, no, I haven’t eaten, Madam Minister."

Raymond returned with the bottle. He uncorked it in half a second and poured her a glass.

"Bring me another fork, please."

"Right away, Madam Minister."

"There’s no need to feed me," Hugo whispered, a curious flicker of pride in his voice.

"It’s a favour to myself," Hermione replied. "I adore the lasagna they serve here. My husband used to make a similar one. The problem with Harry is that he gives up on certain recipes over time. He loves experimenting in the kitchen; he never gets tired of it. But that’s not relevant. Help me finish the dish, I can never manage it alone and I hate wasting food. And Harry will stop talking to me for a week if I bring the leftovers home; he feels like it’s a betrayal of his cooking."

Hugo smiled despite himself. "You talk about the legendary Harry Potter like he’s a grumpy housewife… ah, with all due respect, Madam Minister."

She leaned in as if to tell him a secret. "That’s because he is," she grinned, then spoke in her usual tone. "But don’t tell anyone. And don’t call me ‘Madam Minister,’ I never understood why people do that. No one called Kingsley ‘Mister Minister.’"

"Maybe because he wasn’t re-elected…"

"Oh? You seem very young to be interested in politics."

"I’m not that young. I’m seventeen, Madam Minister. Politics might not interest me much, but your family’s history is common knowledge."

Raymond brought the second fork.

Hermione began eating. "I want to see you chew, boy."

Hugo sighed deeply before taking a bite of the lasagna.

"Introduce yourself," she ordered, her tone one of authority after decades as the head of the magical British government.

"Hugo Jackson Lloyd, at your service, Madam Minister."

"Call me Hermione… or Mrs Granger if that’s more comfortable for you," she added, seeing the boy's startled expression.

This relaxed him. "Thank you, Mrs Granger. It’s an honour."

"You have good manners," she observed, taking a sip of her wine.

"My mother was strict," he looked down, his cheeks flushing. "She said she didn’t want me ending up like my father."

"She did the right thing."

Hugo looked at the older witch, confused. "How could you know that?"

Hermione leaned back in her chair, looking imposing in her elegant, lined robe and emerald necklace. Her face, still firm and radiant, was free of makeup save for a bit of balm on her lips.

Hugo blushed, uncomfortable under her honey-brown gaze. He found her attractive, which was odd considering she was three times his age. Clearing his throat, he added nervously, "I’m sorry if I offended you with my question, Mrs Granger."

"You didn’t offend me. Keep eating."

The boy obeyed immediately. With that tone, it was impossible not to.

Outside the restaurant, the sound of a struggling motor could be heard. Moments later, a young girl with chestnut, nearly blonde, hair rushed inside.

"Gran!" she called, waving her hand. Her Hogwarts robe bore the shiny Prefect badge, reflecting the light from the chandeliers.

Hugo nearly jumped when the girl collided with the Minister in a tight hug. He stood open-mouthed as he looked at the Gryffindor: she was a younger, golden version of the Minister. His heart raced.

"Happy birthday, Gran."

"Thank you, dear. Sit down. Have you eaten?"

The young girl also greeted Mérdad, much more timidly (the bodyguard offered her a cold smile), then turned curiously to the redhead.

"No… I just finished classes."

Hermione was glad she had slightly amended the entry and exit rules for Hogwarts students. Now, sixth- and seventh-years were allowed to leave the castle after classes, as long as they had parental approval. The decision had been well received by families who distanced themselves from old magical traditions with each new generation.

"This is Hugo Jackson Lloyd. He’s helping me with the lasagna," Hermione explained.

Her granddaughter nodded slowly. "Okay. Hi, Hugo, I’m Hermione Potter-Granger. So you don’t get confused, you can call me Mione. That’s what everyone calls me."

Hugo shook her hand, mesmerised. "Nice to meet you. Of course, I already knew your name. You’re the daughter of Terrance and Justine Potter-Granger. Your family is legendary."

Mione nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "That’s what they tell me," she said, before turning to her grandmother. "Something’s wrong with the jeep’s engine. Do you think Grandpa can take a look at it tomorrow?"

"Why not today?" Hermione asked, playing dumb. Behind her, Mérdad watched with amusement as the young girl’s expression grew more worried.

"Because... because... Aren’t you a little flushed? Have you only had one glass of wine?"

Hermione shrugged. "And a brandy."

"But you’ve just come from the Ministry!"

"You’d be surprised how many glasses of brandy I drink there... daily."

Hugo burst into laughter, only to stop abruptly under Mione’s sharp glare. "Sorry, it’s just funny to imagine our Minister working drunk."

Mione’s messy hair bristled at the offence. "My grandmother never gets drunk! Especially not during work hours!"

"All right, all right," Hermione intervened, saving the poor redhead. "So, no jeep for us? What a shame."

"I’m sure it’ll get us to the port."

"And why are we going to the port?"

Mione found herself in trouble again. She was terrible at lying, a trait she inherited from Terry, who had inherited it from Harry. "I... just feel like seeing the seagulls?"

The Minister nodded, very seriously. "Indeed. We love going to see the seagulls..."

"Gran, don’t make this harder. I know you know. And I know you know that I know you know. So please help me."

"I’ve never been able to say no to you. Order some food, and then we’ll head to the port."

Hugo began to stand up. "I think I should get back to work..."

Hermione looked at him for a few moments. "Why aren’t you studying? I assume you just graduated from Hogwarts. Well, I opened the United Kingdom's Advanced School of Wizardry so young people your age could specialise and contribute to society."

"Oh... no, I don’t think it’s for me."

The Minister raised an eyebrow. "There must be a programme that suits your interests. If not, tell me, and I’ll create one."

Hugo started laughing, growing more and more nervous. "Would you create a programme just for me?"

Mione smiled. "Gran is always looking for any excuse to expand the university academic offerings."

"I see. No. I mean, thank you, Mrs Granger, really, but you need a Hogwarts diploma or another magical school certificate to enrol, right? I didn’t finish my studies."

"Why not?"

"It’s personal," he replied curtly.

Hermione blinked, unused to receiving such unclear responses. "Think about it. I’ll make an exception for you. I’ll even help you catch up before you enrol."

She gestured to Mérdad, who handed Hugo a card.

"Why?" Hugo whispered, incredulous.

Mione also looked at the Minister expectantly.

"Because it’s my country, and I do whatever I please in it," Hermione replied sharply. "Call me a dictator if you like. I don’t care. Take the card and leave, Hugo."

"Yes, Madam Minister," he stammered, still not fully understanding the sudden change in mood from the kind woman who had shared her meal with him. He took the card and read the golden letters: Hermione Jane Granger .

"I expected a much longer title under your name."

"That’s what my Chocolate Frog card is for," she smiled. "Now, you’ll have direct access to my office. Don’t make me wait too long for your visit."

"Thank you..."

The witches watched as he walked back to the counter, resuming his duties in the restaurant.

Mione spoke first. "I know you care about the country’s education, Gran, but that was extraordinarily generous. The Madam Minister rescuing wayward youth? That’ll be the headline in every paper tomorrow."

"I doubt Hugo wants to publicise this meeting."

"Still, it was exceptional."

"I thought the boy needed a chance."

Mione pulled off her Gryffindor scarf, her fluffy golden hair brushing the table. "You offer opportunities by the dozen, but not like this. You pull the necessary strings, talk to the right people, create ‘coincidences.’ You love working behind the scenes, unnoticed, and getting the result you want without receiving thanks. Hugo Lloyd got an opportunity directly from your hand. Why?"

Hermione sighed, resigned. Her granddaughter was her absolute treasure. The daughter of Terry and Justine, she was identical to herself, not just in looks but in personality. They could have been the same person, just in different eras of life.

"I spoke to Auden Longbottom today," she chose to say, poking at her lasagna again. "He let himself be manipulated by Willow into asking for my resignation."

"Oh, Ady! He really is too trusting! I’ve told him he needs to be more cunning. He thinks everyone is good. He needs to have a chat with my dear uncle, you know, to learn more about wit and ambition."

Hermione pressed her lips together. She still hadn’t fully accepted that Temperance had chosen that boy as her partner, and now, to make matters worse, he was becoming an influence on Mione.

"I had to explain to him that I can’t step down yet because he’s not old enough to take my place."

Mione glanced over to the other side of the restaurant, where Hugo had just knocked over a chair and muttered a curse under his breath.

"Did he like your plan?"

"Of course not. He’s so naive. He doesn’t even want to be Minister."

"That’s why you chose him, isn’t it?"

"And because he’s an exceptional young man... wouldn’t you agree?"

Mione smiled shyly at Hugo as he walked by with a tray dripping behind him. 

"Of course. Ady’s like my big brother. I adore him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Poor Ady."

"What?" Mione asked, finally tearing her gaze away from the broad back of the redhead.

"Auden’s worried about me. He thinks I’m going to be assassinated or something."

"Well, Gran, it is a possibility. We’re short on allies, and the war…"

"You think so too? Oh, I expected more confidence from my granddaughter."

Mione looked at her, irritated. "This is serious. Honestly, do you think I’m not scared something might happen to you? Please, step down."

"Not yet."

"Then you’ll have to keep your promise."

"What are you talking about?"

"You promised me you wouldn’t die."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, then smiled. "That was when you were five, sweetheart. It’s time we talk like the adults we are."

"Promise me again," she begged through tears.

"These are turbulent times. My priority is to leave the country stable after the war. Our economy needs to survive, as does our quality of life. To achieve that, I must give what’s left of my strength. So no, I’m sorry, I can’t promise that again."

"Does Grandpa know about this? Does he support you practically sacrificing yourself for this?"

"There’s nothing your grandfather doesn’t know about me. That’s why I let him throw that ridiculous party on the cruise ship he rented."

Mione hugged her tightly, crying over the sudden fear of losing her grandmother. "You knew about the cruise! Please, Gran, don’t die!"

"I’ll do my best... if you promise me something in return."

Her granddaughter pulled away just enough to see the sweet, loving face of her grandmother. "Anything."

"Don’t go into politics."

Mione burst out laughing. "I promise!"

They continued talking through the rest of the meal. Hermione noticed, somewhat uncomfortable, that Mione kept looking at Hugo. Finally, they left the restaurant.

"Can’t we just apparate?" the Minister grumbled, standing in front of the jeep.

Hogsmeade buzzed with the activity of magic and people. What was once a small village at the foot of Hogwarts had now become a bustling commercial hub, expanding into several alleys and tunnels. Hermione wasn’t thrilled about the new architectural layout, but even she couldn’t stand in the way of certain magical trends. Now, there was a branch of every Diagon Alley shop, including a small Gringotts office. The cobblestone streets, made of alchemically enchanted stones, shimmered based on the type of magic activated nearby. Carts, carriages, and broomsticks moved in all directions, secure in the knowledge that the glowing cobblestones would prevent any collisions. There were also countless relatively new businesses blending Muggle technology with magic. Few foreign shops existed, as Hermione’s policy was to favour English-made products.

Mione opened the battered door of the yellow jeep. "No, I’ll drive to the port. Get in."

Mérdad easily helped the Minister climb into the yellow monstrosity. The nimble bodyguard hung off the back of the car, scanning the surroundings with inhuman precision.

"This jeep is older than I am," Hermione grumbled. "It could explode at any moment."

"Grandpa would never have let me drive it if that were true."

She couldn’t argue with that and grunted in response.

During the ride, Hermione focused on rehearsing the thank-you speech she would give at the party later. It had to be light enough to seem improvised yet refined enough to avoid political misinterpretations. At some point, Mione entered the magical connection tunnel, built to allow cars from the growing Muggle-born population to travel across the country in seconds. A guard sent out white sparks, permitting them to exit the other side, where the sea breeze instantly filled the air.

"Welcome to Falmouth, Gran," the blonde said, turning the wheel to enter the road leading down to the port. "That over there is your party venue."

Hermione squinted, taking in the beautiful yacht gleaming under the sun. Perhaps it was finally time to buy herself a pair of glasses…

"Why Cornwall?"

"I think because of Pendennis Castle. Grandpa wants us to spend the night there as a family before we return to our duties tomorrow."

Perched high above the port was the castle that Henry VIII had built as a summer home for his royal presence. Hermione usually avoided renting out such pretentious buildings unless they were used to host other Ministers, Presidents, or even Kings. For her, it would only lead to a headline about tax misappropriation.

"It won’t look good for me to stay there tonight."

"Relax, just for today, please?" Mione replied, turning down the winding road.

The squawking of seagulls was just the beginning of the annoying sounds Hermione endured on the way to the yacht. Perhaps age had made her less tolerant of wasted time, especially when it was for something as trivial as her birthday. Really, that a party was rather ill-timed with a war knocking at the country’s door.

She glanced at her granddaughter. Clearly, Harry knew only she could convince her to board the yacht. Any other witch or wizard would have failed miserably.

"We’re here!"

As if by magic, the jeep sputtered to a stop and began belching smoke from the hood.

"Ridiculous," muttered the Minister, allowing Mérdad to help her down from the vehicle.

Mione ran ahead to greet her parents, who were waiting at the top of the yacht’s ramp. Terry was dressed in a violet robe that enhanced his reputation as a mad genius. Next to him, Justine looked like she had stepped straight out of an adventure movie set in the Amazon, with her dirty boots, hat, and sun-kissed skin.

Hermione greeted them, pretending to be surprised, and the rest of the evening followed suit.

The yacht, enchanted to hold up to three hundred people, was decorated with artificial clouds and silver mermaids. Harry had outdone himself with the organisation. Not a single important guest was missing—every key figure in the wizarding world was present to celebrate the Minister who had held office longer than anyone else.

Among the many gifts Hermione hadn’t asked for was a complete library sent by Ambassador Dowrie. She considered that it might be time to put an end to his courtship, but the look on Harry’s face made it all worthwhile.

Hermione turned fifty-five that day. For a witch, she was just beginning to show signs of ageing, though she was no longer the long-legged young woman who had broken hearts in the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, or even in other Ministries when she accompanied Harry on his ambassadorial duties. 

Still, seeing her husband get annoyed because another wizard was courting her… That was the best gift she could have asked for. Not that she wanted Harry to get wildly jealous, but it was nice to have confirmation that, after all these years, she still stirred that ridiculous possessiveness in him. 

Temperance arrived just as they were cutting the cake. Her mere presence allowed Hermione a moment to sit alone. Her daughter’s reputation was almost as great as her parents’; especially once the magical world understood that Terry was a bored genius who only left his lab to explain the latest miraculous cure he had invented. Temperance, on the other hand, had dedicated her life to social work.

"We meet again, Mrs Granger."

Hermione looked up, surprised, to see the redheaded young man, dressed like the rest of the yacht’s waitstaff, standing beside her. He held a half-poured bottle of champagne.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was lucky enough to be hired for the night shift at your party. Well, I didn’t know it was your party until I got inside and signed a confidentiality agreement. More champagne?"

She nodded. "It doesn’t seem right that you’re working day and night. When do you rest, Hugo?"

"Tomorrow... before I head to my other shift at the new potion shop in Diagon Alley, not the old one," he said, pouring her more champagne. "You've had quite the day, haven't you? Brandy, wine, champagne..."

That made her laugh. Something in her chest stirred at the recognition of the young redhead’s sweet wit.

"What can I say? It’s my birthday. Have you eaten anything?"

"Are you always going to ask me that?"

"I picked up the bad habit when I became a grandmother. Harry, not my husband—you know, Ted’s son—used to make half his plate disappear. It took us years to figure it out. Luckily, Victoire put her foot down and told him he couldn’t keep doing it. But ever since, I’ve always wondered if people have eaten."

"I’ve learned so much about the legendary Potter-Granger family today."

Hermione glanced over at her children, gathered across the room. They were happy to be together after so much time apart, especially since Tempy spent most of her time travelling.

Hugo suddenly blushed. "That’s Temperance Potter-Granger."

"Why do you say it like that? Close your mouth… Oh, you fancy my daughter."

"Who wouldn’t ?"

"She’s a bit older than you, isn’t she?"

"It’s not like I’d have a chance, even if we were the same age. She’s incredible."

The Minister finished her glass. "Tell me, Hugo, why do you work so much?"

The redhead kept his gaze on the Potter-Granger siblings. "My mother is sick."

"The healthcare in my country is free..."

"It's not treatable. It’s something dark and magical. I have to buy her potions. They’re so rare and specifically made for her that I have to pay for them."

Hermione felt disheartened. She knew it was impossible to demand that Potion Masters not charge for such particular cases.

"I'm sorry."

"It’s okay. I love my mum. It doesn’t bother me to work for her."

They were interrupted by Temperance, who finally spotted her mother among the guests and ran over to greet her. For the rest of the night, Hermione spent time with her family and friends, masking her exhaustion but feeling incredibly happy to be with them. In the end, Harry was right: this was exactly what she needed.

"Are you asleep? Harry. Harry. Harry. Are you asleep, Harry? Harry ."

"No, I was just waiting for you to say my name five times, darling."

Hermione rolled her eyes, hiding a laugh in her husband’s chest. She felt content after such a relaxing day. The fact that Harry had booked the imperial suite at Pendennis Castle was another reason for her excellent mood.

"Thank you for the birthday party."

Harry shifted over her, not with the sexual urgency of their thirties, but with the comforting need of their fifties. He buried himself into Hermione, shielding her from the world. When he finally spoke, his breath brushed against the Minister's neck.

"Wouldn’t you have preferred to lock yourself in the Ministry to work?"

Hermione thought about the many special people in her life who had been at the yacht, sharing food and laughter with her. Her children and grandchildren were there. It had been a perfect evening.

"And miss out on Dowrie’s gift? Never. Did you see the size of that library? It’s enormous, filled with enigmatic and fascinating knowledge…"

Harry laughed, barely concealing his irritation. "Are you talking about the Dowrie’s library ?"

Hermione smiled, lifting her legs to rest on her husband’s hips. "Why does Dowrie irritate you so much? He’s not the first fool to think he can seduce me."

"He’s the first wizard who’s not afraid of me. Seriously, do I no longer intimidate people? Do I need to destroy another Dark wizard? Fulfil another prophecy?"

"Ah, yes. Your hero days are long behind you," she said sarcastically. Only a week earlier, she’d had to receive a gold medal in Brussels on his behalf for his great service to peace.

"We both know I was never a hero. Not really."

Hermione gently stroked his strong arms that surrounded her. "Are you still denying it? Fine, if you don’t want to admit that you’re the hero of the century, at least you have to accept that you’re my hero."

"Am I?"

"Did you forget that moment when I was an innocent damsel in distress, and you came to save me from a stinky troll?"

Harry kissed her shoulder before breaking into uncontrollable laughter. "Your hair looked like a bush!"

Hermione naturally swatted him. "And you were short and scrawny! Stop laughing. Stop…" She started laughing with him. "How did we defeat the troll? It feels like it happened a lifetime ago."

"I don’t know, but I remember your wand was in the troll’s nose at some point."

"Wasn’t it Ron’s wand?"

Silence.

They both looked at each other, surprised.

Harry cleared his throat. "I had forgotten he was there."

"I met his son today."

"What?"

They sat up in bed, facing each other.

"I’m sure Ron has a son. His name is Hugo."

"Did you see Ron?"

"No."

Harry relaxed his hands, holding back the brief surge of fury that had overtaken him. He didn’t want the redhead anywhere near his wife.

"Hugo looks exactly like Ron. Talking to him felt like travelling back in time. The poor boy has to work to pay for his mother’s medicine. Oh, Harry, we have to help him."

"Absolutely not."

"Pardon?"

Hermione never expected to hear such a refusal from her husband. He was always the first to offer help to anyone in need, especially a young person in trouble.

"I don’t want Ron to have any excuse to reconnect with you. Forget about it."

"But Hugo never mentioned his father. I have a feeling Ron isn’t part of his life."

"I said no."

In all their years of marriage, Hermione had never heard Harry say those words.

"Are you forbidding me from doing something?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, searching her face with his bright green eyes. "I mean, I’m vetoing Ron Weasley and anything related to him."

"You can’t use your veto for this," she growled, though they had agreed that each of them had one free veto per year, which could be used without explanation or complaint.

"I already did. Goodnight."

Hermione pulled away, avoiding her husband’s kiss. "Wait a minute. The boy needs help! He’s Mione’s age. I think she likes him…"

"My granddaughter was near Ron’s son?"

"Oh, could you stop sounding so aggressive? Hugo is a good kid."

"That’s impossible to know."

"For Merlin’s sake, it’s been years since we last saw Ronald. I think it’s time to close that wound. In fact, I think I already have. Today, when I spent time with Hugo, I felt joy and nostalgia for the friend who was once our best mate. I know things went wrong at the end, but…"

"Are you defending the idiot who called you a 'fame-hungry slut desperate for approval' the night before our wedding?"

Hermione put a hand on her chest, realising the wound might not be as healed as she’d thought.

"How do you know what he said to me? I never told you…"

Harry made that guilty face, the one that showed how much he hated lying or hiding something from his wife.

"Ron… shared that information with me."

Hermione jumped out of bed, furious. "What? When? "

"Long time ago. It’s not important."

"You used Legilimency on him!"

"A little bit. Where are you going?"

"To enjoy Pendennis Castle, which you rented despite my country’s economic crisis," she snapped, putting on her robe.

Harry tried to follow her.

"I want to be alone," added the Minister as she stormed out of the room.

It was outrageous that her husband had used his magical abilities to dig into that conversation between Ron and her. She felt humiliated.

"‘Fame-hungry slut desperate for approval,’" she repeated, trembling. "That was the least of what he said."

It had taken her years to stop replaying that argument. It became her go-to escape whenever she was in a bad mood or when something went wrong. She would revisit every word Ron had said, imagining herself responding with wit, cruelty, and strength. She hated that, in reality, all she could muster were pleas and regrets.

"I don’t want to get married without you, Ron. You’re our best friend. Please, come to the wedding."

"All you want is to hand Harry another victory over me. You want to see him squirm with pleasure at my pain."

"Do you honestly believe Harry enjoys seeing others suffer?"

"Oh, no. Harry’s a bloody saint! Our saviour!"

"Enough, Ron. My decision is made. He is the love of my—"

"Don’t say it! Why do you keep up with this lie? You and I have been in love for years. Am I supposed to believe that in a few months, you and Harry realised you’re soulmates or some rubbish like that?"

Hermione stopped when she heard two familiar voices. She stepped out onto one of the balconies of the beautiful castle, gazing out at the distant view of Falmouth’s port. The moon seemed to spill over the balcony, bathing everything in excessive light that left no room for shadows.

There were Temperance and Mione, chatting quietly and cheerfully. Hermione’s heart swelled at the sight of her favourite women.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked, standing a few metres away from them.

"Gran!"

"Mum!"

She was immediately wrapped in a signature Potter-Granger hug.

"What are you two doing out here at this hour?" she asked, still holding onto them.

"Oh, I was taking pictures of the port. Mione found me while she was escaping from Auden."

Hermione looked at her granddaughter in surprise. "What?"

Mione let out a huff, her cheeks turning red, which made her lovely hazel eyes stand out. "Nothing. Nothing happened."

Temperance rolled her eyes, her patience always in short supply. "Our little girl just found out that Auden Longbottom is in love with her. He kissed her when he said goodbye after the party."

"I thought Ady saw me as a little sister," the blonde explained nervously. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Did you never think Auden was an attractive wizard?"

Mione placed a hand on her chest, recalling every moment Auden had been by her side, caring for her. She thought about his perfect jawline, the messy waves in his hair that made him look adventurous yet sweet. She knew many witches desired him, and she even felt a pang of jealousy when Nora Zabini had dated him for a couple of months.

"I’m confused," she said, feeling disheartened. If there was one thing Mione disliked, it was uncertainty. "I think I just want to go to bed. Excuse me."

Temperance waited until Mione was out of earshot to speak again.

"She told me she felt her magic burst when Auden kissed her."

Hermione leaned on the balcony railing. "Ady should focus on his studies instead of kissing my granddaughter."

"Oh, Mum, you knew this was going to happen."

"Do you think Mione and Ady…?"

"They’re so young. Don’t worry about that. Now tell me, why aren’t you with Dad?"

"I don’t have to be glued to your father’s side. I can take a nighttime walk without him."

Temperance gave her a sceptical look. Her green eyes, identical to her father’s, made Hermione cave in an instant.

"You two would be glued together if you didn’t have other obligations," she countered. "Did you have a fight or something?"

"Something. What about you? Don’t you miss your boyfriend?"

Temperance fidgeted with her camera, always shy when the subject of him came up. "A little. The usual."

Translation: she was devastated without him.

"Why didn’t you invite him?"

"We’re going through a rough patch."

Hermione knew what the problem was. The blond wanted to get married already. Her daughter do not.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, Mum. I already know what you’re going to say."

Hermione shrugged. "Well then…"

"How did you know Dad was the one?"

Trying not to smile so her beautiful daughter didn’t feel vulnerable, she answered with an easy calm.

"I had my doubts. He was a bit shorter than me, you know? But then he saved the world, and I figured his fame gave him a few extra inches."

"Mum!"

Hermione smiled at the sound of her daughter’s laughter. "Do you want me to be really honest with you?"

"Always."

"It’s going to be tough, Tempy."

"Do it, Mum."

Hermione gazed out at the port. "I wasn’t sure until I saw him waiting for me at the altar. The night before the wedding, I thought about running away."

Temperance almost dropped her camera. "I don’t believe it! You adore Dad. You were best friends, you’d been through everything together, you already had Teddy. How could you doubt it until the last moment? How could you think about running?"

The young witch tried to imagine a world where the Potter-Granger family didn’t exist. The idea of Teddy without younger siblings, without Hermione as his mother, was horrendous. It was absurd to even think about the consequences the magical world would have faced without that marriage. And her father? Harry Potter wouldn’t have survived without Hermione Granger, that much was clear.

"I told you it was tough."

Tempy nodded, trying to calm herself. "Does Dad know?"

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Maybe."

"What happened, Mum? Why did you doubt? Why did you stay with Dad?"

Hermione sat on the bed, staring at her bare ankles peeking out from the hem of her pyjama pants. It was a warm night, but she felt cold. Ron was still standing in front of her, waiting for an answer.

"You’re not sure," he said when it became clear she wasn’t going to speak. "Merlin! You’re not sure!"

"We’re so young," she tried to explain, though she wasn’t sure if it was to Ron or to herself. She felt like a traitor for voicing her thoughts. "I’m terrified Teddy and I won’t bond. What if he needs a real mother? Not a witch obsessed with her work, but a homemaker, someone with maternal instincts. What if Harry and I realise we rushed everything? I still want to study. He’s not even sure if being an Auror is right for him. What’s the hurry? What if this is all a mistake?"

She looked anxiously at Ron. Part of her hoped he would have all the answers, even though she knew him too well to expect that. But Hermione had no one else to talk to. It was either him or Harry, and obviously, that wasn’t an option. She wanted to believe Ron would put aside his jealousy to help her because their friendship was deeper than any fleeting crush they’d had years ago. She wanted to believe that, after surviving a war together, nothing could come between them.

Ron knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. His blue eyes suddenly brightened.

"Leave him. Run away, Hermione."

Her heart shattered.

"What?"

"Wait… Ronald Weasley?" Temperance gasped, breathless. She had never expected her mother to share something like this. "You thought about running away with Ronald Weasley? Merlin, I’m not even sure I know who he is. I mean, I’ve read about him… Oh, Grandma Cameron mentioned him once, and not in a nice way, to be honest. Didn’t we see him once when we were getting ice cream? I know he was Dad’s friend and yours, but did he really love you?"

Hermione nodded. "According to him."

"And you, Mum?" Temperance hated herself for asking the next question. "Did you love him more than you loved Dad?"

"In some ways, yes."

"Oh!" Tempy dropped her camera. Hermione caught it with a wandless spell.

"Do you want me to finish the story?"

"You can’t leave me hanging like this. I’ll explode!"

Hermione looked at Ron for a long moment. Then, very slowly, she withdrew her hands from his.

"Leave Harry?" she whispered, thinking of how there could be no crueler punishment for her fiancé—the boy who had been mistreated by his only family, who had lost his godfather and then his mentor in the war. Harry was counting on her; she couldn’t do that to him.

"Stop pitying him," Ron said, reading her thoughts. "Are you marrying him so he won’t be alone? That’s not love, Hermione."

"Now you’re an expert on what love is?"

"At least I don’t love you out of pity. I love you for what you give me. Thanks to you, I’m a better person."

"Forget it. This is absurd. The wedding is tomorrow. I can’t—"

"Yes, you can!"

"No, I can’t! I’m not a coward. I’ve never abandoned Harry, and I’m not going to start now! Besides… of course, I love him."

"More than me?"

Hermione asked herself how had her life become reduced to a stupid love triangle with her best friends?

"Love can’t be measured."

"Don’t lie to yourself. It’s simple, Herm—who do you really love?"

"What kind of question is that? It doesn’t make sense. I’ve decided to marry Harry. That’s what matters. Oh, I never should have told you how I was feeling. Go, Ron. I need to rest."

"No. The last time I left, Harry brainwashed you. I won’t make the same mistake."

"Brainwashed me? Do you even hear yourself?"

"Didn’t he? Then why did you stop loving me when I wasn’t around, when, coincidentally, you were alone with Harry in the woods?"

Hermione stood up, frustrated. "Do you really think everything changed at that moment? Because that’s how emotions work, right? They just appear out of nowhere."

"Are you going to deny something happened between you two? Harry took advantage of the only time I wasn’t there to—"

"No!" Hermione began to laugh, resigned. "I’ll tell you when it happened: over the course of the seven years you weren’t truly by our side. Because it didn’t happen just once, it happened again and again. You abandoned Harry when you couldn’t handle his kindness, his heroism, his talent. He didn’t have to do anything for me to stop loving you. You did that, Ronald."

"I left him , not you! The problem is, you’ve always wanted to stay with him, like it’s your duty."

"Duty? It was because it was the right thing to do! I stayed with him because I felt like I was part of his fight, his destiny—"

"Voldemort didn’t mark you the Chosen One, stop being ridiculous."

"No, I chose to be marked. The day Harry told us about the prophecy, I chose to stay with him, to fight by his side forever. Don’t you get it? As a Muggle-born, it was my responsibility to fight more than Harry or you. The fact that my best friend was the key to the war only helped me fulfill the destiny I chose for myself."

She wanted to stop, to have someone cover her mouth before she could say what she had been thinking for months.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

"I saved the wizarding world! I deserve to be with Harry Potter!"

Ron looked at her like she had lost her mind. "What are you talking about?"

"He’s alive because of me," she blurted, feeling ashamed for admitting it. "I know Harry was the one who defeated Voldemort. I know it was his bravery and honour that won. But I was there with him, all the time—carrying the Horcrux, supporting him, listening to him, cutting his hair, dancing with him, keeping his secrets, accepting his breakdowns and stubbornness. I’m his companion. I have to be… the love of his life."

Temperance looked at her mother as if she no longer recognized her.

"You told me that relationships aren’t about debts," she murmured. "You taught me that you can’t expect some sort of emotional reward for doing the right thing."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, I taught you to love selflessly. But back then, I was eighteen and about to get married. I had in front of me who I thought was the love of my life, trying to convince me to run away. I wanted to explain what I was feeling. I think it was wrong to express it that way, but... it doesn’t make it any less true. I gave everything for your father, Temperance. Everything. If that wasn’t love, then what was it? Not even Ronald, whom I loved with such intensity, made me feel the desperate need to give everything, to give up my life, my plans, my stability, just to make him happy. But the mere thought of Harry made me forget to breathe, made me think about a family, about having children, about fighting by his side forever."

Temperance smiled, moved. She didn’t want to judge her mother, especially not during a time in her life when she had just survived a war. She took Hermione’s hand, looking at her with love.

"What happened next?"

"I told him I would always love him."

"What I feel for you is beautiful, Ron. We’re passionate and stubborn; our fights are epic. They fill me with excitement and anticipation. I’ve become addicted to confirming how much you love me every time you apologise. And I think we could be happy together."

Ron’s face lit up, both happy and confused by the shift in Hermione’s attitude. "Let’s run away!" he proposed for the fifth time.

Hermione sat back on the bed. She really should have been asleep by now.

"But I don’t want that kind of love, no matter how great or thrilling it feels right now. I don’t want to love someone who needs to tear me apart to prove they love me by putting me back together. I want a love that makes me stronger, that stays by my side, that doesn’t abandon me. I want to choose my destiny again, and this time, I choose to be the love of Harry’s life. I will work hard to make him happy, to give him everything I am, to take care of Teddy, to work every day on our relationship."

Tears fell from Ron’s blue eyes, as if something in that small speech had finally convinced him that she wouldn’t run away with him.

"Give me a chance," he begged pitifully. "I can be better for you than Harry…"

"No, you don’t understand. It’s not just about which of you is better for me, but which of you makes me feel like I’m a person I’m proud to be."

Hermione glanced at the photo frame on her nightstand. It was of Teddy in a little dinosaur onesie, his green eyes just like Harry’s. 

She felt that same explosion of boundless, hopeful love. It was because of Teddy that they were rushing the wedding. It was for him that Harry and she decided to change their lives, because the little boy deserved a stable family. It was the least Harry wanted for him, even though Teddy was another responsibility he never asked for but would never refuse. And Hermione would continue to be his life partner, now stepping into the role of a mother.

"Harry is the best for me. And I will be the best for him. This has to be love, because nothing else in the world feels as significant as the commitment and connection we share."

She breathed more easily. Ironically, Ron had helped her regain her composure to continue with the wedding.

"You’re telling me you want to marry him because you’ll gain more fame with Harry than with me."

Hermione put a hand on her forehead. "Is that what you heard?"

"You want to marry him to acquire his importance! You think it’s what he owes you for everything you’ve done for him!"

"He doesn’t owe me anything. I said it wrong," she sighed, exhausted. "It’s… what’s meant to happen between us. We’ve built something so wonderful and honest, that creating a family together will be just as perfect. I don’t know how else to explain it, except to say that we’re Harry and Hermione."

She smiled, satisfied. That was it. No more doubts.

She looked at Ron, hoping for his support and understanding.

"You’re a fame-hungry slut!" he shouted, shoving her. Hermione tumbled off the bed and onto the floor. "You’re a…"

She stopped speaking. She didn’t want her daughter to know every insult she had endured that night.

Temperance clenched her teeth. Oh, if she ever crossed paths with Ronald Weasley…

"When Ron left, I cried all night. I didn’t sleep. The next day, I felt defeated. The doubts came back. I really wished he had been there. I knew Harry loved him like a brother. Ron’s absence felt like a bad sign for starting our family. Your grandmother Cameron helped me get ready. She practically had to tie me to your grandpa Richard’s arm just to keep me standing as we walked down the aisle. But when I saw Harry…"

Hermione started to cry. She felt the same overwhelming emotion she’d experienced when she saw Harry waiting for her at the altar. Her Harry. Her companion. The man who had chosen her to be the love of his life.

Temperance hugged her mother tightly, sensing what was happening. She pressed her cheek against Hermione’s, breathing in the scent that she associated with home and childhood safety.

"Thank you for telling me this, Mum. Go to Dad, go on," Temperance said.

Hermione nodded, still crying. "Don’t stay up too late. Put on a sweater, it’s cold."

Temperance rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mum."

As Hermione returned to her room, she saw Harry extinguishing a cigarette by the window. He turned to look at her, nervous.

"Did you enjoy your walk?" His green eyes widened. "Are you crying?" He rushed over to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace and kissing her forehead. "What happened? Did you get a call from the Ministry? Are we under attack?"

War was, undoubtedly, the most urgent concern. But Hermione shook her head, burying her face in Harry’s chest.

"Do you think I’d cry over something like that?"

"Better than you telling me you’re crying because of something I did."

Hermione smiled at the absurdity. Classic Harry, always ready to save the world before recognizing that he might have hurt her. She pulled back to look at him. She adored seeing the passage of time in the silver streaks in his hair.

"I never wanted to tell you what happened with Ron because… I was ashamed. I would’ve preferred you never found out that I thought about running, that I doubted us. I’m so sorry."

Harry smiled softly. "That’s why? I thought you wanted to protect Ron."

"No. He doesn’t matter to me. It was you I wanted to protect."

"Hermione, I knew you weren’t sure. When I dropped you off at your parents’ house the night before our wedding, I made a few plans in case you decided to call it off."

"What?"

"Yeah. One plan was to leave you alone for a week so you could calm down and talk to me without feeling pressured. And if you didn’t want to see me because of guilt, I was going to buy your favourite bookstore in Sussex."

"For what?"

"To blackmail you. You’d have to talk to me, or I’d demolish the store."

"Harry, you wouldn’t have dared!"

"Oh, I would have. If it meant forcing you to talk to me after you left me at the altar? Absolutely."

Hermione started laughing. "You were crazy!"

"For you."

Harry began swaying with her in his arms. They were dancing again. It had become a habit—whenever they fought or had something difficult to discuss, dancing would relax Hermione.

"Why didn’t you hate me?" she whispered. "Why did you take so lightly the possibility that I might leave you at the altar, that I might abandon you?"

"Abandon me? I didn’t think of it like that. I knew you were terrified of giving up your independence, your future plans, your career. The wedding meant facing a challenge you would have preferred to avoid for at least another ten years. Despite that, your doubts weren’t about me. If you hadn’t shown up at the wedding, I would have known you just weren’t ready to get married... yet. But that when you were, it would be with me. It was obvious."

"Really?"

"I swear. Now, to be honest, when I saw you arrive at the wedding, I actually thought about calling it off."

" What? "

"You were trembling, sweetheart. You could barely stand. I hated putting you in that situation, so I told Neville to help you run away."

Oh, perfect. Both Ron and Harry had wanted her to escape instead of getting married.

"When did this happen? Neville never told me…"

"It wasn’t necessary. At that moment, you looked at me. I don’t think you’ve ever looked at me that way, so... intensely. I knew you were okay. You smiled and walked toward me. Your dad had to pick up the pace because you started pulling him down the aisle. You were halfway there when you reached out your hand to me, like you couldn’t bear to be apart for another second."

"And you ran the other half to take my hand."

Harry nodded, recalling one of the best moments of his life. "Richard had to yank his arm free to escape our hug. A bit cheesy, now that I think about it."

Hermione hugged him tighter. "I love you. Thank you for trusting me."

"How could I not trust you?" he kissed her again. "I love you. I’m sorry I made you upset earlier. I’ve thought it over, and I think you’re right. Hugo isn’t Ronald. He deserves a chance."

"Now you sound like my perfect, kind husband," she pulled back, excited. "Hugo worked on the yacht. Oh, he’s also a waiter at that restaurant I like in Hogsmeade. We have to find him, Harry."

"Why are you so eager to help him? Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re generous, and I’ve already agreed we’ll do what we can, but this seems personal."

"It is personal. Hugo could have grown up with Mione. He could have been..." her voice broke, "he could have been our godson. If Ron hadn’t been so petty and pathetic."

Harry stroked her back, trying to soothe her. "Alright, love..."

"I feel like Ron made another irreparable mistake. Why does Hugo have to work so young? Why doesn’t he know we could be his family? Oh, Harry, he has Ron’s blue eyes and that same lanky frame. He must’ve been such a sweet child."

Harry seemed to grasp the depth of Hermione’s emotions, deciding to act quickly.

"I’ll go talk to the yacht captain. I’ll get Hugo’s address. We’ll go visit him first thing in the morning, okay?"

"Really? You’ll do it right now?"

Harry was already putting on his coat. "Of course, love."

Hermione smiled at him. "Thank you."

Ron relaxed in his armchair after a long day of work. His daughter toddled over, offering him one of the toys scattered around the room; her tiny hands barely held the bright red plastic train.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, Rosie. Give me a minute, darling. I need to rest."

From the kitchen, a woman’s voice called out, "She missed you a lot today! Give her some attention!"

Ron gave his three-year-old daughter a patient smile, knowing none of this was her fault. He lifted her onto his lap, moving the toy train through the air to entertain her.

"Are you hungry?" asked the woman with long brown hair and a radiant smile as she walked into the living room. She looked twenty years younger than Ron.

"Starving. What’s for dinner?"

"I made your favourite, Ronnie," she winked before picking up Rose and carrying her to the dining room.

Ron stood up again, his knees cracking as he did.

"How was work?" she asked.

"Good."

"Did you talk to your boss? Do you think you’ll get the raise?"

That was the last question Ron wanted to hear. "He said the economic situation is tough... you know, because of the war and everything."

"Well, tell him you have a family to support," she growled, placing Rosie in her high chair.

Ron took his young wife’s hand. "I’ll do everything I can to get the money. I promise."

She softened, trusting his words. "I’m so lucky to have you."

Rosie turned toward the door. "Visitors!"

The apartment doorbell rang.

"Who could it be?" murmured the woman as she walked to the door. For ten seconds, she stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the witch in front of her. It was impossible not to recognize her.

"Good evening," said the Minister for Magic of England. She wore an incredible black coat, a pair of real diamond earrings, and her hair loose over her shoulders. She looked more delicate and smaller than she appeared in the newspaper photos.

"Hi," the woman replied, stupidly.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced herself unnecessarily. "I’m looking for Ronald Weasley. I understand he lives here."

"Yes. This is his home," the woman replied, still not blinking. She didn’t take her eyes off Hermione as she shouted into the apartment, "Ron! RON! "

Her husband rushed over. "What’s going on?"

"The Minister wants to talk to you," she said, her tone clearly hiding another question: What on earth have you done?

Ron ran a hand through his thinning red hair. "Herm?"

"Hello, Ronald."

The young woman between them looked confused, then seemed to remember that her husband had once been friends with the most important couple in the United Kingdom.

"Oh!" she thought this was a happy reunion. "Where are my manners? Please, come in, Madam Minister. We were just about to have dinner. Please, come in!"

She pulled Hermione inside. Ron shot her a bemused look.

Rosie stared at the Minister for a moment, then shouted, "Frog!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That’s new."

Ron quickly explained. "Rosie just got your Chocolate Frog card. Look," he said, grabbing the shiny card from the dining table.

Hermione Jane Granger – Supreme Sorceress, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, Head of the United Kingdom's Advanced School of Wizardry, Absolute Commander of RM Weapons.

The Minister glanced at her card, clearly uncomfortable with the long title. "Oh."

Ron cleared his throat. "Let me introduce you to Julie, my wife. Julie, this is Hermione, an old friend from Hogwarts… and obviously, the Minister for Magic."

Julie let out a sweet laugh. "Obviously! What an honour to have you here, Herm. Would you like some tea?"

Hermione looked irritated. "No, Julie, thank you. I’m afraid my visit will be brief. I’d like to speak with Ronald privately, please."

Julie’s smile faded. "Did Ron do something wrong?"

She seemed incapable of believing that. Hermione sighed deeply.

"No. I just need to clear something up."

Ron spoke up. "We’ll go to the other room. Start dinner without me, okay?"

Hermione followed Ron through the small apartment into another room, glancing at the photos of Ron and Julie on the walls.

Once they were alone, the Minister sat on the sofa.

"I didn’t know you were married."

"It was unexpected. I met Julie at my old job. One thing led to another… But I’ll be direct: what are you doing here? If it’s something bad, please don’t involve Julie. She’s not to blame for my mistakes."

Hermione shook her head, unable to hurt someone as young as Julie, who was the same age as her daughter.

"I came to talk to you about Hugo."

Ron paled. "How do you know about Hugo? Did something happen to him?"

"I met him by chance. He’s fine. However, his mother, Amanda Lloyd, is very sick; I don’t think she’ll survive another year."

"Amy? Merlin…" He covered his prematurely aged face with trembling hands. "How old is Hugo now? Fifteen? He’ll need support. Damn. Damn. Damn." He shook his head, trying to calm down. "Julie will understand. She knows Hugo exists. She’ll be okay with it, I’m sure…"

"It’s not necessary for you to take responsibility for him. Hugo turned seventeen a couple of months ago."

"He’s seventeen?" Ron asked, shocked.

Hermione exercised all her patience to avoid shouting. "Yes. He’s a remarkable young man. Amanda raised him wonderfully."

Ron pressed his lips together, unsure if he had the right to judge Hugo’s upbringing, but it was a relief to hear it had been good. "Still, he’ll need company, at least. I wasn’t there for him when he was a child, so now’s my chance to take responsibility—"

"Hugo will be living with Harry and me."

Ron raised his eyebrows. A long-buried resentment stirred slightly.

"Why would my son do something like that?"

"Because I convinced him that it would give him the chance to study, live peacefully, and enjoy his youth. Amy agrees."

"I don’t understand any of this. When did you meet Amy? Why are you trying to take Hugo away?"

Hermione let out a bitter laugh. "Take him away? Hugo is smart and proud. There’s no way I could manipulate him into anything. He knows what’s best for him. Let’s just say he’s tired of working for pitiful wages while his youth slips away."

Ron clapped a few times, a sarcastic gesture. "Another magnanimous act from the great Harry Potter, I suppose."

"It was my idea. Actually, Harry didn’t want to help Hugo just because he’s your son."

That wiped the cruel smile from Ron’s face. "Oh."

Silence fell between them. In the distance, they could hear the cheerful laughter of Rosie and Julie.

"I’m glad you have a good family," Hermione said calmly. "I trust you’ll take care of Rosie. If not, I suppose in a few years, I’ll have to do something about it."

"I don’t need you rescuing my kids, Hermione."

"I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for them. Hugo is wonderful. He deserves all the opportunities that should have been his."

"What are you talking about?"

"I’m talking about how Hugo would’ve been our godson. Just like Terry would’ve been yours. That was the plan, remember? To be a family. And although life separated us, there are some sacred things that should be respected. I loved you once, in many ways, and because of that, I’ll take care of Hugo. I’m tired of avoiding your name, of pretending you don’t exist, of mourning the memory of you. I want to move on. I suppose this is my way of saying… I’m sorry for everything that happened between us, and… I forgive you, Ron."

Ron lowered his head, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. He carefully considered everything his old friend had said. He, too, was tired of longing for her. He wanted… needed to be happy.

"I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m grateful you’ve given it. And… I want to thank you for looking after Hugo. I know he’ll be fine with you."

Hermione gave a small smile. "I promise he will be."

"Does he know you’re here?"

"Yes, I didn’t want to hide anything from Hugo."

"I mean… Harry."

Saying the name without anger was difficult. Ron realised it was also surprisingly easy.

"Oh. Of course."

Hermione gave him a look: Do I ever hide anything from my husband?

Ron nodded. "And he’s not upset that you came?"

"He’s outside waiting for me."

"Making sure I don’t do anything bad to you… again."

Hermione’s shoulders dropped slightly. "We can heal wounds, but the lessons remain."

"Fair enough. Thanks for coming. I’ll walk you to the door."

Ron spent several minutes watching his young wife say goodbye to the Minister. Julie had no idea about anything; that was one of her great virtues—being blissfully unaware.

He opened the door, understanding that this might be the last time he ever spoke to Hermione.

"Herm!" he called out as she was about to get into the limo.

The Minister turned, curious. Beside her, the bodyguard with red eyes tensed.

"What is it, Ron?"

He licked his suddenly dry lips. He stepped down the couple of stairs, unsure of what to say or do. It felt like they deserved more than just this goodbye.

"You’re doing a great job as Minister."

Hermione tilted her head. "Uh, yes, I know."

The bodyguard smiled menacingly.

Ron didn’t lose his nerve. "And Harry’s a great Ambassador… What I mean is, I’m glad I was part of your lives. I’m sorry I wasn’t the friend you deserved."

The other door of the limousine opened. Harry Potter stepped out, circling the car, and opened a black umbrella over his wife just as the rain began to fall.

Ron and Harry exchanged an awkward glance. Hermione felt like she was back in fourth year at Hogwarts.

"You look good, Ron," Harry said, thinking at least Ron wasn’t passed out behind a restaurant. He looked healthy, with decent weight and build, though his face still bore the marks of the alcoholism he had overcome years ago.

"You too, Harry. Thanks for taking care of Hugo."

"He reminds me of you. I think… he could become a great man."

Ron thought about his son, the one he had abandoned because he felt incompetent as a father. The son he had with Amanda Lloyd, the true love of his life, whom he had also disappointed and left due to his cowardice. Now Amy was dying, and his son would finish growing up with the Potter-Grangers… and he…

He watched the people who were once his best friends say their quiet farewells and get into the limo, leaving this place behind for good.

Ron stood in the soft rain for a while longer. After a moment, he smiled. It was time to be happy with what he had and finally let the past go. He stepped back inside, ready to care for his little family.