In honor of Father's Day...

[avonlea_dreamer]

A little belated, for which I apologize, but the bar exam has eaten my brain and my muses, which also means that I have no idea when I'll next be able to post.

A little piece of family fluff, from my 'All He Ever Wanted' series.


What a Father Does

Harry returned home to find Andy making quiet car sounds as he played with his toy cars while Sabrina was in the play-pen watching Andy with wide eyes.

Andy looked up and beamed a smile at Harry. “Hi, Daddy!”

Harry ruffled Andy’s hair as he knelt down at Andy’s side. “Hi, Andy. Where are Mummy and Emily?”

“In Em’ly’s room.”

“Okay. And what are you up to?”

Andy held up one toy car in a chubby fist. “I’m playing race car, Daddy! Wanna play with me?”

“Maybe later, Andy. I think Sabrina’s getting lonely.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

He bent to pick up Sabrina pretending to toss her in the air until her mouth gaped open in a smile and she reached for him and he ducked his head out of the way, narrowly avoiding her fist from knocking his glasses off. “Hi, baby,” he said, kissing her hair. “Have you been good today?”

Sabrina blinked at him, which he chose to take as a yes, and he smiled as he nuzzled her.

“Yes, of course, you’ve been good, haven’t you, pumpkin? ‘Cause you’re the best-behaved baby in the world, aren’t you, sweetie?”

As if to disagree with his statement, Sabrina managed to close her fist about his hair and pulled. Harry winced and moved his hand up to disengage her fingers from his hair. “Now, now, Rina, what did I tell you about pulling Daddy’s hair? It’s not nice.”

He finally succeeded in disengaging each of her fingers-he’d thought Emily’s grip was tenacious but Sabrina’s fist could be even more stubborn sometimes-and hoped she would now be satisfied with her hold on his finger.

Harry paced around the room, bouncing Sabrina lightly in his arms to keep her amused. He loved the way she would blink her eyes at him and the way she would turn her head and the feel of her firm grip on his finger and… He loved everything about her, from the warmth of her chubby, tiny body, to the clean baby smell of her, to the softness of her hair and her cheek.

He might have thought that he would find Sabrina, as his third baby, less fascinating to him but he really didn’t. He was still amazed by her. And anyway, she was so different from Emily and Andy, as different as Andy had been from Emily. She didn’t tend to fuss the way Emily had but that meant that when she cried, her wails were almost ear-piercing. He realized now that Emily had been a rather quiet baby, usually fussing rather than outright crying. Andy, too, had been louder than Emily was, his sleep schedule much more irregular-but then Harry had always known that Emily was unusual in being on such a regular schedule even as a baby.

Harry settled on the floor, close to Andy, settling Sabrina onto his lap. She blinked up at him and Andy abandoned his toy cars, apparently finding his baby sister a more interesting plaything-at least for the moment.

“Hi, baby,” Andy said, touching his finger carefully to Sabrina’s cheek.

Sabrina waved her hand around and Harry caught it, manipulating it into a little wave. “Can you say hi to your big brother, Rina? Say ‘hi, Andy.’ Come on, sweetie.”

“She can’t talk yet, Daddy,” Andy reminded him.

Harry laughed. “Yes, I know, Andy. Here, put out your hand so Sabrina can give you a high five.”

Andy did so and Harry moved Sabrina’s arm so her half-curled fist bumped into Andy’s palm.
“There you go, Sabrina. Look at that.” Sabrina opened and closed her mouth into something like a smile. “Was that fun, Sabrina? Yes, you’re having fun with Daddy, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Harry and Andy took turns playfully batting at Sabrina’s waving fists, laughing when she managed to capture one of their fingers.

“Daddy!”

Harry looked up as Emily ran down the stairs, followed by Hermione.

He normally greeted Emily with a hug but with Sabrina in his lap, he was hindered and contented himself with smiling at Emily, with a brief glance of greeting to Hermione. “Hi, Emily. What were you and Mummy learning today?”

“I learned to write yours and Mummy’s names.”

Harry put on a suitably impressed face. “Did you really? Mummy has a very hard name to write, doesn’t she, Em?” he asked with a teasing glance at Hermione.

“Uh huh but I did it,” Emily announced. “Do you wanna see?”

“Maybe later, Em,” Harry said, distracted as Sabrina squirmed around in his lap and reached up to grab his nose with her tiny hand. He heard Hermione make a small choking sound of amusement as he hastily reached up and gently lowered Sabrina’s hand, resettling her in his lap. “Princess, Daddy’s nose is not a toy.”

He bounced Sabrina lightly on his knee to keep her amused and smiled as she opened and closed her fists in the air. “Is that fun, ‘Rina?” he crooned, nuzzling her.

“I did good reading today, Daddy!” Emily announced. “Didn’t I, Mummy?”

“Yes, you did do well,” Hermione said, although she put a slight emphasis on the word, ‘well’, as a mild correction-a correction that Emily ignored.

Harry gave Emily a quick smile. “I’m sure you did well, Em, because you’re very clever.” He turned back to Sabrina. “You have a very smart big sister, princess. Yes, you do.”

Sabrina simply blinked at him and he kissed her nose. She really was the most adorable baby.

“Daddy!”

Harry glanced up at Emily for a moment. “Yes, Em?”

He manipulated Sabrina’s arms so she could clap her small hands together.

“I drew this picture for you, Daddy.” Emily held out the piece of paper.

He glanced up to look at the picture, releasing Sabrina’s wrists.

Which turned out to be a bad decision as Sabrina chose that moment to twist and latch one fist onto his hair and pull again, making him suppress another wince and reach up to once again untangle Sabrina’s fingers from his hair. Really, given Sabrina’s fondness for pulling hair, the idea of getting a wig seemed rather appealing or he was going to be bald before long.
“That’s beautiful, sweetie,” he said automatically, focused as he was on the tiny fingers gripping his hair, glancing at the picture and getting a fleeting impression of lines and colors, a lot of Emily’s current favorite color blue, before it was abruptly moved.

Or more accurately, thrown on the ground as Emily whirled around. “That’s okay, Daddy. If you don’t want to look at it, you don’t have to!” With that, she was gone, rushing back up the stairs and a minute later, he heard the sound of her door closing firmly; it wasn’t quite a slam but it was definitely approaching it.

He stared after her, distracted from Sabrina by this miniature outburst from his usually cheerful Emily, before he looked at Hermione and received an equally surprised look from her as she reached out for Sabrina.

“Here, I’ll take her.”

“Thanks.”

He stood up, handing Sabrina over to Hermione as he did so. “Do you have any idea what brought that on?” Bending over, he picked up the drawing which Emily had flung on the ground.

Hermione shook her head a little. “No, sorry. She was good today during her lessons.”

He sighed briefly. “Okay. I’ll just have to ask her then.”

He pressed Hermione’s shoulder as he passed, dropping a kiss on her hair, before he turned to head up the stairs, wondering what had gotten into Emily.

She was generally such an even-tempered, happy child. Her words suggested she’d been upset that he hadn’t really looked at her picture but her reaction was uncharacteristically extreme. It wasn’t like Emily to react so heatedly. He thought, not for the first time, that parents should be automatically endowed with telepathic powers to help them understand their children.

He knocked carefully on Emily’s closed door. “Emily, it’s Daddy. Can I come in?” Normally, he would have opened the door as he asked but today, he didn’t, waited until he heard her “Okay” before he opened her door.

She was sitting on her bed, hugging her knees and clutching Mr. Happy, the stuffed bunny rabbit which Harry had given her. He suppressed a frown. For her to be clutching Mr. Happy was a sign of needing reassurance; generally, Mr. Happy lived undisturbed on the chair in the corner since Emily had stopped carrying him around with her everywhere.

He closed the door carefully behind him and came to sit next to Emily on the bed. “Em, what is it? Are you mad at me?”

He put his arm around her shoulders a little tentatively-more tentatively than ever before-and then was a little alarmed that, for once, Emily didn’t promptly snuggle in against him, staying in her little huddle, neither accepting nor rejecting his embrace.

And she said nothing for a moment either, her lips set into unfamiliar lines.

“Emily-kin, what is it?” he tried again, using the pet name which he’d gradually stopped using except in particularly tender moments. “Is it because I didn’t pay much attention to your picture?”

Another silence and then, finally, in a small voice, “I drew it for you, Daddy.”

He tightened his arm around her. “I know you did, sweetie. And it’s beautiful.”

“You didn’t even look at it!”

“Yes, I did. I looked at it on the way up the stairs,” he said quickly-with marginal truth. He glanced quickly at the drawing which he’d placed on Emily’s nightstand. He could see that Emily had, indeed, drawn it for him. It was of the sky-hence, the blue-but he saw that Emily had also drawn him, flying on his broom-or, at least, that was what he assumed the stick figure-type up in the air was-with more stick-like figures that Harry assumed were Hermione, Emily and Andy watching from the ground, with Sabrina as a blob of color in stick-figure Hermione’s arms. (Even with his admittedly-biased opinion, he couldn’t say that Emily had any artistic ability at all, unsurprisingly since neither he nor Hermione had any claim to artistic talent.)

“I love it,” he said more quietly.

She turned her head to look at him. “Really, Daddy?”

“Really, Emmie.” He picked up the drawing and kissed it as a show of sincerity. “I’m going to bring it to work with me on Thursday and put it up on the wall so everyone can see it.”

Now Emily relaxed against him. “Okay, Daddy.”

He kissed her forehead. “Now, do you want to tell me what was really bothering you?”

Emily shook her head a little against his chest.

He was a terrible father. His own daughter wouldn’t confide in him.

He tightened his arm around her and rested his cheek against her hair. “What is it, princess?” he asked, his tone very gentle. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He waited patiently and after a while, she finally burst out, “I’m not your princess anymore. Sabrina is. You don’t have time for me, Daddy. You’re always playing with Andy and Sabrina and you don’t play with me.”

He felt a swift surge of guilt along with a flash of understanding. “Oh, Emily, sweetie,” he murmured. He wished he could deny the truth of her statement altogether but he was all too aware that there was some truth to her statement, inevitably. Of course he had less time to devote to Emily with two other little kids to take care of. He hadn’t thought about it; he would have thought Emily would be used to it, what with Andy’s arrival, but apparently not. (He made a mental note to ask Ron about sibling jealousy. It wasn’t something Hermione would have thought of, being an only child herself.)

He had a sudden flash of vivid memory from years before, something he’d forgotten-or more accurately, deliberately suppressed-of when he’d been very young, too young to understand fully why he and Dudley were treated so differently and one of the times when he’d been banished to the closet under the stairs for something (he’d forgotten why, not that it mattered) and the little boy he’d been had cried miserably, for the affection and approval he had never known but witnessed daily in his aunt and uncle’s treatment of Dudley.

If there was one thing he had vowed to himself before Emily was born, it had been that he would never ever give his children any reason to doubt that they were loved equally. His upbringing with the Dursleys made him inclined to spoil his children-Hermione scolded him gently for it on occasion. (It hadn’t taken Emily long to realize that he was the weaker link as far as giving in to her was concerned.) But now… Now, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had neglected Emily lately in his preoccupation with Sabrina, as the baby. And it was no surprise that Emily would notice, not only because she was quick-witted, but because he knew very well how much time and affection he’d always lavished on Emily. Especially after Andy was born when Hermione had been, inevitably, consumed with taking care of the baby, Harry had automatically shouldered a lot of the care for Emily. He remembered several times when he’d taken Emily out with him to the park and other places, so that Hermione wouldn’t have to worry about them and could focus solely on Andy.

But with Sabrina’s arrival, that arrangement had naturally changed. Partly because Emily was older and didn’t require constant attention anymore, he had started taking more care of Andy and, of course, babying Sabrina.

“I thought I was your favorite little girl… But then Sabrina came and now she’s the baby and she gets all the attention.” Emily burrowed further against him, her voice getting lower. “I liked it better when it was just me but then Andy came along but I was still your little princess but then Sabrina came and you don’t have time for me.” Her lower lip jutted out in what could only be called a pout. “You love Sabrina more than me now because she’s the baby.”

He felt every word she said as if it were a whiplash. Harry decided his heart was breaking, twisting inside him with so much guilt and remorse it almost choked him. He had spent less time with her lately, had given her less of his attention than before-and he knew it would be a while before he forgave himself for giving Emily even one second of doubting his love. But he wasn’t important now; Emily was the important one, the one he needed to reassure. Immediately.

He shifted on the bed, gathering Emily up into his arms until she was sitting on his lap, and pressing his lips against her hair. “Oh, Emily, sweetie, that’s not true. I’m sorry if I’ve spent too little time with you lately but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.” He drew back and put his finger under her chin so he could meet her eyes, the same green as his own. “Will you forgive me, Emily?”

Emily nodded. “I forgive you, Daddy.” Her expression sobered. “But Daddy, I miss being your little girl.”

He kissed her forehead and tightened his arms around her again. “You’re still my little girl, Emily.”

“Am I really? Even with Sabrina here?”

“You’ll be my little girl even if Mummy and I have ten more baby girls, Emmie. You’ll always be my little girl, princess.” Harry bit back the impulse to promise Emily that she would be his favorite little girl. He might be feeling guilty enough to promise her the moon and the stars if she asked for it, but he wasn’t going to start promising favoritism. Really, he wasn’t. “Emmie, my spending more time with Sabrina now doesn’t mean I love her more than I love you. It only means that Sabrina needs me a little more because she’s a baby and you’re almost grown up. But don’t ever think that means I don’t love you just as much as I love Sabrina and Andy.” He drew back, putting his hands on her shoulders as he met her eyes to emphasize his next words. “No matter what happens, I will always love you and Andy and Sabrina just the same. I promise.”

Emily’s expression cleared until she looked more like her usual self. “And Mummy too?”

“And Mummy too.”

And then he was rewarded as Emily smiled with almost a full return to her usual cheerfulness and threw her arms around him. “I love you, Daddy.”

He closed his arms around her, pressing his lips to her forehead, deciding he’d never seen anything more precious than Emily’s restored smile. “I love you too, princess.”

He drew back and met her eyes once more. “What do you say that this weekend, I make it up to you and we go out somewhere, Emily?”

“Just me and you, Daddy, and we can go anywhere I want?”

“Anywhere,” he promised recklessly. “We’ll have a father-daughter day.”

“Oh, goody!” Emily’s beaming smile could have rivaled the sun as the last, lingering shadows in her eyes dissipated like so much mist before its brightness.

“Now, how about we go back downstairs? I know Mummy is probably wondering what’s happening.”

“Okay. Daddy?”

Harry paused in the act of standing up. “Yes, Em?”

Em lifted up her arms. “Can you give me a piggyback ride, Daddy?”

“Sure, munchkin,” Harry agreed. She hadn’t asked for a piggyback ride in months but he wasn’t about to deny her anything. He sat back down so Emily could climb onto his back before he stood up again.

Hermione looked up from where she was seated with Sabrina in her lap and raised her eyebrows a little at the sight of Harry with Emily on his back.

He gave her a quick reassuring smile. “Emily wanted a piggyback ride,” he said unnecessarily.

Hermione smiled but addressed Emily over Harry’s shoulder. “Is everything better now, Em?”

Harry felt Emily’s nod. “Yes, Mummy.”

“Do you want to tell me what was wrong?”

“It was nothing,” Harry interceded before Emily could. “It’s all better now, isn’t it, munchkin?” Harry asked, turning his head to address Emily.

Emily tightened her arms around his neck. “Yup, all better.”

Harry smiled and mouthed, “Later”, and saw Hermione’s slight nod as her shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

He addressed Emily in an exaggerated Cockney accent, pretending to be the driver of a taxi. “Where to, miss?”

“I wanna go outside, Daddy,” Emily answered.

“Okay, Em, outside it is,” he answered in his normal voice.

“Not for too long,” Hermione interjected, something in her look reminding him that it would be time to feed Sabrina soon so he’d be needed to watch over Andy.

“We won’t be long, will we, Em?”

“We’ll be back soon, Mummy,” Emily assured Hermione cheerfully and Hermione smiled indulgently.

“Just to the end of the street, then, Em?” Harry asked as they headed outside.

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Emmie, tell me what you did with Mummy today.”

Harry smiled to himself as he walked, listening to Emily’s characteristically methodical retelling of her day. He always liked to ask Emily what she’d done because of her way of listing everything in neat order, entirely aside from the fact that it would help him tomorrow when it would be his turn to help Emily with her reading and writing.

“And then you came home, Daddy,” Emily finished her little recital with enough enthusiasm to make it sound as if his coming home had been the climactic moment of her day. He loved that too.

“So you liked the story Mummy read you today?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Rather surprisingly for Emily, she said nothing more but he could almost hear her thinking about something and waited patiently for her next remark or question that would explain it. It came quickly enough, after just a minute or two.

“Daddy, Mummy’s very clever, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Em, she is. Mummy’s the cleverest person I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” And then, with a touch of wistfulness in her tone, “will I get to be as clever as Mummy one day?”

“I’m sure of it, Emily. You’re already smart so I’m sure in just a few years, you’ll be just as clever as Mummy.” He didn’t doubt it either; Emily resembled Hermione in more than just her appearance and showed every sign of becoming quite as much of a bookworm as Hermione had ever been. (He sometimes teased Hermione that she’d been very selfish in apparently deciding that Emily was going to take after her so entirely and if it weren’t for Emily’s eyes, he would feel like he’d had nothing to do in making Emily at all.)

“Daddy, I know one place I want to go on Saturday.”

“Okay, where?”

“I want to go ride on the London Eye.”

“The London Eye, it is,” Harry agreed and laughed at Emily’s little excited bounce accompanied by a wiggle before she settled down, giving him a grateful hug that almost strangled him. Hermione said he spoiled the kids-he knew he did-but really, how was he supposed to not spoil the kids when indulging them made him feel so good?

~
Hermione walked upstairs a little tiredly. She had been hoping to get more work done but had found herself too tired to do so and given up rather earlier than usual.

She adored her children, loved hearing Emily and Andy call her Mummy, but she couldn’t deny that being a mother was exhausting.

She paused to look into Andy’s bedroom, checked that he was sleeping, and then into the baby’s room, where Sabrina was sleeping-at least for now.

The door to Emily’s bedroom was ajar and she looked inside to see Harry, sitting in the dark by Emily’s bed, watching her sleep. And it was a sign of how deep Harry’s reverie was that he didn’t realize she was there for a few seconds before he started a little and turned his head.

“She’s sleeping?” Hermione asked, unnecessarily, in a whisper.

Harry nodded and stood up, leaning over to drop the lightest of kisses on Emily’s hair, before he joined her in the hallway, closing Emily’s door behind him.

“You didn’t work for very long,” Harry said as they walked into their bedroom.

“I was tired.” Hermione studied Harry but said nothing more as she began preparing for bed. Whatever was troubling Harry, she knew he would tell her soon. She knew him, knew him so well it even surprised her sometimes. By now, she knew Harry well enough to be able to know when he was brooding over something and would not talk about it without some prodding on her part and when he was thinking about something but would tell her about it without any prompting. And over the years, the times and the subjects about which Harry was still inclined to keep silent, had decreased steadily until it hardly ever happened anymore.

“Emily asked how clever you were today,” Harry mentioned as he changed into his pyjamas.

“And what did you tell her?”

Harry threw her a quick smile. “The truth, of course. I told her you were the cleverest person I’d ever met.”

“I’ve trained you well,” Hermione quipped, even as the softening of her expression belied her teasing words.

He laughed as he went into the bathroom and she continued her own preparations for bed, without speaking. She recognized an evasive comment when she heard it now but she also knew that, with Harry, a distraction usually preceded his telling her what was really preoccupying him. He would tell her soon enough and she could wait. She guessed it would have something to do with Emily’s little outburst that afternoon but whatever had caused it, Emily herself had been her usual self, entirely cheerful, the rest of the evening so Hermione was at least certain that the children were fine.

Hermione waited and it was just a few more minutes of silence before her patience was rewarded. He looked up at her and blurted out, “Do you think I’m a good father?”

Her first impulse was to laugh. She opened her lips to make some light, teasing response but then she saw his face and realized that this was one of those times when he would not appreciate her humor, when she couldn’t tease him out of his preoccupation.

She moved over to sit next to him on their bed. “You are the best father anyone could even hope for. Why would you even ask that?”

“Emily. She said that I didn’t have time for her anymore, loved Andy and Sabrina more than I loved her.”

“Oh,” Hermione sighed, feeling a sliver of remorse that she hadn’t noticed or suspected that Em might feel this way, since this must have been building for weeks, if not months now, before it had finally boiled over today.

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the bed covers, although she knew he wasn’t seeing them at all. She felt a swift surge of concern; she recognized the expression and knew what it meant.

He finally looked up at her, meeting her eyes so she could see the naked vulnerability in his eyes, the vulnerability he never let anyone else see. “I just… I don’t know how to forgive myself for letting Emily doubt for even a minute, let alone for how long she must have felt this. And I never even noticed, too busy with other things. How could I not have noticed? What kind of father am I not to notice?”

“Oh, Harry…”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken, the words spilling from him. “I don’t know how to be a father; I never even knew my dad. I’m making this up as I go and this is too important for that. They deserve better than that--”

His voice had gained intensity, showing no sign of stopping, and so she stopped his words with her lips, kissing him briefly but firmly.

“Ssh, Harry. You are a good father.” Deliberately, she’d firmed her tone, made it as bossy as she had ever sounded. And as she’d expected, she saw the arrested expression in his eyes. She didn’t often use her bossy tone with him and so when she did, he listened more intently.

She knew there were those who believed that she bossed Harry around, that Harry was, to use an old-fashioned term, a hen-pecked husband. It wasn’t an unexpected belief, given the fact that Harry was usually so mild and easy-going, not to say self-effacing, in public. It was a reaction to his fame, she knew, the fact that people always noticed when he walked into a room, always listened when he spoke. It was something of a defense mechanism for the boy who’d never wanted or expected to be famous, the man who hated the attention.

But as she also knew better than anyone just how strong Harry was, knew that he was the last person to be easily led. Oh, he listened to her, trusted her, but she’d always known that when he yielded to her, it was almost always because he agreed with her himself. It was what made their relationship work, that they were-as they always had been-equals.

“Being a good father doesn’t mean that you always have to know what Emily was thinking. What’s important is that you managed to reassure her-and you did, you know. You saw her tonight; she was her usual self.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced. “Yes, but that says more about Emily’s personality than it does me.”

“Emily’s a happy kid and part of that happiness comes from security, the security of a happy home and, yes, good parents.”

“A good mother, at least.”

“I said, good parents, and I meant it.” Her tone softened, became tinged with just a hint of teasing, knowing she could, having recognized the acceptance in his voice, in spite of his words.

“I hate that I hurt her feelings.”

“I know, Harry, but the important thing is that you comforted her. You knew how to make her happy again.”

“I didn’t know; I just did what I had to and, luckily, my groveling worked.”

She smiled at that. “Em made you grovel?”

“Not in so many words, but I did have to promise that I’d take her out for a father-daughter day this weekend.”

“And I’m not invited? I’m hurt,” Hermione said in mock dismay, hoping to draw Harry out of the last of his melancholy.

And succeeded as he smiled, his eyes clearing. “Yes, well, I guess Em just likes me better than you,” he quipped.

“Haha, very funny,” she groused in pretended offense. “What else did you have to promise?”

“I promised that, no matter what happened, I would always love her, Andy, and Sabrina just the same.”

“And me too?” Hermione teased.

“I don’t know if I can promise that. Always is an awfully long time…”

“Harry!” She moved, as if she was going to get up off the bed, but he caught her wrist in his hand and tugged her back until she ended up half-leaning against him, almost sitting on his lap.

He assumed an exaggeratedly put-upon expression. “Oh, fine, if you insist, I’ll love you for always too.”

She gave in to her laughter, kissing his chin teasingly. “You’d better.”

He settled her more comfortably against him. “You know, Emily asked that same question after I told her.”

Hermione smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Hermione shifted to rest her head more snugly against his shoulder. He didn’t say anything more for a moment and then he said, “Just the thought that Emily might think I loved her less…” He trailed off, swallowed and then continued somewhat less than fluently, “It’s just… I know what it feels like to not be the favored one… to see someone else being spoiled and always being treated differently… and it kills me to think that Emily felt like that…”

She straightened up to meet his eyes. “Oh, Harry, Emily is fine now, you know she is.”

“I know. I just… she shouldn’t have ever felt that way.”

“I know, Harry, but the important thing is that you reassured her. You comforted her and made her happy again.”

“I had to. I was the one that made her sad and I never want her to feel that way.”

She gave him a soft smile. “You know, Harry, you can’t prevent her from ever being hurt.”

He grimaced. “I can try.”

“Are you going to brood about this all night? Are you sure I can’t distract you in some way?”

He blinked and she saw a slight smile curve his lips. “What kind of distraction did you have in mind?”

“We could talk about Quidditch,” she suggested.

“Ah, I’m not sure how to tell you this, Hermione, but I didn’t marry you for your Quidditch knowledge.”

“You didn’t? But I’m quite famous for my Quidditch knowledge,” she asserted, with a commendably straight face. Admittedly, it was the truth, of sorts; she was famous for her Quidditch knowledge, famous for her utter lack of it, as Ron teasingly told her.

“Of course you are,” he agreed, striving to sound just as serious as she had and failing, his voice quivering with suppressed laughter and an irrepressible grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, if you didn’t marry me for my Quidditch knowledge, why did you marry me?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Do you know, I’ve been wondering that same thing myself? I just can’t think of a reason.”

“Maybe this will remind you…” She leaned closer to him until their lips were less than an inch apart, their breaths mingling, until she could feel the heat from his skin.

He was expecting her to kiss him. She could feel it, could see it in the way his gaze had dropped down to her lips.

She moved closer, closer-but then at the last second, when her lips had just barely touched his, she moved her head to the side and deliberately blew cool air into his ear.

He jerked his head back. “Hermione!”

“What?” She favored him with her most innocent smile.

His eyes narrowed into a mock-forbidding expression, although it was belied by the ever-so-slight upward curve of his lips. “Oh, tease me, will you? Well, two can play at that game.”
And, suiting action to the words, he twisted, pinning her beneath him on the bed, his hands capturing each of her wrists.

She let out a half-laughing shriek and wiggled beneath him in a half-hearted attempt to free herself before she gave up. “So now that you have me, what are you going to do to me?”

He gave her an exaggerated leer. “Have my wicked way with you, of course.”

She pretended to think about it. “Only if I get to have my wicked way with you in return.”

His expression sobered, softened, as he smiled down at her the small, tender smile that she always thought of as hers, because it was one that only she ever saw. “Always. It’s only fun when the wicked ways are mutual.”

“Is that your new seduction line?” she teased rather breathlessly. He only had to look at her the way he was looking at her now for her to melt.

He moved one shoulder into a half-shrug. “I thought I would test it out,” he quipped.

And their soft laughter was cut off as he kissed her. And then there was no more amusement and only the familiar passion, the familiar love-just as it had always been and just as it always would be…

~The End~