To Eibbil_libbie
Title: Making A List
Author: ssshhhhh....
Rating: We can't all write steamy...
Comments: For Eibbil_libbie, who requested a Christmas Eve story with Harry and Hermione reconciling. I can only hope you like it -- Happy (belated) Christmas!
Thanks to: _lore, both for organizing this year's fic exchange and for acting as a last-minute emergency Beta! Like she had nothing else to do...
Hermione knew it was, in theory, impossible to track Apparation. But she also knew who'd made a career of doing the impossible, and she was taking no chances. Her final Apparation landed her two kilometers from her destination, and she walked the last distance… keeping a watchful eye on the incoming storm clouds.
She'd chosen her destination well. It was a hunting cabin in the hills of Northumberland, remote, hidden, and most of all, Muggle. She would have perfect privacy there, for as long as she needed it. And she needed it desperately.
When she arrived at the cabin's front door, she quickly let herself in, using her borrowed key. She locked the door behind her and drew the curtains. Slinging her travel bag away from her, not looking to see where it fell, she collapsed onto the divan, seized one of its bolsters and hugged it to her chest. Hermione stared at the cold fireplace with unblinking, unseeing eyes. Despite her best efforts, it was only a few minutes before tears started to flow.
It started out so reasonably! A calm discussion, finalizing our wedding plans, the honeymoon, and then… out of the blue… oh, how could he say such things?
How could I have said such things?
Hermione was hurt and confused, and it wasn't a condition with which she had much experience.
Peripherally, she noticed that the cabin was growing much colder. Outside the window, flecks of snow were starting to fall, the lowering clouds fulfilling their promise. Lighting a fire would make sense now… but that would mean moving from the divan. And at the moment, Hermione couldn't work up the motivation.
At the moment, crying was all she was good for.
*
The Burrow was bursting on Christmas Eve, as it always was, especially now that some of the children were bringing spouses and grandchildren for the festivities. So it was by pure chance that Arthur Weasley was the first to leave the kitchen after dinner, and the first to enter the living room. Pure chance that, when the tiny silver streak zipped through the Burrow's window and stopped before him, he was alone to receive it.
The silver streak coalesced into a miniature stag, which hovered in front of his face for a moment. In his mind, Arthur heard Harry's voice: "I need to talk to you. Can you come out to your toolshed?" Having delivered the message, the Patronus dissolved into argent mist.
Arthur looked quickly over his shoulder. Fortunately, no one else had seen the Patronus messenger; had they done so, they might have worried that a new Dark Lord had arisen from You-Know-Who's ashes… or some other crisis requiring the services of the Order of the Phoenix. It hadn't sounded like that sort of crisis to Arthur, though.
He slipped out the back door and headed quickly for his toolshed, rubbing his arms to keep warm against the winter chill. Arriving at the shed, he was surprised that no Warming Charm had been cast yet… it surely wouldn't have slipped Harry's mind to do that. Unless something were seriously wrong…
"Harry?" Arthur called softly, before opening the shed door and entering. It was dark inside, and Arthur immediately cast a Lumos spell, wondering if he'd been tricked or lured into a trap.
Harry was sitting at Arthur's workbench, listlessly playing with a half-dissembled Walkman. "Hi, Mr Weasley. Sorry to bother you… especially tonight…"
"You're never a bother. Harry - why didn't you come into the house? You would've been more than welcome, you know… no need to freeze…" He busied himself lighting a couple of lamps before extinguishing the Lumos spell.
"I know, but… I just couldn't… I…" Harry sighed and hunched down in his seat, staring at the Walkman in his hands without actually seeing it. Arthur Weasley was struck by a sudden worry, watching him. He'd seen this sort of behavior with some of his other sons - his married sons.
He kept his voice light, merely curious. "Where's Hermione?"
Harry didn't look up. "She's, uh, I don't know." Arthur didn't say anything, and after a moment Harry continued, "We, well, we… had a fight."
"Something more than pre-wedding jitters, I'm guessing."
Harry did look at Arthur then, a quick glance upward before lowering his eyes again. "Yeah, you could say that." He carefully set the Walkman on the workbench, drew a deep breath, and finally looked Arthur in the face. "Mr Weasley - am I abusive?"
*
Darkness and cold finally forced Hermione to move from the divan and light a fire. She sat on the floor before the fireplace, still hugging the bolster, and watched the flame draw flickering patterns. Firegazing was supposed to be an aid to meditation, according to some Tantric rituals, and she desperately needed to clear her mind.
In the end, it wasn't meditation theory, but her old study habits that came to her rescue. A flick of her wand brought paper and biro (not parchment and quill, she noted with a flash of her usual clarity - well, it is a Muggle's house, after all, that's why I chose it). She stared at the blank paper for a moment before, almost by reflex, she began work - on a list.
That's what I do, isn't it, when I want to see things clearly? I make a list.
She divided the paper neatly in half. The left side she labeled REASONS NOT TO HAVE CHILDREN; the right side, REASONS TO HAVE CHILDREN. Once she'd defined the category labels, filling them in was rapid work. Hermione quickly reached the end of the page; she paused, tapped her pen against her chin, and reviewed each item she'd listed. The left-side column began:
1. Babies would make a tempting target for Dark wizards.
(She immediately scratched it off the list. With Tom Riddle's death, Dark activity was at an all-time low. And the Dark wizards that were left seemed to be just a tad reluctant to cross Harry's path. Funny, that.)
2. Babies can put a strain on a newly married couple's relationship.
(But that didn't mean there couldn't be babies once their relationship had stabilized. She pondered, then left the item on the list for now. Moving on…)
3. Having a baby would interfere with my career at the Ministry.
(Hermione was starting to make a real difference at the Department for Regulating Magical Creatures. The next few months were crucial, on a number of fronts: she didn't want to put her work on hiatus during pregnancy - and for months afterward. She left the item in place.)
4. I don't know anything about how to be a parent.
(Nor did any new mother. And unlike many subjects, there were books that could help. But that led into…)
5. I don't seem to have any maternal instinct.
(Unlike her own mother, or any of the various Mrs Weasleys, the sight of a newborn didn't fill her with a warm gooey feeling. She didn't know how much of that was cultural, and how much was hormonal; she only knew that whenever the Extended Weasley Clan was assembled, none of the youngsters sought out Aunt Hermione.)
6. Children raised in abusive households tend to become abusive parents.
(It was amazing how her handwriting had deteriorated when she'd written that line. And such a coincidence that it was the last item in the column - it was, after all, the last accusation she'd flung at Harry before she'd stormed out. The parting shot she knew would leave him hurting.)
She couldn't read any more, not with the tears coming to her eyes again, damn them. Hermione crumpled the paper, tried to throw it in the fire, missed, and collapsed sobbing onto the floor.
*
"…and the next thing I knew, we were screaming at each other," Harry concluded miserably. He looked down at his hands, gripped tightly together in his lap. "I'd always, I dunno, assumed she'd want kids, same as I do. Did."
"But this was the first time you actually discussed it."
Harry gave Arthur another quick glance before wearily lowering his eyes again. "Well, it's Christmas Eve, y'know? A time for families, and all that. It just… seemed appropriate."
"I am a bit surprised she reacted so, er, strongly." Arthur was acting as the perfect confidante, gently prompting Harry to tell his story, neither approving nor judgmental. "What did you say? Just before she left?"
He squeezed his eyes closed in painful memory. "I… I maybe suggested that, that she might have cared more about her Ministry work than…"
"Oh, Harry, you didn't." Arthur's voice had deepened slightly… betraying disappointment in Harry. Harry turned defensive.
"Well, that's when she came back with the bit about me being… um, abusive." He sighed heavily. His next words seemed to force their way out, unburied from some deep pit of doubt. "Maybe, maybe she's right, maybe I would be an abusive father. I mean, when that's the way you're raised, that's the way you'll be, innit? I've had a while to think about it, and I know… I know I've been a right self-centered arse, growing up. Never really cared about anyone but myself…"
"Would Ginny agree, I wonder? Would Ron?"
Harry didn't appear to hear in his misery. His head drooped lower still. Arthur leaned over and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Married couples argue, Harry," he said, falling back to familiar ground. "You know that. Didn't your aunt and uncle… er, no, perhaps not the best example. Well, haven't you been around Molly and me enough to hear us argue?" The quirk in his mouth made clear it was a rhetorical question.
"Yeah," Harry admitted, "but that's different. You and Mrs Weasley…"
"Love each other, exactly. But we're still people, and so we argue. The key is to work past the argument, find ways to compromise."
Harry cocked an eye at Arthur. Somehow, he didn't see their relationship as having much in the way of compromise - unless by 'compromise' they meant 'Arthur does what Molly says'.
Arthur's quirked lips blossomed into a full smile, as though he'd read Harry's thought. "Molly does tend to want her own way, and she usually gets it. Unless I think it's important, and insist - and then, you have to admit, she gives in. That's how we've learned to get along over the years. You and Hermione will have to find your own road."
"If she'll ever speak to me again."
"You're both very independent people, you and Hermione. I think you'll have to expect the occasional argument. But with you two, it will only be over the most important, most fundamental issues. Like children." Arthur paused for emphasis. "But it doesn’t mean you don't love each other deeply, Harry."
"I guess." Harry pondered for another moment. "So what should I do?"
"My advice? Talk. Get back together, make up, and talk about the issue. Who knows, you may discover common grounds for agreement."
Harry snorted mirthlessly. "Mpfyeah, 'talk'. Mr Weasley, she made it pretty damned clear she doesn't want me to be anywhere near her."
Arthur's smile turned knowing. "Ah, Harry… that doesn't mean she doesn't want you to try."
*
A cup of tea had helped Hermione regain her composure. Regaining her composure had helped her sort through her whirling emotions, just as making the list had helped categorize her thoughts. She was still anxious about what would happen next, but she felt more prepared to face it now.
It had grown quite late, and her thoughts flitted to the cabin's bedroom and its bed. But she still felt drained, not simply tired but drained - unable to muster the will to rouse herself from before the fireplace. Hermione decided the bed was too much trouble. She still had a bolster, and she could magically summon a blanket or two without moving… two blankets should be enough, even with the snowfall.
"Accio blankets," she called out with a wave of her wand. Hard on the heels of her spell came two sounds in rapid succession: the soft pop of Apparation, and a firm thump as the blankets collided with something. Someone.
Without rising from the floor, Hermione twisted on her knees and looked behind her. In the middle of the living room, disentangling himself from blankets, glasses askew, stood Harry.
In the interest of full disclosure, How did he find me? was the first thought that flashed through Hermione's mind. Then, as the awful memories of the day came crashing back, her mind shut down. She stared at him blankly, warily, for once at a complete loss for words.
Harry had succeeded in escaping the tangle of blankets by this point, and now stood motionless, staring at her, as watchfully wary as she.
Abruptly, they tried to speak at the same moment. Both fell immediately silent before more than a syllable could be uttered - each now waiting for the other to speak first.
Harry held up a hand, palm outward, and Hermione nodded. He drew a deep breath and said quietly, "I'm sorry." The words hung in the cold air for a moment, as he gathered his courage anew. "I'm an idiot, all right? We've always known that. I shouldn't ever have said those things - they weren't true, I didn't mean them, I was just trying to be hurtful. Hermione, I'm sorry."
When Hermione said nothing in response, he took a step closer. "When I said I wanted a family? That part's true. I do want a family, always have, to replace the one Voldemort took away. But… but when you left me - after our fight - I, well, it forced me to think. To, y'know, reconsider?"
She still said nothing. He took one more hesitant step, then crouched in place so their heads were level. "And, well, it made me realize: you are my family, Hermione. You're what I want - you're all I want. If we had one kid, or ten kids, or no kids, you'd still be my family, always." He gave a sudden, shy smile, that vanished just as quickly. "If you'll still have me, I mean."
She still said nothing. Harry swallowed nervously, but wisely refrained from saying any more.
Finally, Hermione spoke. "Said your piece?" she asked coolly.
He could only nod.
"Good. Now it's my turn." Hermione repositioned herself with her legs under her - she had no intention of leaving her spot before the fire. "Yes, you were hurtful. You belittled my work, and then practically put me on the same level as Percy - as though I were sacrificing everything I love to my Ministry career. Dear Merlin, even Ron couldn't have been more deliberately spiteful than you were today! But I was worse."
She would not allow her gaze to waver even slightly - she kept it fixed on Harry's face. "I was much worse, Harry. Your gibe about my career hurt me because it held a grain of truth - but I was purposefully targeting every insecurity you ever had, growing up. And it's nonsense, really. You, an abusive father? If Vernon Dursley had twisted you that much, you'd never have grown into the sort of man who could defeat Voldemort."
His muscles untensed, slightly but visibly; Hermione was sure he wasn't even aware he'd been tense. Awaiting a terrible blow - emotional, not physical, but no less destructive for that - and now, finally convinced it wouldn't come.
"I'm so very sorry, Harry," she said softly. "It's for you to forgive me, not the other way around."
In a flash, he'd moved from several feet away to right in front of her - from a crouch to his knees before her. He held up his arms, but didn't try to embrace her, quite. "Do you think… maybe… we need to forgive us?"
And Hermione wrapped herself around him, felt his arms go around her, and together they hugged each other so tightly that some of her vertebrae popped back into place. She let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob, and half-laugh, and Harry immediately pulled back slightly to look her in the face. His eyes searched hers, seeking something - truth? sincerity? - before reaching up to caress her cheek and leaning forward to kiss her.
Considering the intensity of their hug, the kiss was extraordinarily tender. It was less a kiss of passion than of love, of forgiveness and seeking forgiveness. Their lips brushed together oh-so-lightly, but no part of them went untouched - it was a wordless dialogue, now him, gently capturing her lower lip, now her, easing back to delicately inhale his breath. The kiss was Harry saying he would never leave her, and Hermione saying she wasn't about to let him go.
When they at last parted, they said nothing to one another at first. They simply sat huddled together in front of the fire, with the blankets around them. All around them was quiet; it was peace, and welcome solitude. The rest of the world, to all appearances, had agreed to keep its distance and leave them be. The snow outside the cabin muffled all sound… and inside the cabin, the two were more than content to simply share in each other's presence again.
They could both sense when midnight came and went: Christmas was, if anything, more magical for wizards than it was for non-wizards. Harry pulled Hermione closer to his side, but otherwise they went without speaking for a long while, staring into the fire.
As usual, it was Hermione who broke the silence. "All right," she said, keeping her voice light, "I give up. How did you find me? I went out of my way to avoid any place in the wizarding world…"
"… since everyone'd be sure to recognize you, and tell me," finished Harry. "But you've been gone from the Muggle world so long, I reckoned you wouldn't have access to a lot of Muggle places. You'd need a contact. Well, that made it easy. I went and talked to your mum. She didn't exactly say you'd come to her home crying and cursing my name, but she did mention that one of her neighbors owned a hunting cabin that your family had a standing offer to use…"
"Right. Elementary, my dear Watson." Hermione sighed and nestled closer. "So… I guess I'm glad you found me. Are we right, now?" The words were light, her tone was not.
"If you are, I am. I mean, it's not an issue I want to lose you over," Harry replied. He hesitated, then went on uncertainly, "But… I do need to know. Do you think… someday… you'd want children of your own?"
Hermione didn't immediately answer. "No, Harry," she finally said.
She felt him go perfectly still. "All right, then," he said after a long moment, his voice one of acceptance. "Thank you."
"Accio list," she called out. The crumpled bit of paper scooted across the floor to her waiting hand. Carefully she smoothed it, folded it in half, and showed it to him without another word.
REASONS TO HAVE CHILDREN, ran the title at the top of the column. Below it was a single item:
1. Love.
"Children of my own, I don't care to have," Hermione said, with a smile in her voice to match the one on her face. "Children of our own - your children - yes, Harry, I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
Harry carefully set the list aside, to be preserved as a keepsake forever, and cupped her face in his hands. "Thank you," he said again, but there was a world of difference, a universe, a deep infinity of difference in the words this time. And when he kissed her this time, he filled it with his passion for her.
And Hermione decided that the bed in the bedroom might not be too much trouble after all.
Author: ssshhhhh....
Rating: We can't all write steamy...
Comments: For Eibbil_libbie, who requested a Christmas Eve story with Harry and Hermione reconciling. I can only hope you like it -- Happy (belated) Christmas!
Thanks to: _lore, both for organizing this year's fic exchange and for acting as a last-minute emergency Beta! Like she had nothing else to do...
Hermione knew it was, in theory, impossible to track Apparation. But she also knew who'd made a career of doing the impossible, and she was taking no chances. Her final Apparation landed her two kilometers from her destination, and she walked the last distance… keeping a watchful eye on the incoming storm clouds.
She'd chosen her destination well. It was a hunting cabin in the hills of Northumberland, remote, hidden, and most of all, Muggle. She would have perfect privacy there, for as long as she needed it. And she needed it desperately.
When she arrived at the cabin's front door, she quickly let herself in, using her borrowed key. She locked the door behind her and drew the curtains. Slinging her travel bag away from her, not looking to see where it fell, she collapsed onto the divan, seized one of its bolsters and hugged it to her chest. Hermione stared at the cold fireplace with unblinking, unseeing eyes. Despite her best efforts, it was only a few minutes before tears started to flow.
It started out so reasonably! A calm discussion, finalizing our wedding plans, the honeymoon, and then… out of the blue… oh, how could he say such things?
How could I have said such things?
Hermione was hurt and confused, and it wasn't a condition with which she had much experience.
Peripherally, she noticed that the cabin was growing much colder. Outside the window, flecks of snow were starting to fall, the lowering clouds fulfilling their promise. Lighting a fire would make sense now… but that would mean moving from the divan. And at the moment, Hermione couldn't work up the motivation.
At the moment, crying was all she was good for.
*
The Burrow was bursting on Christmas Eve, as it always was, especially now that some of the children were bringing spouses and grandchildren for the festivities. So it was by pure chance that Arthur Weasley was the first to leave the kitchen after dinner, and the first to enter the living room. Pure chance that, when the tiny silver streak zipped through the Burrow's window and stopped before him, he was alone to receive it.
The silver streak coalesced into a miniature stag, which hovered in front of his face for a moment. In his mind, Arthur heard Harry's voice: "I need to talk to you. Can you come out to your toolshed?" Having delivered the message, the Patronus dissolved into argent mist.
Arthur looked quickly over his shoulder. Fortunately, no one else had seen the Patronus messenger; had they done so, they might have worried that a new Dark Lord had arisen from You-Know-Who's ashes… or some other crisis requiring the services of the Order of the Phoenix. It hadn't sounded like that sort of crisis to Arthur, though.
He slipped out the back door and headed quickly for his toolshed, rubbing his arms to keep warm against the winter chill. Arriving at the shed, he was surprised that no Warming Charm had been cast yet… it surely wouldn't have slipped Harry's mind to do that. Unless something were seriously wrong…
"Harry?" Arthur called softly, before opening the shed door and entering. It was dark inside, and Arthur immediately cast a Lumos spell, wondering if he'd been tricked or lured into a trap.
Harry was sitting at Arthur's workbench, listlessly playing with a half-dissembled Walkman. "Hi, Mr Weasley. Sorry to bother you… especially tonight…"
"You're never a bother. Harry - why didn't you come into the house? You would've been more than welcome, you know… no need to freeze…" He busied himself lighting a couple of lamps before extinguishing the Lumos spell.
"I know, but… I just couldn't… I…" Harry sighed and hunched down in his seat, staring at the Walkman in his hands without actually seeing it. Arthur Weasley was struck by a sudden worry, watching him. He'd seen this sort of behavior with some of his other sons - his married sons.
He kept his voice light, merely curious. "Where's Hermione?"
Harry didn't look up. "She's, uh, I don't know." Arthur didn't say anything, and after a moment Harry continued, "We, well, we… had a fight."
"Something more than pre-wedding jitters, I'm guessing."
Harry did look at Arthur then, a quick glance upward before lowering his eyes again. "Yeah, you could say that." He carefully set the Walkman on the workbench, drew a deep breath, and finally looked Arthur in the face. "Mr Weasley - am I abusive?"
*
Darkness and cold finally forced Hermione to move from the divan and light a fire. She sat on the floor before the fireplace, still hugging the bolster, and watched the flame draw flickering patterns. Firegazing was supposed to be an aid to meditation, according to some Tantric rituals, and she desperately needed to clear her mind.
In the end, it wasn't meditation theory, but her old study habits that came to her rescue. A flick of her wand brought paper and biro (not parchment and quill, she noted with a flash of her usual clarity - well, it is a Muggle's house, after all, that's why I chose it). She stared at the blank paper for a moment before, almost by reflex, she began work - on a list.
That's what I do, isn't it, when I want to see things clearly? I make a list.
She divided the paper neatly in half. The left side she labeled REASONS NOT TO HAVE CHILDREN; the right side, REASONS TO HAVE CHILDREN. Once she'd defined the category labels, filling them in was rapid work. Hermione quickly reached the end of the page; she paused, tapped her pen against her chin, and reviewed each item she'd listed. The left-side column began:
1. Babies would make a tempting target for Dark wizards.
(She immediately scratched it off the list. With Tom Riddle's death, Dark activity was at an all-time low. And the Dark wizards that were left seemed to be just a tad reluctant to cross Harry's path. Funny, that.)
2. Babies can put a strain on a newly married couple's relationship.
(But that didn't mean there couldn't be babies once their relationship had stabilized. She pondered, then left the item on the list for now. Moving on…)
3. Having a baby would interfere with my career at the Ministry.
(Hermione was starting to make a real difference at the Department for Regulating Magical Creatures. The next few months were crucial, on a number of fronts: she didn't want to put her work on hiatus during pregnancy - and for months afterward. She left the item in place.)
4. I don't know anything about how to be a parent.
(Nor did any new mother. And unlike many subjects, there were books that could help. But that led into…)
5. I don't seem to have any maternal instinct.
(Unlike her own mother, or any of the various Mrs Weasleys, the sight of a newborn didn't fill her with a warm gooey feeling. She didn't know how much of that was cultural, and how much was hormonal; she only knew that whenever the Extended Weasley Clan was assembled, none of the youngsters sought out Aunt Hermione.)
6. Children raised in abusive households tend to become abusive parents.
(It was amazing how her handwriting had deteriorated when she'd written that line. And such a coincidence that it was the last item in the column - it was, after all, the last accusation she'd flung at Harry before she'd stormed out. The parting shot she knew would leave him hurting.)
She couldn't read any more, not with the tears coming to her eyes again, damn them. Hermione crumpled the paper, tried to throw it in the fire, missed, and collapsed sobbing onto the floor.
*
"…and the next thing I knew, we were screaming at each other," Harry concluded miserably. He looked down at his hands, gripped tightly together in his lap. "I'd always, I dunno, assumed she'd want kids, same as I do. Did."
"But this was the first time you actually discussed it."
Harry gave Arthur another quick glance before wearily lowering his eyes again. "Well, it's Christmas Eve, y'know? A time for families, and all that. It just… seemed appropriate."
"I am a bit surprised she reacted so, er, strongly." Arthur was acting as the perfect confidante, gently prompting Harry to tell his story, neither approving nor judgmental. "What did you say? Just before she left?"
He squeezed his eyes closed in painful memory. "I… I maybe suggested that, that she might have cared more about her Ministry work than…"
"Oh, Harry, you didn't." Arthur's voice had deepened slightly… betraying disappointment in Harry. Harry turned defensive.
"Well, that's when she came back with the bit about me being… um, abusive." He sighed heavily. His next words seemed to force their way out, unburied from some deep pit of doubt. "Maybe, maybe she's right, maybe I would be an abusive father. I mean, when that's the way you're raised, that's the way you'll be, innit? I've had a while to think about it, and I know… I know I've been a right self-centered arse, growing up. Never really cared about anyone but myself…"
"Would Ginny agree, I wonder? Would Ron?"
Harry didn't appear to hear in his misery. His head drooped lower still. Arthur leaned over and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Married couples argue, Harry," he said, falling back to familiar ground. "You know that. Didn't your aunt and uncle… er, no, perhaps not the best example. Well, haven't you been around Molly and me enough to hear us argue?" The quirk in his mouth made clear it was a rhetorical question.
"Yeah," Harry admitted, "but that's different. You and Mrs Weasley…"
"Love each other, exactly. But we're still people, and so we argue. The key is to work past the argument, find ways to compromise."
Harry cocked an eye at Arthur. Somehow, he didn't see their relationship as having much in the way of compromise - unless by 'compromise' they meant 'Arthur does what Molly says'.
Arthur's quirked lips blossomed into a full smile, as though he'd read Harry's thought. "Molly does tend to want her own way, and she usually gets it. Unless I think it's important, and insist - and then, you have to admit, she gives in. That's how we've learned to get along over the years. You and Hermione will have to find your own road."
"If she'll ever speak to me again."
"You're both very independent people, you and Hermione. I think you'll have to expect the occasional argument. But with you two, it will only be over the most important, most fundamental issues. Like children." Arthur paused for emphasis. "But it doesn’t mean you don't love each other deeply, Harry."
"I guess." Harry pondered for another moment. "So what should I do?"
"My advice? Talk. Get back together, make up, and talk about the issue. Who knows, you may discover common grounds for agreement."
Harry snorted mirthlessly. "Mpfyeah, 'talk'. Mr Weasley, she made it pretty damned clear she doesn't want me to be anywhere near her."
Arthur's smile turned knowing. "Ah, Harry… that doesn't mean she doesn't want you to try."
*
A cup of tea had helped Hermione regain her composure. Regaining her composure had helped her sort through her whirling emotions, just as making the list had helped categorize her thoughts. She was still anxious about what would happen next, but she felt more prepared to face it now.
It had grown quite late, and her thoughts flitted to the cabin's bedroom and its bed. But she still felt drained, not simply tired but drained - unable to muster the will to rouse herself from before the fireplace. Hermione decided the bed was too much trouble. She still had a bolster, and she could magically summon a blanket or two without moving… two blankets should be enough, even with the snowfall.
"Accio blankets," she called out with a wave of her wand. Hard on the heels of her spell came two sounds in rapid succession: the soft pop of Apparation, and a firm thump as the blankets collided with something. Someone.
Without rising from the floor, Hermione twisted on her knees and looked behind her. In the middle of the living room, disentangling himself from blankets, glasses askew, stood Harry.
In the interest of full disclosure, How did he find me? was the first thought that flashed through Hermione's mind. Then, as the awful memories of the day came crashing back, her mind shut down. She stared at him blankly, warily, for once at a complete loss for words.
Harry had succeeded in escaping the tangle of blankets by this point, and now stood motionless, staring at her, as watchfully wary as she.
Abruptly, they tried to speak at the same moment. Both fell immediately silent before more than a syllable could be uttered - each now waiting for the other to speak first.
Harry held up a hand, palm outward, and Hermione nodded. He drew a deep breath and said quietly, "I'm sorry." The words hung in the cold air for a moment, as he gathered his courage anew. "I'm an idiot, all right? We've always known that. I shouldn't ever have said those things - they weren't true, I didn't mean them, I was just trying to be hurtful. Hermione, I'm sorry."
When Hermione said nothing in response, he took a step closer. "When I said I wanted a family? That part's true. I do want a family, always have, to replace the one Voldemort took away. But… but when you left me - after our fight - I, well, it forced me to think. To, y'know, reconsider?"
She still said nothing. He took one more hesitant step, then crouched in place so their heads were level. "And, well, it made me realize: you are my family, Hermione. You're what I want - you're all I want. If we had one kid, or ten kids, or no kids, you'd still be my family, always." He gave a sudden, shy smile, that vanished just as quickly. "If you'll still have me, I mean."
She still said nothing. Harry swallowed nervously, but wisely refrained from saying any more.
Finally, Hermione spoke. "Said your piece?" she asked coolly.
He could only nod.
"Good. Now it's my turn." Hermione repositioned herself with her legs under her - she had no intention of leaving her spot before the fire. "Yes, you were hurtful. You belittled my work, and then practically put me on the same level as Percy - as though I were sacrificing everything I love to my Ministry career. Dear Merlin, even Ron couldn't have been more deliberately spiteful than you were today! But I was worse."
She would not allow her gaze to waver even slightly - she kept it fixed on Harry's face. "I was much worse, Harry. Your gibe about my career hurt me because it held a grain of truth - but I was purposefully targeting every insecurity you ever had, growing up. And it's nonsense, really. You, an abusive father? If Vernon Dursley had twisted you that much, you'd never have grown into the sort of man who could defeat Voldemort."
His muscles untensed, slightly but visibly; Hermione was sure he wasn't even aware he'd been tense. Awaiting a terrible blow - emotional, not physical, but no less destructive for that - and now, finally convinced it wouldn't come.
"I'm so very sorry, Harry," she said softly. "It's for you to forgive me, not the other way around."
In a flash, he'd moved from several feet away to right in front of her - from a crouch to his knees before her. He held up his arms, but didn't try to embrace her, quite. "Do you think… maybe… we need to forgive us?"
And Hermione wrapped herself around him, felt his arms go around her, and together they hugged each other so tightly that some of her vertebrae popped back into place. She let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob, and half-laugh, and Harry immediately pulled back slightly to look her in the face. His eyes searched hers, seeking something - truth? sincerity? - before reaching up to caress her cheek and leaning forward to kiss her.
Considering the intensity of their hug, the kiss was extraordinarily tender. It was less a kiss of passion than of love, of forgiveness and seeking forgiveness. Their lips brushed together oh-so-lightly, but no part of them went untouched - it was a wordless dialogue, now him, gently capturing her lower lip, now her, easing back to delicately inhale his breath. The kiss was Harry saying he would never leave her, and Hermione saying she wasn't about to let him go.
When they at last parted, they said nothing to one another at first. They simply sat huddled together in front of the fire, with the blankets around them. All around them was quiet; it was peace, and welcome solitude. The rest of the world, to all appearances, had agreed to keep its distance and leave them be. The snow outside the cabin muffled all sound… and inside the cabin, the two were more than content to simply share in each other's presence again.
They could both sense when midnight came and went: Christmas was, if anything, more magical for wizards than it was for non-wizards. Harry pulled Hermione closer to his side, but otherwise they went without speaking for a long while, staring into the fire.
As usual, it was Hermione who broke the silence. "All right," she said, keeping her voice light, "I give up. How did you find me? I went out of my way to avoid any place in the wizarding world…"
"… since everyone'd be sure to recognize you, and tell me," finished Harry. "But you've been gone from the Muggle world so long, I reckoned you wouldn't have access to a lot of Muggle places. You'd need a contact. Well, that made it easy. I went and talked to your mum. She didn't exactly say you'd come to her home crying and cursing my name, but she did mention that one of her neighbors owned a hunting cabin that your family had a standing offer to use…"
"Right. Elementary, my dear Watson." Hermione sighed and nestled closer. "So… I guess I'm glad you found me. Are we right, now?" The words were light, her tone was not.
"If you are, I am. I mean, it's not an issue I want to lose you over," Harry replied. He hesitated, then went on uncertainly, "But… I do need to know. Do you think… someday… you'd want children of your own?"
Hermione didn't immediately answer. "No, Harry," she finally said.
She felt him go perfectly still. "All right, then," he said after a long moment, his voice one of acceptance. "Thank you."
"Accio list," she called out. The crumpled bit of paper scooted across the floor to her waiting hand. Carefully she smoothed it, folded it in half, and showed it to him without another word.
REASONS TO HAVE CHILDREN, ran the title at the top of the column. Below it was a single item:
1. Love.
"Children of my own, I don't care to have," Hermione said, with a smile in her voice to match the one on her face. "Children of our own - your children - yes, Harry, I'd like that. I'd like that very much."
Harry carefully set the list aside, to be preserved as a keepsake forever, and cupped her face in his hands. "Thank you," he said again, but there was a world of difference, a universe, a deep infinity of difference in the words this time. And when he kissed her this time, he filled it with his passion for her.
And Hermione decided that the bed in the bedroom might not be too much trouble after all.