A/N: Sorry it's been so long. I've been busy and I have an outline for this story but I don't want to take it too fast. A lot still has to be worked out till we get to the next big "drama" if you will, and I'm working on the best way to get there. :) Thank you for all the support!

Harry's POV

When Harry came downstairs an hour later, Hermione was still gone. His chest ached, he wanted to apologize. Frowning at himself, he pushed his way past the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear Hermione's mother in the kitchen, laughing, and, in the small living room to his left, Hermione's father singing just slightly off-key.

He sighed, his brows furrowing. This could have been us, he thought, almost mournfully. We could have had this... if only you had told me...

But for the first time, Harry considered what he might have done, three and a half years ago, if Hermione had told him. He closed his eyes, imagining.

"I'm... pregnant, Harry. And... It's yours."

Harry was cleaning his broomstick– no, he was filling out his application to the auror programme. And she was... happy? No, she was crying. She would have been devastated.

"What do you want to do?"

She would have blinked. "Do?"

"Well... we're not... I mean... We're not... going to keep it, are we?"

He saw her face growing cold, hard like stone. Her hand touched her stomach. "Of course not," she would have responded, flatly. It was like something had shattered in her. "I'll... I'll make a doctor's appointment, then."

Harry opened his eyes, his stomach churning. Is that really how it would have gone? Would they just have pretended it didn't happen? That they didn't have sex? He frowned at this thought for some reason.

"Hello, uh, Harry, right?"

Harry spun towards the voice. It was Mr. Granger, holding Rose in his arms. Harry felt his stomach twist as he looked at his daughter. She was a spitting image of him, really – the jet black hair, the bright emerald eyes. He should have seen it immediately.

Automatically, Harry held out his hand and watched the Granger patriarch struggle to reciprocate while holding the 3 year old.

"Oh," He said flatly, withdrawing his arm. "That was... Foolish of me. Sorry."

Mr. Granger chuckled a little. "Don't worry, son." He placed Rose down and she ran to Harry wobbly.

"Hi," she said, looking up at him with bright green, catlike eyes and tugging on his trouser leg. Harry pulled away a little jerkily, unsure how to treat the girl. Should he ask her to call him dad? Was father more appropriate? What had Hermione told Rose about their rather complex relationship?

"Er..."

"Come sit with us, won't you?" The older man continued, turning into the blue and white themed living room. He settled on the teal two seater couch and gestured clumsily across from him. Harry swallowed hard and followed him into the room, with Rose trailing behind him.

"It's funny, you know," Mr. Granger said, watching Harry sit down carefully. "It's almost as if she knows you. You know, she's not so good with new people. But you..."

Harry cleared his throat nervously. So Hermione hasn't told him, he thought bitterly. Awesome. I guess that's what I get for yelling at her earlier... Guilt panged his heart. "Erm..." He ran a hand through his hair.

"You're her friend from school, right?" Mr. Granger continued, much to Harry's relief. "The... the good one."

"Pardon?" Harry asked, confused.

Hermione's father looked uncomfortable. "Ah..." He curled and uncurled his hands. He looked at his granddaughter. "Go find Nana, love, won't you?" He patted her on the back, nearly pushing her into the hallway that would lead to the kitchen.

"But Papa!" Rose protested, her face twisted into a frown. Her grandfather responded with a strained look.

"Please, Rose."

Grumpily, Harry watched his daughter gather her doll into her arms and waddle grumpily into the kitchen.

Mr. Granger crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Would you like some tea, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, his curiosity piqued by his companion's strange actions.

"No, I suppose not," The older man nodded knowingly. "I don't know what Hermione has told you... about..." He jerked his head to the kitchen.

"Hermione hasn't told me anything," Harry lied quickly.

"Well..." He shifted in his seat and leaned forward. "What we know is that Rose's father broke my baby's heart. When she came to us... pregnant, alone... she wanted to... to get rid of it. She didn't know if she wanted a reminder of him."

Harry felt his heart race faster. "Him?"

Mr. Granger's face turned dark. "He was her school sweetheart. He knocked her up, and didn't want the kid. A real ass."

"Ron?!" Harry frowned at the mention of his best mate. "She told you... I mean, Ron did that?"

"Yes. Him."

Harry felt rage bubbling inside him. How could anyone ever do that? Nevermind Ron never did... never would, of course... but how could it be a plausible enough story for the Grangers to believe unless it actually happened? But then... hadn't his own imagination led him to the exact same scenario?

Mr. Granger continued before Harry could further acknowledge his own hypocrisy. "It was Hermione's mother who convinced her to keep the baby." He swallowed. "We always wanted another kid, you know? But... Hermione's birth was difficult. I'm sure she's told you about that..."

Harry shook his head, further confused.

Mr. Granger smiled ruefully. "I almost lost my wife the day that Hermione was born. After... we couldn't have anymore children. My wife's body just... couldn't take it. And I think she didn't want Hermione to lose her chance as well..."

"Was Hermione okay?" Harry interrupted quickly, his fear for his former best friend overwhelming his manners.

The older man studied Harry carefully. "She was fine. You really care about her, don't you?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I–"

"Harry? May I speak to you upstairs?" Hermione's voice saved him from answering the awkward question and he stood quickly.

"Er, it was nice to talk to you, Mr. Granger," Harry said, wiping his hands on his jeans and standing up.

Harry's companion gave him a look that he couldn't quite comprehend, but only said, "and you, young man."

Harry shook off the odd feelings he was getting from Hermione's father and followed Hermione up the stairs.

Hermione's POV

"I see you and my father are getting along," Hermione commented as the pair headed up the stairs. "That's good." She turned the knob to the third door on the left. "You should talk about football, if you like. He likes Manchester City..."

"Hermione?" Harry said, close behind her. "You're chattering."

She spun around, realizing how close they were, realizing that if she rose just a few inches her lips would meet his.

"Sorry," Hermione managed to say, her mouth nearly watering. "I'm just..."

"Nervous?" He finished for her.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Hermione swallowed, remembering her conversation with Cara. "We need to talk."

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah we do."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I wanted to say–"

At the same time, Harry began to speak. "I thought you should know that–"

And then together:

"I'm sorry."

Hermione blinked, her mind whirring. "You... what?"

Harry sat down on the chair by the door. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I've been a jerk... and... I think you were right." He laughed a little. "As usual."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "But... What?"

Harry smiled, and Hermione was swept up in the beauty of his smile. "That night may have been a mistake... but... It was my mistake too. I took advantage of you."

"Took advantage of me?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I know I can be dense, 'Mione, but I'm not a complete idiot. I had a feeling you... liked me as more than a friend."

"What?!" Hermione felt her knees buckle. "You... You're lying!"

"I'm not," Harry responded. He got off the chair and knelt beside her. "I didn't ever really think about it... or really acknowledge it... But Gin and I were fighting that night. It was..." He swallowed, his face looking pained. "It was really bad."

"Harry... you never told me..."

"We're both very strong willed. We have our opinions and... we struggle to compromise."

"But... you love her, don't you?" Hermione regretted asking the question before the words even left her lips.

But there was no hesitation on Harry's part. "Yes, I do. But..." He shook his head several times. "It doesn't matter. After that fight... I used that night... I used what I knew... I used you. And I'm not proud of it."

Hermione was lost for words, and she simply blinked at him as she tried to comprehend what he was saying.

He continued. "I know it was awful of me... Merlin, I know. I was selfish, and stupid, and just... I don't know, Hermione. I was so angry at Ginny, and you looked so perfect... well, the alcohol didn't help." He paused. "Ginny called me the next morning, you know. That's why I left before you woke up. She apologized. And I was so angry at myself for what I had done to you that I thought you'd never forgive me. I thought I would never have you again. So I forgave her."

"But... why did it matter if I forgave you? I mean... What does that have to do with you getting back together with Ginny?

Harry's hands clasped together. "I know I was drunk, 'Mione, but I don't just have sex with someone because I can. I... there's too much of an emotional connection there for me. After that night..."

He looked at her, those emerald green eyes boring, seemingly, into her soul. "I fell for you that night, Hermione."