A sweet and fluffy peace I couldn't go to sleep without 'putting to paper' or sharing with you lot. Don't worry, the next installment of After the Storm is in the making.

For the longest time Rose stood there watching the tiny redhead sleep peacefully in her cot. It was the middle of summer and the town of York was both hot and far too humid for comfort. She stood there in her vigil, not a single rise and fall of breath, sound or ruffling of the wind going unnoticed. Mum was downstairs typing away on her muggle computer, surrounded by stacks of paper and rolls of parchment, teacups piling up before her, dark curls wilder than Rose had ever seen them.

The baby wore a pink onesie to sleep as she sucked idly to her pacifier, a mobile adorned with golden snitches and little lions turning above her to a soft lullaby tune, something mummy said had once belonged to her.

It was strange having company in their little home—especially when one of them was a baby and the other one her raven-haired father. Usually Rose and mum's only visitors were her grandparents who had retired to Portugal or auntie Luna when she passed through after one of her many journeys around the world. Harry Potter was a thing of legends to Rose—legends meaning the bedtime stories her mum would tell her.

Mum and Harry used to be close friends, the best of friends, before each one moved on with their lives, going in different directions. Hermione's direction had been Australia first where she rekindled with her parents and later on the University of Oxford's history department, of course, and then not long after Rosie was born. But Harry, he'd gone on to be an Auror, which was roughly magical police, but it didn't please him one bit—not like teaching did, as far as Rosie knew. So, he applied himself and became a professor at Hogwarts, to Rose, just one more amazing setting to the fairytales her mother would tell her: a large, rather gloomy castle in Scotland, surrounded by a lake and a forest which you could arrive to through a red train.

Something had happened though, Rose couldn't quite understand it, but after a few weeks, it was safe to say that he lived here now, in their small little townhome within the walled city of York, redhead baby girl and all.

Mum didn't say much but she did smile more often, even though the baby kept her up at night, several nights. Hermione would hum happy songs as she cleaned the house or cooked and didn't mind if Rose watched an extra hour of television here and there, most often because she would greet him at the door, they would hug when they didn't think Rose was looking and sometimes, like just a little while ago, they would kiss.

That's how Rose realized that this Harry of legends and fairytales was here to stay, and so was his baby.

All her life it had just been mum and Rose against the world and she for the life of her never imagined having a dad—those were things other people had, just like some children lived with their grandparents and others had two mums instead of one, sometimes none. As for siblings, Rose never thought much of them—mum herself didn't have any and seemed to have turned out just fine. But now, looking at the little redhead beginning to stir in her sleep as the pacifier slipped out of her lips, she felt something in her heart that made it beat very fast. Rose found that she loved this sweet baby, that she wanted no harm to ever come her way.

The baby, Lily, began to whine and make sounds. Rose grasped on to the wooden bars of her cot, stretched on the very tip of her five-year-old toes and gently popped the pacifier back into her mouth. Lily suckled happily, not once opening her bright green eyes to acknowledge the older girl. Rose's lips curved in satisfaction, she was a perfect older sister already. She heard the bedroom's wooden door creak open behind her. Turning around, Rose's large dark eyes landed on him—the Harry of legends, or simply, the Harry of this home.

"Thank you for watching her, Rose." He said with a smile, crossing his arms above his chest, the deep green of his sweater bringing out the color of his eyes, even from behind the round-rimmed glasses, as he leaned into the wall. "Listen, Hermione's downstairs finishing up her work and it's nearly nine already—how would you like it if I told you a story tonight?"

His offer gave her a full minute's pause. Mummy was never too busy to tell her a story goodnight. Rose turned back to look at the baby, sleeping soundly in her cot and everything someone so small made her feel. She figured it wouldn't kill her to give him a chance.

She made her way to her bed, burying herself under her cotton blanket. She moved over to allow him some space and he sat beside her with his back to the light-blue headboard, crossing his ankles casually. Rose lay her head of dark curls on his shoulder, bunching up the soft fabric of his sweater in her fist, purring softly like a cat. He couldn't help but smile at her sudden ease with him.

"Rosie, have you ever heard of the legendary witch Hermione?" She nodded. Of course she had, and so he went on.

Before either of them knew it, all was dark and quiet, just the mobile's lullaby playing softly in the background. Hermione kissed them both tenderly on the forehead, her heart filled with love, before turning around to retreat back downstairs.

"Mummy!" The witch heard a whispered call, just as she was about to cross the threshold. She huffed silently and shook her head, before turning back and tiptoeing back towards the bed.

"Yes, my darling?"

"I'm happy." Rose whispered, in a sleepy drawl.

"So am I, love—very happy… I have all three of you." She wasn't expecting it and because of the bedroom's darkness never saw it coming, but she felt his arm reach around her legs, fingers grazing up her thigh and bottom from beneath the silk of her sleeping gown—the sneaky little bugger—before wrapping loosely around her waist, his fingers tracing soft little circles on her skin. Hermione couldn't hide the delicious goosebumps that arose on her delicate skin from his intimate touches, or the silly smile playing on her lips, the joy dancing in her eyes as she looked at him, a mischievous grin plastered onto his face. "And you come to bed, Mr. Potter—frankly, falling asleep in a child's bedtime." He chuckled, carefully climbing out of the softly snoring Rosie's bed and following her. He always followed her, his bushy-haired bossy little know-it-all.

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