Harry had fallen asleep on the drawing room floor. Hermione, raised above us on the cushions from the sofa, kept giving me this look that told me I wasn't supposed to fall asleep. We needed to talk.

She stayed silent while she waited to be sure Harry had nodded off. I admired her as she did so, that look of worry and expectancy etched upon her face, listening for his deep breathing. I knew I felt something for her. Something I couldn't describe or rationalise, I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it'd happened, it just had. It was just there. It wasn't love…it was just…it was just something.

When Harry's slow, deep breathing had been going on for a suitable amount of time, she looked at me again. She bit her lip and lowered her eyebrows in an expression I knew to mean: We could have all been goners then.

I nodded. She spoke under her breath, barely making a sound. "He's…he's really doing it, isn't he?"

I nodded again. "I suppose this is it then. It's started." She faltered then. I had known her long enough now, to recognize when she was trying to keep herself from crying.

"We knew what we were getting into, didn't we?" I whispered. It was her turn to nod this time. I remembered her in her dress for the wedding. It seemed a lifetime away, though it had only been that morning. To me, she had outshined Fleur. Don't get me wrong: Bill's a very lucky boy, but it'd not been the bride I was staring at the entire service. I had admired Hermione's shape, the dress hugged her in all the right places. I think it's a load of rubbish when witches go on about a colour bringing out someone's eyes, but I suppose the lilac did for Hermione. It made me notice them even more than usual. They shone out, brighter than ever. I couldn't help but notice them twinkle every time she laughed.

One of the tears she had tried to suppress now leaked from her lower lid.

"You okay?" I said, awkwardly. I had never been much good when anyone was upset. I chided myself internally for my weak response, I wanted to express so much to her, but I just didn't know how. I was separated from her as if by an invisible barrier, I wanted to do and say so much more, to wipe the tear away, to sweep her into my arms and hold her, kiss her. Anything to shield her from whatever she was feeling.

"Nothing," She said, wiping the tear away, "Just Mum and Dad again. If I do die then they won't even mourn me. They won't ever…" She broke off. I didn't know what to say. What could I say, really? Wordlessly, I took her hand in my own and just held it. I caressed her lower fingers with my thumb, wanting, in some small way, to comfort her, to tell her without words everything I felt right there and then on the dusty drawing room floor of Grimmauld Place.

We stayed like that for some time, until much later, she looked at me drowsily. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly as she fell asleep, now unable to keep her eyes open any longer. I lay there, transfixed. It was all making sense now, all of it. Everything I'd ever felt for her was coming to a head, churning within me, becoming something new, something beautiful, complete and absolute.

Fifteen minutes ago I had fallen in love.

I didn't think I could love any other girl. I do. Years on now. Fifteen minutes ago I had fallen in love again, in spite of my thinking that Hermione would always be everything to me, that nobody else could ever come close. I would do anything for this girl, I knew the moment I met her. Who says you can't fall in love at first sight? I'd die for her, I'd fight tooth and nail for her, anything. So, so beautiful and she was mine. I couldn't believe my luck.

Hermione was asleep, exhausted. I turned to my new girl. I swept her into my arms and kissed her forehead as gently as I could manage. She was so perfect, fragile; she might have been made out of glass. She looked up at me blearily with those beautiful eyes I had been infatuated with the moment I saw them.

She looked at me, and even now, only fifteen minutes after coming into my life she gave me a look just like her mother. Fifteen minutes old, my tiny daughter felt like nothing in my arms. I thought of everything we'd go through together, all the firsts we'd have: Teaching her to ride her first broom, first day of school, first boyfriend. They'd be queuing up for her, she looked just like Hermione. She'd even escaped my nose. She had the legendary Weasley hair, but other than that she was the carbon copy of her Mother.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

I'd be the best Dad ever, that's one thing I vowed. Every minute of every day, I'd show her how beautiful and perfect she was. I'd worship the ground she walked on. I do everything and anything for her. I was at her beck and call. I suppose you've little choice when you're in love.

It's funny how much can happen in fifteen minutes, isn't it?