A/N : This is the third and final installment of this little trilogy I've been working on. 'In Noctem' was the first, 'In Mane' the second. I think you can read them as separates even though it will make more sense to read all 3!

A huge huge huge thank you to MsBinns and HalfASlug who were kind enough to review and share their opinions about this one, correct my grammar and Britishism, making it what it is now.

Disclaimer : I don't own these characters, but sure do love to play with them!

They can do anything.

Everything is in ruins.

The castle, the wizarding world, them.

They have been taking care of the wounded, cleaning rubble and performing endless repairing charms most of the day

The Great Hall is the worst. Life and death juxtaposed next to each other. At first, all Hermione notices is people crying. The eldest wear sombre looks, they know winning a war doesn't make everything disappear overnight. She sighs, her shoulders lowering under the weight of what she has seen. She then observes the youngest, whom in a desperate need to forget quickly, laugh, joke, celebrate...

Kiss.

She still feels the reminder of Ron's lips on hers, yet she feels like they kissed a lifetime ago. For a brief instant, invaded by tingling warmth, her dark thoughts are blissfully chased away. Her fingers brush her lips lightly as she tries to engrave how Ron's lips felt on hers.

She left his side half an hour ago, but already the void of his absence is almost unbearable. She thought she would give him time with his family and, in the meantime, go help out where she could. Standing speechless beside him, unable to do anything more than hold his hand, her thumb rubbing the side of his, had been suffocating. She had felt useless and with too much quietness, she had found herself with too much to think, forcing her to face things she wasn't ready to acknowledge yet. She knows she won't be able to run forever, but right now, a few hours after Voldemort's defeat, she forbids herself to think.

She assesses the wounds of her classmates, teachers and people she doesn't know but will be forever grateful to for fighting in this war.

She is so focused on her task, pushing away thoughts of Ron, Harry and horrors she's seen, that she doesn't realise Harry is by her side, helping her applying Ditanny to the minor wounds of a 7th year Ravenclaw.

Her throat constricts. She feels drained, still painfully on edge and she wonders briskly how long it will take for those feelings to go away.

"Hey," she tells Harry hoarsely, after failed attempts to silently catch his avoiding eyes.

He seems anxious, moving from one foot to another, before bracing himself and meeting her gaze.

"T-thank you," he stutters shyly, almost inaudibly.

But she hears it, loud and clear. And her heart breaks and mends all over within seconds. It's more than a simple 'thank you', she reads in his eyes. For the first time in a long time, she looks at him and doesn't see the determined young man ready to fight to protect others. Instead she is reminded of the bewildered boy with broken glasses and a shirt two sizes too big for him, on his first train ride to Hogwarts.

She grabs his hand and squeezes it strongly.

You are welcome. Anytime. I love you.

He squeezes back, both of them at a loss of words, yet, conveying more than they could through a look.

"I know we'll have to talk more, but for now, I just wanted to say... Thank you," he chokes out the last words before engulfing her in a tight hug.

She relishes the fact that her best friend is warm and alive in her arms, when she very much thought he was cold and dead the day before.

She catches Ron's gaze at the end of the Great Hall, looking at them. For a second, she is afraid he will misinterpret this, but he starts to walk timidly toward them, eyes locked on hers. She loosens her hold on Harry when he reaches them. Ron puts his hand on Harry's shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze, nodding sharply. The two young men seem to share a silent conversation of their own, and she watches them, unsuccessfully preventing the tears from escaping her eyes.

She is immensely proud of the two young men standing in front of her, of what they accomplished and the obstacles they braved. She is finally starting to realise they beat the odds and survived.

They lived.

And then she is in Ron's arm and Harry is walking away toward the Weasleys. Her hands grab Ron's dusty jumper, and she buries her head under his chin, refusing to let him go.

"How are you?" she asks, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him.

He lowers his gaze and scrutinises her face. He can only shake his head slightly before the tears cascade down his cheeks.

Now they have to live.

...

Her family.

Ron is kissing her, quite thoroughly, in the middle of her parents' kitchen and she doesn't want him to stop. Ever.

His hands dip dangerously low on her back and she wouldn't mind if it weren't for their current surrounding. But she can't bring herself to stop him.

They've been alone for a few minutes, her parents having popped out for a few things and the young couple had said they would start packing. They haven't even started yet.

"Erhm..."

The loud cough yanks her out of their kiss abruptly, and she turns flustered toward the person who interrupted them.

Her dad.

Her face instantly flares up in mortification.

"I'll... I'll see... I'll go... I- upstairs. Packing," Ron musters embarrassed, pointing upstairs and throwing a sharp nod at no one in particular. His eyes avoiding Hermione's father, who seems slightly stunned but poorly hiding his grin.

"Ron," her dad calls out.

Ron stops and turns abruptly, finally looking into his eyes. "Yes sir?"

Hermione's father looks at her as she lifts an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Thank you," he tells Ron sincerely, turning back towards him.

Ron's eyes travel from the man in front of him to Hermione, understanding sinking in, before he replies.

"Anytime."

Ron shoves his hand in his pockets and turns around, heading up the stairs. His steps resonate in the heavy silence of the kitchen.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Hermione asks, gracefully composed after the very thorough kiss she and Ron just displayed in front of her father.

He doesn't answer straight away, just looks at her pensively. She feels her stomach tightening anxiously. Her father has been mostly quiet since she cast the memory reversing charm. She's been worried. Now, as he looks at her, words about to leave his lips, she knows he was just trying to find the right words to explain.

"I won't pretend we're not upset, and though it hurts - a lot actually - I have to admit that I understand why you did it," her father tells her hoarsely.

Without warning, tears she hadn't even felt coming, pour down her face.

"Dad, I-"

"Look," he interrupts tensely, "we- we are going to have to deal with all the mixed feelings it brings up. A father isn't supposed to be protected by his little girl." He pauses, his eyes shining too bright. "I know you're n- not a little girl anymore, but you are to me. You protected us when you were in danger and hurt, and you needed us... W- we weren't there to protect you... We- I- I failed you."

"Dad," she chokes, running into his arms.

She craves for the way she used to feel in his arms. Her father's arms and his heartbeat against her ear used to be all she needed to feel safe.

He hugs her tightly before holding her out at arm's length, wiping the tears off her face gently.

"And one day, you will have children of your own - p-please wait, you have plenty of time," he sighs, his eyes trailing towards the stairs knowingly. She feels her cheeks flush noticeably, releases an uneasy chuckle and sniffles lightly.

"And on that day, you'll understand."

...

She can't stop screaming.

She wishes Ginny had been the one to hear her scream first, instead of the scared second year that fetched McGonagall straight away.

The Headmistress let her go to her lessons but, after much imploring, ordered Hermione to meet her in her office later that day.

Hermione is now standing in front of the gargoyle guarding the Headmistress' office, and cannot stop the flow of memories of the last time she stood there.

The words Dumbledore's portrait spoke that day still swirl in her head. She can almost feel Harry and Ron's presence next to her.

She sighs, knowing all too well that she has been putting on a façade, appearing to be well and adjusted since she gave her parents' memories back. She had thought restoring them would have mended her. How foolish has she been to think that she wouldn't have to deal with the atrocities she went through.

She hasn't stopped running.

And now, standing in front of the gargoyle eight months after the war, she feels herself crack.

Adrenaline starts to fill her veins as she feels her heartbeat increase in panic. Her chest moves heavily as she attempts to calm herself down, failing to take deep breaths and contain her tears.

She moves forward, the statue lets her in without the need of the password, as if it knows that she isn't able to utter a sound.

When she enters McGonagall's office, she barely holds herself together.

The Headmistress gives her a tired, but comforting smile before inviting her to sit down and offering Hermione a cup of tea. She takes it with trembling hands.

"Look, Miss Granger, I will get straight to the point. This year isn't supposed to be hard on you. Goodness knows you have had enough of those. Don't beat yourself up; you have to deal with the events of last year. Find something that works out for you, we will accommodate you," McGonagall softly tells her.

Hermione lifts her head almost defiantly before replying.

"Profess- Headmistress, sorry," she glances back down weakly, "I don't want special treatment. I wasn't the only one who suffered last year."

"You are right, but what tells you that you are the only one who gets special treatment?" she smiles reassuringly.

Hermione doesn't have time to reflect on the elder witch's words before McGonagall continues and voices her concern for her.

"You have to let other people help you. We all know you are fully capable of taking care of yourself, but that doesn't mean you have to."

The words resonate deeply within Hermione and she feels the tears she had managed to pull back earlier, cascading hopelessly on her cheeks.

Just as McGonagall speaks those last words, Ron enters the office, dishevelled in Auror training robes and out of breath.

"I came as fast as I could. Where is sh-," he says to the Headmistress before noticing Hermione sitting in the corner of the room.

She doesn't understand how, but he brightens her sombre mood the second he lays eyes upon her. She understands that she doesn't have to be alone, but she is proud and stubborn. She wants to be able to stand on her own. But then she remembers how desperate to help him she feels when Fred's death becomes too much to bear or when the nightmares wake them both up, too often still.

Her eyes meet his too bright ones, her mouth opens ready to voice that he shouldn't be there, that he should be training, or helping his brother. She realises that she very much wants to simply him to hold her and bury her nose in the hollow of his neck. He quickly walks the distance separating them and she leaps in his arms, breathing him in deeply.

The words die in her throat.

...

PS : Happy anniversary.

She is watching the babies lined up in the nursery at St Mungo's, the flamboyant rays of the descending sun piercing through the half-closed curtains of the room. She feels out of place.

Victoire was born early the day before. They had seen her yesterday. She distinctly remembers when Ron held his niece and realised Fred would forever be 20 years old. He had fumbled words of congratulations to his brother and his wife, barely able to withhold the tears as he had passed the baby back to Fleur and left with a feeble goodbye. She had run after him, casting a curt apology to the new parents.

She had brought him home and he had started shouting. Angry at the world, at his brother's death, at the unfairness of the war. He had thrown it all at her and she had let him. He drifted away and she couldn't bring him back.

She feels cold and empty.

Hopeless.

She closes her eyes, wills the tears to recede.

She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes again and contemplates the newborns in their bassinets, sleeping contentedly.

She hates feeling so powerless, unable to find the words to soothe him. She wishes a kiss and her love would be enough to make it all go away.

"Babies are so oblivious, aren't they?"

Angelina startles her. Hermione was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even realised someone came up to stand next to her. She nods feebly, her gaze still transfixed on the small beings in front of her.

"He came over this morning, quite shaken up," Angelina tells her truthfully.

She doesn't need to say whom, she understands straight away.

Hermione closes her eyes. She feels the tears prickling at the back of her eyelids and breathes out unsteadily.

"He wouldn't talk to me, he just yelled and then left," she admits, finally turning towards Angelina and looking at her, tears pouring down her face. "He- we- I-...," words swirl in her head and she doesn't know how to put them in order, rendered speechless by the fact that Ron is hurting and there's nothing she can do about it.

"Hermione, he loves you." Angelina grabs her hand.

"I know that," she replies defensively.

She pauses, trying to find the words to voice her concerns. Angelina waits patiently, releasing her hand.

"Sometimes," Hermione sighs, "sometimes it's just hard to understand how it works."

Angelina frowns, trying to understand what Hermione is trying to tell her.

"I'm an only child, and yes Harry is as good as a brother to me," she explains, "but, but I- I spent the first 11 years of my life on my own, and sometimes it's hard to understand how that works. The bond they share. Siblings."

She knows the woman will understand and watches realisation reach Angelina's eyes.

"This family," Angelina sighs turning back towards the rows of babies, "they are quite something aren't they?"

Hermione nods absentmindedly, the tears drying and the weight in her chest lifting slightly. She forgets that she isn't an only child anymore. Harry, Angelina, Fleur... they understand what it's like to be in love with a Weasley. To have survived a war with them.

As if on cue, George arrives, holding Ron protectively.

Without a word, she flies into Ron's welcoming arms, slightly knocking him out of balance.

"Don't ever shut me out like that again," she whispers fiercely in his left ear.

"I won't," he promises, his voice shaking with emotion.

...

They know too much.

They plan to go out for dinner that evening, to close on a day spent splendidly in bed. It's a luxury they haven't been able to achieve much recently, both overwhelmed by their busy schedules.

She puts on a dark green dress she knows Ron loves. She grins, knowing his favourite part is undressing her out of it.

"Ron? We leave in 10 minutes. Hurry up in there!" she calls out cheerfully to the closed bathroom door as she makes her way down the stairs.

She walks past the living room to head towards the kitchen, but stops in her tracks when she sees all too familiar green flames dancing in the hearth of their fireplace.

Neville steps in and she takes in his apologetic look.

Instantly, her heart sinks.

He shifts uneasily on his feet, words on his lips she knows she doesn't want to hear. Heated by disappointment, she wants him gone, and almost tells him without further notice. But she respects Neville and his and Ron's work as an Auror, and she knows unexpected calls come with the job. She releases a deep, controlled breath as she nods toward Neville in acknowledgement.

Ron joins them humming joyfully and whistling from afar when he sees her. He hasn't noticed Neville yet.

"I'm sorry." Neville inhales deeply.

Run jolts around startled.

"Neville!" Ron states out of breath, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Neville explains then that Ron is needed back in the field immediately.

The words 'critical' and 'mission unfinished' echo in her head as she tries to ignore their conversation and focus instead on the dizzy buzzing in her ears.

Before she can grasp how the minutes flew by, he has changed into his Auror robes and grabs her hand.

"I'm sorry. Another time?" he asks softly, replacing a loose curl behind her right ear.

She nods, refusing to cry in front of him.

"It's fine. Go."

Her voice breaks, but she puts on a strong smile and tells him she loves him.

He kisses her quickly and leaves with Neville.

She spends the rest of the day fighting worry and feeling utterly useless. It's not until later that she realises that she is still in her dress.

...

"You're as old as me now," she grins.

Somehow, they were able to gather enough strength to climb up the stairs and fall into bed.

She lazily traces circles on his left shoulder blade and can feel him smile against her ribs underneath her left breast. She gasps audibly when she feels him teasingly lick her skin there, her nipples hardening instinctively.

"Ron? Hermione?" a familiar voice calls from the first floor of their house.

Her hand stops, fingernails digging slightly into his back.

"I'm going to divorce my family," Ron groans unhappily, his voice reverberating against her skin, her body tingling with desire at the sensation.

"Ron? Hermione?" Percy calls again, his voice suddenly uneasy, as if he wished he could disappear. "Look, I know you're there. Your... your kitchen looks dreadful, are you all right?"

His voice is clearer, closer. The couple don't move.

"What do you bloody want? We're busy," Ron yells back, pushing his body closer to Hermione's, clearly hoping his brother would leave already so they could continue what they started for the third time that day.

"Fleur is in labor." His brother is right outside their door, his voice clearer yet quieter.

Hermione sighs, silently cursing his oldest brother for being so reproductive, leading them to St. Mungo's too frequently for her liking. She remembers Victoire's birth like it was the day before. She is untangling herself from Ron's grip, standing up and heading toward their bathroom. She can feel him look longingly at her naked form as she closes the bathroom door behind her.

"'k, we'll be there soon," she hears Ron sigh loudly before recognising the familiar pop, meaning that Percy has gone back to St. Mungo's.

"You know, you ought to be more excited than this. You're getting a new niece today," she smiles through the closed door. His lack of enthusiasm, she is sure, is more due to the interruption of their afternoon activities, than the arrival of a new Weasley being born that day.

She's already managed to put a bra and a shirt on, and is in the process of putting her skirt on when he enters the bathroom. Her eyes silently meet his through the mirror as he comes behind her, arms lacing familiarly around her waist. She opens her mouth to tell him to get dressed and to warn him that he has to stop. The words die in her throat as his teeth close teasingly around her lobe. She sighs, desire coursing rapidly through her.

"We have to go," she says warily, her head falling back onto his shoulder, allowing him more access.

"Last time we waited twelve bloody hours. We have time."

His tongue slides slowly from her ear to the back of her neck, his left hand brushing her hair away while his right hand caresses her tight, slowly lifting her skirt up.

She is losing the little self-control she had been able to gather at Percy's arrival, but she knows it will all go out the window as soon as he finds out-

"You aren't wearing any knickers."

She hears the raw desire in his voice and sees his wide smile in the mirror. She doesn't say anything, just lets him turn her around and push her against the nearest wall.

They arrive at St. Mungo's half an hour later. The baby is born.

...

Not everything can be fixed with magic.

That afternoon, she sits cross-legged in front of Dobby's grave. The sand is warm underneath her hands. And she remembers everything about that day. Sometimes she wishes to forget.

This place is a reminder. Of what they lost that day, of what they fought for and why.

She reads the fading words on the makeshift tombstone and binds herself to acknowledge the changes made since the elf died. Her proposition for Elves rights and care, Dobby's Law went through, thanks to her tenacious work. She feels the tears prickle at the back of her eyelids.

"I remember seeing Ron cradling you in his arms that day. I thought you were dead," Bill tells her bluntly, startling her.

He is standing a few feet behind her, hands tucked in his front pockets, a stark resemblance with his youngest brother.

Her throat constricts and she wants to cry. Suddenly she feels much younger than her 23 years of age. Or maybe it's just that she never really felt young and she is taken aback by a rush of nostalgia for the innocent girl she once was.

"I- I've never thanked you," she tells Bill shyly.

"What for?" he wonders, closing the distance and sitting beside her.

She sighs.

For everything.

Where does she start?

"For taking care of him when he needed it. He is not the best at taking care of himself, you know." She turns to look at Bill. "Thank you for not rejecting him when h-he left," she stutters, the memory still a painful pang in her chest.

He puts his hand on hers.

"He was a mess."

She nods knowingly, recalling all too much, how she was during those months on the hunt without him.

"And then he was gone and he came back with all those people and Harry and y-you." Bill coughs uneasily as he casts a glance at the tombstone in front of them. "And a dead elf. I had never been so scared."

Ron Apparates on the beach down below. He seems to always know where she is, or maybe it's just the Deluminator that never leaves his front pocket, always guiding him back to her. He looks up to where she sits with his brother as soon as he recognises his surroundings and is by their side within seconds. Bill stands and hugs him. She sees him mumble something quietly into Ron's ear. Ron's eyes bore into hers as he nods in understanding at his brother's words.

Bill leaves and Ron comes to sit behind her, his legs by her sides, his chest against her back and his hands encircling her waist. He immediately lays a kiss on her left temple and she can feel him breathing in deeply before releasing a shaky sigh when she relaxes against him.

They quietly watch the sun set onto the sea, allowing themselves once more to remember and grieve darker days.

...

"I love you and I'll see you down the aisle," she grins madly and kisses him three times before Disapparating back to her bedroom.

"May I dance with my daughter-in-law?" Arthur asks Ron, his smile wide and his eyes too bright.

"Of course," Ron answers heartily. He kisses Hermione lightly on the lips, before putting her soft hand in his father's calloused ones.

"My son looks deliriously happy," Arthur confesses as he leads her across the dance floor.

She feels a deep rush of pure affection for the man dancing with her, and hugs him spontaneously.

"You raised a good man Arthur," she whispers emotionally in his left ear.

She draws back, eyes are shining with happy tears and her face almost hurt from smiling so much thorough the day. Arthur is less composed than she is, and she brushes his tears earnestly.

"You've been part of this family long before this day, you know that don't you?" he enquires warmheartedly, his voice unsteady.

And like that, the tears she's managed to hold back since she first saw Ron down the aisle earlier that day, stream down her face, as she is flooded by too many emotions at once.

...

Hermione rolls her eyes.

They are walking out the Healer's office at St. Mungo's, Rose's sobs still receding after her monthly check up, when Ron receives a note requesting his presence at the Aurors Headquarters at once. He swears under his breath as Hermione throws him a disapproving look, her head tilting towards the still slightly hiccupping baby in her arms.

He kisses her goodbye, brushing the tears off Rose's plump face before dropping a soft kiss on the baby's forehead and leaves quickly.

Ginny gave birth to Albus a few days prior and Hermione is already mentally mapping out the way to get to her room and stop for a chat, the family day Ron and her had planned now cancelled. She sighs as she absentmindedly repositions Rose in her arms. The baby holds a piece of her mother's shirt tightly in her small fist, and sucks on it comfortingly.

She starts walking toward the maternity ward when she notices him.

"Cormac?" she asks slightly in shock as she recognises his St. Mungo's uniform.

"Granger?" he replies surprisingly.

"Actually, it's Weasley now," she gleefully corrects. "What are you doing here? Do you work at St. Mungo's? How come I've never seen you before?"

She mentally curses herself at her overflow of inquisitive questions.

He chuckles slightly and she smiles apologetically.

"I'm a Healer. I just got transferred from the elders ward. It's a nice change, to work with much younger patients," he answers patiently looking down at Rose, now asleep in Hermione's arms.

"This is my daughter, Rose," she informs him.

He nods sharply before chuckling again, his eyes ignited by a sudden realisation.

"Hermione Weasley, huh?" he asks amused.

She nods sheepishly.

"Ron Weasley, right? Unless you broke that poor bloke's heart and went after one of his numerous brothers," he inquires jokingly.

"No, it's Ron," she smiles sweetly, pondering when Cormac McLaggen changed from the arrogant teenager she once knew to the caring Healer standing in front of her.

A nurse calls him from across the hall, and he waves at her in acknowledgement.

"I guess I'll see you around then." He gestures towards the sleeping baby. "She is beautiful."

"Thank you," she shouts to his retreating form.

He turns around before entering his patient's room and winks suggestively at her.

Hermione smirks and rolls her eyes, oddly relieved to still see glimpses of the boy she knew before the war.

...

Soon, they will be four.

It's not the first time she sees him since the end of the war. It is though, the first time she sees him with his son. The two years old already has a stark resemblance to his father and is peacefully asleep on his father's shoulder.

She wears a short sleeved dress that tastefully shows her burgeoning stomach, her scars unhidden. Draco's eyes fall immediately on the one on her left forearm and he swallows uneasily. She raises her chin higher and greets him.

He nods curtly and greets her back.

"I guess congratulations are in order," he says nodding toward her stomach.

She absentmindedly brings her hand to her middle and thanks him politely.

Silence falls heavily between them.

She wants to tell him that she forgives him for being an easily influenced boy when they were younger, but she isn't sure she fully believes it. Some days, she wants to believe the mistakes people make don't define who they become and that people can truly change for the better. Other days, she is just too cynical and finds it hard to amend those who sided with dark magic and hurt so many innocent souls.

Draco opens his mouth to speak, but he seems to be rendered speechless, too conflicted by his inner turmoil.

She barely has time to register the tormented look Draco casts her before Ron arrives with Rosie.

Her sun kissed face and green summer dress are completely covered in chocolate ice cream, her little smile is bigger than ever. Ron is holding her, tickling her sides and the little girl is giggling shrilly, hardly trying to stop her father.

They are loud and messy, and Hermione can't stop her grinning.

This is her family.

Ron throws her a questioning glance when he sees her in company of Draco, but she merely shrugs in response.

Draco cautiously bids her goodbye, retreating down the alley, the little boy in his arms waking up and rubbing his eyes sleepily. Ron is now standing steadily next to Hermione, his right hand draped around her waist, the other one holding Rose strongly against his chest. Ron calls out to him and Draco turns back toward them.

"What's his name?"

"Scorpius."

Hermione raises an eyebrow in a silent interrogation at the origins of the unusual name he chose for his son.

"Astoria's grandfather," he shrugs humbly. "What's hers?" he adds quietly, his eyes falling on their daughter.

"Her name is Rose," Hermione tells him.

"Has she been doing magic?" he asks curiously.

"Of course," she exclaims defensively.

But she sees Draco's face fall as he realises her misunderstanding of his question.

"I- I wasn't saying- I mean-." He closes his eyes, cursing silently.

She watches him reposition his son on his chest and is surprised by the small grin he flashes them.

"I just meant," he says controllably, "that they will be probably going to Hogwarts the same year."

And suddenly she understands. Their children will be classmates, just as they were.

She hears Ron curse silently as he comes to the same realisation and throws him a disapproving look.

Second chances, she thinks fleetingly as Draco leaves, his son waving them goodbye. Now it'll be up to their children to grow in a less prejudiced world than the one they grew up in. Winning the war has never been this gratifying.

...

Now we live.

Ron is asleep in the chair that sits in the corner of her room, Rose napping on his chest, her heart shaped lips delicately open.

Hermione holds Hugo against her chest, marvelling at his tiny body and the long brown hair already covering his head. He too, is sleeping.

She is restless.

And exhausted.

She feels slightly delirious and possibly drunk with happiness. The hormones, she reasons, are probably to blame.

She has a son.

She remembers feeling that way when Rose was born, and she still catches herself looking at her daughter and being astonished when she recognises her own features on the child's delicate face, or when the little girl grins, exactly like her father. She wonders what Hugo will take from them. She wants to cry at the vast openness that is their children's future, when she wouldn't have bet on surviving her nineteenth birthday.

She hears a soft knock and the door of her room opens.

"I just- I heard the news and I wanted to stop by and congratulate you both," Lavender says humbly, her eyes scanning the room quickly before landing back on Hermione.

The new mother smiles tiredly at her.

"Come and have a seat," Hermione whispers, careful not to wake everyone.

Lavender obliges and sits down in the chair next to Hermione's bed, opposite Ron and Rose. She smiles sweetly at the tender sight of father and daughter asleep in the afternoon light. Hermione observes the witch next to her. She hasn't seen her in years and as she studies Lavender's scars on her face, Hermione wonders briefly if she ever conceals them anymore.

"They're adorable," Lavender says candidly, tearing Hermione out of her thoughts.

Hermione grins and nods wittingly.

Lavender smiles reverently, her gaze falling onto the little boy in Hermione's arms.

"Oh, Hermione, he is beautiful!" she declares, captivated.

Hermione doesn't even second guess her next choice of actions, as she hands the baby to Lavender, who looks at her astounded before encircling her arms protectively around the newborn.

Hermione watches Lavender cooing quietly to Hugo and sighs contentedly as a comfortable silence settles between the two witches.

"I knew," Lavender suddenly confesses, still looking at Hugo and Hermione raises her head questioningly.

"I knew then that he," she says, glancing at Ron for an instant, "was yours. But he was just so... so..."

"I know," Hermione says sincerely as she grabs her hand, all traces of past quarrels gone.

Lavender stands up and hands Hugo back to his mother.

"You have a beautiful family, Hermione," the woman tells her truthfully.

"Yeah?" Hermione asks solemnly, tearing her eyes from the infant in her arms to look at the witch nodding slightly in front of her.

"Thank you, Lavender."

The woman casts her a quick goodbye and leaves. Hermione is once again alone with her family. She sighs deeply, emotions overwhelming her anew.

"You can stop pretending you're still asleep you know," she states at the silent room.

"Me? Huh? What? Who was that?" Ron inquires as he feigns waking up.

Hermione throws him an all too knowing glance, telling him that he doesn't fool her for an instant and that he heard every single words of her conversation with Lavender.

He casts her a half contrite look, his hand weaving delicately through Rose's soft curls.

"I'm adorable," he grins gleefully. "Did you know?"

She sighs and rolls her eyes mirthfully.

"You're infuriating."

"And you love it," he replies, moving his eyebrows suggestively.

She can't stop her smile.