Folie a Deux

Folie a deux


Chapter 1

When I look back now to think on it, try to summon up the exact point when I lost myself before dragging Harry down with me into the madness, I always go a bit further into the past each time, realizing with every memory that the beginning of it all had been beginning for a while, like a patchwork quilt that had started stitching pieces together when we’d all first met until it had grown big enough to wrap around the three of us three times over. Was the beginning of Harry and me during our hunt for Riddle’s fragmented soul? When I felt his hopelessness tug at me and I instinctively wanted to burrow inside of him, to turn him back to the Harry that was full of boldness and bravado to see us through? Or was it when I first came up against his dangerous moods, at the onset of puberty, noticing how they simultaneously thrilled and terrified me? Ron could be maddening but he was easy, I knew the game we played before I even knew the rules. But Harry was always a hard case for me, a virtual minefield, and learning how to navigate his spastic fits of brooding and rage, yet still aiming to keep the best of Harry shining brilliantly was a task I took to heart. I felt that he needed me, most. Back when we were awkward kids, I developed a fondness for Ron, a bloody crush that never seemed to go away and turned into something quite surprising, but I always believed in Harry. I had conviction in his strengths, in his abilities, in his talent. Perhaps it had really begun all the way back when we were those little brats trying to battle an evil whisper down in the secret rooms of the castle and I told Harry then, told him he was a great wizard. Was there something inside of me that wished for him to put his arms around me, even then, and show me what to do, tell me that he had it all figured out and that as clever as I was, he would always be there to push me to greater heights, to challenge me, to make me become this confident girl I never would have believed possible had he not been there to help shape my transformation? Could the seeds to our ruin have really been planted so far back?


Or perhaps it just started the night of that fateful dinner when Harry and Ginny told us they were splitting up.


That event certainly set the stage for the obvious beginning. But first…well, first I have to begin with my story, don’t I? It’s not going to be pretty, but you have to understand where my threads had already begun to come apart at the seams. I was a woman on the ropes and floundering badly. I suppose Rose was about four months, at the time. That period is all a bit of a blur for me, so it’s hard to recall exactly. I was still feeling run down, I hadn’t quite managed to shake off the post-partum blues that my mother was insisting had settled into my recovery. The pregnancy had been a breeze; no problems throughout nor anything that would portend my looming failure. I was so excited at the prospect of being a new mother, excited enough for us both, really, hoping Ron would get more enthusiastic once the baby had arrived. I knew he was just nervous about becoming a dad, and I would assure him every day, whether in words, smiles, or extra pancakes, that he was going to be wonderful at it. And I was right. Ron is just a joy with the children. How ironic it was then, that I was the one who faltered—me, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age (oh, how I grew to hate that title)—losing her grip when faced with what every other woman in the universe seemed to be able to handle just fine: motherhood. Even with no less a figure than Molly Weasley breathing down my neck, the Supermum of us all. Not that I didn’t think my own mother was worthy enough to emulate; she was and I did, but with a new Weasley being born, it was a foregone conclusion that Molly would be at the house every day after the birth for at least the first fortnight.


Initially, it had been a godsend having her there. I was so tired that I just couldn’t seem to get the hang of things. Molly was terribly patient with me and my crying jags for every feeding that I wasn’t able to quell the torrent of fury coming from that miniature tyrant. Poor Rose didn’t take to my breast very easily, she was quite fussy and I’d practically have to wrestle her to get a nipple in her mouth. I felt horrible about it, too, thinking there was something wrong with my breast milk or I was somehow doing it incorrectly, even after Molly and the nurses had attempted to assuage my guilt with their gentle coos that I was fine. I’d only read a few dozen books on childrearing in preparation and here I was proving to be useless before I’d barely gotten out of the gate. It was completely dispiriting. Both Molly and my mum would tell me that I needed to relax more; the baby was sensing my anxiety and was reacting to it. Wonderful, I thought—so it is my fault. What was I supposed to do? I felt caught in a spiral knowing that my emotional state was affecting Rose, yet the very fact making it impossible for me to calm down. I was failing. Hermione Granger was failing and I didn’t know how to fix it. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, I’d been running an entire department only a few months before and yet suddenly, I couldn’t manage one colicky infant? The mind boggles.


Ron did his best to help me, and I was grateful to him for it, but you would never have realized it at the time. Rose hadn’t been home but a month and already I was snapping at my husband the minute he walked through the Floo. By the end of the second, I didn’t care about how the house looked, I didn’t care what we ate, I didn’t want to do a bloody thing. I was exhausted. This tiny vampire was sucking the life out of me and still she would cry as though I were denying her the very air she needed to live. There were days where the baby would carry on for hours, with me unsuccessfully trying to appease her every way I could think of before resorting to burying my head under a pillow and willing her into silence through my tears. I’d get so distraught that I’d Firecall Ron in shrieking hysterics, demanding he come home straight away to help me with her before I went completely mental.


After I’d done that a few times, Molly’s visits became a tense affair. While she tidied up my house, even doing Ron’s laundry to add insult to injury, her tone with me turned critical, exasperation with my feeble skills evident in every sigh or a harsh, not like that, dear. It only made me more depressed and soon I had created a list of excuses to keep her away. Ron began giving me this look when he came home, especially if Rose was crying up in her room while I was down in the kitchen having another cup of coffee, the sink overflowing with dishes and supper not even started. He was worried, that much I could tell, and probably confused, but he didn’t discuss the issue with me directly. Instead, he would go up to the baby’s room to soothe her and then quietly come back to the kitchen with Rose usually asleep, her face squished into his shoulder with that plump mouth of hers still downturned, like she didn’t want me to forget that she was still sodding pissed. It drove me absolutely barmy that he could get her to sleep better than I could, the prat. He’d ask me mundane questions about my day while he used his wand to get the ingredients for spaghetti or a pot roast together and tears would roll down my cheeks as I attempted to play along at prosaic conversation. What a maudlin mess I had become. It felt as though my very being was dripping away like the milk from my breasts that tended to soak through my bra and disheveled blouse every time I got upset. Ron didn’t have any clue what to do with me, but after an evening like that, Ginny would suddenly arrive the next day for an impromptu get-together.


Ginny’s approach was a lot less stifling than her mother’s, and I did welcome the company, but still, it was hard not to compare myself to my old friend. She and Harry made the perfect family picture with James in tow, especially with her now sporting a swollen belly to announce another little Potter—Coming Soon!—like their children were sequels to a blockbuster film. The Daily Prophet was forever trying to get snapshots of the three of them shopping in Diagon Alley, or leaving a restaurant; Harry holding his son in his arms looking so startlingly handsome in his stability—the Wizarding world couldn’t get enough of them, apparently. They were like royalty, and Ginny made motherhood look glamorous the way she was always so gorgeously radiant in her fecundity. You could never tell when she was tired, she seemed unflappable. James was such a handful, too, even at a year old. He was a slippery eel every time I tried to pick him up, but he gripped his father’s leg as if he were holding on to a redwood to keep him from falling over. Harry would laugh and whoop as he picked James up to toss him around like a doll, the child screeching in his glee. They were amazing to watch together, but instead of providing a reassuring image for me, I felt like Ron and I would never measure up as parents. We didn’t have that same glow that Harry and Ginny did, like everything they touched couldn’t help but be wonderful.


I’m sounding jealous, aren’t I? But it wasn’t really that way, I was just being overly sensitive, I suppose. Ginny hadn’t had any troubles following James’ birth, and looked to be doing just fine in her second round. When she would come to see me, I’d feel dirty and grubby next to her, ashamed at how much I’d let go of myself and my home. The first time Ron had prompted her into coming, she’d been full of encouragement and advice, telling me how I just needed to get used to the baby’s schedule as she waved her wand over the dishes to get them zooming back in the cupboards, explaining that I’d eventually start feeling more like myself as my body recovered. It had helped a bit, even though the buoy from her pep talk would sink the next day. Ginny was Ginny and she brightened my kitchen just by her very presence. But by her last visit, perhaps a week or two before the shattering dinner in which they shocked Ron and me to hell, I could finally make out some signs of strain. Her face was tight as she spoke to me, lines drawn on the side of her mouth, and her suggestions falling from her lips as though she wasn’t terribly concerned if I followed them or not. She was distracted, that much was obvious, but when I tried to glean the reason for it, she brushed it off and turned on a fake cheer.

“Oh, it’s nothing; it’s just, well, look at me. I’m huge already and I’m only in my second trimester. Harry is convinced it’s another boy. He’s got the name picked out already,” she claimed with a roll of her eyes. “And it’s as predictable as the last one.”

“Don’t tell me. Remus Albus?” I guessed. She had smirked, but her hands gripped her skirt so hard her knuckles had gone pale.

“Close, but no cigar,” she remarked in a dull voice. “Albus Severus. Poor kid.”


I was a bit surprised. Albus, I could see, but I hadn’t realized that Harry had forgiven Snape so deeply as to saddle his own child with the memorial of such a dark figure. Honestly, I didn’t quite understand Harry’s change of heart. Snape had been a vile person in life, regardless of his discovered heroics under Voldemort’s rule; I just didn’t fixate on the man as much as Harry did when we were kids. Yes, I know, his life was in constant danger as he walked the tightrope of a double spy, and we were all very fortunate that he turned out to be on our side, but still, I hated how that bastard used to taunt me in class. He was the only teacher who ever gave me less than stellar marks. Sitting there in my living room, I recalled how he used to butcher my essays with red ink, my lip curling at the thought of it.


“Well, surely you have some say in this, Ginny. Can’t you and Harry come to a compromise? Where’s your side of the family and your mentors represented in all this naming of progeny?” It seemed a little unfair of him. Ginny’s dry bark was too loud and she coolly brushed her hair back from her face to collect herself before speaking again, not even looking towards me.

“Harry gets his way, usually, one way or another.” She spoke quietly as she straightened the folds in her pleated skirt. Then she looked at me dead-on with a fire blazing in her eyes. “I’m getting a bit tired of it, to be honest.” But she had offered no more on the matter and I nervously laughed it off with chatter about the downside of him being the Chosen One, and all.

My curiosity had been piqued, however, and I let our conversation stray into topics that we normally didn’t discuss. Namely sex. I bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t been up to a shag since before the baby was born. Ron and I had been happy to keep at it up until my water broke, practically, but since I’d been home, sex was the last thing I wanted to deal with. In the back of my mind, though, there were pulsing spots in my body telling me I still wanted that comfort, I just couldn’t seem to get myself up for it. Feeling a bit bold, I asked her how long it had been after James arrived before she and Harry were able to be intimate again.

“Are you joking?” she cracked. “Harry can’t even manage an entire week going without before he becomes a moody git. I’d say it was two days out before he was begging for it.” She waved over her stomach. “Not like he left me a lot of time to get used to my normal body, either, before he was filling me up again. Merlin, at this rate, I’m going to bloody end up like my mother.”

I’d felt a bit tingly hearing her complain about Harry’s supposedly high sex-drive. I’d never really considered that Harry might be kind of an animal in bed, but the thought of it made me squirm in my seat. Her sly implication that it hadn’t been her idea to have another baby so soon was not lost on me, either. I had coughed into my hand and went to take a sip of tea to hide the blush in my cheeks. When I felt I had regained my composure enough, I commented in a high-pitched awe, trying to inject some humour into the revelation.

“Really? Begging? Do tell, Ginny. I never figured Harry for a sexual deviant,” I’d laughed in the most superficial way imaginable, but the images in my head had sent my pulse racing.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she had stated tersely, starting to look uncomfortable.

Moments later, Ginny had suddenly remembered she had to get James from her mother’s as the time drew nearer to dinner. She’d had a few more errands to run and wanted to make sure they were both home in time for Harry’s return from work. I had noticed more and more how Ginny acted very much like the subservient wife on occasion, which was not at all a part of her personality. Marriage had most definitely changed her. She had given up a promising career in Quidditch because Harry had wanted to start a family as soon as he was settled in at the Ministry. I didn’t raise an eyebrow over their decisions too much, usually getting the news from Harry whenever he would come over to spend an afternoon with Ron and me. I realize now that we often saw things from his side of it, never questioning how Ginny felt about the changes in their lives because Harry tended to talk in couplespeak. We were all adults now, but the three of us were still as tightly wound together as ever, and I wondered if there had been times when we unwittingly caused Ginny to feel like an outsider. As much as I loved Ginny as part of my family, the truth of it was that I wasn’t as close to her as I was to her husband.


Unfortunately, her husband had become another stone in my wall of depression. I no longer got to see Harry very often now that I wasn’t working in the same building with him. There weren’t any more daily lunch breaks to look forward to. In point of fact, there had only been a handful of visits from Harry since Rose had been born, and one party at the Burrow that I had barely spent an hour at before begging Ron to take us home. I knew without even interrogating my husband that he was giving Harry an earful while they were at work, so there was no doubt in my mind that my best friend was afraid to come over and see me as the emotional wreck I was sure Ron had painted. Of course, I was an emotional wreck, and it certainly didn’t help to have people talking about me behind my back, yet somehow, I had pinned my hopes on Harry cutting through the bullshit and telling me to get on with it. When Harry took charge of a situation, I had come to expect results, and so I kept waiting for him to intervene, to bang on my door and demand I dig out of this black hole I had crawled into. I had watched my friend grow up from a shy, reserved boy to one of the stars of the MLE, the best Auror in the department, who strode into a room looking every bit the decorated war hero that he was, and I needed that Harry around. I loved Ron, I really did, but he still tended to defer to me when it came to weighty matters, as much as we might bicker about everything else, and I wanted someone who didn’t just argue with me frivolously, but would stand up to me, who wasn’t afraid to kick my arse a bit.

Metaphorically, that is.

Well, that’s what I thought at the time, at any rate. I hadn’t yet discovered how close to the truth that sentiment bloomed.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let’s get back to the lead-up to this dinner I keep referring to. That night, after Ginny and I had such a revealing little chat, I had mentioned to Ron how his sister was looking a bit stressed, lately, and that got us talking about the state of Harry and Ginny’s marriage, which I suppose was a good way to not have to talk about our own. He noted that Harry had been tense, as well, his temper quick to ignite at work in the last month. Ron candidly brought up that Harry had started taking long lunches when he seemed most agitated, but would often come back in a much better frame of mind, his nature laidback. It had been easy to assume Harry’s irritability was work-related; the case they were on had been a difficult one, after all. But with Ginny acting funny, we were both suddenly concerned that Harry might be having an affair. It seemed like such a mad notion—this was Harry we were talking about. Ron and I sort of danced around the idea, but it hung there in the room like that creepy Veil from the Department of Mysteries, sweeping over us both to leave gooseflesh in its wake. I had a hard time imagining it, myself. Harry adored Ginny, anybody could see that.

“Has he said anything, though, that would make you believe Harry is…straying? Surely, he would drop hints if he and Ginny were having problems?”

“’Mione, you know that’s not how it works. Gin might complain about Harry’s moods every now and again, but she’s been kind of quiet lately. I thought everything was good. She’d probably say something to George, though, if she thought Harry’s eye was roving; those two are like bread and butter. Harry might tell me about most everything else, but Gin has always been off-limits, except for in generalities, you know, like…well, like when we’re bitching about you girls and how blokes are so much simpler. In only the most affectionate way, though,” he quickly added as he watched my expression go stern.


But he was right about the system that we’d all developed over time. Harry was still not one to talk about his troubles or his feelings much. Ron and I had learned to play him from both sides when he was in a funk. His brooding had toned down significantly since he was a teenager, but when he was trying to hide something that was clearly bothering him, we’d both figured out how to read the signs and ask the right questions. If it was anything regarding women, Harry usually ended up soliciting my advice, but he hadn’t really discussed Ginny with me since his fears during her pregnancy with James. Bad stuff from the war that was haunting him would usually come out if Ron and I both tag-teamed him with some after-dinner Firewhiskey at our place. Marriage issues, however, had not been broached, yet. They looked blissfully happy whenever we saw them together. We had come to assume that there were no problems at the Potter home, whatsoever, other than the basic gripes we all had to deal with now and again.


Lately, it had seemed that Harry was getting the brunt of our whinging dynamic, as he was inevitably caught between me and Ron. Every time the two of us had a big row about something, Harry would have to hear about it twice over the next day. We knew he hated it, but he had resigned himself to being mediator for us and we loved him for it. With our first child on the way, we had been a sack of nerves, and he’d become a guide for us both, in our respective venues for chats. It was part of the reason I missed him so much now. I’d been having a right miserable time of it, and I didn’t have him to talk to the way I’d grown accustomed to at every midday break or Saturday afternoon.


Ron and I had speculated about the health of their relationship on into the late hours until he stood up and stretched his body toward the ceiling in a long sigh, turning to me with a crook of a smile and asking if I was ready for bed. I followed him up, but my brain was not quite ready to turn in for the night, so as we slipped under the covers, I made sure to grasp the edge of my pillow like a life preserver, dragging my body away from his as a hand reached for my waist in a halfhearted gesture. It fell away as my back filled up his view, while I scanned the wall back and forth, our conversation and musings on Harry stamping behind my eyes like words pressed onto white paper in a typewriter. All that evening, I’d suddenly felt like there was something happening with Harry and that he’d left me small clues in an invitation. I thought about our last meeting together, when it had just been the two of us sitting out back in my tiny garden watching butterflies flitter over the azaleas Ron had planted when we’d first bought the house. Scouring the memory diligently for any small sign, any flinch or awkward wink, some stilted movements from him as we nattered on about family or personal things, I imagined that there had been something going on in his eyes, a dark shadow in those green points, and that I’d been too wrapped up in avoiding talk about my own pathos to notice. Had there been just the slightest pause when I’d asked him how Ginny was doing? I convinced myself there was and chastised myself for not picking up on it.


I didn’t have to dwell on it long, however, for the next night, Ron came home with news that Harry and Ginny had invited us over for dinner that upcoming Friday and that arrangements had been made for Molly and Arthur to come to our house to watch Rose. Instead of being thrilled about the chance to spend a night with adults, I got nervous, thinking they might have some sort of intervention planned for me or, at the very least, that everyone’s attention would be focused on how I was faring. It was a bit of a wake up, though, having to reflect on just how removed I was from them all if I was getting this paranoid about my loved ones giving me a lecture for being a bad mother. Nevertheless, I couldn’t sleep at all, and I felt jittery all day, which certainly didn’t help soothe Rose in any way, until Friday finally rolled around a few days later.


Normally, I loved going over to their house. Harry rebuilt his parent’s home in Godric’s Hollow with a wizarding construction team and both he and Ginny had done an amazing job with the finish. It was such a bright, cheery home, the complete antithesis to the dour and dim 12, Grimmauld Place, which Harry was currently renting out to Dean Thomas and his girlfriend. The new dining room had been completed with French doors that opened onto a beautiful patio which in turn swept into a garden crammed with so many varieties of botanical splendor that it was like stepping into an arboretum. Neville had designed and planted the landscaping, as a wedding present we were all told, but I suspect there was also something of a tribute in the gesture. Nevertheless, he’d created such a glorious haven that every summer since the four of us would spend countless nights and afternoons out there. I missed it.


When we arrived, I’d felt a fluttering in my stomach, a reaction that had perplexed me at that moment, like it was more than a mere case of nerves. It was just Harry and Ginny, I had to keep repeating to myself. Ron had encouraged me to dress up a bit, to put some effort into it, I expect. I know my appearance around the house had gone to shit, favoring my track pants and dingy tee-shirts that I’d stolen from Ron, but I did as he asked and put on a light summer dress, one that I’d had to dig out of the back of my closet, and some low-heeled wedges. My dress hung a bit limply around my hips, I noticed, when I assessed myself in the mirror. I had already shed all of the baby fat from the pregnancy, and I had kept on going. My weight was at its lowest since my sixth year at Hogwarts, unbelievably enough. My tits had deflated some since giving birth, yet they were still alright, but the rest of me looked waifish, practically. Food was not that interesting to me, anymore, I had found, and I only ate what I needed to keep Rose healthy. Well, I was going to have to eat something tonight if I didn’t want to draw any negative attention to myself. I was still worried that they were going to gang up on me, and I kept giving Ron sidelong glances looking for any signs of deception. But then he was ringing their doorbell and Ginny appeared in front of us all smiles. A little too forcefully, I thought, before chiding myself for being so bloody suspicious of everyone.


As soon as I was inside the house I heard Harry calling my name. Turning in time to see him bound into the sitting room with a big grin on his face, I was swept up the next second into a fierce hug, and my chest hurt so badly I wanted to cry. God, it felt so good to hold him like that again. Suddenly, it was like I hadn’t seen Harry in years, and I held him back just as tightly, not wanting to let go when he started to back away, but I’d pulled myself together quickly before I could make a fool of myself.

“Hermione, you look fantastic. I’m so glad you came.” He brushed back some of the curls off my face with such tenderness, that once again that tightness seized up in my bosom and I had some difficulty breathing.

“Doesn’t she, though? I’m so jealous, Hermione, you dropped off the weight in record time. I’d been having such a hard go of it, and then, lo and behold, I’m back to fattening up for number two. Enjoy your svelte figure while you can, girl.”

Harry’s smile waned slightly as he looked at Ginny with a curious expression. He appeared ready to say something to her, but then thought better of it with a shake of his head, turning to me and Ron, instead, and coaxing us into the kitchen for drinks. It was still warm out, so he and Ron were quick to open a beer, but since I was still breastfeeding, Ginny and I both settled for a mock cocktail. They had the back doors opened and the patio lit, just as I had hoped, and Harry explained that he’d cast a shielding spell to keep the bugs out of the house. The three of us sat outside for a bit and caught me up while Ginny got the last of dinner finished. The smells wafting from the oven were lovely, and I felt hungry all off a sudden, despite my earlier disinterest. I suspected it had something to do with the little bubble of cheer that had settled inside of me and was expanding throughout the rest of my body that had renewed my appetite. I reached over to knit my fingers into Harry’s hand as we lazed back in his deck chairs, listening to him contentedly as he talked about how mad things were at work. It was sort of surprising to realize just how much pressure he and Ron were under right now; Ron had barely mentioned the troubles in his department, at all. Then the talk invariably turned to Quidditch and I zoned out a bit as I watched my boys natter on with such animated faces, their arms and hands gesticulating all around as they reviewed the last game. It was good to see Ron looking so relaxed and obviously enjoying himself. It made me realize just how much he’d absorbed my moods at home, tiptoeing around so that he wouldn’t upset me, accidentally. I really was ghastly, wasn’t I? Look at what I’d reduced my poor husband to. I had resolved right then to try a little harder at being a better wife, never imagining the irony that would soon mock that promise.


Harry brought up that he’d recently seen Cormac McLaggen at a party, he was playing Quidditch professionally now for the Falmouth Falcons, and they’d had a few laughs recalling the trials for the Gryffindor team in the Hogwarts days. He looked me over and gave me a cheeky grin and a wink when he recounted how he’d told Cormac that while he might have known McLaggen was the better player at the time, that Ron had still won his spot on the team, rightfully. The fact that Cormac had gone on to success as a Chaser was amusing to me; he’d certainly known how to go after what he wanted. We talked more about our Hogwarts days, recalling old friends we hadn’t seen in years, or who’d perished in the war, and by the time Ginny had called us to the dining room, I’d felt an inner glow warming me up. I almost floated to the table I was so buoyant. Harry pulled my chair out for me as Ron followed us in, but in a strange move, Ginny stood stiffly by hers, staring at Harry pointedly until he noticed her and ran over to help her in her seat, too. As he pushed her closer to the table, he ran a hand over her hair, but she pulled away from him with a jerky motion of her head as she reached for a serving bowl. It was so blatant that I immediately felt a burn in my cheeks, looking over to Ron to see if he’d noticed the interaction. He was watching them with some puzzlement, too, before diverting his glance to his drink, grabbing the base of his glass to take a deep swig.


During the meal, the three of us kept up our prattling while Ginny remained subdued, only adding to the conversation when one of us made a point of asking her a question. I praised her culinary talents enough times that it was becoming embarrassing, even with the boys heartily chiming in, but Ginny merely gave us all patronizing smiles every instance, as though she didn’t buy our sincerity. Yet, barring Ginny’s odd demeanor, I was feeling really happy. Just getting a break from Rose was helping to lighten my frame of mind enormously, and being enveloped by the boys’ infectious spirits was like stepping through a waterfall of champagne, the effervescence washing away that grimy film of despair that had been stuck to me for months. Towards the end of dinner, I was actually giggling; one might have thought I was guzzling down the Guinness as eagerly as Ron and Harry. There was that winding down of gaiety as our full stomachs rendered us listless, the gaps in the gossip preceded by descending sighs. Then Ginny abruptly stood up and began clearing the plates away, somewhat intensely. I offered to help, but she shooshed me away to the living room with the boys, telling us she’d bring out some dessert with the coffee in a short while.


As Ron and I got comfortable on the settee, I noticed Harry’s expression turn apprehensive for the first time that night, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared off into space. He started tapping his foot in distraction as we listened to the clinking of dishes and water running in the kitchen. Ron cleared his throat in the silence and Harry’s face sprang into that big smile again, only this round, not so genuine.


“So, how’s Rose been doing? Is she sleeping better now that you’ve changed her afternoon schedule? Or should I say, are you two sleeping any better?” Harry asked out of the blue.

I glanced at Ron in some surprise. For some reason, I hadn’t expected that he and Harry would have discussions about babies and their sleep patterns, but I suddenly felt like I hadn’t credited Ron for being a present father. But of course he was. He spent almost as much time as me taking care of her, and he had to work a grueling job, besides. The returning ebb of guilt left my skin flushed as I answered Harry. Rose was still having spotty nights which had done nothing to improve my disposition, but I told Harry she was getting better.

“I wish I could have seen James before you put him to bed. He looked huge the last time I saw him; I can’t believe he’s a year already. He must be eager for his baby brother or sister to arrive,” I declared.

“Oh, well, he doesn’t quite understand it all, but he knows something’s up. He loves to fall asleep on Ginny’s belly. I think listening to the baby’s heartbeat zonks him out. He’ll point to her stomach and say ‘mama’. But then, he points to Mr. Quibbles and says, ‘mama’, too.”

Ron laughed.

“Uh, Mr. Quibbles? That a friend of yours, Harry?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but his tone was sheepish. “It’s the stuffed dog that’s become Jamie’s constant companion. He drags it everywhere. Just you wait, Ron, till your daughter makes you come up with silly names that you’re forced to use in every day conversation.”

“Oh, right; speaking of silly names, did you happen to turn in that report on Biddingbottom to Shacklebolt before you left? They’re supposed to be transferring him to Azkaban tomorrow.”

Harry’s face went stormy for a second, but then he nodded his head emphatically.

“Of course I did, Weasley, do you think I’d forget? Shacklebolt would have had my arse if I’d been remiss. All the ducks are lined up in a row. That piece of shit won’t be walking free anytime soon.”


I’d followed the case in the papers along with everyone else, but Ron had provided more of the despicable background information, as well. Gerald Biddingbottom was a well-to-do businessman who had decided to run a kidnapping ring during Voldemort’s brief stranglehold on the country. The man had aligned himself with the Death Eater cause, though apparently he hadn’t been important enough for the Mark. His operation consisted of using his thugs-for-hire to snatch the children of the Muggleborns being sequestered for authentication at the Ministry, and then selling the poor souls into prostitution. Some of those children had been as young as six or seven, being carted off to Death Eater homes never to be heard from again until the events after the War had sent those black-hearted men into hiding. The children were being discovered for months, some near death after they’d been abandoned in cages with no food left for them. It was an absolutely horrific story, vile tales of ‘parties’ being held in their Dark Lord’s honour, in which these lost lambs were offered as the evening’s entertainment, some even being tortured on display. I’d had to take several baths after I’d first heard about it, my sleepless nights worsened by the imagined sounds of them screaming for their parents. Dredging up images of someone doing something so foul and inhuman to my baby, my child, had made me sick to my stomach. It had shaken Ron up, too, having been on the arrest with Harry. He hadn’t told me a thing when they’d been tracking the monster, but once they’d caught him, he’d come home completely undone by the evidence they’d found at the man’s home.

Imagining, upon their reminder, what Biddingbottom would have been enduring if he'd had the Dementors as his permanent hosts, I shuddered dramatically. I brushed the dark thoughts away, not wanting my happy bubble popped so soon. Ron had put a warm hand to my back and asked if I’d wanted my cardigan to wrap myself in.

“I just don’t want to hear about that awful man, anymore. Can we talk about something else, please? I’m a little bit sensitive to news stories about child rapists these days.”

I hadn’t meant for it to come out so rudely, and I winced at the harshness in my tone, but both Harry and Ron looked instantly guilty over their shop talk.

“You’re right, Hermione, it’s not really appropriate conversation, sorry,” Harry said before glancing to my husband. “We’re just a bit snowed under by Death Eaters, at the moment. We’ve had six arrests in the last month, and I’ve got two trials I have to testify at in the next few weeks. They’ve really been coming out of the woodwork, lately.”

I shook my head sadly. Sometimes, it seemed as if there were no end to them, the many followers Voldemort had hiding behind their masks. I was glad on most days that I’d decided to take the Ministry’s offer to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures instead of being a solicitor in Law Enforcement like I’d originally planned. In less than five years, I had managed to position myself directly under the head of the department while leading the Legal Rights division, and I’d been tapped by my boss to be his successor when he was ready to move on. Championing the rights of house elves and Hippogriphs was much more satisfying than defending the loathsome criminals Harry and Ron came in contact with every day. Of course, I could have worked for the prosecution, but at the time I’d made my choice, I had wanted something to take me away from the memory of violence.

Ron was busy grumbling, breaking up my musings.


“Well, it’s not so much the ones we’re catching up with now that really boil my bollocks, but the ones that are out already, like Lucius Malfoy. Didn’t spend a whole lot of time locked up, did he? Although I suppose it’s a small consolation that he’s in financial ruin, right now. Narcissa sure took him for a cleaning. That woman finally got smart—splitting from that git, helping Harry out when it counted.”

“Ron, you really need to get over your obsession with the Malfoys, you’re as bad as Harry,” Ginny interrupted, as she made her way into the room bearing a tray of coffees, with plates of cake following her in a single file. “It’s not like Lucius was personally responsible for the murder and mayhem that went on. Other than his attack on us at the Ministry back in fourth year, he mostly played host to the nutter. His sentence was more about finishing his prior term before the breakout. And Narcissa is still a total bitch, by the way, though she’s not nearly as strong as you’d think.”

I noticed her dart a hard look at Harry, who suddenly began a coughing fit, his face reddening with the exertion but appearing to avoid the gaze of his wife as he stood up to take the tray from her and set it on the coffee table, all while he heartily agreed with Ron, not letting me get a word in as I tried to ask Ginny what she meant by that.

“It’s a travesty, for sure, but I expected as much from the older, wealthier families; buying their way out of lengthy sentences. I’d say they get what amounts to a slap on the wrist, but any time in Azkaban is hardly a walk in the park. Besides, the maximum monetary penalties they’ve incurred are basically funding reparations from the war. Now, that was a smart bit of thinking from the Wizengamot,” he rushed.


I’d grabbed the plate hovering in front of me, taking a firm hold on the fork as I set it on my lap, but I’d been studying Harry closely, noticing how he had immediately veered the conversation away from the Malfoys. I had been all ready to jump into a discussion about the legal ramifications of the newest law passed for those convicted of Death Eater involvement without the more serious crimes committed, because I certainly had plenty to say on the matter, but as Ginny made to sit between us and Harry in the comfy looking chair at the end of the table I felt a tense shudder pass through the room. There was definitely something going on between them, but I couldn’t work out the cause. My thoughts went back to the talk I’d had with Ron about them the other night as everyone stirred their coffees or started on the cake.

“Is there something wrong?” I blurted out, feeling immediately foolish but impatient to clear away any issues, nonetheless. But both Harry and Ginny looked suddenly trapped, Harry’s eyes appearing to magnify under those glasses while Ginny’s head had whipped in my direction, her mouth slightly open.

“What—why—why would you say that?” Harry had struggled to get out, quite concerned by my insight. It was apparent to me right then; they were having problems. I couldn’t believe it.

“Well, you’ve both been quite tense this evening. I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us. Did you have a row before we came over or something?”

They had both looked to each other with grim expressions but said nothing for a few beats until Harry cast his eyes to his knees and started fidgeting nervously. Ginny seemed resigned to being the one to provide an explanation and she had tucked a few long, copper locks behind her ear as she regarded Ron and me. He hadn’t said a word but was watching them as intently as I was.

“We…um…asked you over tonight for more than just supper. Harry and I have come to a decision about something and we need to tell you what’s about to change in the very near future. It’s been…well, it’s been difficult for us these last few months.”

Harry’s knee was bouncing up and down at breakneck speed by that point, but he wouldn’t look at us. I felt a sharp knot twist in my gut and I had instinctively grabbed Ron’s hand lying beside mine.

“Oh my God, what is it? Has something happened? What decision?”

My anxiety spilled out of me the way Ron had vomited those slugs back in second year. For a moment, I was terrified that something was wrong with the baby, but it had seemed more like Ginny and Harry were angry at each other.

“Bloody hell, you’re not getting a divorce, are you?”

Ron sounded gruff as he shrewdly questioned them. I couldn’t help but feel gobsmacked by the possibility. Yet, I saw the hurt flash across Harry’s face an instant before he turned to study the wall, away from us, shaking his head in a fierce denial.

“No. No, of course not, we’re not ready to—I mean,” he finally looked to us, his expression resolute, “it’s just a trial separation, Ron. Gin and I need to figure some things out and it seemed better for all if we did it away from each other for a period.”

“Well, considering my sister is six months pregnant, Harry, I would hope that the two of you can ‘figure something out’ pretty bloody soon. Or did you forget about that part? And how exactly is this better for James?”

My annoyance with Ron’s insensitive attitude shot to my face and I glared back at him in warning. Ginny followed suit.

“Ron, stop being an arse. We’re both well aware of what’s at stake, here, and the surrounding circumstances; we don’t need you to remind us. It’s been bloody hell arriving at this point, if you’d bothered to ask. This just seemed like the best solution for right now. Believe me, neither one of us is relishing the idea of a divorce.”

“So, what’s the problem, then? You both always look so bleeding over the moon with each other it’s almost gag-inducing most days. When did things start getting ‘difficult’?”

“That’s none of your fucking business, alright?” she’d growled.


Harry had put his hand to her arm. “Gin,” was all he said and she seemed to calm down a fraction. That Weasley short temper was on full display and the thick mood in the room was only making me more upset with every passing second. I’d had this sudden strange feeling like their news had somehow been my fault, as though my wretched depression had infected them in some way, or at the very least, had preoccupied me enough that I’d become a useless and inattentive friend. I hadn’t been there to help them fix this and now their relationship was hanging in the balance, a concept I couldn’t seem to get past.

“What are you going to do, then? Harry, are you moving out?” I winced to hear myself so shrill.

He’d rubbed furiously at his scar in distraction when he answered me, although it seemed to be more of a habitual tic than anything.

“Yeah, Dean and Sarah are going abroad for the next month but they were planning on moving out when they got back, anyway. I told them I’d put their stuff in storage till they were ready for it, so I’ll be at Grimmauld during all this.” He looked so forlorn when he stared back at me and Ron, and for a brief moment I could see eleven year-old Harry leaving Hogwarts to get on the Express, waiting to be taken back to the Dursleys.

“Look, we’re committed to making this as normal as possible for Jamie. I’ll be here every day for supper; I’ll just be sleeping somewhere else. And he’ll be spending every other weekend with me at Grimmauld, or whenever Ginny needs some time for herself, so it’s not like he won’t have both of us there when he needs us.”

Ron still looked quite cross as he eyed Harry while speaking to his sister.
“When are you telling Mum and Dad? You’re not planning on laying this on them at the family brunch, are you?”

The Weasley brunch happened at least once a month at the Burrow, usually on a Sunday and sometimes more often, but we’d had one coming up just that weekend. I had been hoping that Ron and I could cancel, but now it seemed that we’d have to be there for moral support. I couldn’t imagine Molly Weasley dealing with this development very well.

“Well, I think Dad might suspect an announcement is coming. George opened his big, fat mouth and let something slip last week when Dad came to the shop. But we’re planning on telling them tomorrow when we go over.”

“You two told George about this a week before you told us?” Ron blasted Ginny accusingly.

Harry shot a dire glance at her, too.
“We didn’t tell George a thing. I expect he’s been hearing about the entire ordeal as it’s unfolded. I already got a really unpleasant visit from your brother at work. It was right after the Yaxley bust, too.”

It was then that I felt really shitty, realizing that Ron was right and that George had become more of a confidant to Ginny than I would ever be. She obviously hadn’t felt that she could come to me about problems with Harry. Ron was irked with his sister, however.

“Shit, Gin, what the hell? That was a foul job, arresting that prick. We lost a man in that ambush; what a rubbish time for airing dirty laundry. Try telling George not to go off half-cocked, next time.”

“Look who’s talking, dear brother. You and George and Charlie, you’re all the same, jumping in and shooting off your gobs before you even hear the whole story. Merlin, Bill’s got to deal with a werewolf curse and he’s more laidback and level-headed than any of you will ever be.”

“That’s because he likes to toke up, Gin. He’s stoned most of the time he’s not at work, in’ he?”

“All right, I think we’re getting a bit off-topic here,” I’d butted in. Some days, those two were worse than Ron and I had ever been. They could go on for hours. “When is all this going to happen, exactly? Tomorrow? Next week? When?”

I was trying to calculate in my head when I could get Harry alone to talk with him. There was still plenty to discuss, but I’d gotten the distinct feeling from Ginny that details of their troubles would not be forthcoming this evening. My brain was tumbling over itself with the various possible reasons why they were splitting. Recalling my last heart-to-heart with Ginny, I’d wondered if it had to do with him being too controlling in some way. My nerves surged just thinking about it, the feeling like rain pattering along my skin. Just what was he like with her when no one was looking? Well, I would discover the answer to that question soon enough. If only I’d had the good sense then to leave them be, I rail at myself these days. But it was Harry, wasn’t it? My friend was in pain and he needed me.

“I’m taking a personal day on Monday to move my things then. Dean and Sarah aren’t leaving till Sunday night, but I’m going over there tomorrow from the Burrow to help them pack up. They don’t know anything about Ginny and me—you know—separating, and I’d—well, we’d like to just keep this in the family, if you don’t mind. I really don’t need The Prophet getting wind of it.”

Ron and I had both instantly agreed to the request, as if we would ever have thought to divulge details of their private life to anyone. Harry ducked his head miserably while fiddling with the material of his trousers, pulling the crease taut over his knee.

“I’m—so sorry, mates. This has been really hard for us, having to come to terms with telling you two about it. I feel…well, I feel like I’ve let everyone down. But this—this is just something we need to do. We still—” and he quickly glanced at Ginny, tears brimming in his eyes.

His voice went so quiet and soft we could barely make out the rest of it, but I knew what he was going to say. He reached out to her again, grasping her hand in his.
“We still love each other.”

I watched as Ginny had closed her eyes, swallowing tightly, before standing suddenly to mutter a serviceable, ‘Excuse me’, and then running toward the kitchen. I had immediately shifted in my seat to stand and follow her, but surprisingly, Ron had restrained me, shaking his head and giving me a look that suggested she needed to be alone.


Needless to say, the rest of the time we were there felt completely awkward and Ron and I didn’t stay much longer. I knew Ron was as upset as I was, but it seemed to be for different reasons, almost like he was feeling betrayed by them. I think I was still in shock, but the gears of my brain had yet to cease their whirring motion trying to figure out the puzzle of my friends’ troubled marriage. By the time the pair of us had Apparated home I could think of nothing else, and had a running dialogue in my head that was bordering on the schizophrenic. I’d let Ron talk to his parents and see them off, while I mumbled a word of thanks and ran up to Rose’s bedroom, watching her sleeping so peacefully as the evening’s conversation played out again in my ears, yet I couldn’t even appreciate the moment. I got ready for bed in a daze, my face blank and wide-eyed in the bathroom mirror as I brushed my teeth, my body practically vibrating under the sheets while I waited for Ron to come up. He was barely through the bedroom door before I started jabbering. What are we going to do?, I’d squeaked. Our best friends, Ron’s sister even, might just implode while we stood on the sidelines. I was beside myself.


But Ron had seemed resistant to talk much about them, grunting to me occasionally as I rambled on for the better part of the night. It was about three in the morning before I finally heard his snores and shut up. Even then, I couldn’t sleep at all, staring at the ceiling as if Harry and Ginny’s bedroom secrets would suddenly flicker across the white space like a movie. It had something to do with sex, I felt sure of it. Perhaps Ginny was more bothered than she’d let on about having another child so soon? But she was such a wonderful mother I couldn’t imagine she would begrudge Harry’s wishes for long. The tidbit from Ron about Harry’s supposedly long lunches resurfaced and I’d wondered again if there had been an affair. A part of me just couldn’t see Harry doing it, however; he was too decent. Yes, well, that was what I’d thought at the time, anyway, what did I know? Obviously, not nearly as much as I’d thought where it concerned him, I can see that now.


Saturday saw me going spare, as I’d spent the better part of the afternoon giving Harry a bell on the mobile, only to be frustrated continually when I’d get his voice mail. I had insisted to Ron a ways back that I wasn’t just going to rely solely on the Floo to firecall everybody, as my parents certainly wouldn’t be recipients of that service, so I’d purchased the mobile before we’d even gotten married, wanting to be accessible to not only my parents but my Muggle friends and relatives, as well. Harry had thought it a brilliant idea, and it didn’t take much prompting from me to get him to buy one, too, so the pair of us were something of a novelty (as much as two war heroes with our status could be considered a mere novelty) around the Ministry when we’d ring each other up to let the other know when we’d be available to meet for lunch. A Patronus was great for many things, but there were days at work when I’d be arsed to come up with any happy memories just to shoot Harry off a message. Bugger that, when the mobile only needed a punch up on its buttons and then off you go. In some cases, technology outweighs magic for daily purposes.


But anyway, Harry wouldn’t return my calls on Saturday, so by the next day, I was ridiculously wound up, my worry etched into my face at the prospect of the hostile reception Harry might be receiving at the Burrow. If George had already given him a piece of his mind, and Ron was pissed off with him, too, then what of the rest of the Weasley clan? I could easily see them siding with Ginny on things, regardless of the facts. He would need a staunch supporter to stand by him, and even though I supported Ginny, too, I knew he would be on the outs with the family, first. As soon as Ron and I brought Rose through the Floo, however, I could see straight away that Molly’s eyes were puffy and red. She’d given us a wan smile, acknowledging what we already knew and were trying like her to make the best of it, but Arthur totally surprised me when he came stomping up to us and gave us both big, fierce hugs. Once he’d pulled back from me, I could see the strains in his face, too, and he seemed so distraught under the surface, like he was barely keeping it together. The poor dears, they’d been just as blindsided as we had. They both thought of Harry as their seventh son; of course it must have been conflicting for them to have to see two of their children, natural and otherwise, in such a struggle. I could only imagine how awful the news had been for them.


Tensely waiting for Harry and Ginny to arrive, I’d at least noted with some humility the reprieve I’d been served having Molly’s attention directed off of me for the time being, although it was hard listening to her attempting to keep her sniffles under control. I was grateful, at least, that I could play the consoler this time and had spent a while rubbing her back at the kitchen table while trying to convince her that it would all work out in the end: Harry and Ginny belonged together, everyone knew it. Ron was bouncing Rose up and down on his hip while talking to his dad and Charlie in the other room. More Weasleys and their significant others arrived over the course of the hour, but still no sign of the Potters. I had started to panic, trying to reach Harry on my mobile once more. When they finally strode through the fireplace with James wrapped around Harry’s chest, I almost groaned aloud in my relief. But they’d only just said their hellos to everybody, Harry plopping his son in Molly’s lap as the boy reached for his grandmother with an adorable squee, when that bloody bugger was making his apologies to leave again. I stood there dumbfounded while he nattered on, rather weakly I might add, about how he had to get some work done at the office for an appearance in court the next day. It was a load of bullshit and I wasn’t about to let him get away without talking to me. I had made up my mind on the spot and ran to get my purse.

“Harry, wait! I’ll go with you, I promised Hannah I’d pick up some of my things this week, anyway.”

It was, of course, complete tosh on my part, too, but they didn’t know that. And my secretary had asked me about a few items I’d left there, a couple of weeks ago, in fact, I just hadn’t gotten round to it yet. He had started to protest right away, which I’d expected, and there was a general consensus of dismay at the table that I wasn’t going to stay for the family meal, but it wasn’t as if they needed me there. I just shook my head to Ron and told him I’d be back before he took Rose home, so we could leave together. I had bottles of milk in the baby bag, he’d be all right. I flashed him a knowing look, trying to convey that this was my chance to speak to Harry and he should try to work on his sister, but I wasn’t sure if he got all that and I didn’t have time to explain, Harry was already leaving through the door. Snatching my jumper off the coat rack, I had run out the door to catch up to him before he could Disapparate on me. That would have been so like Harry to pull such a stunt and I didn’t want to give him the chance.

As soon as we were outside, he threw me a baleful look.

“Hermione, you don’t need to follow me. I’m a big boy, I can handle this myself.”

“I don’t doubt that, Harry, but you should talk to someone about this. I have some questions, alright? Ron and I were a bit bowled over by your revelation the other night. Give me some kind of explanation, will you? Besides, you’ve left your wife to the entire brood back there. Can’t imagine she’s going to appreciate that,” I had snapped. Harry’s expression turned wry as he walked us further away from the house.

“Actually, it was her idea. Figured it would be better if I stayed clear of her brothers for a while. I’m not running away, you know, just—trying to give the family some space to come to grips with it.”

“Well, perfect, because I could use some space from the family, myself. So, where were you really planning on heading? I don’t buy the office line at all.”

Harry smirked.
“I’m just going into London to get some things for Grimmauld, is all. I can’t bring out the Black’s original furniture until Dean’s gone, but there’re some things I’d like to have new, anyway.”

I had slipped my arm into his. “Fine. Let’s go, then.”

Reviews appreciated.