Unspeakable Joy

“B-but… I thought…”
“Hermione,” Portrait Dumbledore said, smiling down at her. “You really do have a brilliant mind, and yet sometimes you just refuse to see outside of the box.”
“He’s quite right,” Professor McGonagall said. She was still the headmistress at Hogwarts. At one point she had begged Hermione to work at the school, to take over her job as Transfiguration professor, but Hermione had been too intent on becoming an Unspeakable. She was unsure whether or not she regretted that decision, all things considered. For one thing, she wouldn’t have been pregnant.
I wouldn’t have known true love, either, she thought ruefully.


It had been quite a journey here. Florence Duckley was lucky; her situation had indeed been different. At the time of her son’s conception there was a relatively easy solution.
She had found a woman who worked in Knockturn Alley, a woman who was reduced to working there after a scandal involving Dark magic. Her intentions had been good, and she had paid the price for her foolishness. However, despite her resistance to the Dark Arts, she was still willing to go to extreme measures to help other people, partly in defiance to those who had condemned her in the first place.
The method she had used was absurdly simple, and familiar territory to Hermione. The woman had used an advanced Time-Turner to go back to the time of Bill’s death, helped him fake said death, and then took him forward in time. He was able to reunite with Florence, and the woman returned to her business, consequently a few months younger (and so was Bill).
Being an Unspeakable, Hermione’s supervisor had easily been able to return the Time-Turner when he got back to work and cooked up some story to cover his absence. However, with Hermione…

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the woman – Shell – had told Hermione. “Not like that. During that battle at the Ministry a few years ago all the Time-Turners were destroyed. So, unless you’ve got one of your own, one that goes back by days…”
Hermione had almost mentioned the Time-Turner from her third year, but that had been returned, and it only travelled in hours. Deflated, she had thanked Shell softly and turned to leave.
“But…” She turned swiftly at the woman’s voice. “But there may be other ways.”
“What? What other ways? Please, tell me!”
“Shh! Not so loudly.” Shell sighed. “Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, quarter to eleven.”
“That late?”
“That early.”

In the end, after they narrowed down the possibilities, only one stuck out: the Mirror of Erised.

“I don’t understand how it could help. I mean, doesn’t an object have to be stored in there for someone to get it?”
Shell took a swig of Firewhiskey before she spoke. “The Mirror is a portal for desires, at least for showing them.”
“Look, a stone is one thing, but two human beings – living, breathing human beings – are quite different. There’s no way it would work,” she said, looking down at her butterbeer sadly.
“Well,” Shell said, “that’s not a very positive attitude, is it?”


The next step had been to find the Mirror of Erised. Harry had said that Dumbledore had had the Mirror moved elsewhere at the end of their first year. Unfortunately, no one else seemed to know where it was. Hermione was broken, until someone reminded her about the portraits in the head office.
That was why she was here, staring at the floor and inspiring sympathy in everyone, even Phineas Nigellus.
“Are you saying, sir, that it is possible?”
“I am saying that there is no harm in trying. It hasn’t been done before, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t.” He raised and dropped his painted shoulders. “You’ll never know unless you try.”
“But if it’s never been done before…”
“Hermione, few people have received such high marks for their NEWTs,” McGonagall said, leaning forward. “The first person who achieved anything like them worked hard to earn those scores, not thinking about the fact that no one else had done it before. If anything, it prompted them to do their level best. You would never shirk your studies because no one else had done so well before, would you?”
“Of course not!” Hermione exclaimed, wide-eyed. “I pushed myself because I cannot abide the thought of failing, because I… I’m scared of failing.”
“Then why is this different?” the headmistress asked. “Do you wish to let down your children or the men you love simply because you are afraid to push boundaries? Which do you fear more, Hermione? Failure or the unknown?”
“And if the experiment doesn’t work?” she said quietly. “That would be failure.”
“At least you would know then. Are you a Gryffindor or aren’t you?” she said, voice and posture stern. It reminded Hermione of when she broke the news of being pregnant to Rufus and Alastor to the headmistress.
It was scary.
“I am a Gryffindor,” Hermione said. McGonagall raised an eyebrow, and a few of the portraits made a scoffing sort of noise. “I am. Really, truly!” Fed up with their disbelieving looks, she turned her attention back to Dumbledore. “Where’s the Mirror, professor?”
He nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit. Now, don’t be mad, my dear, but…”


Neither man wanted to see their love growing round with their children unless they were there. Being in this place was no substitute for the real thing.
“Never thought I’d have children,” Alastor said, leaning against their side.
“I always wanted some, but only wanted Hermione to have them ever since that night we spent together.”
“Got your wish, then?”
“I hope so.”

A whole year Alastor had missed, a year which he could have spent watching Hermione. If only that bastard Crouch hadn’t hidden him away and impersonated him for that year; the fact that he probably hadn’t mentioned Hermione to Dumbledore should have been enough to alert him to the fact that it wasn’t him! But no. The headmaster must have thought that he had given up on her.
But he could never do that.
He and Rufus had gone to Dumbledore when they worked out what had happened. Her references to time, the fact that one of the theories was true and that they would see her one day… they added it up.
Of course, it never hit them just how far she had travelled until they saw her in the newspaper.
Rufus saw it first (Alastor was still checking the delivery owl for Dark magic), and immediately floo-called his old friend.
“It’s her, I’m sure it is,” he said.
“What’re you talking about?”
“The Daily Prophet, Alastor! Read it. I’m sure it’s our Hermione.”
Curse-checking forgotten, Alastor cracked open the paper. His eyes – real and false – widened as he stared at the picture of their witch. It was in relation to her friendship with Harry Potter.
“I’m s’posed to start teaching there in September,” he murmured, unable to look away from her smiling face. “Merlin help me…”

Both were too busy to keep up a correspondence; it had been like that for years. Sure, there was the occasional holiday greeting, but other than that they remained too busy. That was why Rufus noticed nothing amiss during the fourth year; Mad-Eye Moody was hardly the most enthusiastic of letter-writers.
Alastor had finally met Hermione the summer before her fifth year, a few minutes before an Order of the Phoenix meeting.
Despite the busy morning – arrivals, introductions, then to the dining room – that short meeting with Hermione was so calm that it made the rest of the day go by in a blur, until he went home that night to an empty house. Well, empty aside from one Rufus Scrimgeour, demanding to know what had happened.

“It’s her,” Alastor said. “Same voice, same eyes, same everything. Just a lot younger.”
“How much younger?”
“She’s fifteen.”
“So… six years? She was about twenty-one when we knew her, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, about that,” he said, and he knocked back a shot of whiskey. “Give or take a year, I reckon.”
“I wish we’d known more about her,” Rufus said, hands folded on his lap. “I wish we were younger.”
“Nothing we can do about it,” Alastor replied.
“I suppose not.” They both sighed. “I hope she makes it out of this war alive. The way Fudge is handling things…”
“I know. Even if we last it out, too, we’re still too old for her. Too past it.” He looked down at his battle-torn body. “If only…”
“If only,” Rufus echoed.

Then Sirius Black died, Voldemort’s return was announced, and Fudge’s resignation was called for. Rufus was elected the new Minister, something he had never foreseen. There was so much he wanted to do to protect the citizens of wizarding Britain; and, more to the point, Hermione. But there was so little he could actually do, even as Minister. If he could have fought battles he would have been out there doing it.
Part of the public’s problem was lack of confidence. The Minister was advised by some to get Harry Potter on their side, which was what led to his first encounter with the younger version of their Hermione.

He’d only seen her from the corner of his eye when he entered the Weasley’s home. It was all he could do not to stare, or even suggest that he walk around outside with her. But it had to be Potter.
Of course, that conversation didn’t work out at all well. In all honesty he hadn’t expected it to. The main reason for this visit was so that he could meet Hermione in person. Alastor had been in mild shock afterwards, but surely it couldn’t be that bad, could it?
Oh, but it was. And he had less control than his older friend.
His attempted seduction had failed, but at least he had stolen a brief kiss. Damn it, he knew that he had aroused her! (Before sense had caught up with her.) At least she intended to work at the Ministry. In fact, it was the knowledge that she would survive past her school years which gave him the assurance that she would be all right, something which comforted both men.
Good-bye, my angel, he thought, turning to look once more at the Weasley’s house before he and Percy left. There was no sign of Hermione.

Then Alastor was hit. There had been a silent follower that night, however, on the orders of the late Albus Dumbledore.
Severus Snape just managed to save Alastor’s life, but seemed to commit another betrayal by sending him into the Mirror of Erised, claiming that it was the only way to keep him alive. He did the same to Rufus Scrimgeour, having been sent to ‘finish off the Minister’ after Lord Voldemort had had his fun.
After Snape’s death the mirror was left to Hermione. Touched at having been remembered by him she kept it with her always. He had disguised and enchanted the artefact so that it would neither look nor operate like the Mirror of Erised until Hermione said the ‘magic words’.
“Soon,” Rufus said, glancing at Alastor. The other man nodded.
“Soon.”


It was indeed soon. Hermione immediately flooed back to her apartment and was in her bedroom within seconds. She flushed at the thought of her men having seen her all this time, watched her changing, seen her bringing herself off with their names on her lips (even before she went back in time). The thought titillated her, but she wasn’t going to waste time. Not now that she was so close to having them back in her life, in all their lives.
Standing before the mirror, chest rising and falling rapidly due to elation and lack of breath, she spoke.
“‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree’,” she said. It was cunning to use a phrase from a poem written by a Muggle, and yet she half-expected it to fail.
But there! There was the flicker of Glamours dissolving. There was the shimmer of some charm over the glass. Soon, instead of just Hermione in the mirror there were her two men; but how!
She’d only been thinking about the Aurors-in-training she had slept with, not their older counterparts. Even in her memories she had seen them as younger, simply because it was how she saw them now. The men in the mirror were somewhere in their late thirties, still youthful for wizards.
“You’re… you’re there,” Hermione whispered, looking at the image. Her reflection didn’t speak; she merely stood in the middle, smiling secretively. “Oh, how I wish you could be here with me. I just don’t see how it’s possible.”
This time she raised her hand to touch the glass surface. It was surprisingly warm, and at first she wondered if it was just her hand. She stroked the place in her reflection where her babies were supposed to be. She could almost feel it on her own stomach.
“They’re right there, you know,” she continued, giving her image’s flat belly one last pat. Then she touched her two men on their shoulders. They smiled at her, and then at her reflection. She pulled back, feeling jealous of her mirror image, and looked at her feet. But curiosity got the better of her and she glanced up again. She let out a sudden, wrenching sob when she saw that they were both placing their hands on her stomach. She bit her fist, her eyes screwing tightly shut as she tried to control herself.
“You both deserve a chance to help raise your children,” she said, hoarse with grief. “I don’t know how this happened, but I honestly cannot imagine my life without you. For our babies’ sake I must, but I d-don’t know how!” She raised her eyes to the glass again. “For magic’s sake, please come back to me. I need you both. I love you!”
They touched her at the same time, and she revelled in the phantom sensation. Her head rolled back as the image faded unseeingly, eyes shut again at the warmth they were exuding.
“We’re here, Hermione,” Rufus whispered, nuzzling her ear. “You freed us.”
“Clever girl,” Alastor said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Such a clever girl to bring us back.”
“I wish it were true,” Hermione said, still refusing to open her eyes. However, she looked at her assailants indignantly when both pinched her on the arms. “Hey!”
Then her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she realised what had happened. She looked back at the Mirror of Erised, but now only saw an ordinary mirror, with an ordinary reflection of her shocked face and the two handsome Aurors standing either side of her. They both chuckled.
“Hope you don’t lose your mind over this,” Alastor said, and he breathed in deeply, nose buried in her hair. “Mmm, it only feels like yesterday.” He was inching her shirt up while Rufus unbuckled her belt. Speechless, Hermione let them undress her, trying to work out how this was possible.
“Um… hang on a tick,” she mumbled, but they took no notice of her.
She yelped when Rufus thrust his tongue into her. When had they removed her knickers? When had she gotten so wet? With a muttered ‘Oh gods’ she slumped in Alastor’s arms. He massaged her breasts as Rufus went to town, sucking, licking and nibbling. She felt a sharp bite on her neck and jerked in their grasp.
“Sweet Morgana, she’s delicious,” Rufus said when he came up for breath. “I could bottle this up and drink it all day.” Hermione whimpered as this caused Alastor to grip her particularly hard. Her head fell back against his shoulder as he rolled her nipples between his fingers.
“We’re here to stay, princess,” he told Hermione. “You can’t get rid of us now.”
“I w-wouldn’t want to,” she said, her voice weak. “I love you too much. And… and you have to be here for your children. Promise you won’t l-leave.”
“We’d never leave you,” he said. “You have our word. Who’d want to leave this?”
He slid his hands down her body and spread her wider for the man between her legs. Hermione hissed as she drew closer to the edge. As soon as her legs began to tremble Rufus pulled back.
“No!” she said as the feeling ebbed away. “I was so close.”
“Alastor should have a taste,” he said.
“Then… then I want a taste of you,” she told him, looking down pointedly. “Though the way you’re both dressed…”
“Better to strip than have holes in our clothing,” Alastor remarked. He and Rufus had both had their wand left with them. Each magically undressed and then helped Hermione to the bed. She was still shaking in pending-climax.
Rufus knelt on the bed and Hermione was positioned on all fours in front of him. She held onto his waist as she took him into her mouth, trying to recall what she had read in Ginny’s copy of Play Wizard. He moaned as she began to suck at the head straight away.
“Steady, girl,” he said, holding her head and gently rocking. She let out a high-pitch moan as Alastor continued what Rufus had started. His hot, wet tongue slowly massaged her lips, clit and insides in an intoxicating fashion. She pressed back against his mouth and he obliged her by going deeper.
She was trying to relax her throat when he thrust two fingers into her. She forgot to inhale through her nose and instead took Rufus further into her mouth. He swore softly and bucked forward. She squeaked in surprise but adapted quickly, moving her head back and forth over him, humming her own version of the school song. More drops of liquid seeped onto her tongue, and she could feel the same thing happening at her end.
“How is it?” Rufus asked, stroking her hair. “Is it too much for you, kitten?” Hermione shook her head vigorously and he half-chuckled, half-moaned. “Oh, I’m so glad of that, my dear. It’s just,” he swallowed, “so wonderful. You truly are amazing.”
“Getting close again,” Alastor remarked, pulling back from Hermione. She looked over her shoulder at him.
“Don’t stop!” she begged. “Please don’t stop, Alastor.”
“We’ve been planning this moment for years,” Rufus said helping her kneel up. “We want to take you at the same time, in the same place, and have you come like that. Only once, if you like. But it’s been so hard, seeing you here and being unable to do anything about it.”
Hermione’s eyes darkened at the thought of what they were suggesting. She nodded without thinking.
“Good,” Alastor said, turning her to face him. “You know what to do first, though.”
She was confused for about half a second before she cottoned on. “Ah, yes.” She smirked. “Of course. How silly of me.”
She bent down and took him in her mouth. He let out a long, loud and deep groan. As she worked on him, Rufus began to stretch her so that she could take both of them. The pain was masked by the pleasure and Hermione began to squirm on his fingers. She was nearing climax again and was stopped just as abruptly as before. By now Alastor’s fingers were tangled in her hair as he thrust up.
“Now?” Rufus asked. His friend nodded and pushed Hermione away. She was then sandwiched between her the Aurors as they positioned themselves. Tears came to her eyes as she was stretched beyond belief, her legs threatening to give way at any moment. She gulped repeatedly to stop herself from crying and reminded herself that labour would be more painful than this.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed as they finally shoved up simultaneously. She twisted so that she could grab both men by the shoulders, trying to control her body. But they retreated and then thrust up again once, twice, and on the third one she lost it.
It was hard not to reach climax at the look of pain and ecstasy on Hermione’s face. A look of disbelief flashed across her countenance, but was then replaced with satisfaction as she came down from her high. She shivered, tightening further around them, and it really was a struggle to hold back. Eventually she relaxed, laughing, and they slid out of her.
“I really hope this is real,” she said. She felt between her legs. “Ooh. It’s sore enough to convince me.” Rufus and Alastor felt guilty, but this faded when she looked up at them, joy in her eyes. “Oh!”
She drew Alastor into a hard kiss first, rubbing her body against his as their tongues wrestled. He massaged her thighs to the rhythm of her movements, but reluctantly let go when she turned to Rufus. She took him in a slower, yet equally passionate, kiss. While he distracted her Alastor lay down.
“We’ll prove that it’s real,” Rufus said, shaking her gently. “D’you hear?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, her expression dreamy enough to rival Luna Lovegood. She allowed herself to be placed on Alastor’s lap. She positioned him with one hand and then sank down, whimpering as she was stretched. It wasn’t like before, but she was still tight enough to feel it. Rufus placed a hand on her back and she bent over obediently. Alastor captured her lips, caressing them with his tongue. He dived in just as Rufus performed a Lubrication Charm. Hermione tightened automatically, moaning.
She was prepared carefully but swiftly, and soon Rufus was sinking into her tightness, his teeth clenched as he tried to ignore the sweet sensations. He and Alastor exchanged a look of understanding; it had been far too long since they’d had their Hermione, and she was going to feel it for all the time they’d been left waiting.
“There,” he said, pelvis resting against her buttocks. She shivered. “How does that feel, kitten?”
“Lovely,” she said. “More?”
“Gladly,” the said, easing out of her. Rufus thrust in first and then pulled out as Alastor pushed back in. Their alternating strokes left Hermione feeling dizzy. She tensed up again, going mad with pleasure, and orgasmed hard. She collapsed onto Alastor’s chest, panting heavily.
“Too much,” she whimpered. “It was too much.”
“Let us take over, Hermione,” Alastor said, rubbing her shoulders. “All right?” She nodded tiredly, and the men sped up.
It wasn’t long until she felt revived enough to rock back against their thrusting hips. Almost as soon as she did they entered her at the same time and released deep inside. She gasped and spasmed, and then blacked out.
“Hell!” Rufus swore, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Heaven,” Alastor moaned, lying back.


“So, why the big meeting, Hermione?” Arthur asked. Everyone left from the Order and its associates were there, including Ginny, Harry and Ron, all gathered together at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had asked to meet them there so that she would be able to escape if necessary.
“It’s to do with my work,” she said, gazing down at her hands. “I know I shouldn’t tell you this, but – under the circumstances – I’ve been given permission. Without giving away too much, it involved going back in time… a few decades.”
“Decades?” Harry said, his eyes wide. “I mean, the Time-Turner was dangerous, but…”
“While I was there I was so careful not to get close to anyone, but… but I ended up going to the pub with a couple of men that I met at the Ministry in the past. Do… do you believe me so far?” she asked, finally looking at everyone. They all looked sceptical. “Um, Mr. Weasley may have heard of me at the time. I went by the name Hermione Gelder.”
“Ah! I remember,” Arthur said, beaming. “A big mystery. One of the theories was that you were an alien, then there was the one about time… travel.” He slowed to a stop. “Oh.”
“That was me.”
“That makes sense. I didn’t think of that when I first saw you.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“So… you went to the pub with two men?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.
“And, I, uh…” Hermione scratched her head, looking guilty. “I got a bit tipsy, and they were so handsome and charming, and it was just the one night…”
“Hermione Granger!” Molly shouted, standing up. “You didn’t sleep with both of them, did you?”
“Uh… there were a few breaks for sleep.” Her cheeks reddened further, especially when she heard the wolf-whistle from George. “And I was so sad to leave them. Anyway, we forgot one important thing,” her hand instinctively went to her stomach, “and there have been… consequences.”
“You’re pregnant?”
Hermione nodded. Harry and Ron looked at her in shock.
“Who is the father?” Kingsley asked.
“They both are,” she whispered. “I’m carrying twins.”
“Oh, gods,” Molly said, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, Hermione. How could you have been so irresponsible?”
“Worse than that,” Hermione said. “I fell in love with them. I used to dream about them before I went back in time, which is surprising when you think about the age difference.”
“Did they survive the war?” Harry asked quietly, looking up at her. Hermione tried to ignore Ron’s angry, red face.
“No,” she said, tracing patterns on the table surface.
“Hermione,” Kingsley said, “I’d better repeat my question, but I… I think I know the answer anyway. Who are the fathers?”
She studied his face. Of course he knew. “A… Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour.”
There was a hollow laugh from Ron. “You’re joking,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“That’s… that’s insane. That’s sick!”
“They were in their twenties then,” she said, crossing her arms as she scowled at him.
“Yeah, and how will you look after your kids?” he asked. “Or are you going to get rid of them?”
“I don’t have to,” she said. “You see, they told Professor Dumbledore what had happened and he made provisions. Harry, do you remember how you obtained the Philosopher’s Stone?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “The Mirror of Erised gave it to me.”
“And then Professor Dumbledore had the Mirror moved, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know where.”
“Well, when Alastor supposedly died he was actually rescued by Professor Snape, who then put him in the mirror. He was also supposed to get rid of Rufus after Voldemort tortured him, but he was put into the mirror, too. It was then disguised…”
“And left to you!” Ginny exclaimed. “I always wondered why Professor Snape left something like that to you. So… so you got them out?” Hermione nodded. “Wow!”
“Where are they now?” Arthur asked, standing. “I want to see them.”
“Oh dear,” Hermione said, wringing her hands. “You’re not going to hurt them, are you?”
“Just want to make sure that it’s them,” he said. She nodded and stepped out of the room. She then re-entered, this time holding the hands of her two men.
“Here they are,” she said. “Um… I saw them a bit younger; therefore they sort of… ‘came’ younger.”
George snorted at the unintentional innuendo. “I bet they did,” he said. Molly hit him on the back of the head.


Hermione had grown quickly thanks to the twins. It was lovely to have two men looking after her the further she got along in the pregnancy. They went back to work as Aurors as soon as possible, happily arresting any reporters who dared to insult their witch.
Not long after Hermione’s meeting Rufus and Alastor insisted on marrying her in a magical Triad-Bonding ceremony. She retained her last name for work purposes (and to simplify things), and the babies would be taking their respective father’s names.
It was all nicely worked out.
However, Hermione now had even more issues with her appearance than before.
Her husbands were always eager to assure her otherwise.


They arrived home together and would immediately accost her wherever she was. Today they struck gold: she was standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, which had now returned to a normal mirror-like state. She was examining her body critically, poking at various parts – and she was completely naked.
Alastor grinned at Rufus, and they crept up either side of Hermione. She jumped when she noticed them, but then relaxed into their arms. Two pairs of lips attacked her neck and two pairs of hands caressed her skin. She helped them strip slowly, and then Rufus backed her up towards the bed. He reclined against the pillows and made Hermione straddle him, but facing towards Alastor. She gasped as she was lowered onto Rufus via her back passage. He pulled her back against his chest and rested his hands on her belly.
“Any day now,” she said. Alastor pushed her legs open and lowered his face. He and Rufus were delighted to find out just how sensitive she had grown in all her erogenous zones. Oh, pregnancy definitely had its perks…


A/N: What do you reckon? I hope you liked the conclusion of this trilogy. Someone reviewed one of my stories in an insulting way. Not in this series; another story completely. Still aggravated me because, while it wasn’t vitriolic, it only contained one or two bits of constructive criticism NOT couched in a constructive criticism way. I wouldn’t have minded so much had it been worded differently…
Ah well. I’m not fishing for compliments, nor saying that I don’t deserve negative comments; I just want people to enjoy my stories and know when they’re satisfied.
Watching the Flood Relief Appeal at the moment. Have just realised how bloody long this story is. Sorry about that!
It seems a bit silly to say this, but I don’t own the poem “Kubla Khan”. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote it (although it was never finished). Flippin’ person from Porlock…