Daddy Dearest

"Da-da! Da-da-da-da-da-da!"

John Granger sat bolt upright in bed. "Huzzavah? Hold on, Mione!" He threw back the covers and dashed down the hall to his daughter's room.

One-year-old Hermione was standing up in her crib, gripping the bars tightly and crying "Da-da, da-da" over and over again. Tears poured down her tiny face.

"Shh," John soothed, scooping his little girl up and patting her back. "Shh. It's okay, baby. It's okay. Da-da's here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Slowly, Hermione's sobs turned to hiccups, then died away. Finally, John heard the soft, even breathing that indicated the baby had fallen asleep.

Gently, he laid her back in her crib and tucked the soft, fuzzy yellow blanket over her. "Night, baby," he whispered softly, tiptoeing out of the room.

~~~

"Daddy!"

John instantly rolled out of bed and flew down the hall. His five-year-old daughter was sitting up in her bed, huddled into a ball by the headboard, clutching her teddy bear in one hand and her blankets in the other.

"Mione?" John said softly. "Mione, sweetie, what's wrong?"

Hermione looked up. "Daddy, I had an awful dream!" she wailed. "We were at the zoo, and we were looking at the tigers, and all of a sudden the bars weren't there. The tiger was after me, Daddy! It was going to eat me, I could smell its breath!" She started to cry.

"Shh, it's okay," John assured her, taking her into his arms and rocking her a little. "There's no tiger. And I'd protect you if there were one. No tiger's getting my Mione while I have anything to say about it."

Hermione blinked up at him. "But Daddy, tigers eat people. It wouldn't be scared of you. How would you make it go away?"

"I'd take off my socks and wave them in his face," John teased.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Ew!"

"Ew is right." John tickled her ribcage and she giggled. "Don't worry, Hermione. It'll be okay. There are no tigers in London. And no tiger would come into your bedroom. The nightlight keeps them away."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," John promised.

"'Kay." Hermione let John tuck her back in, then threw her arms around her father's neck. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, sweetie. Good night."

"Night, Daddy."

~~~

"Dad! Daddy!"

"I'm right here, sweetheart," John quickly assured his ten-year-old daughter, reaching over and grasping her hand. "It's okay. What's the matter?"

Hermione turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide and terrified. "Dad, I just had an awful dream," she began.

"Keep your voice down, sweetheart," John had to remind her. He shot a brief glance at the gap in the curtains and tugged them closed.

"Sorry." Hermione lowered her voice. "I dreamed that I woke up and I couldn't move anything. I was tied down. And these monsters were standing all around me...one of them was a werewolf, and he clawed my face open and hurt me. And one of them was a vampire, and he bit my arm and started draining all my blood, and my heart couldn't keep up with all the blood he needed and it broke like a balloon. And then a giant tore my eyes out and ate them..." She broke off sobbing.

"Oh, sweetheart," John murmured. He stroked her hair gently. "It was just a dream. None of it really happened. You're safe here."

"But why did I have that dream?" she asked. "I haven't been watching monster movies..."

"I think it was just naturally born of your situation," John told her, brushing her arm and bumping something lightly. Despite the light pressure, she winced and he quickly withdrew it. "Everything will be okay."

Hermione looked up at her father with warm, trusting brown eyes. "I know it will, Dad. You're here."

John smiled. It was the best compliment he'd ever received. "Try and get some rest now, sweetheart. Before you-know-who hears you and comes in," he added reflectively.

Hermione gave him a shaky smile. "Night, Dad."

"Night, sweetheart."

Blip...blip...blip...beeped the machine attached to her right wrist.

~~~

"Dad!"

Hermione sat up in bed and looked around, trembling slightly. It took her a second to remember where she was...then it hit her.

She was in her four-poster bed. Her dormitory at Hogwarts. The only people in the room were Lavender and Parvati, who wouldn't help her if she asked. And her father was hundreds of miles away, unable to help her.

Shakily, she wiped the sweat off her forehead. The dream had seemed so real...a man with long, dark, scraggly hair, standing poised with a knife--not over her, but over Harry. She had tried to help him, to warn him, but her legs wouldn't move and her voice wouldn't work. She could only watch in horror as the man raised the knife...and brought it down...

She quickly shook her head to rid it of the dream. Oh, Dad, I wish you were here, she thought desperately, lying back down. It was a long time before she managed to fall back to sleep that night.

~~~

"Ha--ddy!"

John was more than a little confused about who she'd started to call, but he quickly hurried down the hall to his daughter's room. "Hermione?" he called softly.

She was sitting upright in bed, her face buried in her hands. At her father's voice, she looked up. Her pale face was streaked with tears.

Instantly worried, John sat down on the edge of his daughter's bed. "Hermione, honey, what's wrong? Another bad dream?"

Hermione nodded, tears pouring down her face.

John hugged her. "Why don't you tell me about it," he suggested gently. "And I'll do my best to make it better."

Hermione shook her head and gave her father a slightly rueful smile. "No...you can't make this one all better. It wasn't just a dream, Daddy. It really happened. You can't make it go away with kisses and a night-light. My life is a nightmare now, Daddy, and the dreams just make it worse." She looked around the room, shrieked slightly at something, then relaxed a little. "D-Daddy, could you do me a favour?" she asked tremulously.

"Anything, honey," John promised.

Hermione pointed shakily at the corner. "C-could you move my guitar? Please? It looks like a person back there...and it scares me a little."

"Sure." John picked up the guitar and laid it in its case, which he brought over and set down next to her bed. "That better?"

"Uh-huh. Thanks, Daddy."

John leaned over and kissed his daughter. His heart was breaking, but all he said was, "I love you, honey. Goodnight."

"Night, Dad."

~~~

"Harry!"

John ran down the hall to his daughter's room. His hand was on the knob when he realised. It hadn't been Daddy she'd called. It had been another name--Harry. It wasn't him she wanted.

Still, he opened the door and found a trembling Hermione sitting up in bed. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, coming in.

Hermione jumped and squinted at him. "D-Dad?"

John nodded. "Did you have a bad dream again?"

Hermione nodded, staring down at her hands.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked gently.

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Dad. You...you wouldn't understand."

John nodded. "Well, try and get some sleep, okay? And no reading by flashlight. Remember what the doctor said."

"Right, Dad. I promise." She gave him a tremulous and insincere smile. "Night."

"Night."

John went back downstairs and sat in his armchair thoughtfully. That was the third time she'd called out for Harry, whoever he was. And then he remembered. Harry Potter was one of Hermione's best friends. She talked about him all the time.

John stood up firmly. If Harry could possibly help Hermione with her nightmares, he would have to find him.

Quietly, John tiptoed back into Hermione's room. She had fallen asleep again. Uncapping his penlight, John scanned her desk and finally found a letter she'd been writing to Harry. An envelope lay next to it, already addressed. John committed the address to memory, then recapped his penlight and left the room.

The next morning, on his lunch break at the office, John followed the twisting streets to Privet Drive, then began watching the house numbers. Number ten had a white picket fence, number eight had a flower bed full of bright yellow daffodils, number six had a row of azaleas planted under the windows. Number four was fairly nondescript, not terribly different from the other houses. What set it apart in John's mind was the young man sitting on the porch.

"Excuse me," John called to the young man, pausing at the foot of the walk. "Could you tell me where I might find Harry Potter?"

The young man blinked and stood up, eyeing John warily. "I'm Harry Potter," he answered in quiet, firm tones.

John concealed his surprise and walked up to Harry, then extended his hand. "Dr. John Granger. Hermione's father."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said a little more warmly, shaking John's hand. "Can I help you?"

John hesitated. "Actually, yes. Hermione's been...well, she's been having a lot of nightmares recently."

"Understandable," Harry murmured but didn't elaborate.

John was momentarily taken aback, but quickly continued. "Last night, she had another one and--well, she woke up screaming your name. Usually when she wakes up from a nightmare she calls out for me, but she's been mixing parts of your name with 'Dad' for about a year, and last night it was just you. I think she needs your help." He took a deep breath; this was the hard part. "I came to ask you...if you would mind coming by tonight. She usually falls asleep around nine...so if you could come over about then I'd appreciate it. It would probably help her a lot if you were there when she woke up from her nightmares."

Harry hesitated. "I would...but I don't know if I can. I'm on a pretty strict curfew and I'd have to get special permission to be out later than that...and I'm not supposed to be out by myself after dark."

John blinked in surprise. "You're sixteen, aren't you?"

"It's a long story." Harry swallowed. "I'll talk to my aunt about being out late. Maybe she'll walk me over."

"I'll come and pick you up," John offered.

"Thank you. I'll let you know then what was decided."

John nodded, turned, and left.

That evening at about eight-fifty, John shrugged on his coat and started for the door.

"Dad?"

John turned to see Hermione standing behind him, wearing her long white nightgown and looking worried. "Where are you going?"

"I've got an errand to run," John told his daughter. "I won't be very long, I promise."

"Okay," Hermione said uncertainly. "Take your keys, though, because I'm going to lock the doors."

"I was going to lock them anyway," John assured her. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Dad." She turned and went upstairs.

John watched her go, then slipped outside, carefully locking the door behind him, and set off down the streets.

It was a remarkably short walk to Privet Drive. John walked up to the front porch, hesitated, and knocked.

A tall, slender blonde woman answered. "Can I help you?"

"I came to pick up Harry," John said hesitantly.

The woman nodded. "Hold on, I'll get him. Harry!" she called, turning inside.

"Coming!" Harry appeared a couple seconds later and offered John a mirthless half-smile. "Good evening, Dr. Granger."

"Good evening, Harry," John replied.

Harry gave the woman a brief hug. "I'll see you later, Aunt Petunia."

"Be careful, Harry."

"I will," Harry promised his aunt, then followed John down the street.

When they arrived at the house, John unlocked his front door and opened it. "Come on in," he said to Harry. "Hermione's already asleep and my wife's at work."

Harry followed John into the house and sat down opposite him in the living room. John made small talk for a while, asking Harry how his summer was going and how he'd done on his end-of-year tests and such. Harry responded politely, but John could sense that something was bothering him. Before he could ask, a voice cried out from above them. "Harry!"

"That's your cue," John said with a rueful smile. Harry was already on his feet. "Up the stairs, third door on your left. She's got a Gryffindor pennant tacked to her door, it shouldn't be hard to find."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, then hurried upstairs. John gave him a two-second head start, then followed silently. He knew how to watch something without being seen.

~~~

Harry opened the door to Hermione's room. "Hermione?" he called gently, worried for his friend.

Hermione was on her bed, her knees drawn to her chest, head bowed, shoulders shaking with sobs of fright. She raised her head and blinked at the doorway. "Dad?" she whispered fearfully.

Harry shook his head and moved into the room. "No...Hermione, it's me."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Harry?" She fumbled with something on her nightstand, then finally put on a pair of silver glasses. "Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Your dad asked me to come. He said you were having nightmares and he thought I could help." Harry went over to her and sat hesitantly on the bed next to her. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

Hermione threw her arms around his neck and started crying hard. "Oh, Harry...it was awful," she sobbed. "I woke up on the sofa in the living room at Grimmauld Place--you know the one. The fire in there was out...the room was cold...and I was by myself. I went looking for you--because I knew you had to be there somewhere--and I couldn't find you. I heard laughter coming from down a corridor and followed it hopefully, praying it was you. I threw open the door to the room the laughter was coming from and stopped. You were...you were sprawled across the floor, dead and bleeding, and a figure in a dark cloak stood behind you. Whoever it was pulled back their hood and I could see what they looked like. I saw a pair of red eyes, a snake-like nose, a lipless mouth grinning out of a white face, and I knew it was V-Voldemort, even though I'd never seen him before. And I knew he'd killed you. And then he raised his wand and..." Hermione broke off sobbing and buried her face in his chest.

"Shh. Shh. It's okay, 'Mione. It's okay." Harry held her tightly, stroking her hair. "Don't worry. I'm here. Nothing's going to happen to you."

Hermione looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. "Oh, Harry...I'm so glad you're here. I needed you...I missed you so much."

Harry hugged her tighter. "I missed you too, 'Mione," he said softly. "Are you feeling a little better?"

"A little," Hermione answered, smiling through her tears.

"I'm glad." Harry started to stand up, but Hermione clung to him and held him back.

"Wait...Harry, please...don't leave yet." She looked up at him pleadingly. "I...I still need you."

Harry didn't fight too much. He eased down next to her and settled her into a comfortable position in his arms. "I can stay a little longer, I guess."

Hermione leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Harry stroked her hair absently, but tenderly. Within minutes, both had fallen asleep.

~~~

John spent the night on the sofa, which he usually did in the summer--his room didn't have a fan or air conditioner in it. When he woke up in the morning, he heard the sound of a key in the lock, then the front door opening. Sitting up, he smiled as his wife Samantha came in. "Morning, Sam."

"Morning, John." Samantha leaned over and kissed him. "Hermione up yet?"

"It's five in the morning. Does she ever get up before eight?"

"I'll go check on her." Samantha climbed the stairs. Something suddenly hit John, and he quickly followed her up the stairs. Before he could stop her, she opened the door and froze. "Oh, my God."

John caught her arm. "Sam...let them be."

Samantha turned to him in astonishment. "John, do you realise what's going on?"

"Yes. Hermione had a nightmare and Harry sat with her to help her feel better. I asked him to come over."

"You asked...? John, don't you know what that sort of thing can lead to?"

John looked. Hermione looked much calmer than she usually looked the morning after one of her nightmares; Harry looked much more at peace than he had the day before. His arms were wrapped around her as though he needed to protect her. Her head was leaning against his chest; she clutched him as though afraid that if she let him go even for a second, he would vanish. The worst part of it, John reflected with a bitter smile, was that both of them had good reason to feel that way, considering the conversation he'd heard the night before.

"I know what not doing it can lead to," John answered. "Hermione would have grown more and more withdrawn, jumping at her own shadow, frightened of everything. The nightmares would've only grown worse. She'd make herself sick again, and quite frankly after what happened last time she made herself sick worrying I don't want to see it again."

"That was a fluke, John."

"I still don't want her to get a relapse because she's so stressed." John took Samantha's arm and pulled her away from the door. "Come on, Samantha. Let them be. They aren't doing anything wrong."

Samantha sighed. "They're still wearing their glasses."

"I know, but they've slept that way all night. It won't hurt them."

Harry came downstairs about an hour and a half later. John looked up at him and smiled. "Morning. Everything all right?"

Harry nodded. "Thank you for letting me stay the night, sir."

"No prob. I could tell Hermione would've panicked if she'd woken up and you were gone. 'Sides, I figured you were helping each other." John took a sip of coffee. "Speaking of, where is Hermione?"

"Getting dressed, which is why I came downstairs." Harry hesitated. "I ought to be getting home."
"First of all, you have to wait for Hermione to come downstairs. Second, you have to have breakfast first. Sam's making waffles."

"Sam?"

"My wife, Dr. Samantha Anders. She'll be out in a minute--she wanted to get out of her work clothes before she started cooking."

Right on cue, Samantha came in. "Oh, you must be Harry," she said kindly, extending her hand. "I'm Samantha Anders."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Anders," Harry said, shaking her hand.

Samantha smiled, obviously impressed with his manners. "Nice to meet you too." She moved over to the stove. "Hope you like waffles."

"I do, and I haven't had them in a while," Harry answered. John looked at him and was surprised--he could tell that Harry wasn't particularly fond of waffles and had had them rather recently. It was nice of him to say that for Samantha.

Hermione came in then, looking much happier than she had in a while. "Morning, Dad. Morning, Mum."

"Morning, dear," Samantha said with a smile. "You're up rather early."

Hermione smiled as well. "No, I've been getting up this early for a while. The Daily Prophet comes about now, and I like reading the paper while I'm eating."

"Mmm, most people do," John answered, indicating his own paper.

It was seven-thirty by the time everyone had finished eating and talking. John, who had to leave for work, offered to drive Harry home on his way, and Hermione insisted on coming along, saying she could walk home later. John pulled up to the curb, switched off the motor and unlocked the doors, then accompanied Harry up to the door.

Voices could be heard in the kitchen as Harry opened it, talking in worried tones. "...all night...getting worried...never suspected...seemed to know...not sure...could have been..."

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry called.

The voices stopped abruptly. The blonde woman John had seen the night before stepped into the hallway. "Harry!"

"Sorry if I worried you," Harry apologised. "I didn't realise I was going to be out all night..."

Hermione looked sheepish. "My fault, sorry."

John smiled at the woman. "I just wanted to make sure Harry got in all right, ma'am." He looked down at Hermione and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I've got to go...see you later. And Harry...thanks again."

An almost-smile crossed Harry's face. "No problem."

As John pulled away, watching the woman and a tall, weathered man step out onto the porch to talk to Harry and Hermione, memories coursed through John's mind. The one-year-old little girl crying in her crib...the little five-year-old dreaming about tigers...the helpless ten-year-old in a hospital bed...the teenager he was unable to help. He was glad Harry could. He knew his little girl would be all right.