Honestly, Hermione

Chapter Twenty: Full Circle

Oliver Wood, Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry was enjoying his breakfast of eggs and rashers when the morning post owls swooped through the Great Hall, delivering mail and nibbling toast. He heard Headmistress McGonagall's warning just in time and ducked as a familiar barn owl with russet feathers whooshed past his ear before landing on the Head Table. Oliver took the parchment that was tied to the owl's leg and read it quickly.

Oliver -

Your godchild's ready to be born.

Come quickly.

- Hermione

Oliver grinned. Excusing himself from the meal, he handed the parchment to the headmistress (Albus Dumbledore had fought valiantly but ultimately fallen during the War) and hurried away to a place from which to apparate.

***

The waiting room was full of Weasleys. It seemed (to some of the mediwitches and -wizards, at least) that the waiting room was always full of Weasleys. Ginny, who had received her healing certification a few years back, greeted the nurses she knew and laughed with them about the ever-expanding Weasley brood. Her laughter, though, wasn't as warm as it used to be. As her eyes passed over her family, gathered once again for a joyous occasion, she couldn't help but notice the holes that shouldn't have been there. Charlie was there, but his wife, Irina, had lost her mind a year before Ginny had received her healing certification. She was in her own room at St. Mungo's - in the same ward as Neville Longbottom's parents. And Percy was...

He, too, was gone. Ginny may have thought him an insufferably pompous ass when they were younger, but...but...he'd died trying to protect Bill's youngest two: Geoffrey and Zoe. And everyone felt the loss. Penny most of all. With six children (Paul, Priscilla, Patrick, Patience, Preston and Pamela) and no Percy, she was adrift. Arthur and Molly had welcomed their widowed daughter-in-law and six grandchildren into the Burrow with open arms. It had been several years, but Penelope was only just beginning to return to her former state.

Fred and George had emerged from the Final Battle relatively unscathed, but it had been two years before they'd been able to put their minds to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes again. Even now, Ginny sometimes caught a glimpse of shell-shocked despair in their bright and laughing eyes. They were a lot quieter now, and not quite so keen to scare the daylights out of people for the sake of a good joke.

Ginny and Harry had suffered losses of their own. Their daughter Olivia had been struck by a deflected curse and had been petrified so terribly that when she finally came around, she'd lost all her senses and was now a hollow shell of a girl her parents came to St. Mungo's often to visit. Ginny cried heavy tears when she thought no one was watching, after seeing her child at St. Mungo's. Olivia was ten now. Were it not for Voldemort, the war, and that deflected curse, she and Ginny would be talking about Hogwarts next year, spending one last year at home together, and putting together all sorts of care packages for Jamie and all the Weasley cousins at Hogwarts. But Ginny had deflected that curse, and now...in the dark hours before morning, she blamed herself for Livvie's half-alive state.

Harry walked with a decided limp (by the grace of God and all that was holy, his only injury from the Final Battle) and had a haunted look in his eyes: he'd watched Voldemort kill one friend and protector after another before Harry finally managed to destroy the Dark Lord. Ginny shuddered to think of the horrors Harry had seen - horrors he still would not reveal to her. He tried to convince Ginny that it was not her fault that Olivia was the way she was - after all, Ginny had saved her from death - but he had his own demons and could not quash this one of Ginny's. Thus, though they were fortunate enough to have come through the war alive, and though Jamie was untouched, the Potters were not whole.

And that just left Ron - well, Ginny amended, Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione and their family gave the rest of the Weasleys (indeed, the rest of the wizarding world) hope. Somehow the pair of them had managed to continue their lives as though Voldemort had not risen again, and as though war had not obliterated the magical world they once knew. It was impossible that they be any other way. No matter how awful and hopeless the big picture seemed, Hermione and Ron were often so completely immersed in their own unending arguments that they couldn't have cared less if Voldemort had camped out on their doorstep. In fact, Ginny thought ruefully, woe betide any Death Eater who caught Hermione on the warpath. She had that certain trace of McGonagall about her that commanded respect and brooked no argument. The legendary Weasley-Granger squabbles seemed to assure the rest of them that life would go on. Ginny smiled, remembering...

***

Hermione had flooed Ginny the moment Ron left. Ginny had just finished cleaning up Jamie and was not in the greatest of moods. In years to come, Hermione would understand only too well what it was to clean up a "blowout." But just then, baby poo was the furthest thing from her mind. "Ginny! Ginny! You'll never guess. Well, I suppose you will. And I suppose you'll tell me it's about time -" she was getting off track - "but never mind all that. I need your help."

Ginny blinked uncomprehendingly at her friend through the green flames. But as she registered Hermione's goofy, giddy grin and semi-hysterical cheer, she began to understand. "...Ron?" she asked slowly. Hermione's grin only grew. The next instant, Ginny had stepped through the fire.

They planned the wedding that night. It was like old times, Hermione thought. She and Ginny holed up in Hermione's rooms, talking and giggling and dreaming about the future. Ginny, to her everlasting credit, didn't make one "it's about time" comment. And she agreed to act as Hermione's matron of honor. She promised on Harry's behalf that he would stand up for Ron. Hermione insisted she wanted a small ceremony, with an intimate group of friends and family. With the Dark Lord still wandering and regrouping, both women thought it best to attract as little attention to the marriage and subsequent family gathering as possible. Besides, Hermione wasn't really a flamboyant personality.

And it had been a beautiful ceremony. Small - compared to Ginny's wedding, perhaps, but not exactly small in the strictest sense of the word - it had taken place in the candlelit Muggle chapel in which Hermione's parents were married. Harry and Ginny had been the only attendants, but most of the Weasley clan had turned out for the long-awaited event. Hermione had never looked lovelier. Her gown shimmered gold and Guinevere-like in rich velvet, with a low waist coming to a gentle point in the front and a deep square neckline that framed her face and neck as though for a portrait. A richly embroidered veil worn by all the Weasley brides and passed down for generations hid her face as she moved fluidly down the short aisle. Under the veil, her wild mane was caught up in a loose Gibson knot, with delicate tendrils trailing abut her shoulders. Ron wasn't the only one who gasped at bookish Dr. Granger's delicate loveliness. And all through the small gathering, not an eye was dry as the once-star-crossed lovers pledged their troth in the age-old enchantment from the Muggle prayer book.

And when it was over, it was as though nothing at all had changed. Ron and Hermione bickered on their way to the reception, about who would say what first. Harry and Ginny, riding in the same car, chuckled.

"Ron, you're daft. Of course Harry will speak first. It's his job, as Best Man, to make the speech and toast us. Then, if she wants, Ginny can speak. And your father, if he has anything to add. But not you, Ron. We're just meant to sit quietly and accept their well wishes. You cannot make a speech!"

She was getting red in the face, but Ron, apparently, had had a dash too much firewhiskey to get him through the pre-wedding jitters. He didn't even notice. "Harry - Harry, man, back me up. Tell this woman that if I want to say something, I can."

"Er, Ron -"

But Hermione hadn't let Harry get a word in, in case he sided with Ron. "Listen to me, Ronald Weasley. You will not stand up and make a fool of yourself at my wedding! Now stop acting the prat."

"Your wedding!" he shot back, incredulous. Even Harry and Ginny were a bit surprised at Hermione's choice of words. "Your wedding? Sorry, I must've missed something. I thought it was our wedding."

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked out the window. "Oh, Ron, everyone knows that the groom doesn't care a fig for the ceremony. Ginny and I planned it all, didn't we? All I mean is that you've had enough firewhiskey already, and champagne and cream stout and Witches Brew is not going to make your vocabulary any stronger. Better to leave it up to someone else, than risk being made to look foolish."

"Oh, yes. Mustn't look foolish. Must avoid that at all costs, yes? Honestly, Hermione. Sometimes I wonder if you married me in the hopes of turning me into someone else."

Her eyes softened, and her voice turned endearing. "Ron, you know that's not true. I don't want anyone but you." And she leaned in to kiss him.

At that, the argument was over. Harry and Ginny pretended to turn their attention elsewhere, but both had trouble hiding their amusement. At least the pair had finally got past that holding grudges phase. It had been so tiresome continually attempting to repair Ron and Hermione's relationship.

***

Twelve years, one Dark Lord, dozens of casualties, two award-winning books by Dr. Granger-Weasley, and six children later, Ron was about to get his long-held wish. In the birthing room, he swabbed Hermione's forehead with a damp cloth and tried his best to coach her through the process. "You're doing brilliantly, 'Mione. Really. You're almost there."

She only snarled at him. "Honestly, Ron! I'd like to see you squeeze a watermelon out of your body!"

Where had he heard that before? "You're beautiful, 'Mione. Really."

"Ginny, tell this git husband of mine to shut up before I hex him into next year!" she shot back. Never one to have an altogether even temper, labor did not bring out the best in Hermione.

Ginny just giggled. "I wouldn't do that, 'Mione. Imagine seeing after seven children without him. Henry alone would drive you mad." Henry was Hermione and Ron's second child, a wild but brilliant child, who seemed to have inherited the most extreme traits from each of his parents. Hermione both dreamed of and dreaded the day he went to Hogwarts.

Hermione went back to concentrating on expelling this child from her body. Gritting her teeth and pushing with herculean effort (whoever said it got easier with each child clearly had not been a witch), she screamed as, finally, she gave birth. The baby squalled, and the door burst open.

"Am I late?" asked Oliver Wood. Hermione laughed at her friend through her tears and fainted.

***

Hours later, after the celebrations were finished and the well-wishers had all gone their separate ways, Hermione and Ron and all their young family were settled in for the night at the magically enlarged "family room" at St. Mungo's. Hermione glanced around and whispered her thanks to heaven for such a blessing. Ron, alive and well and now a member of the Ministry of Magic, loved her as much today as he had when they were at Hogwarts. Hermione taught a few specialized courses at Hogwarts, but with such a young brood, she spent most of her time at home, where she continued to write important Arithmantic texts. Though she and Ron still fought daily(often from nothing more than habit and passion), she couldn't imagine herself with anyone else.

They had come through the War intact, and at the end of it, they'd been surprised with another child. Now there were seven: Kate, Henry, Romy, Athena, Owen, Declan, and infant Esme. Hermione was thrilled that most of them had the Weasley hair, while Ron had always unconsciously favored Athena because she hadn't. Kate was eleven, the little mother to the rest of the children, and she spent a great deal of time with her Aunt Ginny and Gran Molly. Henry, a year younger, was as much trouble as Fred and George and Ron bundled together, and (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on what sort of mischief he'd gotten into) showed promise of being quite as brilliant as his mother. Romy, at seven, showed little interest in magic but had the extremely rare ability to float on air; she loved to fly. Her twin and exact opposite, Athena was the most outgoing of the children, and she could charm candy from Professor Snape (whom she'd met at her mother's last book-signing). Owen was three, and a bit of a mystery. He had been conceived just after the Final Battle, in which Harry had defeated Voldemort once and for all, and it seemed that Owen had retained a trace of that catacalysmic event. One-year-old Declan, Molly assured Hermione, was Ron, all over again. This gave Hermione no end of joy, and she liked to remind Ron of it every time he had a blowout.

"Ron," Hermione whispered, as she held her seventh child (already blessed with wiry red hair that did the Weasley name proud). Ron, bouncing Declan on his knee, looked up. "You know, we have a whole Quidditch team now."

A grin broke over Ron's face. "Want to make it two?" he asked with a suggestive wink.

Hermione stifled a laugh, unwilling to wake Esme, and shot him a dark look. "Oh, honestly, Ron."

"Honestly, Hermione," he mimicked, right before he kissed her.

~ Fin ~