The Boy Who Died

After finally being released from St. Mungo´s infirmary, Harry and Hermione were made at home with the Weasley´s. Harry was relieved, for he had briefly feared he would be sent back to the Dursley´s for the remainder of summer break. Instead, he was embraced by word and deed into the comforting arms of Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley brought their guests back to the Burrow.

Ron, who had long held a grudge, was able to let go of his spurned anger in the face of Hermione´s grief. He seemed sobered by the events that had occurred at the Granger household, and seemed to mature rather quickly in a mere breadth of days. Suddenly, the estrangement of the last year was forgotten, as Ron and Harry both attempted to comfort their best friend. Unfortunately, hastened maturity was all too common in the wake of Voldemort´s new reign of terror; Hermione was only one of his most recent victims.

Harry ached at his friend´s grief, and though he was overjoyed that Hermione and Ron were finally in harmony once again, Harry carried the burden of an ever-growing secret. His newfound feelings for Hermione only increased, expanded, filling his thoughts in the two weeks before the new term began at Hogwart´s, but because of the tenuous peace between Ron and Hermione, and many other reasons he dare not ponder, Harry kept his amorous affection to himself.

Instead, Harry watched her, intently noticing every rare smile, and her all too familiar frown, and intensely longing to help relieve the pain in her wounded eyes. Harry felt at odds with himself, feeling it entirely selfish to even think of declaring himself to Hermione during such a horrific time, yet living in mortal fear that he was wasting precious moments with her with each new day of silence.

Hermione was quietly, yet bravely dealing with her grief and moving ahead, slowly and methodically. When she wished to speak of her parent´s, Ron or Harry were always close by, willing to listen. When Hermione wished to remain silent, they were still near, in quiet companionship. On more than one occasion, Harry entered the kitchen to find Hermione in the motherly arms of Mrs. Weasley, and he would respectfully leave her to her grief, all the while wishing it was his arms around her.

After a bit of consideration, Harry began sending Hedwig to Diagon Alley with orders for books. He replaced Hermione´s copy of Hogwarts, a History with a special, deluxe edition, as well as many of her other favourite titles. He scanned wizarding catalogues for new releases to catch her interest, gifting her with Hystories Mysteries: A Guide Wizarding Archaeology and A Bold New Arithmancy. Each grateful smile was reward enough for Harry.

***

Hermione´s fingertips brushed the engraved gold letters on the spine of the Archaeology book. Though she had no idea at the time of the emotions behind Harry´s gifts so long ago, she well remembered the joy each new tome brought her. She was able to bury herself in the text, forgetting for a little while the loss of her parents and the Death Eater attack that had led to their passing. She often wondered if Harry had realized what a lifesaver those books had been, when her grief was its most intense.

She stood in the library, upon a braided rug in front of the fireplace, awaiting Edward´s return from above stairs so that they could journey to Diagon Alley.

`I´m taking my son for his school supplies,´

she grinned, reflecting idly on her own first trip to Diagon Alley. She had been frightfully nervous, and her parent´s were no more comfortable than she. At the same time, Hermione recalled a feeling of utter rightness, that at least she had found her place. Of course, Edward had visited the Alley on many occasions, from his very infancy. Hermione recalled the first time she had rolled his pram down the cobble-stoned street, Mrs. Weasley at her side, cooing to the baby boy.

Yet this particular visit, Edward would be sharing a specific event that had been a part of her own childhood. Sometimes, Hermione still felt as if she were not quite mature enough to have a child of her own, as if she were merely playing at being a Mum. She knew that she was a good parent, striving for consistency in Edward´s discipline as well as a good dose of patience, teaching him, reading to him, but how had he so quickly reached such an age?

Her thoughts turned into a wistful and overwhelming sadness, and the grin disappeared completely from her face. For the first time since his birth, Edward would spend huge blocks of time separated from her, and, to put it mildly, she was rather used to his presence. Hermione, though expecting his acceptance to Hogwart´s, had somehow failed to actually prepare herself for the reality of it, and it was like a blow.

She sunk to the couch, her knees suddenly giving way beneath her. Edward would be exposed to not only many other wizarding families, but also to much information from which she had unconsciously protected him. He would even receive a certain amount of awe when it was realized his father was the famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. How ironic that title was now? Harry had not lived to see his son, or even be aware of his existence. Hermione´s heart contracted, just as it always did when she allowed herself to dwell on the injustices of Harry´s life.

Though Hermione had not particularly tried to conceal Edward´s lineage, and certainly never to those close to her, she had not exactly advertised that she bore Harry´s son. Harry had died killing Voldemort and even in memory, he was still a hero to everyone, but Harry had often been uncomfortable with his celebrity, and she saw no reason to expose Edward to a similar fate needlessly. With the new school term though, Hermione wondered how long until the masses figured out what only a few were now aware?

Dumbledore had visited her in the hospital, shortly after Edward´s birth, but as far as she knew, the Headmaster had remained silent about his parentage as well. So many emotions had flitted across his face as he looked down at Harry´s son: guilt, caring, pride and something akin to hope. The last had unsettled Hermione; she had no desire to see Edward step into Harry´s shoes and fulfill the role of hero for the wizarding world. She then reminded herself that was a silly thought; after all, Voldemort was dead and the Death Eaters dead or incarcerated.

Strange visit, that, she remembered. Hermione had not been especially surprised to see her former Headmaster, but his eyes held a gleam, as if he knew a secret. And he looked at Edward as if he was special, marked somehow, much as he had looked at Harry. Hermione wanted Edward to live for no greater purpose than to grow into a happy, healthy adult, with a family of his own.

Had Dumbledore told the other professor´s about Edward? With a sigh, Hermione rubbed her temples. Would Snape be kinder to Edward than he had to Harry, or would his resentment carry over to yet another generation? Hermione found herself grinning again, despite her troubled thoughts. Being an avid learner herself, Hermione had been more than happy to teach Edward anything he cared to learn. He read as voraciously as she, and their library had been a favourite place of the young boy. Hermione´s grin widened - Edward may be a jolly good flyer, but he was even better at other things, most especially potions.

"Ready, Mum?" Edward´s voice interrupted her thoughts.

With a smile, she looked up from the sofa. "Ummm, yes, and no," she replied.

Edward gave her a look of amused exasperation. "And how am I to figure out the puzzle of that?"

Hermione smiled warmly. "Have a seat, Edward," she instructed, her voice gentle. "I have some things to discuss with you."

"I don´t much like the sound of that," he admitted, taking a seat in a comfy chair, covered in a chintz fabric.

Instead of taking a seat as well, Hermione remained on the rug, pacing just a bit. "Don´t fret so, Edward," she advised, "it´s nothing terrible. I´ve only decided that you are old enough to be told some things that I´ve felt you weren´t ready to understand before."

"Is it because I´ll be going to Hogwart´s soon?"

"Yes, exactly," Hermione smiled at her son. "Aren´t you the clever one?" she chuckled.
"It wasn´t that difficult to figure out," Edward pointed out.

Hermione squared her shoulders and looked directly at her son. "I want to tell you more about your father, and about our time at Hogwart´s," she explained.

"You mean more than I´ve read about in books?" Edward asked.

"Well, I should say that books don´t have all the information," Hermione replied, her voice in a bit of a huff.

"Mum, think what you´re saying!" Edward teased, in mock horror.

"Don´t be cheeky," she bantered, amused despite herself.

"Yes, Mum," Edward replied, properly chastised, at least to the degree that he kept his smile hidden, except for the small twinges at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, I really intended for this to be a serious chat," Hermione sighed, glancing once again over to the bookcase, partially stocked by Harry.

"I think I´d like to hear more about him," Edward finally answered, almost reverent.

"Well, you know the basics, but I wanted to tell you some of the little things, the silly things that had more value than what you´ll find in books," she explained. "I can´t imagine sending you off to Hogwart´s without knowing what a charmer your father was."

Edward did look uncomfortable at that. Despite his inherent maturity, he was, after all, still a pre-adolescent boy. Dutifully and respectfully, he remained quiet and listened.

"You know that we were all friends...Ron, Harry and I," she said. "And Ron began courting me after our fourth year. But I just didn´t feel that way about him. And it made things very, errr, touchy, for all three of us." Hermione took a deep breath before plunging ahead.

"I think I knew deep down that I was really in love with Harry, but never allowed myself to dwell on it. He was the famous Boy Who Lived, and I was a Mudblood."

Edward looked upset, but Hermione raised her hand before he could speak.

"No, Harry didn´t think of me that way, but I felt inferior because of it. That was one of the reasons I worked so hard to excel in my studies. But that summer, when the Death Eaters attacked, and Harry saved me, things changed. Ron seemed to forgive me for not caring about him, and I couldn´t deny my feelings for Harry - at least not to myself." Hermione paused to look at Edward. "Maybe you are too young for this tale," she worried.

"No, Mum, go on," Edward urged.

And so she did. "As school began, Harry and I became closer. I felt like such a teenager, full of angst and unrequited love. I was so silly," she chided herself.

"Harry was always around to make me smile though, like it was his duty to help me stop grieving," she continued. "At breakfast, he´d turn a spoon into a flower, or walking to class, he´d shoot a rainbow out of his wand. Never realizing that his thoughtful gestures only served to make me love him more; it was a bittersweet time."

"Sounds to me like he was sweet on you," Edward spoke softly, thoughtfully.

"Right you are, son," Hermione chuckled. "At the time, I was too blind to see it. Ron caught on almost immediately. One evening, while Harry was serving a detention, Ron asked me how long I was going to let Harry flirt with me without reciprocating."

Edward raised a dark eyebrow, but made no comment.

"Yes, I was shocked too. First by what Ron was suggesting, next by the possibility and then by his apparent approval."

"Did you go talk to him then?"

"Not really - I was too worried that Ron was mistaken. The next time Harry pulled one of his amusing wand tricks, I asked him if he was flirting with me."

Edward leaned forward, rapt.

"He blushed, looked at his feet, and admitted that he was indeed," Hermione smiled fondly at the memory.

"And did he kiss you?"

"No!" Hermione cried, "of course not. I just told him I was glad, and walked away. Things progressed quickly from that point. Soon, everyone in Hogwart´s considered us a couple."

Edward was grinning.

"When you get to Hogwart´s, check out all the banisters - I´d tell you which, but they move so often. Anyway, you´ll see our initials magically and indelibly carved into a couple of them."

"Mum!" Edward cried, in mock horror. "Wizard graffiti?"

"We were young," Hermione grinned, looking almost like that teenage girl. A loud pop from the fireplace interrupted her next words.
Both of them looked up to see Werlin Jacobs head appear in the flames.

"Hello, Werlin," Hermione said.

"Yes, yes, Hermione, hello to you as well," the figure answered brusquely. "We need to have a meeting as soon as possible in regards to the latest dig."

"Will tomorrow be soon enough? My son and I must shop for school supplies," she explained, unruffled.

"I´m afraid that is not soon enough. Tonight?" Werlin replied.

"Very well then," she agreed.

"Ahh, good, then I´ll be off. Good day," Werlin nodded before disappearing altogether.

"I guess this talk will have to be continued later," Hermione sighed.

Edward was surprised at the disappointment he felt, but understood the need to be about their tasks.

"Have you brought your list?"

"Here," he indicated, pulling a slip of parchment out of his back pocket.

"Ahh, then, let´s be away," Hermione stood, reaching for the vase on the mantle. "You go first."

"I hate travelling by Floo," he complained, picking up a bit of the dust from her outstretched hand, and then throwing it into the fireplace.

Hermione chuckled as he disappeared. "Your father hated it too," she agreed to the empty room, before replacing the vase and following her son into the fireplace.

Hermione rarely used the fire place in their cozy home, at least not for warmth. The two-story cottage was small enough that the heating system worked quite efficiently during the cold winters, and frankly, Hermione had had little time to deal with cleaning up ashes, arranging for chopped wood and the like. But their fireplace, like any other wizarding home, was a central part of their existence. Until Edward was of age to legally apparate, Floo powder was a necessary mode of travel.

When Hermione arrived, seconds after Edward, her son was already standing by the shop´s front door, brushing ashes off his jacket. Her gaze travelled to the painted glass above the door.

Lavender´s Tea Shoppe

Lavender Brown, proprietress and seer

Edward´s fidgeting drew her eyes back to his figure. She could tell by his anxious gaze out the glass that he was more ready to begin their shopping.

"Ohhh, Hermione," her fellow Gryffindor, Lavender Brown, gushed and moved toward the new arrivals. "How are you two today?"

"Quiet well," Hermione smiled, taking Lavender´s outstretched hand. "We´re off to buy school supplies."

Since her old school chum had opened her Tea Shoppe, Hermione had made it her main entrance to Diagon Alley. Not only did she serve excellent teas, but Lavender also read the leaves, turning her favourite subject in school, Divination, into a thriving, though quaint business.

With a cry, Lavender turned to Edward, who still stood looking eagerly out to the street beyond the door. "Oh, Edward! Are you very excited?"

&#"Yes, ma´am," Edward turned and smiled politely.

"And aren´t you a proud Mum?" Lavender turned her attention back to Hermione. "Hardly able to believe he´s old enough."

"Well, he turned eleven back in March," Hermione answered, "but I´m a bit surprised myself, that the school year is almost upon us."

"Make sure you save time for sandwiches and tea here with me, before you go home," Lavender invited. "I´ll put back some lovely crumpets as well."

"That sounds lovely," Hermione agreed, moving toward her son.

They entered the bustling street, Edward clearly heading toward Ollivander´s. Placing a hand on his arm, Hermione slowed his progress. "We have to go to Gringott´s first," she reminded her anxious son.

"Aww, Mum, I hate going to the bank," Edward bemoaned. "Can´t I just get an ice cream and wait for you?"

Hermione heaved a sigh, shaking her head. "I think Fortescue´s will have to wait. How about you go to Wheezes for now?"

"All right then!" Edward readily agreed, hurrying off.

Hermione calmly grasped his cloak at the scruff of his neck. "Slow down, and don´t go anywhere else," she instructed in a firm tone.

Edward grinned. "I´ll tell Uncle Fred and George you´ll be by soon."

After watching until Edward nearly reached the joke shop, Hermione turned on her heel, in the direction of Gringott´s. Within moments, she found herself crushed against the chest of a passerby.

"Oh, excuse...," she began, but her words died, and she made a choking sound. Jumping back immediately, her eyes narrowed and she clutched her cloak near her throat.

The slender man should have looked like a gentleman, with his crisply pressed robes and elegant mane of golden hair, but his once smooth face held a myriad of wrinkles, as if evil had left an imprint on his body and soul. Cold, sharp eyes flashed down at her.

"Well, hello," purred a deep, delicate voice. "If it isn´t the Gryffindor Mudblood?" A familiar cane moved to touch her face like a caress.
"I see you haven´t changed much, Malfoy," Hermione all but spat, leaning backward. She was surprised at the sting of Draco´s insult, even after all these years.

"Oh, but you have," Malfoy stated , boldly looking her up and down.

Hermione´s knuckles whitened as she grasped her cloak tighter.

"I think you´ve become a bit more full-figured," the former Slytherin announced bluntly, after his cold inspection of her person. "That Weasel must have filled your belly with a quite a brood. That´s all they are really good for after all, isn´t it?"

For the first time, Hermione felt the cold prickle of fear. What if Draco found out that Harry had a son? She had heard rumours at the Ministry of his leading a new group of Death Eaters, and like Voldemort before him, the Potter´s were no friend of dark magic, and certainly the enemy of the Malfoy family.

Like a wolf, Draco sensed her fear. He raised a flaxen eyebrow, and Hermione almost thought she saw his nostril flare slightly.

Suppressing a shudder, Hermione glared at Malfoy, forcing herself not to look in the direction of Wheezes. Instead of a response, Hermione firmly stepped around her childhood nemesis. She was both relieved and surprised when he made no move to hinder her progress. Instead, Hermione heard his cold laughter echoing behind her, until she at last entered the bank. Relief flooded her - relief that Edward had not been with her, and relief that Draco had not pushed for more information.

Just a few doors away, Draco Malfoy entered the quaint tea shop, causing its owner to drop a fragile cup. It shattered on the floor, as the tall, thin wizard swept toward Lavender.

"Miss Brown, I think you might have some information I want," his voice, a mixture of coaxing and threat, poured over the already shaking witch.