Surprise

Surprise
part one

She didn't know why she was still running. As she sat in Golden Gate Park staring at the bridge, she came to the realization she was tired of running.

She needed to go home.

She hoped they still needed her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Ron! Where did you put my broom?"

She heard Ron Weasley laugh. "Can't find your stick, Potter?"

"Damn you, Weasley! I'll be late for practice!"

Standing outside the rear door of the house where her best friends resided, she felt heartsick to hear their voices. It had been eight long months since she'd left.

"And Merlin knows you need practice with your broom," Ron teased.

She raised her hand to knock, only to jump back, startled, when the door opened. Harry Potter stood framed in the doorway.

He took her breath away. He was pale, almost unnaturally so given his profession as Seeker for the professional Quidditch team the Montrose Magpies. It made his emerald eyes jump from his face, especially in contrast to his black hair and lashes. And he was thinner than she remembered. It made her worry about him.

His mouth hung open, then he gasped. "Hermione?" She nodded, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. He blinked several times, then turned and yelled, "Ron!"

"Need help polishing your broomstick?" Ron called back before entering the kitchen, using a rag to wipe his fingers free of ink.

When he saw her in the doorway, he froze much as Harry had. He was taller, broader, than she remembered. It surprised her just how much space Ron occupied. As she studied him, she realized that her entire time in America she'd unconsciously been looking for that very shade of red hair -- just as she'd sought Harry's shade of green eyes -- and had never been able to find it. His sapphire eyes drank her in, widening as they saw her belly.

"Hermione?" he said, disbelief making his voice a rasping whisper.

She brushed her hair back out of habit -- she'd cut it short four months ago when pregnancy had taken the life from it. After twenty-seven years of wearing it long, though, it was hard to lose the habit of tucking it back or twirling it about one finger.

"Hello, Harry," she said. "Hello, Ron."

Harry suddenly threw the door wide and rushed her, pulling her tightly to him.

"Hermione," he whispered into her hair. Then she realized he was crying.

Looking up at Ron, she was shocked to see he'd sunk to his knees and had buried his face in his hands.

I've driven them both to tears, she thought wonderingly.

"Harry? Harry...let's go inside," she suggested.

"What?" He pulled back, then shook himself and all but dragged her inside, slamming the door behind them.

Ron rushed out to grab her bag. Harry forced her into a chair, then sank into one across the table from her. Ron snagged a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses before dropping into a chair between his two friends.

Hermione took the opportunity their stunned silence afforded her to study them. Ron was pale, but it didn't look unhealthy, it merely looked like part of his complexion. His fingers had ink stains very similar to the ones on her own. Harry, on the other hand, was dressed in black Quidditch robes. His hair was cut almost brutally short, emphasizing both his eyes and cheekbones. His infamous scar had faded in the ten years since Voldemort's final death, but it was still etched faintly on his forehead.

"You came back," Ron whispered, his voice suspiciously choked.

She shifted her eyes back to him in time to see him brush tears away.

"Way to state the obvious, Ron," Harry teased, his own voice laced with tears.

She smiled. "Yes." She shifted uncomfortably in the hard-backed chair. Ron poured the whiskey, handing one glass to Harry, then downing nearly half his own. "I missed you."

Harry sputtered. "You missed us?" He waved a hand at her belly. "There's someone you encountered while you missed us."

She didn't know if she was quite ready for this turn of the conversation. She knew it would come up, of course -- how could it not when she was eight months pregnant -- but it made her nervous.

"Not exactly," she replied, twisting her hands.

"Not exactly," Ron repeated slowly. He narrowed his eyes speculatively. "How far along are you?"

"Eight months," she said, willing them to understand.

"Eight?" Harry asked. She nodded. "That's the --"

Ron interrupted coldly "-- same amount of time she's been gone."

Harry looked between Ron and Hermione. Ron was glaring at her but it took Harry another moment to understand. Hermione knew that moment because he stood abruptly, knocking his chair onto the floor and backing away.

"Oh no, Hermione," he spat, crossing his arms over his chest once he reached the wall. "You can't be gone without word for so long then come back because one of us knocked you up."

She opened her mouth to explain but Ron held up one hand, stopping her.

"Harry, that was quite rude. For all we know it's coincidental." Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he turned to her again. "Hermione?"

She hadn't wanted it to be this way. She'd thought about how to approach them the entire return trip. That's not entirely true. You've been thinking about how to explain since the day you found out.

"I hadn't been with anyone other than you since Andrew," she finally admitted.

"Oh fuck," Harry muttered. Dragging a hand over his face, he spat, "I have to go to practice."

Ron stood, glaring at Harry this time. "Don't you dare leave. Harry Potter can skive off practice for one night."

"Do you know what this means, Ron? Even if it is Hermione, this is what I've avoided by the heavy use of contraceptive charms and my current choice of bed partner." He laughed harshly, drowning out Ron's protests, then began to pace. "There are many women who want nothing more than to trap Harry Potter with a child."

Before Ron could reply, Hermione spat, "You bastard!" Harry turned to her and met her furious gaze. "I was as surprised by that night as you...don't you dare tell me I tried to trap either of you."

"I'm warming your bed so you don't get a girl pregnant?" Ron hissed, his voice low with outrage and hurt. He took several steps forward into Harry's personal space.

Harry shoved a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "That's not what I meant, Ron."

After a moment, Ron seemed to accept that and nodded. "Harry, this is Hermione, our best friend. She wouldn't need to get pregnant to keep our friendship."

Harry took a final look at Hermione and Ron, then righted his chair and sank into it. He dragged a hand over his face and sighed.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Hermione was still furious, though. She stood with her hands clenched into fists and glaring at Harry.

"Do you have any idea how I felt when I found out I was pregnant? I'm a twenty-seven-year-old widow and pregnant by my best friends -- a year after being widowed." She sat again, her anger dissolving with her words. "That night was what I needed, but it scared the hell out of me."

Ron and Harry exchanged a look. Harry pulled his chair to the table and, crossing his arms on the tabletop, he dropped his head onto his forearms. Ron visibly relaxed, obviously glad he wouldn't have to calm Harry down when the both of them were upset.

"It wasn't exactly what I expected either, Hermione," Ron allowed. "Harry's known he's bisexual for a long time." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "It was a shock to me to discover I am, too."

"We lost our virginity to each other, Ronald," she reminded him.

"I know that, but I thought my crush on you was an 'I like girls' phase."

Harry laughed at that. "You were the only person you were deluding, Weasley."

Hermione rubbed a hand over her belly. "There's something else...." Both boys turned surprised and suspicious eyes on her.

"What?" Harry asked finally.

"I'm...I'm having twins."

"Twins," Ron repeated flatly.

"Yes."

There was a long silence Hermione knew she needed to break with the rest of her news, but she didn't want to. She wanted to continue in her bubble of semi-tranquility.

Ron broke the silence first. "Identical or fraternal?"

"Fraternal," she answered softly, but did not elaborate.

"Same sex?" Harry asked.

"Boy and girl."

The boys exchanged a look again, then Ron inquired, "Same father?"

This had been the moment she was dreading. She had Obliviated the mediwitch she'd consulted in the States for the paternity charm.

"No," she whispered.

Harry dropped his head to his arms again. Ron sank back in his chair and dragged a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry," she offered. Harry looked up over his forearms, disbelief in his eyes. Ron's expression was blank as he looked at her.

"Sorry," Harry repeated, lifting his head, then standing to pace once again. The billowing of his robes reminded her faintly of Professor Snape from school, but she didn't tell him that. He wouldn't appreciate the comparison.

She jumped backwards in her chair when Harry turned suddenly and slammed his hands onto the tabletop directly across from her. His voice was a low growl when he leaned forward and spat, "Hermione, you've just told us we're both to become fathers within the month and all you can say is &lsdquo;sorry'?"

"Yes!" she returned heatedly.

"Why didn't you tell us when you found out?" Ron asked as Harry and Hermione glared at each other.

"Because I was scared out of my mind," she replied nervously. The way Harry was staring at her -- like she was no better than some Potter groupie -- was making her both uncomfortable and sad.

"Scared?" Harry repeated disbelievingly. "Scared?"

"Yes, scared." She stood as well, bracing her hands on the table and leaning forward to get into Harry's face. "Of exactly this reaction. What the hell was I supposed to do when, on the first anniversary of my husband's death, I end up in bed with my best friends? That I had enjoyed loving them much more than I ever had with my husband? That I wanted more? That I felt like a wanton whore?"

Taking a deep breath, she backed off, trying to compose herself. Tears streamed down her face, but she ignored them. A glance at Ron showed her that he was stunned to silence.

Harry was still glaring at her. "A wanton whore, Hermione?" he mocked. "I'd hardly say that. And don't you think we weren't shocked?"

"Were you?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hell yes we were, Hermione," Ron answered. She turned to him slowly. "What makes you think we planned a ménage a trois?"

She scoffed. "I never thought you'd planned it." But did she believe her own words? More than once since that night she'd wondered if they hadn't at least discussed the possibility.

Harry and Ron had been together for three years before Hermione married -- disappointing many a witch in the wizarding world -- and that was five years ago. She had seen the looks they'd given her sometimes, a calculating sidelong glance or appraising head-to-toe scan. But neither had ever acted upon it.

Until she'd shown up on their doorstep half-drunk on the anniversary of her husband's death.

"Hermione," Ron said in a low tone. She met his eyes reluctantly. "I know that look."

She crossed her arms over her chest, resting them on the bulge of her pregnancy. "Do you now?"

"You're wondering if we've talked about it."

Given how well they knew each other, she shouldn't have been surprised he'd so accurately read her expression. After eight months apart, she'd forgotten about that almost eerie silent communication they seemed to share.

Sighing, she sank into her chair once again. "Yes, I'm curious."

Ron and Harry exchanged a look once again, annoying her, then Ron said, "We didn't plan a ménage a trois, but we had talked about it."

"You had talked about it," she repeated, rolling her eyes. "For how long?"

Harry's smile was wicked. "Since seventh year."

She gasped and fell back in her chair. "What?" Ron glanced between the two friends, then grinned. "Ten years?"

"Well, just over nine before we finally got there," Harry corrected, idly examining his fingernails.

"You...we...nine years?" It was one of the few times in her life when Hermione Granger was speechless. Ron and Harry both nodded slowly. She stood once again, walking to the sink.

She leaned against the countertop, staring down into the sink, seeing it only in the periphery of her vision. They'd thought about the three of us for nine years? Idly she noted the faucet leaked, the steady drips circling the drain before disappearing.

She whipped around to find Harry whispering in Ron's ear, one pale hand resting on Ron's shoulder.

And if I didn't know they were lovers, I could mistake it for friendship, she realized. Leaning back once again, the counter comfortably digging into her lower back and one hand on her belly, she cast back into her memory for other events.

If they'd talked about a ménage a trois in seventh year, that means they'd considered being with each other at that point as well. So how many times have I been on the receiving end of touches that were passes intending to lead to something more? Touches that were really designed to gauge my interesting in one -- or both -- of them?

Ron laughed softly, turning to brush a kiss over Harry's lips. Harry danced backwards, then pinned her with those impossibly green eyes.

"I need to know something," she blurted. Harry inclined his head, indicating she should continue. "Have either of you ever made a pass at me?"

Ron laughed. "After seventh year?"

She braced her hands on her hips and glared. "Yes, Ron, after we broke up."

He and Harry exchanged a look. "A few times," Ron admitted.

This was becoming more surreal for her. For eight months she'd been under the impression that they'd taken her in and slept with her out of some combination of pity and friendship. To now find out that her arrival that night wasn't unwelcome and had been anticipated in a way, was shocking.

She made her way back to the table, sinking once more into a chair. "Did you expect me that night?"

"We knew you'd probably at least call," Harry allowed. "We certainly didn't expect you'd drop by after you'd had a bit to drink."

"Or that you'd kiss both of us that way," Ron adds almost under his breath.

"Or that it would lead to anything else."

"We'd talked about it but never expected it."

It was a bit like listening to Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George, the way they seemed to speak as one person with two voices. They've been together entirely too long.

Harry stood abruptly and unfastened his Quidditch robes. When Ron and Hermione both looked at him quizzically, he shrugged and said, "Too bloody hot."

She didn't know if what he was left with was any better. White t-shirt, dark trousers, and leather arm and shin guards.

"I came back because I missed you two," she repeated her earlier words, this time with more meaning.

Ron reached across the table. "We missed you too, Hermione."

Harry paced for a moment, then flopped back into his chair. "So where do we go from here?"

That was the question she had wrestled with herself over on the entire trip back to England. What did she want of them? For her children to know their fathers, certainly, but beyond that she hadn't considered the possibilities.

In all her thinking about her children and her boys, she had come to the conclusion that what she wanted was the three -- well, five -- of them to become a family. How that happened, she'd never been able to quite figure out. Faced with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter now, the idea frankly terrified her.

"You aren't leaving again, are you, Hermione?" Ron asked suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

She shook her head. "No, it's too close to my due date. I rented a flat not far from here –"

Before she could continue, Harry interrupted in a tone that did not brook argument, "You aren't staying in your own flat."

"I'm not?"

"No, you'll stay here," Ron replied.

It was what she wanted, what she'd hoped for, but she wasn't going to let them know that. "I am?" Each of the boys nodded. "And where am I sleeping?"

"We have plenty of guest rooms," Harry said quietly.

"Guest rooms," she repeated. There was no way she could share a house with them and pretend it was platonic, not when their children were currently doing their best to claw their way out of her.

Harry and Ron exchanged another look, but said nothing.

"Very well," she said, nodding shortly. Before either of the boys could respond, she pulled her wand and Disapparated.