I don't own any of the characters in this story - they belong to the world of Harry Potter and J K Rowling.

Thank you to Claireabellalou for betaing this for me - and for telling me it needed an epilogue!

Epilogue

Pansy meandered into the library, coffee cup in hand, wearing just the silk dressing gown she had thrown on when she got out of bed. A cool breeze from the open window played over her skin and ruffled her dark hair, bringing up a trail of goosebumps over the flesh of her forearms.

Hermione was sat in the armchair by the window, her face set into a grim mask, staring into the middle distance. She smiled at Pansy's approach but it was thin and brittle, sending a thrill of fear through the former Slytherin. She noticed, but pretended not to, Hermione's white knuckles as she gripped a newspaper in her hands.

"Everything alright love?" she asked cautiously, perching on the arm of the chair. Her wife's temper had been somewhat heightened of late which had led to some truly fantastic making up sessions, but she had no wish to start an argument this early in the morning.

Hermione threw the newspaper down onto the small table next to her, speaking in clipped tones, "The new Minister for Magic has overthrown the marriage law. Looks like that research I did into the fluctuations in size of wizarding populations across the world helped,"

"Yes, that and the Weasleys popping out about seventeen kids at once," Pansy chuckled, although Hermione's behaviour was still troubling her.

"Well, Lavender was never one to want to lose the limelight," Hermione grinned.

After Ginny and Harry had had twins, just six months after Hermione and Pansy's wedding, Ron's new wife followed less than a year later with triplets. Not that Pansy and Hermione had been there at the birth – they had embarked on a belated honeymoon that they didn't bother to return from for eighteen months. Whether they were trying to outrun the Ministry, or just forge so many new memories that they forgot their past, neither of them could say. They were a heady few months that even now were receding to brightly jewel coloured points of oil rubbed over sun heated skin; helpless laughter over good bottles of muggle red wine; watching the Northern lights snuggled together wrapped in reindeer skin; and salty kisses, neck deep in a navy blue warm sea while fireworks exploded overhead.

"Congratulations anyway, you did splendidly. You were right of course, to keep going. Just because everything worked out for us, doesn't mean everyone is so lucky. Does that mean we're still married or have they dissolved all of the existing matches?" Pansy asked with forced casualness. She rubbed her hand over Hermione's back and leaned in to kiss her cheek, only to recoil in shock as Hermione stiffened, grimacing.

"What – are you – is everything ok?" Pansy's voice faltered. She set the coffee cup carelessly onto the table and it spilled, the dark liquid running over the print of the newspaper. She took it as a bad sign that Hermione didn't immediately siphon it back into the cup.

"My bag's packed," Hermione spoke through gritted teeth, "has been for weeks. It's by the front door,"

Pansy just stood staring, open mouthed at the witch. Hermione was reminded, just for a split second, of how Neville looked when she had hit him with the Petrificus Totalus, back in her first year at Hogwarts.

Eventually she unfroze, "Are you sure?" she asked, barely louder than a whisper, "Can I – have I got time to change at least? I really don't want to do this in my dressing gown,"

Hermione tutted, "Only you would be thinking of your looks at a time like this. Fine, I'll be waiting by the fireplace. But be quick,"

Pansy gripped her hand tightly, "It'll be ok love,"

"Yes well," Hermione smiled, "easy for you to say," then she seemed overtaken again, bracing herself against the back of the chair as Pansy rushed off to get dressed

oOoOoOo

One panicked floo ride and several hours later, Hermione lay propped up against a pile of snowy white pillows, all bearing the discreet logo of St Mungo's. Her smile was only eclipsed by that of her wife's, who was now sitting comfortably next to her, thanks to a well-placed engorgement charm on the narrow bed.

"You were fantastic," Pansy whispered, brushing a damp tendril of hair from Hermione's warm forehead.

"Sorry about your hand," Hermione breathed back, not quite able to look up at Pansy.

"Nothing a bit of skelegro won't fix,"

"Hey – it wasn't that bad!" Hermione nudged her as they both attempted to smother their giggles for fear of disturbing the tiny bundle that lay between them.

"Did you have to leave it 'til quite so near the last minute though? You nearly gave me a heart attack - you in full blown labour in the library, reading the newspaper, cool as a cucumber,"

Hermione just waved her concerns away serenely, "Isn't he perfect," she sighed, taking in the pink wrinkled skin and shock of dark hair of the baby – their baby.

"He's got your eyes, you know. Your brain too, I hope," Pansy wrapped her arm around Hermione.

"Well he's got your colouring. What shall we call him?"

"I thought we'd decided? I thought we looked through those blasted baby books for hours and hours, drawing up a shortlist and then after all that you said why don't we call him Harry. We'd decided!" Pansy's voice took on the pleading edge of someone who saw hours of cuddles with the new baby slipping away from her grasp, only to be replaced by more looking through name books.

"It just seems a lot of responsibility, naming him after Harry Potter. Don't we want him to be his own person, rather than just an echo of someone else?" Hermione stroked the tip of her finger wonderingly across his tiny clenched hand.

"Yes, let's leave naming our child after someone else to the plebs," smirked Pansy, thinking of James and Albus Potter, and Gideon, Fabian and Nymphadora Weasley, the children of Hermione's two best friends, "have you got anything in mind then?"

"What about Fiore?" Hermione murmured.

"Fiore? Isn't that a bit…pureblooded? Not to mention, ridiculous,"

"It means 'flower'," Hermione huffed, "I thought you might want to continue on the floral theme,"

"Fiore Parkinson," Pansy tried the name out on her tongue.

"Granger-Parkinson," Hermione reminded her sharply, before sagging, her head leaning on her wife's shoulder, "You don't like it, do you,"

"We've got plenty of time to decide, let's not rush into anything," humour sparkled in Pansy's eyes.

"You've changed. Not so long ago, you'd be shouting your head off, trying to get your own way over the name,"

"Not as much as you," Pansy said pointedly, before leaning in and kissing her wife deeply on the lips.

After a long, lingering moment, Hermione pulled away, "Leo?" she asked, innocently, not quite able to bite down on her smile.

"I am not naming my son after a bloody lion! I know that's just your way of trying to get him into Gryffindor," her raised voice caused the as yet unnamed baby to stir. Both mothers immediately fussed over him, smoothing his hair and tucking his blanket around him more securely, until he drifted back off to sleep.

"Perhaps you're right," Hermione smiled, "Let's think about it a bit longer," and she kissed her wife again. This time it was Pansy that pulled back.

She lifted their son gently into the crib by the bed and returned to Hermione's side, whispering furiously, her dark eyes flashing, "I know what you're up to. You're going to suggest a load of names you know I won't like, then we'll go back to the one you do like and it won't seem like such a bad idea after –"

Hermione cut her off, winding her hand into her hair, pulling her back towards her and kissing her so intensely that they both forgot what they had been discussing, forgot everything but the feelings of wanting and being wanted, loving and being loved. In that moment, nothing but the three of them existed in the entire world and the stars shone for them. All was well.

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