Hi guys! So this is a little something I wrote for the Harmony & Co Facebook group's 2k member celebration. It is complete, it is four chapters in total and I will be posting them all in the next few minutes, I'm sorry to those of you being inundated by notifications. You can find the rest of the stories in this collection on Ao3, there's some awesome stuff over there, I encourage you to check it out. If you need help finding it feel free to message me (it's to my eternal frustration that this site won't let me post links)

His life sucked.

Harry shouldn't have been surprised, he'd been marked by a Merlin be damned prophecy since before his birth. So the fact that things had continued to go wrong after he- despite all the odds- had survived and defeated a dark lord, shouldn't really have been a shock.

And since Harry had known for years that this particular day would come, he'd tried his best to prepare himself. Because it had been inevitable since that other unforgettable day when his best friend had snuck into his office, put up about a thousand secrecy charms, and outlined her Plan. Which was how Harry had thought of it from then on; it had become a central tenet of his life and it was only appropriate that it be referenced in capital letters.

He really shouldn't have been mad. Hermione had never been anything but forthright with him, and he'd voluntarily agreed to The Plan. He'd actually been amenable to it in the beginning, relieved for it, even. But he couldn't seem to help himself now, almost five years later. He stewed as he led his children down the steps outside of his in-laws' house and towards his car.

"Daddy," a small voice protested and he turned to see his daughter struggling to keep up with his pace while simultaneously trying to brush her unruly hair out of her face. It was usually plaited or tied back in some shape or form, but her grandmother had been combing it out for her when Harry had arrived to pick them up an hour earlier than usual.

He had been early because he'd been unable to concentrate at work, no matter how hard he tried, given the life changing news his wife had relayed via text message that morning.

Text message.

She was pregnant again. The joy he felt when he'd read the words had dissolved when the reality of the situation sank in: this was the beginning of the end of their marriage. And it had just felt like rubbing salt in the wound that she didn't seem to think that the news warranted more ceremony than a few words, sent digitally. She couldn't even be bothered to ring him? He'd nearly thrown the offending device across the room when he'd read the message on the screen.

"Sorry, love," he apologized to his daughter immediately, coming back to the present and slowing his gait. He looked at his son who was surprisingly toddling along quite well, clutching Harry's other hand, "okay Sammy?" The little boy just nodded his head but he did not look pleased. Harry understood why; upsetting his sister was a non-starter in his world.

Once they reached the car- which was the mode of transportation they most often used in the muggle world to avoid suspicion, it wouldn't do for the kids to just be popped to their grandparents without any visible coming and going- he strapped the children into their carseats with little fuss. They were actually remarkably well behaved and compliant kids, especially considering his and Hermione's rebellious history. Then again, that wasn't truly Hermione's nature. She had always been eager to please authority figures and follow the rules...until it got to the point where she didn't feel like she had any choice but to ignore that inclination for the sake of both of their lives.

Her refusal to just give up or give in no matter how dire the circumstances was also how they'd gotten themselves into their current situation. They hadn't cheated the law but they'd...skirted it.

5 Years Earlier

"Harry!" Hermione gasped as she snuck into his office, as if she was doing something wrong by visiting her best friend at work.

He looked up, startled by the alarm in her voice. "Hermione, hi, what's up?"

She held out a hand to stop him from saying anything else and then pulled out her wand and began to cast. He knew her magic intimately and could feel a variety of privacy wards being erected as well as some locking spells. She was probably the only person on earth he wouldn't have protested against taking such liberties in his space.

"I'm sorry, I know that was presumptuous, but I had to make sure," she stated, as if reading his mind.

He just nodded. "What's going on?"

"It's going to pass!" She wailed.

She swayed on her feet and Harry quickly rounded his desk to catch her.

"I never meant for my work to do this Harry, never!"

He half-carried, half-dragged her to the couch situated against one wall, for once feeling thankful for the office he wasn't always sure he actually deserved. He was awfully young to be Deputy Head Auror. He got them settled, her legs draped across his lap, with her firmly cemented to his side.

"Tell me what's going on," he said, more order than request. When Hermione was lost in her own head, oftentimes being demanding was the only thing that would draw her out.

She took a deep breath.

"You know our population has reached a critically low level?"

He nodded.

"There's a marriage law in the works."

His heart stuttered in his chest. He hadn't heard about anything of the sort, but Hermione was an Unspeakable, and as this was exactly the kind of recommendation that would come from the Department of Mysteries, he trusted that she knew what she was talking about. On top of that, he had actually learned a few things from his History of Magic classes, despite the odds, so he knew that such a thing was not unprecedented.

"I just, I never wanted my work to do this-" she continued, ignorant of his inner musings- "I wanted to prove that it was dangerous to keep intermarrying. I didn't imagine they would take it so far as to FORCE people to procreate."

"Of course you didn't," he soothed, running a hand up and down her arm.

Harry didn't think that there was any reason to tell her that he didn't find it at all hard to believe that they were using her work in such a way. It was just how the Ministry- even this 'new' Ministry- operated, it would only hurt her. Because his best friend was a bewildering combination of hopeless optimism and ruthless pragmatism. He could only assume that the former had taken over in this case.

That pragmatism had made an appearance just a little less than a month later when the marriage law had, indeed, passed the Wizengamot. All single witches and wizards of marriageable age were required to find a magically compatible (confirmed by a government healer) partner within six months, or they would be systematically paired with one. And they were then required to produce three children; each couple replacing themselves as well as adding one person to the population.

He'd barely arrived back in his office following the vote when Hermione had once again appeared.

"You're not seeing anybody, right?" She asked as she shut the door, sealing it with her myriad of secrecy spells.

"You know that I'm not." His voice sounded dull to his own ears. In many ways he'd expected it, but he was still somewhat shocked by what had just occurred.

"I just didn't want to assume, or step on anybody's toes." She wrung her hands, but otherwise appeared normal.

"What's going on Hermione?"

She took a deep breath and then stepped forward, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk and placing her hands on her knees. She met his eyes. "We both come under the purview of this law which means that we have to marry."

He resisted the urge to snort out loud; they both already knew this. "So I heard." He really wasn't in the mood to commiserate over it, he was trying very hard not to think about it for as long as possible.

"We have to get married and we have to have three children," she continued.

Harry watched as the composure she had so far maintained began to slip. She slumped in her chair and removed her hair from its clip, shaking her head back and forth.

"As I said, I know," he answered, far more gently this time.

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. "Aren't you enraged!" She demanded.

"I suppose I'm rather used to this kind of treatment from our government."

There was a moment of silence and then she let out a long breath and her posture slumped even further. "Of course you are," she looked up and met his eyes. "I have something to tell you," she confessed on a whisper, despite the lack of need to keep her voice low, given her privacy measures.

Harry felt his heart speed up. "Okay," he swallowed.

"I've spent the better part of the last week making plans to flee the country."

Harry just stared at her while it felt like the air in his office became very thick and he was seized with panic; his heart went from a gallop to a full out run, his breathing increased, and he actually began to tremble once he processed her words. And then, finally, his body reacted as he wanted it to. He rounded his desk and knelt in front of her, pressing his hands against her thighs to keep her seated. He would physically restrain her if he had to; he didn't care how selfish it made him, he couldn't just let her leave. What would he do without her?

"That's promising, at least," she sniffed as she stroked the hands gripping her legs.

"What?" He asked, dumbfounded, he'd expected her to rant and rage at his highhandedness, not simply move her hands up to grip his forearms and smile at him sadly.

"For my Plan."

"Excuse me?"

"The fact that you don't want to see me leave is promising for my Plan," she reiterated.

But that didn't clarify anything for him. "What Plan?" He asked.

"The one where we get married."

He sat back on his heels. "I'm sorry?" What was she talking about? He and Hermione weren't like that, they never had been.

"There's nobody else," she breathed. But then her eyes went wide and she shook her head vigorously. "I'm sorry, that sounded terrible and it's not what I meant." He waited patiently and watched her swallow and gather her thoughts- it was something he'd seen many times. "Is there anybody else you'd rather...do this with? Anybody else you want to marry? If so I would never stand in your way."

He opened his mouth but she plowed on.

"It's not just that we're best friends. We've lived together before. I know we can work together. And I think...I know it's not ideal, but I trust you Harry. If we have to have babies," she bit her lip and looked away, a blush blossomed on her cheeks and then spread all the way down until it disappeared beneath her blouse, "if you think I'm insane I understand, I'll never bring it up again."

Harry just stared at her as he processed her words.

In some ways he was appalled by the suggestion. Not, he realized, that he was disgusted by the idea of being with Hermione like that. His best friend was a beautiful and passionate woman, it would be no chore to be intimate with her. The idea was certainly foreign, but not in any way disgusting. But he hated that it wouldn't be their choice.

And part of him wanted to rant and rail to his best friend about what was being demanded of them. But the way that she blushed and could no longer look him in the eye betrayed how much courage it must have taken her to come to him with this. He couldn't place the burden of his own anger on her. At least not at the moment.

"Hey," he said softly, raising a hand to her face. "No, you're not crazy. You just surprised me, that's all. Give me a little while to think about it, okay?"

"Of course," she breathed a sigh of relief. "Take all the time you need, I didn't expect an answer right away. I'm just grateful you're willing to consider it."

She rose from her chair shakily. Harry's heart lurched at the sight: he'd seen her face Death Eaters with more composure. It had him rising along with her and taking her into his arms. "It will be okay, we always find a way, don't we?"

She nodded her head and sobbed into his shoulder.

As it turned out, he didn't even need to think about it for twenty-four hours.

His initial reaction to her suggestion had been that it was impossible, because she was his best friend. He couldn't just go off and marry her, sleep with her, have children with her. His second reaction was to ask himself who would be a better option than his best friend?

A Ministry match-up? A fangirl? Another friend?

And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't imagine anybody else he would be willing to dive in with. Anybody else he could live with so intimately. Anybody else he could allow to be the mother of his children.

And, most importantly, he absolutely could not trust anybody else with her.

If he'd had any doubts about his decision the look of relief on her face and the way she'd hugged him so tight when he'd told her his decision, made them evaporate. And that's when they'd sat on either side of the desk in the study at Potter House and outlined the details of The Plan.

It had seemed so sensible at the time.

As a muggleborn and muggle-raised respectively, they didn't balk at the idea of divorce like most magicals did. So, they agreed to have the three required children and then separate amicably. They would each be free to pursue other relationships, to find love, but remain best friends who would still be able to co-parent their children in a healthy environment.

It made sense, Hermione had argued. Harry had agreed. He had been relieved that they could be so calm and reasonable about their arrangement, and that she had such an organized mind, even if discussing such things had felt a little awkward.

They both knew they were magically compatible without any St. Mungo's exam needing to tell them; but it did exactly that. The press had a field day when they announced their engagement. And on the one hand it had been a nightmare. They ended up dodging cameras for weeks. It was as bad as it had been right after the war.

But on the other hand, it had been a different kind of nightmare. So many people who were close to them were thrilled, they even seemed smug over the news that they were getting married...it was as if they'd seen it coming. It was obnoxious on every level. Because it meant that there was nowhere for them to escape the bizarre attention, one way or the other. Hermione found herself baffled and irritated by all the attention and expressed it to Harry regularly.

But, bizarrely, Harry didn't mind. Actually, he reveled in the fact that she was able to take comfort in him. And when she confessed to him that she couldn't bear to tell her parents the actual reason for their marriage, he couldn't bring himself to force her. She'd nearly lost them in the wake of the war and after the actions she'd taken to protect them- they had no trust for the magical world.

So, Harry and Hermione sold it as a normal engagement. The Grangers had been less than surprised by their announcement. Which perhaps should have seemed odd. But Harry supposed that they'd been hearing about him and had known that he and their daughter had been very close for more than a decade.

Hermione's mum went a little crazy with the wedding planning. And while Harry knew that it wasn't really Hermione's thing, he had also understood that she was extremely happy that there was something in her life that she could finally share with her parents world, and so she allowed herself to be dragged into her mother's enthusiasm. It was all too easy to pretend that it wasn't a farce.

In fact, the only person who seemed to have any objection to their union (except those who had hoped to snag either himself of Hermione for themselves) had surprisingly been their best friend. Harry had anticipated an uncomfortable discussion with Ron, given his romantic history- however brief- with Hermione. Though in the end he knew he wouldn't be able to object; Ron was happily married himself.

What he hadn't expected was the anguish in his best mate's eyes when they'd gone around to his and Lavender's house for dinner and explained their decision to marry, wanting to inform them before they released a statement to the press. Lavender had given them an understanding smile and then piled their plates full of pudding in a move which was so reminiscent of Molly Weasley, and from a witch who was nearly her physical opposite, that it was almost comical. But then Ron had made a sad, choked sound that had sucked any air of levity from the room.

"Ron!" Hermione wailed, glancing at Harry for help; as if he would have any idea how to react.

"I'm sorry," Ron answered, running his hands over his face. "I just think that you both deserve better. After everything you've been through, everything you've done. How can the Ministry do this to you? You should have what I have," he reached for Lavender who, with an adoring smile, settled on his lap.

"Ronald," Hermione answered in that way which meant that she was not to be trifled with, and which always got their attention. She reached for Harry's hand and clasped it tightly. "It's Harry, who could possibly be better than that?"

Harry's heart stuttered and then soared. He looked over at her, he knew he was grinning stupidly but he couldn't help himself. Was there anything in the world better than her approval?

"I feel the same way," he told Ron, but he never took his eyes off of his future wife's face.

Ron just blinked at them. Eventually Harry saw Lavender pinch him out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh, okay then," Ron answered, sounding rather baffled.

Harry barely heard him.

And that had been that.

They were married on a spring day in the small parish church near the Grangers home in order to give Hermione's parents one thing in her life they could openly celebrate with their friends. They were magically bonded in a totally private ceremony completed by the Minister for Magic himself at Potter House. Hermione had easily agreed to move into his ancestral home for the course of their marriage; she had never been shy about how much she adored the place so Harry didn't feel guilty about asking her to live there.

And, in hindsight, he realized he should have noticed the signs of his shifting feelings for Hermione. But it wasn't until their wedding night that Harry realized he was truly in trouble.

Because his best friend- his wife- had arranged things for the required consummation of their marriage like they were sitting some kind of exam, and were going to be graded on the outcome. She had been waiting for him in bed, hips propped up on a pillow, though she was modestly covered by a nighty and a sheet. When he'd balked at the sight she had explained to him that it was apparently an optimal position for conception.

He found himself appalled. He wanted more than some kind of clinical experience. But more than that, he wanted more for her. She deserved to feel desired and cherished, she deserved real pleasure and a man who wanted to give it to her. And suddenly he had known that, despite how they'd come to find themselves in this situation, he wanted to be that man.

He entered the room from the bathroom, eyed her laid out on the bed and almost immediately shook his head.

"Why are you laying like that?" He asked.

She shrugged. "I've done the research. If we want to get pregnant quickly, this is the best way."

His entire being revolted at the statement and he responded automatically: "No."

Her eyes shuttered at his apparent rejection and he immediately understood his mistake. He made his way to her, crawling on top of her and taking her face in his hands.

"I didn't mean it like that, Hermione, but you're my best friend. I refuse to treat you like… all that you are is a womb. You're much more to me than that." He hesitated. "Is the idea of being intimate with me that disgusting to you?"

"No! It's- you're very handsome," she blushed and looked away. "What I mean is that I find you very attractive."

"And you're very beautiful." He stroked her cheeks. This timidity in his usually formidable best friend brought him courage- he could be strong for both of them this once.

"Thanks," she bit her lip but still wouldn't look at him.

He resisted the urge to scoff at her modesty, as he knew that it wasn't false, she truly had a hard time believing him. If he'd told her she was brilliant she would have beamed with pride. Still, he resisted the urge to sigh, lest she misunderstand.

Her disbelief in her desirability as a woman was frustrating to him, mostly because he'd always felt so unable to help her overcome it. But he realized that's exactly what he now had permission to do. And he wanted to, more than anything.

"Look at me Mione," he cajoled, shortening her name in the way that only he, and occasionally Ron, had permission to do.

She finally turned her head back to face him. He swooped down and captured her lips with his. He kissed her slowly, reverently. She sighed and he tentatively snuck his tongue into her mouth. Her hands made their way into his hair, her body became languid beneath him, and their mouths met over and over.

"Harry," she murmured with something that sounded like wonder.

He pulled back and smiled at her. "Let's not make it about this then," he tugged the pillow from beneath her hips, "it'll happen when it happens. For now let's just feel good together, okay?"

She gazed at him for a moment then started to smile. "Yes, thank you Harry."

"Stop thanking me," he chuckled and he kissed her again- his best friend, his wife.

He'd made love to her that night and his world underwent a seismic shift during the experience: it became abundantly clear that he belonged to her, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they'd been physically intimate.

He could never be certain, but he was sure they'd conceived their first child that night. Cicely had been born almost nine months to the day after their wedding. Once Hermione was out of pain and he had been assured they were both safe, it had been by far and away the best day of his life. He'd felt no guilt in feeling that way because Hermione had assured him she felt the same.

Frustratingly, while Cicely's birth was a joy to everybody who knew the Potters, it was also used as a political tool. She was heralded as a triumph of the law. It was something that had made Harry feel sick. It also made him want to spirit his precious little family out of the country. But, of course, that would have completely defeated the purpose of what they'd done. It would have ruined The Plan.

Cicely was almost two when Samuel was born. That had also been part of The Plan; they waited for a year after Hermione had given birth to try again which, according to Hermione's research was optimal for Mum, baby, and new baby. She'd again fallen pregnant almost straight away.

He felt terrible for complaining about that fact, even inside his own head. Because so many of their friends were struggling to even have their first child (Hermione's work about the dangers of intermarrying had a lot of merit) and Ron and Lavender, especially, were desperate for a baby. Meanwhile he had a healthy child, one on the way, and a wife he adored. However, she was a wife he'd only gotten to make love to as many times as he could probably count on his fingers and toes.

Yet another aspect of The Plan: they only came together physically for the purposes of conception. Because yes, on their wedding night they had agreed that they should enjoy it, if they had to do it, but it wasn't something they indulged in just for pleasure. They only even slept in the same bed because she'd had some bleeding early on in her pregnancy with Cicely and she'd had to come fetch him to get him to help her make her way to St. Mungo's.

After that, he'd insisted that he needed to be close by in case they needed him again. And once the baby was born it had just become easier to be in the same place to deal with any issues which might have arisen with the baby in the night. So they'd continued on sharing the master bedroom. He held her if she wanted it, if she needed comfort or a human body pillow, but that was all. They were basically roommates.

He'd spent weeks giving himself pep talks as Sam's first birthday approached. Once he remembered that Hermione would soon be coming to him about "trying" for the third and final time, lest he lose control like a teenager the moment he was inside of her. Because he missed and wanted her desperately. And nearly two years was a long time to go without sex, especially when the object of your desire shared your home and your bed.

It had taken several months to conceive this time. Something which had been an entirely different kind of torture for Harry. Because he couldn't afford to get used to loving Hermione like that, not when he knew it was bound to end. And now, end it had.

Because this morning he'd gotten that bloody text.

Now he was faced with the reality which he'd resisted truly considering: living without Hermione, of a cold empty bed, of never expressing his love for her physically ever again, of his children not being at home with him every night. He was heartbroken. And he was angry. It was a maelstrom of emotions which saw him rapidly moving past rational thinking.

Which was never a good thing in the face of Hermione Potter née Granger.