Eighth [Harmione]

18. Epilogue

  Epilogue  

Hermione wasn't sure what had awakened her. She lay motionless for a moment, assessing. The house was silent, she was snugly under the sheets and coverlet, and the weak, winter sun had not yet begun to filter through the windows of their bedroom.

She rolled over, yawning dramatically and splaying her toes out in a luxurious stretch. When she let her eyes open, she was greeted by the wide green ones of her husband, only millimeters from hers.

"Sweet Merlin, Harry!" she said in exasperation, one hand flat on her breastbone, as an indication of how he'd startled her. She arched one eyebrow at him, with a no-nonsense expression. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not that long," he admitted, so reluctantly that she knew he was lying. She curled up sideways under the warm covers, tucking both hands under her cheek, and waiting for the inevitable. She didn't have to wait long. "Can we get her up yet?" he asked a moment later, in a hopeful voice.

"Didn't Mum or Mrs. Weasley teach you anything? You never - "

" - wake a sleeping infant. I know," Harry finished for her. "But she's not an infant anymore. She's two and a half. Can't I go ahead and get her up? I can't wait to see her face when she sees everything downstairs."

"You said that last Christmas. You said that when she was only seven months old." Her voice was stern, but her eyes glinted with amusement. "You're the adult, Harry. You shouldn't teach her that it's okay to wake up before dawn on Christmas morning." She shook her head with mock horror. "Bill and Fleur said that Ari had them up at 4:30 last year." She turned her head to squint at the clock on her bedside table. "It's not even six yet."

"You mean to tell me that you never woke your parents up early on Christmas morning?" Harry teased, and Hermione glowered at him.

"I had an alarm clock that was set for 7:30, and that's when I got up," Hermione said in a stiff voice. "And I've told you that before." Harry was chortling quietly.

"I know. I just think it's funny that you set an alarm clock on Christmas morning."

"Well, you're not waking Lily-Grace up. You can wait until she wakes up on her own. Do you really want her to be all cranky and out of sorts by about 2:00 this afternoon?" Hermione said, ending his teasing by ending the point of contention.

"We're going to need to get up soon, if we're going to make it to brunch at the Burrow," Harry tried again. Hermione responded to this new tack by curling more tightly under the covers and closing her eyes. She knew that he was just excited by Christmas, that he always had been once he'd left for Hogwarts, never having had any kind of Christmas at all when he was with the Dursleys. The child-like anticipation had only multiplied once their little girl had arrived, and he had been determined to follow every single tradition of Christmas, even while Lily-Grace was much too young to retain any of it. Hermione figured that she really shouldn't be so hard on him; it was only one day out of the year, after all. But the bickering about it had become somewhat of a holiday tradition in itself. And she knew that he would wake their daughter eventually...he always did.

"Hermioneee..." Harry stretched out the syllables of her name in a wheedling tone. She didn't make any movement or sign that she had heard him. He repeated himself, reaching over under the covers and skimming his feet up her leg. She curled up even more tightly. Finally, he pounced, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his cold nose in the crook of her neck, causing her to squeal involuntarily, and try to squirm away from him.

Soft padding footfalls interrupted the lingering kiss that followed.

"Daddy?" came a childish treble, as she struggled to open the door. Hermione looked at Harry suspiciously, as he sprang out of bed.