Chapter Text
Harry walked to the shop door. He strode to it. He walked with purpose. Then with nonchalance. Then with determination.
But each time, before his hand grabbed the doorhandle, he slid past, convincing himself that he needed a quick pint at the local down the street, or a newspaper from the agent, or a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store a block away. For Merlin’s sake, he didn’t even smoke.
Well, not yet.
But if this kept up, he might just.
He nursed his coffee at the shop a block back, too much non-dairy creamer and not nearly enough sugar.
This was all Hermione’s fault.
~*~
“We’re doing the Wizard-born kids at Hogwarts a great disservice,” she’d said, over dinner months ago at their place, Rose and Hugo tossing couch cushions and upending the magazine holder. She blew her fringe out of her face, and well, Harry wasn’t one to talk, but he wasn’t sure the last time she’d washed it had been. He’d never seen it so dull and Snape-ish. And Ron didn’t look much better, barely keeping his eyes open, and it hadn’t yet gone half 7.
“Disservice?” Harry prompted. He’d waited for her to finish but was pretty sure she’d either fallen asleep or completely forgotten her thought.
She drew as close to him as she could without the energy to stand. “Babies,” she whispered into his face, her voice rough from too much yelling and not enough sleep, like stepping on Legos barefoot.
“Babies,” she repeated (in case one of the two of them forgot, Harry guessed). “We need to teach the kids about sex and babies and how to do one and not the other.” She waved her hand toward the kitchen with more dirty dishes stacked than just that night’s. The lounge littered with dirty plates and coffee mugs and something disillusioned that Harry suspected was a pile of dirty nappies.
“Pretty sure they know how to have sex,” Harry laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
Ron cracked open one eyelid. “I dunno, mate. Wizard families get weird about sex. Maybe ‘cuz of all the arranged marriages and stuff. I didn’t know anything til Her—"
“Everyone needs sex education.” Hermione stared at Harry, bolted up, knocking her chair over. It clattered on the tile floor, but Harry barely heard it through Hugo and Rosie’s shrieks as they threw shredded bits of The Prophet at each other. Hermione deftly walked around the kids, wrenched open a drawer, and scribbled something on parchment.
Harry knew the take no prisoners look in her eyes, shutting out everything as she completed her task. He’d seen it before exams. Before SPEW. Fucking Merlin, she had a plan.
Hermione shoved the quill into her messy bun, tied the letter to her owl’s leg, and sent her out the window.
“Hermione, I know that look. What did you do?” Panic fluttered in Harry’s chest. He had no idea what had just happened, but he knew, sure as he was about the pile of moldering nappies, that this would be bad.
And somehow, it would involve him.
She didn’t answer, tried to stare him down, but didn’t have the energy for even a raised eyebrow.
Rosie streaked by, and Harry snagged her, picking her up. She shrieked as he blew kisses on her neck, and Hugo climbed his leg and squeezed into Harry’s lap.
Hermione stood in the kitchen, too exhausted to feel the drip of ink through her curls to her shoulder. Ron slept hard against the tablecloth, his hair in the leftover spaghetti sauce.
“Go to bed,” Harry said to Hermione as he shook Ron awake. “I know it’s not even 8:00. But go to bed. Get some sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”
He’d never seen two people move faster than Ron and Hermione, like they were sure Harry’d had a moment of temporary insanity and would withdraw his offer if they hesitated. “Good night,” he called after them, his lap filled with toddlers.
Harry found a classical music station on his phone and allowed it to softly wind its way around the babies as he wrangled them into the tub, then readied them for bed. Through the just-one-more bedtime stories and the good night kisses on foreheads.
He passed Ron and Hermione’s bedroom and could hear Ron’s snores through the closed door before heading downstairs to tidy up.
Harry thought about their conversation, about uptight Wizard parents and uninformed teenagers, as he sent a dishwashing spell at the sink. He grabbed the kitchen rubbish bin and slowly picked up the torn newspapers and magazines, old apple cores, and bits of crust and cheese. He dissolved the glamour in the corner of the room and vanished the (larger than he’d suspected) mountain of soiled nappies.
He was exhausted by the time he returned to Grimmauld Place. But Ron and Hermione’s home was dusted and mopped, the dishes put up, and the children finally asleep.
Harry planned to get a glass of water and a snack before heading to bed. He was going to walk down the stairs to the kitchen, just as soon as he sat down for a moment on the couch in his lounge.
“Christ, being a parent is hard fucking work,” Harry said aloud to the empty room. Or meant to. “Just—close my eyes for a sec, and then I’ll—”
He was dreaming before he finished his sentence.
~*~
He should have been afraid of Hermione’s idea.
Should have seen it in the set of her jaw and the frantic light in her eyes.
Headmaster McGonagall’s white-faced owl tap tap tapped at Harry’s lounge window, stopping then restarting until Harry woke up, stiff and sore from sleeping on the couch.
Harry struggled upright, ignoring his creaking spine, and opened the window for the large Hogwarts barn owl. “Alright, Simba?” he said, offering a treat before untying the letter.
Dear Harry,
I hope this note finds you well. I’m sorry to change the curriculum for your Muggle Studies courses so close to the start of the school year, but I would like you to add a family life and sexual education component to each level. I have faith you will handle this in an appropriately mature way. I will alert our families to this change. I expect there may be some pushback from more conservative parents and guardians, but I will tend to them.
As always I am available by Floo, Floo Call, or Owl.
Oh, this had Hermione written all over it. The timing was too convenient, and Harry didn’t believe in coincidences. The Universe is rarely so lazy someone had one said.
“Close to the start of the year?” Harry re-read out loud. “Christ, school starts in two weeks!” He cursed into the silence of his house, combining two and three to make new words when he ran out of the ones he knew. “This is some motherfucking bullshit, Simba,” he said to the owl, who didn’t even have the decency to hoot in agreement.
Nota Bene: Harry read the final line again. Do not do any research at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. The or-else isn’t merely implied, Mr. Potter.