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In Perfect Harmony

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Hermione sat at the kitchen table, research spread out before her, but her attention was no longer held by the work she needed to finish.

There, in the armchair that had belonged to her grandmother, sat the objects of her heart.

Her little love sat in daddy's lap, curly head resting against his chest as she impatiently tried to turn the page, already done and ready for the next. 

“Too slow, Daddy!”

Harry tugged at a curl. “You're just too fast for me, peanut.”

Their daughter giggled and Hermione thought that she'd never heard anything more beautiful in her life.

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"Must you do this right now?"

Harry watched from the doorway as Hermione wiggled around on the bed post-coitus, attempting to prop her hips up with a pillow.

"I've already explained, Harry. We have to follow the schedule!" The pillow she'd chosen was overstuffed, and she seemed to be having difficulties getting it beneath her.

"This is—grunt—my—grunt—fertile window!"

Honestly, Harry couldn't feign surprise at Hermione's strict adhesion to her own rules. He'd known it would be like this from the moment they decided they wanted to try for a baby. She never did things in half measure, and that's one thing he loved about her—though at the moment it was a quality that was driving him a bit mad. 

"Oh shite. I left my vitamins on the sink. Could you grab them, please? I need to take one now."

With an amused smile thankfully hidden from his wife, Harry went to fetch the bottle of prenatal vitamins.

He hoped something happened soon. He wanted a baby with Hermione, of course he did—she would be a fantastic mother—but he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't be relieved when the shagging schedule Hermione had ruthlessly implemented was over and they could go back to seducing each other on their own time. 

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 "It'll work."

"Hermione—"

"It will work. It has to."

Harry watched as she stirred the liquid in the bubbling cauldron propped on a boulder.

They were in the middle of the woods, in an area apparently perfect for the ritual Hermione wanted to perform.

Harry wasn't so sure it was a wise idea, but Hermione had put her everything into this, and there was no talking her down.

When they war ended, leaving behind a string of broken hearts and bodies, Hermione lost all interest in anything but her goal to achieve the impossible: bring the dead back to life.

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"What's it called, again?"

"A bidet."

"Bu-dayyyy. And it cleans your arse?"

"Indeed." 

They'd driven up North for Harry to have his wisdom teeth removed by a healer that specialized in dental surgery. 

It was a long drive, so they were staying in a swanky hotel. Hermione was having the time of her life watching Harry stumble around the room asking what this or that was called. The potions they'd given him really did a number on him.

She'd have to keep a close eye on him in case he wandered off again to pet someone's "perfect fluffy dog."