Hermione was very glad that her parents were willing to let Harry bake his pies any time he wanted to. They were all divine, but especially the cherry pies. A slice of pie with a scoop of extra creamy vanilla ice cream was a perfect late night snack for when Jimmy woke her up.
Not that Jimmy woke her up as much as he had been. He was mostly sleeping through the night now, but now and again he'd decide to wake up hungry at two in the morning. It had turned out that Harry couldn't sleep through Jimmy's crying any more than Hermione could, so quite often Hermione had found a tray with the aforementioned slice of pie, a tall glass of milk arriving just as Jimmy started to suckle from her breast.
"You don't have to Harry," Hermione made her usual protest.
"Yes, I do," Harry replied. "Without your glass of milk, you're no more likely to get back to sleep before morning than Jimmy would without his mother's milk."
He was right. Plus, you did not turn down Harry Potter's cherry pie. It did not take long for Jimmy to get his fill of mother's milk, be burped, and settle back down in his crib. As usual afterwards, Hermione found Harry seated at the bottom of her bed as she sipped her tall glass of milk.
"So, Harry, what did you think of book signing?" Hermione asked.
"I will never complain about the required length of one of Snape's essays again," he said, his hand rubbing his wrist. "I'm sure that I'm developing one of those repetitive stress injuries one of your father's friends was talking about last week."
"Professor Snape," Hermione reminded. "And you can't have signed that many books."
"Four hundred sixty-one," Harry said. "I counted, and made sure that none of them have just my signature on them. There is only on like that, and it's in your bookcase."
"Actually, not any more," Hermione said. "I had Ginny sign it. You were right that it's not right that all those people just wanted your signature because of your mother's sacrifice."
"You know, I wasn't quite sure that I wanted to do this book at first. It kind of felt like I was cashing in on my parents' sacrifice," Harry said softly, softer than was required to keep Jimmy quiet and on his path toward sleep. "Sometimes I'm still not sure, but you were right that I needed to tell my side, even if it hurt a little. I want to be known for being Harry, not some hero, even if I am one to some people. I want to be able to grow up, to raise Jimmy with you, and be ... me."
"I know Harry," Hermione said, and for the first time she moved close and started the kiss herself, right on the lips. Their lips parted just a little as their bodies touched, his hand sliding against her back, as hers felt up his growing muscles in his upper arms.
The next morning they would wake up in that embrace on her bed. Her full bare breasts were pressed against his bare chest, the scars barely visible in the early morning sun.
Neville Longbottom had spent weeks getting to know his parents, but he'd found out that it was indeed possible to want to get the heck away from both of them. It was almost to the point that his hair was more of a mess than both Harry and Hermione's. If it wasn't his father's quest to get back into shape, and make sure Neville was in just as good or better shape, then it was his mother's drive to see that her son was totally ready for his second year at Hogwarts while still trying to keep him with her by her constant hugs. Add to that his father's obsession with certain muggle bands that he liked to play at full volume, and worse than that, his mother's constant displays of affection with his father. She'd actually started to take off her robe once, before realizing that Neville was in the breakfast nook doing his Summer Charms assignment.
He'd hoped that his birthday would help them realize that he wasn't a toddler anymore that required their constant supervision. Mum had nearly ruined some flowers in his greenhouse by her irrational belief that he was going to hurt himself repotting his dragonsnaps into a much bigger pot. Okay, the pot was big, but it wasn't like he was stupid enough to use a pot that wasn't charmed. He'd been repotting dragonsnaps since he was six! It was easy, nothing like mandrake, which he actually had a few pots at the moment that were almost mature enough. In another couple weeks he'd harvest it for his potions kit. He'd heard that mandrake restorative draught was on the second year syllibus, and he wanted to have extra on hand, because he would manage to ruin the first caldron or too. He was pants in potions.
Since the greenhouse had been proven not to be a refuge, Neville had taken to the one birthday present that he'd thought he'd rarely use, the broom. He really didn't want to go out flying, but it did allow him to go places that his parents wouldn't think to look, like on the backside of the observation tower, which could only be seen from one particular window in Longbottom Manor, that of his Grandmother's study. It was a sad state of affairs that he wasn't worried about his grandmother's critical eye on him.
Some of his friends had thought it was strange that his grandmother had a study. Witches generally had a parlor, not a study, but his Gran had been running the Longbottom estates for decades, and would probably continue to do so. His father would be returning to his job as an auror once Neville left for his second year, and as for his mother, she'd like to be doing the same, but having Neville's little brother or sister had prevented that.
Neville had been there when his mother had accused his father of getting a fertility potion from Mrs. Weasley. It took ten minutes of back and forth insinuation between his parents before he'd realized that soon he wouldn't be an only child any more. Then the descriptions had gotten a bit embarrassing and he'd fled the room.
That evening his father had given him the talk. Neville tried not to think about that, especially when he thought about Ginny. She'd just been his date by drawing, once, but if there was a girl in his dreams, not of his dreams, there was a difference, then she was it. Her visit for his birthday had been eye opening. He'd seen some changes in the girls of his year, but Ginny had really changed between February and July. He knew why Ron had found his sister different when he'd got home. He'd seen Ginny in that bikini.
Neville leaned back against the wall of the observation tower and looked up at the clouds. He remembered flying in them, putting his Nimbus 2001 through the paces like Harry had told him to, but he also remember looking up and seeing Ginny's flaming hair among the clouds. She'd told him she wanted to try out for the Quidditch team as soon as she could. She'd told him more about her flying than she'd told her brothers. Neville felt proud about that. It was nice being confided in.
He looked down towards the Quidditch pitch that his father had installed, not the Neville had used it. His house guests for the summer, Hillard and Brocklehurst were there. Brocklehurst still had trouble walking, but had no trouble flying. Since Hillard was on his house's Quidditch team as a keeper, Brocklehurst had been pressed into being an opposing chaser. The rest of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team was due over in the afternoon, and he'd been told not to spy on them.
Like Neville would really do that. He had no real interest in playing Quidditch, or passing intelligence off to Oliver Wood. He did like watching Quidditch. In fact, his father had taken him to a Quidditch game between Puddlemere and Holyhead. That had been a rather fun day.
Neville looked up at the clouds again, watching them fly by, just enjoying the quiet wind passing over him. Maybe in an hour or two he'd fly back down to be with his parents again, but for now, he was enjoying being alone, doing nothing, having discovered that it is possible to have too much of a good thing.