Nineteen Years Later
Harry, who had greyed prematurely, though gracefully and handsomely, at 35, was standing proudly on Platform 9 ¾, watching his son climb onto the Hogwarts Express for the fifth time. Hermione was with him, sending three handsome mini-Viktor Krums to wreck havoc at the school. She held his hand loosely and sighed wistfully as the train pulled out of the station.
"I honestly can't imagine what a normal year at Hogwarts is like for them."
Hermione smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. "It's fun. My boys come home each year with loads of stories about their teachers and Quidditch and friends and the library."
"Your children would find fun in the library."
Hermione squeezed his hand. "Yes. They have their own adventures, Harry. Safe ones… safe adventures at Hogwarts."
Harry laughed and stepped away. "What are those?" Zipping his jacket, Harry gestured to the pillar that they had to walk through to re-enter the Muggle world. On the other side, the friends hugged and split, heading separate ways. Hermione went straight to the Ministry to sit in her office, but Harry went home. He and Ron had both taken the day off from work.
Landing in the living room, Harry found Ron sitting in his usual chair, staring out the window. At the sound of Harry's Apparation, Ron looked up and smiled.
"How was the platform?"
"Good," Harry flung himself unceremoniously onto the couch, "Hermione says hello. Did everyone else make their first day on time?"
Harry closed his eyes and thought happily of the family that he and Ron had managed to make. Hugo, their oldest, was starting at a Muggle university that year. Lily was starting her last year at secondary school, James was starting his secondary education, and Rose was, as always, complaining about being youngest and stuck in primary school. And there was Albus, about whom McGonagall had owled fifteen years ago. He was their only magical child, but neither Harry nor Ron favoured him for it. Their other children were equally important, and equally loved. The Muggles had long ago accepted that their dads, and their one brother, had powers they would never have – but magic was not the foundation of the family. The foundation, and the notion of family that Ron admitted mattered more than hair colour or a Hogwarts education, was love.
Harry opened his eyes slowly, drawing himself out of his light slumber. Ron was sitting on the couch, rubbing his hand over Harry's trousers.
"What are you–"
"Ssshhhh," Ron leaned down and kissed Harry gently. "We're alone in the house for the first time all summer."
Harry chuckled and sat up, seizing Ron's collar and yanking him in for another kiss. Ron pulled Harry up and out of the living room. Dragging Harry behind him, he ran up to their bedroom and hurled himself onto the bed.
"Ron… you're a randy bitch." Harry grinned down at him and began removing his clothes.
Ron shimmied out of his trousers and pulled his shirt off over his head. "I want you to make me scream, Potter."
"Oh," Harry got onto the bed and pushed Ron down into the mattress, "I will."
"I know you will," Ron muttered against Harry's lips. "I love you, Harry."
Harry stared deep into Ron's blue eyes and smiled. "And I love you, Ron."