Hero of the Story || James Potter x Hermione Granger Fanfiction

51 | the tide is brave, but always retreats

xxxxxi.

the tide is brave, but always retreats

(East by Sleeping at Last)

__________

December 25, 1980

Hermione watched in amusement at how James' parents and Anya cooed at five-month-old Harry.

She thought it was hilarious and lovely at the same time how they were reduced into pools of gooey emotions every time she brought Harry over to the Potter Manor. Anya, as usual, was lovely with Harry, but Hermione could feel that her mother's words and actions towards Harry were sweeter than how she'd been with her and Peter. Euphemia, the perfect picture of a Pureblood socialite most of the time, was reduced into a giggling mess every time Harry would roll over their carpeted floor, gurgling happy, incoherent sounds that melted Euphemia's heart. Fleamont was terribly boisterous, always making up an excuse to lift Harry into the air just so he could elicit a soft giggle from the healthy, bright boy.

It was really true, how a baby changes a family's dynamics. The grandparents were undoubtedly extra sweeter towards their grandchildren, leaving their own children wondering why in Merlin's name they weren't like that during their youth.

But she really couldn't blame the grandparents. Harry was steadily growing into a bright, happy boy. He'd already discovered the wonders of rolling around on any flat surface he was lying on, eliciting delighted laughs from the adults every time he successfully rolled on the carpet. Harry had started to become more energetic too, and despite exasperating his very tired parents, Hermione was just happy he was healthy. Harry had yet to speak his first word, though, and James made it a point to always say 'Dada' every time he was around, hoping against hope it would be the first thing that slipped from Harry's tiny mouth.

Harry's presence had made this world a slightly better place for everyone. But despite this, Hermione was still sometimes plagued with the prophecy about her son. There were nights when she'd press a sleeping Harry tenderly against her chest, tears dripping down his messy, raven hair. James had caught her in that state numerous times, but her husband had been a great comfort, gathering his small family in his arms until Hermione's tears had abated.

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath and willed those ridiculous thoughts away. It was Christmas after all, and her family didn't deserve her melancholy today. She focused all of her attention on a giggling Harry, gurgling out gibberish whilst Fleamont made ridiculous faces to make him laugh more.

"Is everything all right, sweetheart?"

Her blue eyes met her mother's worried ones, forcing her to lift the corners of her lips in a passable smile. "I'm all right, Mum," she placated. "Just a little tired. Harry woke up several times last night, so I didn't get enough sleep."

A booming laugh escaped from Fleamont's lips. "I knew from the first moment I saw the infamous Potter hair he'd be a menace like his father," he said, lifting Harry in the air to draw out merry giggles from his mouth.

"We didn't get enough sleep either when James was born," Euphemia added, her eyes fond as she reminisced about James's youth. "He tried very hard to wake everybody up at night when he was feeling uncomfortable."

"The moment I saw Harry's eyes, I knew he'd be difficult like his mother too," Anya supplemented with a laugh. Upon seeing Hermione's sheepish look, she continued, "You were a curious little babe, sweetheart. You tried to climb out of your crib one too many times. Peter was a quiet, sweet boy when he was a baby but you!"