When Harry and Hermione first told me they were dating, I was jealous.

I’m man enough to admit that now, although I wasn’t back then. I knew the reason they hadn’t told me was because they feared I’d react exactly as I did. I’m ashamed of it now, although they claim not to remember.

But I was jealous. I was jealous of them having found love in each other. I was afraid I’d become a third wheel in their relationship, that I wouldn’t be needed any longer. But they made sure to include me as much as they had before; Harry and I still played Quidditch and chess, and Hermione still helped me study. The three of us still spent time together. They were mindful of the fact I was uncomfortable with the change in the relationship and were not demonstrative in front of me… at least, not until I was okay about it.

And I wasn’t, for many months. I realise now I made an already hard thing even harder for them. I think it took them a long time to admit their feelings had changed for each other, and while they were taking baby steps forward with their new relationship, I was being a world class prat.

But once I’d accepted they were together and that wasn’t likely to change any time soon, I apologised for my somewhat childish behaviour, not an easy thing to do. They simply laughed and said they’d understood, and Hermione hugged me while Harry slapped my back.

After we left school, Harry bought a flat out of the money his parents had left him and they both asked me to share it with them. I said no at first, but after a month or two at the Burrow, I asked them if it was okay to change my mind. I love my parents, but Mum was driving me nutters and I needed the space. My best friends came to the rescue once again, and not once did they appear to be anything but thrilled about my being with them.

We had a great couple of years as flatmates, but there came a time when I realised they really needed to be alone. Hermione cried the day I moved out, but I think, deep down, part of them were happy it was just the two of them.

When they got married, I was Harry’s best man. I also got the second dance with Hermione, after the one she had with her new husband. Their wedding day was one of the best days of my life; I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people so genuinely happy to belong to one another.

Even now, so many years after they said their vows, they’re as happy as they ever were.

And I’m happy for them.

~*~

They’re a lovely couple, the Potters. They come into my shop every Friday afternoon without fail, have done since they were just dating. I can remember them way back then; he would always hold the door open for her and carry her shopping basket around. She’d hold his hand and consult him on her purchases, then smile at him when he paid for them. They’d always exchange a kiss as they left the shop, as if it was a small ritual between them.

When they had their young lass, they brought her in to show me. A wee thing, she was, small and pink with her Daddy’s hair. I gave them a small present I’d put away for their baby, a book I’d ordered in specially for her, and they allowed me to hold her briefly as a thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people dote so much on their child as much as they did, and still do. If ever there was an aptly named love child, it’s the young Miss Potter. For surely it was obvious to anyone who’d seen her parents together that she was, indeed, created out of a very special love.

~*~

I want to hate them, I really do. But how can I hate two of the people I’m closest to in the entire world? I know my brother wasn’t exactly thrilled that his two best friends had become a couple at first, but he eventually got used to it.

When I was younger, I often wondered why Harry chose Hermione. My blatantly obvious and almost painful crush on him lasted, I’m sorry to say, for years, so I can’t pretend I don’t know what Hermione sees in Harry. Anyone with two eyes and a heartbeat can tell he’s one of a kind.

Oh, how he loves Hermione. I can’t think of a witch in the land who wouldn’t kill to have a man who looks at her the way Harry looks at Hermione. It’s when he thinks nobody’s looking is when he’s the most unguarded, and the pure love in his eyes is so transparent it’s enough to make any witch green with envy.

I’ve had my fair share of dates and relationships. I’ve had fun ones and the few that were serious. But I’ve never experienced what Harry and Hermione share. I think the thought of being that in love with someone scares me, a little. I know Hermione once expressed the same fear, the fear that maybe she was too in love with Harry, that it would only destroy her if she lost him. But she knew as soon as they got together that it was him. That it had always been him, that it always would be. Nothing she could do about it.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

~*~

To me, they’re just Mum and Dad. They get mad at me sometimes. They annoy the living hell out of me sometimes. But I’ve always known, ever since I was small, that they loved me. They loved me more than anything… except perhaps each other. That part was always left out, of course, but they can’t hide it. They used to think I was too little to understand, but somehow I always knew what they have is rare. I know that other kids didn’t have parents who acted like mine did. I grew up in a happy, stable household. When I was younger, I sometimes missed not having a sibling, and when I asked Mum and Dad about it, they always told me that they’d wanted to devote themselves only to me, but Dad confided in me when I was much older that Mum had had serious complications with her pregnancy and he’d hated seeing her in so much pain for so many months, so after I was born (thankfully the birth was relatively problem-free) he’d flat out refused to entertain the notion of another child.

They could have adopted, of course. With their fame in our world and their money, I’m sure they wouldn’t have had a problem having another child. But I also think they love the fact that I am, in equal parts, both of them. I was created because of their love for each other. I am tangible proof of their great, torrid love affair. I exist only because of them; the person I am, the way I look, it’s all because of them. The two of them together. I know Dad gets the biggest kick out of that.

I can only hope that one day, I find a love like they did.

~*~

I’ll admit we had doubts when Hermione first told us she was in love with Harry and would spend the rest of her life with him. They were both so young. I realise that in the wizarding world, it was par for the course at their age to be thinking about marriage and their future together, but Hermione is our daughter. We wanted her to explore life outside school and, I must admit, away from Harry. What if she met someone later? What if she got bored with the life she’d made with Harry? What if they simply grew apart?

But if there’s one thing I can say about my Hermione, it’s that she’s stubborn. She got that from her father. Not only was she positive about how she felt, but she insisted that she *was* going to marry him and she *would* spend her life with him, and that was that.

I should have known she was right.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been fond of Harry. I knew about his past, from the parts that Hermione had told us, and I understand his aunt and uncle treated him abominably. In spite of everything, he’s become a great man. He’s utterly devoted to my daughter and granddaughter. There’s no doubt in my mind he loves them more than anything else and would give his life for theirs.

It worries me, though. What if something were to happen to him? I’m not sure Hermione would be able to cope if she lost Harry. I tried to express my fears to her before she married him, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

She told me she loved him, and that was all that mattered.

~*~

Everyone knows I love Harry and Hermione as if they were my own. From the very first time I saw Harry, I felt the need to mother him. There isn’t anyone out there who doesn’t know Harry’s story; I am so glad he became friends with Ron. The two remain close, even to this day. The three of them, I should say; even though Harry and Hermione are married, it’s clear to me that they still cherish their friendship with Ron.

I know he was a bit upset when they first started dating; he was worried they wouldn’t want to be around him quite as much. They came and spent the majority of the summer with us here at the Burrow, I think in part to show Ron that they did still value his friendship, and in part because they would be able to spend some quiet time together and not be worried about being chastised for wanting it.

I saw no major differences in the friendship between the trio; they spent plenty of time with Ron and did not quibble in the slightest about having to sleep in separate rooms, nor did they ask for the arrangements to be changed. I must admit I wouldn’t have been very comfortable in altering them anyway; while they might have legally been adults and, I suspect, had already slept together by then, it doesn’t mean I wanted to encourage that in my home. I promised the Order I would take good care of Harry, and I meant to.

Their wedding was a lovely occasion. Harry asked me to step into the place that Lily would have taken, as mother of the groom, and I don’t mind admitting I shed many tears that day.

I still think of him as my son, and Hermione as a daughter; their child calls me Grandma, along with my other grandchildren.

I’ve had a few owls from nosy reporters wanting to interview me about them. I don’t know why they’d pick me of all people, but even if I agreed, how could I put it into words? Their love is not something you can easily define. It’s in every word they say and every thing they do. It’s in the way he pulls her chair out for her and the way she gives him a hug, just because.

It’s just there.

~*~

I don’t know if I could tell you the exact moment I realised I was madly in love with Harry Potter.

I think it came to me gradually; I found myself wanting to stay near him for longer periods of time. I found excuses to touch him, whether it was to brush hair off his face or sit so close to him our thighs were touching. When he finally kissed me, I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay wrapped in his arms, his lips on mine, forever and ever.

There was no question there would be no one else. I know that Mum and Dad wanted me to be sure before I got serious with Harry, but I *was* sure. I knew in my heart there could be no other.

I will admit that at first, the notion that this was it, that Harry was the only man I would ever want to be with scared me. What I felt wasn’t logical; you couldn’t find it in a book. I like things to be orderly. I like to research. I like clear definitions. But none of this applied to Harry; I couldn’t put in to words -- I still can’t -- how I feel about him. I tell him every day that I love him, but it doesn’t seem like enough. It never seems like enough.

When I had our daughter, we’d been married ten years. For although Harry was sure he wanted to marry me, just as much as I wanted to be Mrs. Potter, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be a father. I had secretly hoped he’d realise one day what a great father he would be, in spite of his upbringing. I won’t say it’s been easy; it hasn’t. His lack of parents makes it hard for him because he has no example to follow. It’s all trial and error, and I know that bothers him. It used to, anyway. But now she’s an adult herself, leading her own life, and we did a good job, all things considered. We raised a perfectly normal witch who has her own secrets and desires and needs. She loves playing Quidditch, something I know Harry is immensely proud of. I had some misgivings when she was younger, but I couldn’t have stopped her. Harry encouraged her all the way, bought her the best broomstick money could buy, and spent many hours training and playing with her in our backyard.

We’re retired now, and there hasn’t been a day gone by where I’m not pleased about it. It means we’re together again. We can go on holidays or just spend time in the house. We don’t spend all our time together; sometimes, we each like to do something alone. But every night, he curls up next to me. He wraps his arms around me and we kiss, and sometimes make love, and my last thought before I drift off to sleep is always the same.

I love him.

~*~

I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous in my life than I was the day I kissed Hermione Granger for the first time.

For starters, I wasn’t sure that she would welcome said kiss. Of course, I’d noticed the lingering touches and the way she would brush my hair back off my face, but that didn’t mean I was reading her signals correctly. Besides, she would sometimes sit on Ron’s lap while reading a book or having him teach her how to play chess (successfully, of course, although she never came to like the game much).

But I couldn’t stand it. It got to the point where I either had to kiss her and hope she felt the same way or I was going to go completely mental.

So I did. And it was the best thing I ever did. Well, one of the best things. Asking her to marry me was another, as was watching the birth of our daughter. She was absolutely perfect; I held her while she was still connected to her mother, and I hadn’t even realised I was crying until Hermione wiped a tear away with her thumb.

We were married for ten years before we had her, because I needed those ten years to realise that a child with Hermione was something I dearly wanted to have. That, and the fact that for a long time, I was not ready to share Hermione with anyone. She was my wife. If we had a baby, she would be someone’s mother. Her time would be devoted to not only me, but someone else, someone who would demand a lot of her time. Having a child completely changes your life and can alter your relationship, and anyone who tells you different is a liar.

Fortunately for us, having Emma only strengthened our relationship. I watched my wife go through a very long pregnancy, fraught with complications. I never took Hermione for granted after that, and I wanted to hold her close so often that she would get annoyed with me and push me away.

It was hard at first, having this new person in our lives. But as she grew, Emma became the ultimate symbol of our love. Mr. Turner, who owns the bookstore down the end of our street, once told us Emma is a love child, and I’ve always thought that was a really accurate way of portraying her, because she was created out of the love we share.

Over the years, we’ve gotten many owls from the media, wanting us to grant interviews and take pictures of our daughter. We’ve always said no, because we didn’t want Emma growing up in the spotlight, and besides, what could I possibly say about Hermione that people don’t already know? How could I even begin to put into words how I feel about her? But if I had to say something, I know exactly what I’d say. Three simple little words that mean everything.

I love her.