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I’m standing in the nursery that Molly prepared for the birth of my twins when I returned. She had been ecstatic upon hearing the news a few months ago, so happy that there would soon be new babies to take care of. I let out a quiet sigh and run my fingers through my mess of curls. I didn’t brush them out after my quick shower this evening, and now they are ridiculous. I let my hand drop, and carefully lower into the crib of my sleeping son, Fabian. I don’t touch him, he’s too small and I am afraid to wake him. Once I do I know my other son, Gideon, in the crib next to Fabian's will start crying as well.

  Gideon was the screamer, as Molly had put it when he was born, Fabian on the other hand had been the quiet one, but didn’t dare hold back his cries when his brother was upset. I shouldn’t even have been out of bed, but I couldn’t just leave them alone. I know Molly will be upset when she finds me in the morning and sees the bags under my eyes. But I don’t care. I’m worried.

My babies sleep soundly now, but will they in a few days? I keep asking myself what will happen in a few days, they are so much like their father after all. They have his eyes, his nose, his hair color. The only thing they have of mine are my curls, which are like mops on their heads now, you couldn’t tell them apart if they had their nappies on. Molly has told me though, that their hair will most likely thin out in a few weeks and eventually grow in thicker as they get older. I’m not so sure. My hair was just as thick when I was a child as it is now.

I pull my hand away from Fabian as my thoughts drift to their father. I glance out the window, the drapes are open, letting the light from the nearly full moon enter the room. It casts a shadow on Gideon’s crib. I shudder and move to the window and sit on the seat there. My hand reaches up and traces the nearly full circle of the moon.

This is what is causing me to worry. The damn moon. My thoughts drift back to their father again. I dread the years to come when they will ask me questions about him. How do I tell them that he is right there, so close that they can touch him, feel his warmth, his kisses, his hugs, but he doesn’t know them as his children. How? I dread that day. I’ve already rehearsed the answer in my mind, but it’s no use. I know they will ask, and I have no answer. I loved their father when he was younger, I loved him in his past. I still do, but I he should not remember me.

Dumbledore was supposed to make absolute sure that their father has no knowledge of me but a part of me fears that is not the case. I have watched him, and in watching him, I have caught him watching me. Maybe he is curious, I do not know. But I know Harry knows something that he is not telling me. It gets me angry, but then again, I haven’t told him much about my trip to the past so I suppose we are on far ground.

He helped deliver them, their father I mean. He was there in the room and helped Molly and Poppy. That is when I really began to think that he did indeed know, and remember. But why had he not said anything? Why was he allowing me to go through so much pain in remembering the time we spent together if he himself had gone through so much pain for nearly 15 years. Was he doing it as revenge? No, he would never do that, couldn’t do it, it wasn’t him.

I shake my head and try to clear the image of him holding our daughter and the recognition and pain that shown brightly in his eyes. He knows, that’s all I think of now, that he knows, that he remembers. My thoughts are all jumbled together and I feel dizzy. I had begged Dumbledore to not rid him of his memories and it seems I wasn’t the only one who had done some begging.

I jump at the sound of the door opening. I do not have my wand on me, living in Grimmuald place is safe enough, but my wandless magic is weak because of the delivery and my lack of sleep. But a weak barrier rises over myself and the cribs of my children. Then it falters once I hear his voice.

“Hermione…” He breathes out, his voice barely a whisper. I glance up at the door and find him standing there, one and still on the door handle, he is in pajama pants and shirt that has Liverpool scrawled across it. He lifts his eyes to stare at me and I blink back slowly. It seems like ages that we look at each other, and his movements are slow as he walks across the room to me.

His lips are moving as his hand reaches out to brush a few curls away from my face. My mind doesn’t register what he has said until he looks into my eyes, his worried golden orbs staring back at me. “Hermione, you should be in bed. The children are fine.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whisper and his eyes widen in shock and he pulls away but I grab his wrist. “Please.” I beg, nearly collapsing in his arms. The pain in my heart is too much for me any more. I can not continue this madness that he does not remember me. The past was real, to him, to me. I did fall in love with Remus Lupin and this is our story.  

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