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The December after Voldemort dies, Harry moves to the quietest town he’s visited over his months of travel. Forks, Washington, a tight knit community in a cozy, rainy part of America where Harry can spend the next chapter of his life in peace. It won’t be glamorous, but that makes it even more appealing; he’ll be working a calm job, making authentic connections, and putting down roots after all the chaos of his childhood.
“You up for working Christmas day? You’re the newest hire and just about everyone else has the day off,” Patsy calls over from the register while Harry finishes with closing. After leaving the Dursleys, Harry had found peace in cooking, especially for others, so working at the best local diner was a given.
“Sure!” Harry calls, finishing wiping the last table. Next would be sweeping and mopping, but afterwards he’d be free to go home to his apartment. Everyone else had already clocked out, eager to head home and prepare for the holidays.
Time passes in a blur of utter contentment and the quiet sounds of closing the diner, slowing back down when he says his goodbyes to Patsy as they clock out and he starts walking back home. Snow is lazily drifting to the earth, sticking to the piles already accumulated, glittering under the streetlights. Forks is a sleepy little town, old and settled into a comfortable routine uninterrupted by crimes typical of big cities and all the hustle and bustle of magical communities. The houses’ paint have long since faded, the residents have all been here for decades, and the forest seems to watch over it all. An old, wizened guardian.
“Mufasa, I’m home,” Harry says as he closes and locks the door, slipping off his boots and winter gear while Mufasa mrrps inquisitively and winds around his ankles. Harry had found the one-eyed tortie during his first week living in Forks, going around the apartment building begging for (and receiving) food from every tenant several times a day. Needless to say, Harry has since put him on a diet. Mufasa still begs for food constantly, but it’s the thought that counts.
The window in the living room gets just enough light at this time of night for him to hang up his coat and backpack, reheat yesterday’s leftovers for dinner, and refill Mufasa’s food and water dishes without turning on a lamp or lighting any of the candles he can’t help buying. His apartment is small, barely outside the threshold of cramped if he’s being honest, but it’s his home; there are shelves with little trinkets from traveling, a few books he’s been meaning to read for months by now stacked in odd places, with clutter and little messes like an abandoned mug or half-written letter scattered about. The furniture is old and creaky, with an outdated kitchen and minimal floor space, but it’s enough for him. It’s quiet and warm, with cat hair on every surface no matter how many lint rollers he goes through and how much he brushes Mufasa.
Eating by the last rays of sunlight, Mufasa messily and loudly having his own dinner in the kitchen, Harry knows he made the right decision settling down here.
“Here’s your water and coffee,” Harry says, setting their glasses and straws in front of them. "Are you both ready to order, or do you need more time to think?” Harry asks the latest group to come in for dinner. It’s Chief Swan, a regular, and presumably his daughter, who Harry’s yet to meet.
“I’ll get my usual,” Charlie says with barely a glance at the menu in front of him. He’s paying more attention to other groups of people in the diner. His daughter- Isabella?- seems even less eager to be here than him, staring out the window with a slight furrow in her brow, clicking a pen rapidly. “Bells, what about you? You’re still vegetarian, right? Or vegan now?”
Isabella slides her gaze back from the window, but doesn’t respond to Charlie. “Do you have a vegetarian version of the pot pie?”
“Yep! Anything else for you guys, or will that be all?” Both of them shake their heads, and Isabella tucks a bit of her hair behind her ear. She looks overwhelmingly awkward, eyes flicking between the battered little book filled to the brim with sticky notes in front of her and the textbook next to it, only mildly emptier and with maybe one less crack in the spine. “I’ll be back with your food in a jiff, but feel free to call me over if you need anything!”
Right before turning to head back to the kitchen, he makes eye contact with Isabella and there’s the whisper of a spark.
Coming back to the diner after dropping Bells off at her dorm is a bit out there, but he’s resolute. That British waiter had been shamelessly flirting with his daughter, with all those little “accidental” hand touches and lingering stares, and his daughter had flirted right back. And this guy seemed perfect for her.
So, here he is, lurking at the back entrance while he waits for Patsy to go for a smoke break.
And here he is, when she comes out and her eyes are glinting with a scheme already.
“Is Wuthering Heights still checked out? I need it for an assignment, please,” a voice says from the front desk of the library. Harry looks up from, coincidentally, reading his own copy of Wuthering Heights to find Bella anxiously shifting between feet, staring beseechingly at the librarian. The “date” Patsy and Charlie set them up on had gone well enough, but he wasn’t expecting more than a few awkward texts. Hoping, maybe, but…
“Bella?” Her head whips around, swinging her ponytail back and forth. “I have my own copy of Wuthering Heights here, if you’d like to borrow it.”
“Oh my God, thank you! I just- I need it for an assignment, and someone keeps checking out the library copy, and I left mine at Charlie’s and- just, thank you! So much!”
“Of course, you’re my friend,” Harry says, grinning.
Bella goes a bit pink, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear while the panic fizzles out. “Um, well, thank you. Again,” she says, shifting her weight back and forth. When Harry holds out his practically new copy, with a bookmark maybe ten pages into chapter one, she almost cautiously pulls it from his grasp. The tips of their fingers touch, lingering for a moment before Harry lets go and she pulls away. “You still have my number, right? I’ll call you when I’m done with my assignment, but… Feel free to text before then as well, if you want.”
Sorry about Patsy, she’s been trying to set me up with people since I got here. At least I wasn’t a horrible date?
Good luck on your assignment!
It’s a simple note, written hastily on a post-it, but Harry sticks it on the title page anyways.
Charlie has been the same, but with me out of the house it’s gotten more difficult to accomplish. It was one of the best dates I’ve had, don’t worry too much. The assignment was easy, I’ve read Wuthering Heights at least a hundred times.
Have you finished the book yet? If you have, what was your favorite part?
With the essay written and turned in, Bella texts Harry about meeting up to give the book back. Without really thinking about it, she slips a folded slip of paper into chapter one.
I’m glad your assignment went well!
I’ve started it before, but never gotten very far. It’s hard for me to sit down and focus on reading, but I wouldn’t say no to a gorgeous woman telling me to.
It’s perhaps bolder than he would usually try, but Harry leaves a new copy of Wuthering Heights in Bella’s bag at the library while she isn’t paying attention.
Are you asking me on a date?
Immediately crumpled up and thrown into her tabletop waste basket.
I’m double-majoring a Master’s degree, call back in sixty years.
Absolutely not. Into the waste basket.
Do you think that Heathcliff is a victim or villain?
Fuck no.
Are you free on Saturday?
Reluctantly… fine.
When Bella walks into the cafe, Harry waves enthusiastically enough that she flushes and hurries over, nearly tripping. They had agreed on a coffee date, Bella studying while Harry reads. She had an exam coming up that she couldn’t afford to get a bad grade on, and Harry needed someone with him to focus instead of just zoning out or doing something else. Easy.
Except, with Bella across from him frowning slightly at her computer and periodically chewing on her thumbnail, Harry is hopelessly distracted. His old copy of Wuthering Heights stares judgementally up at him from the page where Lockwood starts really and truly being a racist, bitchy little asshole. At least, so far; he’s nearly to chapter three and is starting to wonder if the man can get any worse.
Bella’s eyes reflect her computer screen, a smudge of white light interrupted by black lines over her deep brown irises. The tip of her thumb comes away from her mouth with a sheen of chapstick on it, she pulls out her ponytail and redoes it, and Harry very nearly dies. Lockwood, who he imagines as Lockhart so that he’s more hilariously insufferable, continues to be a racist and whiny little asshole.
Does Lockwood get any better? He’s insufferable. How did you get through this?
Our date was wonderful, I appreciate you taking time away from uni for me. We haven’t spent much time together, but I already feel so close to you. Does that make sense? I’d love to talk to you more.
Lockwood stops being such a focus eventually, but he’s the worst. The only thing that got me through having him as a POV character was everything else. You’re curious about Cathy, right? And Edgar?
It was equally kind of you to go on a date where we barely talked to each other, but thank you. Besides, I brought uni with me, didn’t I? It was nice sitting with someone without the pressure of conversation, at least. Very few people are comfortable in silence, but I like it, and how willing you were to humor me. I understand completely; I feel the same, despite everything. I’d love to go on another date with you. Text me times you’re available.
Looking forward to it,
Bella
In a parallel of their first date, Bella takes Harry to dinner. The drive there is quiet, broken up only by the voice of her Wuthering Heights audiobook’s narrator. Once in a while, she’ll glance over right in time to see Harry blush and turn away from looking at her. The car lends intimacy to their time spent together, even before they actually get the restaurant, but its weight is held aloft by the familiarity of mailing each other letters about their joint reading of Wuthering Heights, Bella’s assignments, Harry’s wild theories on customers, and anything they come across that makes them think of each other. Their relationship is an amalgamation of photos of Mufasa sent over texts, genuine parchment covered in chicken scratch complaints about book characters, voice note monologues about conspiracy theories regarding Forks residents, and links to interesting articles with little “!!” or paragraphs of recommendation texts attached, interrupted occasionally by scathing complaints about professors and four-hour calls largely consisting of silence.
“Turn left at the stop sign,” her GPS interrupts. The voice had made Harry laugh when he first heard it; deep, and violently British. He still snorts whenever it mispronounces things.
At the stop sign, Harry snickers once more, and she can’t help but join in, even with her face red-hot with embarrassment.
Cathy does seem interesting so far, even if told from Lockwood’s perspective. Although, I have to say that with chapter four’s context, I wonder if Heathcliff is more of an instigator than he seemed at first. But then, was he made to be that way? It makes me want to read further, and I can’t help but reflect more on every conflict I’ve been around. It’s embarrassing, but I didn’t always consider every angle of every fight, especially in school. I may end up sending a few letters to old classmates.
I don’t think there’s a single “good” character in this book. They’re all cruel to each other, no matter how much time passes or they change. None of them are good or kind people, and the romantic pursuits are all unhealthy. For a moment I think Heathcliff may turn a new leaf, but then he threatens to kill Hindley and then himself, or beat Isabella if they marry. I’m biased, but his threatening of Isabella unsettled me. With Edgar, even as he remains the “correct” choice for Cathy to marry, he acts so foolishly. Surely there’s a third choice? Surely this doesn’t have to end as poorly as any of the current options will?
I had a lovely time on our date, and find myself wishing for another.
Yours,
Harry.
During Bella’s break, she moves halfway into Harry’s apartment.
At first, it’s because they spend so much time together that it only makes sense to stay the night. Then, Bella leaves behind a cardigan and there’s no choice but to come back for it. Finally, Harry gives her the spare key because he’s out of town for a few days and Mufasa needs to be fed and watered while he’s gone, and he never asks for it back.
“Are you okay with a heavy discussion right now?” Bella asks when Harry’s back from the diner. The uniform isn’t very flattering, yet on Harry, everything looks good. Without really noticing, she’s started to both love him and consciously know that she loves him. She couldn’t bear it if he felt any differently, not after all the time spent together and the signs that he does.
“Sure, let me just shower first. I accidentally spilled a pot of coffee everywhere, and don’t want to drip everywhere,” he chuckles, red-cheeked and embarrassed. Bella nods in assent, and goes back to reading- the copy of Wuthering Heights Harry had given her those months ago, and all the letters she’s tucked into the back of it. Do you love me? It’s easy to get caught in what could go wrong, but she’s trying. Really and truly, she’s putting trust into this man and putting down her walls, without even really meaning to.
Harry leans over the back of the couch to hug her, and she’s reminded why she’s trying in the first place. “What did you want to talk about?” He murmurs into her ear, peeking at the letters laid out in her lap.
“Do you love me? Are we dating? Can I move in?” Bella blurts out, slightly tense, but calmed by the cat purring halfway onto her lap, occasionally meowing to be pet more.
Harry settles his head on top of hers, lightly kissing her hair, and says, “I love you more than anything, we’ve been dating a long time from my perspective, and I’d thought you already moved in. I’m sorry I haven’t been as clear as I thought I was being, I really did think you knew.”
It’s a weight off her chest, and she relaxes as he comes around the couch to sit next to her. Bella tucks him under her arm as he pulls out a book of his own and Mufasa crawls on top of it to mrrow! pathetically. “I don’t want to get married,” she blurts out without thinking, again, and Harry just reaches up to twine their hands together over his shoulder and puts his book back down. “I don’t know if I’ll ever want to be married, or have kids, or-”
“Bella, I love you. I’ve loved you while you ranted about Professor Johnson, while you almost drank my paint water because you were focused so much on your ethics essay, when you got so angry you cried writing emails to your roommate… I’ve loved you, even when you’re not doing the things I like, or when you can’t be home for a weekend because you’ve moved into the campus library. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Bella pauses, angling her head to see his earnest, open expression, how assured he is that everything will be fine. And she thinks, Yeah, I do.
I can’t believe that after all of the struggle, Cathy is dying. And yet, I already knew; early on, it was revealed that she had died. How am I surprised by something I’ve known since the beginning? Despite myself, I’m sad about how she died before any resolution came. Even if Edgar and Heathcliff are horrible choices for her, she deserved to find love, or at least peace by herself. Aside from that, why would Isabella marry Heathcliff? She knew he would be awful to her, he said it plainly to her face, but then she married him and was surprised to find that she is a mere decoration in his home when he isn’t actively hurting her? I hold out hope for her getting away, finding something better where Cathy couldn’t.
Thank you for everything. I’m writing this as you’re in the kitchen sorting through all your notes and binders, and I think I’m falling more in love with you every day. By the time you see this, you’ll be back in the library or in your dorm picking up more of your things, but I want to remind you: you are loved. By me, and by everyone lucky enough to know you.
Love,
Harry
Her death is romanticized, as though it’s the natural next step, instead of letting her live and find a better future. I felt the same when I read Wuthering Heights the first time, except that I had been hoping she would find real joy for herself. It’s depressing, especially when Isabella is nearly following her footsteps.
You’re right, I read your note while I was going through the books I want to take home with me and dropping some off at the library. I love you too, more and more. I cherish you, above all others.
Love,
Bella
“Bella? What’s wrong?”
She had just walked out of an exam into the night, and there he was: the fluffball she’d been trying to tame for a few weeks, limping towards her. “Um, ok, so you know the kitten that’s been around campus for a while? I think he’s injured, can you pick us up? Or something?”
A pause, and then the sound of a door closing. “I’m on my way, just try to keep him warm for now? It’s cold out tonight, the poor baby is probably freezing…” as Harry trails off, the sound of his beater starting briefly making the audio crackle. Bella crouches down in the grass near the little whitish-brown kitten, holding out and wiggling her fingers to try to get it closer to her. When it mews and stumbles towards her, her heart just about melts, and she tucks him into her jacket.
“When are you going to get here? I want to get the little guy to a vet as soon as we can, he’s so cold…” she says, pinning her phone between her ear and shoulder so she can pet the kitten. His fur is matted and he’s covered in half-dried mud, but he’s quietly purring against her chest. As Bella strokes his nose, Harry pulls into the parking lot with an iffy-sounding rattle.
Sliding into Harry’s car, Bella feels a warmth unrelated to the ball of fur tucked into her jacket or the hot air blasting against her eyes.
“The little guy will be perfectly fine, he just needs some love and he’ll be right as rain. Are you folks keeping him or dropping him off at a shelter? I have some recommendations for local places,” the vet says cheerfully after a checkup, haircut to get rid of the serious matts, and several pitiful mews from the kitten during the flea bath. He is, apparently, a domestic longhair. Whatever that means. Making eye contact with Bella for a moment, they reach a shared understanding: the baby is theirs.
“We’ll take him home with us,” Harry says. They’d been considering getting a kitten for Mufasa to play with for a while, and here one was in need of a home.
It’s shocking how violent everyone gets, but then, they’ve been like this since the beginning. Cathy died, Heathcliff and Hindley tried to kill each other, Isabella got caught up in their fight, and nothing good came of it. If they had been less cruel, none of this would have happened. Heathcliff is still so mean, but at least Isabella got away from him. Although, her freedom barely lasted; in a perfect world, she never would’ve married Heathcliff, as Cathy shouldn’t have married Edgar or Heathcliff. And Heathcliff is so petty to Hareton and Linton, too. Will none of them find something better?
Love,
Harry.
You’re right, none of them are good people or good to each other. And yet, they continue to orbit around one another. Does that say more about them or their situation? Isabella getting away from Heathcliff was a mercy, especially with her having his child. It’s a shame the baby ended up back with Heathcliff despite her efforts. But still, I wonder if Heathcliff merely needed rehabilitation or if he needed to leave. Was he any worse than Edgar? Was he just a product of his upbringing?
Love,
Bella
On the last day of term, Harry takes a day off of work and culinary school to come with her to help clean up. There’s barely anything of Bella’s left to pack up, but plenty of dust in the cramped space not taken over by her roommate in her absence.
“Do you want to get rid of any of these clothes? If you do, we can start a different pile for stuff to donate,” Harry says after a quick perusal of the room. Just about everything she actually likes has made it back to his apartment, with a few sets of casual clothes here for when she goes on a study craze for a weekend and bribes the librarians to let her stay after hours finishing up assignments and reading ahead in between her flashcard regimen and breaks to chug five hour energy in the bathroom.
Except, of course, for the insufferable, pretentious classics and faux-vintage clothes she’d bought whenever she reinvented herself and either cut shitty bangs or decided to become the second coming of Lord Byron.
She cringes, and writes DONATE on one of the cardboard boxes they’d bought.
Without realizing, I’ve accidentally read the entirety of Wuthering Heights. I just blinked, and suddenly hours had passed, Mufasa was screaming for dinner, and the book was over. My stiff joints regret every second of it, but I find myself grateful anyways. The book is over, with a happy ending despite it all. Or maybe I’m blinded by the sadness of the first chunk of it, and also everything before the ending. Is that why you like this book so much? It makes anything less than a fucking catastrophe seem hopeful and not that bad in comparison.
Now, my thoughts: all of the cruelty and evil the characters displayed throughout the book were products of their environment and the way they were raised. They were awful to each other, but they were taught that that is just the way of things. They were victims, but they also victimised each other, over and over. Their actions were wrong, and they did deserve punishment, but not death.
It’s depressing, but I like how it ended with Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights in harmony again, with their owners happy and in love. After all that trouble and conflict, things are fine. There is love.
It reminds me of how much I love you.
Yours, well and truly,
Harry
It’s worth it, right? It’s a hard book to read, and makes you question yourself and your biases, but it’s good. It teaches you something, pisses you off, makes you cry in frustration and sadness, but it ends well. It tells you that things can end well, even if the beginning doesn’t make it seem like that’s even a possibility.
I love you too. More and more, every day, even when you’re reorganizing the pots and pans at midnight, like you are right now as I write this.
I know you’ll do well on your exam, my love.
Bella
“Congratulations!” Bella exclaims when Harry walks into the apartment, Sunshine and Mufasa running up to him. His eyes widen, and in his shock, he almost lets Mufasa run out of the door to beg the neighbors for a second dinner. Right in front of him, Bella is holding a generously-frosted cake, the words Congrats on the Promotion peering up at him in orange cursive. It’s homemade, and he hadn’t been expecting much celebration beyond a simple congratulations, maybe a small gift- after all, Bella had just started another term, and they’re both busy people. He smiles, even as Bella rushes to him- nearly tripping over Sunshine on the way- to plant a kiss on his cheek and set the cake down on the counter.
“Thank you,” Harry says, slinging an arm around her. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Bella says, smiling and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.
Half-asleep and without glasses, Harry nearly walks straight into Bella as he stumbles into the bathroom in the morning. With barely a pause, he reaches across her to grab his own toothbrush, barely disturbing Bella’s own brushing. It takes at least an hour for him to wake up fully, and in that hour, he’s barely functional. Just bleary-eyed stares, a bit of squinting, and clumsy movements. It’s endearing, how someone who seems so in control of himself all the time at first glance can defy that expectation. It’s a side only she gets to see.
While Bella spits out her toothpaste, Harry stumbles into the shower, the water as hot as the apartment building’s heater will let it get. As he showers, Bella works on their breakfasts; omelettes today, with ham on his and spinach on hers. It’s time she could spend looking over her textbooks again, but the time spent eating side by side with Harry makes it worth it. It makes her feel like maybe the skimming she did last night before he coaxed her to sleep a few hours will be enough, that Mufasa will stop stealing Sunshine’s food and Sunshine will stop baiting Mufasa. In the months since moving in, Bella’s learned that the little moments like this are what bring contentment to happiness, happiness to joy.
It’s as easy as breathing to slip some gas money and the lunch she’d packed into Harry’s bag while he’s still sipping his coffee. Even if she hasn’t properly said it yet, she knows in her heart this is the man she’ll spend the rest of her life with.
“Isabella Swan!” Is called, and then Bella steps up to get her diploma and shake hands with the dean and professors. After six long years, she’s graduating summa cum laude with a Bachelors degree in library science and English. Harry hadn’t been around for the first few of those years, but he’s taken a few days off of work to help her celebrate reaching the finish line and starting a new chapter of life. He loves her, has loved her through icy winters and blistering summers, and is prepared to love her for every one they have ahead of them. Whether Bella proposes in this lifetime or not, he’ll love her for the rest of his days.
The crowd cheers as Bella accepts her diploma and almost misses a stair on the way back to her seat. They’re having a more personal celebration after this, just them and their families, and he can’t wait.
In Charlie’s backyard, Bella anxiously fidgets with the stem of her champagne glass. She’d just taken a breather away from the bulk of the crowd after an hour of everyone congratulating her and hugging her. Harry is next to her, head tilted just enough to make onlookers assume they’re having a quiet, intimate moment together as partners.
This is it.
“Harry James Potter,” she starts, and his brows raise at the full address, “I’ve known you since I was a second year college student devoting every waking minute to my degrees, whose father dragged her away from studying to have Christmas dinner at a small town diner. I’ve been dating you for four years, and telling you all throughout that time that I may never want to get married or have children with anyone, even you, and you’ve taken it in stride. You’ve told every nagging, disapproving neighbor or coworker that I’m in charge, that we’re happy whether we get married tomorrow in Vegas or if we never marry at all, but I’m ready now.”
She gets down on one knee, ankles saved only by the runes Harry had inscribed for balance on the soles of her short heels, and she says, “Harry James Potter, I want to spend my forever with you. I want to wake up every morning thinking of you or next to you and go to sleep every night knowing that even when you aren’t with me physically, I’m still thinking of you and you’re still thinking of me. I want to tell my friends, ‘Yeah, that hot, sarcastic, kindhearted man is my husband,’ when they make eyes at you in the cafeteria, so I’m asking you now, with the blessing of every friend you’ve ever had, will you marry me?”
Bella is sweating her makeup off in the cap, gown, dress, and heat, but Harry is quietly sobbing and looking at her like she’s just told him that world peace has been achieved when he says, “Yes! Oh my fucking God, Bella, yes!”
After a day spent touring houses, they find it. This is it, Harry thinks, staring down the two-story craftsman with green accents and an overgrown front yard. The thick columns, subtle green tint to the shingled upper floor, and what’s almost definitely a basement under the tall foundation are perfect. The orange-ish wood of the porch and door could do with some change, and the painted window frames are a bit tacky, but it’s exactly what they need. It’ll take work to make it theirs, but that’s just another reason to want it.
“Three bedrooms, an office that could be converted to a nursery in a pinch, two and a half baths, and an unfinished basement. Pretty nice, right? Let me show you folks around, and then we’ll talk prices!” The realtor says, smiling cheerily as they step up to the front door and jangle some keys.
The interior is similarly outdated and green, but it’s good. There’s plenty of natural light, the kitchen is big enough for Harry to workshop recipes without having to use the stove as counter space, the bedrooms and bathrooms are all good enough sizes, and the basement could easily add another bedroom or two, with an extra half bath or more flex space besides.
When he makes eye contact with Bella back at the front of the house after an hour of gushing over the features and what needs changed, he knows that this is their house, the place they’ll raise their children.
Bella grunts when the pipes under the kitchen sink start dripping on her, but, well, turns out there was a reason such a gorgeous house cost so little. “Pass the wrench?” She calls out to Harry, who had been unpacking boxes from the rented moving truck last she’d seen him.
“Be there in a second!”
While she waits, she turns the obnoxiously bright headlamp back on and tries to think about how on earth she’s going to fix a kitchen sink. They’re a bit hard on cash, considering Bella’s still looking for a good archival job someplace nearby and they’d pooled nearly everything to buy this house without the (frequently) offered help of family and friends, but calling an actual plumber is looking very tempting right about now. Another drop of water falls, this time worryingly close to her mouth. Maybe Harry would have better luck with this? She’d at least ask him to look if she couldn’t fix it.
“Here you go, babe. Need anything else? I’m just about done bringing in the last of the boxes, and then we have to go get the cats,” Harry says breathlessly, reaching a sweaty hand down to her to pass along the wrench. Moving in the middle of summer had been a… questionable decision. Especially into a house with only vaguely functional A/C. And rusty pipes. And a dash of mold. And-
Biting her lip and furrowing her brow in focus, Bella twists the wrench. The pipe is rusty, but it’s fine, right? She’s just here for the leak. Everything is fine. “Just a sec, let me just…”
The pipe breaks, somehow, and sprays some honestly quite gross water all over her.
Spluttering and flailing her way out of the soggy cabinet, Bella narrowly avoids a concussion. She is saved only by Harry’s quick thinking, a smooth wand-wave and murmured word making a bubble pop up around her head. She coughs some of the water out onto her shirt, already sweated through in places.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay? Oh, Merlin…” Harry trails off, fluttering over her as she glares at the sink, which is now only dripping every few seconds. It’s unreasonably rage-inducing, and she points at it furiously with her (wet) wrench.
“Fix it.” A pause from Harry. “Harry James Potter, so help me God-”
Harry waves his wand about with wild eyes, and the plumbing groans fearfully as it’s forcibly returned to peak condition. Who’s the winner now?! The heat is getting to her, there’s no other reason to start cackling vengefully at the (inanimate) plumbing’s (imagined) discomfort at returning to its shiny, rustless past self.
After spending half a decade under a microscope, Harry is used to eyes on him. He’s used to the unreachable itch crawling over his back, the way heads turn to keep him in their sightlines, and the subconscious anxiety whispering that he’s made a mistake or is about to, but also the way he breathes through it and puts it to rest. Today, though, it’s different; his heart is fluttering, his stomach swooping, because Bella had proposed and now they’re in a quaint chapel with their friends and family, promising each other their forevers. She’s somewhere else in the building now, getting ready with Alice and Jessica, but Harry stands at the altar in front of the Weasleys, Bella’s parents, the Cullens, some of the Quileute tribe, and Bella’s uni friends. Harry’s met most of them through a combination of happenstance and Bella deliberately inviting him into her life; an honor, considering how private she is as a person.
Music starts playing, and the doors to the hall open. Everyone’s eyes jump towards the back of the room, and the people walking through it. In front, the maid of honour and best man: Sophy, whom Bella had met through an English class a few years back, and Ron. Next, Jessica and Linus, a cook Harry worked with. Then, Hermione and Jacob. As the last bridesmaids and groomsmen file in, Harry’s heart beats louder and louder in his ears, time blurring in a mass of deep green dresses and brown suits.
And then, the doors open one more time, and Bella walks in.
The first thing Harry notices is how happy she looks. She’s smiling brightly, wide enough that her eyes scrunch at the corners, and the longer he watches, the bigger his own smile gets. There’s barely a trace of worry in the set of her shoulders, the even and smooth steps she takes towards him. In a deep peach A-line dress with a corset bodice, she’s gorgeous. But then, she is stunning in bleach-stained sweatpants and faded graphic tees; she is a vision when, in the morning light, she scowls at her computer and chews on her uneven nails; she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, no matter what she’s wearing or doing, the angle or lighting, whether he’s wearing his glasses and seeing every miniscule detail or half-blind and seeing only the vague shapes and colors Bella consists of.
In the bright afternoon light, her hair half-up, makeup done, wearing a dress the color of a Georgia peach dahlia, and smiling beatifically, Harry is struck dumb by the sight of her. The music playing only barely reaches his ears through the sound of his beating heart, and everyone who is not Isabella Marie Swan fades into a blur he pays no attention to. The vows he’s prepared repeat in his mind over and over, melting into an amalgamation of his love, respect, and appreciation for her.
“Since that awkward first date Charlie and Patsy set up, I’ve known that you’re a kind and beautiful person. Since you moved in with me, I’ve known that you’re thoughtful and intelligent. Since we’ve bought a house together, I’ve known that you’re diligent and hard-working. Since you proposed, I’ve known that every day, you will surprise me with the depth and breadth of your love, the compassion you show the world even after it hurts you. Isabella Swan, in the years I’ve known you, I’ve only fallen more deeply in love with you, and I know that after this, I’ll keep falling in love with you more every day.” By the end, Bella is tearing up.
“Even when I wasn’t ready to get married, I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone, through thick and thin, even when you give Mufasa a second dinner,” there are a few scattered laughs from the crowd, “or when you stay awake until four in the morning testing recipes. Harry James Potter, I love you, so much, and I’m so honored that you said yes when I proposed. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”
When they say yes, one more time after years of dates and plans for the future and with the knowledge that more are coming, it’s watery with tears and their teeth clack when they can’t help but smile into it.
With Bella’s job stabilized and Harry’s promotion, it’s time for her to bring it up. She knows that they’ve both wanted to take this step for years, but now that it’s feasible, her worries are back.
Stepping into the kitchen- one of the first places they’d renovated in their new home- is always nice, but especially when Harry’s working on a new recipe for the diner. Tonight, it smells like garlic and something she can’t quite recall, and Harry is fluttering around the kitchen to cut vegetables, stir something on the stove, and wash dishes. How he manages to do that all without tripping or burning something, she has no clue, but Harry always manages to amaze her. “Harry? I’d like to talk about something, when you can stop for a second.”
Waiting for the sheet pan of vegetables to cook, she tells him she’s ready.
Over the course of a few weeks, Bella develops symptoms. Nausea in the mornings, strange cravings, and then, finally, a late period.
With her heart in her throat, she waits for the pregnancy test in her hand to tell her whether or not the crib in her Amazon shopping cart will be ordered now or later. Whether or not her and Harry will have to finally decide between all the wallpaper and paint swatches sitting in the future nursery. Her heart is in her throat as she waits for the lines to appear, and then…
“Harry!”
“You have a perfectly healthy baby girl, Mrs. Potter-Swan. Congratulations to you both,” the doctor says, smiling kindly at them even though they’re staring at the ultrasound monitor. Right now, she’s just a little blob, but Harry’s heart swells with affection for his future child. His little baby girl, Helen Grace Potter-Swan, due to arrive in October. Bella squeezes his clammy palm in her own, smiling at him with one hand resting over her bump.
Home from the hospital, holding seven pounds and six ounces of perfection, slumped against Harry in their bed, Bella thinks that maybe this is what true contentment is. She just finished twelve hours of godawful labor, after nine months of eating pickles with peanut butter, with a doting husband by her side, and now she’s back home with her daughter. And what a novel thought, having a child; she’s known that she wants kids since she realized that not all mothers are like Renee, has planned this pregnancy half to death, but it’s still a surprise, somehow. She’s a mother now.
Head bowed over Helen’s fuzzy little head, Bella smiles as a few tears slip down her cheek.
“Helen Grace, put the keys down-!”
A flush, and the shower water cascading down on Harry goes hot, the ensuing shriek half-swallowed by the demonic cackling from outside the curtain. Poking his head out of the shower, Harry is met by Helen’s mischievous smirk, Bella’s Disappointed Mom Face, and the realization that he no longer has keys. Fuck. That’s the third time this month that Helen’s flushed something, but at least it isn’t a phone this time?
There’s only a month left of Bella’s pregnancy now, and the thought of a second, perhaps worse, chaos goblin waking him by crawling into bed and staring down at him fills him with dread. It’s suddenly very tempting to convert faiths and beg a god for mercy.
“Ellie, sweety, you can’t bring in stray animals! They could have families or be sick, baby,” Bella says, trying not to fold at the sight of her little toddler holding an honestly adorable creamsicle cat. If Harry were home, he would have a go at being the firm parent, but someone needed their shift covered while they visited a sick parent. Curse his bleeding heart.
Ellie’s eyes get big and watery, holding the cat up against her chin, and… Shit.
There’s a suspicious quiet when Harry walks into the entryway after a shit shift at the diner. There’s soda on one of his trainers, he accidentally stole (another) pen, and then accidentally burnt three omelettes and undercooked scrambled eggs, but there’s a looming dread promising worse to come. After all, with a pregnant wife and malevolent two-year-old, silence is a very bad sign.
Gingerly stepping through the house, waiting for some sort of prank or trap, Harry is filled with sympathy for his parents. They’d only had him a year and change, but good god. Nobody deserves to be subjected to a magical toddler craving mischief.
“Helen…?” As he peers into Helen’s room, half of his brain counts the cats sprawled around the sleeping child. Mufasa, an orange creamsicle adolescent with massive paws, Sunshine-
Shit.
“A bit dehydrated, but a healthy maine coon, for sure,” the vet says, smiling down at Helen where she’s trying to get onto the examination table. Bella aims her best pleading eyes at Harry, Helen progresses enough in her quest that she can pet the cat, and Harry sighs deeply as he starts asking about getting the cat chipped. His reluctance is purely show, though; he’s always been willing to bring in another cat, Bella just wanted to wait and see if Helen was allergic and make sure they had enough time for more animals.
He reaches out, petting the purring cat while the vet talks about getting the cat fixed and chipped.
“You’re sure you can babysit? I know you and Ron have been meaning to visit Molly, it’s just-”
“Harry, you’re our friend. Of course we’ll babysit for you while you and your pregnant wife go to a doctor’s appointment, you imbecile! We’ll be there a day early, even, and bring Rose,” Hermione says firmly. Her expression is lost over the phone, but the appalled face she’s making rings loud and clear. At least Helen will get a playdate out of this?
Helen looks very unimpressed by the ultrasound picture of her little sister, but is much more excited when she learns that she’ll have a little sister soon. Evidently, she hasn’t been content with trying to adopt half of the local wildlife, and has graduated to human minions. Letting her name the new cat “Snowball” had not quelled her thirst for henchmen at all.
Sitting on a picnic blanket, Helen sandwiched between her and Harry, Bella can’t help but lean back to soak in the sun of a beautiful summer day, her family next to her, on a rare day off. The sun is shining, the wind isn’t too bad, and Helen is finally starting to calm down after a long walk through the park.
The safety lead attached to Helen’s backpack jerks in Bella’s grasp, Harry shouts, “Helen, no-!” and the moment of respite is gone. Helen’s terrible twos have lasted well into her being three, but the time spent overseeing her mischief has trained Bella and Harry to think fast. In one hand, she firmly holds the leash down, the other snaps out to grab Helen by the loops in her belt, and the birds nearby are saved from being tackled by an adorable little demon as Harry grabs her backpack.
Harry’s arm slings over her shoulders when the flurry of movement is over, trapping Helen between them to go back to her stuffed toys. Bella can’t help but laugh into the absurdity of it, the hilarious image of her toddler frolicking about with offended ducks spurring her on until she’s collapsed, hugging Harry and Helen from her spot halfway off the picnic blanket.
Bella’s pregnancy had been easy this time, the birth plan cemented since the first month, but Harry is still nervously tapping a staccato rhythm into the steering wheel as he drives them to the hospital. Bella is calm in the backseat, Helen is home with Sophy and Charlie, Jane is almost exactly on time, but there’s still the urge to drive faster than he should when it’s raining and dark out. It’s through luck alone that there hasn’t been snow yet.
“Calm down, Harry, it’s going to be fine,” Bella murmurs, apparently less asleep than she looked through the rearview mirror. It forces him to take a deep breath in, hold it as he comes up on a red light, and breathe out as Bella reaches forward to rest a delicate hand on his shoulder. The weight and subtle heat through his jumper tether him back down to the reality that this pregnancy is safe, planned for and around, and the birth will be fine.
A few hours later, cuddled up with Bella on the hospital bed with little Jane resting between them, Harry breathes out every stress, every worry, and lets the reality of the situation reach him. Bella is fine, Helen is either sleeping or terrorizing Sophy and Charlie back home, Jane was born at a perfectly healthy six pounds and nine ounces, he’s fine, and everything will be okay. The anxiety had been convincing through sheer strength alone, but it was easily disproven, over and over.
Bella jerks awake almost before the sound of Jane’s wails reaches her. For the third time tonight. “Harry.”
He half-falls out of bed on his way to go soothe Jane back to sleep while Bella drags her hands over her sweaty face. Helen toddles into the bedroom and struggles her way up onto the mattress, somehow. Bella is beginning to suspect foul play by the name of weaponized accidental magic.
“Baby, you need to sleep,” Bella murmurs, voice still scratchy with sleep. In the dark, Helen’s mostly just a blob next to her, but the weight of her eyes is heavy.
“No,” she says emphatically, her favorite word as of late, and digs a boney knee into Bella’s side while she tucks herself in. Bella just grunts and resigns herself to another night of co-sleeping. Then Helen crams herself into the crook of Bella’s arm, and she’s reduced to overwhelming fondness because this is her baby. Her little girl, although not very little anymore. When Harry slips into bed with them, she sighs contentedly and goes back to sleep, even knowing Jane will scream the house awake again another few times tonight.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay, Ellie? We can stay, you don’t have to do the first day alone,” Harry babbles nervously. His independent little four-year-old crosses her arms and glares up at him.
“I do it,” she says, as she’s been saying since they got her ready that morning. Bella reaches out to ruffle her untidy black hair, abruptly crouching down to hug her one last time before Helen starts squirming.
As she stands back up, Bella says, “Have a good day, baby! Mommy and daddy love you, ok? We’ll be right here when you’re done,” and they watch as Helen rushes into the building alongside a flock of other little kids and their teary-eyed parents.
“You think she’ll be okay?” Harry asks in a murmur, leaning against Bella to wrap an arm around her waist.
“‘Course,” Bella says, her breath ticklish against his neck. “She’s ours.”
“Dada!” Jane shrieks when they walk back in. Then, “Mama, Ellen!” while she crawls at them. Helen rushes to meet her halfway, grinning ear to ear. Her glittery backpack is abandoned on the floor, directly in front of the hook specifically for it. Bella sighs gustily in relief at being back home and barely manages to close the door before Mufasa can slip outside. Jane is just about a year old, but already under Helen’s thrall and very willing to aid and abet. It’s touching that they love each other, but Bella is very fatigued by Helen’s proclivity for mayhem.
Looking into the living room, where Sunshine is grooming Snowball, Helen is loudly singing one of the pop songs that’s been playing nonstop on the kids-friendly radio station, and Harry is quietly (and fruitlessly) scolding Mufasa for trying to run away, Bella’s heart seems to swell with love.
“Mr. Potter?”
“Speaking,” Harry says, bouncing Jane on his hip while he mops the kitchen.
“Ah, so… Um… Helen broke her arm,” the school secretary murmurs, crackly through the phone and cringing audibly. Harry’s heart stutters; he pauses in bouncing Jane, and she half-wakes to grumble discontentedly. “She, uh, she jumped off of the playground equipment.”
“Dada?” Jane mumbles into the puddle of drool left on his shirt. Harry forces himself to respond.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes, oh my God-”
When Bella rushes into the hospital room, Helen is asleep with a neon green cast over her right arm and Harry is sitting on one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs with Jane on his lap. He’d called her on the way there, and Bella had left work with no hesitation to reassure herself that her baby was fine.
“What happened?” She asks, despite having heard it about a hundred times by now.
Harry pauses, tilting his head back against the wall to stare blankly at the ceiling and sigh. “She jumped off the roof of one of the play structures,” he murmurs a bit disbelievingly. What the hell.
Her eyes on Helen’s sleeping face, Bella sits down and wonders where she went wrong for her child to jump off of a play structure.
After one too many days in a row where Bella vomits minutes after waking up and then begs Harry to make her bacon covered in chocolate, Harry presents a pregnancy test. Bella’s dubious at first, but then she looks at her plate of abominations and pauses.
Ten minutes later, Harry is proven right.
Between complaints about her swollen feet and annoying coworkers, Bella says firmly, “This is the last pregnancy.” No room for questioning or doubt.
Harry looks up from where he’s massaging her ankles to nod agreeably.
“Am I a regular now?” Bella asks wearily, lounging on the hospital bed while a nurse takes her vitals. Harry looks up from the book he’d been reading to her, and, against his will, snorts.
“Not quite, dear, but you’re getting close,” Harry says with a grin. It’s true that this is the third time Bella’s visited the hospital in the past year, but she has nothing on his record of most hospital visits in a month. Admittedly, though, that had been when he was in school and playing a risky sport. Still, he’s a bit proud of spending more of his time at school living in the hospital wing than the dorms.
Bella wiggles a hand at him to start reading again, squirming to get comfortable. This is the fourth time they’ve read Wuthering Heights together. “Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the stairs with vexatious phlegm: I don’t think they moved one second faster than usual…”
Holding a somewhat massive baby in her arms, Bella walks into her home with Harry’s hand resting on her shoulder. When the door opens and Charlie looks up from the other kids (and the cats batting at his socks and hair), he first smiles and then is rendered inert by shock at the nearly eight pound baby. He’s quick, though, to rush up and take the baby from her arms. “Jesus,” he mutters, arms dropping a second from the unexpected weight. Bella rubs her sore arms; she’d only been holding Charlus while Harry opened the door for them, but he was fucking heavy.
“Thanks again for watching the girls,” Harry says, laughter in his voice while Sunshine halfheartedly tries to climb Charlie’s leg, meowing pitifully up at them. Snowball and Helen are looking at them intently from the playpen, Mufasa somehow perched on top of the bookshelf, covered in cobwebs.
“No problem, you’re family.”
“You’ll be okay,” Harry says into Jane’s hair. She’s supposed to be inside the preschool by now, but she’s sobbing inconsolably on the pavement. “How about you bring Dolly with you?” Jane blinks her big, watery green eyes at him while he digs through his tote bag, reaching through infant tylenol, baby wipes, bandaids, a single half-melted M&M, until- there. The creepy off-brand Barbie that Jane only rarely lets out of her sight. As intended, her eyes light up and she sniffles loudly while Harry wipes her tears and snot.
“Little Jane can come with me?” She asks, despite having snatched it out of his hands immediately.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Mrs. Potter?”
Holding a shushing finger up to Sophy, who had recently switched jobs and finally ousted Carl from Bella’s department, Bella hums affirmatively. There’s a book older than dirt that needs translating sitting on their work table, and through Sophy’s background in dead languages she’d been able to snatch it before Carl’s department’s director could, entirely out of spite. She has very little interest in half-dissolved books written in languages she can’t read, but when Carl showed even a hint of interest in a big project like that, choices had to be made. Spiteful choices, but choices all the same.
“Helen cut off a student’s ponytail.” The receptionist was more confident now, after more than a year of calling the Potter-Swans about Helen’s… interesting behaviors. They probably had Harry and Bella’s numbers on speed dial by now, honestly, and Bella is firm in her belief that learning two more Potter-Swans existed had taken a decade off the lives of every staff member in the local elementary school.
“Harry and I’ll talk to her about being more respectful to the other kids, sorry,” Bella says, already dreading another talk about not tormenting classmates. At least Helen had mostly stopped biting?
“Have a good day then, Mrs. Potter-Swan.”
“You too, thanks.” Abruptly, she realizes that Sophy has intuited what she got called about when her phone is always on silent during work, and is now quietly wheezing with a hand clapped over her mouth and tears streaming down her face with repressed cackles.
“-and then the dragon eats him! And the princess says that…” Charlus pauses from where he’d been waving his stuffed animals around. Harry blinks rapidly from where he’d almost fallen asleep on the playroom floor after a twelve hour shift and then a few more hours of entertaining the kids.
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
Charlus stares deeply into his eyes, blank-faced, quietly creeping up to him. He grasps Harry’s face between his hands, stares into his eyes another moment, and then asks, in a tone more ominous than a two-year-old with a lisp should be allowed, “Are you wissening?”
“Of course! What does the princess say when the dragon eats the knight?” Charlus smiles again, backing up to return to his story.
“The princess says that she’s sad, and-”
Crisis averted.
On the four-hour drive back to Forks from Seattle to visit Charlie for Christmas, Bella tries to focus on her audiobook and the road instead of the brawling the kids are doing in the backseat and Harry’s efforts to resolve whatever conflict this had spiraled from. Two more hours, she thinks desperately. Just two hours, and then Charlie can have a turn wrangling them. The windshield wipers are moving slower than the frankly inhumane amount of snow the Pacific Northwest has been getting all winter, and the only things keeping her from just turning the car around are the sunk cost fallacy and the promise of a reprieve from Helen’s antics. Without the ability to spend at least eight hours a day mucking through the backyard playing knights with Jane or collecting bugs with Charlus, she’s become an unholy terror.
“Mommy, tell Ellie she needs to give me my red cup back!” Charlus wails, the sound akin to a banshee. Helen is singing along to the radio in a similar tone and decibel, using the red cup in question as her microphone. Jane is sleeping in between them, head tilted back against the seat, snoring away. Harry is trying to wrest control of the stereo volume dial from Helen’s accidental magic.
“Helen, please give Charlus his cup back,” she says, knowing the next two hours will not be enough time to arrange a truce. Two more hours. The only mercy is that the cats are all at home instead of in the car with them, watched over by a neighbor, much to Charlus’s despair.
“Ellie, Jane, Chuck! How have you kids been?” Charlie asks, crouched to ruffle their hair. He’d retired a few months ago, and the free time had been treating him well; less of a stressed furrow in his brow, no more automatic reach for a gun holster at every perceived threat. There’s more grey in his hair than what Harry remembers from when they’d come to visit him for the kids’ spring break, but with time Harry’s learned that aging is a decadent, luxurious thing to aspire and look forward to. Charlie’s grey hair is a thing to envy, now.
“Just the usual, you know how it is,” Harry says, leaning against where Bella’s wrapped an arm around him. The snow lazily falling in Forks catches the light, specks of glitter in the air and over the snowbanks all around town, melting on their coats and collecting on the branches of trees. There’s no summer sun, everything is cold and drowsy, but there’s a certain sort of vibrancy and light despite it all.
“Wake up!” Three voices shriek in unison from above her. Bella lurches up habitually, squinting at where Helen is bouncing up and down, Jane is rocking back and forth on her heels, and Charlus is clutching the collective Christmas present from the kids to Bella and Harry. For some reason, its wrapping paper is fluorescent orange with purple stripes.
Bella slurs, “We’re up, we’re up,” as Harry slips on his glasses and the kids start vibrating in place. The sun is barely out, reduced to a weak trickle through the gap in the curtains that casts Charlie’s second guest room in a cool purple tone. At her best guess, it’s six in the morning, and the kids barely slept. When she slips out of bed, the hardwood floor is horrifically cold.
Once Bella and Harry are up and moving around, they’re left alone by the kids in favor of Charlie, who has yet to wake up. “Are you excited?” Harry asks, leaning against the doorframe while they watch the kids run off down the hallway. It’s six in the morning, the kids had been crawling up the walls until midnight, her pajamas are absolutely not thick enough for Charlie’s insane thermostat habits, and being a parent has been so much work and effort and time, but-
“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” she says, the corners of her lips pulling up into a grin.