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Chapter 1: The Potion Long after Voldemort’s fall there was always one thing that stuck with Harry Potter. One event, one period of time that would startle him out of sleep long after the trauma had faded, long after he’d learned to live with all he’d experienced. It was something he couldn’t speak to anyone about, and something he couldn’t forget. It happened during that last year, while they were on the run from the Ministry’s forces. Camping in the Weasley’s tent, carrying with them the Horcrux pendant. Harry and Ron had just had their argument, and Ron had disappeared, and Hermione and him had been forced to move on, disapparating, leaving behind any hope of Ron’s return. Hermione was angry with Harry, and he was angry with himself. They camped on a windswept rocky outcropping, and it was as cold as Harry felt. He went looking for more blankets, hoping he could shore up some heat loss, and maybe soften Hermione’s mood. He found some in a large chest, that like the Tent, and like Hermione’s bag of holding, was larger inside than out. Inside the chest was more like a shed, with shelves of supplies, and what Harry was sure was the Weasley’s other tent. Crawling in, he found blankets easily enough, but as he rummaged through them he stumbled upon some things — there were old soup cans, boxes of dry detergent, an old crate of muggle things (an electric drill, and some old board games), dusty looking candies, and a basket of toiletries. He almost didn’t give it a second look, but he saw that they were girl’s things — tampons, a packet of hair ties, flowery shampoos, and nestled down beneath everything, a packet of nappies. Well not nappies, Harry decided as he looked closer, they were Pullups. nighttime pullups, DryNites✫ brand to be exact. Harry stared at them for a long while, partly because he knew to whom these things must belong, and partly because it was a welcome distraction from everything else going on. The last time either tent had been used, had been for the Quidditch World Cup, and the Girls tent was where Hermione and Ginny stayed. These were Ginny’s things. Ginny’s nappies. The thought somehow made him feel closer to Ginny. He knew he should be embarrassed for her, but he saw her in his imagination, clearer than he’d done in months. Going to bed in the tent, slipping on the humiliating thing. Why? She must have a problem, a bed-wetting problem? Or else, an all-the-time problem? Regardless, this secret was his now. Something he shared with her. A bit of intimacy. He imagined her in them, as he slipped one out of the package. And he saw her body, mostly naked, as she pulled one up her legs. And then he saw her in the morning, somehow waking up beside him, and he’s reaching down, and saying: “Looks like you’re wet again, Ginny.” And she replies, her cheeks blushing to match her hair: “I’m sorry.” But he’d have none of it. He’d help her, tearing the yellowed nappy at the seams, and cleaning her most sensitive bits with a wipe. She’d lean into him, feeling safe, and happy, and taken care of. He wanted that most: to hold her, and take care of her. Without realizing it he’d developed an erection, and embarrassed with himself, he quickly returned the pull-ups and things to the shelves. With one last look he grabbed the blankets climbed out of the Chest, trying to make sure everything looked as he’d found it. As his feet touched the floor of the tent, he turned to Hermione, her nose in a book as always. “Did you know that chest is bloody huge inside?” He asked, but she only looked at him. Eyes bloodshot with tears, and her look answered for her. “Of course I know that Harry,” it said. “You’re an idiot.” If the blankets, left folded upon her bunk, had any effect on her mood at all it might have made things worse. Over the next day she hardly said a word, and left Harry almost entirely on his own. All there was to do was to look at books, and listen to the wind howling outside. Hermione would cry, sometimes, but she didn’t let him see it. She missed Ron. He knew she hoped, wished, prayed, that Ron would return and Harry wanted nothing more than for her to get what she wanted. And as if it had heard him (which should have been an enormous red flag) the answer appeared before him: in a book of potions. It all but fell open to the perfect spell, the perfect way to undo the damage he’d done, and bring Ron back; and looking at the ingredients it didn’t even look all that difficult, and it was topical, meaning all he’d have to do is put her in contact with it (It would have been a real difficulty to get her to drink a potion). They had a cauldron they’d mostly been using for heating soups, and nearly all the ingredients were food-like enough. He was also willing to bet that Hermione was so engrossed in both her book and her concerted effort to ignore him that she wouldn’t notice even if the recipe require a Bog’s Heart; she’d ignore even the worst smells or loudest bubbles, he was sure. Maybe it was the influence of the horcrux, or something else, but the whole time he was assembling the potion he couldn’t imagine what would go wrong. Through his bitter feelings and thoughts he couldn’t see his friend Hermione, and he couldn’t believe she’d want anything else than Ron. The worst that would happen is it would banish him, replace Harry with Ron, which was what he felt he deserved. Walking with the potion, holding it in a tea cup, as he moved toward her he knew what he wanted. It had hurt her so much to choose Harry over Ron — to choose the mission over... whatever those two were. He wanted to help her make a different choice, or remove that choice from the table completely. As he approached he made like he’d slipped, and “spilled” the tea on her lap. “Harry!” she yelped, jumping up, and all her anger welled in her. She looked at him, and he waited for it. Bracing himself for banishment, or punishment. She seethed, and shook, “Honestly, I wish you’d just...” she began, and he closed his eyes, almost afraid of what would happen next. But a moment passed, and when he opened them again she’d deflated. She looked at him sweetly, with all the warmth and pity pouring out on her face. She looked cute, and like she needed a hug. Normally he didn’t let himself think of her that way, but she also looked very pretty. He watched her, still half-hoping she’d say the right thing, or at least think it in her head. But then his eyes wandered down, past her house-coat to her soaked crotch, and without thinking he thought of Ginny’s Pull-ups. It did look like she’d had an accident, she did look like... “I just wish you’d get what you want.” Hermione completed her sentence and panic rose in Harry. He sat frozen, but after a long few seconds nothing happened. He’d mucked up the potion. They were safe. ✫DryNites is the brand in the UK, and debuted in 1994 (the same year as the quidditch world cup) at this point they would be plain white with just a DryNites/GoodNites tag on the back. Some notes on this... I did try to match JK's voice, and generally be british-y as much as possible so that it wouldn't be jarring, but I'm american, and I'm not going to kill myself to be perfect in that regard. Also, I'd prefer to use the word Diaper, but it just makes no sense. I tried to be as accurate to the books as I could as well, and I'm pretty sure my nerdy obsession with HP has helped there. I reread the relevant chapters, and I'm pretty sure I got it fairly close, and the timeline does (and will) make sense. And then as far as the tent I'm purposely going with the tent as represented in the books and the Goblet of Fire film. In Deathly Hollows the filmmakers decided to make the tent much more spartan, which I get, it fits with the mood, but would make it really hard for any of this to work. It also makes no sense. This is a good illustration of what I'm working with: https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=cjG7QP5IL8c Thank you so much for reading! I have more chapters in the pipeline I'll be posting on Friday!