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A Proper Epilogue | ||||||
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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Other, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Fluff, Romance Warnings: Death, Intimate Sexual Situations, Mild Language Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 188 Summary: Harry has just defeated Voldemort and everyone in the Wizarding World wants a piece of him, but there is only one witch with whom he wants to speak. How exactly can he hope that she still wants to see him? Hitcount: Story Total: 74382; Chapter Total: 3458 Author's Notes: For those who like references to canonical events while moving forward, I present Chapter 12! |
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Pansy knew she would not be allowed to beg off from yet another meeting at Malfoy Manor no matter how much it sickened her to even look at Draco. Then, again, no matter how disgusted she was at her own behavior with Draco, and his with her, she had come to realize that Draco was absolutely right when it came to his father’s plot. Lucius Malfoy and her father were setting up their own children to be accused of the murder of Harry Potter. Yes, they might eventually be proven innocent of the murder, itself, but could they really expect to be allowed to leave Great Britain and join their fathers without casting suspicion on the entire group? Wouldn’t it become obvious that they had been, at the very least, conspirators in the assassination of the wizard who was a hero to the vast majority of the wizarding world? “Ugh!” Pansy screamed at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “Since when have I even started to think like this?” Pansy began recalling things she no longer recognized about herself; questioning the wisdom of her father, finding Lucius Malfoy revolting rather than inspiring, becoming concerned about the way Draco treated her, worrying about Ginny Weasley, for Merlin’s sake! Yes, she knew the plan could very well work as far as the killing of Potter was concerned, and she had said so emphatically, but beyond that, the whole thing seemed destined to fall apart. Pansy had never before suffered from confusion. Her life had been one of complete clarity based upon her certainty in the superiority of blood purity and the wisdom of the Dark Lord. But suddenly she was overwhelmed with doubt. Was her own behavior a stain on the reputation of Slytherin House, or was it reflective of her cunningness and sense of self-preservation? Was she becoming tougher or losing her edge? Was she allowing the beliefs of her enemies to influence her behavior, or simply becoming more independent? She had no idea what she should do or how she should act until she could work her way through this moral and intellectual quagmire, and until then, she would have to protect herself. So, when her father knocked on her bedroom door, she was ready and waiting. Tonight she would learn the final details of the plan and then, she figured, she could start the process of deciding whether or not to participate in such a risky endeavor. “Are you ready?” asked Malcolm. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied. “What’s bothering you, Pansy?” her father asked as a crease formed in the middle of his forehead. “You haven’t seemed like yourself for a few days.” “I’m fine,” answered Pansy. “However, I have been wondering why Mr. Malfoy has to be the leader of the new pureblood movement. His blood is no purer than ours, and he had clearly fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord long before his death.” “It all comes down to a question of what each of us is willing to risk,” said Malcolm. “Lucius is willing to be the one to kill Harry Potter while I will be safely in Bulgaria. It’s a very risky plan, and Lucius either underestimates that risk or he figures it’s worth almost anything to possess the Elder Wand. I’d rather be second in command if he succeeds than risk everything and end up spending the rest of my life in Azkaban.” “But Father,” she said with a whimper, “I’m supposed to provide a distraction. If Mr. Malfoy fails, I won’t be sitting safely in Bulgaria. I’ll be the one who ends up in Azkaban.” “Pansy, if Lucius misses with his Killing Curse, then I want you to Disapparate immediately and leave the distraction to Draco. Do you understand?” “Disapparate?” “Yes, dear,” Malcolm replied. “If Potter isn’t killed instantly, I want you to get away from The Burrow as fast as you can — and be careful to leave no sign of your presence.” “But what about Mr. Malfoy’s plan?” “Bugger his plan and bugger him. If things go to shit, I want you to Disapparate and come back home without hesitation. Your mother already knows to say that you have been here all along … that you have never left the house. Do you understand?” “I do,” she answered. “But won’t Mr. Malfoy come after us?” “What do we have to fear if he doesn’t have the Elder Wand?” “Not much, I guess,” she said. “Nothing. We have nothing to fear. If he comes after either of us, I’ll kill him without asking a question.” “But what about Harry and Ginny?” she asked. “Harry and Ginny?” said her father, a hint of doubt showing on his face. “Since when have they been Harry and Ginny to you?” “I meant Potter and the Weasley girl,” said Pansy, as shocked as her father had been that she had called their enemies by their first names. Madam Malkin’s wand was flashing at a speed that made Hermione blink as the beautiful periwinkle blue dress robe she was wearing was marked for alteration. Never before had she seen the aging witch move so quickly. “I really wish you could talk Miss Weasley into something nicer than dress robes,” said Madam Malkin, a touch of concern showing in her eyes. “Her mother is very upset that things are going to be so casual … and so private.” “Ginny isn’t one to make a big fuss over herself,” replied Hermione, not wanting to insult either Madam Malkin or Mrs. Weasley, but remaining protective of Ginny’s desires at the same time. “But she’s the first Weasley daughter in at least a century,” continued Madam Malkin in protest. “And she’s marrying the most famous wizard in Britain. You’d think she would want to do things up right.” “She’s doing it right for herself, Madam Malkin. Ginny and Harry don’t want a big production, and Harry’s had more than enough attention to last a lifetime.” “Has he?” asked Madam Malkin. “He has,” answered Hermione. “Can you imagine what it’s been like for him? Ever since he returned to the wizarding world, everyone has wanted to know about him. The Prophet has kept him in the headlines constantly since he was fourteen, and most of it hasn’t been complimentary. He needs a break.” “But everything is complimentary now,” said the older witch. “It doesn’t matter. Harry doesn’t want the attention. He only wants to be with Ginny.” Ron sat back, having already been fitted for his robes that were fashioned from identical blue fabric. He smiled serenely as he watched Hermione defend the young woman who was both her closest female friend and his little sister. It didn’t seem possible, but with each passing day, Ron knew he was coming to love Hermione even more than the day before. “If this keeps up,” he thought silently, “I’m going to explode. A teaspoon, indeed!” Hermione looked up just as a soft smile spread across her boyfriend’s face. She made a mental note to ask him at a later time what it was about. Something about that look told her it was neither the time nor place to ask such a question. “You look beautiful, Hermione,” Ron murmured when he noticed that she was looking right at him. He thought for a moment of telling her that the robe was almost identical in color to one she had worn to the Yule Ball during their fourth year, but he stopped himself before the words could leave his lips. Reminding her of that particular night was exactly what he wanted to avoid. The memory of his cowardice in allowing someone else to ask Hermione to the ball still burned as if it had happened only yesterday; not to mention his subsequent display of petulant jealousy! “Thank you, Ron,” she answered softly as an inquisitive look crossed her face momentarily, only to be replaced with a contented smile. “But this color looks better with your eyes.” Madam Malkin’s wand stopped in mid-air as she took a short break to look from Ron to Hermione and back again. No, she hadn’t imagined it. These two were most definitely smitten with one another. She’d never been more certain of anything in over thirty years of crafting wedding attire for witches and wizards from all over Britain. “Well, maybe you’ll let me make something a touch more romantic for your wedding.” “Our wedding?” asked Hermione. “No, we’re not getting married.” “I don’t know about that,” interjected Ron before he even realized the words had slipped out of him. A bright red flush shot up his neck and spread across his face in record fashion, even for a Weasley. “Shite!” he thought. “Did I really just say that out loud?” “Where were you yesterday?” Draco whispered to Pansy, though a look of intense panic leapt from his cold gray eyes. “I needed to be away from you … you bloody prat.” “But I told you we have important things to discuss,” Draco whispered, hoping their fathers couldn’t hear them from the study. “I’m sorry, but I don’t jump at your command any longer, Draco.” “This is more important than what happened in my bedroom,” his whisper having definitely turned into a hiss. “To you, maybe,” she replied, her voice laced with disgust. “Look, I’m sorry that I don’t feel the way you want me to, but is that any reason for us to get ourselves killed?” “Not ‘ourselves,’ Draco. I have no intention of dying.” “And just how do you intend to avoid that?” he asked. “I won’t know until I hear all of your father’s plans, but I’m not dying for him … or for a wanker like you!” Draco looked at the young woman he thought he knew — thought he controlled — and saw that things had changed dramatically. He took a moment to gather his wits, but before he could respond to her challenge, the door to his father’s study slid open and Lucius Malfoy appeared beneath the lintel. “Draco. Pansy,” called Lucius, his eyes sparkling malevolently. “Please come in. Malcolm and I need to share some details with you.” Harry’s breathing was returning to normal as Ginny slid off his sweat-soaked body and turned her back before snuggling tightly against him. In what was becoming a well-rehearsed pattern, he rolled toward her and allowed his right arm to move over her before settling protectively over her breast. “I love you, Ginny,” he whispered softly against her ear. “I love you, too,” she answered as the smile that had taken up residence on her face expanded. “It’s really beautiful here. I think it’s perfect for our honeymoon.” “So do I, love. It’s really idyllic.” “For a honeymoon, Harry, but I don’t think I could ever live here. It’s just, well, a bit much,” Ginny offered tentatively. Chateau Peverell was truly magnificent, and Lac Annecy was perhaps the most beautiful place she had ever seen in her short life, but it didn’t feel like home to Ginny. Perhaps it was just too much of a departure from the Burrow, but she had a hard time thinking of the two of them bouncing around in such a huge, formal place. Then, as her thoughts moved into their immediate future, she realized she couldn’t visualize little feet moving rapidly across the cold hard floors. But Harry didn’t respond straight away. She held her breath, amazed that he had not agreed with her immediately. “Harry?” she asked softly. “Are you thinking about living here?” “What?” he said in response. Her question had clearly flown right past him. “I asked if you were thinking about living here?” “Oh! No, it’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel like home,” Harry answered at last. Ginny exhaled a breath she had been holding for what seemed like an eternity. She wondered what, exactly, had caused him to hesitate about the decision to not make this their permanent residence. “Then what are you thinking?” “I’m thinking that this would be a great place to come for special events, like our honeymoon, or for a place to come with Ron and Hermione. It might even be a great spot for Weasley family celebrations, although I can’t really see anyone wanting to be anywhere other than at the Burrow.” “Well, we haven’t seen your house in Cornwall,” she offered gently. “You mean Potter Manor?” Harry asked as a gentle scoff slipped between his lips. “As I recall, the property was appraised at almost ten million galleons. The architecture may be different, but I suspect it’s much the same as this.” “Well, at least it’s in England,” Ginny continued. “Still …” Harry muttered, “can you see our kids running around there?” “Kids?” asked Ginny, hoping that Harry could neither see nor sense the smile that had spread across her lips. “I thought we wanted more than one,” said Harry, pulling her closer to his chest. At last Ginny stopped suppressing the giggle she had been stifling and rolled over to face her fiancé. “Of course we want more than one. But I’d like a little time for just the three of us after this one is born,” Ginny replied before another giggle escaped from her lips. “Well, we have loads of time to decide,” said Harry. “We can stay at Grimmauld Place after our honeymoon, but if the cleaning gets too overwhelming, we could always bounce around between here and Cornwall — or we could just buy a house — or build one. We have options, you know. “Anyway, starting a little before the first of September, we’ll have a flat at Hogwarts. That will solve the problem for a while,” he concluded. Ginny broke eye contact and pretended to be fascinated with the stitching on the duvet cover. She didn’t know why she was so nervous about what she wanted to ask. After all, the worst thing Harry could do was say he didn’t like her idea. But there was something about what she was thinking that had already caused Ginny to become emotionally invested in the idea. At last, she cleared her throat and looked directly into Harry’s brilliant green eyes. “What about Godric’s Hollow?” she asked quietly. “Godric’s Hollow?” Harry replied, a look of disbelief passing across his face. “Well, your mum’s letter said it was your father’s favorite home.” “Before anyone was murdered there,” Harry countered. “But it’s the perfect place to raise a family,” she continued, undaunted. “It seems like such a waste to leave it as a moldering ruin, especially since your parents seemed so happy there. We could renovate the nursery, make it a study, and add a new nursery downstairs.” “You seem to have given this quite a bit of thought,” said Harry as a quizzical look caused his brow to crease. “Guilty as charged,” she replied sheepishly. “If there are simply too many bad memories for you I’ll understand, but it seemed like such a lovely village and the house … well it reminded me a little of the Burrow. I mean you can simply feel the magic radiating from the place.” “I don’t know, Ginny. I’ve never even thought about living where my parents were murdered. I don’t know what to think about it, really.” “I thought you might not like the idea,” Ginny whispered, disappointment evident in every word. “No!” exclaimed Harry, a compassionate smile warming his face. “There’s no need to apologize. I didn’t say it was a bad idea. I only said I hadn’t ever thought about it.” “Still, I should have known it was a silly idea … going back to the place where your parents died. But it’s also the place where your parents lived … the place where you were born.” “How do you know I was born in Godric’s Hollow?” asked Harry, astounded. He had never given the matter any thought and was surprised by Ginny’s certainty. “I assumed I was born when my parents lived at Potter Manor and that they only moved to Godric’s Hollow when they went into hiding.” “Hogwarts’ library,” answered Ginny quietly. “I did a little research last year in my spare time.” “L … last … last year?” stammered Harry. “Even after ... well ... things ended?” “I never really gave up hope, Harry. I would have thought that was obvious after your birthday kiss.” “Oh, Ginny. I never gave up on you, either. I hope you know that. Every night … every bloody night I would look for you on the Marauders’ Map. I couldn’t have survived if you hadn’t been safe. I couldn’t have gone on.” “I know,” Ginny replied. “Why else do you think I took you back so easily? I knew you only broke things off with me for your stupid noble reasons.” “You know me too well, love,” said Harry, a profound sense of peace sweeping over him. “Yes, I do, Potter. It’s because we were made for each other.” “That we were, Ginevra,” Harry whispered in reply. He looked into her intoxicating brown eyes and a decision came to him with astonishing clarity. “You know, I think it’s a great idea.” “What is?” she asked. “What’s a great idea?” “Living in Godric’s Hollow. My parents were happy there, and according to Mum’s letters, so was I. It’s a great idea.” “Oh, Harry,” she whispered as tears welled in her eyes. “Are you sure?” “Absolutely,” he answered. “It’s wonderful … and Ginny?” “Yes?” “I love you,” he whispered, never breaking eye contact. “A rehearsal and dinner?” asked George, incredulously. “Yes, George,” replied Molly. “Certainly we need to have a practice run through things, even if Harry and Ginny haven’t thought of it.” “Are you sure about that, Mum?” “Of course I’m sure. Everyone who is in the wedding will be here tonight, so it should be easy enough. We’ll just bring out the Vicar from St. Andrew’s in Godric’s Hollow, and maybe you could go collect Harry’s cousin. After all, he’s the only blood relative Harry is on speaking terms with. I think it would be nice.” “But aren’t you worried about what Harry and Ginny will think?” “Not at all. Could you just pop on over to Little Whinging and see if Harry’s cousin would like to come? It would be nice if he could have a chance to become accustomed to the wizarding world.” “If you’re sure, Mum. I guess I could do that. But their entire family lived in the wizarding world for almost an entire year.” “I know,” Molly answered, “but can you even begin to imagine how it would have been with his parents there. Dedalus said they were absolutely horrid.” “All right, I’ll do it,” sighed George. Molly turned away from her son, a smile crossing her lips. It would be the first time George had ventured from The Burrow since returning from the Battle of Hogwarts … the first time he had done anything since Fred had been killed. “As you can see,” said Lucius, standing above a map of The Burrow that had been spread across his conference table, “the layout of the Weasley property is not without its challenges.” “I should say,” Malcolm replied. “Exactly how do you plan to get off a clean shot without being seen?” Lucius cleared his throat and launched into his explanation. “As shown on this map, there are only three buildings on the Weasley property. In addition to this … thing … they call The Burrow, there is a shed and an out-building that’s hardly larger than a broom closet. Since both ancillary buildings are on the opposite side of the Burrow from the main garden, we will be unable to use either structure for shelter. Therefore, the only place that affords both shelter and a clear shot at Mr. Potter is the house itself.” “But how will you gain entry to the house, Father?” asked Draco. “Don’t you think they’ll still have security on the grounds?” “Yes, Draco, I do. But, I expect to be able to Apparate onto the roof. According to this plan, there is a flat surface over the bedroom on the upper floor. There is a slight peak in the roofline just beyond this area, which will provide both cover and a rest for me to take aim. It will be a long shot, if they hold the wedding beneath this tree,” said Lucius as he pointed emphatically at the diagram. “And why do you think the bride and groom will be there?” asked Draco, unable to keep a sneer from his voice. “Where else would you hold a wedding, Draco?” his father sneered in equal measure. “It will be an afternoon ceremony, and the garden is on the west side of the property. This tree offers the only shade in the garden while the remainder of the area is surrounded by hedges and this ridiculous bit of fencing. They really don’t have any option unless they want everyone sitting in direct sunlight.” “But you said it yourself, Mr. Malfoy, it’s literally a long shot. How can you be sure you’re going to hit Potter?” “Leave that to me, Pansy,” Lucius replied. “It will take a while for the spell to reach him, but no one will be paying attention to anything other than Potter and his child bride.” “But you have to be counting on them to stand still, Father. If we raise a distraction, won’t that cause people to move about?” asked Draco. “The distraction should be raised immediately after I have killed Potter. If you are here,” said Lucius, pointing beyond the hedgerow that ran behind the tree, “you should be able to create a distraction that will draw everyone’s attention away from the … house. And if you are quick enough, you could Disapparate without ever being seen,” he concluded. “So, we cast what kind of spells, Father?” asked Draco. “Incendio? Reducto? Or maybe we should conjure some Fiend Fyre?” “No need for Fiend Fyre, my son,” said Lucius, unable to keep the condescending air from his voice. “And Incendio is too quiet. We need some noise, so you might want to try a Fireworks spell.” “Do you happen to know any Fireworks spells, Father?” asked Draco. “It’s not something they teach at Hogwarts, you know.” “Then perhaps you two should pay a visit to Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes,” suggested Lucius. “You did well with their Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Draco. Maybe you should put a few more of their silly little inventions to work for us.” “Do you honestly think the Weasley brothers are going to sell me anything dangerous?” huffed Draco. The more he heard of his father’s plan, the less he liked it. “If you hadn’t noticed, there is only one surviving Weasley twin, and my sources tell me he hasn’t been back in his shop since before the Dark Lord fell. I suspect you could walk into the store and buy whatever your heart desired. But, if you’re feeling uneasy about such things, perhaps Pansy, here, could take care of the Fireworks.” “Me?” asked Pansy, a sense of panic rising quickly within her. “Don’t you think they’ll figure out who set off the Fireworks if I just happened along on the day of the wedding and purchased a set.” “Precisely why we have this,” answered Lucius as he set a tumbler of muddy potion on the tabletop. “Polyjuice Potion?” gasped Pansy, not believing what she was seeing. “I thought that took a month to brew properly.” “That's exactly why we keep a store on hand at all times, my dear,” chortled Lucius. “But I thought the Aurors searched your home immediately after Voldemort fell.” “Surely you’re not naïve enough to think I would store such … shall we say, controversial substances, on the premises,” answered Lucius. Ron Weasley had been struggling to hold his temper in check for more than an hour as Madam Malkin moved about Hermione, making adjustments at a snail’s pace. “What does she mean, we’re not getting married?” Ron thought as his emotions began to slip perilously out of control. “Why in Merlin’s name did she want to shag me if she doesn’t want to marry me?” At last, the seamstress finished marking the robes that Hermione would be wearing to the wedding. She struggled back to her feet, exuding an air of confidence. “You may pick up your robes before the close of business,” she said, addressing both Ron and Hermione. “We should be finished in an hour or two if you want to go to the Leaky Cauldron, or maybe spend a little time at Flourish and Blott’s.” “Oh, could we?” asked Hermione. “I’d love to go to the bookstore and see what’s available. I haven’t seen a new book in over a year.” “Whatever,” muttered Ron softly, yet unable to suppress the bitterness that burned within him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately sensing the rising aggravation in his voice. “Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, although his voice clearly said otherwise. “Ron, I know something’s wrong, so why not save us the trouble and be out with it?” Ron seemed to be conducting some inner battle until, at last, he blurted out, “What do you mean by saying we’re not getting married?” “What?” asked Hermione, shocked by Ron’s outburst. “You told Madam Malkin that we’re not getting married. She asked if she could make something nice for our wedding, and you told her emphatically that we’re not getting married!” “Why are you acting like this? We’re not getting married.” “Then why did you sleep with me? Why’d you tell me you love me if you don’t want to marry me?” Ron continued, the famous Weasley flush moving rapidly up his neck and spreading once again over his face in almost no time. Hermione watched as the evidence of his uncontrollable panic became unmistakable. Before Ron had been poisoned, Hermione would have found herself involved in one of their frequent rows — the one thing they could be counted on to do whenever they had a misunderstanding and one wrongfully accused the other. She could barely suppress a chuckle when she thought back to the flock of angry canaries she had conjured when their worst misunderstanding had spiraled out of control. So, Hermione took a deep breath and laughed. “Wh … what … what are you laughing at?” sputtered Ron indignantly. “Do you think the idea of marrying me is so sodding hilarious?” “No, that’s not it … not at all,” she replied as another fit of laughter overtook her. “Well, what is it?” “Oh, Ron, I only meant to let Madam Malkin know we aren’t engaged — not that I would never marry you!” “So, you would marry me if I asked you?” said Ron, the words registering only slightly more than a whisper. “Do you really want me to tell you what I’d say if you were to propose to me?” Hermione replied, her eyes still twinkling with mirth. “What?” asked Ron, a touch undone by Hermione’s obvious entertainment at the conversation’s change of direction. “You’re asking me to tell you what I would say, without actually asking me to marry you. It’s not really fair, you know.” “Oh, I guess I am. Sorry.” “It’s okay,” she answered while taking Ron’s hand firmly in her own. “What do you think about getting a Butterbeer?” Ron grunted his assent as Hermione pulled him out of the clothing store and back into the busy thoroughfare that was Diagon Alley. Hermione’s heart soared as they returned to the heart of wizarding London, where everything had already begun to take on the feel and appearance she had originally discovered in preparation for her first journey to Hogwarts. It was nothing short of amazing to see so many witches and wizards returning to the lives each had led prior to the return of Voldemort and the Death Eaters’ coup at the Ministry of Magic. For some reason, it came a something of a shock when Hermione realized that most the people surrounding them on the cobbled street hadn’t even participated in the latest war against evil. Yet that was always the way of war — the few giving up so much for the benefit of the passive masses. Still, she would do it all again — risk everything with Ron and Harry — to ensure the freedom of all magical beings. “So, do you want to go to the Leaky Cauldron?” asked Ron. “Where?” replied Hermione. “The Leaky Cauldron — would you like to go there for a Butterbeer?” “No,” answered Hermione definitively before offering her arm to Ron. “Where, then?” he asked. “Hold tight,” Hermione replied, continuing to offer her arm. At last Ron took her arm firmly. Convinced that his hold was adequate, Hermione turned on the spot and the couple disappeared into the crushing darkness. “So, have you decided Father’s plan is achievable?” asked Draco, anxiously awaiting Pansy’s response. “Well, I guess it all depends upon your father’s skills with his wand,” answered Pansy. “It’s more than fifty yards from the roof to the wedding tree. Other than that, the plan is as close to foolproof as it could be — as long as your Father can Apparate to the exact spot, launch an unerring curse from long distance, and Disapparate before anyone sees him, the whole thing’s a piece of cake.” “He can do it,” replied Draco. “What happens if your father is off by a few feet, Draco?” she asked haltingly. “What if her misses Potter and kills the Weasley girl?” “Then Merlin save us all,” said Draco softly while contemplating the unthinkable. “If Father kills Potter’s precious little witch and leaves Potter standing, then we’d better be out of the country within a matter of minutes.” “I was thinking the same thing, because Potter will still be the Master of the Elder Wand, and he’ll stop at nothing to avenge Ginny’s death.” “And what if they have guards? What if Father is wrong, and the Weasleys haven’t let their guard down? What if Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Aurors are there in force to protect Potter during his wedding?” asked Draco. “That would be the best of all worlds, wouldn’t it?” whispered Pansy, fearful that their fathers might return at any time and hear their doubts and concerns. “Surely your father would abort the mission. With any luck, we could Disapparate and go back to our everyday lives.” “A life in which I don’t have to see you or your father ever again, Malfoy!” she thought silently. With the sudden appearance of a redheaded wizard in her otherwise spotless kitchen, Petunia Dursley’s dish dropped to the floor, and her family’s favorite creamy chicken casserole splattered everywhere. “What are you doing here?” she screamed angrily. “Mum has decided to have a rehearsal this evening followed by a casual supper. We thought we’d invite Dudley along so he can get comfortable before it’s time for the actual wedding.” “Well, Dudders won’t be going with you, and that’s final,” said Petunia with a snap. “Where can’t I go, Mum?” asked Dudley as he stepped into the kitchen. He came up short, recognizing George as one of the culprits who had tricked him into eating Tongue Ton Toffee. “To Harry and Ginny’s wedding rehearsal and dinner,” answered George. “Mum says you’re welcome to spend the night at The Burrow if you’d like.” “She does?” asked Dudley, dumbfounded. “Why would she want to do something like that for me?” “Because you’re Harry’s cousin,” George replied, “and Harry is like another son to our Mum.” “That sounds nice,” said Dudley, who didn’t seem nearly as dimwitted now that he had stopped trying to be so intimidating. “Let me run upstairs and pack a few things.” “Why don’t you let me help?” suggested George. “With a little bit of magic, we can have your things packed up and shipped to the Burrow in no time!” “Dudley!” screamed Aunt Petunia. “You can’t be serious!” “I can be, and I am, Mum,” said Dudley, as a burning look of defiance took up residence on his face. “I forbid you to go with th … th … that lot!” huffed Petunia. “I’m eighteen, Mum. You can’t keep me from going!” finished Dudley before heading upstairs. As they reached the first floor landing, Dudley stopped suddenly and looked at George. “You’re one of the twins, aren’t you?” “Yes, I’m George.” “Where’s your twin brother?” asked Dudley. “He came with you last time.” Dudley knew something was horribly wrong as he watched all the color drain from George’s face. “Oh, shite!” he muttered, as George’s smile faded and the lights that illuminated his eyes disappeared instantly. “Fred was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts.” Two soft pops echoed through the empty kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, as Hermione and Ron staggered slightly before regaining their balance. “Blimey, Hermione!” exclaimed Ron as soon as he recognized where they had landed. “I’ll get the Butterbeers,” Hermione whispered as she reached up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. As she turned her back to him, Ron quickly scurried toward the stairway. “I have to use the loo!” he called cheerfully behind him Ron did not, however, stop at the toilet. Instead, he hurried up the stairway and skidded to a halt in Ginny and Harry’s bedroom, where a small wall safe had been installed for Ron’s benefit. Not even Harry knew what Ron had stashed in the secure location, although he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his best friend’s future plans with Hermione. Ron’s hands were trembling as he performed the spells necessary to open the safe. Reaching in, he took a small, carefully wrapped box and headed back down toward the kitchen. He was growing warmer with each successive step, and the slight trembling in his hands had progressed to a noticeable shakiness. “Ron, are you okay?” Hermione asked. “I think so, love,” he answered, slowing to a normal gait as he returned to the kitchen, where he found Hermione seated at the long table with two bottles of Butterbeer perched in front of her. “So, why do you only think you’re okay?” “I guess it all depends on your answer, Hermione,” said Ron, whose voice had fallen to a mere whisper. Hermione’s hands flew up to cover her mouth momentarily as she identified what Ron was carrying. As he held out the tiny box toward her, Hermione lowered her hands to accept the gift. Ron took Hermione’s upper arm in his hand and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her neck, while she worked furiously to unwrap the package. When at last she had removed the wrapping paper and freed the inner box from its container, Ron’s lips moved up against her ear. “Open it, Hermione,” he breathed into her ear. “Oh, Ron,” she answered softly as she snapped open the lid on the tiny velvet box. “Will you marry me?” he breathed once more into her ear before pulling away to gaze into her deep brown eyes that were rapidly welling with tears. “Yes, I will.” Ron removed the ring and slid it on Hermione’s waiting finger. “Oh, Ron, it’s beautiful,” she murmured as she examined the yellow diamond solitaire. “I hope you like it,” whispered Ron. “I know it’s a bit old-fashioned, but this ring belonged to my Grandmother Prewett, and Mum thought you should have it since neither Harry nor I would have made it through this past year without you.” “I love it,” she answered. “I’ve never seen a yellow diamond before.” “They’re very rare,” added Ron, “or so Mum tells me.” “When are you thinking we should get married, Ron? We have another year to go at Hogwarts, and I don’t think Professor McGonagall would be too chuffed to have a second married couple in the student body,” Hermione asked while working the possibilities over in her mind. “I was thinking we could get married immediately after N.E.W.T.S. are finished,” Ron replied, pulling Hermione close against his chest. “What time is it, Ron?” she asked, a sly grin creeping over her face. “Not quite four o’clock,” he replied. “And we need to pick up our robes by five-thirty,” said Hermione, staring deeply into Ron’s bright blue eyes. “Didn’t Harry tell us we could use his guest room at any time?” “Yeah, he did,” Ron agreed. “Then come on,” said Hermione while pulling her fiancé up the stairs to the bedroom that Harry and Ginny had prepared especially for them. |
| Reviews 188 |
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