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A Proper Epilogue
By TomBombadil

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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: 74176; Chapter Total: 3482





Author's Notes:
And at last, Ginny and Harry are wed!




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Sleep was a difficult commodity for Pansy Parkinson to come by as Friday night crossed into the early hours of Saturday morning. Yet even when she did sleep, Pansy wished she had been able to remain awake. For each time her body gave in to exhaustion, her mind awoke to terror — the terror of Ginny Weasley screaming over the lifeless body of her husband and wailing plaintively to her family.

Pansy tried to gain control of her emotions as she turned over in her gigantic bed. Perhaps her decision-making abilities would return with the dawning light of day. Surely then she would be able to separate herself from these unthinkable feelings that crept up on her during sleep; feelings for the very people she had detested for years. Certainly it was just reflective of the situation, for what woman — even the Weasley girl — deserved to have her husband murdered on her wedding day? No, everything would be fine once the sun rose.

But each time her eyes closed, the nightmare returned, jarring her awake as fear washed relentlessly over her body. She tried to tell herself that her fears were nothing more than self-preservation. She tried to convince herself that her only true fear was being caught while providing enough cover for Lucius to escape.

While awake, she imagined the terror of staring into the hardened eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt as she tried to explain how this murder had not been her idea — of how she had unsuccessfully tried to coax Lucius Malfoy into giving up his plot. While awake, Pansy tried to convince herself that she was only doing what any good Slytherin would do — worry about protecting her own best interests. But while asleep, she was haunted by the idea that she would do nothing but stand by and watch while the hero of the wizarding world was struck down by a coward.

So she fought against sleep, but it stole relentlessly over her once again. This time as she dreamed, there was no attack, though she still found herself back at The Burrow, watching the marriage ceremony drawing to a close, watching as Harry and Ginny turned to one another for their first kiss as husband and wife. Pansy expected them to break their embrace quickly and to turn and face the congregation, but the young couple deepened their kiss instead. They remained focused solely upon one another, becoming more passionate as hands roamed to private places and clothes flew off rapidly, until Harry and Ginny were naked in the garden and began making love.

In the dream, Pansy watched as Harry attended to each of Ginny’s needs, loving her completely, placing her desires ahead of his own. The sight was as painful as it was mesmerizing, for it reminded her of everything she had ever wanted but failed to achieve with Draco Malfoy.

“Damn this!” cried Pansy aloud as she woke once again from her the torment of her dreams, her left hand clutched firmly to her breast while the right was otherwise occupied.





As the morning sun peeked through their bedroom window at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Ginny collapsed against Harry’s heaving chest.

“If Mum thinks it’s bad luck for you to see the bride before the wedding, I wonder what she’d think about this,” Ginny said happily through the giggle she couldn’t suppress.

“I don’t know, love,” replied Harry, “but she probably has a pretty good idea what’s going on since she knows you’re here.”

“God, I love you,” Ginny whispered into his ear before grasping his hand and tugging him forcefully from their bed. “I need a shower.”

“Oh, Merlin!” Harry exclaimed, unable to keep a huge smile from forming on his lips. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in the last thirty minutes!”




George Weasley gazed sympathetically across the kitchen table at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Dudley Dursley appeared only slightly alive as his pounding head rested painfully next to his plate of bangers and fried eggs. A glass of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes hangover potion stood next to his untouched breakfast. Like Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, George and Dudley had come to Harry’s London residence to make room for the Delacours and Aunt Muriel to stay at The Burrow.

George suppressed a grin as Dudley moved tentatively, groaning at the effort. Half a bottle of Ogden’s Finest Firewhiskey could make you feel absolutely terrible, as George knew from personal experience. He’d consumed at least that much every night since Fred had been killed, or he had done so before last night, when something about watching Dudley’s first encounter with Wizarding potables brought George to his senses. Alcohol wasn’t the answer to his problems, although he had tried very hard to make it serve that purpose. Drinking himself into a stupor every night, followed by a terrible hangover the next morning, could do nothing to help him past the pain of losing his twin brother any more than it could help Dudley deal with the guilt of having walked out the door against his mother’s wailing protests.

“Better drink up, Big D,” George said softly as he reached across the table to touch Dudley’s massive shoulder. “I promise, you’ll feel a whole lot better if you do”

“Is it magic?” moaned Dudley.

“Not really,” George answered, knowing exactly how terrible Dudley had to be feeling. He had been certain he was going to die following his first experience with Firewhiskey, and he’d only had about quarter as much as Dudley had poured down his throat the previous evening. “It’s not magic,” George continued, “just a potion designed specifically to cure a hangover.”

“Uh huh,” muttered Dudley as his hand reached ever so slowly for the glass of frothing red liquid. “You really drink this stuff?”

“Only if you want to feel better before tomorrow,” George replied.

“Okay,” grunted Dudley as his massive fist closed around the glass and his head rose slowly from the table. “But I’m a little afraid to drink anything else made by wizards.”

“I don’t know much about Muggle whiskey, Dudley, but I’d bet you’d still be feeling pretty bad if you drank a half-liter of that,” George added, unable to keep himself from laughing wryly.

Dudley drained the contents of the glass tentatively and returned it to the table. Almost immediately, his bloodshot eyes began to clear and his skin tone started to shift from its previously ashen appearance, regaining its normal pink complexion. His trembling hands suddenly stilled as Dudley sighed audibly.

“That … that’s bloody amazing,” he stammered, a shocked smile spreading slowly across his face.

“Glad to help,” George replied, returning the smile.

“That’s so much better than any of the hangover cures my dad uses.”

“Is he a big drinker?” asked George.

“That he is,” answered Dudley as the smile faded from his lips. “Mainly whiskey and brandy, but he’ll have a pint now and again.”

“Yeah,” said George cautiously, “he has that ruddy look about him … like he knows how to bend an elbow pretty well.”

“That he does,” said Dudley, looking down at his breakfast and poking absentmindedly at his food. “George, I’m really sorry about your brother. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” George replied.

“Is it nice having a big family?” asked Dudley, unable to look George in the eyes.

“Yes,” answered George, “but I took it for granted until, well … until it happened.”

“I never thought about having brothers or sisters until I saw all of you lot together last night.”

“But you grew up with Harry.”

“We weren’t close,” said Dudley, keeping his eyes locked firmly on the tabletop. “But he still saved me from the Dementors.”

“Well, that’s just the way Harry is. He saved Ginny when she was captured… then my dad when he was attacked by a massive snake … then he saved Ron when he was poisoned. And he saved us all when he took down Lord Voldemort,” George replied.

“That’s what I gathered last night,” added Dudley. “That’s some story … the prophecy and all. We didn’t know anything about it at home.”

“Harry never talked about it at your house?” asked George.

“No, not that we’d have let him. Mum and Dad hate magic. It wasn’t until Ginny and Harry came by the house that I found out about my mum trying to get into Hogwarts as a Muggle. Guess she felt left out, so she hated her sister and everything else about witches and wizards.”

“So, after last night did you decide we’re not all a bunch of freaks?”

“I guess,” answered Dudley, “except for the fact that you lot tried to kill me with that Firewhiskey last night.”

“No,” said George with a smirk, “I saved you with the potion this morning. It was you who tried to kill yourself with the Ogden’s Finest.”

“Do you party like that every night?”

“Not bloody likely,” George replied. “But it’s not every day that you get to celebrate your little brother’s engagement and your baby sister’s wedding!”

“I don’t think I’d have the stones to call Ginny a baby,” Dudley said, raising his eyebrows.

“We don’t …” said George. “… at least not to her face.”




Draco was beside himself, watching the clock move at a glacial pace as he continued working over his father’s scheme in his mind. He’d been suffering doubts from the very beginning, but by now his mind was in overdrive. For what seemed like the five hundredth time that morning, Draco found himself wishing he could talk to Pansy. Regardless of the fact that he was not in love with her, he had gained at least some modicum of respect for her judgment over their six years together at Hogwarts. Besides, she was the only person he could talk to about this particular problem, and try as he might to minimize it, this was a problem.

Draco was in totally unfamiliar territory, for as much as he tried to deny it, it mattered that Potter had saved his life — twice. If he really thought about it, it was more than that. Had Potter not defeated the Dark Lord, his entire family would have been summarily executed. Narcissa’s treason heaped on top of Lucius’s string of failures and Draco’s inability to kill Albus Dumbledore would have guaranteed their deaths. So, in reality, Draco owed Harry Potter a lot more than just a life debt.

But his father had said there was no such thing as a life debt or at least that such things were not magically binding obligations. So why, he wondered, was the idea of killing his arch nemesis tearing at his conscience? He had hated Potter ever since their first ride on the Hogwarts Express, so he should be pleased with the idea that his father was going to kill him. After all, it wasn’t like Draco had to do the job himself. All he had to do was stand aside and maybe create a little disturbance to help his father escape. Still, the thought of assisting in Potter’s murder wasn’t sitting well at all, but neither was the idea of abandoning his Father.

“Fuck!” thought Draco, “I really wish I could talk to Pansy.”




Narcissa Malfoy rolled over in bed and was surprised to see that her husband wasn’t sleeping. “You do realize, Lucius, that this whole plan of yours is madness. We’re free. We have all our possessions. We have our son. None of these things were certain a week ago, so why do you think it’s necessary to possess the Elder Wand? Can’t we just leave well enough alone?”

“You surprise me, Narcissa,” answered Lucius, disdain dripping from every word. “Are you truly willing to stand aside and allow people like Potter to destroy the wizarding race forever? Just look at his best friends — a Blood Traitor and a Mudblood! Surely you see the disaster that will befall us if we leave the future of the wizarding world to those people!”

“Yes, dear,” replied Narcissa as she closed her eyes and pretended to acquiesce to her husband’s wishes. For the first time in almost twenty years, she thought about her sister, Andromeda Tonks, and wondered how she could possibly be surviving the loss of her husband and daughter.




By four-thirty in the afternoon, the Burrow was abuzz with activity. Madam Rosemerta and her staff had taken over the kitchen after forcing Molly to move into the garden to entertain the wedding guests as they arrived. Ginny and Hermione had settled into the master bedroom and were pretending to be busy with wedding preparations. In reality, the young witches were enjoying a few minutes alone together for the first time in more than ten months.

“So, my daft brother actually gathered the courage to propose?” asked Ginny, still stunned that Ron had overcome a lifetime of self-doubt and unfounded fears.

“Oh, Ginny, he was wonderful,” answered Hermione.

“Do you mean he didn’t stammer all over himself and make everything come out backward?”

“No, he was … well, he was Ron — straightforward, completely honest, and totally heartfelt. I’m telling you, Ginny, he melted my heart.”

“Bugger!” answered Ginny, obviously frustrated. “I was hoping he’d give Harry and me something to take the mickey out of him for years to come.”

“I’ve no doubt that Harry will find a way regardless of the situation. He always seems to know exactly how to wind Ron up!” said Hermione, a touch of trepidation making itself known through the tiny crease forming across her forehead. “That’s probably why you’re marrying him.”

“Not at all, Hermione!” answered Ginny with a sly smile spreading across her lips. “I’m marrying him because he’s a god in bed!”

“Ginny!” shrieked Hermione. “That’s too much information!”

“Well, just this morning …” began Ginny before being cut off emphatically.

“Unless you want to hear how fantastic your brother is between the sheets, you’d better stop now,” threatened Hermione.

“Okay,” replied Ginny with a smile. “No details about our respective brothers, but I’m glad you don’t know what Harry’s capable of. Otherwise, you might not have been able to keep your hands off him during all those lonely nights you two were off camping in the woods!”

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t be so hasty,” teased Hermione.

“Why don’t you help me pin my hair up?” replied Ginny. “I think we should leave some tendrils hanging loose. I just love the way Harry likes to play with my hair.”




“I need both of you to review your assignments before we leave,” said Lucius Malfoy to his son and Pansy Parkinson.

“Ten minutes before you Disapparate, Father, Pansy and I are to Apparate to the Prewett Cemetery. From there, we will use a Disillusionment Charm to help disguise us while we make our way to the outer side of the hedge. We will hide there until you cast the Killing Curse on Potter. Then we will set off the magical fireworks before Disapparating away, hopefully without being seen.”

“Not hopefully, Draco. You will Disapparate from the Weasley property without being seen. I will do the same as soon as I have completed my task. I will then follow my established route to Romania and join Malcolm after I have stopped by Hogwarts to retrieve the Elder Wand.”

Draco looked furtively at Pansy as his father strode from the room. At last, he shook his head and grimaced, doubt showing through his facial expression. Pansy looked no more enamored with the plan than did Draco. It was going to be a difficult day if things went perfectly, though each of the young Slytherins had his or her serious doubts.

“I think it’s time we got moving,” said Pansy.

“Right,” answered Draco. “No time like the present.”




Molly Weasley looked radiant as she walked through the opening left between the chairs that had been arranged in three rows in the midst of the garden. There was neither a bride’s side nor a groom’s, as all in attendance were friends of both, save for Aunt Muriel who had spent the day quizzing Molly to see if Ginny was pregnant. Since Molly, herself, was unaware of Ginny’s situation, Aunt Muriel had learned nothing.

Molly had chosen to be escorted by George, who helped her take her place of honor, before he sat immediately to her left. Molly slipped her hand into his and gave it a firm squeeze.

“I love you, son,” she whispered into his good ear while patting his thigh with her other hand.

“I love you, too, Mum,” he replied “And I’m really happy for Ginny … and Harry.”

Moments later, the vicar of St. Andrew’s Church, who had come from Godric’s Hollow to celebrate the wedding ceremony, stepped up on the raised platform that had been carefully constructed by Bill and Charlie. The platform stood three steps above the lawn and had been placed directly beneath the only tree growing along the perimeter of the garden. Neither of the eldest Weasley brothers could have known that they had done exactly as Lucius Malfoy had predicted.

The vicar was followed onto the platform by Harry, who wore forest green dress robes, and his best man, Ron, whose periwinkle blue robes took on a near-royal hue in the late afternoon sun. Harry couldn’t help wondering why he had heard so many stories about terrified grooms who spent their wedding days tied in nauseated knots of worry. Perhaps the terrors of marriage paled considerably in comparison to a lifetime spent in conflict with the world’s most powerful Dark wizard. On the other hand, Harry was absolutely certain that there was nothing disconcerting about the prospect of spending a lifetime with Ginevra Weasley. To the contrary, building a future with Ginny was what he wanted more than anything he could possibly imagine.

As he waited for Ginny to join him, Harry looked out over the congregation. Despite the fact that there were fewer than thirty people gathered for the ceremony, he took great comfort in the fact this particular assembly represented everything Voldemort and his followers had most feared. Rubeus Hagrid sat hand in hand with Olympe Maxime. Dudley Dursley had managed to overcome a lifetime of hate-filled prejudice to sit comfortably amidst wizards and other magical beings. Kreacher and his children sat proudly among the guests, wearing beautifully scaled dress robes, indicative of their status as free elves. Diminutive Professor Flitwick was seated next to the tall, prim, and proper Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.

Pureblood Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott, a Half-Blood whose wizarding heritage traced back centuries through the village of Godric’s Hollow, were happily amidst the collected crowd. Badly scarred Bill Weasley sat directly behind his mother, gently caressing his part-Veela wife Fleur, whose parents and sister offered another vision of mixed heritage that had grown to be a part of the Weasley clan, whose blood was perhaps the purest of the lot, yet who counted themselves no better than any of the others in their midst.

Harry’s high spirits threatened to break as he thought of the werewolf who should have been in their midst, who should have been there smiling up at Harry while caressing his Half-Blood wife, whose Pureblood mother had been pruned from the family tree of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for the unforgivable sin of marrying a Muggle-born wizard, Ted Tonks, a man who paid the ultimate price for his lack of blood purity. But Harry could not linger long on such thoughts, for once he thought of the Blacks, he felt the burning loss of Sirius ripping through him as if it had happened only yesterday — saw the sickening green flash in his mind — the same sickening green flash that had haunted him as far back in time as his earliest memory — the same sickening green flash that had struck down Hedwig — the same green flash that had missed Ginny by no more than an inch during her confrontation with Bellatrix Lestrange.

It was the thought of Ginny that brought him back from the precipice of gloom that was threatening to overwhelm him. It was the thought of Ginny and her irrepressible fire that brought him back to the present. It was the thought of Ginny that filled him with hope for the future, as it had for those long months on the run. It was the thought of Ginny that allowed him once again to look at the congregation present and to appreciate the fact that this was precisely why he had endured so much loss at the hands of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

So Harry smiled, knowing that his own Pureblood father had married the beautiful Muggle-born witch, Lily Evans, whose sacrifice had set into motion the series of events that would ensure the defeat of the Half-Blood Dark Lord who ironically held purity of blood to be the most desirable of attributes. This irony was not lost on Harry, another Half-blood orphan who had chosen a completely different path through life … a path that led to the friendship of the brilliant Muggle-born witch who was now walking toward him as his de facto sister.

Vaguely aware that the string quartet arranged for by Madam Rosemeta had begun playing, Harry grinned at Hermione, who beamed in reply. It was the same broad smile she had given him in the Gryffindor Common Room near the end of their sixth year when, at long last, he had kissed the young woman he was now about to marry. To his surprise, Hermione stepped out of her appointed pathway and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

“I’m happy for you, Harry,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.

As Hermione turned and walked to her assigned location, the quartet changed tunes and increased its volume while Ginny stepped into the garden, accompanied by her father. Her golden dress robes shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, seemingly gathering in all the fire of Ginny’s brilliant red hair, the blazing intensity of the Peverell ruby pendant, and the dazzling rays of the sun as it sank toward the horizon.

Harry looked at his bride-to-be, swearing that he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life.




Thanks to the rising strains of the Bourree from Handel’s Water Music, no one in the crowd could possibly have heard the two soft pops that announced the arrival of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, especially not at the distance of more than two hundred yards that separated the wedding festivities from the Prewett family graveyard. Pansy’s feet sank noticeably in the freshly turned earth beneath which Fred Weasley’s remains lay in his coffin.

“Shit!” gasped Pansy, who surprised even herself by not screaming at the macabre discovery.

“Shhh!” whispered Draco frantically. “Be quiet!”

“You be quiet,” spat Pansy by way of reply. “This is out of control, Draco! Out … of … control!”

“Be quiet or you’re going to get us killed!” hissed Draco.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Draco. No one is going to be killed today.”




“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls, Ginevra Molly Weasley and Harry James Potter,” said the vicar, who smiled at the remarkable resemblance that this young couple bore to another pair whose marriage he had performed some twenty years earlier in the village of Godric’s Hollow.

“Who presents this woman to be married to this man?”

“Her mother, her brothers, and I present her,” said Arthur, nearly choking over the words.

“But I give myself to you,” Ginny whispered to Harry, so only he could hear.

Harry’s heart melted at the sight of Ginny’s trademark grin — the one she reserved only for their own most closely kept secrets.

“Do you, Harry James, take Ginevra Molly as your wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward until death do you part?” asked the vicar.

“I do,” answered Harry, his gaze locked upon her mesmerizing bright brown eyes.

“Do you, Ginevra Molly, take Harry James as you husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward until death do you part?”

“I do,” replied Ginny, her voice rising to give a firm answer.




Kingsley Shacklebolt’s head jerked instinctively around, certain that he had heard the soft yet unmistakable pop of wizarding Apparition.

Lucius Malfoy had been careful to keep his head down as he landed on his hands and knees upon the flat portion of the Burrow’s roof that was shielded from the garden by the pitched roof over the attic above Ron’s room.

The stir in the congregation was minimal, as only Kingsley and Minerva McGonagall seemed to have noticed the unexpected sound. The Minister’s eyes locked upon those of the Headmistress as he cursed himself for having been so ill prepared for such a potentially unwelcome surprise. Surely Alastor Moody would not have been caught unprepared, as the words “constant vigilance” rang in his mind. Kingsley could have sworn that he heard the old Auror’s gravelly voice mocking him from the grave.

Kingsley’s head turned in a near three hundred-sixty degree circle as he sought desperately for the only possible cause of such a sound, but there was no one to be seen. The noise could only have come from beyond the Burrow, he concluded as he nodded silently to Professor McGonagall. He would walk in one direction while the Headmistress would walk in the other.




“Ginevra, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you.”

The vicar wrapped his white stole around Harry and Ginny’s joined hands before looking up at the assembled congregation.

“In as much as Harry and Ginevra have honored one another through the exchange of vows and giving of rings, by the powers vested in me, I pronounce that they are husband and wife.”

He lowered his gaze to the young couple and tightened the stole even more firmly about their hands before pronouncing directly to them, “I declare you bonded for life.”

The vicar loosed their hands so Harry could lace his fingers into Ginny’s beautiful red hair, and their lips met for the first time as a married couple.

The crowd watched reverently, tears welling silently in almost every eye in attendance, until suddenly all hell broke loose.




“What do you mean, ‘No one is going to be killed today’?” asked a stunned Draco as Pansy turned on the spot and Disapparated before his eyes.

Draco spun about, muttering helplessly and wondering what to do.

“Where would she go?” he thought to himself. “How could she stop the murder?”

“Father!” he gasped aloud, before following Pansy into the crushing darkness.




Lucius Malfoy peeked cautiously above the roofline, his wand at the ready. He was delayed momentarily in striking with the Killing Curse by the sudden pop of Pansy’s arrival only a few feet to his right.

Pansy was prepared the moment she could draw air back into her lungs. In a flash, her wand was out and she made a slashing motion, hoping to slice the elder Malfoy’s wand cleanly into two pieces.

Draco’s appearance was less well planned, and he stumbled into his father as he Apparated onto the roof immediately to his left side.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Sectumsempra!”

“No, Father!”

A sickly green jet of light flashed over the roof of The Burrow, hurtling in the general direction of the bride and groom. Reacting immediately to the horror that had haunted Harry’s mind since he was fifteen months old, Harry shoved Ginny forcibly aside and stood erect between her and the direction from which the Killing Curse had originated. Behind him a tremendous explosion took place, and debris began raining all around him. A hefty branch had been shattered into pieces, one of which struck Harry hard upon his shoulder, spinning him around to see his wife prone and pinned to the stage by a larger portion of the limb that had previously served to protect them from the afternoon sun.

“Ginny!” he screamed in horror.




“No, Father!” screamed Draco as his arrival coordinates had caused him to bump his father directly into the line of the Dark Curse Pansy had learned under the tutelage of the Carrows during her final year at Hogwarts.

Pansy gasped in sudden fear as the spell that had been meant to cleanly sever Mr. Malfoy’s wand landed first against his left shoulder, swept in a downward arc across his chest and sliced clean through his right wrist. Blood poured freely from the gash that lay open the wizard’s shoulder and chest, sickening Pansy in the process. She had never before seen so much blood, but even this horror was nothing in comparison to the projectiles that spurted from the stump of her victim’s right wrist. With each of Lucius’s wild heartbeats, another jet of blood flew through the air, landing with a forceful spatter on the roof of the Burrow.

Had Pansy been a student of physics, she would have known that for each action there is an equal and opposite reaction. As her curse had cut powerfully down across Lucius Malfoy’s wrist, the tip of his wand had been forced upward, causing the Killing Curse to miss its intended target, but crashing instead into the upper branches of the single tree, beneath which the wedding ceremony was being conducted.




“Ginny!” cried Harry in despair as his gaze found his wife’s terror-filled eyes, which struggled momentarily to remain open before they fluttered closed.

In the midst of the turmoil, one calm voice began barking orders.

“Poppy!” snapped Minerva McGonagall, “See what you can do for Mrs. Potter!”

“Hagrid!” she bellowed. “Do what you can to help Madam Pomfrey get to Ginny. Be quick, but be careful!”




“No, Father,” Draco stammered repeatedly, fully aware that his father had no chance for survival. Draco’s own damage had been far less severe during his sixth-year duel in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, but he had still been in grave danger at the time. Had Severus Snape not been available immediately, Myrtle’s cries of “Murder!” might well have proven accurate. In a matter of seconds, all signs of life had disappeared from Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray eyes. Unable to cope with the reality of what was happening right in front of them, neither Draco nor Pansy thought to make any effort to keep Voldemort’s former lieutenant from toppling sideways and tumbling helter-skelter down the ramshackle magical structure that was the Weasley’s residence. His lifeless body landed with a thud in front of The Burrow, causing the family’s small flock of chickens to scurry away in fright.




“She should be fine, Mr. Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey as she tended carefully to Ginny’s injuries. “I’ve seem much, much worse from Bludgers, and Miss Weasley’s as tough a player as I’ve ever seen.”

“Mrs. Potter,” said Minerva McGonagall softly from where she stood, only a few feet away from Harry.

“What?” asked Madam Pomfrey.

“Mrs. Potter,” repeated the Headmistress, gazing directly at Ginny. “Do you think it’s safe to transport Mrs. Potter to St. Mungo’s, Poppy?”

“Yes, I think so,” answered the Hogwarts’ nurse. “There’s no head injury, and nothing that appears life threatening. Still, something’s not quite right.”
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