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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: 74384; Chapter Total: 3405 Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this long-winded story. I''ve had so much fun cleaning it up and making it, I hope, just a little better! |
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CHAPTER 22 — EPILOGUE Saturday, June 5, 2004 Ron Weasley fidgeted in his seat, a combination of nervousness about the English Professional Quidditch Championship and his difficulty in finding a comfortable position in the undersized seats of the Top Box. Hermione had tried to magically expand the chair but had been unsuccessful in overcoming the powerful magic that held the massive facility in place. Ron’s shoulder was heavily bandaged, ensuring that a liberal application of Dittany would remain in place no matter how excited he might become during the match. Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck had grown far too accustomed to treating the wounds suffered by Mr. Weasley and had only grudgingly agreed to this compromise, fully aware that the Senior Auror would have walked out of St. Mungo’s against medical advice had he tried to keep the impulsive young man away from the contest. “So, have you decided who you are supporting tonight?” asked Harry playfully. “Do I have a choice?” Ron replied. “Of course you do,” said Harry, a vicious grin spreading across his face. “You can support your Cannons … as long as you don’t mind being on the receiving end of one of Ginny’s most uncomfortable hexes.” “Sod off, Potter!” Ron muttered. “Bloody Cannons finally get their act together when it’s time to face off against the Harpies — my sister’s Harpies.” “Well, at least you made it here,” added Harry. “I assume it’s not necessary to remind you how close we came to losing you yesterday.” “I still can’t believe old man Parkinson used Sectumsempra instead of the Killing Curse. Guess we got off damned lucky this time.” said Ron, keeping his voice down so as not to be overheard by everyone streaming into the Top Box. However, despite his best efforts, Ron was unable to keep the conversation private from Kingsley Shacklebolt. “You’re far too reckless, Ron,” whispered the Minister for Magic. “You have to trust that Harry can take care of himself without jumping in front of every curse thrown his way.” “I don’t jump in front of them, Kingsley,” protested Ron. “But I do keep him from making my sister a widow at the tender age of twenty-two.” “Merlin!” exclaimed Harry, shaking his head emphatically. “Six years. Six bloody years since we set out to capture Malcolm Parkinson and his bat-shit crazy wife.” “Watch it, Potter! That’s my bat-shit crazy mum you’re talking about,” said Pansy, who had slipped unnoticed into the row immediately behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Thankfully the condition doesn’t appear to be hereditary,” quipped Harry, although he looked at the Executive Director of both the Albus Dumbledore Centre for Orphaned Children and the Remus Lupin Wolfsbane Potion Distribution Networkwith compassion. “I’m sorry, Pansy. I know this can’t be easy for you.” “They disowned me, Harry, and thank Merlin, Morgana, and Dumbledore that I got free from all that Pureblood insanity,” Pansy answered, though a certain hint of sadness remained in her eyes. “You know,” said Ron, a nervous edge creeping into his voice, “sometimes I can’t believe you’re even the same person who suggested that everyone turn Harry over to Voldemort.” “Ron!” blurted Hermione, turning beet-red as she looked at her husband. “What? I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” he protested. “It’s okay, and thank you, Ron,” Pansy answered. “I honestly think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Ron stared at her, relieved that she had understood the meaning of his ill-thought-out comment. She barely resembled the witch he had seen in Slytherin robes for six years, and all of the changes had been for the better. She even seemed to understand that he had meant his comment as a compliment, even if no one else within earshot could possibly have interpreted it that way. He looked around the Top Box that was quickly filling with people named Weasley — those with red hair and those who had joined the family by marriage — along with a few other important friends, such as Pansy Parkinson and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Arthur sat next to his wife, their hands clasped together upon Molly’s green robe. The family matriarch’s ensemble was completed by a gold blouse that peeked out at the collar and cuffs. Arthur was dressed in identical fashion, an endearing circumstance that brought a smile to Ron’s face. In fact, everyone in the booth, save the Minister for Magic, was clad in the green and gold colors of the Holyhead Harpies. Strawberry-blonde Victoire sat immediately behind her grandfather, flanked by her mum and dad. She was the most beautiful five-year-old Ron had ever seen, but that wasn’t at all surprising for the daughter of Bill and Fleur Weasley. Despite the deep scars that still marred his eldest brother’s face, Ron remained just a little jealous of Bill’s ruggedly handsome appearance, and Fleur was … well … Fleur. She remained the picture of elegance and grace despite the presence of Dominique, who was obviously holding on to her mother for dear life. George and Angelina had just arrived and had yet to take a seat, despite the fact that the Quaffle was due to be released at any moment. Their son, Fred, was restrained tightly by one of his father’s hands as he tried to rush toward the front row of seats. The youngster had obviously inherited the same unrestrained sense of adventure and fearlessness that had fueled George and his still dearly missed twin. Percy had just introduced everyone to his date, Audrey, who was looking from face to face and moving her lips silently. Ron chuckled lightly, catching his wife’s attention. “Oh, stop it, Ron,” she whispered, feigning exasperation. “At least this one is trying to remember who is who in our family.” Molly looked around, beaming at her rapidly expanding family before looking in Pansy’s direction. “What time did Charlie say he’d be here, dear?” “As soon as Norberta can be successfully medicated. He says she has a nasty temper for a Norwegian Ridgeback.” “What would you expect from a dragon who thinks Hagrid is her mum?” Ron asked, bringing a ripple of laughter from Harry and Hermione. At last, the high-pitched trill of the referee’s whistle pierced the air, simultaneously bringing a response of silence from the crowd of more than one hundred fifty thousand witches and wizards. Those in the Top Box heard Kingsley whisper, “Sonorous,” as he lifted his wand to the vicinity of his vocal chords. “Good evening and welcome to the final match of the English National Professional Quidditch Championships! Tonight’s contest matches the Chudley Cannons …” he paused for those wearing bright orange to cheer frenetically, “… against the Holyhead Harpies.” Again, approximately half the stadium erupted in cheers as supporters unfurled a large banner, Harpy green embossed with a wicked golden talon. “At this point, three teams remain in the running for the championship trophy,” continued Kingsley. “If the Cannons …” he paused for another round of applause, “… defeat the Harpies by at least three hundred fifty points, the championship will belong to Chudley. However, a Cannons’ victory of less than three hundred fifty points would propel Puddlemere United to the title.” A smattering of Puddlemere fans voiced their approval of this possibility. “On the other hand, a victory of any magnitude will suffice to earn the Harpies their third consecutive English Professional Championship.” “At least we have some suspense this year,” said Percy, obviously trying to impress his date with his knowledge of the sport. Everyone had been warned in advance that Audrey knew next to nothing about Quidditch. “If Gwenog had not insisted on playing Sylvia Bennett at Seeker despite her injuries, the Harpies would have run away with the championship already,” Percy concluded. “But who else could play Seeker?” asked Charlie, who had just entered the box and taken a seat beside Pansy. His arm moved possessively around her shoulder as he looked about at his family. “Sylvia has been their Seeker for the last fifteen years, so Gwenog really doesn’t have a choice, does she?” Ron looked in Harry’s direction but found his best friend silently studying the beautiful hardwood flooring of the elegant stadium suite. “Ginny could do it,” answered George without hesitation. Ron thought momentarily about seconding his brother’s opinion, although she hadn’t played Seeker since winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor during her final year at Hogwarts. It had been Ginny’s third time to earn the championship as Seeker, despite her clear preference to play as a Chaser “They’ll not do that,” said Percy quickly. “I’ve recently learned that our little sister is being considered for a Chaser’s spot on the All-England team for the next World Cup!” “It’s what she’s always dreamed of,” said Molly, her voice resonating proudly throughout the Top Box. “She wants it more than anything, doesn’t she, Harry?” asked Percy. Harry’s eyes never strayed from the floor, and he was spared the necessity of answering his brother-in-law when Kingsley resumed his duties as host. “Tonight, to introduce the starting players for each squad, Puddlemere Keeper and current member of the All-England squad, Mr. Oliver Wood!” The Weasley family sat respectfully while all seven Chudley players were introduced to the roaring crowd, followed shortly by the first six members of the Harpies. An astonished silence fell over the family when all three Chasers had been introduced without Ginny’s name being mentioned. “Harry?” asked Ron quietly. “What’s happening?” “And starting her first professional contest as Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny Potter!” roared Wood, who was as surprised as everyone else in the Stadium. Before the stunned crowd could come to its senses, the players took their positions, the Quaffle was released and the night air was filled with the whooshing sound of enchanted brooms being flown at break-neck speeds. Less than five minutes later, the Cannons broke the scoreless deadlock when Ginny’s replacement at Chaser, Cynthia Sherwood, fumbled the Quaffle directly in front of her own central goal. Cannons chaser, Colin Spencer, swept up the Quaffle and, in a single fluid motion, cast it directly through the hoop. “The Harpies are going to be out of synch without Ginny at Chaser,” said Percy authoritatively. Ron rolled his eyes as Audrey smiled in Percy’s direction and asked exactly how it was that he had become such a knowledgeable expert at Quidditch when he was responsible for so many departments at the Ministry. “Prat!” Ron muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Hermione. “If you weren’t already injured, Ron Weasley, I’d teach you a lesson about manners,” she whispered. “But he’s such a wanker, acting like he understands Quidditch,” Ron hissed in return. But Percy was quickly proven correct, as the Harpies were unable to generate any offensive cohesiveness and mistakes were turned into easy scores for the Cannons. Making matters worse, the Chudley Beaters were working to make Ginny’s evening a veritable nightmare. Crack after crack of the Beaters’ bats sent Bludgers blasting in her direction. The Cannons had clearly decided to ignore the Harpies’ weakened front line and were concentrating their efforts on Ginny Potter instead. Unless the Harpies’ inexperienced Seeker pulled off a miraculous capture of the Snitch, they could never hope to match up with the Cannons’ flyers. An hour later, the Cannons had built the score to a shocking margin of 220 - 80 and the match was getting dangerously out of hand. Ginny had been kept dancing on her broomstick, trying desperately to spot the Golden Snitch while spending most of her time dodging ferociously aimed Bludgers. “Oi!” Ron screamed while the entire Weasley family gasped in fear when, at last, one of the Bludger found its target. One hundred fifty feet in the air, Ginny wavered on her broom as the Bludger crashed forcefully against her left shoulder. “Ginny! Watch out!” screamed Harry as the second Bludger missed his wife’s forehead by inches. Robert Bertram, the Cannons’ Seeker, clutched his side in unrestrained laughter as Ginny began swerving through the crowd of players as yet another “crack” sent one of the Bludgers back in her direction. Ron looked toward Harry, who was now holding his head in his hands, unable to look in his wife’s direction. “What’s wrong with you, mate?” he asked laughingly. “Can’t stand to watch your wife play Quidditch any longer?” “Something like that,” Harry replied, obviously making no attempt to match the levity that had filled Ron’s voice. Simultaneous “cracks” split the air, and the entire stadium fell silent. Both Bludgers were rushing toward Ginny, who easily dodged the first projectile but was unable to complete the turn that would have saved her from the second. The Bludger smacked hard into the vicinity of Ginny’s right shoulder blade. Had the sight not been so frightening, what happened next would have appeared graceful. Ginny and her broomstick pitched forward in a perfect arc before she began plummeting headfirst toward the deep green grass below. Her long red hair worked free of its restraining ponytail, waving in flaming ripples as she plunged forward. Somehow, Ginny had managed to maintain her grip on the handle of her broom, though that only served to hasten her acceleration toward the pitch. All eyes were riveted to the falling Seeker, as even her fellow players had come to a sudden stop. Harry let out an agonizing groan as his wife fell, while Ron thought desperately through his memories, trying to recall the spell Professor Dumbledore had used to rescue Harry during their third year. At last the words came to him, but it was too late. Ginny was less than ten feet from the ground. Everyone in the Top Box braced for impact, fearing the worst for the fiery witch who meant so much to each of them, but the collision never came. Instead, Ginny’s left hand suddenly pulled the broom up at a 90-degree angle while her right snatched at something that had previously skimmed along the finely manicured lawn, unnoticed by anyone else. The magically amplified whistle blast could barely be heard above the gasp of the crowd while the stadium commentator yelled in disbelief, “Ginny Potter has caught the Snitch! Harpies win! Harpies win the championship!” The scoreboard turned a solid shade of gold while green letters spelled out the final score, Harpies 230 — Cannons 220. Ron leapt from his seat, lifted both arms in celebration over his head, and collapsed back onto his chair in pain. Ginny hugged her tongue-tied mum and gave her father a gentle kiss on his bright red cheek before telling her family that she was already late for post-game appearances. However, she had insisted on seeing her entire family before facing the press. Grabbing Harry by the hand, she stepped out of the private meeting room and began working her way toward the dais that stood along the back wall of the champions’ locker room. She had been called to the stand to receive the game’s Most Valuable Player award and was soon standing next to her captain, Gwenog Jones, who held the championship trophy proudly above her head. “Ginny!” “Ginny, over here!” “Ginny, a question please!” She looked over the sea of reporters, each calling her name, each wanting to ask one version or another of the same few questions. “How does it feel to win another championship?” “Brilliant!” she answered. “How did you manage to pull out of that dive?” “I actually learned it years ago while practicing with Harry at the Burrow,” she replied, smiling warmly back at her husband. “What’s the Burrow?” “Sorry. That’s our Weasley family home.” “Are you badly hurt?” “I’ve felt better,” she replied, “but I’ve also felt worse. It’s a rough game — Quidditch.” “Will you consider moving to Seeker for the Quidditch World Cup?” “I won’t be playing for the World Cup,” she said as calmly as if she happened to be discussing the weather. “Excuse me?” several voices asked in unison. “I said, I will not be playing for the All-England Team during the World Cup.” The room went suddenly silent as all eyes were riveted upon the young star, who stopped and took her husband’s hand in her own. “Are you sure?” she whispered to Harry, searching his emerald eyes for any sign of hesitation — any hint of misgiving. It was not Harry’s nature to allow such information to become available for public consumption. “I’m sure,” he replied, squeezing her hand and smiling gently. “I won’t be playing for the English World Cup team because, tonight, I am retiring from professional Quidditch.” The room stilled completely, the only sound being that of quills scribbling furiously upon parchment. “Why?” asked the lead Quidditch reporter for The Daily Prophet. “Healer’s orders,” answered Ginny, a smile spreading broadly across her face. “Harry and I are going to be parents.” |
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