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SIYE Time:8:15 on 28th March 2024
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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: 74173; Chapter Total: 5071





Author's Notes:
Shoot first, ask questions later!




ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter



“I don’t care how they try to explain this, I think our fathers have gone around the bloody twist,” complained Pansy Parkinson. “The last time Potter saw me, I was pointing at him and trying to get everyone at Hogwarts to hand him over to the Dark Lord. He isn’t going to be too chuffed to see me.”



“At least you weren’t trying to kill him!” replied Draco, raising his eyebrows demonstrably to drive home the fact that he wasn’t kidding. 



“No?” asked Pansy. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”



“I wish I wasn’t, believe me. Crabbe, Goyle, and I managed to catch Potter, Weasley, and the Mudblood in the Come and Go Room— the room in which I repaired that old vanishing cabinet.”


“The cabinet you used to let in the raiders last year?”



“Yes, the same. We surprised them completely and had them on the run, but when it looked like they might be able to get away, Crabbe went crazy and conjured some Fiendfyre.”



“Is that how Vincent was killed?” Pansy asked, astonished to hear the story. 



“Yes, the gormless berk — using Fiendfyre in a room full of old broken-down shit!”

“Language!” teased Pansy, anything but offended. 


“Well, I could say ‘shite’ if you insist, but since you aren’t my image-obsessed father, I figured you could handle the real thing,” Draco added with a suggestive twinkle in his eye. 



“I’d love a little of the real thing,” Pansy purred while running her fingers across Draco’s chest. “Unfortunately, I think our fathers are on the way up the hallway right now.”


“Then I might as well tell you the worst of it before they get here, because I certainly won’t ever tell this to my father,” began Draco, fidgeting noticeably. “You see … well … shit! When the fire got completely out of hand, which didn’t take very long, I got trapped … and fucking Potter scooped me up on his broom and saved my life.”



“No!” screeched Pansy, horrified. 



“Yes,” confessed Draco. “Weasley was none too pleased with him for doing it, but Potter saved my life. I can’t tell you how embarrassing that was; being saved by Harry Bloody Potter. Shit!”



“Shit, indeed,” agreed Pansy. “But why are you telling me?”


“Because, if we are going to attend this funeral together, you’ll probably hear about it anyway. All things considered, I’d rather you hear it from me. Stupid bleeding Crabbe! At least he had the decency to die.”



“True enough,” agreed Pansy as her father, Malcolm, walked into the study along with Lucius Malfoy.



“Hello, children,” said Lucius in his inimitably patronizing manner. “It’s getting near two o’clock. Are you two ready for your mission?”



“We’re not children, Father,” answered Draco, fully annoyed. “We’re both of age, as you well know.” 



“Being of age doesn’t make you a man, Draco,” sneered his father. “A man completes his missions efficiently and doesn’t get his assistants killed.”



“So, Father,” hissed Draco, “perhaps I should start calling you ‘son’ for now?”



Lucius Malfoy slid swiftly across the room and pressed his serpent-headed walking stick firmly against Draco’s cheek. “I’ve had about enough of this impertinence, young man. A broken prophecy is a far, far different thing than a dead accomplice. And speaking of the death of young Mr. Crabbe, you may be interested to know that I had an interesting conversation with Gordon Goyle this morning, and I heard all about your misadventures in the Room of Requirement.”



“And?” asked Draco. 



“And I understand you would have perished if young Mr. Potter hadn’t saved you from the Fiendfyre.”



Draco’s chest deflated immediately and a crestfallen look took hold on his face. 



“That’s right, Draco. I learned the true magnitude of your failure even though you seem to have felt it was necessary to deceive me.”



“I hardly saw the point in telling you, Father, especially given the fact that you haven’t even been allowed a wand.”


“Enough!” exclaimed Lucius, raising his voice noticeably. In one swift motion, the elder Malfoy whipped a wand out of his cane. For all intents and purposes, the new wand looked identical to the one Voldemort had confiscated before Potter’s holly and Phoenix feather wand had destroyed it. 



“So you are no longer wand-less, Father?”



“Elm and Dragon Heartstring … an identical duplicate of my original wand. Being a wizard of means, I purchased a matched set from Olivander before I set off to Hogwarts.”



“Why didn’t you do the same for me?”



“Who says I didn’t?” drawled Lucius as he reached inside his robes and pulled out a Hawthorne wand for his son. 



“Th … thank you,” stammered Draco. 



“I trust you won’t lose this one to Potter, now will you?” whispered Lucius, a sinister edge lacing his words. “And while we are discussing Mr. Potter, there is something vitally important you need to understand. Wizards often speak of owing a life-debt to someone who has saved them from death. Have you heard the term, Draco?” 



Draco thought momentarily about lying to his father but elected not to push his luck. “Yes, I’ve heard the term before.”



“You need to understand that the concept of a life-debt is nothing more than a custom and is definitely not a binding magical obligation.”


“And your point would be?” began Draco. 



“That Mr. Potter was very foolish to save you, son. You owe him nothing.”



“So you want us to kill him?’ asked Draco, looking cautiously at Pansy, who now stood next to her father. 



“Not today, Draco. Today you and Ms. Parkinson are to attempt to make peace with Potter and the Weasleys and learn everything you can about our young hero’s plans for the next few weeks.”


“I understand what you want us to do, but I’m not really sure how we can manage it. Neither Pansy nor I will be well received by anyone even vaguely related to the Weasleys.”



“You must learn to adapt, and it’s imperative you start immediately. How else do you think I managed to survive after the Dark Lord was nearly destroyed all those years ago? I learned to adapt, and because of that, we managed to keep our wealth and influence despite having been in the inner circle of Death Eaters. I managed to convince people I had changed while most others around me wound up in Azkaban for well more than a decade. You need to learn this talent, too, and you need to learn it now!”



“So we just go to this place called the Burrow and act like you made me follow the Dark Lord?” asked Draco. 



“No, you imbecile! You go to the Weasleys and tell them how Voldemort forced our entire family into his service, or else we would all have been killed. It’s really rather simple,” replied Lucius. 



“Simple? How do you figure that?”



“It’s easy, son. Fools like the Weasleys want to believe the best about people. They are looking for a way to forgive. All we have to do is give them that reason. Now, Arthur will never believe that I have changed; our history goes back too far. You, however, are a totally different story. They will be falling all over themselves to find a reason to welcome you back into the fold.”



“I will try, Father.”



“No, both of you will succeed,” interrupted Malcolm Parkinson, looking back and forth between Draco and Pansy. “You must succeed. Do you understand, Pansy?”



“Yes, Father,” replied Pansy. “We will make them see that we understand how the Death Eaters went wrong and that we were forced to follow the Dark Lord. Then we will learn everything we can about whatever Potter and the Weasleys are up to and, finally, we will report everything back to you and Mr. Malfoy.”



“Nicely said, Ms. Parkinson,” said Lucius approvingly. 



“But we’ll be the only Slytherins there,” protested Draco.



“Not at all,” answered Malcolm. “Lucius has already arranged for Blaise Zabini and Marcus Flint to be there. If I’m not mistaken, you should also expect to see Horace Slughorn in attendance.”



“Professor Slughorn is on our side?” asked a stunned Draco. 



“No,” answered Malcolm, “but you can count on him to be anywhere there is a chance to suck up to the victors. Old Sluggy will never miss a chance to endear himself to people he thinks are going to be important — and that means he will be with Potter and his friends at every opportunity.”



“Here are the coordinates, son,” added Lucius. “They will deliver you about a quarter mile from the Burrow. The Weasleys live just outside a little village in Devon called Ottery St. Catchpole. Behind the house, if you can actually call it a house, is a tacky little garden. Beyond that is a lake — well a pond, really — and an orchard of sorts will be a little further south from there. The funeral will be held in the family plot that is located on the western edge of the orchard. Do you understand?”



“I think so,” replied Draco. 



“I suggest that you arrive a few minutes after the actual service has started. That way you can fit into the back of the crowd quietly,” suggested Lucius. “I understand that a lot of people plan to attend. Make sure you do nothing to raise suspicion and surrender your wands if they request that you do so. If they attack, do not defend yourselves.” 



“Don’t even defend ourselves?” asked Pansy incredulously. 



“That’s right. The Weasleys will not use Unforgivable Curses unless they have to, so don’t give them even the slightest reason to do so. Your job today is to begin building confidence and to gather as much information as possible. However, do try to be subtle … if you can,” concluded Lucius. 



“You do as Mr. Malfoy says,” added Malcolm Parkinson sternly. “He’s in charge now. Do you understand?”



“Oh, yes, we understand,” answered Draco, chancing a slight smirk in Pansy’s direction. “We understand completely.”


As the conversation drew to a close, Draco and Pansy walked out of the sitting room in which they had been meeting with their fathers. With a few more paces they crossed the foyer and stepped into the dazzling sunshine of a perfect May afternoon. 



“What do you think?” asked Draco. 



“I think your father has a pretty good idea of how to survive after you’ve been on the losing side,” answered Pansy. 


“I’ve no doubts about that,” Draco agreed, “but what about their plans to start back on the quest for pureblood supremacy?”



“It’s madness,” replied Pansy. “I mean the fundamental idea is still as true as it’s ever been, but I don’t see how your dad thinks it’s feasible right away. After all, most of the Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban. It’s remarkable that no one has come for your father, really.”



“I agree completely,” said Draco. “I thought for sure some of the Aurors would come take us away while we were just sitting there in the Great Hall for everyone to see. But no one bothered us at all — not Shacklebolt and not even Potter.”


“Why do you think that was, especially since you, Crabbe, and Goyle had just tried to kill him?” she asked, doubt lingering with the question. 



“Well, apparently my mother lied to the Dark Lord about Potter being dead right before they carried his body up to the castle. I guess Potter thought that earned her some leeway, and Father and I got the benefit of the doubt along with her.”



“Why would she do something that risky? It could have gotten you all killed,” said Pansy. 



“I think she figured that Father and I were going to die, anyway, so she took her only chance at keeping us all alive and together. Looks like it worked.”



“I still think you three got very lucky.”



“Maybe so,” replied Draco. 



“So, why does your dad want to push his luck, and why would mine be willing to follow him when even the Dark Lord failed? 


“I think it boils down to two ideas, Pansy. First, my father says that it was preordained that Potter would be the only one capable of defeating the Dark Lord. Second, he got lucky in gaining possession of the Elder Wand.”



“The Elder Wand?” asked Pansy. 



“Oh, that’s right. You evacuated from Hogwarts before the battle began. The Elder Wand is an ancient wand that is supposed to be unbeatable. It’s also called the Death Stick or the Wand of Destiny. When I disarmed Dumbledore, I became master of the Elder Wand. However, since it flew over the parapet of the Astronomy Tower, I never possessed it.

“Potter managed to steal my wand from me when that damned house elf helped him escape from my house … and that, in turn, made Potter the master of the wand. Do you follow?”


“I didn’t know wands had masters,” said Pansy, unsettled by the thought. 



“Well, apparently they do. At any rate, the Dark Lord took the Elder Wand from Dumbledore’s tomb and tried to kill Potter with it,” continued Draco. 



“If it’s unbeatable, why didn’t it work?”



“You’re not listening, Pansy! Potter was the master of the Elder Wand, not Voldemort.”



“Draco!” gasped Pansy. “You dare speak his name?”



“He’s dead, Pansy. Dead! He isn’t coming back this time. He’s gone forever so, yes, I dare speak his name. Anyway, Voldemort didn’t understand enough about wand lore and tried to kill Potter with a wand that wouldn’t kill its true master. It was doomed from the start.”

“So, if Potter owns the Elder Wand, why does your dad think we can take power when the Dark Lord could not?”


“I think he plans to ambush Potter, killing him without a duel. That way Father will become the master of the Elder Wand, and he believes that way he will become invincible,” said Draco without enthusiasm. 



“Draco, if the owner of the Elder Wand is invincible, how did you manage to defeat Dumbledore? For that matter, how did Dumbledore come into possession of it?” pressed Pansy. 



“I didn’t say the plan would work. I’m just telling you what Father believes. Personally, I think he’s a bloody nutter.”



“So, what do you think we should do?” continued Pansy inquiringly. 



“We need to be careful, Pansy, very careful. I’ve learned my lesson with Potter, and he isn’t to be trifled with. Neither is the Weasley girl. For that matter, her whale of a mother killed Aunt Bellatrix one-on-one.”



“But I thought you hated them, Draco?”



“It’s one thing to dislike them, another thing entirely to underestimate them. Not only did Voldemort fail to kill Potter when he was a baby, but he tried to kill him in five of the last seven years. Obviously he failed every time. So, I repeat: we need to be careful — very careful.”



With that said, Draco turned to his companion with a map of Devon and the coordinates of their intended point of arrival. He studied them carefully and then offered the map to Pansy. She studied the map briefly before nodding to signify her understanding. 



“Are you ready to go?” he asked. 



“Absolutely,” Pansy replied, “but let’s be careful.”



“Careful it is,” said Draco, a sardonic smile becoming etched on his face.



Two soft pops could barely be heard above the sounds of spring, as Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson Disapparated into the crushing darkness. 



*****




“What time is it?” asked Ginny as she and Harry began to disentangle their limbs.

They had spent the last hour clinging to one another in a strong embrace, taking opportunities now and again to exchange gentle kisses. For the most part, however, they satisfied themselves by simply drawing strength from each other.



“It’s about one-thirty,” replied Harry. 



“Then I had better get dressed,” said Ginny, who was still wearing the robe in which she had returned from her shower. “Something black, I think.”



“All the students are wearing Hogwarts robes for some reason,” said Harry. “That’s the only thing I have that’s black, anyway.”



“Well, I do have my little black dress, but that wouldn’t work for a funeral,” replied Ginny, attempting to be lighthearted but not quite succeeding. “So, Hogwarts robes it has to be.”



“Mine are up in Ron’s room. Should I see you downstairs in a few minutes?”



“No, meet me here, Harry. I’d prefer to walk down together,” she said quietly, standing before her mirror and brushing her long red hair. “It’s silly, but I find it rather difficult to be apart since you asked me to marry you.”



“Except when you get a chance to sleep until noon,” Harry said lightly, a smile creeping across his face as he walked from behind and slipped his arms around her waist, savoring the opportunity to breathe in her intoxicating scent. He pressed a gentle kiss against the softness of her cheek and whispered, “I love you.”

“Hurry back, love,” she replied as he released his grip and headed for the door, a slightly crestfallen look crossing her face. “And, Harry, I love you, too. By the way, have you spoken to Kreacher about renovations at Grimmauld Place?”



“Not yet. I’ll try to reach him by floo once we get downstairs. I’ll bet he’s still at Hogwarts. Unless, of course, you’d like to make a visit out to Cornwall or over to France.”

Having planted the idea of investigating their other properties, Harry hurried up the stairs, reaching Ron’s fifth floor bedroom in record time. 



*****




Ten minutes later, Harry and Ginny descended the stairs to find the ground floor surprisingly empty. No one was in the living room, but they heard a loud crash coming from the direction of the kitchen. Already a bit unnerved by the absence of people in the living quarters, Harry drew his wand.

Ginny followed the example set by her fiancé. Moments later they peeked around the corner and saw only Molly Weasley, muttering as she knelt on the floor, picking up shards of glass and stray pieces of something wrapped in bits of bacon. Her hands were clearly shaking — the trembling Harry had noticed earlier in the day had clearly progressed. 



“Merlin, Morgana, and Dumbledore,” she spat in obvious frustration, then wiped tears from her face with her shirtsleeve. 



“Mum!” shouted Ginny as she leapt to her mother’s side, wrapping the older witch in a loving embrace. 



“Oh, Ginny, dear,” Molly murmured against her daughter’s shoulder. “There’s so much to do with all these guests …” she tried to continue before dissolving into tears. 



“No, Mum, there’s nothing else for you to do here. It’s almost time for the funeral to start, and here you are cleaning the floor like a Muggle and shaking like a leaf.”



“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry whispered, “I thought Katie and Alicia offered to help, and where did Percy go?”



“Had to throw him out of the kitchen … tried to tell me how to do things … got too bossy.”



“Mum, let’s get you ready. Harry and I will help get things organized after the service. Where is everyone, anyway?” 



“In the garden … too many for the house,” Molly sputtered weakly. 



“Harry, I’m going to take Mum upstairs for a few minutes and get her cleaned up. Could you check on Dad and see if things are under control?”



“Just as soon as I speak with Kreacher,” answered Harry as he headed to the fireplace in the family room. 

As he turned away, Harry heard Ginny utter a few quick Cleansing Charms before she took her mother by the arm and helped guide her up the stairs.

Harry hoped she would be able to make it up four flights of stairs to the master bedroom without assistance, but then realized that Ginny could do just about anything.

Moments later, Harry tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the empty fireplace and stuck his head into the green flames.

“Hogwarts kitchen,” he said very clearly.

Soon he found himself staring into the massive kitchen located directly below the Great Hall. He saw a few house elves darting about, but Kreacher was nowhere to be seen. 



“Kreacher!” Harry called loudly. “Are you here, Kreacher?”



There was a loud scuffling of feet, and Winky soon appeared in front of the fireplace. To Harry’s surprise, Winky’s eyes were less bloodshot than he had seen them since the day he met her at the Quidditch World Cup match he had attended before his fourth year — before she had been caught holding Harry’s wand after Barty Crouch, Jr. used it to conjure the Dark Mark. 



“Harry Potter, sir, Winky is pleased to see you, sir,” she said in a clear voice. 



Harry was pleased to see Winky sober, although he still thought he discerned a slight aroma of butterbeer on her breath. 



“Well, Dobby had said she was improving a bit,” thought Harry.



“Winky is needing to tell Harry Potter that Kreacher is not here at Hogwarts. He is returning to Grimmauld Place yesterday, he is. He is saying Master Harry will need his house cleaned properly.”



“Thanks, Winky,” said Harry as he pulled back from the floo. 



Harry took another handful of Floo Powder and tossed it back into the fireplace.

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he commanded, again with a clear strong voice, remembering all too well what had happened just before beginning his second year.

Only a moment later, he was shocked to see the kitchen sparkling as he had never seen it before, not even after Mrs. Weasley had managed a major cleanup for the Order of the Phoenix. 



“Kreacher?” he called softly, not wishing to startle the old elf. 



“Yes, Master Harry, victor over the Dark Lord. What can Kreacher do to help you?”



“Well, I see you are already doing it!” said Harry, delighted. “The place looks wonderful, Kreacher. Thank you!”



“Kreacher hopes Master Harry will not be too angry that Kreacher has left Hogwarts Castle. Kreacher thought Master might like his home to look presentable when he was ready to come back.”



“I’m very grateful; however, I have something else to ask you at the moment.”



“Yes, Master, Kreacher will do anything.”


“I’d like you to come to the Burrow and be with me for Fred Weasley’s funeral, please.”



“Master Harry has work for Kreacher to do for the Weasley family?”



“No, Kreacher,” answered Harry. “I’d just like for you to come be with us for the funeral, especially since they are about to become my family.”



“Family, sir?” asked Kreacher, confused. 



“Yes, I’ve asked Ginny Weasley to marry me, and she accepted. She will soon be coming to live with me, and we would like it very much if you would continue to work for us.”



“Kreacher has no choice, sir, but Kreacher will be proud to serve the brave Harry Potter, defender of house elves.”



“Well, Ginny and I would like you to work for us, and we’ll talk about the details in the next day or two,” answered Harry, unwilling to risk upsetting the aging elf by mentioning their plan to offer him both a lifetime employment agreement and his freedom. Something told Harry that this would be a difficult subject to discuss with a proud magical being whose family had served the Noble and Ancient House of Black for generations on end.

“But for now, could you please put on a clean pillow case, or something else, and come join us at the Burrow right away? 



“Yes, Master,” replied Kreacher, bowing deeply before disappearing with a loud crack. Harry swallowed hard, fighting back tears. The last time he had heard the distinct crack of a house elf’s Apparition, Dobby had been in the process of rescuing him from the dungeon prison of Malfoy Manor. 



Five minutes later, the air in the Weasley’s family room resonated with another crack, and Kreacher appeared before Harry, bowing immediately.


“Kreacher is here, Master,” he said with pride. “What is it that Master would like Kreacher to do?”


“Nothing,” answered Harry. “I was simply inviting you to come pay your respects to Fred Weasley, who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. He was one of Ginny’s brothers.”



“Yes, Kreacher knows who young Mr. Weasley is being. He is being one of the young men who tries listen on private conversations with what they call Extendable Ears.”



“Yes, he was,” answered Harry with a bittersweet smile, while the memory of Fred’s unbridled excitement over the Extendable Ears played over and over again in Harry’s mind. 



The conversation was interrupted as Ginny and her mother came slowly down the stairs. At first Ginny appeared confused at the sight of a house elf bowing before her as she stepped onto the ground floor of her home. 



“Mistress Ginny,” said Kreacher with reverence, “Kreacher is sorry hearing your loss.”



Harry thought Ginny wanted to say something in return, but the words clearly wouldn’t form for her. Harry looked from his fiancé to his future mother-in-law. While Ginny appeared tongue-tied, Molly looked as if she hadn’t even noticed the bizarre presence of a house elf in her own home. 



“At last,” thought Harry sadly, “the reality of Fred’s death has finally overwhelmed her.”



“I’ve taken the liberty of inviting Kreacher to the funeral since you are becoming part of the family he serves,” Harry said in response to Ginny’s puzzled expression. 



“Kreacher is proud to serve Master Harry and Mistress Ginevra,” said Kreacher, bowing low once again. 



Harry did a double take, having finally noticed that Kreacher was not only wearing a sparkling clean pillow case, but had also cleaned himself and had somehow managed to remove all of the excess hair that had previously sprouted wildly from his ears. All in all, the elf looked much younger than Harry had thought possible. 



And so, it was precisely two o’clock in the afternoon when Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Harry, and Kreacher stepped out of the Burrow to face one of the largest gatherings of witches, wizards, and other magical beings Harry had ever seen outside of Hogwarts or Platform 9-3/4.

Grawp stood tallest among the crowd, at least two feet taller Madam Maxime, who was in turn another head taller than Hagrid. Hogwarts robes were everywhere — the familiar crimson and gold of Gryffindor House most prominent, but a fair number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws could be spotted among the crowd. Much to Harry’s surprise, Marcus Flint and Blaise Zabini were also in attendance, standing near the front of the crowd and wearing the green and silver of Slytherin House. 



Harry braced himself, in anticipation of hearing Hagrid’s booming voice call across the crowd, but it never came. Instead, the massive professor simply raised his hand in recognition. Harry made a mental note to speak with Hagrid before the afternoon was over, as he had not spoken to his friend since he had carried Harry from the Forbidden Forest, brokenhearted in the mistaken belief that Voldemort had killed the young hero. Harry knew that Hagrid deserved a bit of his time. In fact, Harry wanted to speak with his first friend from the Wizarding World, but he had needed to be with Ginny and the rest of her … no … their family.

It took Harry a few seconds to count back the time, realizing to his utter disbelief that it had only been about thirty-two hours since Voldemort had fallen. It seemed, instead, to have been an eternity since he had squared off in the Great Hall against the monster that Tom Marvolo Riddle had become. 



In stark contrast to the subtlety of Hagrid’s welcome, Harry noticed a flurry of activity as a full head of platinum blonde hair moved rapidly through the crowd. It took less than a minute for Rita Skeeter and a small band of associates to descend upon Harry, Ginny, Molly, and Kreacher. As she came uncomfortably close, her Quick-Quotes Quill already freed from her crocodile handbag, Harry held the palm of his hand up in the reporter’s face. 



“Not now, Rita!” he hissed loudly. “I will give you some time after the funeral, but for now, leave my family alone!”



“Your family?” she asked, nearly shaking with excitement over Harry’s unintentional revelation. 



“His family,” said Ginny as she reached to take Harry’s hand in her own and brought it down between them. In the process, Ginny’s diamond and ruby engagement ring blazed in the afternoon sunlight. 



“A bit young for marriage, aren’t we?” said Rita, turning her question into a judgmental statement, a heavy dose of cynicism lacing her words, as her eyes took stock of Ginny, her ring, and the brilliant ruby and diamond pendant that rested upon her graceful neck as if it had been designed specially for her.



“I think that’s for us to decide,” said Ginny forcefully. “Harry said he will speak with you later.”



Throughout the brief encounter, Molly stood with a glazed expression on her face, staring across the garden toward the orchard, beyond which an open grave waited hungrily for her son. Harry looked up; shocked to see the vacant stare that had taken hold of this woman whom he had always counted upon to be full of life and love. He had not noticed that Kreacher had raised his wizened hand toward Rita Skeeter, as if he intended to strike at the reporter in defense of his master. 



“Later!” Harry repeated angrily, as he stepped quickly away from the reporters and photographers before heading toward a group comprised solely of the Weasley family and Hermione, whose arm was wrapped gently around Ron’s waist.

Bill was obviously giving them instructions. 



“Ah, Harry,” said the eldest of the Weasley siblings, a look of relief spreading across his face. “Our officiant has asked if someone from the family would say something during the burial service. We were wondering …”



Harry looked at Bill, who was obviously struggling to find the words he wanted to say.

At last, Bill swallowed noticeably and resumed his question. 

“Well, I hope it’s not too much to ask, but we were hoping you might, perhaps, be able to say a few words on our behalf. None of us feel up to it,” he concluded, looking a little ashamed that he wasn’t able to handle the duty himself. 



Harry hesitated only a moment before accepting their request. Although he wasn’t normally comfortable speaking in front of crowds, he saw no way to deny such a request. 



“Okay,” he answered softly, as his mind began to race. For the first time in his life, Harry felt uniquely qualified to speak about something — life and death — as the subject had defined his life since he was only a few months past one year old.

No, he thought, “it has defined my life since before I was born.”



Molly shuffled slowly over to join her husband, who looked equally as lost, equally unfocused.

Touched by Harry’s quiet acceptance of familial responsibility, Ginny reached up to kiss him softly, yet fully, on the lips.



“Ginny!” he thought warmly. “how on Earth did it take me so long to see her for who she is?”



Moments later, the same tuft-haired wizard who had presided over both Dumbledore’s funeral and the wedding of Bill and Fleur stepped over to join the bereaved family. He went straight to Bill and whispered something in his ear. Harry found that he had to squint, as the bright spring sunshine reflected off the intensely white robes of the wizard whose name Harry still did not know. 



“It’s time to begin,” said Bill to his family. “We’ll go to the gravesite in a procession. Harry, would you join us to escort Fred’s coffin?”



Harry looked at Ginny who squeezed his hand and pressed another gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll be fine, love. You can go with them — your brothers.”

So it was that Harry was seen by all, walking side by side with the five surviving Weasley brothers.

The tuft-haired wizard had placed a Hovering Charm on the coffin, so the six pallbearers were not burdened by the weight of their fallen brother. Otherwise, the funeral procession looked very much like the Muggle burials Harry had seen from time to time on the Dursleys’ television. They were led by the magical liturgist and followed closely by Arthur and Molly. Ginny followed arm in arm with Aunt Muriel, and Hermione had fallen in line behind them. Finally the entire congregation of teachers, students, their family members, and assorted representatives from the Ministry of Magic followed silently as a loosely organized group. 



Rita Skeeter led the pack of reporters who crept along several paces behind the main body of the procession. 



Harry’s mind was racing, attempting to collect his thoughts in hopes of not embarrassing the Weasley family with his comments. As a result, he heard almost nothing of what their liturgist was saying as they processed past the garden and the pond, finally arriving at the orchard. Somehow, only the words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” seemed to penetrate through the haze that engulfed him. Finally, they completed their walk past the orchard and beyond the wood that stood between the grounds of the Burrow and the River Otter, which sparkled a bright shade of blue in the sunlight.

There they came upon a small graveyard, speckled lightly with simple headstones, all bearing the last name “Prewett.”

It came as a slight surprise for Harry to discover that The Burrow and its grounds had come down to Arthur and Molly through the family’s maternal line.

At the instruction of the liturgist, Harry and the Weasley brothers placed Fred’s coffin above the freshly dug grave, where it continued to hover ominously in place. Turning aside, they rejoined the family.

Harry, of course, took his place next to Ginny, their fingers interlacing. Kreacher stepped up next to Harry, looking solemn and proud to be asked to attend such an important event in the life of his master and future mistress. 



*****




Draco and Pansy arrived, as Lucius had designated, on the main road outside Ottery St. Catchpole, immediately adjacent to the Weasleys’ property and about a quarter mile from The Burrow. The land featured rolling hills and was densely wooded in sections. As a result, The Burrow, itself, was well hidden from passersby, both Muggle and magical.

They set out carefully, making their way up the side road, heading in a generally westerly direction toward the River Otter. Within ten minutes, they crested a small hill, and the Burrow came into sight. 



“And I thought you said they lived in one room,” said Pansy, looking at the patchwork construction of the six story structure. 


“Who knew,” answered Draco, “but how does that hideous thing remain standing?”


“Magic, I guess,” said Pansy. 



“I can’t see anyone there,” ventured Draco. “I think we can take a chance and stay on the road. It looks a little difficult to go cross-country.”



They made haste to follow roughly the same path the funeral procession had tred some fifteen minutes earlier. 



“This looks surprisingly pleasant,” said Pansy as they walked past the garden and pond, heading at last toward the forest beyond the little orchard. “Rustic, to be sure, but very pleasant.”



Draco thought Pansy was right but something kept him from adding his agreement to the conversation. His father’s plans made Draco very uncomfortable but not enough so to tempt him to turn away from seven years of spiteful harassment. 



“The cemetery is supposed to be on the other side of the woods, just beyond those — is it possible — Quidditch hoops?” mused Draco, amazed at what he was seeing. 



“No wonder the Weasley girl is such a good flyer,” replied Pansy. “I’ll bet they have nothing better to do out here in the country.”



“Right,” Draco replied distractedly. His mind had moved on to thoughts of what might happen when they arrived at the graveyard.

He hadn’t been kidding earlier. The thought of surprising Harry Potter and the entire Weasley family had him more than a little unnerved. 



“Is something wrong, Draco?” Pansy inquired. “You seem tense.”



“Let’s not forget what we discussed back at my house. We need to be careful — very careful. I don’t think any of these people are going to be happy to see us, and I don’t trust any of them.”



“Don’t you think our fathers were right? They wouldn’t do permanent damage to either of us — not them. They’re just too, I don’t know … goody-goody to try to actually hurt us.”



“I hope you’re right, Pansy. I’m not so sure that I haven’t pushed Potter too far.”



At last, they came to the edge of the forest. Harry’s voice reached their ears before they came into view. 



“During my fifth year at Hogwarts, I was having a particularly hard time with things and Ginny came to my assistance. I won’t go into details, because the plan involved an unusually large measure of rule breaking. I will, however, share with you something Ginny said to me, and it has stuck with me ever since.” 


‘The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.’



“That’s what Ginny told me, and I realized she was right. That’s the way Fred and George went about life. Would you listen to me? ‘Fred and George.’ The phrase rolls off the tongue so naturally, as if they did everything together, but thankfully George is still with us.”



As Harry stopped to compose his thoughts, Draco had a moment to reflect upon the magnitude of the tragedy that had struck the Weasley family. He had never really cared for either of the Weasley twins. Their exuberant lifestyle had always struck him as being rather odd and completely undisciplined. Yet even Draco was aware of what a phenomenal success Fred and George had made of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. It was one of the most popular shops in Diagon Alley, and the place where he had purchased the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder that had helped facilitate the invasion of Death Eaters into Hogwarts the night Dumbledore was killed. 



Draco realized that even he, a staunch enemy of the entire Weasley family, could tell how the death of a twin would devastate all of them, but George perhaps more than any. Draco tried desperately to clear his mind of such thoughts and almost missed the resumption of Harry’s eulogy.



“George, I know that you are hurting terribly, and that nothing any of us can say will be able to take away that pain. However, if you look at how many people have turned out to pay their respects to Fred, I hope you can see just how much you have also come to mean to so many people and know that you are not alone. 



“If there is one thing I have come to learn over my life, and especially in the last few days, it is that this life, itself, is a great blessing. It is something to be embraced and cherished intensely.

“Professor Dumbledore was absolutely right. Love is the greatest power, and it is something we must not ignore. The cost of living life without love is too terrible to bear. If we should pity anyone, we should pity those who live without love.

“Fred Weasley embraced life vigorously, and he embraced it with love. That’s why so many of you have turned out today, and that’s why this family is so devastated at the loss of this incredible man. 



“This life is meant to be lived with love and enthusiasm, just as Fred lived his life. But I have learned something else in the last couple of days — something I never understood before. As much as this life is to be treasured, death is not something to be feared. At least death is not something to be feared by those who, like Fred Weasley, are inherently good at heart. 


“I have seen what becomes of broken and defiled souls, as I have seen what becomes of those you die with their souls intact and whole. I can assure you that Fred Weasley has nothing to fear in death! He has embarked upon the next great adventure, and he awaits us all when our time here is through. Until then, however, it would serve us well to live with the sense of joy that defined Fred Weasley — that defines his entire family — which I am blessed beyond words to be joining.”



Draco and Pansy had resumed walking as Harry brought the eulogy to a close.

“Did he say he was joining the Weasley family?” asked Draco rather more loudly than he had intended. 

His voice rang out across the silenced crowd, and drew Ginny’s attention immediately.

*****

Ginny had been sitting quietly, her eyes riveted upon Harry as he spoke about her brother. It had been hard to see through her tears, but she now understood completely why Harry had been so determined to waste no more time until they were married. Life was too short and too important to be wasted — not when you knew — not when you had always known with whom you were meant to share your life. 



The sudden unexpected appearance of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, who stepped from the edge of the woods no more than twenty yards behind Harry, sent a burst of adrenaline through her body. Every protective instinct she possessed spurred her into action as she pulled her wand from beneath her robes. 



“Stupefy!” she bellowed, pointing her wand directly at Malfoy’s chest. A blast of red light shot across the open space, stunning Draco instantly. 



Before Ginny could turn her attention to Pansy, intending to welcome the unexpected witch with a Bat Bogey Hex, the warm air was split by a loud crack.

Kreacher had thrust his hand forcefully in Pansy’s direction, and the girl was blasted twenty feet backward, where she lay unmoving in the grass. 



“You shall not harm Harry Potter!” Kreacher called loudly. 



“Thank you, Kreacher,” said Ginny, smiling brilliantly at the aged house elf. 



“It is Kreacher’s duty, Mistress Ginevra. Kreacher’s duty and his pleasure.”
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