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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: 74177; Chapter Total: 3595







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A PROPER EPILOGUE - Chapter 14


Ginny wondered if her imagination was playing a trick on her, for her first kiss as a married woman seemed somehow deeper and more meaningful, yet her body reacted in the same rapid fire way it did whenever her lips met Harry’s. However, as her eyes opened, she was expecting to see the deep emerald green of her husband’s eyes, not the unmistakably sick green glow that belonged only to the Killing Curse. She reacted immediately, but not as rapidly as did her husband, whose instincts had been honed to the finest of points after ten months on the run.

Ginny felt the burn of adrenaline surging through her body as she spun backward under the force of Harry’s hand and watched him step directly between her and the source of the spell. A brief moment after the jet of green light flew the associated sounds reached her ears:

”Avada Kedavra”

“Sectumsempra!”


“No, Father!”

Her eyes darted quickly about, looking for signs of a second curse, but found none. Before she could relax, however, a loud explosion came from above and behind her. Quickly searching her memory banks for the proper lesson from Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ginny tried to drop to the floor but was unable to avoid the danger that was falling rapidly from above. Instantaneously, she felt something slam into her back with more force than anything she had ever felt before. Instinctively, she rolled to her side, hoping to avoid a direct impact upon her abdomen as she slammed into the makeshift stage upon which she and Harry stood with the other members of the wedding party. She was only partially successful.

“Oh, God!” she thought silently as the air she had just inhaled was pushed forcefully from her lungs, “Our baby!”

She struggled to breathe, fighting desperately to maintain consciousness, but not even her remarkable will was strong enough to cope with the impact of the tree limb that had shattered under the onslaught of the Killing Curse.

“How had they been so careless?” she wondered.

The wedding plans had been rushed — obviously too rushed. Nevertheless, Kingsley had posted three trained Aurors in a triangle around the area in which the wedding took place. An Anti-Apparition Hex had been cast over the immediate area where the wedding was to take place, but the portion of the property up to and including The Burrow, itself, had been left unrestricted so guests could arrive by Apparition.

Ginny thought she might have heard her husband scream her name in utter desperation as a wave of panic swept over her in the brief moment before her world world went black.



“No, Father!” Draco had screamed as soon as the crushing pressure of apparition had abated, not quite sure whom he was hoping to protect. In his confused and disoriented state, he was both inaccurate and unstable as he rematerialized on the Weasley’s rooftop. He stumbled, bumping into his father and knocking him slightly forward.

Lucius had cast his spell before Draco could get his words out, but not before the collision that thrust the elder Malfoy’s body directly into the path of Pansy’s Sectumsempra.

Even before his eyes found his father’s heavily bleeding body, Draco knew that things had slipped completely out of control. He silently cursed himself for his cowardice, a trait that had dogged him for as long as he could remember — for many years before he had left home for Hogwarts and attempted to make a place for himself by bullying thugs like Crabbe and Goyle and by toying with the emotions of Pansy Parkinson. He knew full well that he was now paying the price for such behavior, for just as Crabbe and Goyle had rebelled against Draco’s authority in the Room of Requirement, Pansy had rebelled at The Burrow. In each instance, the rebel had cast a curse far more powerful than had been necessary for the job. Vincent Crabbe had died because of his unskilled use of Fiendfyre. Now his father was rapidly dying before his eyes due to Pansy’s imprudent choice of Sectumsempra when a simple Expelliarmus, or even Accio, would have sufficed.

But that was often the case with Slytherins, as Draco knew only too well. He had always thought that the ends justified the means; so a little excess magical power wasn’t generally frowned upon by the impetuous sons and daughters of Slytherin House. He recalled how the Death Eaters had mocked Potter for his naïveté manifested by his repetitive dependence upon defensive spells, particularly Expelliarmus. Now the price of Pansy’s failure of nerve — or had it been a sudden surge of conscience — had come home to roost, as Draco surveyed the blood-drenched roof of the Burrow and his father’s body, now fallen and already surrounded by the curious chickens that were no longer afraid of the once powerful disciple of the Lord Voldemort.

Death, the great equalizer of all mankind, had claimed yet another victim, leaving Draco and Pansy paralyzed, at least momentarily, upon the roof of The Burrow.



Kingsley Shacklebolt drew his wand quickly and screamed “Protego!”an instant after the Avada Kedavra soared over his head, and he chastised himself for having ignored his well honed instincts and attending this wedding without benefit of a full Aurors’ entourage. The partial crew of three additional Aurors had obviously proven inadequate for the task. Kingsley knew full well that Harry Potter was far more important to Wizarding Britain than any government official, including even himself, and that it had been less than two weeks since Voldemort had fallen. Any idiot could have foreseen — should have foreseen — what had just happened.

“Bloody hell,” muttered the Minister of Magic as his eyes scanned the surrounding garden, looking for anything unusual or out of place. It took only a moment before his eyes were drawn upward and he spotted two heads suddenly sticking up above the crest of The Burrow’s rickety roofline — one blonde, the other nearly black. They seemed to be staring directly at each other and posing no immediate threat, so Kingsley raced beyond the limits of the Anti-Apparition hex, turned on the spot and reappeared on the blood-soaked rooftop in less than a second.

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Kingsley as soon as he found his footing, causing the wands of both Pansy and Draco to fly directly to his outstretched hand. He cleared his throat to begin his interrogation, but the trembling witch spoke first.

“I was just trying to stop Mr. Malfoy from killing Potter,” said Pansy hurriedly, obviously trying to grasp the opportunity to tell her version of the story of what had unfolded.

“Mr. Malfoy?” asked Kingsley, his eyes once again sweeping the immediate vicinity.

“Down there,” said Draco, a single tear sliding silently down his face as he pointed shakily toward his father’s body.

“So, exactly what happened?” demanded Kingsley.

Pansy and Draco stared at each other, neither knowing exactly what to say, each wishing that he or she had done something … anything … to avoid the awful disaster that had just played out at The Burrow. Pansy thought as quickly as she could, wondering if there was some version of the story she could concoct that might be less personally damaging than the truth. However, she realized it wouldn’t be in her best interest to stray too far from what had actually taken place in the inevitable event that Draco’s versions of the story diverged from her own.

“It’s a long story, but Mr. Malfoy has been plotting to kill Potter and take control of Dumbledore’s Wand,” Pansy blurted impulsively, relieved at some level to be free to tell the truth. “He wanted Draco and me to provide a distraction so he could cast the Killing Curse and Apparate away before anyone could see him.”

“And you were helping him just now?” asked the Minister of Magic, thoroughly angered, yet somewhat confused. “If you were helping him, then why is Lucius dead?”

“I just couldn’t do it,” answered Pansy. “And apparently, neither could Draco.”

Draco simply nodded his agreement, allowing Pansy to continue in the lead.

“I’ve spent the last few hours working out a plan to stop Mr. Malfoy and decided that I could surprise him and destroy his wand before he could kill Potter.”

“So you used Sectumsempra when you tried to break his wand?” Shacklebolt asked incredulously.

“I didn’t know what to use, really. I remembered what Professor Carrow had taught about Sectumsempra … about how powerful it is … and figured I could instantly cut his wand in half. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone, and we could all just Disapparate out of here and avoid any trouble.”

“Hmmm,” said Kingsley indistinctly as he pondered the situation at hand. The evidence certainly seemed to support what Miss Parkinson was saying, although Kingsley wondered what could possibly have made her play along to this point, and only then try to handle the situation by herself.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to come to the Ministry for assistance?” he asked carefully.

“I never thought about that,” replied Pansy honestly. “At first, I guess it seemed like Mr. Malfoy was just plotting something that he’d never really do. Both Draco and I thought the idea was … I don’t know … so insanely ludicrous! But when it became clear that he intended to go through with things, I never thought about the Ministry. I don’t know why.”

“Well, I think we had best discuss the rest of this at the Ministry,” said Kingsley.

“You’re arresting us!” exclaimed Draco, breaking his silence at last.

“We’ll see,” replied the Minister. “We certainly need to figure out exactly what to do.”

Turning aside from the young witch and wizard, he pointed his wand and said, “Expecto Patronum!” His shimmering lynx burst forth and streaked rapidly off toward London to request immediate assistance.





“Ginny!” cried Harry, his voice filled with despair. His eyes searched Ginny’s, but instead of her normal, mesmerizing appearance, Ginny’s were filled with terror before her bright brown pupils dilated and began to roll up in her head. At last, her eyelids shuttered and closed softly. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard her whisper “baby” before she curled into the fetal position beneath the heavy branch that pinned her to the floor.

Harry looked up beseechingly to find Minerva McGonagall rushing toward him. She was barking orders rapidly at Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid. To the small extent possible, he felt some modicum relief. The sight of Ginny knocked unconscious was proving to be his undoing. After seven years of dealing with incredible pressures and challenges … after seven years of constantly carrying the burdens of the wizarding world … the reality of his wife lying injured before him had left Harry upon the brink of helplessness. She meant everything to him, yet he had absolutely no idea what to do to help her.

In the midst of it all, Harry heard snatches of sentences.

“She should be fine … I’ve seen much, much worse … St. Mungo’s … Still, something’s not quite right.”

The final sentence riveted Harry’s attention. Something wasn’t quite right with Ginny, and the fear that welled up inside him felt protective, instinctive — his wife — his baby. He thought for a moment that his own world was fading into darkness as he swayed on the spot, but a reassuring hand steadied him from behind.

“Hermione … th … thank you,” Harry stammered when he noticed who had come to his assistance.

“It’s okay, Harry. Madam Pomfrey has things under control. She says Ginny is going to be okay.”

Harry turned toward Hermione, knowing that he had to speak with someone … trust someone. Who better to turn to than this witch who was more of a sister to Harry than many biological siblings were to one another. Still, it was hard to form the words. He struggled to tear his eyes away from Ginny and leaned close to Hermione’s ear.

“She’s pregnant,” he whispered.

“What?” replied Hermione, making every possible effort to keep her voice from being heard by any of the others in attendance.

“She’s pregnant,” he repeated. “We haven’t told anyone because we didn’t want them to think that was why we were getting married. It happened after we were engaged.”

“Of course it did!” hissed Hermione. “You hadn’t seen her for ten months, then got engaged in the first ten minutes after you were alone together.”

“Hmmph,” grunted Harry. “Hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“It’s okay, Harry, but her caregivers need to know. You have to tell Madam Pomfrey. She knows something isn’t right. You have to tell her, Harry, so she’ll know what to do.”

Harry struggled back to his feet and took the few steps necessary to stand beside the nurse. For a moment, he struggled to form words. Reassured at last that his vocal chords had not frozen entirely, he took the nurse by the arm and leaned in to whisper, “Ginny is pregnant, but we want to keep it quiet.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I could tell something was wrong, but it was hard to get a clear read on things. Thank you, Harry. I know what to do now.”

“Will she be alright?” asked Harry,

“I think so,” she answered quietly. “But we can’t be sure about the baby. Something is wrong. Ginny seems to be okay, but she’s shut down to the outside world, like she’s trying to shield something … or someone.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled meekly at Harry as if trying to reassure him, yet not make any false promises. She parted her lips as if to continue speaking with Harry until something caught her eye, and she turned quickly toward Ginny’s prostrate form.

“Hagrid! Put down that silly umbrella. Any of us could levitate that branch. I want you to do it by hand — carefully — by hand. We can’t afford to let it slip away and hit Miss Weasley again. I mean that we can’t let it hit Mrs. Potter again!”

She turned next to Professor McGonagall. “Minerva, we need to transport her to St. Mungo’s. We need someone strong and not likely to lose his concentration.”

“I can do it,” volunteered Harry. “It should be me.”

“You’re the last person who should Apparate with her,” answered the Headmistress, authority lacing every word. “You’re too shaken.”


So the Headmistress looked around for no more than a moment before a look of assuredness crossed her face.

“Bill,” she called across the disorganized crowd of wedding guests. “I need you to carefully lift Ginny and take her directly to the ground floor of St. Mungo’s. She needs to go directly to the Artifact Accidents Department. She was simply hit by this falling limb, not by a curse.”

“Yes, Minerva,” Bill replied with the quiet confidence of an accomplished Curse Breaker.

“Poppy will be along immediately to supervise Ginny’s transfer.” Professor McGonagall then turned to Harry. “You need to use the Floo Network. I don’t want you getting splinched on top of everything else!”

Before another word could be spoken, Harry found himself sprinting to the hearth in the Weasley’s sitting room. Upon his arrival, he bent over, clutching his side and willing his heart rate to slow slightly. When he managed to catch his breath, Harry took a pinch of floo powder and stepped into the unlit fireplace.

“St. Mungo’s!” he hollered as he cast the magical powder toward his feet.




Ginny’s world had gone black, but she knew not for how long. After what could have been a matter of seconds or several hours, a soft glow began to surround the newly married witch. She thought for a moment that she might be dead and having the same sort of experience that Harry had described having experienced at King’s Cross just before Dumbledore’s arrival, but she was acutely aware of the fact that she could feel nothing — nothing but a searing pain through her abdomen. Consumed by a desire to protect her baby, Ginny curled back into the fetal position and moaned, fearing the worst — fearing that the worst had already happened — for a sense of profound loss was already gripping her.

As she felt the weight that had pressed mercilessly against her begin to lessen, Ginny curled even more tightly, protecting her midsection even though she realized that the threat had passed; even though she knew that what was done was done. The thought of losing her baby — Harry’s baby — their family — was too much for her, so she squeezed her eyelids even more tightly together, sealing out the rest of the world and willing her body to protect the child she and Harry wanted so desperately despite the fact that she had never once considered being pregnant before coming of age. Somehow, amidst the fog of pain and fear, Ginny realized that she was , at least technically, of age — thanks to her parents’ consent. More than being of age, she was married … Ginevra Molly Potter.

Still Ginny felt herself lost in the fog, be it physical or mental, she could not tell until … hands … large hands … strong hands … hands that were rough, yet ever so gentle. She fought to rouse herself back to consciousness but failed miserably. Try as she might to return to those who were trying to help her, she could concentrate on nothing except pain … pain and loss … a sense of loss that was growing more definitive all the time.

There was a shift in the hands that held her as she began to wonder. Were they Harry’s hands? No! The touch was warm and loving, but not loving in the way Harry held her.

She wanted to know … needed to know. Who was holding her? Who was helping her and her baby … Harry’s baby … their baby.

The hands drew her close, tightening their grip upon her. The hands squeezed her to someone’s chest, and she suddenly knew. It was Bill’s chest. If there was anyone she could trust to save her almost as much as she could trust Harry, it was Bill … her eldest, closest brother.

Bill’s grip tightened, and for a moment Ginny felt something akin to hope. She fought unsuccessfully to open her eyes. She tried to bring herself back from this state of suspended animation … this state of protectiveness for her much-loved child that dwelled within her.

But her eyes would not open. Ginny could not return to the outside world, so she reached within. She reached for the child she had loved since the first moment the sensory charm had told her unequivocally that she was pregnant, but she found — nothing. No matter how hard she searched within, no matter how desperately she sent out her emotions like loving hands to cradle the life within her, she found nothing.

Bill’s hands gripped her even more tightly, this time anchoring her arm against his side, which was pressed warmly against her. Suddenly motion gripped her, spinning Ginny forcefully into the crushing blackness. The gray fog gave way to dark, hopeless pressure. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t bring the precious breath of life within her lungs, and without doubt … without hope … Ginny knew.

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