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SIYE Time:1:08 on 29th 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: 74185; Chapter Total: 3567







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CHAPTER 15 — ST. MUNGO’S

Harry closed his eyes as tightly as possible while traveling by floo, knowing that the flashes of uncounted kitchens and living rooms would probably be more than his shaken psyche could endure. The fear was simply too much for him to take and so much worse than anything he had ever faced before — his lonely march to face death in the Forbidden Forest and the final showdown with Voldemort included. Ginny meant everything to him and Harry couldn’t even begin to contemplate the possibility of losing her, especially not on their wedding day. He clung fiercely to Madam Pomfrey’s statement indicating that Ginny should survive her injuries and closed his thoughts to anything negative.

He forced himself to think instead about St. Mungo’s, wondering momentarily where he might emerge from the Floo Network, and concluded that the entryway must be through the fireplace in the Visitor’s Tearoom, which was located on the fifth floor near the Hospital Shop. He squeezed his eyelids tightly shut in fear of becoming so disoriented that he might be unable to recognize the proper exit, and only when he calculated that he should be approaching the magical hospital did he dare open them. Despite this precaution, he was so dizzy upon arrival that he fell flat on his face the very moment he stepped out into a rarely used alcove through which St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was connected to the Floo Network.

The Trainee Healer for Magical Triage leapt to her feet, intending to offer assistance to the wizard who had stumbled into her normally quiet territory. However, she froze in her footsteps, transfixed by the sight of the legendary lightning-bolt scar that came into view when Harry lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“Mr. … Mr. P … P … Potter!” she stammered in confusion. “Are you injured? How may I help you?”

“My wife … Ginny Weasley. I mean, Ginny Potter. Do you know where they’ve put her?” replied an equally shaken Harry.

“No, but I’ll help you find her right away,” answered the Trainee as she took Harry by the arm and led him quickly around a corner and through the main hallway toward the hospital’s registration desk.

Their journey was interrupted almost immediately, for as soon as they turned the corner, Harry ran headlong into Minerva McGonagall.

“Come with me, Harry,” she said softly, taking him by the hand. “They’ve called Hippocrates Smethwyck down from the Dai Llewellyn Ward, and he’s already with Ginny in one of the examination rooms. She really couldn’t be in better hands.”




Ginny sensed more than felt the moment when Bill had arrived at St. Mungo’s with the soft pop of Apparition, but the harder she tried to return to normal consciousness, the more deeply she seemed to slip away from the present moment. She focused all her efforts and heard something that sounded remotely like English being spoken, although it seemed as is if the words were coming from miles away. Realizing instinctively that it was important to maintain contact with other members of the wizarding world, she tried to cast aside the myriad thoughts and fears that had assaulted her brain ever since the Killing Curse had streaked directly over her head. As if she had tuned the Wizarding Wireless poorly to a distant station, Ginny was finally able to make out what was being said.

“Have you tried to revive her, Poppy?”

“Not really, Hippocrates,” answered Madam Pomfrey — a voice Ginny would recognize anywhere. “I didn’t want to waste much time, so I’ve only tried to use Ennervate.”

“And did you get any response whatsoever?” asked the other voice.

“No, it’s almost like nothing is going on inside her mind, but the tree limb fell across her back. I saw no head injury, and none of my Diagnostic Charms suggested any brain trauma at all, so I think she must simply be completely unconscious.”

“Hmmm,” murmured Healer Smethwyck. “I wonder if her problem isn’t just the opposite — too much coming at her at once. Did you check for any other injuries”

“I did a quick scan that indicated something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out. However, one of Miss Weasley’s … I mean, one of Mrs. Potter’s friends told me that she was expecting a baby. I’m concerned because nothing like that showed up on my body scans.”

Ginny heard uncertainty in Healer Smethwyck’s voice, followed by the complicated incantation of a spell she did not recognize. She fought to maintain focus upon the conversation taking place above her, though she already knew the answer. At last, she heard a sad sigh escape from his lips of her Healer.

“Are you certain Mrs. Potter was pregnant, Poppy?”

“It was confirmed by Mr. Potter,” replied Madam Pomfrey, “but we didn’t run any independent tests, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I don’t think we’ll need anything that sophisticated,” said the deep voice Ginny now knew belonged to Hippocrates Smethwyck. “Let’s just take a look at the visual evidence, now that Mrs. Potter has been here for a while.”

Ginny knew what was coming without another word being spoken. In the midst of everything else that was assaulting her mind, she was not surprised to hear the incantation to the levitation spell.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” said Smethwyck quietly.

Ginny felt her body rise weightlessly from the hospital bed. A moment later, she heard an unmistakable gasp that confirmed what she already knew instinctively. Her baby was lost forever. The pain was almost impossible to bear and was accompanied by another fear that was building within her.

As her body returned to the mattress, Ginny heard Healer Smethwyck call for a Calming Draught to be delivered to the bedside. She began to relax ever so slightly in anticipation of the potion. When at last the soothing liquid slid down her throat, Ginny felt as if hundreds of competing voices and ideas had been instantaneously silenced. The relief was palpable even though a deep sadness remained in her heart and she longed only for Harry to be with her. Where was he? Her eyelids opened slightly until she was able to focus on the light blue eyes of the Healer.

“Mrs. Potter,” said Healer Smethwyck gently. “I’m sorry, but your baby has been lost.”

“I knew,” whispered Ginny. “Somehow I already knew. Is there any permanent damage? Will we be able to have other children?”

“We have no way to tell without a complete battery of tests, and even then, we might not know with certainty,” answered the Healer. “There is almost always some residual damage whenever there’s a miscarriage. Sometimes there is no way to know until there is another conception … if there is another conception.”

The Healer’s words struck with a force almost as powerful as that of the tree limb that had struck her to the ground. The words began playing in a continuous loop within her mind. “There is almost always some residual damage … Sometimes there is no way to know … if there is another conception.” Ginny fought against the fear that welled up within her, but there was no way to hold the negativity at bay. As the Calming Draught took full force, allowing her traumatized body to enter a deep, healing sleep, she felt an even deeper ache spread through her soul.

“I may never be able to give Harry his family.”





Harry followed Professor McGonagall as quickly as he could on legs that seemed to be rebelling against his brain’s order to move forward. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or even more concerned to learn that Hippocrates Smethwyck, himself, had been called in to work with Ginny. He was a Healer of some renown throughout Britain and represented a family tradition of Healing that stretched back at least two centuries. No one in the wizarding community truly remembered when the family had first entered the art and science of Magical Healing, but absolutely everyone knew it was an ancient tradition.

Harry’s mind was reeling when, at last, they approached an area of the hospital that appeared to be partitioned away from the others. Headmistress McGonagall shoved open the heavy bronze doors that were engraved The Celestina Warbeck Wing for Prominent Witches and Wizards. Harry’s eyes were drawn immediately to a plaque bearing the names of significant donors — a list of names topped by one that made Harry’s skin crawl immediately — Lucius Malfoy.

Ever since Harry had sat in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup, he had known that Lucius Malfoy had given a substantial gift to St. Mungo’s. It had never crossed his mind that this donation might have gone to a wing for prominent witches and wizards, but it made perfect sense once Harry stopped to think things over. How else would an elitist like Lucius Malfoy earmark his contribution?

As he pushed his way into the wing, Harry made a mental note that his own name would never appear on the orphanage he and Ginny planned to establish for the youngest children of war victims. He would insist on complete anonymity rather than parading about as if he were a peacock strutting around the grounds of Malfoy Manor!

The Celestina Warbeck Wing was the most luxurious facility Harry had ever seen, with dark-stained hardwood paneling and rich, thick carpeting of forest green. The nursing station looked more like an executive office complex, with Healers and Nurses seated behind massive oak desks that were also finished in a dark stain and accented with gold filigree. There were five rooms on either side of the central area with what appeared to be family waiting facilities on the right and patient rooms on the left. Through the last doorway on the right, Harry spotted a number of redheaded Weasleys and realized that he must have been the last of Ginny’s family to arrive at the hospital.

“She’s in the last room on your left,” said Professor McGonagall.

Harry nodded in her direction, waved at Arthur Weasley, who was staring at him through the doorway to the family’s waiting room, and rushed directly into Ginny’s treatment room, nearly striking Madam Pomfrey with the door as he hurled it open in front of him.

“Excuse me!” she blurted while jumping neatly out of harm’s way.

“I’m sorry, Madam Pom…” Harry began before the look in her eyes brought him to a sudden stop.

Harry’s stomach seized immediately, for he had seen that exact look in so many pairs of eyes as he had grown up in the Wizarding World — the look of unspoken sympathy — the look people gave him when they couldn’t find whatever words should be said to a young wizard who had lost his parents as a toddler — the look that told him unequivocally that something terrible had happened.

“Ginny!” he gasped uncontrollably.

“No, Harry,” whispered the Hogwarts’ nurse as she took Harry’s hands in her own. “Ginny is going to be all right, but I’m afraid the baby was lost.”

Relief washed over him, followed immediately by a sense of shame that he held, at that particular moment in time, concern for no one other than his wife. Yes, he felt pain at the loss of the baby he had already come to love. He knew instinctively that it was a loss he would feel forever, but for the time being he needed to focus on his wife.

“Ginny’s okay?” he asked compulsively, needing additional confirmation that his world had not come to a crashing end.

“Mrs. Potter is fine,” replied Madam Pomfrey as she directed Harry’s attention to a tall wizard in Healer’s robes. “This is Healer Smethwyck, and he will be in charge of your wife’s recovery.”

“Mr. Potter,” he said with a gentle nod of his head. “I’d like to learn as much about your wife as I can in the hopes that something you tell me might help us keep her in the present. We spoke for a moment right after the Calming Draught had been administered.

“Sh … Sh …She spoke with you?” stammered Harry, unsure he was hearing things correctly. “Ginny was able to speak?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. She was able to speak and was quite lucid, acknowledging that she was aware that a miscarriage had occurred and worrying that there might be permanent damage to her reproductive system.”

“What?”

“Her primary concern seemed to be whether or not this incident would leave her incapable of bearing children in the future. I can’t put my finger on it, but there was a sense of focus and determination in her eyes. It was rather surprising for someone who has been through what your wife has just experienced. Is it normal for her to be so …”

“So … focused? So … determined? So … so … what, exactly?” asked Harry, his facial expression softening noticeably as his thoughts lingered on those attributes of Ginny’s personality that made her so strong … so irrepressible … so utterly irresistible.

“Some combination of those things, Mr. Potter. It seems silly to read too much into such a brief encounter — especially under such adverse circumstances — but there was such a sense of strength about her.”

“You have no idea,” answered Harry, surprised to find that he was willing to talk to a stranger about the things that made Ginny … well … Ginny. Then, as quickly as the desire had risen within him, it was gone. When it came to his emotions, there had only been one person who had ever been able to reach inside the complex web of feelings that defined Harry Potter, and that person was Ginny.

Harry thought back to that terrible day he had visited Arthur Weasley in this very hospital, only to hear that Mad-Eye and others thought he might be possessed by Voldemort — how he might be a weapon in the hands of the enemy. He thought about how everyone had danced around him, as if walking on eggshells; half-fearing while half-pitying him. Ginny was the one person who had stood her ground, defiantly willing to deal with Harry head-on.

“Healer Smethwyck,” Harry said softly while never taking his eyes off his wife. “Here’s what you need to know about Ginny. She’s strong-willed, independent, and believes everything is possible. She’s exceedingly powerful and as strong mentally as she is magically.”

“Then I have no doubt she’ll recover quickly and completely, Mr. Potter. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to see her functioning normally as soon as the effects of the Calming Draught have worn off. I think I’ll get back to my patients upstairs, but please call me the moment anything changes.”

“I will,” said Harry while pulling a chair up beside Ginny’s bed. “And thank you for everything.”

“My pleasure, entirely, although I wish we could be meeting under different circumstances,” the Healer said as he turned from the room, leaving the newlywed couple alone together.

Harry laced his fingers gently, yet deeply into Ginny’s fiery tresses and placed a tender kiss upon her forehead.

“I love you, Ginny,” he whispered against her ear.




It was sheer bedlam at the Ministry of Magic as Kingsley Shacklebolt moved quickly through his investigatory paces. He felt so much more at home while functioning as a highly-trained Auror than he did in his new capacity as Minister of Magic, even though the Wizengamot had recently acted to remove the qualifier of “Temporary” from his title. Kingsley had recently wondered if he would ever feel worthy of such an appointment, but these thoughts were far from his mind at present. Instead, he was deeply engaged in an effort to determine whether or not Harry Potter and his family faced any other immediate threats.

Once he had transported Draco and Pansy back to the Aurors’ offices at the Ministry, he had separated them in individual rooms and assigned his most skilled personnel in the art of interrogation. Pansy, who had never studied Occlumency, proved an open book, confessing her involvement in the plot to murder Harry and seize control of the Elder Wand for Lucius Malfoy. Watching through the rooms’ magical mirrors, Kingsley had been surprised by her willingness to divulge so much information freely, confessing to having been involved in the plan, along with her father, Draco, and Lucius from the earliest stages.

“Why wait until the last minute for the change of heart, Ms. Parkinson?” asked the Auror assigned to her questioning as their interview was coming to an end.

“I’m not really sure of that, myself,” answered Pansy, a perplexed look taking up residence on her face.

“And what, exactly do you mean by that?” the interrogator continued.

“I always thought Mr. Malfoy’s plan was stupid, but as the time approached … well … well …”

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson?”

“Well, something about it just seemed wrong.”

Kingsley looked quizzically at his detainee, wondering who was more surprised that Pansy had, for the first time in her life, determined that something was inherently wrong and not simply risky. It was not a trait he typically associated with the students of Slytherin House.




His senses honed by months of running from death, Harry instinctively felt the silent opening of the door to Ginny’s room, breaking his vigil at his wife’s bedside as effectively as if an explosion had ripped through the hospital. He whirled away from her still unconscious form in a single fluid motion, his wand pointing instantly at the witch and wizard entering. Both froze instantly, knowing exactly how dangerous Harry could be when protecting those he loved.

“Oh, it’s you,” he whispered, his body relaxing instantly. “Sorry about the wand.”

“It’s all right, mate,” answered Ron. “We just thought you might appreciate a little company.”

“Right … thanks,” Harry replied, pleased to see his best friends approaching with their hands clasped gently together.

The fading light of evening seemed to gather in the diamond on Hermione’s hand, magnifying the illumination in the room. Harry realized immediately that no natural stone possessed such qualities and chalked the effect up to his horrific fears for Ginny’s well being that still haunted him despite the efforts of the healthcare professionals to assure him of her overall excellent health. Knowing first hand the depth of emotion that accompanied the giving of such a ring, Harry turned back to gaze at the brilliant diamond and ruby ring that adorned Ginny’s left hand. The addition of the gold band, inlaid with alternating baguettes of flaming rubies and sparkling diamonds, screamed to him of everything that Ginny was — of her irrepressible radiance and her unquenchable fire, held within a perfect circle with him — and suddenly Harry relaxed.

Whatever the impact of the miscarriage might be; Harry was confident that Ginny would not be beaten. She was powerful. She was vibrant. She knew that almost anything in life was possible. Healer Smethwyck and Madam Pomfrey were right. Ginny would face her challenges with strength and determination. Ginny would weather whatever storm she had to face.

“Still with us, mate?” Ron asked while Harry continued to stare at Ginny, obviously lost in thought.

“Harry?” said Hermione, moving her hand gently to Harry’s shoulder. “Healer Smethwyck came to the family waiting area and told us Ginny’s going to recover completely. We’re so relieved for you both.”

“Yeah … thanks,” Harry replied softly while turning back to gaze longingly at Ginny’s cheek. “What else did he have to say to the entire family?”

“Nothing, Harry. He kept everything else confidential,” she assured him.

“That’s good,” answered Harry, relief washing over his face and tension draining from his shoulders. “That’s really good.”

“What are they keeping confidential?” asked Ron, alarm etched into his features. “What else is wrong with Ginny?”

“Nothing, Ron,” said Hermione.

“Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I’m not an idiot,” said Ron. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?”

Hermione looked pleadingly in Harry’s direction, her eyes imploring him not to keep Ron on the outside. “Harry, we’ve been through everything together.”

Harry swallowed hard, keeping his eyes locked on Hermione’s. It wasn’t that he wanted to exclude his best friend from such important information, but Ron was Ginny’s brother. He would have preferred for Ginny to make this decision, but any further delay would only serve to alienate the man who had been more than a brother for nearly seven years.

“She was pregnant, Ron,” whispered Harry, struggling to force the words past his lips. “Ginny and I were expecting a baby, but she had a miscarriage when we were attacked.”

“Pregnant? You and Ginny?” asked Ron, incredulous. “Ginny was pregnant?”

“Yes,” whispered Harry, his eyes downcast.

“Ginny was pregnant?” Ron repeated, his voice rising with tension.

“Now, Ron,” said Hermione, who reached out her hand in an effort to impede her fiancé who was rapidly closing the distance that separated him from Harry.

“I’m so … so … sorry,” he whispered hoarsely while pulling Harry into a firm embrace.

Harry shuffled his feet quickly to maintain his balance, shocked by Ron’s emotional show of support. “I’d rather keep it quiet unless Ginny wants to talk about it,” he croaked into Ron’s ear.

“Of course you would,” answered Ron.

“Anyway, all that matters is that Ginny is going to be okay,” said Harry, meaning every word with every ounce of his being. “As long as she’s okay, we’ll be fine.”




Despite the reassurances of Healer Smethwyck, the scene in the family waiting area was tense. No one had expected an attack to foil Ginny and Harry’s wedding, and all of the witches and wizards there were silently cursing themselves for being so ill prepared for such an event. Arthur shook his head as he took in the forlorn appearance of the normally boisterous Weasley crowd, and for the first time since Fred’s death, he cleared his throat and spoke as the head of his family.

“Everyone, I’d like to say something, please,” he began while every set of eyes in the waiting area snapped to attention. “We’ve all been guilty of a terrible lapse in judgment, but the good news is that Ginny is going to be okay.”

“Thank Merlin,” said Molly while stepping beside her husband.

“Now, did anyone see what happened?” he asked.

His question was met with silence, as every member of the Weasley clan had jumped to Ginny’s assistance rather than searching for the attackers. Slowly, every eye in the room turned toward Minerva McGonagall.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I started to go with Kingsley but came back to help Poppy with Ginny. I really don’t know anything you don’t. I’m just as much in the dark as you are.”

A sudden clearing of a throat was followed shortly thereafter with the unmistakable voice of the Minister of Magic. “I can shed some light on things for you, but only the bare essentials. Then I need to have some time with Harry — alone.”




Ron broke his embrace, gave Harry an awkward grin, and thumped him hard on the back. When at last he spoke, Ron’s voice sounded forced, louder than required by the situation, and dripping with testosterone.

“Really, I am sorry, mate. Just try to take better care of my sister from here on out,” said Ron, although there was no accompanying threat in his voice.

“I’ll try,” answered Harry, “although I think Ginny can pretty well take care of herself.”

“Hmmm? Yes, I think she can,” murmured a voice from immediately behind Harry.

“Ginny!” he cried, spinning quickly around just in time to catch the slightest of openings in his wife’s eyelids.

“Keep him quiet, Harry,” she whispered before her eyes shut and her breathing deepened into a slow, rhythmic pattern.

“You heard her,” said Harry in hushed tones. “You two go get some rest.”

“G’night, Harry,” mouthed Hermione silently while pulling Ron with her out of the room.

Harry returned to his chair, an enhanced sense of relief coursing through his veins. Ginny had roused from whatever condition had seized her, and her first words seemed to speak volumes. Ginny’s inimitable sense of humor was still alive and in working order, no matter how great her personal tragedy.




“Lucius Malfoy?” gasped Arthur, flushing a bright shade of crimson in the process. “Didn’t I tell you, Kingsley? Didn’t I beg you not to let that family walk away after the battle? Didn’t I say they were still a risk?”

“That’s perfect hindsight, Arthur, but what choice did we have after what Harry told us about Mrs. Malfoy? If it hadn’t been for her, Harry would surely have been killed in the Forbidden Forest.”

“That was Narcissa, not Lucius,” spat Arthur. “Maybe she deserved a little leniency, but he didn’t. He was a Death Eater through and through.”

“I’m sorry,” answered Kingsley. “I’ll take the blame personally, but at least it seems that Ginny is expected to make a full recovery.”

“Yes, she is,” said Arthur, struggling to regain control of his emotions, “but that was just a matter of good fortune. We really let our guard down today.”

Few people other than his wife were aware of the existence of this more aggressive side of Arthur Weasley’s personality. Of course, Lucius Malfoy had learned about it six years earlier during their confrontation in Flourish & Blotts that had led to an outburst of Muggle-style fisticuffs. But other than those who had been present for that particular eruption, most people thought of Arthur Weasley as a kind, gentle, and accommodating wizard.

Arthur took a deep breath, but his efforts to remain calm were failing. At last, he reached forward and took a firm grip on Kingsley’s forearm.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not good enough to satisfy ourselves by talking about Ginny’s recovery. Something’s wrong with my daughter. You can see it in Smethwyck’s face. He’s holding something back from us, and I’ll be damned if I know what it is! But, whatever it is, it’s Lucius Malfoy’s fault!”

“I can only say I’m sorry so many times, Arthur,” protested Kingsley, struggling to free his arm from Arthur’s vice-like grasp. “If you’ll settle down, I’ll tell you everything else we’ve learned, but first, I need to talk to Harry.”

“That’s my daughter in there, Kingsley. I think you’d better talk to me first!”

“She’s also Harry’s wife,” answered the Minister. “He is Ginny’s next-of-kin now, but if it’s okay with Harry, I can share this information with both of you.”

“Oh, right,” replied Arthur grudgingly. “But this is going to take a bit of getting used to.”



Two soft pops announced the arrival of Ron and Hermione back in the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

“It’s a lot easier coming and going now that we don’t have to Apparate on the front step,” said Ron gratefully.

“Tell me about it,” sighed Hermione, shivering noticeably at the recollection of their abortive return from the Ministry of Magic with Yaxley clinging to her arm. That disaster had brought the Death Eaters into their secret hiding place and left Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the run less than a year earlier. “But I guess we shouldn’t have let our guard down so soon after Voldemort’s death.”

“Lucius sodding Malfoy,” muttered Ron distastefully, treating the name as if it were some vile object that needed to be spat from his mouth as quickly as possible.

“If it hadn’t been Lucius it would have been someone else,” answered Hermione, sadness filling her voice. “History is full of examples of evil springing up to replace evil, oftentimes for the worse. That has to be why Professor Moody was so obsessed about constant vigilance.”

Hermione and Ron had stopped by the waiting area to say goodnight to all the collected Weasleys and the handful of other wedding guests who had come to St Mungo’s to await news concerning Ginny.

“I wonder what Kingsley wanted to talk about with Harry,” mused Ron, continuing to verbalize his rapidly shifting chain of thoughts. “You could tell he had something under his skin.”

“I think you’re right about that,” answered Hermione thoughtfully. “Judging by the look on Professor McGonagall’s face, I suspect there is a lot more going on than just this attempt to assassinate Harry.”

“Harry?” asked Ron.

“Of course,” replied Hermione. “No matter how much the Malfoys have always hated your family, Ron, I have to think Harry was their intended target. How would it serve the Malfoys’ interest to kill Ginny?”

“That’s a good point,” he added, nodding his head in agreement.

“Of course it is,” said Hermione. “You pointed it out as soon as the Battle of Hogwarts was over — that Harry disclosed too much information about the Elder Wand — especially with the Malfoys in the audience. You really have a knack for strategizing, Ron” she added, “and it isn’t limited to wizard’s chess.”

“Well, thank goodness Ginny’s going to be okay,” said Ron, his voice registering barely more than a whisper. “But I have to admit that you were the first person I looked for after the Killing Curse flashed by us.”

“I did the same thing,” answered Hermione. “It’s only natural to think about the person who is most important to you first. It took me a moment to figure out that Ginny had been hit by that branch.”

“Most important to you?” asked Ron, a disbelieving smile beginning to spread across his face.

“Of course you’re the most important person in my life, Ron,” she replied without any hint of insincerity or exaggeration whatsoever. “What’s so surprising about that? I did agree to marry you, didn’t I?”

“I know,” he whispered as his eyes dropped toward the floor. “It’s just a little hard for me to think about being the most important person in your life. I mean, no matter how much I hoped you might like me, there was always Harry.”

“No, there was always Harry’s mission. No one has ever been more important to me than you.”

“Really?” he asked, blushing brightly.

“Really,” she answered, almost purring at him while lifting his face so her brown eyes could fasten upon his blue. “You need to learn to accept that, Ron, because I’ve always wanted you. I’ve only wanted you.”

Hermione’s heart ached for him as Ron shuffled about, obviously not knowing what to say in response. She had always known of Ron’s pervasive sense of insecurity; of the weight he carried as the youngest in a long line of popular and successful Weasley sons and the best friend of the most famous wizard of their generation. She had always admired the way he bore the weight of his position in life and how rarely he had allowed himself to give in to the bitterness that had come with it. She smiled softly and reached out to take his hand in her own.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered gently. “I need to … I mean … well, I need you.”

With a gentle tug at his wrist, Hermione led him up the stairs until they reached the top landing and the room that had once belonged to Sirius and had now been generously designated for their use by Harry and Ginny. Kreacher and his children had done a marvelous job of renovating the space into a pleasant retreat for the recently engaged couple.

In one motion, Hermione pulled Ron through the doorway, pushing it gently closed and turning to slip her arms around his waist. Rising slightly onto her tiptoes, her lips met his. Wasting none of their time, which seemed ever more valuable in light of what had befallen Ginny, she parted her lips and met Ron’s enthusiastically.




“Harry, are you awake?”

The words were delivered so softly that Harry thought he might be dreaming. His eyelids fluttered open to the sight of Ginny’s brilliant red hair reflecting what little light the moonlight provided through the window of her hospital room. In a single motion, Harry interlaced his fingers into her hair and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. For a moment, he thought she might be stirring, but Ginny’s breathing quickly resumed its slow, even pace.

“Harry? The Minister would like a word with you.”

“What’s that?” he asked, finally recognizing the voice of Molly Weasley.

“Kingsley is in the waiting area and was hoping you could spend a little time with him. He wants to bring you up to speed about the attack and to ask you a few questions.”

“Now?” asked Harry, suddenly realizing that his normal sense of curiosity had gone completely dormant.

“I’m afraid so,” said Molly, placing a soft hand on her son-in-law’s shoulder.

“But I want to stay here with Ginny,” he protested.

“I’ll keep watch on her, Harry,” she replied. “Kingsley says it’s really important that he speak with you tonight. I know he wouldn’t interrupt you unless there was a good reason.”

“Right,” Harry whispered resignedly as he gently slipped his fingers out of his wife’s hair and placed yet another gentle kiss on Ginny’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” said Molly reassuringly. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you called me something else, like ‘Mum’ or ‘Molly’?”

Harry hesitated for only a moment.

“Thanks, Mum.”





“Mother, you have to help these gentlemen with their investigation. Tell them what you know, and I mean everything.”

“My name in John Dawlish,” said a tall gray-haired wizard, “and this is my new associate, David Woodson.”

Narcissa Malfoy shuffled her feet indecisively, weighing her options — if she had any — and wishing desperately that her husband had followed her advice for once in his violently truncated life.

“But I had nothing to do with this ridiculous scheme,” she protested weakly.

“As the Minister has already explained to your son, you had a obligation to report Lucius’ activities the moment you first learned of his plans,” Dawlish replied, his voice formal and harsh. “I’m sure you’re aware that sins of omission can be just as deadly as sins of commissions.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Dawlish,” said Narcissa, hoping she might have discovered a loophole already. “I thought the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was supposed to investigate crimes, not sins.”

Narcissa’s mind was working as quickly as possible under the circumstances. Only five minutes beforehand, a tawny owl had arrived at the kitchen window of Malfoy Manor and had been granted entrance by one of the family’s house elves. It came as no surprise that Lucius’ plan had gone astray. In fact, she had, for the first time, dared to speak openly to her husband concerning what she considered avoidable risks. For years, she had seen the Dark Lord fail because of errant assumptions in his planning. The 17-year-long debacle with Harry Potter had both begun and ended with the irrepressible arrogance of Lord Voldemort.

The irony of her current situation was rooted in the fact that Lucius had seen these errors as clearly as she, and had even dared discuss their leader’s impetuous presumptuousness before Voldemort had fallen victim to his own rebounding spell for a second time! More than that, they had seen how the Dark Lord had repeated these errors time and again, from the catastrophe at the Potter’s bungalow in Godric’s Hollow, to the standoff at the graveyard in Little Hangleton, and culminating in his demise at the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle. Each confrontation more unnecessary than its predecessor, yet equally doomed to failure.

“How presumptuous, then, was Lucius’ fiasco when seen in the light of this continuum?”

Still, Lucius had been exceedingly blessed in one thing — his ability to keep himself and his family free, functional, and financially whole despite his personal history as one of the Dark Lord’s primary lieutenants. How then could she manage the same feat? Concentrating as hard as she had ever done in her lifetime, Narcissa looked straight into the pale gray eyes of her son and saw … disgust.

“Mother, please drop the pretenses and help these people. Father failed to kill Harry Potter because Pansy and I intervened. If we can help them find Malcolm Parkinson and the others involved in Father’s plot, the Minister says we’ll be allowed to go free.”

“Others?” asked Narcissa, doubt beginning to cloud her blue eyes.

“Mother!” screeched Draco. “Now is not the time for games.”

“Right,” answered Narcissa. “Your father kept a list in his study, but it was written in magical ink. The permanent copy is in our vault at Gringotts.”



Ginny woke as the first gray light of morning invaded her room at St. Mungo’s. She turned quietly, expecting to find Harry sleeping exhaustedly in the chair at her bedside. Instead, she found her mother’s gentle brown eyes gazing lovingly upon her.

“Mum?” she asked. “Where’s Harry?”

“He’s been here with you all night, dear, but Kingsley needed to see him for a few minutes. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.”

“Oh, Mum,” she whispered, her voice filled with grief as tears began flowing freely down her cheeks.

“What, dear?” Molly asked softly.

“God, Mum … this is a total disaster.”
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