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SIYE Time:14:56 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: 74193; Chapter Total: 3343







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CHAPTER 18 — EMBRACING REALITIES

As they left Room 11 of The Leaky Cauldron, Harry’s mind was racing with thoughts about Neville’s delicate state of being, and he thanked Merlin, Morgana, and a handful of other powerful wizarding predecessors that his friend now had Hannah Abbott in his life. He reached gently for Ginny’s tiny hand, gathering it in his own palm and treasuring her like the jewel he knew her to be. He wondered how it had taken him so long to see her for who she really was, a powerhouse of a witch in her own right with an intellect that rivaled Hermione’s in her own way, a sense of humor that kept him in stitches and on his toes, and above all, a soul that seemed to have been made specifically to merge with his own.

He chastised himself for not having seen all this when she stood up to him not once, but twice, during the volatile times of his fifth year. He wondered how on earth he could have been so thick that he didn’t notice how it had been Ginny who brought him out of his near-depression after witnessing how his father had harassed Severus Snape. After arriving at Grimmauld Place following the Dementor attack, it had been Ginny — and only Ginny — who could reach through whatever malaise had been haunting his spirit and how only she could help set him back on the right path.

Harry squeezed her hand gently and whispered his thanks to the powers of magical existence, grateful that it would always be Ginny who would be there for him, as he intended to be there for her.

“Did you say something, Harry?” she asked softly.

“What?”

“You squeezed my hand, and then it sounded like you were saying something.”

“Oh,” he answered thoughtfully. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?” Ginny continued.

“A lot of things — where we’ve been — what we’ve been through — and what is facing us now.”

“And?” she said in that inquiring tone of voice that melted Harry’s defenses and made him want to tell her everything that had been running through his mind.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, half hoping she wouldn’t be able to hear his confession, half desperate to pour out the terror that had been running through his mind since he had seen her fallen at his feet.

“Why, love? You’ve faced worse than Malcolm Parkinson,” Ginny answered, turning to face him directly, her brown eyes radiating nothing but love and concern for her husband.

“Have I?” he asked.

“Of course you have,” she replied. “You’ve just defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of all time.”

“With my mother’s protections, the mystery of our wands and their twin cores, and all the protections that Dumbledore and Snape could muster behind the scenes. How else could anyone defeat even a modestly trained wizard with nothing more than Expelliarmus?” Harry said, a trace of bitterness echoing in his voice. “It’s more like I fulfilled my role in destiny instead of me defeating Voldemort.”

“But it took more courage than I could ever imagine,” said Ginny, a note of protectiveness shining through her words.

“Maybe so,” Harry replied slowly, “but this time, I won’t have all of those advantages working for me. This time, it will only be me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ginny answered. “This time it will be us. In fact, this time, it will be all of us.”




“Hurry, Draco!” cried Narcissa across the foyer of Malfoy Manor.

“Why the rush, Mother?”

“Because Professor Slughorn is waiting for us with all the ingredients he needs to remove that Curse from your forearm.”

“But why do we have to meet him in Diagon Alley? Couldn’t we find someplace more private?”

“You’re lucky he will meet with you at all, Draco,” Narcissa replied. “He won’t normally associate with anyone who has fallen so far out of favor.”

“But…”

“No ‘buts’ about it!” hissed Narcissa. “You’ll meet him wherever he says to meet him, and you’ll be there on time.”

Two soft ‘pops’ were the only evidence that the surviving members of the Malfoy dynasty had moved forward into the next phase of their family’s history.




A rivulet of sweat slid uncomfortably down Kingsley Shacklebolt’s back before pooling along the elastic waistband of his shorts. It seemed ridiculous, for Sunday evening was rapidly descending upon the small gathering of witches and wizards who had left number twelve, Grimmauld Place the moment Ginny and Harry had gone to visit Neville Longbottom, only to reconvene in the cramped quarters of the sitting room of the Burrow. A moderate breeze was stirring outside and was wafting pleasantly through the open windows. Glancing about at the others in attendance, however, Kingsley realized that he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortably warm.

“I hate to be repetitive, Kingsley, but you’re simply asking too much of Harry!” huffed Arthur, whose hairline was blotchy and redder than the hair that receded back toward his temples. It was the second time in as many days that Arthur Weasley had raised his voice while speaking to the Minister of Magic.

“Arthur, please!” implored Kingsley, his voice uncharacteristically begging his long-time friend to understand his position. “We need Harry at the front if our enemies decide to use the Elder Wand. In that eventuality, he is our one best hope.”

“But that’s what he’s been his entire life!” Arthur protested fiercely. “That poor boy has been nothing but the one best hope of the entire wizarding world since he was little more than a toddler!”

“He’s not a boy,” said Kingsley, exhausted. “He’s of age…”

“Stop it!” shrieked Molly. “I’ve heard that phrase enough for a lifetime, as if reaching the age of seventeen makes it right to ask him to sacrifice everything for us yet again! Harry deserves to have a life of his own — something he has never had before, even when he wasn’t of age!”

“Calm down, Mum,” said Bill quietly from his seat near the floo. “I don’t think that’s what Kingsley means … right, Kingsley?”

“That’s right,” Kingsley replied. “I only mean that Harry will never stand to the side and let others fight in his stead. He knows all about the Elder Wand. He has already demonstrated as clearly as possible that he is its Master — that he commands the loyalty and obedience of the wand.”

“I’m afraid that misses the point, Minister,” said the stiff voice of Minerva McGonagall. “As long as the Elder Wand owes its allegiance to anyone other than the witch or wizard who is trying to use it, it won’t function properly.”

“Right!” added Arthur. “As long as someone other than the wand’s rightful master tries to use it, any of us will have more than enough power to prevail. That’s why it wasn’t binding for the Dark Lord during the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“Not so fast!” countered Shacklebolt. “There were other factors at work during the Battle. We can’t forget what else Harry did — what else he told You-Know-Who. He offered his own life freely to save the others. It wasn’t only his inability to wield the Elder Wand properly. His main problem was a result of Harry’s sacrifice”

“Any way we look at it,” added Percy, who had been sitting quietly off to the side, “we need Harry and, thankfully, saving people is what Harry does. That’s who he is.”

“NO IT ISN”T!” bellowed Molly before lowering her eyes and voice in defeat. “It’s what Dumbledore made him. It’s what we have made him.”

“Well, that’s part of it,” agreed Headmistress McGonagall, “but only part of it. We mustn’t forget the other factor Albus always made clear: None of this would matter in the slightest if it was not for the purity of Harry’s soul — if not for his unblemished capacity for love.”






“So that’s settled, then?” asked Ron, a smile spreading across his face.

“Yes,” Hermione answered, a girlish giggle Ron had never before heard sneaking from her lips. “Yes, it’s settled.”

“Whom do we tell first?” he whispered.

“Are you in a hurry, Mr. Weasley?”

“It’s the seventh of June, and we have less than three months until we’ll be moving back to Hogwarts. And if we’re going to wait for Harry and Ginny to get back from their honeymoon, which won’t start for at least two weeks, and we don’t know what Kingsley has in mind for training, and …” Ron replied, before being interrupted.

“Ron, slow down! I was only teasing.”

“Teasing?”

“Yes, silly. Since our plans are dependent upon Ginny and Harry’s honeymoon, I think we ought to tell them first.”

“Do you think they’re downstairs?” Ron asked, eager to share the excitement of choosing a wedding date.

“No, they were going to visit Neville and Hannah at The Leaky Cauldron.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Ron, fully aware that he was overreacting, but unable to temper his frustration. So consumed was he with excitement that he felt he would explode if he couldn’t share the news with his best mate.

Expecto Patronum,” Hermione said, conjuring her shimmering silver otter. “Tell Harry and Ginny that we will meet them at The Leaky Cauldron in forty-five minutes.”

“Forty-five minutes?” asked Ron, confused.

“Yes,” whispered Hermione, fisting Ron’s shirt and pulling him back toward her until their lips merged.

Wondering why he had ever been too insecure to tell Hermione how he felt about her, Ron parted his lips to accept his fiancé’s kiss. Electricity surged through him once again, eliciting a moan from deep within his chest.

“I don’t think forty-five minutes will be long enough,” Ron murmured as their lips broke contact momentarily. “Not nearly long enough.”

“We have the rest of our lives,” Hermione answered softly.

Ron gazed into Hermione’s deep brown eyes and wondered how anything so dark could burn with such brilliant fire. He puzzled over the apparent contradiction for only a moment before melting back into her embrace and deepening their kiss.

“The rest of our lives,” Ron repeated back to her, filled with love for the remarkable witch who had somehow agreed to marry him. “The rest of our lives, but it still won’t be long enough.”

“No, never enough,” Hermione agreed, her voice beginning to sound a touch raspy.

The huskiness in Hermione’s voice caused Ron to shudder involuntarily as he pulled her back into a firm embrace and his lips desperately sought contact with hers once again. He wondered momentarily if he might ever grow tired of being with her but knew instinctively that it could never happen. After all, he had never wanted anyone else, not even during the prolonged time he had spent snogging his brains out with Lavender Brown.

“Bloody Hell,” he thought silently, “half the time I was with her I was wanting to break up with her, and the other half all I could think about was making Hermione jealous!”

For just a moment, Ron felt guilty about having used Lavender so thoughtlessly, but a soft moan coming from Hermione’s lips drove the thought of any other witch immediately from his brain. This was heaven, or as close as Ron Weasley could ever come to imagining such a place to be. As they moved in tandem back toward the bed, clothes began slipping almost effortlessly from their bodies, causing him to take note of how natural this had become for them in such a short period of time.

“God, I love you,” groaned Hermione as they settled upon the rich duvet.

“Love you, too,” he whispered in return as his eyes closed slowly.




Pansy Parkinson moved gracefully between the tables of The Leaky Cauldron, a magenta Quick-Quotes-Quill poised above a tablet that followed her every movement. Hannah Abbott had been scheduled to work the afternoon and evening shifts but had come to Pansy’s room with the suggestion that the young graduate of Slytherin House work in her stead while she tended to Neville during his time of great loss. Pansy knew that she would have agreed to fill in for Hannah under any circumstances, but the promise of a free weekend’s lodging had given Pansy a chance to feel better about her decision to take a job she would have considered far beneath her less than twenty-four hours earlier.

Thankfully, the afternoon had begun quietly, with only a few customers stopping in for a beverage on the way to or from the shops of Diagon Alley. The slow pace allowed Pansy to become accustomed to the process by which orders were taken and filled, both for a constant stream of libations and the occasional late lunch or early dinner. Most importantly, Pansy had been spared the indignity of coming face to face with any of her Slytherin classmates. Try as she might to become accustomed to her new lot in life, her pride was causing her to dread the first time she would be forced to serve someone — anyone — who had known her during her former life.

Uncharacteristically, Pansy had momentarily let down her armor while Hannah had been giving her a crash training session and asked about the pub’s normal clientele. She had been relieved to learn that the only Slytherin of any consequence who regularly visited The Leaky Cauldron was Horace Slughorn; and since her former Potions professor had shown no interest in her while recruiting members of the Slug Club, Pansy’s pride had already suffered mightily on his account. If her status as the Pureblood daughter from a long line of Slytherins had not been enough to impress her Head of House, she thought it hardly mattered by this point in time if he were to see her waiting tables filled with everyday witches and wizards.

Then again, if what had happened over the last twenty-four hours meant anything to Pansy, perhaps it meant that it wasn’t so terrible to be an everyday witch or wizard, anyway. Being “privileged” had not proven to be as advantageous as had been advertised!



“Why would Slughorn live here in Diagon Alley, Mother?” asked Draco as they made their way up the stairway to the flat that was located immediately above what had previously been Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.

“He doesn’t live here, son! He is a Hogwarts Professor in good standing, so he lives in the castle. He maintains this place because Fortescue kept it stocked with almost everything he needs for his potions work,” answered Narcissa. “Anything else can be located over in Knockturn Alley.”

“But over an ice cream parlor?” Draco persisted.

“Draco, there is more to Horace Slughorn than meets the eye, just as there was a lot more to Florean Fortescue than people ever gave him credit for. Why else do you think he was one of the first to be captured and killed by the Death Eaters?”

“A confectioner?” said Draco, unable to keep the edge of a sneer out of his voice.

“You’d better learn to keep your arrogance in check, young man, or you’ll end up just like your father,” Narcissa replied, practically hissing at her son. “Looks can be deceiving, and it’s often in our best interest to be a bit less transparent to the prying eyes of the rest of the world.”

“What do you mean, Mother?”

“I mean Fortescue was one of the most talented Potions Masters in Great Britain and he had long worked with Professor Slughorn in the preparation of some rather interesting products — products that couldn’t be found in your everyday apothecary shop.”

“What kind of products?” asked Draco as he reached to knock on the only doorway located on the first floor landing.

“Products that were not smiled upon by the Ministry, even if they were not technically illegal,” answered Slughorn, who was standing just behind the door that had shockingly swung open a split second before Draco’s knuckles could make contact with the wood.

“N … not … not smiled upon by the Ministry?” stammered Draco.

“Neither smiled upon by the Ministry nor allowed by the Dark Lord to even his closest of followers,” said Slughorn. “Potions, salves, and ointments that can enhance or dilute the effects of Dark Magic. That sort of thing.”

“What?” asked Draco, shocked by the implication of what he had just heard.

“Florean Fortescue was a remarkably talented wizard who hid in plain sight of the wizarding mainstream,” interjected Narcissa. “That’s why he was taken when the Dark Lord reasserted his claim to power. In fact, the Dark Lord knew full well that Fortescue would never join the Death Eaters and feared that he could not be trusted to remain neutral through the conflict. Therefore, Fortescue was abducted and killed before he could cause problems.”

“Just as I would have been hunted down,” added Slughorn, “had Dumbledore not given me a safe haven at Hogwarts.”

“But why you weren’t killed after Dumbledore’s death?” asked Draco curiously.

“Dear boy,” replied Slughorn, “things are not as simple as that. I was allowed to live only because Severus Snape persuaded the Dark Lord that I was completely under his control. Thankfully, he was also able to convince the Carrows of my full complicity in their work. Otherwise, I would not have been long for this world.”

“So, why are you skulking around Diagon Alley now that the danger has passed?” Draco inquired cautiously, not knowing what to expect.

“Don’t be simple, boy!” answered the Potions Master. “Just because the Dark Lord is gone, it doesn’t follow that all my work will be freely accepted by the Ministry! In fact, reality is just the opposite. Things that were considered marginal at that time are being banned or tightly regulated as we speak. I assure you, Kingsley Shacklebolt does not intend to allow anything that appears even vaguely Dark to remain freely available in wizarding society.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” asked Draco, frustrated by the air of mystery surrounding the three of them in the tiny, unpleasant environment.

“It has everything to do with you!” answered Slughorn firmly, his voice taking on an authoritative edge. “We are here because it was no ordinary act of magic that etched that foul mark on your arm. We are here because neither ordinary magic nor an ordinary magician can remove it. We are here because your mother cares about your future, and because she happens to know perhaps the only surviving wizard who has the power to undo what has been done to you.”

Draco recoiled slightly as immeasurable power surged behind the puffy eyes that animated this aging wizard whom he had clearly underestimated since the day Slughorn arrived at Hogwarts.

“Now kindly shut your gob and roll up your sleeve,” commanded Slughorn. “We have work to do.”




Hermione’s Patronus arrived just in time, for Harry had already begun kissing Ginny tenderly on her lips after they had agreed to meet back at the Burrow.

“Ron and I will meet you at The Leaky Cauldron in forty-five minutes,” said the shimmering silver otter before it evaporated. The voice had been precisely that of Hermione Granger.

Harry looked at Ginny, a question clearly framing his expression.

“What is it?” she asked, guessing she already knew the answer.

“Are you up for this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m a bit tired but less so than you’d expect. Why don’t we just have a seat in the pub? I could use a little food … and maybe a butterbeer.”

“A butterbeer … or something stronger!” Harry replied enthusiastically.

“I don’t know about anything stronger,” cautioned Ginny, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking we need to stay as sharp as we can.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Constant vigilance.”

“Exactly!” replied Ginny, a note of her old energy ringing through.

Ginny wondered if the fact that she could feel the power returning to her own voice meant that Harry could hear it, as well. She looked expectantly into his deep green eyes and was shocked to see them darken immediately. Whatever else was lurking in her husband’s mind, she was sure that he had not lost interest in that way. She shivered in favorable response and wondered exactly how long two weeks might feel. At last, she their way back toward the public room of the old Inn.

A moment later, she and Harry stepped back into the pub.

“Ginny! Harry!” cried Pansy, waving the young couple toward a four-top table that was snuggled safely into an alcove off the back corner of the room, just a few feet away from the door that led toward the magical archway into Diagon Alley.

Ginny shook her head in surprise, having never anticipated seeing Pansy Parkinson waiting tables. Neither had she anticipated the surge of affection that rose within her. She swallowed momentarily before stepping quickly across the room and planting a quick kiss of greeting on the older witch’s cheek. Biting back the desire to qualify her greeting with an expression of shock or surprise, Ginny smiled and simply said, “Thank you for saving our lives!”



Draco’s left forearm burned stubbornly as Slughorn applied a fourth separate ointment to the faded spot that no longer looked like a stylized Dark Mark. They had been at work in Slughorn’s hideaway for almost two hours, and each ointment the professor applied had been accompanied by one potion or another, until Draco felt completely nauseated.

“I hope you don’t have anything else for me to drink,” said Draco.

“Only this hangover cure,” said Slughorn. “It should make you feel remarkably better, but you need to get some food in your stomach as soon as possible.”

“I was thinking we should stop by The Leaky Cauldron,” said Narcissa.

“The Leaky Cauldron?” gasped Draco. “Why would we go out in public after what happened yesterday?”

“It is precisely because of what happened yesterday that we need to be seen in public as soon as possible. We need to be seen, and we need to keep our heads held high. Your father may have had his undoing, but we don’t have to follow in his footsteps.”

“But, Mother!” Draco whined loudly. “He died yesterday!”

“I’m not stupid and I haven’t lost track of time, Draco,” seethed Narcissa. “Just come along and do as you are told.”

“Yes, Mother.”




Tables at The Leaky Cauldron were filling slowly as the evening slipped toward the dinner hour, and the curious and distressed assembled from far and near in search of answers, or failing that, a bit of the latest gossip. Most of the bar’s patrons were entering the facility through the main entrance, but occasionally, a witch or wizard would stroll in through the rear doorway. Their table in the alcove gave Harry and Ginny a clear view to both entrances, though their proximity to the rear entry caused both Potters to tighten their grips on their wands.

Before long, The Leaky Cauldron was literally buzzing with conversation. The death of one of the country’s most prominent wizards would have stirred interest under any circumstances, but the fact that Lucius Malfoy had died while trying to murder the hero of the wizarding world had shaken an entire population at its core. Witches and wizards of all ages had breathed a collective sigh of relief when Voldemort had fallen, and it seemed that no one had anticipated that any of his followers would have already sought to renew hostilities.

On top of that, the brutal, merciless attacks at Hogwarts had sent a second shockwave through wizarding society. Two well-known, well-loved members of the community had been killed while the grave of Albus Dumbledore had been plundered for the second time in a month. Harry shook his head, however, as he flipped the pages of The Daily Prophet.

“Why doesn’t anyone realize these events are related?” he asked, frustration seeping from every pore.

“Because no one at the Ministry is saying anything about it,” answered Ginny thoughtfully.

“I guess that’s right,” Harry muttered, an exasperated sigh escaping from his lips. “Just because it feels like I told the whole world about the Elder Wand, doesn’t mean that everyone else has put the pieces together.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Ginny in response, a gentle smile creasing her lips. “We simply have to round up Malcolm Parkinson and his pseudo-Death Eaters, and the crisis will be over.”

“Will it?” asked Harry before thumping his elbows down on the table and cradling his face between his open palms in frustration. “It’s all my fault, Ginny. All my fucking fault.”

“It’s not your fault!” Ginny answered, assertively defending her husband from himself. “Like you just told Neville, it’s not your fault when other people choose evil over good.”

“But it’s not the same,” said Harry dejectedly. “This is totally different than what happened to Neville, just as it’s totally different from what Voldemort and his followers did to me in the past.”

“How’s that?” asked Ginny, confused by Harry’s certitude.

“I don’t know what in the world I was thinking — explaining everything to Tom Riddle as if there was the slightest chance he would repent.”

“You were only offering him a chance to save himself,” answered Ginny.

“No, I was trying to save him myself!” spat Harry, completely disgusted with the choices he had made in the Great Hall. “I don’t know who I thought I was, offering Tom Riddle the chance to find remorse somewhere within that fragmented soul. It was stupid! It was reckless!”

“No, Harry, you were being noble,” said Ginny, reaching out to stroke his forearm.

Harry looked up to find Ginny’s bright brown eyes staring softly into his own. Her smile was equally soft and completely genuine. He was overwhelmed with gratitude for this remarkable young witch, just as he had been one evening during his sixth year when Ginny had seen fit to stand up to Hermione about how he had defended himself against Draco Malfoy — using Sectumsempra without knowledge of its effects.

“But Voldemort didn’t deserve a noble offer, and forgiveness wasn’t mine to give,” Harry muttered. “Who on Earth did I think I was?”

“Does anyone truly deserve forgiveness? And maybe you were the only person on Earth who could offer him one last chance for remorse?” said Ginny, her eyes never wavering from his. “After all, you had a similar childhood without turning into a monster. In fact, you didn’t even have it in you to treat him monstrously — not even after he had killed your parents and brought about the deaths of so many other people you love. Even then, you offered him a choice — something he never offered to you.”

“Thank you,” said Harry gratefully, allowing his face to return the smile from which Ginny had never wavered. “You’re the best!”

Ginny began to answer but was unceremoniously interrupted by the arrival of Ron and Hermione.

“Glad you finally noticed!” said Ron, a broad smile beaming at his best friend and his sister.

“And as quick a study as ever,” said Ginny, cynicism lacing every word.

“Don’t mind him,” Hermione chirped brightly. “He’s just a touch excited … as am I.” Her voice was practically begging Ginny and Harry to ask what she was so excited about.

At last, Harry broached the question. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but why so excited?”

“We’ve decided to go ahead and get married almost immediately … as soon as you two get back from your honeymoon,” said Ron hurriedly. “Obviously we would like the two of you to stand up with us.”

Harry looked over at Ginny, who returned his smile with a wicked grin and a nod of her head.

“Right,” he answered, returning his attention to Ron and Hermione. “We’d be thrilled to be there for you.”

“So, mate, have you two set dates for your honeymoon?” Ron asked.

“We have,” answered Ginny playfully, obviously enjoying the tormented look on her brother’s face.

“And?”

“And what?” Ginny replied, the beginnings of a grin beginning to form on her lips.

“Please, Ginny,” interrupted Hermione. “What are the dates of your honeymoon?”

“Well, we have to wait two weeks, according to Healer Smethwyck, so we’ll be leaving for Lac Annecy on Friday, June 19, and returning after two weeks.”

“So you’ll be back on Friday, the third of July?” Ron asked anxiously.

“Not quite so literalistic, big brother,” taunted Ginny. “We’re going to stay through the weekend, so that will bring us back to Grimmauld Place on Sunday, July fifth.”

“Aarrgghh!” moaned Ron dramatically. “So Hermione and I will have to wait almost five weeks to get married?”

“Only if you want to,” said Ginny.

“Why?” Ron asked.

“Unless you two would like to go ahead and get married before Harry and I leave,” Ginny continued, turning her gaze toward her husband.

“But that would give us less than two weeks to get ready for our wedding,” said Hermione thoughtfully.

“Plenty of time,” teased Harry, all the while watching the equations firing behind Hermione’s eyes. “And where were the two of you thinking of going for a honeymoon?”

“There really isn’t any money,” whispered Ron, as if saying such a thing audibly would make their situation more real.

“Well, you could use Grimmauld Place while we’re gone,” said Harry.

“Or maybe you’d like to scout out Harry’s place in Cornwall?” asked Ginny, her grin having blossomed into a full-scale smile.

“N … no … no!” stammered Hermione. “We couldn’t impose upon you and Harry like that.”

“Well, it’s not like you’d be under foot the whole time,” laughed Ginny.

“Unless, of course, you wanted to be,” finished Harry.

Hermione and Ron looked questioningly at one another, obviously not knowing exactly where Harry and Ginny were taking the conversation.”

At last, Ginny and Harry simultaneously burst into laughter. “We’re asking if you’d like to join us at Chateau Peverell for a joint honeymoon,” Harry concluded. “The place is gigantic. Kreacher and Melpomene will be there to take care of things.”

“And the weather is supposed to be perfect!” Ginny added enthusiastically. “Not to mention that it’s one of the most beautiful places on the planet.”

Harry grinned happily as their closest friends stood dumbstruck before them. He and Ginny had discussed this possibility after they had learned their own trip would have to be postponed. They wanted Ron and Hermione to have the best possible start to their married life and, despite her frequent protests, Ginny absolutely adored her older brother. It seemed perfectly logical, especially given the way Harry had witnessed the advent of their love during the final battle.

“Merlin knows it was hard enough watching them sleep together for months, their fingers parted by mere millimeters,” Harry teased.

He interlaced his fingers with Ginny’s and waited patiently for a response to their invitation. The pause in their conversation served to emphasize how loud it had become in the pub. Things had become so loud, in fact, that Harry wondered how people could even think.




Pansy was working diligently at the next table, removing dirty dishes before wiping the surface with a clean cloth. Harry wondered momentarily if there wasn’t a better way to accomplish the same purpose by magical means. As he pondered the situation, Pansy looked up and smiled warmly at Harry and Ginny. It was a sight he would have thought impossible only the day before.

Suddenly, however, everything changed. Pansy’s warm demeanor vanished in an instant as all the color drained from her face. The back door of The Leaky Cauldron slammed loudly shut and the room fell shockingly silent.

Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had come into the bar through the entrance to Diagon Alley.

“Pansy, how nice to see you!” drawled Narcissa. Her greeting appeared almost warm, testifying to Narcissa’s prodigious acting abilities.

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” answered Pansy. It was obvious that she would have preferred to be anywhere else.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come over last night when I received your mother’s invitation,” said Narcissa. “Hopefully I wasn’t missed among the crowd.”

Pansy stood silently, obviously unaware that her mother had hosted a gathering at their home.

“Oh my God,” whispered Harry, staring at Ginny in shock.
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