Ron was still. What other word was there for this paralysis, the silence, the lack of movement, even in the recesses of his chest? No heartbeat, no breathtaking rise and fall of his ribs. No subtle twitch of his scarlet curls as he moved about restlessly.

Ron was still, and I knew that because he’d never been still before. Ron never sat in peace, he was always moving. He was always full of life, full of happiness. He’d be bouncing Hugo or Rose on his knee, telling Granddad Weasley anecdotes or Uncle Harry adventures, or wrestling George or Perce like he was twelve rather than thirty-seven. Maybe he was teasing Ginny and me, or giving Harry a sock on the arm for being thick. Maybe he was gazing out our bedroom window, twirling his wand between his fingers.

I put my hand on his heart and it was cold. It would never beat again, the Healers had told me, their voices hushed and hollow. The best friend, the sidekick to their savior Harry Potter was dead. The esteemed Auror, the generous benefactor to St. Mungo’s was dead. They didn’t know him as anything else, how could they? They didn’t share our home and our memories. They could only mourn a moment then scurry off to a patient with the possibility of life. This was their job; this was my life. They left the widow, the single mother, the heartbroken lover at her husband’s bedside, in the gloom and despair of a world with no light.

It would be hours before the news reached anyone. Harry and Ginny would be in disbelief; Harry especially, I was sure. They’d come to me and try to mask their own pain for the sole purpose of alleviating mine. I’d have to tell the children before they got the Prophet in the morning. I’d have to go home, and deal with insurance and funeral costs, and prepare a meal for my in-laws and my parents, and put on a brave face. I’d have to listen to the Minister’s broken apology and show my sorry features at an award ceremony for Ron’s bravery until his last breath here, in this broken ward. I was a widow now.

I’d get leave from work and Ginny would come help me. She’d cook meals in my kitchen while I sat at my table, thumbing through paperwork and reliving memories. Memories, memories. Lavender Finnigan would show up once in awhile and try again and again to become an ally in my upset. I’d find out she never lost her taste for my redheaded hero, even after two decades and then some. The old DA would become a crutch of support, always showing up in large groups on the weekends, ready with plates of soul food and pleased to do the dishes afterwards. I’d laugh with them, unable to contain it after a few glasses of Muggle wine my parents sent me and the aura of forced joy in the room, which left stains on my dim walls when it was just me at night.

Summer holiday would come and Rose and Hugo would join me, and we’d resume a life drained of pleasure. I’d put on a brave face, for my son and daughter. I’d put on a brave face, for the world to know I wasn’t afraid to live without Ron Weasley. The villains of the universe had been trying to separate us for years - when finally they succeeded, I still wouldn’t be ready to give up on life.
****
AFTERMATH OF FINAL BATTLE - HOGWARTS CASTLE
****
I came out of the Prefect’s bathroom with one thought on my mind: After all that’s occurred, thank Merlin that place is still intact. I had plans only to find my beaded bag, which I’d stowed up in the Gryffindor Common Room, get some clean clothes out of it, and watch the sunset on the lake. To discover peace, where peace hadn’t been in months.

Ron had other plans.

He came out of a corridor covered in dust, looking appropriately grave, but uncharacteristically solemn. Not the moody solemn I’d grown accustomed to after being his best friend and eventually girlfriend for seven years, but solemn in a very sad way, like we’d both been for a moment, when Voldemort convinced us that Harry was dead. Now Fred was dead, and, unlike Harry, he wasn’t coming back from the grave. Fred, the contagious jokester, the silly older brother of my one love, the dimpled Beater on the Gryffindor team, who’d never been anything but a part of my universe. I hadn’t feared for his death; the idea that he could die had never actually presented itself to me. But now he was dead, and we all felt as though the world had been ripped out from under our feet.

I ran to his side. He looked up at the sound of my approach, fearful for a moment, then his entire being went slack as I came up. He pulled his hand through his hair, which was coated in debris. He’d been walking about with Harry and McGonagall, discussing the damage and the courses of action to be taken in the future of Hogwarts. Both him and Harry had insisted I go up to the Gryffindor Common Room with the rest of the Weasleys and rest. After much arguing, I agreed, and Ginny and I went to clean up. Ginny was still in the huge bathtub in the Prefects’ room, trying to lose her grief in the mountains of multicolored bubbles.

“Hey, Hermione,� he muttered, looking exhausted. For the love of Merlin, hadn’t we just been victorious? I knew the answer to this question, but why were we all so down? I wrapped my arms around his neck, sneaking a glance behind me at Harry entering the Prefect’s bathroom. Naughty boy.

“Ron, you look downright Inferus-like,� I sighed, recalling my dad’s old stash of zombie movies, the Muggle equivalent of Inferi. The walking dead, devoid of emotion. Then again, Ron was full of emotion, always had been, and he wore each new one prominently on his handsome features. He blinked at me. The new one was currently love.

“Do I?� he muttered sheepishly. “It’s Fred, and all, I suppose.�

Daft, silly, holder of my heart. “You suppose, you bumbling, grief-stricken fool? Stopping acting as though you don’t feel anything because your eyes are lying. Then kiss me and understand that I’m here to take your burden. I miss Fred too, a whole, whole lot.�

“Hermione,� he muttered again, and he obeyed me. Then he shook his head, and Ron Weasley was back, like he hadn’t been since we came down from Dumbledore’s office. He looked down at his hands, and I wondered what he was thinking. Usually, he was so easy to read. Of course, he wasn’t now, as his next question was quite unexpected. “Hermione, marry me.�

Suddenly, a lifetime of contemplating this moment seemed ridiculous. Even when she’d started to put Ron in as the potential husband, she’d given him credit and pictured it at a romantic Muggle restaurant or in some awe-inspiring location. I’d pictured me with a striking gown and a glorious application of makeup. Flawless. Not me in a towel-turban and Hogwarts-stamped bathrobe, and slippers, my face still scarred and Ron looking like a man on death row, standing in the half-ruined hallways of our school, surrounded by death.

Did any of that affect my answer? No. “Yes.�

Whenever I spent a lot of time with my daughter, I couldn’t help but feel a bit in awe. After everything I’d gone through at the age of seventeen, after all those days when I didn’t dare imagine what my adulthood would turn out to be like, she was a bit of a supernatural concept. She was me, but exceptionally prettier. She had the same manageable, straight hair as her Aunt Ginny, but in my shade. She had my eyes. She had Ron’s smile, thank goodness, as my original array of teeth earned me a reputation in school as ugly. She was witty, playful, and above all, had my love for books and schoolwork.

Now I was waiting for her to arrive at home, confused, her arm around my little boy, Hugo. Hugo was the spitting image of his father in personality and looks. I braced myself for my son’s arrival, wondering if I’d be able to spare an innocent first year from my upset. He needed his mother, especially when he received my news.

I turned away from the kitchen sink and reached for the bowl where I put my jewelry when I wanted to clean up the Muggle way. My charm bracelet, a wedding gift from Harry for years of friendship, the watch my children had pooled to get me for Christmas last year, and last but not least, the wedding ring. Ginny watched me slide it back onto my finger with a sigh.

“The kids should be here any minute,� she murmured, putting her hand on my shoulder as I drew level with her. James, Albus, and Lily would be arriving with Rose and Hugo. James had been told (he was a fifth year, he had a right) but the other four were completely oblivious. I regretted allowing Harry and Ginny to tell their eldest. Now he had to maintain composure in the present of his siblings and cousins, and, Ron being his favorite uncle, I could barely imagine the pain that ensued.

We heard the telltale sounds of the Knight Bus pulling up and went out. Hugo was the first off, and I only saw a blur of red hair as he flew into my arms. At eleven, he still behaved like a five year old when it came to being away from his parents. I stifled more pitiful tears and kissed the top of his sweet-smelling head. Then I raised my other arm by instinct, unsurprised when another warm body enveloped herself in it. The third year that I had a hard time remembering when she became a young teenager, my incredible daughter Rose. She grinned at me with that cocky grin so like her father’s. I shook off my grief and pulled both my children closer.

Ginny was disentangling herself from affectionate Lily’s embrace, while James stood back and searched for his father’s profile hopefully. I knew Harry regretted not being here to see his kids, but he was arranging a leave of absence at the Auror office. With him gone and Ron . . . more gone, they were shorthanded. James realized Harry wasn’t present and moved forward to kiss his mum on the cheek. Albus followed, then came to stand by Hugo. Honestly, I was staring at Harry and Ron as children again. Ginny saw this too, and I felt her hand on my shoulder again.

James helped us usher the younger four inside again, and Ginny went about bringing Honeyduke’s cocoa to the wind-kissed minors. I sat down and listened to Rose and Albus dish about third year Gryffindor drama, different teachers, and accuse each other of various bad grades or ridiculous love faux pas. I listened, occasionally grinning.

Then Ginny came back in, and the first and third years caught the negative tenor of the atmosphere. Ginny nodded at me, and I clutched Rose’s hand for strength. She glanced at my whitening knuckles in shock. “Mum . . . ?�

“Your father has been murdered,� I choked, and Rose threw herself into my embrace. Hugo followed, where I held them tightly, rocking back and forth, in that living room so reminiscient of my late husband, where family was the only way any of us would survive.
****
DINNER WITH THE POTTERS - POTTER MANOR
****
Ron was laughing. It was a joyful sound, but slightly obnoxious, too loud in my ears. God I was irritable this evening. Ginny’s food had a penetrating aroma, and the sounds of baby James’ crying occasionally was driving me nearly batty with irritation. I had no appetite for shepherd’s pie or chicken with curry, and although I loved my sister-in-law and long time best friend, they both were wrong to invite me tonight. I was ill and dangerously close to PMS.

“I feel bad for Neville, though, honestly. He could have done way better than Padma Patil,� Ron was saying, earning himself a knock on the arm from Ginny. She was pregnant again, she’d just told us at the beginning of the meal, and more hormonal than last time.

“Padma is wonderful for Neville. They both just got jobs at Hogwarts. They are expecting already. Padma loves old Mrs. Longbottom. They’re both sponsors of that new Quidditch team, the Yorkshire one, the Banshees or something. And they’ve both been through the mill,� Ginny argued, winking at me from across the table. Not many people knew about Padma’s secret affair with the long time Quidditch player, Oliver Wood, leading up to his sudden, well-publicized engagement to Katie Bell. Padma hadn’t known until Neville told her about it, knowing what Wood had shared with her. When she fell into a heartbroken dementia in Neville’s arms, he’d carried her to St. Mungo’s and remained steadfast at her bedside until she recovered three months later. The bond between them was too great to be ignored, and Padma had come to replace her passion for Oliver with a warm love for Neville. The wedding had been the previous summer.

“Fine, if you see it that way,� Ron muttered, filling his mouth with his sister’s cooking, glancing at me with a wink. I knew how many of Ginny’s leftovers were hidden in his cooler at work, protected with a Permanent Freezing Charm and an Alohomora-proof lock so Harry wouldn’t find out who the Potter Pantry Thief was. Ron had been skeptical to try Ginny’s food when we came to their house for supper the week after their wedding. Now, he was under the impression that it outshined Mum Weasley’s, stuffing himself with it even as I watched.

“Ah, well, Neville’s been through the mill, Ron, I think he deserves a bit of romance, even if Padma can be rather scarlet nowadays,� Harry sighed, tickling James’ nose. The baby was redheaded and freckle-skinned with Harry’s green eyes and untameable style. He could only be the product of Harry and Ginny, Ron and I had agreed.

“Well, Padma’s sister didn’t seem to pleased about it. I had no idea Parvati was that lovestruck for Neville, of all people. I was under the impression that she favored that Ravenclaw, Anthony Goldstein,� I offered, winking in Ginny’s direction at our pool of gossip. Dinners at Potter Manor always entailed such discussions.

“That’s all the past, Hermione. Parvati and Tony are engaged now, and there are rumors that Parvati is pregnant already. Just rumors, obviously, but I was in the Maternity Ward yesterday, visiting Luna and baby Xenophilius, and she said that Parvati had been in there,� Ginny added, sighing with a smile. “It seems incredible that Xenophilius, Jr, James, and Albus will be at school together, doesn’t it, Hermione?� She winked back, her soft red eyelashes laced with black mascara rising and falling as the pale membrane of her eyelid slid over the lucid hazel and back up again.

“Yes amazing, but Ginny, why do you wink at that?� I said aloud, much to her distaste. Oh my dear sister-in-law, get over it. The sensation of a mental grin shuddered through my brain.

“Do you have news for us, Hermione?� Harry goaded, watching me expectantly, his eyes flickering to my navel then back up to my face.

I was in utter confusion, as was Ron. We communicated this mutual confusion, our mouths wide and our eyes searching each other’s expressions for an answer. “No, Harry, I don’t. What are you going on about?� I spat back.

“Ginny, you said-�

“Yes, Harry, I know, I was guessing by the expression she’s worn all evening-�

“Wonderful, dear, now you’ve embarrassed us both,� Harry sighed, his face an apology as he smiled meekly at me.

“I was under the impression that you were, you know- expecting a visit from the stork,� Ginny murmured, so Ron and I had to lean in just to hear.

I blinked as I realized the implication, my mind whirring with shock and confusion and a frantic sprint back down memory lane. What had I done to suggest such a thing? Then I remembered - my oversensitivity to smell tonight, my sensitive hearing, my headache, my nausea this evening.

“Ron, St. Mungo’s, now,� I croaked, praying Ginny’s suspicions were true. Four years we’d been trying, the impatience of the idea plagueing our marriage to dangerous degrees. Ron grabbed my hand, waved to our extended family, and we Disapparated, appearing on the empty Muggle street before the mannikin. Ron hissed to it through clenched teeth, and we were in, and the receptionist was sending us to the Prenatal Office, and they were performing spells that sent shivers over my body, and I told them what the shivers felt like, what I’d been feeling all night, and what Ginny had assumed.

Then, within an instant and a few hurried answers, Ron and I were going to be parents in less than nine months.

Ron held me in his arms for what felt like several blissful hours, in our handsome flat near the Ministry. He was too happy to speak, our kisses enough as we both imagined our child. I imagined a little boy with Ron’s hair and my brains, playing with little James and unborn Albus. I sent a Patronus to tell Harry and Ginny, the latter of which I was sure would be telling this victory over and over for some time.

“What about Rose?� he sighed finally, pulling away.

“Rose?� That wasn’t a boy’s name.

“My little girl, Rose, with her mother’s perfect curls and extra smile, her mother’s brains and condescending intelligence, that loves you and me and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny and her cousins James and Albus .. .. Is Rose a good name for a girl?�

I hadn’t been expecting Ron to want a girl, but now that I imagined my perfect angel, in Hogwart’s robes, waving her hundred-and-twelve papers in my face with a proud smile, I didn’t miss the boy. I did still want a boy, but did that change my answer? No. “Yes.�

Rose’s eyes were still on the ceiling when I checked in on both of them. Ginny and Harry were on the sofas, Albus and James and Lily in the guest room, and me in my room, on the empty bed. Rose was sleeping with Hugo at his timid request . . . even as he snoozed, a tiny tear rested by his little nose. But Rose was awake.

I came in, remembering all the times I had felt heartbroken and lay in my four-poster in the girl’s dormitory, staring miserably at the top of it. Whenever Ron and I were fighting, I’d curl up with Crookshanks and pour my heart out in whispers to the old cat, my wand illuminating the bed I’d called mine for seven years. Six, really . . . abandoning nostalgia, I moved to Rose and stroked her fuzzy forehead.

“Hey,� I murmured, and she turned to me, blinking. When had she started wearing makeup? Most of it had been removed during her morning routine, but there were still lines where her mascara had run. How had I not noticed?

“Go, Mum, sleep, I’m fine,� she insisted, rolling over to watch her brother.

I nodded and turned to leave, then felt my heart crumble, and I came back to their bed, where I snuggled in between my kids, and they both snuggled into my sides.

****

Ginny was making breakfast. She was flipping pancakes lazily with her wand, her eyes red and puffy. Harry, who was making eggs the Muggle way, looked no better. He was breathing heavily, his movements slow. Today was the funeral for the man who he’d been joined at the hip with since he was eleven. I rushed to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, and he patted my head.

“I still have trouble believing it, too, Hermione,� he sighed, reading my bleak thoughts. Ginny glanced over at our embrace, sympathy masked by tender watching.

I stepped back and put my arms around both their necks, kissing each one on the cheek. Ginny patted my shoulder and handed me a plate.

I sat at the table until Hugo came in with Lily, telling his favorite cousin about Ron’s old wireless. It had been the one that we found in Perkins’ old tent when it was recovered from the woods where Snatchers caught us. I remembered Harry with the Stinging Hex, looking downright horrid and misconfigured. I smiled a watery smile, which Hugo returned when he saw it. He went up to Ginny and held his hands out expectantly. Like his father even down to the capacity of his stomach. Figures. Even Rose had inherited that quality, of the constant need to stuff herself. I only prayed that they had taken after Ron’s high metabolism, as well.

Ginny’s face betrayed that her thoughts were identical to mine, as Hugo insisted that she stack the hotcakes higher and higher, before he added several ice-cream-scoop-size dollops of butter to the plate and drowned the entire meal in syrup. Lily timidly hugged her father and accepted a bowl of eggs. She nibbled at her own breakfast while Hugo consumed his grief in food. I found that I had no appetite for the warm, Weasley recipe pancakes that rested in front of me.

I rose when the dynamic trio, Albus, James, and Rose, came in, all looking emotionally spent and sleep-deprivated. Ginny, Harry, and I went out onto the terrace Ron and my father had built the Muggle way four years ago. It overlooked our personal lake, our green swathe of personal heaven, and the makeshift Quidditch pitch Rose and Hugo had been trained on. We’d bought this land a year after Rose’s birth, when it was discovered that Hugo was on the way, and when we realized that we still shared a one-bedroom flat between three people.

Harry sighed and fixed his eyes on the Quidditch pitch with unmistakable longing. My heart broke again. I hadn’t just lost Ron - I’d lost the man that Harry had been when our trio was complete. He’d lost me, too, I knew, the way he watched me when I wasn’t watching him. And together we hurt Ginny, who’d lost her favorite brother, and was desperately trying to hold us to our old selves. She was broken, so broken, and it was all our fault . . .

“Stop, Hermione, it’s not your fault, so stop,� she hissed, and I stepped back shakily, unaware of her ability to perform Legilimancy.

“Honestly, Ginny, I can’t deal with all this anymore,� I admitted hoarsely. “Ron is gone, forever, really gone, not there for me to feel safe, not there for me to come back to when I’m scared of death. Not there for me when my cousin died, or Rose is struggling in school and I have no clue what advice to give her. Without him, I will fail for the first time at everything. Ginny, I can’t live life with Ron gone, Harry still in shock, me being half-dead, and you trying to fix us ALL. I can’t live trying to love Hugo without seeing his father in his face EVERY time I look at him. And because I can’t live with all this, I’m just going to keep hurting people already suffering more. Because no one can help me and that will just drive grief to unthinkable measures.�

I sank into the chaise chairs that decorated our deck. They were a gift from my parents, and the cushions were still in storage for winter. The hard metal rungs dug uncomfortably into my back, and a sudden breeze dug its icy fingers into my arm. I blinked, new tears that burned like fire gathering between my iris and lower eyelid. Life was so unbearable, and the only escape would render those I loved more broken than before. I’d never felt so helpless and without a clue.

Ginny and Harry were gaping at me, and when I turned, there stood the last five individuals that I would have ever wanted to hear that speech - my children, niece, and nephews. Hugo gasped and began to blubber, his tiny eyes leaking great tears. Rose held him under her arm, white as a sheet and blank in surprise. James looked queasy. Lily was sniffling in fear, and Albus was copying her, though in a fashion slightly altered to his personality. I wanted to hold Hugo, but I couldn’t, and he could hardly run to me, as I’d just proclaimed I couldn’t love him without sadness, and the last thing my baby had ever wanted me to do was cry.

Overwhelmed, then black, the world spinning about my head like it did when I was a child, twirling in the entrance to the church that my parents attended as a formality, stopping to catch a breath only to feel like the floor was unsteady.
****
HELPLESS - THE BURROW
****

Audrey looked downright impeccable, as always, her hair shining and her smile just as bright. Percy looked like he was suspended in limbo, a happy, dazed grin on his face as Audrey curled into his side. Ron turned and kissed me, and then winked at Bill, whose arm was around the very large Fleur, whose beauty couldn’t even be drained by pregnancy. Fleur was talking to Charlie’s new girlfriend, an old school flame named Harriet Vallerie. Harriet was a giggling thing with a wide smile, and couldn’t take her eyes off of George. George, of course, was focused on one thing: his darling wife, Angelina Johnson Weasley. Ginny and Harry had long since disappeared to the garden. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in the kitchen, “talking�.

“This family just keeps growing,� Ron sighed, his face warm with happiness. I imagined Fred in the corner, a bottle in his hand, happily single, ignorant of the children that slept upstairs in Ron’s old room. Victoire, Teddy Lupin, Molly, and Fred were all very young, although Teddy was the oldest. Teddy was three years old, Victoire two, their birthdays very close, only months apart. Molly wasn’t even one yet. Fred was born a suspicious eight months after George and Angelina’s wedding a year ago, and was now a few months old. Dominique was asleep in Bill’s arms, about the same age as Fred, and Victoire’s giggling little sister. Fleur was in her second trimester with the third Delacour-Weasley child. Molly, Fred, and Dominique would be in the same year at Hogwarts.

Ron turned to me, the kindly family atmosphere choking both of us with pleasure. Even three years out, I had vivid memories of hopelessness and despair whenever this immeasurable happiness overcame me. Had any of us expected this long happy ending?

I was working at the Department for the Care and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry, which was undergoing many changes after the Second War. Ron and Harry were climbing the ranks in the Auror Department, Harry especially. Ginny was a star member of the Holyhead Harpies at this point, becoming almost as well-known as Harry as the Harpies defeated the long-time champions, the Tornadoes, with her help. There was rumor of her being the English Seeker in the next Quidditch World Cup.

We were almost there, and I was reveling in how perfect everything had become. Ron knew that I was pleased beyond reckoning, now at this moment, and he knew how to make me happier.

We stepped into the foyer of the Burrow, the sounds of a large and growing happy family becoming muffled between walls. I kissed him softly, up against the wall, clutching his hand, our wedding rings touching as our left hands found eachother between our bodies.

“Hermione,� he sighed. Then he began to chuckle. “Herm-own-ninny.�

I narrowed my eyes at his teasing. “You won, Ronald Bilius Weasley. I’m yours for forever.� Then I met his lips again.

“I feel like that Cheering Charm Harry hit me with in our third year has come back to haunt me,� Ron told me, sighing, as we pulled apart again. “Blasted little Weasleys . . . can’t they sleep in Percy’s old room? Mine was the perfect size for privacy.�

“Still afraid of your brothers’ teasing? Honestly, Ronald, you’d think you’d have grown out of it by now,� I chastised.

He shrugged his shoulders, and we marched outside, casting knowing glances in the direction of our dearest friends, who were laying side-by-side against the old broom shed. The merry tinkling of soft laughter floated from their silhouettes. I saw the glint of Harry’s glasses as he raised his head to look at us. Suddenly, they went silent. I suspected Muffliato.

“I want to complete my happiness,� Ron said then, looking at me as we sat down together, on the wide oak swing Mr. Weasley had made for the little ones. It hung by the old orchard where I’d been forced to join in Quidditch games as a girl.

“It isn’t complete?� I asked him, feeling a tad hurt.

“Have you seen Bill and Fleur? George and Angie? Percy and Audrey? They’re all parents, and they all look like they’re on top of the world. I want that,� Ron whispered. “I can’t even begin to describe to you how much I want that.�

The gravity of his words hit me then. “I don’t know, Ron, can’t we just get a dog for a bit?� I sighed, trying to mask my horror with a small smile. I wouldn’t be qualified for the idea of motherhood if I was the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.

His next response was the epitome of why I was madly in love with my husband. “What sort of dog did you have in mind?�

I felt something quiver with in me, something that I realized changed who I was for forever. A child. A baby girl or boy that would play with Ron and Harry on the floor, that would wear clothes that Ginny and I changed every hour, that would ride on the hip of Mrs. Weasley as she went about in the kitchen. I wanted one. “One that’s good with kids, of course.�

And to think, I used to think his ears turning pink was a bad thing.

There was a headline. It had thick, bold lettering, against that odd, clothlike material that newspapers use, all greyish-white and gloomy. I ran my finger down the line of the “spine� of the Prophet.

DEPUTY HEAD AUROR FALLS IN PURSUIT OF LAST KNOWN DEATH EATER. The words had danced before my eyes, out of a simple peripheral swipe into the forefront of my entire being. I snatched the carefully hidden article out of Ginny’s shaking hands, causing Harry to rush to my side and try to talk me out of reading it. I pushed him away. Arse. He never left me alone to feel sad.

I read it aloud. With the funeral in the fading past, the kids were back at school, and I sat in the front room of Potter Manor with my closest friends and family, my heart thundering at the ridiculously late news. I could read it aloud and not have any issues with overactive ears. I did.

“‘Ronald Bilius Weasley, 37, was on duty for the Auror Department with long time best friend and Head Auror Harry Potter, on the case to pursue Gregory Goyle the Second, who attended Hogwarts in their year and is the last known Death Eater to be apprehended. Goyle had been spotted repeatedly returning to Little Hangleton, location of the graveyard where Tom Riddle was returned to his body in the subjects’ fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They caught up to the man in said location, where it was discovered that Goyle was not wont for accomplice.

“‘A Ministry official who had yet to sign the traditional temporary nondisclosure agreement told us in strict anonymity that said accomplice was in strong resemblance to the deceased, long-time friend of Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, a victim of self-conjured Fiendfyre in the Final Battle. (This, consequently, was the same Fiendfyre that destroyed one of the Dark Magic artifacts associated with Riddle’s downfall.)

“‘Weasley was reported to have reached Goyle first, and witnesses say Goyle screamed something that Potter, close behind, could not hear. Weasley retaliated, and when Potter reached the dueling pair, Weasley had fallen victim to a hasty Killing Curse. The funeral was held a week and a half later. The Prophet and the Ministry send their sympathies to the family and friends of a man who was a war hero, a loving husband, a doting father, and revered member of our society,’� I finished.

I looked up into the eyes of Mrs. Weasley, who held a tray of biscuits and tea, and was turning white. Even her freckles. It seemed that the gray of her hair was spreading right before my eyes. A glass vase Harry’s aunt had sent them smashed in the corner.

She set the tray carefully on the table, then collapsed into the armchair by the window, her face streaming with tears. I set the paper down and watched the words disappear in a vivid flash of flames. The ashes were Vanished then, and in a daze, I lifted my eyes to my mother-in-law’s.

“Rubbish. They included nothing, nothing, nothing, and it is rubbish!� Mrs. Weasley cried.

Ginny and I rose at the same time to comfort her, but Ginny sat down as soon as she saw get up. I went to Molly and we hugged slowly, then sobbed, the other’s sobs making us stronger. We sat there for a long time, and ended up on opposite sides of the room, on the floor, laughing shakily at Ronald stories. I told her how my admirations grew as we advanced through school, how in my sixth year I had wept hours, confiding in Crookshanks, bewildered by love I hadn’t known.

Harry came back in eventually, helped me and his mother-in-law stand, and then poured tea. Mrs. Weasley declined, saying she was to be watching Bill’s youngest, Louis, that day and couldn’t remain at Potter Manor. Ginny told Harry that he and I needed to talk about the past, kissed me on the forehead and her husband on the lips, and Floo-ed back to the Burrow with her mum.

“I know what Goyle said, you know, Hermione, and I know that I’m shocked what he said hasn’t been executed yet. I’m rather worried and I hope that you listen to what I’m going to say calmly,� he told me, and I leaned forward, so I he could grip my hand.

Up close, you could see the salt-and-pepper nature of his once jet-black hair, the wrinkles that existed by his glasses, and the sadness that hid behind his still-vivid green eyes. He looked old, and I knew I was too, but still I couldn’t reconcile him with the boy I’d kown all those years ago. He was a man whose other half had died.

“Harry, what did Goyle say that could possibly make Ron -,� I began, my emotions on air, gliding swiftly over my heart and coating it with an ice that numbed.

“Hermione, Ron cared most about you, and the kids. And if anything were to happen to you, he’d kill. And if Goyle threatened you, he’d try to kill. That accomplice did share an uncanny resemblance to Crabbe, who we both know is long dead. Goyle is planning something with new players. I can only imagine what he said to Ron, and what’s going on, and I want you to be careful,� Harry told me, and I felt another onset of wild tears. I picked up the tea and Apparated home, falling into my favorite chair - his - and drinking my stolen beverage so quickly that it burned my aching throat.
****
THREATS - A CELLAR STORY
****
I’d never dubbed myself, willingly, at least, as a damsel in distress. The only incident in my life where I’d found myself incapable of self-rescue was first year, and it had yielded such wonderful results that I hadn’t put much mind to it. The other time had been overlooked by my overly-optimistic mind, for the sake of my lover and my sanity.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a name spoken only in fear by Ron or myself, and only in vindictive victory by Molly. She never spoke of what she had done, nor had anyone else. (The Ministry had ignored it for obvious reasons.) Now, though, I was having nightmares. A year out and we were still suffering, oh the irony.

The flat I shared with Ginny was within walking distance of Harrod’s and Diagon Alley, and I could Apparate to Mum and Dad’s with no issue. But when it came to being comforted when I woke up in the middle of the night, the lingering idea of the Cruciatus Curse shaking me into exhaustive tears, the feeling of the necessity to be saved gripping me like an icy hand, Grimmauld Place was a long ways away. A block over, not even a second in Apparating time, but Ron never knew when I was going to succumb to upset. Molly and Mum and even myself were old-fashioned folk - Ron and I would live as husband and wife when we had become husband and wife. That was fine in the waking hours, but nightmarish when it came to finding solace in true love.

My midnight fancies were now spilling into commute time, and day hours, and the monotony of work. I hurried home in the evenings, suddenly very wary of the escaped Death Eaters my fianceé was fighting every day to find. I knew that it was only a bit of time before their emotional wounds healed and they had a new rallying point. (The Malfoys were under constant surveillance for fear of such an occurence.) I also knew that when that time came, I’d be a first target, as means to reach my closest family.

No one knew but I that today would be that day. I could feel it burn into my soul and building paranoia, and approaching the building where I lived, I found the answer to all my worry. Two dementors flanked a single man, waiting in the alley. (Uncharacteristically foggy - I’d mentioned that to Ginny this morning as we walked to a café.) The dementors gave me a familiar sinking feeling, and in my head my own screams shook like American bells, large and bronze and annoying. I raised my wand. Even to this day, I couldn’t have told you if I meant to stun the dementors’ companion, or send a Patronus charm their way, or Apparate somewhere safer.

Their companion was a boy by the name of Blaise Zabini. He’d been attractive at school, and had even expressed interest in me once, after Krum had singled me out in fourth year. Muggleborn blood had been ignored by him when he saw the amount of jealousy I’d already triggered in Krum’s, and by extent his, admirers. I’d called him sleazy, and the next time our eyes had ever locked for more than a second was at Slughorn’s first dinner party.

Zabini sent my wand skittering into the street, where it fell, seemingly, into the pavement, on account of the charm I’d placed on it, to reappear in my pencil cup at home if lost. (Lost meaning over seven feet away.) Zabini’s exceptional Expelliarmus had overshot my maximum distance, and now I was defenseless. My own screaming still ringing in my head, I fell to my knees, where Zabini marched up to me and forced my eyes to bore into his. Then we Apparated.

****
I fell into a dirty hole of a room, where I waited silently for something to happen. Anything to happen. Midnight came and went, and morning dawned, and I knew there’d be witnesses to ask, and investigations to be catalyzed, and doubt to be strewn. Ron would be a mess, and Ginny would be - damn. Ginny was in Brighton until Friday with the Harpies.

I lay in a ball and waited for anyone to come. Then again, I was sure that Zabini and his accomplices would be within five miles of me. They would wait somewhere else. I was quite alone.

When night fell again, no effect on my loneliness had taken place yet. I rolled over, dumbfounded on how to escape the situation. I’d recovered from the Dementor attack already, and lay still, waiting for something to happen, when it did.

Somewhere above my prison, a call started, very soft, very loving, very tender, and very distraught. It grew louder and louder, more havoc-ridden, and scared. I called back, but I knew he couldn’t hear. Then Zabini was there, his hand around my mouth, chuckling.

“Ickle Ronniekins’ beautiful wife-to-be, murdered as the first event in the last war before the reign of Voldemort’s Legacy. Because that’s what Death Eaters are, Hermione. The legacy of a man who had no ideas of self righteousness to conflict with the truth that Mudbloods are filth, and marrying them into pureblood families, blood traitor or not, is downright wrong,� he hissed, chanting his whispered words of terror, while I watched the knife come up.

Then the yells grew louder, and Ron was there, and Zabini was cowering and pleading, and the dementors were back, and hours later, at Grimmauld Place, we had a good laugh about it.

My nightmares never came back, and neither did any dementors.

Startled, shocked, angry . . . undescribable pain, pain that I couldn’t imagine, and hardly physical, as I was most accustomed to. This was worry and fear, reminiscient of the world that I’d lived my teenage years in. Death was so imminent, and when you breathed, it was the aftertaste that caused you to cringe . . . A scent and a feeling that lingered in you and left you AWARE.

I rolled over and tried, like I had been for weeks, to understand what had happened. I remembered . . . kissing my wife. And leaving . . . Harry was laughing, so loudly, but he had sombered quickly, and I recalled his voice, suddenly low and grave, and he was seventeen again, our lives weighing on him like a curse. Recollections became nightmares that rang true of the past. I would shut my eyes and fall into limbo, again, and again . . . a persistent toddler, whose first step could bring him within reach of a toy or a treat or forbidden thing.

People say I am all low chuckles and comedy, and Hermione insists continually that I am a blunt character. I just . . . didn’t like the aura of a serious man, who marched into a room and captivated it with philosophy. This experience brought to me only the prose and ideology I sought earnestly to suppress. I was like a drunk poet.

A voice penetrated my thoughts once, and it was achingly familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I felt myself slipping. “Why?� the voice demanded. It was accusatory, but spoke more to an idea than me . . . wherever I was or what situation I had found myself in.

After that, it was deafeningly silent.

****
AWAKING - A FEW WEEKS LATER
****

“Are you deaf, dead man?�

I opened my eyes as if on command, very hungry and very eager to find a bathroom. Ah, the blunt Ron Weasley, with terrible wit and an excellent vocabulary for cussing. I was back. “No.� Never mind. Then: “Where’s my wife?�

“Hermione Granger is currently indisposed, widowed, and grieving,� the man chuckled, and he fixed me with cold grey eyes. He was so familiar-

“Goyle, you’ve lost weight,� I told him, a grin playing in the back of my mind. Was this what insanity felt like?

“Hush,� he demanded, and of course I sat up straighter, ready for the easiest battle of wits I’d ever take part in. (I usually lost them with my wife.)

“And the gorilla gains brain cells after a few decades, too, then?� I rebuked. An impassive shadow crossed his features, one of former pain and current resilience. His past was haunting him, and he was struggling to lose it. It had something to do with Crabbe’s death, I was sure, but at his sudden silence, I continued speaking. “Did you say my wife is a widow?�

“Ronald Weasley is dead to the world, leaving behind grieving wife, children, extended family, and friends. The Minister of Magic officiated the funeral, I believe. Buried by Lake Won-Won, what an absurd name for a private waterhole, you insubordinate goofball,� he spat. I narrowed my eyes.

Grief was churning in me. Hermione sad. Hermione crying. Hurt. Lost. It was the tent all over again . . . Harry, running the Office like a shell of himself. Ginny more irrational and irritated than usual. Mum . . . I shook my head, but the images were obstinate. George would believe he’d lost another brother. Rose, Hugo, they’d be angry and upset . . . I imagined placating little Rose, snapping at teachers and cousins in exhausted anxiety.

“You’ve tortured my family, Goyle, and you’ve ruined me. Why am I here? Why, to the outside world, am I dead?� I snapped, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Ron Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class, Deputy Head Auror, honorary member of the Wizengamot, Hogwarts Board of School Governors, and Chudley Cannons VIP Quidditch Club. Wealth and influence trail after you like a cape, don’t they, Weasley?� Goyle sneered, and I was taken aback. I’d never heard those things listed so . . . pompously. I sighed. Who was I anymore?

“You could say that,� I answered, wishing I had a wand. Harry would have it - it would have fallen in the graveyard, and he would have picked it up when he found me . . . “How did you convince everyone I was dead?�

“A simple potion, brewed over the course of three months. Invented by Shakespeare, I believe, and used as a device in his legacy; the fantastic Romeo gave it to the lovely Juliet to help her escape her family and betrothal. Incidentally, it allowed me to spirit you away from all your loved ones for the past month and a half. I have plans, Ron Weasley, plans that involve you and your pretty wife, and the rungs of a ladder you two shall become in my rise to control. I served the Dark Lord - I knew of what shortcomings he possessed. I shall not mak such mistakes, Ron Weasley,� Goyle hissed.

“Did you get a book called Life for Dummies? ‘Cos the Goyle I knew couldn’t pronounce half the words you just used,� I surmised, hiding my fear behind a feeble wall of insults.

“I was underground for quite some time, and self-reflection increased my ability to learn and excel,� he told me, and I shivered. I wanted to go home.

“What do I have to do to get you to release me?� I said then, wincing at the begging sound it produced. I, Deputy Head Auror and all that other bollocks Goyle had listed, didn’t grovel to the Hogwarts Class o’ ’98 Resident Gorilla #1.

“Nothing; it’s all part of the plan. You will return home to your wife. You two shall embrace and be happy. You will tell her what happened to you, leave nothing out. Fear will spread, and then you both shall be found dead where you least expect it. I will be spectral and bloodthirsty - no one shall no where I wait to strike. Now rise.�

I sat up, shaking. He had the NERVE to threaten my braniac, my bride, my best friend. I wanted to beat him. I wanted to end him so badly it stung, a resonant ache in my chest.

Then, as I grabbed his shirt, I was transported. Portkey?

I looked up and saw my front door, cloaked in shadow and sadness. I went to it, Goyle forgotten, thinking only of reuniting with my wife. My daughter. My SON. I climbed the steps, and opened the door.

Cliffie?




No, I’m not that cruel. :D

****HERMIONE’s POV****

I was up late. The day had been warmer than any in months, April dawning on the horizon. Neville and Hannah had been the last to leave the get-together, and we’d talked for hours about the divorce. Neville and Padma’s relationship had been fleeting, and he and Hannah were head-over-heels. The split had been difficult for their son, but I knew that Padma had found her final happiness in Dean Thomas, best friend of her brother-in-law, ex-boyfriend of the illustrious Cho Chang.

Ginny had gone to the school with Harry to watch a Quidditch game today and stayed late to talk to Professor McGonagall. Lavender, Seamus, Neville, Hannah, Oliver, Katie, and several other old friends came over and we ate takeout and talked. I laughed and sipped a glass of wine. Now, with another in hand, I read a book. A Muggle book my mother had given me.

Peace seemed to be . . . present now. I was grieving, but the pain was less heavy on my heart-

Ding-dong.

Ding-dong.

Ding-dong.

I stood, wand out. The porch light was still on, and I heard nothing more than the occasional growl from our dog, Lullabye. I set my book down and made sure the wine was secure. I went to the door. I opened it.

****RON’s POV****
She was so beautiful. Grief left dark circles under eyes. She wore a Muggle sweatshirt for a school called Oxford over nicely fitting blue jeans. Her long hair was swept to one side.

****HERMIONE’s POV****
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I could only stare and stare, at his red hair, at his freckles, at his ratty clothes, at his hungry expression, at his eyes and nose and mouth.

****RON’s POV****
I pulled her into a wild kiss, one of reunion and decades of love and happiness that we’d both assumed lost. Goyle had alterior motives - but in that moment I had pure joy. I’d see Rose and Hugo and I’d raise them. We’d grow old together. I was an Auror. Harry and I could stop them.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, don’t you dare ever die again! I had to do a funeral! I had to die in my heart again - I had to cry in front of Rose - Harry is a walking corpse - your mum, oh Merlin Ron your mum -� She gasped and then was silent, and we pulled apart. “Ron, how in the name of everything good and holy are you standing in front of me?�

“Goyle got brains, Hermione. I don’t know how, but he managed to convince everyone that, rather than being in a coma, I was dead. I am not lying. Put me under Veritaserum. I can see the upset in your eyes - you think I’m manipulated. A crony of Goyle’s. Harry probably told you Goyle was coming after you - Hermione, he is. After both of us. And the kids. He sent me back - I don’t know why. But I’m here. I’m alive. And Hermione, I love you,� I breathed, and she kissed me again, tears and choking impairing her ability to go long periods.

“Don’t die anymore,� she sighed. “Please.�

When the sun broke over the sky, I watched it rise against the dark on the same porch where I’d collapsed from grief. This time, I held his hand. I held Ron’s hand. The lake turned pink and gold, the pitch glowed a springy, luminescent green. Birds chirped in the trees.

I was in my old jeans still, and a breeze pulled my hair and stroked my neck. All I could do was smile. I was worried, of course, about the death threat. Any number of things had to be done to protect my family. But right now, Ron wasn’t dead.

He went and got us breakfast in the kitchen after a little while, pancakes. The smell brought me back to the morning after the kids got home. I’d been so desolate - so lost. There was nothing to save me from my own upset. Until now. This was the sunrise I watched now, the pure bliss that came into my heart and blossomed. We were the heroes of England, of all the Wizarding World, we could take a primate gone prodigy. Rose and Hugo would have to be guarded. Their Easter break was coming close - I imagined that some protections would be placed on our home.

l rose and went into the kitchen, but was stopped.

“Hermione, freeze,� Ron breathed, watching the grass behind me.

I turned stiffened, focusing my eyes solely on his face. Whatever the reason for his sudden fear, I didn’t care. I simply took in his soul, his essence, so vividly present by me. Ancient Greek philosophers believe that before we are even conceived, our souls are divided, and the other half resides in our “soulmate�, and that the ultimate achievement is to find your other half. Losing him almost destroyed me. Now I was completely whole again.

He and I watched each other, the moment a swelling symphony, the serenity i felt a passing pleasure. Then I turned, and everything was gone, even Ron.
****
THE POV OF LILY LUNA POTTER
****
DEAR DIARY -

There are few compliments I will readily bestow on my disastrous cousin, Rose. Her hair is often up, a sin against those beautiful locks that I everyday envy. Her face is always so pale, like she doesn’t even know how to use a Tanning Potion or even a jar of decent blush. She rarely displays her full potential (through the makeup I buy her EVERY year) and she’s always stuck in books. Aunt Hermione says that Rose is the more pretty version of herself in school. I don’t believe it. Aunt Hermione is GORGEOUS, and Rose is very, very plain.

Like I said, though, I do very much envy Rose’s hair. Unlike mine, it is thick and brown and shimmers like hair only does on Muggle magazines. It curls in the right places, and her bangs are naturally like wings across her forehead, straight and smooth.

Rose has often rebuked my constant offers to assist her in, er, her other skills. (i.e. finding boys, breaking boys’ hearts, and wearing enough makeup to not just be the braniac that no boy wants) Albus and Hugo told me that I am being a priss and a diva, but I honestly believe I’m the sole member of a righteous cause.

Lately, though, for obvious reasons, I’ve gone soft on the poor thing. Grief can be quite flattering, and it’s like she realized who she was, and how best to be that person. Suddenly she’s stunning and perfect, and we’re closer with so much more common ground to be had.

However nowadays, Scorpius Malfoy is paying my cos a LOT of attention. I’m quite put out. I’ve favored Scorpius since the first day on the platform, since Uncle Ron pointed him out as the ONLY boy that flirtatious little Lily was forbidden to pursue. Even out of respect for the very blessed dead, I can’t bring myself to no longer want him!

Then today the NEWS came. Uncle Ron is alive. After all the exultation and pleasure, la-dee-da-da-da, Rose went straight to Scorpius in the Ravenclaw dorms. (A Malfoy in Ravenclaw . . . yes) They’re a THING now, as he has been giving her more CONFIDENCE as she grieves and blah blah blah. Then the Howler arrived yesterday. Aunt Hermione’s been taken, and Uncle Ron is back in St. Mungo’s. (But really, what sort of invalid has THOSE pipes? Never heard such a loud Howler before, honestly!) Rose is not to see someone whose father was close to Goyle, who has Aunt Hermione. Now Rose and Scorpius are missing, too, and everything has fallen apart. Albus and Hugo blame me, and not even James, who I trust more than anyone, is on my side with the whole “good riddance� schpeel.

Dominique, or Mini, as I have called her since infanthood, thinks that we should go out, find Rose, and bring her back. We all know that Rose wants to play hero, find her mum, so on, so forth. All she’s REALLY doing is making Uncle Ron worse. He’s so stressed out, he has Hugo sleeping in his ward, and staying at Mum and Dad’s, rather than be at school, lest he run away to find his sister. Albus and James have told me that if I so much as sneak to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer, they’ll make sure I get the same surveillance treatment as Hugo.

But Mini and I have a plan.

-LILS

I cannot accurately describe my anger in that moment. When Ron shouted and I turned to stare at him, that moment of incandescent bliss nearly brought my feet out from underneath me. Then, in another heartbeat, I was grabbed from behind, ripped from Ron’s view, stolen from my sudden happy ending. They told me later that Ron had almost died in that minute, even when he was supposed to be dead already, but by some miracle was not.

I was brought to a home out in the country, a big manor that felt right out of a Jane Austen story. They locked me in the cellar, a cliché I’d hoped they’d avoid. I tried to emotionally detach my self from the world, seeing as how there was plenty of room for fear and sadness in that moment. I worried incessantly about Rose, and Hugo, and what would happen to them as the term drew to a close, and they came home to an empty house. I wished that all the evil in theworld had fallen when Voldemort did; that strike of final victory seemed ridiculously fruitless now. I wondered if dear old Harry was feeling guilty for everything that was happening to my family. Part of me hoped he did. I don’t enjoy admitting it, but I began to wish along time ago that because my best friend was so special, he’d fix everything that was wrong.

Goyle spoke to me of his plans for me and my family. We’d all die one-by-one, Hugo being the last to breathe on this earth, alone. I nearly killed him that time, but no luck.

He filled me in on what was happening. Ron was in the hospital. Rose had disappeared from school, along with the boyfriend I’d hoped she’d never have. Hugo was staying at the Burrow, where he was hardly safest. Harry was out looking for me, Ginny was out looking for Rose. Goyle’s name was a constant in the Auror office.

Then, one evening, he came in, and told me that the time had come. He raised his wand in striking closure-esque poise, and muttered a word that I thought would end everything.
****
ROSE
****
Scorpius is a man, meaning he can be clueless, narrow-minded, and he has a tendency to only harbor one goal at a time. His goal as we set out through a secret passageway in the middle of the night was to prove himself worthy of me in my father’s eyes. Being a Ravenclaw, he’s never been much for bravery, but now I saw a new side of him. His eyes shone with the prospect of adventure, darkened slightly by the sadness I felt with each footstep. Dad was alive, thank God or Merlin or the Fates or whatever, but Mum, as soon as the happy ending came about, was taken, and set to be killed. Hugo’s bright energy was severely shot with worry as he meandered the school hallways each day.

I had to put an end to it all. Everyone marked me as mediocre and selfish, and I had to prove them wrong. Then there was my secret motives: leaving would turn everyone from Lily’s fan club. My perfect little cousin had everyone sympathetic to her heartbreak at my “betrayal.� If I left, she’d get high and mighty about the good riddance bit, and people would worry about me, and miss me, and blame her.

We came out of the secret tunnel into the basement of Honeyduke’s, up the stairs into the shop, and out into the dark street. The evening was warm and lit by street lamps, with the occasional couple or drunk old men about.

Scorpius took a deep breath, and stepped into the road, holding out his wand. Then he scrambled backwards as a giant purple bus materialized in the street, wobbling uneasily and creating loud popping noises. The few people up the lane spun around at the sudden excitement, only to see the Knight Bus and dismiss it.

I climbed up the stairs, hood over my face, discreetly giving the bus boy the fifteen Sickles. He began to speak, but Scorpius shook his head and gave him another fifteen. The young man pocketed them, gazing curiously at us before turning back to Ern.

I climbed the stairs slowly as the bus lurched, and Scorpius and I took beds on either side of the room, in case anyone we knew came on, so the whole “a Malfoy with a Weasley� ordeal didn’t add to the “why aren’t you in school� fiasco. I gazed out the window, breathing slowly, as the means of transportation rocked back and forth. Then I drifted to sleep, imagining that I was in a peaceful hammock, and the coolness on my face was a tropical breeze, rather than a stuck window with the night air rushing through it.

Louis and Victoire Weasley have one thing in common; they both seriously underestimate their middle sibling. Dominique, or Mini, as I normally address her, is cunning and mischievous and clever, behind a convincing façade of silliness, shyness, and blandness. I am one of the only people that recognize her potential as a dastardly partner in crime, and, being rare in nature, I take advantage of that quite a bit.

This was one of those times.

When Rose disappeared with the once-heavenly Scorpius, accusations, as I told you, turned directly to me. Something about my impertinence being “the last straw� and ultimately “driving them away� from the safety of Hogwarts. With Aunt Hermione M.I.A. and Uncle Ron incapable of even providing a proper hug, it seemed the target that now haunted the family would be turned on Rose and Hugo. Hugo was put under watchful lockdown, but freespirited Rose escaped before the same could be done to her. So naturally, I took it unto myself to return her to her rightful place - controlled. Imprisoned. Studious, uninteresting. Uncle Ron would probably place her in solitary confinement for running off with a Malfoy.

Security at Hogwarts had tightened, but we weren’t escaping an obvious route. I tricked Andy Longbottom into helping me gain access to the Floo in the Transfiguration professor’s office, then Mini and I snuck up there after dinner one night, after a Quidditch match that was so shocking in its outcome that every House was either partying or mourning to the point of apathy. We alerted the professor to the party that was happening in our own house, so he stomped off to the common room, believing us to be in tow. We fell back and hurried to the mantel, grabbing fistfuls each of powder and hurriedly tossing it in the flames. I decided that Rose’s house would be the first place to look, so Mini and I directed ourselves there, falling out of the fireplace on the other side in shock to see who stood there, wand pointed at our noses, face alive with fear, and sadness.

When they recognized us, their wand fell to their side, and they fell onto their recliner with an air of defeat. “How in the name of Merlin does everyone escape school these days?� Uncle Ron hissed, burying his head in his hands.

I shook with worry. We were in for it.

Mini straightened. “We want to find your daughter. We’re so worried about our dear cousin, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione, and you.�

“How did you get out of Mungo’s, Uncle Ron? I thought you were dealing with the after-effects of an unknown curse that you were hit by when they took Aunt Hermione,� I spoke up, feeling suddenly suspicious. Uncle Ron was real chipper, for someone who could be taken as dead only week or two ago, then nearly dying for real even more recently. Very upright.

Mini caught on to my fear. “What was the name of the Chudley Cannons player who had the record for Most Quaffle Drops in the ‘97/’98 season?�

Uncle Ron lifted his head and fixed Mini with a glare quite unlike anything I’d ever seen him wear before. “How am I to know that? I hate the Cannons, just as I hate all Weasleys, for what they did to me.�

The effects of Polyjuice Potion take an hour to wear off. How long had the impostor been here, I wondered, as the red hair shrank to a black military cut, and the body widened, and the freckles melted into a menacing tan.

“Goyle,� Mini gasped, and I recognized him too. He was the villain that stalked my favorite aunt and uncle and cousin, and Rose, as well. He was the one who had destroyed the stamina of everyone I knew with the faked death of Ron Weasley. He was the reason fear bubbled now inside me, fear of death and fear of the effects our deaths would have.

He pulled out his wand again, his beady eyes filled with hatred as they fell on Mini. “The French Weasley and the werewolfy Weasley’s second spawn, Dominique,� he said, each word is a spit as he identified her. Then he turned to me. “The Potter daughter of the Weasley girl and the boy who ended any hope I had of acceptance.�

“If you kill us, you’ll only make it harder to find Rose and Hugo, or to reach any of our family. It will send a message to the world to be ready to catch you or defend themselves from you. You’ll never get a chance at victory. They’ll trace you to Aunt Hermione. You’ll die in Azkaban. You’ll rot with failure!�

The words fell from my lips like rain from a black sky. Easily.

He raised his wand at us, and I heard words, though his lips weren’t moving yet.

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!!� Rose yowled, coming up behind him and nailing him in the back with a spell. He toppled over.

“Rose!� I cried, unsure of how to proceed. Mini shot me a look of identical perplexity. She’d just saved our lives.

Scorpius ran in behind her, halting at the sight of the man on the ground and us, standing there in all kinds of awkwardness. “Lily! Dominique! How did you two get here? Did you leave school?�

I ignored him, and gathered up the courage to speak directly to my cousin. “Rose, I came to get you. You left when the two of us were in a bad way, and everyone is blaming me for your disappearance, and your dad is even worse now that you’ve put yourself in harm’s way as well.� I cast Goyle a look. His eyes searched my face frantically, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Rose let her guard down much further, he’d break free of the enchantment, and one of us would die.

“Lily, you can’t honestly expect me to come back just so you can restore your reputation as everyone’s angel. And I know Dad will worry about me, but everything will be fine again once I get this to tell me where my mum is!!� she shouted back, her wand still pointed at Goyle, but I knew it wouldn’t take much for the instrument to swivel in my direction.

Scorpius was eyeing me knowingly. Hadn’t he been the one, to, for weeks, let me down easily about any potential between us? He knew the true reason I’d gone out to bring Rose back, and I had a burst of intuition tell me Rose knew too. Maybe even Mini.

“We’re staying here and we’re making Goyle tell us why Mrs. Weasley was taken and where. Lily, you’re only a first year. What could you expect to do? And Dominique, how could you consent to bring her out here? I think you both need to go back to Hogwarts before you escalate everything. Please.�

I gave him a pleading look, and he returned it with steady anger and a third year’s wisdom. I knew he would die if it meant Rose would be happy. I knew if I asked him to even pull a twig off the end of his broom to prove any affections towards me, he’d laugh in my face. My whole expedition for glory and love was pointless. I was wrong.

This only fueled my resolve. “Rose, come with us. I’m begging you.�

She shook her head, staring me down with all coldness possible. “I’m not missing out on my chance for an adventure like our parents had, Lily. I’m not just playing hero, here, I will be one. Go back to Hogwarts. Please.�

I turned, feeling upset about everything in my life, then, as Rose knelt to drag Goyle somewhere to interrogate him, I gave Dominique a signal I’d devised before we left. Stun her. Dominique, in all confusion, did as I asked, aiming right at Rose’s torso. Rose toppled backwards onto Scorpius, and Goyle rose menacingly, watching Rose with thirst in his eyes.

Scorpius stood and moved in front of Rose, his eyes gleaming with a dare. A dare to touch what he . . . loved. I gaped at the scene, fear and heartbreak burning in the back of my throat like breakfast sausages sometimes did around lunch. Mini shot a look at me, telling me to do something, guilt alive in her beauty like nothing else.

I breathed slowly. “What a pretty night it is, Mr. Goyle. A bit like the night your mate Crabbe died, right? Full moon, bright stars. Bella notte, eh?�

He turned to me. “This hatred isn’t only fueled by the death of a close friend, Lily Potter. Who’s to say that close friend is even dead? Fiendfyre doesn’t kill - it paralyzes. That’s what happened to Crabbe. He was believed to be deceased by the entire wizarding world. So he and I went to work, planning a return of dark magic’s reign. A return of triumph. His faked death was what inspired me to go after the man and woman who affect Harry Potter the most - Ron and Hermione Weasley. But you, your mum, and your brothers are next, so I’ll compromise.�

Rose’s scream echoed around my head, and the only thought I could think was this: “What a beautiful night.� Bella Notte.

The world has changed since I was young. People I once knew have changed. Places I once loved are gone.

I have always had an easy intuition about where my life will go. When I was young, I decided I wanted to save someone’s life, be saved by a dashing hero, play Quidditch, marry the dashing hero, and have at least one son and one daughter. I decided that someday I’d master a hex powerful enough to make even my brothers squirm. I decided that I’d make Mum and Dad realize I wasn’t just the youngest child, the only daughter.

I saved many lives, was rescued from Riddle’s diary by the saviour of the wizarding world, played Quidditch for the Harpies, for England, and for Puddlemere United, (that was brief and painful but necessarily noted) married the saviour of the wizarding world, had two sons and one daughter, mastered the Bat-Bogey Hex in third year, and led the DA like none of my brothers could and like neither of my parents would be brave enough to allow me to do. I achieved all my goals, lived life to the fullest, and still my life was dominated by grief, whether I be happy, sad, joyful, or defeated. Fred, Tonks, and Lupin haunted my steps everyday. Tonks, my good friend and mentor. Fred, my favorite brother. Lupin, Harry’s last connection to his father.

When news came to me from Harry that Ron was dead, I knew immediately that the two of us would have to be strong. Our grief would be powerful, but Hermione’s heartbreak would be crushing. Our brother was gone, though, and when we were alone at night, staring into each other’s faces, all we could do was hold each other close, trying to hold ourselves in one piece, sobbing into each other’s shoulders and breathing quickly to stifle the choke of lost peace.

I was just getting home that night from James’ game at Hogwarts when the post from Hermione came. Ron was alive.

The next post arrived soon after. Don’t come, we want to be alone.

The next post came the next morning. Ron was at St. Mungo’s, and Hermione was gone.

By the afternoon, Minerva’s owl from the school got to Harry and I. Rose was gone, and Scorpius Malfoy was with her.

A week after, there was another Quidditch game, but we decided not to go. It was a tie-breaker from one that had taken place last term, and we were in a mess about Hermione and Ron and Rose. Then, that evening, the final owl came, one that left Harry and I in the arms of one another, struggling to breathe, struggling to do anything but love and weep and worry.

Lily was gone, gone after Rose and Scorpius, and she’d taken Bill’s girl, Dominique, with her.

When I could open my eyes and stare about me and be calm again, Harry and I Apparated to St. Mungo’s, to Ron. We’d spent an entire day with him and two half days, and his condition hadn’t changed at all. He’d been hit with a curse of extreme paralysis of several organs and their functions, but the curse moved around within his body, so the Healers couldn’t localize the pain and the problems. They said it was only a matter of time before the curse reached his heart or his lungs, and there was little they could do.

They’d brought Hugo to the hospital and given him an armchair to sit in, and he spent the nights under Mum’s care at the Burrow. Percy’s daughter Lucy, who was nine, stayed there sometimes too, trying to keep Hugo company. Audrey worked as a receptionist on the Spell Damage floor, so Lucy came in with her.

He rose as we came in, and ran to Harry, who scooped him up in a warm hug. “Everything will be fine, buddy, I promise,� I whispered, coming up and rubbing his back like Hermione did.

Hugo’s face was alive with tears. His mum was kidnapped, his sister was off trying to play hero, and his father was here, with him, but dying.

“You can’t make that promise, Aunt Ginny,� he told me, turning to Ron.

I moved to my brother’s side, wishing I could scare him into a full recovery. “Damn it, Ronald, if you weren’t an invalid I’d hex you right now for making me worry about you so.�

Ron’s eyes opened and he smiled slowly. “I know. Any word on Rose?� he croaked, looking over my shoulder at his oldest friend.

Harry shook his head, sighing. “None on Lily, now, either.�

The familiar tone of Ron cussing rang around the room.

*****
Harry and I left the hospital late and went to the school, where we removed James and Albus from their Quidditch party and took them home, where they were under strict watch. I sent a Patronus to Lily, praying she’d receive it and do nothing rash. (Besides leaving Hogwarts in a time where the heirs of the Order were being stalked by a bloodthirsty, shockingly cunning, unpredictable ex-Death Eater.)

The news came the morning after that. Lily and Dominique had been found on the floor of Ron and Hermione’s parlor, force-fed the Draught of Living Death. There were signs of a struggle. Priori Incantatem showed that Dominique’s wand had Stunned someone.

We followed the girls to St. Mungo’s, happy they were safe but worried to death about their conditions. The Healers said that Lily had a better chance of awaking than Dominique did.

Harry’s face was slack the entire time. I remembered Hermione telling me that the first potion that the Half-Blood Prince helped him with was the Draught of Living Death. He’d won a vial of Felix Felicis for his achievement.

I held Lily’s hand and tried to breathe. Why was my world, so carefully constructed, so beautifully planned, falling apart?
****
ROSE’s POV
****
I watched in awe as Scorpius was hit again with the Cruciatus Curse, my stomach crumbling as he wailed for them to stop hurting me. He was the one being tortured.

We’d been brought somewhere together, Crabbe holding my arms pinned to my shoulder blades while Scorpius was slowly tortured by a faceless demon.

My face was cold and my heart was pounding. They needed Hugo and Dad, but they could still have some fun with us before they had my entire family.

I was still shaky from the same treatment earlier, and I sighed in relief when they release Scorpius from the curse and he lay on the floor, hyperventilating and recovering slowly. Crabbe released my arms, and we were left alone.

“Where do you think Lily is?� I asked worriedly, wondering where Lily and Dominique and my mother were.

Scorpius shook his head and pulled me closer. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Draco will find us and your brother and cousins and mum will all be okay, I promise.�

I was trying desperately not to die. I knew that the Healers here had dismissed me as a goner, but I was adamant against breathing any last breaths - there was too much to live for, to save.

Harry told me that the ransom note for my daughter, my wife, and my daughter’s boyfriend had arrived at the Auror office yesterday, with demands for Blaise Zabini to be released from Azkaban, and for Draco Malfoy to give Goyle a sum of two thousand Galleons, as payback for turning him in to Magical Law Enforcement as a proven Death Eater.

He wanted nothing from me except for me to die on this hospital bed and leave them all vulnerable. Allow Hermione to die of sorrow and pain, and to leave my little girl to whatever torture he was already administering. I imagined rising from this torture chamber and marching into whatever hovel they were being kept in, rescuing them from pain like I’d rescued Hermione from Malfoy Manor, all those years ago.

Naïve. We’d been so naïve. To think that by ending Voldemort, somehow all our troubles would vanish. To think that by eliminating one link in the chain that was Dark Magic throughout history, we were eliminating all of it. How could we have been so ridiculously sure of our safety?

Harry and Ginny came for only a few minutes to half an hour each day now, because Lily was on an upper floor, unable to awake after being force-fed a Draught of Living Death. They told me that Albus and James were entertaining Hugo at Mum and Dad’s place, and that Mum didn’t want him hanging around me, looking pale and frightened. Dad came in everyday, and brought laughter and candy, something that I missed. Mum came in with him once or twice, but her doting worry was too much for me to handle.

I knew it was only a matter of time before this damned spell reached my brain or my heart. Already I had so many bodily issues (losing both kidneys for a day does that to you) that I could die the instant blood wasn’t pumping anymore. But I wasn’t afraid for myself - I was afraid for my family.

After the war, it had taken a matter of hours to, even after only two kisses, decide that I wanted Hermione to marry me. When I asked and she said yes, I decided that the rest of my life would be blissful. I was stupid.

When Hermione was kidnapped a few years after the Battle, I realized the world was still a dangerous place, but I was comforted by the fact that it was still not as bad as it had been when old Voldy was at large. Then this. Waking up after five weeks of being dead does something to you - you realize that the world is a dangerous place, no matter what Horcrux-making “Dark� wizards get offed by your best friend.

I felt like, in my insistance that the world was all right again, I’d brought about my wife’s abduction, and my daughter’s rush to save her. By doing little to truly protect our family, I’d failed them all.

****
ROSE’s POV
****
Scorpius was bleeding at the mouth, and as our torturers left the room again, I dove to his side and held my sleeve to the trickle.

He glanced at me deliriously. “You make me feel better.�

His dopey, dithering affection brought an unexpected smile to my face. “I know,� I told him, moving my hand from his mouth to his forehead as he came to, and the fear in his eyes steeled again.

“Rose, I’m going to get you out of this,� he told me, standing.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Malfoy, I intend for both of us to ‘get out of this,’� I hissed, standing up next to him and putting his lips on mine, ignoring the small ringing in the back of my head . . . You’re only fourteen. You’re only fourteen.

“Crucio,� I heard Goyle rasp as he came back in, and I fell to the floor, excruciating shivers running up and down my body. I felt tears well in my eyes, I felt my blood vessels burn, and then it was over. I rose quickly and turned to see Scorpius take a swing at our captor’s jaw, grab my hand, and pull me away as he went in for a kick to the gut.

Goyle pulled the wand on Scorpius, only for him to snatch it and kick him again.

I dove for the door, trying to wrench it open, as Goyle had locked it behind him. I heard voices on the other side, harsh laughter. “Forget your key again, did you, Greg?�

More men. We’d never escape.

The door opened and two burly thugs stood there, eyeing me with distasteful amusement.

“Pretty one, that,� they said. “Is this who Greg’s been keeping locked up in the cellar?�

I stepped back, feeling for Scorpius, only to have my wrists grabbed from behind. I swiveled my head, and saw Scorpius lying on the ground, there, his nose caked in fresh and dry blood, his eyes unfocused.

“This one’s yours, if you want her,� Goyle sneered. “I’ll put the boy with the old woman and we can finish them off together. Do what you want with the girl.�

The thugs liked this idea, and I started to scream. Wordless, mind you, but hopefully loud enough that Scorpius would come to and save me. Why wouldn’t he save me?

His eyes popped open right as the cellar door slammed behind us, and the world went dark, as I was pulled to my death and the last horrors of my life.

****
HERMIONE’S POV
****
Draco Malfoy, age thirteen. I saw him in the young man tossed into my prison. Maybe a bit more determined and kind, but reminiscient of the child I’d known in third year.

“Are you Mrs. Weasley?� he asked me, coughing and sitting up.

“Mrs. Weasley was my mother-in-law. Call me Hermione. Are you Scorpius Malfoy?� I asked him, knowing the answer.

“Yes. Umm, Mrs. Weas- Hermione, I’m dating your daughter,� he coughed, and I reeled at the statement. Rose, dating a Malfoy? Was he in Gryffindor, or Slytherin, or neither? Was he kind or like his father? Was he using her?

If they were dating, was she here, now? The thought chilled me. Not my Rose.

“Where is she?� I gasped, fearing what his words would be.

“We were being held together, but we tried to fight back, and I got knocked out, and two of Goyle’s thugs took her away,� he moaned, the fear and sadness and desolation in his voice heartbreaking. He truly loved her. How old was he? Fourteen, like Rose? I wish I’d figured out how I’d felt about Ron that early on - life would have been much easier in school for us. Maybe not for Harry, but that was besides the point.

“We’ll get her back, Scorpius, I promise,� I told him, coming next to him and rubbing his arm. I wondered what Astoria Malfoy was like, and if she was crying over her misplaced son as we spoke and I comforted him. I decided then that I would make sure I saw Rose and Hugo again, and that Astoria and Scorpius were reunited.

My father will hear about this, I thought with a small grin. Rose’s mum said that was Dad’s catchphrase during their time at Hogwarts, and I knew why: Dad revered my grandfather. I hardly felt the same about ol’ Draco, in fact I never called him Dad but inside my own head. The degree of separation between us was never enough.

Sitting on the floor of a dark room, I listened to those thugs torture the only thing I’d ever loved. I knew I was only fourteen, and that love was fleeting at this age, but I loved Rose. She was small and fiery, her long hair a delicious brunette, her bright eyes stricken with happiness whenever my own gaze met them. She had Weasley freckles and Weasley mischief. She did not, however, have Weasley hatred for me and my family, and that was one of the most precious things about her. She was brave, braver than most girls I knew, and the last thing she would do to a person was loathe or despise them. She was hasty, eager to forgive, and be forgiven. When she was mildly upset, she was in great pain.

I knew her so well. We’d been close friends since our fathers forbade us from being anything at all on the platform our first year, and we were together since the beginning of third year. I knew her young cousin Lily, a redheaded first year with a decided agenda, had had a crush on me since then as well. We’d laugh about it each night in the Room of Requirement, our eyes tearing as we put couples together out of our acquaintances. I was a born people-pleaser; I’d laugh at myself later for the feminine act of matchmaking, but simply joining in the activity to make Rose smile was one of the greatest joys in the world.

Her mum liked me, I knew. She’d had the natural suspicion of my surname and family, but accepted me as a lingering part of her life. I loved her daughter - five years from then, I planned to marry her. But I couldn’t marry a corpse. I had to rescue Rose, and her mother, and seek retribution for her father’s pain and near loss of life. I couldn’t see more tears run down her face. i just couldn’t.

I listened to her screams, the low chuckles of her abusers. I heard the scuffling and I thought desperately of escaping my own confinement to go free her and escape with her in my arms. To carry her back to her home, where her parents would love her and her little brother would annoy her and I’d care for her until there were no sorrows left to plague her. She’d play Quidditch and she’d read Muggle fiction and she’d tell me off for my crass language.

I was a born Ravenclaw, though, thinking through a strategic rescue, but fearing injury or death. She was the brave one, and I was too weak to accomplish victory.

I turned my head after all these ponderings, to glance at her mum. Rose and Mrs. Weas- Hermione - were very alike. I saw the motherly love and fear in her eyes, no thought of self-preservation in her mind. Rose told me once that there was only one person in the world who her mum secretly disliked, and it was herself. Rose, through her tears at her father’s supposed death a few months before, said that Ron and Hermione Weasley were very much in love.

I imagined Rose’s dad in a hospital bed, feeling helpless to save his abducted wife, lover, and teenage sweetheart, much as I was helpless to save my young girlfriend. I saw pain in Hermione’s eyes at her helplessness when it came to saving her daughter, helping her husband, and protecting her son.

How could I be cowardly in the presence of such a family, of a family I had ambitions to join someday? I could never leave Rose unprotected, at least I had previously assumed I couldn’t.

I rose and went to Hermione. She pulled me into a motherly embrace, and my mind drifted to a forbidden place. The place I’d ignored for the past few weeks - the place where I thought of my mother. Astoria Malfoy. She despised my grandparents and loved my father, but only a little bit. Their marriage had been an elopement. She’d loved other men since then, and I sometimes entertained the idea that she still loved my father, even if he was a moody old git who’d peaked at fifteen and missed out on midlife crisis. She loved me, but we’d talked very little since I went off to Hogwarts. My most meaningful relationship was with my grandmother, who’d saved Rose’s uncle’s life. She was once a Death Eater, but now she was a bestselling author and kept my grandfather alive from his many health failures.

Hermione was watching the door. “I’m sorry for your mum, she must be worrying about you.� Was she a Legilimens? She was clever enough, I supposed.

“You could say that.�

She raised her eyebrows at this, but said nothing.

That was when the men burst in, a bloody figure hanging limply between them, her face wild with fear and agony, but mercifully alive. They tossed her onto the floor, and one of them pointed a wand at her, while the other stepped on her shoulder.

“Both of you. Stand,� Goyle demanded, not once taking his eyes of Rose.

Hermione was shaking with anger, but she stood. I followed suit, though slower, and more cautious.

My girlfriend lay shivering on the concrete, inches from death, beaten and bloody, her clothes ripped to shreds. “What have you DONE?� I screamed at my father’s childhood friend, wanting desperately to wring his neck and bring an axe through his gut.

“It’s all business,� he spat, pulling his own wand out and pointing it at me. “Now, I have specific orders from old Crabby to send you back to your cowardly, groveling, sniveling father, and let you live. I’d love to comply, but I’m a doer not a thinker. So I think I’ll send Mrs. Weasley instead, back to her husband so she can watch him die. Then you, Scorpius, can watch little Rosie go the same way as her father. Good plan? Everyone happy? All righty then, load up the carriages.�

Hermione gasped in indignation, and when they tried to escort us out, she made a hole in a thug’s smile. They tossed Rose’s limp form onto my weight, and I carefully supported her, glad to have her in my arms again but aching to relieve her of all the pain she was feeling. She was shaking terribly, and she didn’t recognize my face. She didn’t struggle, she simply whimpered for me not to hurt her.

They’d taken her away, even though I still held her securely in my arms. I tried not to weep, for her sake, but many small tears escaped their ducts and ran down my face.

She was the only thing I’d ever really loved, and by loving her, I’d destroyed myself.

****
GINNY’s POV
****
Lily was unresponsive to every treatment the Healers wheeled into her ward. She was peaceful, though, for once, and I took comfort in pulling the hairs of her face and caressing her forehead, holding her hand and talking to her sleeping form. She hadn’t been so tenderly quiet since she was five.

Harry was in and out, loyalties split between his daughter and my brother. To me, there was pain in separation from my dying older brother, but I couldn’t leave Lily’s side, for fear of her waking up alone and in a nightmare. Ron was chipper and bright, hiding his morose, selfless fear for Hermione.

Each night, we went back to the Burrow, so James and Albus and Mum and Hugo and Dad and Harry and I could all hold each other and breathe slowly. By early morning, we were back at St. Mungo’s, back and forth between Ron and Dominique and Lily.

I didn’t try to imagine how this plot would end, how my world would change, who I’d lose and who I’d keep, who I’d weep with at the end and who I’d weep with. But I kept a brave face on for my friend and sister-in-law, for my daughter and nieces, for my brother and for my family who was simply sad and withdrawn. The world was changing - it had been since the day Ron died. Where would I end up?

****
RON’s POV
****
I awoke to Ginny and Hugo that morning, and Ginny told me gently that nothing had changed, not with my nieces, or my wife and daughter, or even my daughter’s boyfriend. I held Ginny’s hand as she told me my digestive system was failing now, and they were pumping nutrients straight into my bloodstream. I cursed Goyle and I cursed Crabbe and I cursed myself for not being a better Auror. For not being a better father. A better husband. Lover.

Around noon, Mum came by to pat my cheek and kiss my forehead, like I was a child whose teddy bear was suddenly a spider or who’d broken a bone. When she left she took my young son with her, his parting words to me being “Dad, you’re a hero, and heroes never die.� I held him close and tousled his hair before watching him leave in my Mum’s embrace.

Ginny left me for Lily soon after that, her fear for her daughter too great to leave the girl alone for an entire day. The Healers asked me if I wanted anything - I asked them to bring a book.

I spent the day reading Hogwarts, A History and crying over Hermione’s notes in the margins. They’d given me her copy. How it had gotten to them, I had no idea. By dinnertime, I was feeling worse, a fire burning in my torso, behind my navel. Damn magic. Damn curses. Damn Goyle.

The lights went off earlier than usual, but I couldn’t sleep, and for the first time in a week I refused the sleeping spells. The Healers shook their heads at my case.

The noises started around midnight, echoing down the halls. Sobbing, harsh tones, whispered comfort. I sat up right as my door swung open, and Goyle walked in, hand at Hermione’s neck, Hermione’s face dirty and bruised, Hermione’s eyes searching desperately for mine.

“You have five minutes for a reunion before that curse of mine reaches his lungs and we discover how long he can hold his breath,� Goyle chuckled, and coldness spread over my body. Shock, too, as I felt my wife’s hand on mine. The door slammed behind him.

“Ronald, if you die on me I will flay you alive,� she spat into my ear, clambering onto the bed and holding my neck so my face was inches from hers. She curled into my side and wept into my shoulder. “Ron, they brought me here so I could see you die, and then they’ll come and kill me and Ginny and Harry, and Rose will die and they’ll find Hugo, and I can’t let any of that happen but I’m helpless.�

“I love you,� I told her softly, feeling the fire fade in my torso, feeling it start to migrate.

“Ron, no,� she hissed, sitting up. She looked haggard and bruised but beautiful, and I struggled to obey.

“Ron, no, what?� I asked her, whispering to conserve the breath I had left.

“Don’t give up on me and Rose and Hugo, please, Ron. Don’t leave us in a world where there’s only pain,� she whispered back, putting her arm around my neck and kissing my lips.

“I could never do that to you,� I answered. “Find a cure, braniac. Find a cure for this curse, and Goyle will never touch you again, I swear it.�

She nodded and sat up, wiping her tears. “You have five minutes to live, maybe more. How long can you hold you breath?�

“As long as I need to,� I coughed, reaching feebly for my wand. She smiled and kissed my cheek, then raced out of the room.

I lay back and felt the fire move through my torso slowly, the burning destruction, the elusive blackness that had stemmed from a weapon like the one I held in my hand. A wand.

It was just like before. When I was near death, my thoughts got deep. What an odd form of deliriousness.

I charged down the hall, my entire life coming to this moment. I had once feared losing him, I had once lost him, and he had just lost me. Now, though, we had an ephemeral chance to be together, and I was not going to waste it.

A Healer saw me, and I told him about the thugs in a single breath before racing to the research department, heading straight for Ron’s file, and pulling it open.

File. Life. File. I threw my eyes down the page, my heart aching as I imagined him muttering spell after spell in an attempt to give me time, in an attempt to give himself more life. I couldn’t help thinking how we’d reached this point of agony. Had twenty years of ease been quite enough? Were we subject to many more years of suffering?

Paralysis Letalis. Lethal paralysis. Damn brains, damn Goyle getting some. Only known cure: bone marrow of a dragon bred by the wizard sect of Soviet Russia, extinct since the nuclear meltdown at Chernobyl. I felt my heart sink.

“I’ve always wanted to see true love in its truest form - anguish. Maybe that’s why I targeted the two of you first, I guess. To see what several adjustments to one perfect life could do,� I heard Goyle say. I heard the thump of a body, and thought of Ron, or the Healer I’d sent to deliver me from his thugs. I thought of Rose, or Scorpius, or Lily, or Mini. Any number of people that he’d targeted, that had fallen.

“You can’t hurt me anymore than you already have,� I told him bravely, thinking of my wand. Thinking of turning and killing him. Thinking of destroying every last cell of his body. Thinking of the havoc that my brilliance had always granted me, but that I had always turned down. Is this what it took to want to kill? The necessary skills, and uncontrollable, love-spawned anger. I felt my fingers clutch the filing cabinet. I felt them grip the corners, eager to lift. I felt my muscles prepare, and my head start to turn, the hair spinning around as I thrust the metal object across the room, diving to the ground as the box became airborne, and Goyle ducked. Common sense said blast it from the air, make it fall, make it smash. But Goyle had none, and he ducked as I did, as I let my eyes fall on this recent victim.

Scorpius. Beaten, bruised, bloody. Barely breathing. I dove to him, and he coughed, his eyes opening. “Mrs. Weasley . . . Rose . . .�

I took his hand and pulled him to his feet, running as I did so and trying to bring the boy along with me. He stumbled, his gaze locking on mine. It hurt, physically hurt, to see one so young so filled with grief and pain as this child did. I’d prayed that by ending Voldemort’s reign, we’d be putting a stop to this. No such luck for anyone I loved.

“Hermione, she’s gone.�

I didn’t hear him. I lost his words on an overwhelming silence, borne on the pounding beats of my heart, the roaring rush of blood in my body. The sounds of life, I realized. The sounds I was striving to restore to my broken family. I pulled my daughter’s boyfriend with me around the corner from the file room and slid to the floor, imagining Ron casting spells as his breath shivered out slower and slower, holding himself to this Earth so I could rush back with the answer, as I had for most of my life. I closed my eyes to brace against the tears. I let Scorpius’ words in now. Rose was gone.

I imagined my wand, and I imagined clutching it between my hands, power and poise rushing back to me. I’d always been the clever one, and my brain now told me that lightning didn’t strike twice on people with problems like ours.

For a moment, I was seventeen again, and Ron was by my side, and we had an entire future in front of us, possible. I didn’t know if I’d live to have kids, only that if I did, it would mean that the world was peaceful.

Draco’s son sat at my side, equally broken over the death of my daughter. I struggled to breathe, to maintain some type of normality. I imagined Hugo, and his face while he slept. He’d be sleeping right now, out at the Burrow, unprotected. Goyle would go there next. I shivered, picturing him shaken awake, told the truth, and destroyed.

“Granger . . . your husband doesn’t have much time!� I heard the enemy call, and I put my hand on Scorpius’ leg.

“Can you run?� I hissed to him.

“Don’t wanna,� he said, tears vanishing, eyes steeling, face hardening. Goyle had manifested a monster.

“Is she really . . .� I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. “Scorpius, where is Rose?�

He shook his head, standing, moving to fight. “They told me to give up, that she was already gone. That I should move on. Run back to my daddy and tell him what the bullies did.�

“She isn’t dead,� I breathed, standing, a new fire in me.

“She doesn’t have long, and they vanished with her again.�

I took his hand and tore down the hallway, back to Ron’s room, imagining the people in the other wards, sleeping obliviously, hoping to be healed quickly.

I tore back in, and the sight that met my eyes made me stumble back, shocked, confused.

Ron was standing, his arms around Rose, who was beaten, bruised, groggy, and alive. I gasped.

“The curse was lifted!� Ron cried, ignorant of the villains beyond the door, aware only of our reunion and the end of his pain.

“Scorpius!� Rose sobbed, pulling him into an embrace.

I saw fury flash on Ron’s face, but it passed quickly at a glance at me.

“Ron, Goyle probably lifted it, he’s in the hallway, he’s coming,� I told them, taking Rose from Scorpius and holding her to my chest. I felt her shiver a breath into my heart.

“We should get out of here,� Ron told me, glancing sideways at the newcomer, Scorpius. “We need to get to Hugo.�

I nodded my head, then stuck it out the door. Goyle was nowhere to be seen, and that made me nervous. What made me even more nervous was why they’d released Rose, and why Ron was healed. I was uneasy.

I saw my discomfort reflected in my husband’s eyes. How terrible could it be, to wonder if your miraculous recovery was a ploy to kill your family? I went to him and kissed him, thinking of hope and the way we’d overcome worse before. When we stood together in victory later, Harry would laugh and wish he’d been in on the action. This was no different that what life at Hogwarts had been like, was it?

Rose and Scorpius were holding hands, and I knew Ron was doing his best to ignore it, given the situation. We had to escape, not lecture our daughter on who she was allowed to date, and when.
****
ROSE’s POV
****
I was happy. Mum obviously believed this turn of events in our favor was a trap. I saw the wheels in her lovely head whirring. But I was happy. Scorpius was at my side, my parents were together and well, and Hugo was miles from me, where I liked him. Maybe Lily and Dominique were upstairs, sleeping but not waking. Maybe there was a crazy, murderous thug searching for us in the hallways, his perverted goons in tow. But I was safe for now, and in that safety, I was content.

Then we all heard it. I think Mum turned first, her eyes burning with determination. Whatever happened next, this saga of pain would end, she would make sure of that. They wouldn’t touch Hugo.

It was the sound of men laughing, deep laughs, deep chuckles, deep rumbles of thirst for revenge. They had us cornered.

Dad stuck out his head out, and then yanked it back in as a curse flew past him and into the room. It was silvery in nature, and left a crater on the drywall behind Scorpius’ head. He ran to my side, and dragged me into a corner, behind the overturned hospital bed. Mum and Dad took up positions on either side of the door, and I saw a look of true love and companionship pass between them - one of decades of togetherness. Scorpius’ hand was warm against mine. This was what I’d always wished for - true love, an adventure to rival that of my parents. What would the ending be? Who would I lose?

Goyle appeared in the doorway, his eyes shifting from my father to my mother, and back again. It was then that I realized my mum didn’t have a wand. I wanted to cry out, but Scorpius restrained me, pulling me down, further into hiding. The contentness’ last touch left me, and I felt hot tears roll down my face. I shut my eyes tight and sent myself to Grandma Weasley’s kitchen at the Burrow, to laughter at Uncle George and Uncle Charlie and their ridiculous antics against Dad and Uncle Percy. I sent myself to the dorms and my four poster and my friends, who would be wondering where I was - who would be fearing for me like a second family.

Scorpius’ face was inches from mine. We were together, and we were touching, and we were free. We were breathing. He drew me in, and an embrace was what bound us - and I tried to shut my ears to the hiss of villainy that I heard echo from outside.

Mum didn’t have a wand.

There was a scuffle, and a bang, and more people came in, and there were shouts of pain, grief, and anger. Names were screamed in pain and anger. Scorpius clutched me tighter. We hid, cowards, young, afraid.

When finally a hand found me, it was soft and smooth. I looked up, into Lily’s tears, and I knew whatever had been plaguing us for so long was over.

Dad and Mum stood in the center in the room, their bodies entertwined as they kissed passionately, uncaring about my wellbeing, or anyone else’s. What they had was so real.

When they finally released to find me, I was folded into their hug. We could live now. The last vestiges of evil would draw their grips from my parents’ lives - this world would be good to them now. And that was all I could ever have wanted.

Ron jerked back, and I swallowed a warning that I’d been about to shout. I swung my hand to my pocket, and the lack of a thin wooden stick, smooth against my rough fingers, brought tears to my eyes. Ron saw that it was gone, saw my horror, and gave me a long stare of overwhelming fear. I’d lost him. He’d lost me. We were together, again, after years of bipolar friendship, after years of love.

I wanted to hold his hand and feel like it was an anchor to bravery. When was the last time we’d fought like this for our lives? Where was Harry? He’d be upset, later, at the idea of us fighting without him at our sides.

Goyle came in first, and I reacted instinctively, jumping on him and trying to grab his wand. He stabbed his wand into the air towards where Rose and Scorpius were hiding, and I dove and pulled it towards the wall. A bolt of red light left a crater in the drywall. I choked back the horror of that crater being where my daughter sat in the arms of her boyfriend.

I heard a shout, and with a well-placed elbow to the middle of Goyle’s spine, I stood, and saw Ron, and Harry, fighting his three goons. Ginny was in the hall, firing spell after spell into the corridor I couldn’t see. Then there was silence, and we were all staring at each other over the frozen forms of our enemies. Lily came from behind an overturned desk in the hallway, followed by Dominique. Ginny took her hand and pulled her into the room, before pulling me into a hug. Lily helped Rose and Scorpius out of their hiding place before pulling them both into a touching embrace.

I smiled. This was the happy ending that we’d fought for. I pulled Ron in, and gave him a long kiss. We were winning again. We were young. We were in love. We were alive.
****

The years passed me by, Hugo grew, Rose got engaged right out of school, and we held the first Weasley-Malfoy wedding ever on a beautiful spring day. Lily was a happy maid of honor, and she disappeared with her boyfriend right after the ceremony, her old crush on the groom forgotten. Hugo married a Muggleborn, the smartest in her class, and Ron was stunned by the power of dejá vu for months after. Harry and Ginny were, as they always had been, our best friends. Albus and James were bachelors for years, until one day Albus brought home his girlfriend for Christmas and married her two weeks later.

The next generation had fought their battles. I reflected constantly on being seventeen and being in my thirties and facing losing everything. Ron learned to recognize my memory lane face and gave me a kiss meant for infatuated thirteen year olds, not the old people we were whenever he saw it.

It always worked.
****
ROSE’s POV
****

The world was silent. The windows were shut, the curtains drawn, the lamps on and the living room alight with the glow of a wood-burning fire. The smell of home drifted past my nose. The smell of Scorpius and our baby and all the memories we’d begun to build into this house.

The crib was warm with baby warmth, the soft blankets piled up against soft skin. The soft music from a Muggle device Grandma Granger had sent for her first great-grandchild echoed around the room. The glow of the nightlight was pink and the room was pink and the third Lily known to my family slept in her crib. Lily Malfoy. Lily Potter. Lily Evans. The craziness of her family history would most likely embarrass her someday at school. But I imagined how her laugh would be beautiful and how her face would charm so many boys that her father would lock her in her room most summers and holidays.

Scorpius pulled me away from the bedroom where my angel slept, and into the living room. A Muggle stereo played Sinatra throughout the house, and we started to waltz.

“This song . . . so true. You don’t leave my mind. Ever. You haven’t, since the day my father pulled me aside and said I could kiss any girl in school I wanted, just as long as I didn’t kiss the one girl I grew up to marry,� he sighed into my ear. “Silly man. I never thought I’d survive, you know. Those few months after our first kiss. Either Goyle would kill me or Draco would. But our fathers drank together on our wedding day. They made a truce. And now their grandchildren will be related.�

smiled. This was his victory speech. He must have given it every week for the first three years of our matrimony.

Mum and Dad had their problems, and their problems made for a rather exciting third year. But that was years ago. Now was happy. Now was life. Now was Scorpius, Lily, and love.