I feel like adoption is something that would most likely happen after the war.

The characters are not mine. I own nothing.


A year after the war and the future was still uncertain. Ron and I were still trying to handle Harry's death. The Weasley's were devastated. The world was safe but we were broken inside. Charlie stepped up to the plate and took Teddy Lupin in. Ginny was admitted into St. Mungos.

I all went back to Hogwarts to take my NEWTS. Ron went straight to Auror training.

Three months later.

Ron and I decided to stay friends. He decided he couldn't handle dealing with my emotions and staying strong for Ginny. I was utterly alone.

Two years after the war and my career started. I decided to take up an internship at St. Mungos.

Three years and the Ministry of Magic issued a new law decreeing every witch or wizard between the ages of 21 and 40 had to adopt a child. The orphanages had been completely full since the war, even after they remained jam packed full of children.

A year later I found myself at a little orphanage in Diagon Alley waiting in line to see the children. Many people were bustling around looking to get the youngest child they possibly could get their hands on. Once I made it inside I made my way towards the cafeteria where all the children were supposed to be. A cramped hallway later and I stumbled into the dimly lit room. A few children were crying, others were running wildly away from their future parents but only one caught my eye, a bubbly little raven haired boy who reminded me so much of Harry. He was excitedly nodding to a young couple but as soon as one of the orphanage workers said something to them they frowned and walked away leaving him in tears. My curiosity got the better of so I made my way towards him.

I crouched down to his level and bluntly asked, "What's wrong?" He looked up at me with his bright blue eyes and sniffled, "Nobody wants to adopt me." "Why not you're so cute," I bent down to tickle him a little. A few more tickles and a smile later an orphanage worker approached me. "You seem to be getting along." She smiled kindly at us. We discussed the matter of his adoption. "There is one more thing you should know, he's not just any five year old…he's been bitten by Fenrir Greyback."My shocked expression must have been common because she didn't even bat an eyelash at it; she simply waited for me to respond. I recovered from shock and asked, "Where do I sign?"

An hour later and I walked out of the orphanage with and excited little five year old named Hugo Granger.