Title: A Story With Morals (Nineteen Years Later Remix)

Rating: PG 13. I doubt there is anything drastic. I have a swear in my author's note, if that is at all reflective on the rating.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I would never have done the things that the esteemed JKR did to them. And slash would run rampant, as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack through Sweden. Or something.

Author's Note: Can we say 'SPOILER'? I sure hope so. Because this bitch it riddled with it. IF YOU HAVE YET TO READ DEATHLY HALLOWS, MAYBE YOU SHOULD BEFORE YOU GO OFF IN SEARCH OF FANFICTION. HMM? YES? GLAD TO SEE WE AGREE, THANKS. Unless you don't care. This makes me ask the question, "Why the hell are you even reading fics for this fandom if you can't be bothered to read canon?" If you haven't read it and plan to, don't come running to me when you realize that I've ruined your life.

Author's Note 2: One of the oddest things I've ever written. And that's saying something. I apologize for, well, this whole thing. But something needed to happen, something that didn't sound as though it was written by an eleven year old with a penchant for badly named children and future!fics. Though this is a future!fic, in all technicality. It jumps from the end of the book to the end of epilogue (if it can even be called that) and it's kind of in chronological order. WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT, WHEN THE MIND SHOULD BE SLEEPING OR OCCUPIED WITH ZOMEDIES.

Tonks was sorely disappointed with her lot in life. Well, afterlife to be correct. After all her plotting, she had landed Remus Lupin. And for that year of her life she had been ecstatically happy. She had been married. She hadn't dared let herself dream that it would happen, but it had. And not just that, either. She, Nymphadora Tonks, had borne a child. With Remus J. Lupin, to be precise.

Tonks' year of utter bliss came to a halt, as with an explosion and a train flying through the air, though maybe not quite like that. After all, it had been a war against Voldemort, one of the greatest threats to the wizarding world since, well, ever. The problem with her analogy was that they had not been nearly so important as a train wreck.

Tonks was dead, but she had been optimistic because, after all, death was supposed to be the next great adventure, an adventure she planned on sharing with her husband. This was not to be, she realized, as they entered their Afterlife. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. Whatever it was. She arrived alongside many, including several students from Hogwarts, one of the Weasley twins, and Remus. "George?" the twin called happily. He waited for a reply. And his face grew worried. "George?" he tried again.

Tonks turned to Remus, preparing to ask what, exactly, had happened? The question stuck in throat at the look of awe and wonder on his now young face. She attempted to find what he was staring at, but before she could, a voice called out from a crowd of onlookers who were inspecting the new arrivals.

"Moony!" it called. The question in her throat became a hard lump when she placed the voice of her cousin, Sirius Black. He emerged from the crowd and flung his arms around Remus, embracing him like a… brother? The word didn't quite fit. When Sirius kissed Remus and Remus moaned softly in response, she knew why. "Remus, I-" she began, but she was cut off by a rather needy whimper from her husband.

Tonks snarled at them before they parted. "Ah, Tonks," Sirius said with a grin. The smug bastard didn't even have the nerve to look ashamed. "Didn't expect you to be here so soon." It had been difficult to see his face while it had been connected to Remus', but she saw now that Sirius looked younger, healthier, than he had the last time she'd seen him. Sirius kept an arm around Remus and Tonks pursed her lips. And it had been such a good year.

George was sorely disappointed with his lot in life. Sure, he had but one ear, but dying seemed to be worse. Fred had always been so competitive, trying to best George at everything. It appeared as though he finally had. George wished, more often than not, that they both had met their end in the final battle.

He hated the way people looked at him, as though he were one half of a complete set. In a way, though, it was true. He had fashioned himself to be that and had obviously succeeded.

George sighed. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was flourishing. Percy had offered to help with the managing aspect, but it had been planned by the twins, it belonged to the twins, and no well-meaning soul would take that away from George.

The truth of the matter was that he missed his brother. His twin. His other half, as it were. George wasn't sure what was keeping his tethered to the realm of the living.

George closed up shop.

Draco was sorely disappointed with his lot in life. He had somehow managed to avoid Azkaban, had inherited his family's vast fortune after their demise and had a wife and child. The last two were the main problems regarding his happiness. He had, under his parents' orders, married Pansy Parkinson and reproduced. He had foolishly assumed that after Voldemort's downfall the issue of blood would be erased. Sadly, this was not to be. To top things off, his son acted as more of a brother to him, condescending and haughty in the manner of his grandparents, an attitude that Draco had never quite managed to achieve.

The most despairing aspect of his life, though, was his hair. He was a pureblood. He has survived the wizarding war and escaped imprisonment. But, above all, he was thirty-six. And he had a receding hairline. He had hoped that his hair would grey over time, giving him a distinguished appearance, but, like so many things in life, this was not to be. Draco turned away from the mirror with a world weary sigh and went in search of hair growth tonic.

Ginny was sorely disappointed with her lot in life. It was not as though Harry would notice, though. He was too busy being the Savior of the Wizarding World to bother speaking to, or even look at, his wife. This was why it would come as a bit of a shock when she confronted him one evening, bags packed and ready to go.

"I'm going, Harry," she announced stiffly.

Harry did not look up from his papers.

"That's lovely, dear," he murmured.

There was a moment of silence.

"Hang on a minute, what?" he exclaimed, eyes wide, finally looking at her.

"I," Ginny said clearly, pointing at herself, "am leaving. You," she added after a pause.

Harry gaped at her as though he were a salmon. Or, perhaps, a trout. "But, why?" he managed. She gave him a pointed look, a look that said I shouldn't have to be the one to tell you, you dense sod. He realized that, yes, he most likely should be able to tell.

"You're, um, unhappy?"

Ginny, exasperated, rolled her eyes," Yes."

When this did not merit the reaction he had hoped for, Harry tried a different approach. "What of the children?" he asked.

"I may have carried them for nine months each, but they're hardly mine," she spat, "I didn't get a say in the names for Merlin's sake. Besides, you seem to talk to them more than I do."

Harry looked at the floor. "Where will you be staying?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Not even going to bother stopping me?" she snarled.

"You're just as stubborn as I am," he snapped, "There's not much for me to do, then, is there?"

Ginny looked taken aback for the first time. "I'll be at Luna's," she said, voice breaking, and with a crack! She was gone.

Ginny did not return, but neither did Harry fetch her.

Ron and Hermione were sorely disappointed with their lot in life they had children who loved them and whom they loved in return; they had friends who cared for them. The problem, though, was that it had all grown rather dull. No conflict in their lives, other than their daily spats over the milk, but even those had grown dreary. Repetition was tedious, after all. But there was nothing they could really do, short of starting a war.

Though that happened to be an intriguing concept.

MORAL(S):
1) Appreciate what you've got, because, basically, it's fantastic
2) Crack bunnies make great pets if you don't let them bite you.