Wow. I started this December 20th 2008--I can't believe it's already June! To Geale, mysterylegend, and m-erechyn, all of whom have been waiting to read this, here it finally is!
DISCLAIMER: I'm not JK Rowling? DAMMIT. Not doing this for profit, not my characters, etc.
I don't even know if "unconventional" is a word, but it's the word under which I've had this document saved: unconventional pairings. JK Rowling's Deathly Hallows epilogue is terribly wrong, and everyone knows it. This story culminates at the epilogue, but begins with the paths each character ends up taking. Very different paths from those Ms. Rowling's writing suggests. Relationships fall and rise, break apart easily, barely manage to end without major injury...
There is definitely lemon in the middle, hence the M, but it's not integral to the story--it's happening, but whatever. It sets the tone not the plot of the section it's in. Be mature.
As always, please enjoy and I love reviews. Constructive criticism allowed, as well. Thanks!
--(my name is) Inconsequential
Sawlt to Your Suger.
Can You Feel It?
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"Ginny?"
Ginny's dark, ginger hair falls in knots across her shoulders as she pulls a towel off her wet head and turns to look at the boy/man calling her name. She quickly drags a sweater over her pastel yellow bra and gives him the go ahead.
Harry pushes open the door with all five fingers, keeping his eyes averted just in case she's not decent. Oh, the rituals they have; it isn't as if he hasn't seen it all before.
"Yeah, Harry?" Ginny asks the male figure in her doorway, unsure of whether he's a boy or a man, knowing only that he is a hero, an angel, and that she loves him. Her hero. Her angel. She laughs and adds, "It's okay; my breasts aren't hanging out or anything. Bet you're just disappointed."
The Boy/Man-Who-Lived sits on her bed, next to the wet towel, glancing over at her.
"Hah, yeah. Well…" Harry's never been good with words, and even though he's nineteen years old and has been with Ginny for what feels like forever, what he's about to say will probably break her heart.
Which he's already done before and promised he'd never do again.
"Oh, Harry," Ginny ruffles his hair and kisses his cheek, reaching again for the towel and finding a dry corner with which to squeeze droplets off the ends of her Weasley-trademark mane.
Harry's chest muscles rise and fall over his lungs as he prepares himself for the next few minutes that will not only change his life, but Ginny's as well, and those of many others, something he's also done before—changed lives—something for which he's never really been adequately prepared.
This time is no different. When the words finally shuffle out, Ginny stops drying her hair to look at him. Tears are already welling up in her eyes but she laughs.
"I don't like this joke of yours, Harry," she says, choking on her desperate laughter. "But it's funny. Funny in a terrible, horrible, Fr—George sort of way. Where's this coming from?" Harry watches, sort of awestruck at how quickly she's breaking, as though he can see the cracks in her face as she falls away to dust.
"Ginny. Gin, I know Rowling is trying to make it sound like we're going to be together in nineteen—seventeen years." He can't touch her, can only look at her as she looks away.
"Well, she's right, Harry. So stop playing! Why are you saying this? How can you think that we…"
"Ginny! Ginny, please listen to me," he pleads. "How could some idiot writer who writes for even more idiotic Muggles know what we want? Where we'll end up in the future?"
He isn't mature, Ginny decides in her head, he isn't ready to be making his own decisions. He's just a boy. Still a boy. So what if he's the Boy-Who-Lived? He's also the Boy-She-Loves, and it's in their collective best interest that he be stopped.
"Harry, you are who and what I want, and some measly book series about your heroics won't change that! So what if her epilogue is wrong? She's got the basics down. It's obvious. It's obvious this is what we want. Can't you feel it?"
Droplets of water jump from her hair and cling to Harry's cheeks when Ginny leans in and attempts to smite his willpower with her lips. He feels her hand take hold of his neck, and the slight shift of her weight as she presses him down. But he straightens his back and turns away, his heart pumping as he refuses the kiss.
"I can't feel it," Harry mumbles, dropping his green eyes from her face, pretending that she doesn't start sobbing, though she does. He isn't ready for the slap.
"Why? Why the bl-bloody hell are you saying this? Don't you love me? Didn't you rip my heart out and stamp on it because you didn't want Vol—the Dark Lord to kill me? Because you love me? How can you say something like that? Why are you fighting true love? Hermione and Ron don't! They're perfectly happy!"
Harry, his hand clamped firmly over the stinging surface of his cheek, can only stare straight ahead, until Ginny mentions his two closest friends. At this, he stands abruptly, and finally meets Ginny's enraged, tear-filled glare. Their respective expressions of sorrow and anger collide, and Harry reaches forward to cup Ginny's jaw. Although her fury is evident, she kisses his palm softly. Shaking his head, Harry withdraws his hand.
"Maybe. But, you see, I…well, I love—"
…
"—Hermione, you're breaking up with me for Harry?" Ron clings to Hermione's hand as Hermione nods and explains. She keeps it simple, sticks to the basics. Ron's willing her words to be lies, but at the same time, is almost relieved—he knows her well enough to have noticed her slow pull away from him and he hasn't enjoyed observing it. Still, his hands wrap onto hers and squeeze.
Like his sister, Ron does his best to find humour in the situation. "Well, that wrecks that epilogue of Ms. Rowling's, doesn't it?" And he chuckles, but kisses Hermione all the same and she kisses him back and cries a little more.
They're at the Burrow, in the garden, which they're supposed to be cleaning after the anniversary get-together, but they're leaving that to another couple, Luna and Neville. There are stray bits of litter here and there; a streamer that sang when it was in the air, but is silent now that it lies on the ground at their feet. The party was a smash, really, and it was nice to see everyone again, although Victoire's incessant crying had caused a slight disturbance. Bill and Fleur are happily married for exactly five years today, and already fitting under that beautiful, responsible banner of married-with-child.
But this garden isn't about Bill and Fleur anymore; tomorrow they'll return to the gorgeous cottage on the shore and Fleur will tend the flowers over Dobby's grave, planting some of the ones Harry gave her today, amongst the pile of well-wishing gifts.
Now, it's just Ron and Hermione, sitting on a bench with discarded tidbits scattered around them—tidbits that signify another couple's long-lasting love.
And Hermione is confessing that she has fallen out of love with Ron.
She doesn't share the fact that she truly realized it when she opened up the invitation to the anniversary party, two months ago, despite the fact that she and Harry had been having an affair for much longer. Though Apparition made transportation easy, Harry's Auror responsibilities often called upon him at the strangest hours of the night and they only saw each other every other week. She'd told herself that all she and Harry had was sex. Really good sex.
Invitation in hand, Hermione's heart jumped at the thought of being able to spend an entire night in (but also out of) bed with Harry; a night where she wouldn't wake to find him leaving, or already gone. And as she set the invitation on the counter, feeling Ron's arms encircle her waist, she knew, in that moment, that she loved Harry in a way that she had loved Ron for only the months while they were peril—the months without him in the tent, searching for Horcruxes, and the months after he'd returned; ages before she'd even wondered if she had a place in the romantic part of Harry's heart.
She doesn't share that, for almost four years, she's teased and tortured Harry with her curvy figure and secretive undergarments. That the bed in her flat, which Ron thought was entirely his, has seen all of Harry, and all of Harry and Hermione, and even Harry inside Hermione, both moaning.
Harry knew that it was love before Hermione would dare acknowledge it. Poor Ginny, Hermione thinks, but does not say. Broken by the boy she loved so dearly; then sworn to secrecy when she was told that the boy she loved was having an affair with her brother's would-be-fianceé. Dramatic.
Hermione doesn't share that Harry is a better kisser, nor does she speculate about the kiss Ron claimed from her on the horrendous and marvelous day that Voldemort was defeated. Doesn't speculate about how it was nothing but a fraught prayer for companionship and comfort but not for love, not for the forever she hopes to share with Harry.
Ron sighs, and Hermione pries one of her hands from his gripping fingers so she might wipe a few tears from her eyes and to replace the ring that Ron pulled from his pocket, all of five minutes ago.
"I'm sorry," she says, kissing him again, and loving him for not hating her. Loving him in the way only friends can. Friends.
She wants to fling herself into his arms the way she's done before when in despair, but she knows she can't, knows he isn't ready to hold her again without regret, might never be able to look at her again without asking himself what he did wrong. She wants to reassure him that he didn't do anything wrong, that it wasn't his fault, but she can't because she needs someone to blame and she's too proud to blame herself and too in love with Harry to blame him.
Instead, she tucks a hand beneath Ron's chin and looks at him, channeling as much care from her eyes to his as she possibly can.
He's crying too, silently, but he doesn't look away, though he blinks rapidly to dispel the tears.
"At least it's only Harry," a lyrical voice murmurs from behind the hedge, causing the distraught pair to jump closer together than they would've liked.
A pale, bare foot sticks out from around the leafy shrub, followed by a head of long, blond hair, and a thin arm attached to a small hand which is intertwined with that of a slightly plump, shy gentleman in slacks, rolled up at the ankles because their wearer is barefoot as well.
"Harry's a good man, Ronald," smiles the petite, stocking-less woman. "Isn't that right, Nev?"
Neville nods, because he agrees wholeheartedly with—
…
—Luna has something to say.
"Have at it," Neville replies, before kissing her slowly. His tongue slides into her mouth and she sucks it in, nibbling it with her teeth and stealing his breath, though he's trying to steal hers. Despite this, he's become bolder with his feelings, reaching out instead of waiting to be reached for.
He has Luna to thank for this change. He has Luna to thank for many things in his life these days, some seven years after he cut down a dreadful snake and aided the great Harry Potter in the defeat of Lord Voldemort.
Luna laughs into the kiss and sits up, dragging her lips away, yet rolling her naked hips against his.
Neville gives his intimate an amused look, though something clouds his eyes for a moment and his mouth parts. She nips his lip and giggles, "Are you listening, Neville Longbottom?"
"You're a bit distracting," he grunts, but composes himself and nods. Luna climbs from atop him and instead lies with an arm wrapped around his smooth stomach. The snow outside their window excites her, as it sparkles beneath the sunlight. She giggles yet again, and runs her hands along the line of dark fuzz between Neville's belly button and groin. Though he's up, which she may or may not notice, Neville's used to Luna's oblivious teasing and touching, and he focuses on her words rather than her skinny, sliding fingers.
"You see, Neville-dear, I think this will be our last." She slides her hand over his thigh and twirls a tuft of pubic hair around her finger. Neville shivers.
"What-do-you-mean, Loon?" He tries to stop himself from reacting to the tracing nails as Luna speaks quietly. A flicker of sadness stills her hand as she wraps a leg over his and pulls herself up to look into his eyes.
"I love you, Neville," she smiles, and slips her tongue into his mouth just as he slips into her there, and a gasp escapes her when he moves his hand to grip her hips and rolls over atop her, gently but with a new force that not even he is quite used to. "But this," she stares pointedly at where their crotches meet, waves one of her hands in the air, gesturing for a second, before Neville brings himself deeper and Luna has to grab his triceps with her right hand, unabashedly flicking her own nipple with her other thumb.
"Y-yes," moans her partner, lips moving across her cheek and down her neck, while they move their pelvises together, slowly. "What is this, Loo-Luna?"
"We…" Luna's eyes are closed in bliss and Neville doesn't stop kissing her neck to coax words out of her, even though she isn't finishing her sentence. "We…Nev, Neville I can't…" She's breathless, but doesn't regret that she's brought this up. Still, it would be easier if… "Love, can you…" Luna places her palm on Neville's chest and pushes up—he automatically slows his hips, though it pains both man and woman when he does.
"Thank you," she says after she regains her breath, smiling at him. "Neville, I know you love me very much, and I love you. But you and I were not meant to last forever. Just to comfort each other after the Dark Lord's fall, I believe." Her soft voice makes him harder and Neville wants just to push farther inside, but he knows not to, not to ruin this final moment of theirs. Yes, he can feel it, feel it in their twin lust-and-love—this is their last time.
He shifts forward, lying atop her with his mouth next to her ear, feeling her breasts press into his chest as she and he breathe simultaneously. He curls his hand over her pale hair, stroking it halftime to their heartbeat. He shudders involuntarily, surprised by the sob that echoes from his throat. Luna moves her hips in a slow, circular motion, and kisses his forehead.
"I'm sorry, Neville, I didn't think it would hurt you! I didn't…" she sighs as Neville begins to move his body in sync with hers again. "I thought," she twines her hands in his hair, feeling his lips return to her neck and then slide down over her pointy collarbone and suckle at her breast. "Oh, Neville, I thought that you understood." She feels a new wetness hit her chest—tears rolling down Neville's cheeks as he pushes harder, in a frenzy.
"Slo—" Luna can't quite breathe, but she tightens her hold on Neville's hair and locks her legs around his waist. "Slowly, love. Please?" Neville exhales over her taut nipple, and presses his chest to hers again, looking down at her glowing face. She seems happy, though there is worry in her voice. But now, now she seems ready, ready to let it go.
Neville simply focuses on his own breathing, rubbing his swollen eyes, and rocking in and out of the beautiful, petite body beneath him. The white skin of her inner thighs becomes sticky and sweaty, and Neville can feel her pulling him deeper—he dives with her, burying his face into her neck, letting loose the loud moans he's been holding back.
"Oh…" Luna speaks between thrusts, recalling an afterthought, "I think I am meant for someone else." Neville nods against the flesh of her throat, leaving a mark on it as he sucks, biting with his teeth. He knows she won't but he is still afraid that she might forget, forget that they ever had this moment. This seven year stretch of luck.
"Ever…since…" Luna bucks wildly for a moment, and Neville grins devilishly, knowing she's close, but he doesn't go too fast, he wants her to continue her train of thought. He has to know why she's leaving him, even if he doesn't mind as much as his tears let on. "Since…Ron and Hermione.... I once…" She sucks in her breath here and Neville stops.
"Tell me," he hisses into her ear, moving himself back and freeing some of his length from within.
"Only if you promise you won't do that," she beseeches of him, eyes wide open and mouth issuing ragged, mint-scented breaths.
"Do what?" Neville loves to hear her begging, loves the way her lips move and her body quivers when he pretends to leave. Once, during a situation vaguely like this, Luna had enough breath to joke, "No one would peg you for such a tease, Neville Longbottom. Not from Joanna's innocent writing." To which he promptly replied: "Nor would they peg you for the type to shag said Neville Longbottom on the forest floor in the middle of a Muggle camping ground on Halloween."
But, even though he's doing the same things and using the same ploys, the look in her eyes is different and the feel in his body has changed. He needs her too, and can barely hold up to his threat of pulling out when she wiggles her hips a little.
"Please, just..." Luna swallows, fingers scrabbling for a hold on the sheets, or Neville's arms.
"I will," Neville promises, but dares not demonstrate until she's spoken her full, for fear that he might not be able to regain control of himself. As much as he needs her, he realizes that he needs to know why he won't have her anymore, not after this.
Luna gazes off over Neville's shoulder. "I once thought I was meant for Harry. I warned him of the gnargles, but he kissed Cho anyway." Neville channels everything into listening to her voice, which doesn't help the case in his nether-regions—these react to the tone of her words.
"Harry could see the thestrals…and I could see the thestrals. Of course, he thought I was crazy…which is probably true, but I mean, he didn't understand that if I was crazy to see thestrals, then he must be a little crazy too. Which…well, I suppose he has to be. He is Harry Potter." Luna sighs, suddenly unaware of her and Neville's sensual position. She sees only his face, knowing that he is listening, ever respecting her. Somewhere near her heart she feels a twinge. How nice it would be to lie to herself and to Neville, to say that they are both happy and always will be. Not true.
"But it isn't Harry. When he broke up with Ginny the first time, I expected him to come to me, to kiss me and tell me that he'd secretly left her not because of Voldemort…no, but because he wanted me. I would be his heroine because he knew I'd be able to stand up to Voldemort, and Harry'd be proud to have me by his side, if a tiny bit afraid for my safety." Neville settles in on his elbows, doing his best not to interrupt Luna's thoughts, but she notices. "Oh, dear, I'm getting there…
"Anyway, none of that happened, and then I discovered you. I mean, I knew that you existed, and that you felt these things for me. Sometimes, I heard from the walls that you touched yourself, called my name…but I was too absorbed by Harry to think you and I could work. But then the war happened, and we did work. Didn't we, Neville? For so long, we've comforted each other, and loved each other, and protected each other from the awful memories. I had a lot of time to think about you and Harry, while I was at Malfoy Manor. By then, I knew you and I had something. But I've always known you're not the one. You've known it too.
"And then Ron…Hermione left Ron for Harry…" here Luna laughs, almost obscenely, pleased but dismayed by what she discovered, "Ron wanted me. Remember? We heard them from the bushes, and then we appeared and Ron looked up and…" Neville nods. Luna sighs, a smile growing on her face, "And he absolutely fell apart then and there, and he needed me. Of course, it wasn't obvious to the rest of you, and I haven't gone to him, and he still needs me. He probably doesn't know it, either. The pull was so strong…but see, Neville, love, you needed me too, and how could I leave you? I was content to fib for a while, but now…now the truth will out, as Muggles say."
And then she kisses him with all her might, as though dispelling her rejection of the man inside her, and he kisses her back and moves. And, amidst gasps of barely breath, and Luna's raking fingernails, and Neville's rough thumb over and over her nipple, they melt together one last time.
An hour or so later, Luna pops out from the bathroom, wearing a towel, and looking around at their quaint, one-story house. "I don't think I'll be living here, but I'll figure something out, until Ronald, I mean."
Neville marvels at her sudden devotion to the man who isn't even aware of how he and Luna are connected—meant to be. But Neville also understands; he's been with Luna seven years, known her longer. He sits up and pulls on a pair of briefs, handing his now ex-lover a shirt. Nothing is awkward.
"It's okay," Luna says as he passes her, heading for his own shower. She grabs his elbow; her fingers don't fit all the way around his arm. He gives her a quizzical look. "It's okay for you to like him."
Neville's heart skids. "What?"
"I don't mind—he's a wonderful dinner guest, if surly at times. I don't blame him for what his father did. He's nothing like his father, no, not his father's son. Not like James and Harry. He lost so much after the war. He's the one, Neville."
Neville pulls his arm away, but Luna just smiles, a reassuring Luna-smile, and continues.
"It's a bit odd, of course. Ironic almost—not that he's another man, not that. But that he's—"
…
'—Malfoy, what are you doing here?' Ginny wants to say, but can't, because she's so completely taken aback that she's lost her voice.
Ginny is standing just inside Neville Longbottom's front door, being blinded by the summer sunrise, attempting despite the brightness to stare at the figure that just Apparated into the neighbor's flower bed. She only just moved in a few months ago, kicked out of yet another apartment and unwilling to return to the Burrow, and has often been out of the house, working, therefore unaware that Draco Malfoy has a tendency to show up on Neville's doorstep at the oddest of times. Were she Luna, she would've known he was coming simply by instinct and would've prepared something to eat (and might've dressed properly). But Ginny will never be Luna, especially not to Neville, who has let the redhead stay in the tiny, closet-like guest room out of friendship.
Malfoy hasn't gotten any in three weeks, and sees a woman in pyjamas, and forgets that he came to look for a soft, chubby wizard instead of this slightly alluring, slightly alarmed, witch.
"Well, hello, Weaslette. Haven't seen you in a long time. Blimey, has it really been fifteen years since the Dar—Vol—Voldemort was defeated?" Ginny still hasn't found her voice box yet; she thinks she might've left it on her bedside table next to the bed she'd been occupying until she heard a monumental whump about sixty seconds ago. She nods, breathing heavily. "Wow. And the last time we met was at…erm…" Here Malfoy pauses, realizing that he's about to mention an event that Miss Weasley-never-Potter might not appreciate remembering. Nonetheless, she remembers, and regains words.
"We both attended Harry and Hermione's wedding, nine years ago," Ginny states. "And I'm showing the whole world my nightie, so why don't you come inside and make yourself comfortable while I gussy up a bit."
Malfoy, who had long since extricated himself from the flowers that he routinely trampled, happily obliges.
"So, Draco," Ginny begins, returning in a simple, monochrome sundress, "how have you been?"
"Lonely," he laughs, mostly joking, eyeing the Weasley, who catches the more-than-glance and lobs words back.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, and I'll pretend that nothing was implied, because as single as I am, I am not interested in a one-night-stand…or rather, one-morning-stand, with Draco Malfoy. Anyway, you never did tell me why you were here."
Stunned by her brash rejection (though also amused and understanding), Malfoy slumps down onto a couch. "Well, while you were getting your knickers in a knot, Neville and I have been…how would Lovegood say it…cultivating a friendship. Where is Nev, by-the-by?"
"By-the-by?"
"I probably picked it up from Lovegood. We've also been cultivating a friendship, much to your brother's concern. Congratulations, by the way. You're an aunt...again...still, I suppose."
Ginny giggles. "I have to say, if you've been getting around to everyone, how come you're still so horny?"
"I've never understood you Weasleys," Malfoy murmurs, shaking his head. "Neville is where?"
"I haven't the foggiest, but I suppose he'll be back soon. How often have you been landing outside of my window while I've been staying here?"
"Only happened once before, and you were out. What with your living here, Neville decided he'd do the visiting, and, surprise surprise, his landings aren't at all as smooth as mine."
Ginny doesn't comment on the colossal noise she heard, neither does she mention the vision of a blonde angel scrabbling upright amidst rosebushes and tulips. She grins, though. Perhaps she should have reconnected with Malfoy earlier; he isn't half as bad as she remembers.
Then again, the war did change him.
For a silent moment, she glimpses the broken man Malfoy has become and is struggling to free himself from. His post-war history includes the Malfoy name being blackened repeatedly; his father's humiliating, sickly death only a year after Voldemort's; Narcissa's abandonment of her own son for a man the same age as Draco; and a host of other misfortunes.
Still, Malfoy struggled on, graciously accepting the invitation to Harry and Hermione's wedding, then befriending the odd couple of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. He also corresponds regularly by owl with Harry (the once-rivals now laugh sadly at all the hardships they endured, marveling at how together they had actually been, in the end). And he attended Ron and Luna's wedding (he never told anyone about Luna kissing Neville on the cheek afterwards, and how Neville collapsed in Malfoy's arms, eyes red and clouded with memory).
The moment ends suddenly, when Ginny hears the door click open. Neville has returned with the groceries she asked him to get two days ago. He must have forgotten until this morning, as Neville is wont to do, and tried to hide it by going out before Ginny arose. Now however, the groceries are certainly forgotten, as they fall to the floor.
Ginny loses her voice again when two figures collide, Neville not bothering to shut the door behind him, and sunlight filtering through once more. Two angels, she sees, and she tries to remember the days when the only angel she knew of held her the way Malfoy holds Neville: in a crushing, needing embrace.
But those days are long gone, and the Boy-Who-Lived is now a man and no angel of hers, though still a hero.
She averts her eyes; she is a puzzle piece that doesn't fit in the room in which she stands. Ginny is invisible to them, the now-friends who once loathed each other. But as hurt and lonely as she feels, she also feels a freedom that is almost new to her, and, picking up the discarded groceries, she truly lets go of—
…
—Harry pauses for a millisecond (which is long enough only for Luna to notice) before reaching out and affectionately patting the round belly. The light, lilac-colored fabric of Ginny's robe suits her well, and is soft to his touch. He wonders how he would've reacted if it were his baby within her womb. Or if it were truly hers.
Ginny doesn't seem to mind that this baby wasn't conceived in any four-poster, domestic bed, wasn't the result of a marriage consummated on a wonderful honeymoon in France like Luna and Ron's Katerina. Ginny smiles, and the thought passes, because Harry is distracted by how much he loves seeing her smile like that, smiling like she used to, when they first fell in love.
"Hi, Aunt Ginny," chorus James, Severus, and Dora Potter, Harry's darling offspring. Dora giggles nervously. She has never ridden the Hogwarts Express, never been to Hogwarts. James and Severus are delighted to be going back. The twins wave at a group of fellow second-years who are clustering around the pair, peeking glances at the proud father.
These few second-years aren't the only ones. Soon, the crowd on Platform 9 ¾ is buzzing with the news: Harry Potter is in the station.
"Now, you two behave," Hermione says to the curly haired brunettes, completely oblivious to her husband's (and, to some extent, her own) celebrity status. She shakes a finger at her boys, both of whom sport glasses and green eyes, as well as the customary Muggle-wear of jeans and a sweater; but James' scarf flashes Hufflepuff yellow and black, while Severus' is crimson and gold. "Don't make fun of Dora, whatever house she's in, and for God's sake, take care of her! I'll be watching!"
"You sound like my mum," laughs Ronald Weasley. He's followed by Bill and Fleur, who are dropping off their boy, Edouard. Fleur fusses over Edouard's (Muggle) designer tie, although he'll be switching the expensive piece of neck decoration for one of Slytherin ilk in a few hours.
He's much too chic and too old for his cousins, James and Severus, who both call his name. Fifteen and twelve are two very different age groups, and though he does take a moment to ruffle Dora's hair, Edouard disappears off into the crowd as soon as his father has helped him shove his trunk into the train.
"Say hello to your uncle!" Bill yells after his son, referring to Charlie, who took over aging Hagrid's job as the Care of Magical Creatures professor. "Hello there, Harry," the werewolf-man grins, shaking Harry's hand firmly.
"We must take Clementine to Beauxbatons tomorrow. She would 'ave come to wave to 'er brother, but she 'as not packed. We left Teddy and Victoire to look after her, per'aps not such a good idea, but zey are almost grown. Teddy is nineteen years old, older than you were when you killed ze Dark Lord. How ze time 'as passed." Fleur laughs her prim laugh, sighs an equally prim sigh, and turns to Ginny. The two women have more or less resolved their dispute, but are not close by any means, and the next question immediately leaves Ginny feeling vulnerable and facing judgment: "Now, tell me about zis bebé."
However, the pressure only makes Ginny's outburst more moving, as her hair is whipped about by the autumn gust.
"I am carrying Neville Longbottom-Malfoy and Draco Malfoy's child. Draco's sperm was placed into my womb, and I was impregnated. It's a Muggle procedure. There was no strange threesome of lovemaking, nor an affair between Draco and myself." She laughs inwardly. They had their chance at the latter a long time ago, and neither took it, and neither regret their decision. "Maybe you think it's disgusting that I would carry a baby who will not legally be my own, maybe you think it's vile that I am gifting a same-sex couple something that they could never create without me, maybe you simply can't understand why I'd allow a Malfoy to grow within me. Whatever you think, good or bad, I feel that I have finally found my place in the world. No, not beside Harry Potter, but allowing two people who I care for so overwhelmingly to raise a child."
"And we thank her for it." Neville stands next to the surrogate mother, holding onto a pale, manicured hand that does not belong to a petite, feminine blonde, but to a tall, muscular, sophisticated wizard whose own DNA is forming a baby boy inside of Ginny.
"I wondered when you would arrive," Luna chimes in. Everyone else is rather surprised. The pair said they'd be accompanying George on his annual, world-wide Weasley's Wizard Wheezes tour, until October, when Neville would take up his post as Herbology teacher, and Draco as head of Slytherin. (Apparently, George was also recently seen doing more than business; he was photographed eating a leisurely lunch with none other than world-famous, now-retired, Quidditch Seeker, Viktor Krum, whom George, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione have kept in touch with over the years, much to Ron's secretly fanboy chagrin/amusement.)
Luna is, of course, not at all startled by the couple's arrival. She embraces Neville and they share a moment of understanding within their strange, intimate, but non-sexual sphere of love. Next, she pecks Draco on the cheek. The two blondes grin appreciatively at each other, before Draco turns to place a palm over Ginny's stomach.
"George needed something from the shop, so we decided to come back, and we thought we'd wave everyone off, even though we're really here to see the parents, given that we'll see the twerps in a month or so," Neville explains with a shrug, narrowing his eyes at Dora, who smiles shyly.
"To think I'd reach adulthood and find myself doing errands for a Weasel," jokes Malfoy.
At this point, Dora turns and makes for the Lovegood-Weasley brood. It is a big one; four biological children in nine years, not-to-mention two orphans. The oldest is Katerina, nine. Elisabeth, who is six, and her brother, Remy (short for Remus), were adopted four years ago, a few months after Remy's birth, from a single Muggle woman who had set up the adoption after discovering the magical tendencies her children displayed. The other biological children are seven year-old Stella, five year-old Rayna, and two year-old Isabel.
They've all met Dora before, and absolutely adore her; when she's spotted, four pull at her dress and ask her questions. Isabel is in her father's arms, and Remy is clinging to Ron's pants.
Fleur converses with Neville about Ginny's pregnancy, but they are interrupted by the sound of the train's whistle. James and Severus appear out of the crowd to grab their sister and hug their parents. Both boys linger longer than they'd like to acknowledge, but they finally take Dora's hands and, ignoring her whimpers, drag her onto the train, where she plasters her face to the window, black hair getting into her eyes as she tries to spot her parents.
Bill and Fleur wave to Edouard, who climbs aboard with a curt nod and wide grin. His parents say quick goodbyes and leave the platform, heading for somewhere secluded from which they can Apparate home to their daughters and Teddy Lupin, Victoire's closest friend and boyfriend.
Finally, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, Draco, Ginny (and their respective charges) remain. The group watches with the rest of the crowd as the train rounds the final bend.
"Two nights," sighs Harry, referring to the less-than-one week he and Hermione will have before she and he will magically appear in Hogsmeade, depositing his wife's trunks into a thestral drawn carriage to be taken to the office of Hogwarts' new Headmistress, where she will be met by her stand-in, Gryffindor Head, Seamus Finnigan. And then Harry will return to the Ministry, to fight evil and be famous. "I can't quite believe you accepted the job position! I thought that after we had the twins, you'd forgotten all about the offer. I didn't even know it still stood."
Luna laughs at more than this interjection, waving gaily to someone emerging from the hordes of people making their way toward the exit of the platform. This someone has graying hair, and is dressed in proper Muggle attire—she has lived her life as a Muggle, making her money entirely off Muggle industry, putting to daily use almost none of what she learned at Hogwarts in her day.
"Joanna!" Luna folds her arms around the author amiably. The rest of the group greets her more formally, with a nod here, a handshake there, and multiple murmurs of "Ms. Rowling".
"So this is how the story ends," J.K. Rowling remarks, as the group walks out of the station, Harry and Hermione fawning over Ginny's belly, Ron giving his boy a piggy-back and doing his best not to trample the rest of the Lovegood-Weasley's underfoot, Luna now carrying wide-eyed, red-haired Isabel, and Neville arm-in-arm with Draco.
Draco shrugs, elegantly. "I suppose. By-the-by, is my hair receding, nineteen years later?"
Neville and Luna, who both catch the comment, chuckle.
Rowling shakes her head. "So perhaps I was a bit ahead of myself."
"A bit," Ron interjected, "sure, nineteen years is a bit!"
"At least I got one thing right," the author replies, pleased even if she got everything else wrong.
"And what's that?" Hermione asks, though they all know the answer.
"All is well, isn't it?"
Harry laughs. Hermione kisses him sloppily on the cheek, as Ron and Luna lean in for a peck, causing Remy to poke Isabel, who giggles. Draco and Neville are heartbreaking together when Neville kisses the Malfoy once, just beneath the ear, where his jaw begins to protrude from his neck. Draco's eyes flutter closed and his lips part momentarily.
Ginny sees many angels, and, feeling a simple kick within her belly, cries out with joy.
Everyone stops and two will-be fathers drop to their knees and press their hands to her curved abdomen. Children wander around them, too young to understand anything but the awe-striking unity as the rest of the adults come to Ginny's side and watch, breathless.
Yes, that much is quite correct. All is well.
//
//
//
xfin.
Thoughts, reflections? A passable depiction of what really might've gone down in the epilogue?