Finally, their time was their own, and they had reached their golden age. They had the great pleasure of turning the alarm clock off, knowing that in future it would only be used on special occasions; as they could get up when they wanted from now on. Some days, when the weather was bad, they wouldn't bother and just lay there talking and cuddling; Hermione occasionally making raids on the kitchen and coming back with toast or biscuits and cups of tea.

When she was called to the Wizengamot she did have to get up, of course. Then she would dress with great care and do something with her hair, which had now turned grey. She had kept it short. Despite Ron's pleas to let it grow long she preferred it shorter; it was so much easier to manage. She would head off to the Ministry to listen to cases or pleas, leaving Ron at home but checking every hour that he was still alright. He was particularly careful on these days, to make sure she wasn't disturbed and only once did she have to come home when he had over-reached himself and fallen from his chair. She called him a 'silly old fool', gave him a kiss and headed back again.

Ron took his loss of mobility with fortitude. He could still do most things as the house had been designed around him. Doors were not a problem, of course, as they could be opened with an Alohomora and ramps meant he could get in to the garden which had paths and raised beds so he could get around and still do things. It was all planned out so that he did as much for himself as possible. For example, Hermione had wanted to move their bedroom downstairs, but he insisted it stayed where it was and had a lift put in, though she didn't see why she couldn't just use a hover charm. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but he never felt entirely comfortable with it. There was a lift to get him in and out of the bath as well.

Their second best days were those in summer when they would go out in to the garden. They would potter around for a couple of hours until the sun got too hot for them then retire in to the shade. Ron had to be careful in the sun now, as it would burn his bald patch. They'd built a sort of trellis near Rose's rose and covered it with climbing plants and would sit there to have lunch and look out over the garden.

'Do you ever miss it? The Ministry and power?' he would ask her.

'Not one bit' was always her reply. 'I like it now, being my own boss, don't you?'

He took her hand and laughed. 'I spent my first eleven years being told what to do by my mum, and the last fifty odd being told what to do by you! Even the plants tell me when I have to water them.'

'I'm not really bossy, am I?'

'Is that in comparison to mum and Jean?' he shot back with a twinkle in his eye. She gave him a slap.

The best days of all, though, were when they went visiting. They had a specially adapted car, so that his chair could be slotted straight in to it and would go off to visit family. At least once a year, they would do a "grand tour" visiting Bill and George, and calling in on Percy, though they never stayed that long with him.

Bill and Fleur were still at Shell Cottage; he looking even more like Mad-eye Moody as he aged, and Fleur grew old gracefully and serenely. She had kept her white blonde hair long, and could still turn on the old Veela charm. Ron had always considered her the most beautiful woman in the world, and was still a little in love with her and she knew it; she would always emphasise her French accent a 'leetle more' when he was around. Ron and Hermione always stayed a few days with them, and even though he was in his sixties Ron would look at her then get embarrassed when he was caught out. Hermione use to pretend to get jealous and give him a hard time. On those visits they never missed a trip to Dobby's grave, laying fresh flowers.

At George and Angelina's they had a whale of a time, and always seemed to stay up later, and drink a little more, than they should given their age. George had never really grown up. With Percy, it was different. They would normally only stay for a meal, and Ron would be on his best behaviour, sticking out his little finger whilst drinking tea, or making excruciatingly polite conversation to try and make Hermione giggle. Percy and Audrey were as boring as ever, he only ever wanted to talk about their time at the Ministry, and it was a relief to get away.

On these visits they could catch up on what the "children" were doing, although they were all grown up and most had families of their own. As is often the case in large families, matching them up required a sort of code; so Lucy became "Lucy – Percy's youngest". It got even worse when they started having children of their own, so they would talk about the exploits of "Septimus – George's Fred's eldest"

Their most frequent trip, of course, was down to see Rose in Gloucestershire. With six children it was impossible for them to come up to her parents. Rose had turned in to an Earth Mother and, to Hermione's eye, the children were allowed too much freedom. They were normally to be found, in an assortment of clothing that would make Luna Lovegood blush, rampaging around the estate. Jean, being the eldest, was in charge and as bossy as her gran and great gran ever were. Often she would have the youngest – George – on her hip. As you know, there were six in all, each eighteen months apart, so it's time for a roll call.

Jean looked like her father, only with Hermione's hair in strawberry blonde. Then came Draco Ronald, a male version of Jean. Hermione was far more like her gran; if there was a quite, bookish one, it was she. She also had darker hair than the rest, though it was straight not frizzy. Astoria was so like Ginny, right down to her red hair, it looked like she was in the wrong family, whereas Ginevra (never Ginny) was nothing like her namesake at all. She had her other gran's rather mousey appearance. The baby, George, was the spitting image of his dad.

The children came and went as they pleased; the only room forbidden to them was "Mummy and Daddy's Potion Room". Meal times were organised chaos and often turned in to a finger buffet, the children drifting in and out depending on whether they were hungry or not. During the evening, they all congregated in Draco's old day room where they would listen to the radio or play games. Bedtime was when they got tired, or fell asleep somewhere and had to be carried upstairs.

'Rose, dear, you know I've never been one to push my ideas forward…' Rose let out a shriek of laughter.

'Oh mum! And before you start, yes we think we have got it right. We're letting them be children. Don't worry; they won't grow up to be hooligans. Jean has started having some lessons now she's older, and the others will follow along. By the time they get to Hogwarts they'll all be able to read and write and know their numbers. Actually, Draco and Hermione are already asking when they can start having lessons as well. They see it as a sign they're growing up. But for now we want them to learn by having fun and exploring and asking questions.'

'And what about you, dear?'

Rose put her face in her hands in an exasperated fashion. 'I've still got everything I want! Scorp, the family, the house, growing things and making potions – it's perfect.' She looked down at her hands, with soil under the fingernails, and the slightly shapeless dress she had on. 'It isn't glamorous, I know. One day, when the children are all at school then – maybe – I'll grow up and be all middle class like you want me to be. I'll wear proper frocks and put on some make-up.'

'You always used to, when you were younger, and you loved going shopping.'

'That was then, this is now.'

The children's favourite place, though, was the Lodge where they would descend on Gran and Granddad Malfoy. Draco truly loved his grandchildren and they him. He was never too tired to play with them or read stories. It was, as Scorpius had once said, an adventure for him and in his old age he discovered all the stories he had never been read as a child, and the games he had never played.

She came across him once, unexpectedly, whilst walking in the grounds early one morning. He started and turned away.

'Draco, please don't go.' He turned back towards her, looking pensive. 'We've never really spoken, have we? Yet we have so much in common now.'

'We don't have that much in common.' He couldn't look her in the eye. 'Our children do, but not us.' He paused, searching for the right words. 'It isn't you, not who you are, or what your parents were, don't misunderstand me. All that has gone, I realise that I was wrong. So, so wrong.' He smiled slightly. 'You remind me of the thing I could have had, if only it had been different.'

'What thing, Draco?'

He looked around. 'Astoria will be awake soon. I always make her tea, I have to go. Goodbye…Hermione.'

He walked off, leaving her standing and staring in to space. Surely not? She walked slowly back to the house, lost in her thoughts.

-o0o-

The first two weeks of August were reserved for the best trip of all. That was when they went to Hogwarts to see Harry and Ginny. Their spirits would lift as soon as they began to recognise the hills and woods that had been familiar to them now for well over fifty years. There were always welcomed by the school and its headmaster, having such a special place in its history, and were given a room on the ground floor so access was easy for them. Even Hermione wasn't too keen on stairs anymore and her annual trip to their old Common Room was becoming a bit of a pilgrimage. She always stopped at the plaque of course, but now with less sadness on her face. 'We'll make that shopping trip yet' she used to say - to herself obviously.

Harry hadn't changed much over the years; his hair was as unruly as ever, even though it was steel grey now and not black. He was Head of Gryffindor House, and still having the time of his life. Never had they seen anybody so contented. They would sit out on the terrace overlooking the lake as the sun went down of an evening, reminiscing about the past and hearing about his plans for the future. Harry had already been told that he would be the next headmaster, but was happy to wait out his time; he was in no rush now

Ginny, much to everybody's disgust, kept her carrot coloured mane right to the very end. She had a strange role in the school, and totally unofficial. She'd become a cross between everybody's granny and an agony aunt. Children who had problems, or were lonely, or had trouble with a relationship would go to see her, knowing they would receive a friendly ear, a cup of tea and normally a biscuit. She was never judgemental, preferring to encourage the children to work through to their own solution, giving them a little nudge if necessary.

Occasionally, as happens, she would have to prepare a girl for that conversation with her parents that no girl wants to have. They would come to her; confused and frightened, sometimes with a boy, sometimes not. Calmly she would explain what options were open to them and emphasise that the school would be as helpful and supportive as necessary, but that it was in everybody's best interest to get the parents involved as soon as possible. Whenever she could, she encouraged parents to come to the school; it was often easier that way. Then, if that was what was decided, she would help look after the babies so that the girl could carry on with her education. One year, she had three on the go, and very fond of them she became.

She also continued to work on her book. The Ministry had given her permission to use their archives, so she would travel up to London, staying at Grimmauld Place with James and his family. Then she would have to harden her heart and read the statements and old court records of Death Eater trials, always feeling a pang in her heart when a familiar name came up. The most difficult were the records from the trial of the Carrows. Her testimony was in front of her, and she was forced to live again the punishments they had meted out to her and so many others. She had tried to get permission for a trip to Askaban, a few were still alive and being held, but they either refused to speak to her or were so old there would have been no point. Dolores Umbridge had not spoken a coherent word in ten years.

She had, however, been to see Draco Malfoy, the year Jean started at Hogwarts, staying with Rose and Scorpius. Draco had poured his heart out to her, telling her everything he could remember from that time. It was a true release for him, he held nothing back and had cried freely at the end of it. Less than a week later, Astoria had been unable to wake him, but he had died at peace with himself

-o0o-

It was the summer after Jean's third year, and baby Draco's first that Harry was able to give them the news they had wanted to hear for a long time. Baby Hermione would start at Hogwarts with a new Headmaster. Harry had finally got the position he had wanted. He had come home. He was fired up with enthusiasm for the job, and told them all about the plans he had. He wanted to make the Inter-house Cup more open; not just Quidditch and House Points, but a true reflection of talents and abilities. There would be Wizard Chess competitions, maybe even Gobstones. He wanted as many pupils involved as possible.

There was other thing he had planned as well, and baby Hermione was a marker for it.

'Have you realised that her seventh year will be the fiftieth anniversary of the battle?' It came as a shock to both Ron and Hermione. Was it honestly that long ago? A lifetime ago? 'I want to rededicate the plaque, and get everybody up here I can. I've got another idea as well. I don't just want to honour the dead, but those who lived. I'm going to use one of the walls in the Great Hall to list all the names of those who fought on our side – everybody. Ginny's book is helping with the list. I even know what's going over the top. Remember what Dubledore said after Cedric Diggory was killed?'

Hermione smiled. 'About choosing between what is right and what is easy?'

'That's right, I think its fitting.'

Ron looked staggered. 'How can you remember all that stuff, Hermione?'

Harry smiled 'The smartest witch of her generation, remember?'

-o0o-

Ron missed the service by two years. They had travelled back from Hogwarts as usual after staying with Harry and Ginny, but the next day he said he felt too tired to get up. Hermione left him to rest, but became worried when he was still tired the day after that. Mainly for her benefit, he forced himself to get up, but didn't have the energy to do anything.

On the third day she called the healer, who examined Ron then came out to her looking very grim.

'There is nothing specifically wrong with your husband, apart from his age and the injuries he has suffered. He may improve slightly with time, but you should face the fact that he will probably never be fully active again. There may be good days and not so good. I'm sorry.'

'How long does he have?'

'I can't say. It may be a week, or months, but I think it will be peaceful. I'll call in every now and again to keep an eye on him.'

'Should I tell him?'

'I think it is probably best not too.'

Those last few weeks were a time of quiet contentment, surprisingly. On good days, whilst the weather stayed fine, she would take Ron out in to the garden to sit by Rose's rose, and they would hold hands and talk quietly of their life together. Both realised that the other knew what was coming, so it wasn't necessary to dwell on the future. They lived each minute for here and now, and treated it as if it were their last.

It was a dull November day when Hermione woke to find Ron already with his eyes open beside her. She made to get up and put the kettle on.

'Could you just hold me, please?' he asked her. She did, and they stayed like that for several hours until, with almost a sigh, his breathing ceased.