Conclusion: Blessed, by Elton John, lyrics by Bernie Taupin

Dumbledore stood in front of Malfoy Manor, a cold, ragged, defeated man. His age showed through his sallow face, a look of pure solemnity taking the place of a twinkle. As the billowing winds tossed his robes to and fro, he was, for one of only a few moments in his life, unsure of what to do, of what to say. Tears ran down his face, housing themselves in the eerily pronounced wrinkles that dared to show themselves on this day, settling on his snowy beard.

Slowly walking up the stoop, he took a moment, a few breaths, before tentatively knocking on the large door. A house-elf answered the door, and recognizing the tall man in front of him, extended an invitation inside by opening the door all the way before traipsing backwards to fetch the master and mistress of the home.

Ginny ran down the remainder of the stairs when she recognized her old Headmaster in her foyer. He had previously refused to talk to her about the location of her daughters, perhaps there was something to say. Perhaps they had been found. Perhaps her babies were coming home.

Draco came out of his office upon the house elf's request, still shuffling through some papers. He stopped dead when he saw Dumbledore. The one man who would not talk to him about his daughters. The one man who never seemed worried about the fact that his daughters, his lights of this life, were missing.

Hey you, you're a child in my head

You haven't walked yet


"I did what I thought was best," he explained pathetically, his arms dropping like the tears that fell off the tip of his nose.

"What did you do?" Ginny asked nervously.

"Where are the girls?" Draco pounced. "Dumbledore, do you know where the girls are?"

"I needed to save them. They were in danger, in our time, in this time. Something needed to be done. The Ministry refused. . ." he attempted.

Your first words have yet to be said

But I swear, you'll be blessed

Ginny had never seen Professor Albus Dumbledore this disconnected before, never seen him having less than complete control over the situation. She walked to the Headmaster and quietly clutched his shaking hand. Tilting his face upward, she looked him deep in the eye. "Professor Dumbledore, you need to tell us what is going on here. Where are Leah and Rachel?"

"Take me to your living room, please, Ms. Weasley," he requested. Ginny led him to the entertainment room where they had Draco's business colleagues over for dinner. As the three of them sat down, Draco, visibly trembling, managed to sit in the Levitating Lounger (currently off) while Ginny and Dumbledore occupied the sofa. Dumbledore removed a potion from his robes. "Ms. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, please imbibe this, then close your eyes for a minute." Draco shot Dumbledore a suspicious look. "Please, Mr. Malfoy, do as I ask. A sip will suffice."

Ginny eyed Draco, then drank for a second before passing the little black bottle to her husband. Draco eyed the bottle before drinking the very unappealing, gelatinous substance. He closed his eyes, and waited.

Blackness. Nothing.

I know you're still just a dream

Your eyes might be green

Or the bluest that I've ever seen

Anyway, you'll be blessed

Then, it started. A flash of light.

He could see Hogsmeade's City Center Gardens, he was standing beside Ginny. Clad in a white dress. Looking like innocence itself, a slight bump at her center.

It was his wedding day. And in front of him were his two babies – but this didn't look familiar. He remembered what he could about his wedding day. He had never been able to remember much about it – the effects of getting piss drunk the night before, he had always figured. Except, he had never recalled actually drinking any Muggle alcohol the previous night.

Why were his girls standing in front of him on his wedding day?

Leah and Rachel were admiring the flowers that grew outside Town Hall. Pinks and greens and blues and violets and oranges. And on the far left part of the bush were two very solitary flowers sitting by themselves, one red, the other yellow.

Leah stared at a red, higher than the yellow, touching it lightly, bending down so her hair was at its level. "It sort of matches our hair, doesn't it, Mum?" she asked, gesturing to her mother. Only he couldn't hear her actually saying the words. Her lips moved, and he could hear her voice in his head, an echo almost, but the sound was not coming from her.

He saw Ginny nodding, smiling, twirling a strand of her own hair.

Rachel walked up to the flower, laying one of her mouse-like hands on the yellow petals of the flower underneath Leah's red one. "Poor flowers, they don't have any ones that match them! They must be lonely!" Rachel's echo said.

"They're not lonely, Rachie," Leah explained quietly, her voice almost breathy and far away somewhere in Draco's own head. "Look at the flowers. There are so many of the other kinds that they all get put together. You see ALL the blue flowers, not each blue flower – but how lucky are these two flowers? The yellow flower and the red flower get all the attention reserved for a BUNCH of yellow flowers and red flowers all to themselves because they're special, and unique, and beautiful – just like you." She touched Rachel on the nose lightly.

"And you!" Rachel's echo responded, doing the same thing to Leah.

"So you might think they're all by themselves, but look at what these flowers decided to do? They found each other, they've decided to be friends. On a bush full of flowers that are all the same, what are the chances that these two individual flowers would grow right next to each other? 'Cause they may be different – the red and the yellow – but they are going to get to know something that's completely different from themselves. They are going to share a journey. They're going to grow together."

Draco could feel his new bride shyly reach over and clutch his hand, the lace of her white glove soft against his skin as he watched these two little pieces of heaven – pieces of him and his wife, living, breathing connections between him and this girl now sharing his last name. He surveyed the moment, questioning how he ever got so lucky as to have a sneak preview of his life to come.

The bolt of green light was sudden and unexpected.

Before he could get his wand out, he heard Ginny scream.

Not in the past, not on his wedding day, but in his time, he could actually HEAR her scream as she sat across from him on the couch. It was no echo. His heart wrenched for his wife.

The screaming was getting louder.

Ginny, bedecked in white, her mouth wide open, ran backwards towards the girls before she herself doubled over in pain.

He turned for a split second to see Leah and Rachel lying in front of the bush, absolutely still, looks of terror on their faces, but did not have time to process what was going on.

Draco knew who he would face before he even turned his head. He did not process the picture of the girls, there were too many images flashing. Ginny in white. The girls touching the delicate petals. The black and white. The flowers. The green. The girls like stone on the grass.

Voldemort was talking. He could hear Voldemort's voice in his mind, the echo, but the image before him just moved its mouth. "She was the only obstacle in my search for power," the echo said quite matter-of-factly.

"She?" he could hear himself asking pleadingly. "She did nothing to you! My children?"

"Potter's spawn," the echo remarked bitterly, gesturing with his pointy chin toward the girls.

"Potter has no spawn," Draco yelled, tears streaming down his face. "My children! Why my children?"

"The older one, born a year exactly after Potter's birthday. The prophecy says, 'He who will defeat the most powerful will gestate for one year.'"

"My child! Those children are mine!"

Ginny's screaming slowly settled into deep, heaving sobs. She was witnessing the same vision as he did, right with him. He could hear her throatily screeching, "Leah! Wake up! Oh, gods, Leah, Rachel, please. Wake up, sprite!"

"It does not matter whose spawn they were. Power relies on cautiousness. Consider it ample punishment for seceding from the Dark Side, Malfoy. The pain that this will cause you is retribution enough for not following in your father's footsteps and coming to the Side that can most reward you."

"These are my children," he yelled futilely. "What good did it do? Dammit, what good did this do?"

"Examples. Consider those brats examples. If she was not the one who could defeat me, then why did Dumbledore have a need to hide her from me? Across time no less? Your so-called supreme Headmaster acted very suspiciously. Suspicious actions are rewarded with hasty reactions. Do relay that thought to your beloved Headmaster."

He laughed heartily before Apparating from the garden.

Draco opened his moist eyes. The girls. Where were the girls? He could barely breathe. The scene had been that intense. He looked around suddenly, and saw Ginny being held by Dumbledore, her cheeks red, gasping for breath. He hopped out of his chair.

"What does that mean? Where are the girls, Dumbledore, dammit?"

And you, you'll be blessed

You'll have the best

I promise you that

Dumbledore took a deep breath before proceeding. "You were just given an Obliviate reversal potion. They are rare in the wizarding world, but not impossible to come by. I felt that you needed to see what happened, the truth. Voldemort was looking for Leah. I knew he would, considering the fact that Ms. Weasley was widely known to be quite friendly with the late Mr. Potter. He would be suspicious when Miss Malfoy was born on Harry's birthday, a year to the date of his birth, and ironically, his death. In Lord Voldemort's reasoning, Leah could very well be Mr. Potter's, if she had been in utero one year, so he decided he needed to eradicate the world of this potential enemy. It is not widely known that there exists a tale, a prophecy of sorts, passed down for generations. You heard him repeat it, 'He who will defeat the most powerful will gestate for one year.' If young Miss Malfoy were indeed Mr. Potter's heir, then, a Soul Exchange would have occurred, on top of the fact that she were carried for one year. The fact that there may be a potential enemy was basis enough for Voldemort to act. There has never been a most powerful prior to Lord Voldemort, the wizarding world lived in a certain peace taken for granted - so the prophecy had never been tested. Salazar Slytherin mentioned numerous times in his writings, so it would make sense that his heir would pay some attention to it. Not just an old wives' tale. I thought that while Voldemort was powerful, he was not so powerful to see across time, so I brought the girls back thirteen years ago – at the precise moment when you two commenced your relationship. When I could be the most beneficial and pay the most attention to the girls. I just never. . ." He looked frantically into Draco's gray eyes. "He knew. He was suspicious. He knew. He knew where to look. I couldn't save them. It didn't matter where I brought them, what time, if I kept them in the present, he would have gained access to them too. . ."

Ginny was trying to understand. Trying desperately to make sense of this fiasco. "But where are the girls? This happened in the past? They're not. . ."

Dumbledore nodded his head, his beard bouncing with the movement, tears falling to the Afghan carpet.

"But I was pregnant. . . I mean, even if the girls. . .and the Killing Curse. . .I could still give birth . . . " She stopped talking, trying to find some space. Trying to find the strength to breathe. Trying urgently to hide herself from the obvious.

"Miss Weasley," Dumbledore calmly said, "life is nothing but numerous lines running parallel to each other. Every new decision creates new consequences, a new path for the line." He adjusted his glasses. "My decision was to send those girls back in time, your and Mr. Malfoy's decision was to get involved – create those little girls, Voldemort's decision was to attack two innocents. But some things are out of our control. . ."

"The girls?. . ." Ginny attempted stupidly. "I was pregnant. They're not here. . ."

"While bodies can jump time, Miss Weasley, souls do not. A soul exists apart from this life, apart from time itself. When a soul dies, when a soul is killed, it ceases to be. It just ends. Rachel was extinguished quickly, her soul lost forever. Twelve-year-old Leah shared a soul with that baby you were carrying. When she died. . ."

"I miscarried," she contributed, her voice shaky, the wetness drenching her black robes, her hands going to her abdomen, as she recalled the feeling of being pregnant, hoping against hope that a small bump – a small life – would be there right now.

"Time is a tricky thing, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said quietly. "The truth is exposed, and thusly, the present is affected. I offered you a glimpse of the painful truth. The outcome of this is that this truth exists for nobody but you two. He killed those girls, he was determined to kill those girls." Dumbledore's voice went acidic. "That bastard, the Dark Lord, slaughtered those girls. . . and try as I might, there was nothing I could have done to save them."

I'll pick a star from the sky

Pull your name from a hat

I promise you that . . .

Dumbledore continued in an unsteady voice. The story needed to be told. "After the girls were murdered by the Dark Lord, I summoned an Obliviator to erase it from your memory. Not just their deaths, though. Their whole presence in your lives. As was anyone who ever had direct contact with the young Miss Malfoys. Your friend, Ms. Krishnamurthy, Miss Parkinson, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and your brother, Hagrid. They all gave a piece of themselves to those children, but I could not bear to watch them deal with their deaths, so any interaction with the Miss Malfoys were eliminated from their memories. Anyone who did not have a connection to the Miss Malfoys, classmates, professors, never really noticed their missing, and the fact was that the girls became an afterthought. There were numerous children in Hogwarts. It is now, though, that those people who loved those girls, who knew those girls in their own time will have to deal with their deaths."

Promise you that . . .

Draco looked at Dumbledore distraughtly. "There must be something you can do, anything? I'll donate any amount you want, Professor, to Hogwarts. You're powerful, there must be something. . ."

Promise you that . . .

He held up a hand furrowed with age. "Please, stop, Mr. Malfoy. There is nothing that can be done. The fact is that there is no way to reverse the Killing Curse, and I'm sure, given time to ingest the information, you will reach the same conclusion. If you'll excuse me, I am sure you and your wife need your time to grieve. I will depart." Dumbledore unsteadily got up from the sofa, his weight – the weight of the day, the brevity of the situation, perhaps – making him rely even more heavily on the cane he sported nowadays. He slowly walked toward the front door, opening it with his wand, before pausing and looking back at his former students. "I am sorry, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Weasley," he whispered before closing the door behind him.

You'll be blessed

Draco rose unsteadily from the couch, almost not feeling the situation. As if it were a dream. As if the world he existed in did not hold the cruelty he had just experienced.

Blissful apathy consumed him for a moment as he stared at his wife.

Ginny was in a fetal position on the couch, bawling, gasping for breath. She looked as Draco felt - as he attempted to picture a life without his girls – who did nothing to deserve this fate except being the Malfoy heirs, his children, his BABIES.

I need you before I get old

To have and to hold

He wanted to comfort her, he wanted to take her into his arms and hold her. Gods, he missed his girls and his wife. . .

"Gin?" he asked quietly.

She held up a hand much like Dumbledore had done earlier. "D-don't. . . just don't t-talk to me right n-now," she whispered pleadingly. "Y-you are the l-last person I w-want to s-see right n-now." The thoughts in her head were running just as rampantly as the tears down her face. "I-I need to go t-talk t-to. . . I-I need to get out of here."

Draco's face hardened as he stared at her - this wife of his who had every known luxury at her disposal for the last thirteen years. This wife of his who was sobbing on the living room sofa, who finally knew what it was like to be alone. Not even Potter's memory could shield her now.

"You're going to Potter?" he queried icily.

She did not deny it, looking down silently as she choked on her tears.

He couldn't FEEL much at this moment – the loss of his daughters had not quite hit him yet - but he derived a certain sadistic pleasure at seeing this wife of his feel the solitude he had known every day for the last thirteen years in this pathetic excuse of a marital union. No matter what he did for those girls, he could never compensate for what a mother was supposed to give them. Those children had loved her so much for so many years, and now that they were gone, all she had ahead of her was a lifetime of regret.

He laughed scornfully, the first tears falling down his cheeks. "Am I the only one who finds it ironic that my own beloved wife would rather mourn the loss of her daughters with a slab of stone instead of with her own husband – the father of her children?"

She did not respond to his words, but stood up, grabbing the cardigan lying next to her.

"Sit down," he whispered bitterly, his voice dripping with antipathy. She complied wordlessly. The unsaid dammed up for years came rolling out in a current of misery. "I gave you everything."

He wanted to make her understand his desolation.

To make her experience a lifetime of silence in one moment.

To make her comprehend what it is like to play second fiddle to a corpse.

To make her know what it was like to be him.

"You took everything from me. Look at me, dear wife, look at me!" he commanded.

Ginny stared up at him, startled at his tone of voice, her crying ceasing for a moment.

"I have nothing left – my daughters are dead, my mother is dead, my father is in Azkaban. I have nothing. I spent the last thirteen years of my life in competition with a dead boy for my own wife's affections." His fists clenched in frustration as he stared at his wedding ring. It felt like hot metal burning a hole through his finger.

She opened her mouth to say something, and he knew what it was before she'd even spoken a syllable.

"Stop, Ginny, just stop. It always comes back to that same argument, doesn't it, Ginny? You never denied me sexually. Do you think someone should throw you a parade because of that, Gin, do you? You may have spread your legs for me, but you think I didn't know that it was Potter you thought about? You think I didn't hear you call out Potter's name?

"I HAVE BEEN HERE FOR YOU EVERYDAY FOR THE LAST THIRTEEN YEARS, DAMMIT. ME! THIS FLESH AND BONE WIZARD STANDING IN FRONT OF YOU – NOT POTTER, ME! Those children of ours – OURS - adored you, Ginny, they worshipped the ground you walked on, but you were too busy worshipping Saint Potter to notice. I hope you spend the rest of your natural born life knowing that for thirteen years you had it good, so good. And what did you do? You threw it all away to deify a boy who never loved you back. "

Throwing his wedding ring at her, he walked out of the living room and toward the front door, because, really, there was no reason for him to remain here, at this place – this place that used to be his home.

To walk with you and watch you grow

I swear you'll be blessed

~*~FIN~*~

Please read the author's note, posted next.