/I don't own anything you recognize in this story. /

Epilogue

The years after Voldemort's defeat went as fast as they came. Though Voldemort's death was caused for much celebration, it was tainted for Hermione by Harry's death. It would've been much better if he had lived. The victory would've been more triumphant.

The first year and a half was hard, of course. It took some time in getting used to Harry never coming back to talk to her and Ron, to tease and play around and just be his regular self. But Hermione kept her word and moved on.

She and Ron had attended Harry's funeral together and several months later, the two of them married and settled down not far from where Harry was buried. No matter what, Hermione couldn't bring herself to be far away from Harry.

And now, after many years later, Hermione was standing at Harry's grave, planting flowers and thinking about everything that had happened.

"Hermione?"

Hermione stood and turned around, smiling when she saw Ron coming towards her. She loved being with Ron; he made her happy and told him so every day.

"Coming to visit Harry again?" Ron asked as he came and stood beside her, wrapping his arms around her.

Hermione smiled and nodded. "The flowers that I had planted last year were starting to die, and I decided to take them out and put in new ones. I don't think Harry'd appreciate dead flowers on top of him."

"No, he didn't much appreciate dead things when he was alive," Ron said wistfully. "He was the best friend I've ever known. We'd always help each other out with homework."

"Copying more like," Hermione said accusingly, pointing a finger at him.

Ron grinned sheepishly. "Mates to the end, I say. And anyways, you could never turn us in and always ended up helping us."

"That's what friends are for, right?" Hermione asked.

"But of course," Ron smiled.

Hermione suddenly looked at something behind Ron. Ron looked at her, concerned.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Is that our son?" Hermione asked.

Ron turned and squinted at the figure coming towards them. "It looks like him." Turning back to Hermione, he looked at her, even more worried. "Are you going to tell him about Harry?"

"Yes, I think it's time. He's ten, now, I think he has a right to know, now," Hermione sighed.

"Only if you're ready, love," Ron said, caressing her face.

Hermione nodded as she watched her son sprinting towards them, a bright smile upon his face. When he reached them, he stuck out his fist, which was full of flowers.

"Mom, I brought you some flowers!" he exclaimed.

"Harry, have you been yanking your mother's flowers out of her garden again?" Ron asked sternly and the boy hung his head sadly.

"I only wanted to give her something, I thought she'd like it," Harry said sadly.

"Oh, of course I love them," Hermione exclaimed, taking the flowers from him and burying her face in them. "What's flowers without picking them?" she asked him gently.

Harry broke into a wide grin. "Flowers waiting to be picked."

"I'll be up at the house if you need me," Ron said exasperatedly and headed off towards the house.

Hermione sighed and knelt down in front of her son. If there was a time to tell him the story, now was the time to do that.

"Did I ever tell you the story about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived?" Hermione asked him.

Harry shook his head. "No, is this Harry Potter the same one buried there? I think I read something about him in one of your books."

Hermione smiled and nodded that he was right. He had inherited her thirst for knowledge, all right. And amazingly, her son wore glasses and brilliant green eyes. His hair was messy as well, but his hair had a rusty brownish-red color. There was a little bit of the old trio in him, though Hermione couldn't explain how.

"That's exactly right. But did I ever tell you that I went to school with him and that he was one of my best friends?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, you didn't."

"Well, come on, and sit with me, and I'll tell you a story about the famous Harry Potter. It was certainly a story that nobody could ever forget," Hermione said.

The two of them sat down next to Harry's grave and Hermione hoped that Harry wouldn't mind the story being told here. And without a second thought, Hermione launched into the story of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived whom nobody would ever forget.

Author's Note: Well, there you all go, the last chapter of this story. I hope you all enjoyed the story. I'll probably either be finishing up other stories now or write a new Harry Potter story that I'm planning that's after Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

Thanks to all who've read and reviewed this story and I hope you continue reading my other stories. Adios and happy reading to all.