Hey! I'm uploading this on my birthday!

Wow, I got some flack for having Ronnie think that Luna was pretty in that last chapter, with at least two readers declaring that the story was ruined because of it. I don't take back what I wrote, because that moment was a very important one for Ronnie as a character…

…but if you were worried that this was going to shift gear and turn into a Ronnie/Luna romance story, I can tell you right now that I'm not actually planning on that. I've said earlier that romance isn't going to be a big focus of this series, and that hasn't changed.

I'll go a little into more detail in the author's notes at the end.

WEASLEY GIRL: SECRETS OF THE PAST

Based on the Harry Potter stories by J. K. Rowling

EPILOGUE ONE
A Muggle's Funeral

Muggle funerals weren't too different from wizard funerals, really. A solemn ceremony, speeches about the dearly departed, grieving people in black, the carrying of the coffin to the grave, the works — and then a wake afterwards, in which family and friends gathered to remember the dearly departed.

Of course, the wake for Uncle Bilius, a few years ago, had been at the Burrow, not at a fancy Muggle hotel like the one they were going to… and, of course, Uncle Bilius's funeral and wake had been a lot more, well, attended. Uncle Bilius had been a popular man, even if he'd gone a little odd towards the end, and at the funeral family and friends had queued up to say nice things about him.

For Petunia Dursley, though? It turned out that there were only a handful of Muggle guests, in addition to Harry, Ronnie, Ginny and Mum.

Ronnie had insisted on coming along to the funeral with Harry, of course. She'd felt she owed it to the woman she'd seen die, no matter if she hadn't liked her in life. Ginny hadn't been far behind, wanting to be there for Harry — and of course Mum wasn't about to let the three go off to a funeral unaccompanied by an adult.

So all four of them had shown up, wearing the most Muggle-looking black clothes that Mum had been able to Transfigure.

Vernon Dursley had not been able to attend the funeral. He was still in the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's, and would likely stay there for some time — but Dudley was there. It was the first time Ronnie had seen the large boy since Summer, but Harry had seen him the day before the funeral, when Dad had taken them both to St. Mungo's to see Vernon.

According to Harry, seeing Dudley had started to bring out more lucid moments in Vernon, and the staff were planning to arrange for weekly visits. While it was rare for Muggle next-of-kin to be allowed at St. Mungo's, apparently in certain special circumstances a Muggle might be granted special visiting privileges, as long as it didn't disrupt the Statute of Secrecy. Since Dudley already knew about the wizarding world, and the Healers at St. Mungo's didn't seem too concerned that he and Uncle Vernon were the supposed "evil Muggle Relatives of Harry Potter," he had been granted those privileges. Just how they were planning on keeping this up while he was off at his own boarding school, Ronnie had no idea… but they probably had some way of arranging it.

Accompanying Dudley to the funeral was a large, purple-faced woman whom Harry had pointed out as "Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon's sister."

Harry hadn't seemed very keen on meeting the woman (and it was hard to blame him, really; she didn't look like a very pleasant person), and so by hiding in the middle of the crowd had managed to avoid her.

Dudley had spotted them, but hadn't said anything. He'd just given Ronnie and Ginny a look that better than words said that he recognised them from last Summer, but he'd had left it at that. He'd spent the rest of the funeral ignoring them, openly sobbing throughout.

He was the only one there who looked to be genuinely grieving; the rest of the small crowd consisted exclusively of stone-faced and stiffly-dressed Muggles, who just seemed to look disapproving of the entire thing — and especially disapproving of the hastily-Transfigured black Muggle clothes that the Weasleys were wearing, which did not exactly match the fancy Muggle clothes.

Clearly Petunia did not have a big family… or, when it came down to it, many friends. Even if the ones she did have were undeniably posh, they did not seem to be particularly friendly. Even the infamous Aunt Marge looked annoyed more than anything.

There was something very sad about this. Petunia Dursley was dead, and the number of people who cared was depressingly small.

If they'd known how few people would show up, Ronnie thought, she might have insisted on the rest of her family coming as well, and why not the entire Potter's Gang. She was certain that if she'd mentioned this to professor Dumbledore, he would have let Hermione, Neville and even Colin start their Christmas holidays a little earlier as well.

"Well," said Mum as they began moving away from the small group of mourners, "that was that. How are you holding up, Harry dear?"

"Fine, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "Thank you." He'd been very quiet during the entire thing; he hadn't cried at all, just sat there with a solemn look on his face. "It's Dudley and Uncle Vernon I feel bad for."

"We'll have to at least show our faces at the wake," said Mum, "but we don't have to stay for long. Tell us when you want to leave, Harry."

"I will." Harry nodded.

"Now," said Mum, "Where exactly is this hotel we're supposed to have the wake at?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "I've only been in this town once, and we stayed at a different hotel then. I didn't even know this was the town Aunt Petunia grew up in, or that her parents were buried here."

"You never visited your grandparents' graves?" said Ginny, sounding a little surprised.

"They died before I was even born," said Harry. "And the Dursleys never liked gravesites. I don't think I'm too fond of them myself, really," he added in a softer tone.

As the others tried to figure out the streets of the town of Cokeworth, Ronnie turned to look back at the small number of other funeral attendants, some of whom looked even less pleased with their surroundings than they had with the funeral.

Most of them probably came from Little Whinging, Ronnie decided, less likely than Harry and Mum to know (or even want to know) where anything in this town was located.

Little Whinging had been boring and uninspired, but rather posh — the houses might be identical and in frustratingly-neat rows, but they were large and well-maintained, with large gardens and two cars in most driveways. Cokeworth, by contrast, seemed to be the epitome of 'shabby.' At least from what Ronnie had seen of it, it was mostly grey stone, with small brick houses in various states of disrepair, narrow cobbled streets, big factory pipes and a dirty-looking river with littered, icy banks.

Strange that someone like Petunia Dursley would have wanted to be buried in a place like this.

Ronnie was just trying to remember the name of the hotel they were supposed to be heading for, and pondering whether any of these Muggles would be helpful if she asked them, when she suddenly saw something completely unexpected.

"Bloody hell!" she yelped.

"Language, Veronica," Mum admonished automatically.

"Sorry, Mum, but — what's Snape doing here?!"

And true enough — Snape it was, right here in this shabby Muggle town, standing at a distance from the Muggle mourners. He was even dressed shabbily, as if to match his surroundings; instead of the old black robes that had been his trademark as the Potions master at Hogwarts, he was wearing a black Muggle suit that looked like it had been bought in a second-hand shop and then been left in the back of a wardrobe for ten years.

He seemed to have heard Ronnie; at least when he turned to look at her, it was with a bemused expression.

"This is a funeral, Weasley," he said as a means of greeting, while walking up a little closer. "If you haven't yet worked out why people attend funerals, then you are an even bigger dunderhead than I thought."

"Excuse me!" Mum was suddenly right in front of him. "I will thank you not to speak to my daughter in that way!"

Snape looked at her with something akin to surprise. This was probably the first time he and Mum ever met, Ronnie suddenly realised. They had never been at Hogwarts at the same time — well, unless you counted last Christmas, when Snape had at least been on Hogwarts grounds at the same time as Mum, but that didn't count. Mum only knew Snape from the stories her brothers had told over the years, and it was easy enough to see that she was not very inclined to be friendly.

Then again, Snape would not have been Snape if he let himself be intimidated that easily. "Mrs. Weasley, I presume," he said, without changing his tone of voice. "If this is your daughter… and, indeed, if the newspapers are correct and you are currently caring for Potter… then you have my deepest sympathy. Those two together would try the patience of a saint."

"Oy!" Ronnie snapped, but shut herself up as Mum placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Mister Snape," Mum said coldly. "If this hadn't been a funeral, and hardly the time and place for such discussions, I would have been more than happy to talk to you about people who could try the patience of a saint. If you can't have respect for the living, at least have some respect for the dead!"

He glared at her. "Respect for the dead," he spat, "is the only reason I'm even here. Don't let me trespass on your time." With that, her turned to walk away.

"Professor Snape?" said Harry. He'd seemed just as surprised as Ronnie at the presence of their least favourite teacher, but curiosity was clearly overriding his dislike.

Snape stopped and turned back to look at him. "Don't insult us both by pretending you've forgotten I'm not your teacher anymore, Potter," he sneered.

"Sorry, but —" Harry drew a sharp breath. "You knew my Aunt Petunia?"

Snape didn't soften, because he never did. Nevertheless, there was perhaps a slightly smaller amount of malice in his eyes than usual as he answered. "I had the… pleasure… of her acquaintance when we were young. Surprised, Potter? We both grew up in this very town, after all."

"You must have loved each other," said Ronnie, unable to quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

Snape scoffed. "You can spare me your comments, Weasley. Given your mother's speech about respect for the dead, I will not sully Petunia Dursley's memory by pretending she was anything but a small-minded, intolerant and nasty woman. Still…" For a very brief moment there was something wistful in his black eyes, an emotion that Ronnie had never seen from Snape before. "She was all that was left of… that time. And for that reason, at least, I'm sorry to see her go."

"But —" Harry looked at him. "If you knew Aunt Petunia, you must've known my Mum too, even before you went to Hogwarts! Did you —?"

Snape's expression made the air seem even chillier than it already was. He took a few steps to the side and motioned behind him. "Rather than trying to interrogate me, Potter, you should be concentrating on the man that murdered both your Aunt and your mother. He's not going to rest until he has you as well."

"Tom Riddle," said Harry. "I mean — Voldemort."

Snape hissed. "Don't speak his name, you fool! Especially not now that he's returning! Or if you insist on acting like an idiot and disregarding everything wiser people tell you, at least don't speak his name until I've had a chance to put a few miles between the two of us."

"So you believe that he's returning!" said Ginny, blinking.

Snape looked at her. He didn't seem very impressed. "Unlike the imbeciles at the Daily Prophet, I am in fact capable of rational thought. Of course the Dark Lord returning. I've already had a long talk with Dumbledore about it — more's the pity for the both of us, Potter."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I fear we'll soon be forced to endure each other's company again." Snape motioned down the road. "Until then, I suggest you start paying attention to your relatives. I believe that's them coming to greet you."

A brief look of panic flashed over Harry's face, followed by a deep resignation, as he saw the purple-faced "Aunt Marge" come marching up towards them, a somewhat miserable-looking Dudley in tow. "Boy!" she called, as if talking to a disobedient dog. "I want a word with you!"

"Good luck, Potter." With a nasty smirk, Snape turned his back on them all and walked away, just as Dudley and Aunt Marge came closer.

"Hello, Aunt Marge," Harry began, clearly wanting to be anywhere but there at the moment. "Well, er —"

"Wouldn't have thought you'd have the nerve to show yourself at Petunia's funeral," Marge barked. "Not after what you've done."

"After what I've done?" Harry repeated.

"How do you do," said Mum, stepping up to greet Marge. She seemed slightly less inclined to be snappish with Marge than she had been with Snape; perhaps she felt that a woman whose sister-in-law had just died and brother hospitalised deserved a bit more lenience than a sour-faced former Potions master. "I'm Molly Weasley. Harry is staying with my family for the moment."

Marge looked at her. Like many of the other Muggles present at the funeral, she did not seem to be very impressed with Mum's hastily-transfigured Muggle clothes. "Taken the boy in, have you?" she said. She had a very loud voice, constantly verging on a shout. "Take my advice. Send him off to the nearest orphanage. It's what my poor brother and sister-in-law should have done after he was left on their doorstep. Or better yet — march him down to the police station and have them lock him up and throw away the key."

Mum gaped. "I shall do no such thing!" she declared. "What on Earth are you on about? Sending a twelve-year-old boy to prison!"

"Juvenile hall, then," said Marge. "Believe me, it would rid society of a menace."

"Aunt Marge," said Dudley nervously. "I really don't think —"

"Don't worry, Dudley." Without taking her eyes of the gathered crowd, Marge gave him a one-armed hug. "I won't let that nasty cousin of yours do anything to you." She glared at Harry. "Don't think I haven't seen through your little game, boy."

"What game?" Harry blinked in honest confusion.

"Playing innocent won't help," Marge snarled. "Vernon and Petunia finally come to their senses and throw you out on your ungrateful ear. Two months later, they both go missing. And now, Petunia's dead and Vernon's in the hospital. Not only that, but no-one will tell me which hospital! All Dudley could say was that it was somewhere in London, and those nurses that came to collect him — raving mad, the both of them! Blathering on about how I wasn't cleared for visits! Me, Vernon's own sister! Don't know what came over me, letting Dudley go off with them alone…"

Dudley winced. Ronnie suspected that the nurses had probably Confounded Marge or something to keep her from asking questions.

"I'm not blaming you, Dudley, of course I'm not," said Marge, who seemed to have misunderstood why her nephew was wincing. "But one thing's for certain!" And here she glared at Harry. "I distinctly heard them mention your name! Don't think I can't put two and two together."

It felt like an icy hand grabbed around Ronnie's heart. Was this woman really standing there and accusing Harry — their Harry — of…?

Now, Ginny couldn't take it anymore. "What the hell are you accusing Harry of?!" she demanded, stepping up towards Marge.

"Ginny," said Mum, though the warning tone in her voice wasn't as strong as normal. Her reserves of goodwill towards grieving aunts was apparently emptying fast.

"I have known this boy since he was a year old," said Marge, talking to Mum again, "and he has always been a hooligan. I thought perhaps the institution he was sent to would manage to beat some gratitude and common decency into him, but apparently not!"

"Institution?" Now Mum was gaping.

"Yes. It had such a promising-sounding name — St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. A name with discipline, I thought. But apparently discipline isn't enough for some delinquents!"

Harry had gone red. He was clenching his fists and glaring at Marge through his glasses.

"I'm just saying, you should carefully reconsider having this boy in your house," said Marge with a mix of anger and glee. "Just look at that expression. That's the face of an incurable criminal! Before you know it, he'll have murdered you all in your beds!"

Something snapped inside Ronnie. "SHUT UP!" she roared and lunged for Marge — only to find herself yanked back and halted in her track. Mum had grabbed her and was holding her back with a firm grip.

Marge turned to look at her, eyes widening. "I say!"

"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU DAMN STUPID FUCKING DURSLEYS?!" Ronnie screamed, struggling against her mother's grip. "IS THERE A SINGLE FUCKING MEMBER OF YOUR FAMILY THAT ISN'T A TOTAL MORON — TOTAL ARSEHOLE?!"

"Veronica Weasley, that's enough!" Mum barked. "We are leaving right — oh, no!"

That last part drowned in a scream from Marge, and one from Dudley. Marge's coat had suddenly burst into flame.

"D'you suppose it was my accidental magic or yours?" said Ronnie.

"I don't know," said Harry. "But I can't bring myself to feel too sorry for Aunt Marge."

"Me neither. I can't believe she thought you'd killed your Aunt!"

"I can," said Harry gravely. "She's always hated me, even worse than Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did. Even worse than Snape."

"That bad?!"

"Worse."

They were back at the Burrow, in Harry's room, a few hours after the commotion at the funeral. Harry was sitting on his bed, with Hedwig perched and half-asleep on the bedpost, while Ronnie sat by the desk with a purring Crookshanks on her lap.

The unfortunate incident of the igniting coat had been taken care of swiftly enough — luckily, Mum had managed to put the fire out before any bystanders had seen too closely what was going on, and a hasty Confundus charm had ensured that when concerned funeral guests and other passer-by Muggles came running, Marge had forgotten about her flaming coat and could only give feeble answers as to why she had been screaming. Most of the Muggles seemed to think that it was some sort of delayed grief, so that had been that.

Still, Mum had decided that it would be more prudent not to show their faces at the wake anyway, and instead return back home to the Burrow.

Ronnie had of course received a stern lecture from Mum about losing her temper like that, especially in public, but like Harry, Ronnie couldn't find it in her heart to feel sorry for Marge Dursley. It annoyed her much more that the woman had interrupted what looked like it might have been the first time ever that she might have wanted to hear what Severus Snape had to say.

"Speaking of Snape," she said, looking at Harry. "Weird running into him, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "I'm still astonished he knew my Aunt Petunia. I suppose… I suppose I already knew he must've known my Mum. He knew my Dad, after all, and they were in the same year. I just never knew they grew up in the same town."

"What d'you think he meant by having to endure your company?"

"I don't know." He paused and then grimaced. "You don't think he's returning to Hogwarts, do you?"

"God, I hope not. I've actually started enjoying Potions since Professor Flamel took over." Ronnie sighed and leaned back in her chair, scratching Crookshanks's neck. "So many weird surprises and secrets lately… wonder what the next one'll be?"

"No idea," said Harry. "By the way…"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was a Parselmouth."

She blinked. Of all the things she'd expected him to say at this point, that was pretty far down on the list. "What?"

"I wanted to tell you," said Harry. "I was going to tell you, in fact. The day when I first showed you that picture of the Marauders. Remember? I said I had two things to tell you. Well, that was the other thing."

"Oh." Ronnie had plain forgotten about that.

"But then we got side-tracked with that entire trip to Hagrid's, and so I didn't. I should have told you before, it was just —"

"It's okay!" she interrupted him. "I don't care! I get why you'd want to keep it a secret, with what that stupid book said, but I know you, I know you're not Dark…" She paused. "You know I wouldn't actually think you were, right?"

"Of course I know!" That came a little too quickly to be completely true.

Ronnie looked at him. And made up her mind. She took a deep breath and said hurriedly: "My middle name is Muriel!"

That made him look at her. His eyes widened in surprise behind his glasses. "What?" he said, in almost the exact same tone she'd used just moments before.

"I know. Ghastly, isn't it? I'm named for my Great Auntie Muriel. Mum and Dad were going to name me 'Ginevra Molly.' That was the name they'd picked out for their first daughter. But apparently Auntie Muriel got into a snit because nobody was naming their children after her. After a bit of arguing, and since nobody wanted to burden a poor baby girl with the names 'Muriel Molly' or 'Ginevra Muriel' I became 'Veronica Muriel' instead."

"Er — okay."

"There," she smiled. "Now you know a secret I've been keeping from you. And if you ever tell anyone what my middle name is, I'll kick you right in the balls."

For a moment, he looked at her as if she'd grown a second head or something — but then, thankfully, he laughed. "All right. I suppose we're even then."

"Damn straight we are."

"So Ginny's real name is 'Ginevra Molly,' then?"

"Yeah, but don't call her that. She hates it almost as much as I hate 'Muriel.'" She paused again. "She still fancies you, you know."

Harry sighed. "I know. She is a lot easier to get along with now that she actually talks to me instead of squeaking, but…"

"But?"

"She's your little sister."

Ronnie blinked. "Harry, you're not trying to say —"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that! I don't fancy you!" Harry held up his hands. "You're my best friend, but I don't like you in that way! It's just, well, you're you, and… she's your little sister," he finished, somewhat lamely.

"Oh." Ronnie felt herself turn pink. "Well… good then. I don't fancy you either. You're a great guy and all, but… no, I don't think you're my type."

"Glad we got that sorted out!"

"Absolutely!"

There was a slightly awkward pause. What she'd said was true; she did love Harry very much — but not, as he had said, in that way. Maybe the thought had struck her once or twice, but… well… He really wasn't her type. Her mind once again returned to that brief, confusing moment from a few days ago, back in Hagrid's hut, the one that kept coming back to her… the moment that…

The moment that didn't mean anything, she mentally scolded herself. It was just silly to think otherwise. She'd briefly thought one girl was pretty. That didn't mean she was…! After all, Luna had just provided the key to catching Wormtail and bringing him to justice, of course Ronnie's thoughts about the girl would be more positive. It was stupid of her to think that it meant that she was — she didn't even want to think the word. Not that there was anything wrong with the word; she liked to think she was a broad-minded person, and there were many great and admirable people who were — it was just that she wasn't. At all.

Besides, it wasn't as if this was the time to speculate about her own sexuality. Not with everything else going on. She shifted and looked at Harry again.

"So… what do we do now?"

"About not fancying each other?" He blinked. "I don't think we need to do anything about that."

"Not about that, you arse! I mean — there's gonna be a new war, isn't there? Maybe not straight away, but it'll come. And we'll be right in the middle of it. Bloody hell, I don't even know any combat spells."

"Me neither," said Harry. "Not really. But it's all right for you, you don't have to — I mean, it's me Voldemort wants."

"So what?" she scoffed. "You don't think I'd let you go up against him alone, do you? Face it, Harry, you're stuck with me! And I bet Ginny, Hermione, Neville and even Colin are gonna say the exact same thing!"

Harry's cheeks turned a little red, and he looked away from her. He didn't say anything, but just like Crookshanks whenever you were under the Animaloqui, Harry's silences could speak volumes.

Ronnie carefully lifted Crookshanks off her lap, and went over to Harry's bed, where she sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and they remained in the hug for an entire minute.

Finally, he pulled back. "Thank you, Muriel," he said.

She laughed. "Prat."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Notes: The story of Great Auntie Muriel and how Ronnie got her name is of course free to read here on this very site, and is called The Leapling.

And now, for the controversial part of the story:

As I mentioned in the pre-chapter note, a few readers really did not like the ending of the last chapter, where Ronnie suddenly noticed how pretty Luna was. At least two reviewers insisted that the story was "ruined" because of this.

You're entitled to your opinion, of course, but… it wasn't as though I had them kiss or declare their eternal love or anything like that. All it was, was a brief moment where a girl in the early onset of puberty essentially looks at another girl and discovers that she might find her attractive. Nothing about what Luna thought about the entire thing.

Did it come out of nowhere? Ronnie certainly thought it did. But it's actually something that has been built up to for a while now. I have actually included a few small hints in the text, and even openly admitted it to it in PM to a few people:

Ronnie is in fact a lesbian.

I've known this about her since fairly early on. Not straight away, mind; when I first wrote the very first chapter of Weasley Girl, I didn't know she was gay. Not even when I decided to continue the story and turn it into a series, did I know. It wasn't until a couple of chapters in, when I began planning out the overarching plotline, I started to suspect. See, I was plotting out the second year, or more specifically the Lockhart subplot. It's strange to think of it now, but I had originally planned on Ronnie crushing on Lockhart along with Hermione.

But then… well, I've touched on this before, and a lot of you will know what I'm talking about… but sometimes characters start writing themselves to the point where they almost live their own lives. And Ronnie told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way she was ever going to fall for someone like Lockhart, because she didn't like men at all.

From then on, I've written Ronnie with the knowledge that she was a lesbian. It just hasn't been openly acknowledged by the narrative before because Ronnie herself didn't know. But, if you read back, you might find a few hints that Ronnie isn't totally straight… certainly that she doesn't find boys attractive in the least. A lot of these hits could of course just be interpreted as "she's twelve, she just hasn't figured out what the big deal with boys is yet," but there was always something more to it than that. With this chapter, she's pretty much entered the denial phase. She's starting to work things out, but isn't quite ready to acknowledge that side of herself yet.

(You might remember how I, after the infamous shipping poll, admitted that the Harry/Ronnie ship was "probably not going to happen"? Yeah, that's why. And I know a few of you have seen something between Ronnie and Neville as well, but that's not going to happen either. I suspect that Neville did at one point have a small, boyish crush on Ronnie, but sensed that she didn't feel the same way about him, so he never did anything about it.)

If this completely ruins the character and the story for you, or if you feel I've betrayed you by not making Ronnie's sexuality clear from the start, then I'm sorry about that.

Partly it was because I didn't know it myself at first. Partly it was because I wanted the readers to get to know Ronnie as a person before they got to know her as a lesbian. And partly it was because… it's really a very minor part of the story, and tagging the story "femmeslash" or "lesbian protagonist" tends to mean you create certain expectations with the readers; expectations that this story was never meant to fulfil.

There's one more epilogue left. It'll be the first chapter in this series where Ronnie does not appear, because the focus is going to be on several other chapters, in set-up and preparation for the third story of the trilogy, War of the Prophecy.

If I see you for the second epilogue and the rest of the series, then great! If not — well, thanks for following me so far, at least.