a/n: Hello again! Well I got so many amazing reviews from all you guys so I just HAD to get this epilogue up and running for all you. I noticed that more than one of you thought my story was more of a Romeo and Juliet, so in this last part I'm going to emphasize that this was more based on the poem, "The Highwayman". Well, I'll let you read on to find out how I do that. I was also thinking of what most of all of your reviews said; about you now all hate Harry and want him to die? Weeeeelll…. After I got about three that said that it did actually cross my mind that I might kill him in this epilogue… but I decided not to, because then it would seem as if everyone was dying and it would just be too much. So sorry to all you disappointed reviewers out there. (tear) Oh and speaking of tears, I am sending everyone that cried an invisible tissue, and I'm really sorry I did make you cry; I was actually hopping someone would, because that was the plan. Oh, and I am also giving you guys invisible hugs who cried or almost cried. I love you guys, I really do. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this one last little taste of, "Look for me by the Moonlight." It's been so fun writing this, I'm so sad to let it go!
Xox
Squoxcoon
--x-X-x--
Epilogue
It was raining. Just like the night the girl of Harry's dreams took her life for another. Everyone stood under the bewitched tarp and mourned the death of the first girl Weasley in generations. The flawless Ginny Weasley lay in her coffin; her best dress on, her hair neatly combed and curled, her lips painted red. Her eyes were closed, and they would never re-open, no matter how many spells, jinxes or incantations were made, or what dark magic one possessed to free her of death. She was too young; it was wrong for her to be robbed of her freedom at such a time in her life. She had been in love, and the Great Harry Potter had misjudged her, and her right to love again. At this time, everyone had forgotten about why her life had been taken away; all they were thinking was about what a bright, beautiful witch she was. No. No one cared about the man she loved. No one cared about the remarkable man that gave his life for Ginny. No one dared to whisper or mutter his name. For behind his name was a thousand lies, and on his arm was the mark of the devil. But no one knew the truth anymore; the rumours and stories were scattered around like puzzle pieces, then put back together all wrong. It seemed that only Harry knew the truth, and he felt sick to his stomach that he denied it before. He had no idea that Ginny Weasely indeed loved Draco Malfoy.
Under the tarp was silence. It was a time to mourn, not a time to talk or laugh. Hermione Granger, who wasn't speaking to Harry after what he had done, had her head held low and eyes squeezed shut. She willed herself not to waste anymore tears on her fallen friend, but her body wasn't going to listen. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks into her folded hands and her shoulders shook. Then softly, ever softly, she began to sing.
"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
Riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door."
Her song grew a bit louder, and people started turning their heads.
"He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair."
She continued more verses, growing louder and louder at each stanza. The song was long and beautiful, which made the mourners just stop and listen, and think.
"They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain."
Hermione continued until the last couple stanzas,
"Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair"
She looked around at the astonished faces around her. "Oh," she said quietly, "I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't realize I had gotten so loud…" She blushed.
A small witch beside her took her hand in an affectionate way. "Sweetheart," she said in a kind, mothering voice, "It was wonderful. What was the name of the song?"
Hermione blushed even deeper. "I-it's an old muggle song…The Highwayman. It was written by Alfred Noyes in 1907, and…" she stopped before she got carried away, for she knew just about everything about him. "It's one of my favorite poems," she whispered, "An-and… it reminded me of…them." She choked on the last word, then burst into tears.
Ron was in a heap in his chair. His freckled face was chalky and pale, his hands shaking. His eyes were shut tight, and he was muttering words under his breath. He had been this way ever since he had heard the news and seen his baby sister lying lifeless. Molly was rocking back and forth in her chair; eyes wide open, staring at the coffin that held her baby girl. Every Weasley was there, mourning over the loss of the only girl Weasley for years and years. Harry almost felt like an outsider; which was odd, because he always thought of the Weasleys as his family. He used to think of Ginny as a sister, but he wanted more than that. His greediness for happiness cost him more then he wanted, and in the end two lives were lost over just one thing. It was then Harry knew what he had to do.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. On the first floor, you will find-"
Harry ignored the woman's voice from over the intercom in the elevator and took a small silver key from around his neck. It was Moody's, but he was going home after the funeral (which had ended) and wouldn't be coming back into the office anytime later tonight. He shoved it into the keyhole that was on the button for the last floor and turned it counter-clockwise. The elevator started it's decent to the floor Harry was requesting; a floor that only the Aurors and other witches and wizards that were high in ranking knew about. It was the Floor of the Dead; or the Last Floor of the Last Floor, as others liked to call it. But Harry always thought the Floor of the Dead sounded much creepier. The elevator came to a halt and opened, revealing a door with a silver keyhole. Harry removed the key from the button in the elevator and brought it over to the door. He turned the key counter-clockwise, just like in the elevator, and the door creaked open. At first glance, the inside looked like it was full and full of giant gleaming filing cabinets. But instead of files in the drawers, there were bodies. Dozens and dozens of lifeless bodies, each with a different number on the outside of their drawer. In the middle of the room was a much smaller filing cabinet, containing the names of which belonged to the bodies, and the numbers of them. What made this room unique, however, was not the bodies inside, but who the bodies belonged to. All the bodies in the room were of Death Eaters killed in battle, by Aurors, or the Dark Lord himself. The people who worked in this room then brought the bodies over as quickly as possible to perform a freezing charm so the bodies did not decompose. Later, a charm is preformed on the bodies to find out what they were planning to do next before they died. Each set of numbers in the room was glowing a different colour depending on the state of the body; red for new arrivals, green for already frozen, and blue for bodies ready to be disposed of. Harry looked around the room to only see one drawer glowing red; the drawer containing Draco Malfoy. Although it was proven that he indeed was not a Death Eater, he still had information from his father, who was one of Voldemort's favourite pets. Harry took the same silver key to open Draco's body drawer. Inside, he found the blond ferret looking, well, not too well. Harry chuckled to himself, but then stopped. This was no time for humour. If he wanted to pull off his plan he needed to act fast. He cast a Feather- Weight charm on Draco and pulled his invisibility cloak from his pocket and threw it over the body. He then threw Draco over his shoulder, careful not to expose any of him and keep him under the cloak. Harry put everything back the way it was, then apperated away- although he stayed put.
"Fuck, forgot you can't apperate into this room…" Harry said aloud. He stumbled into the elevator, still unable to grasp the fact that he was about to steal a dead body. Not just a body, but the body of his enemy, the body of the man he killed. Harry started shaking all over. He was carrying the body of the man that for all these years he wanted dead, and wanted the pleasure killing. Now he was dead, and Harry was at a loss for words. He pressed a button (didn't matter which one), and as soon as the elevator passed the Death Floor, Harry apperated as quickly as he could to his destination.
It was past midnight; the only things left from the funeral were lonely flowers on a newly put gravestone marked,
'Here lies GinevraWeasley 1990-2007; friend, daughter, loved by all.'
It was here where Harry collapsed. "Oh, Ginny," He sobbed, "What have I done to you? I'm so, so, so sorry," Harry began to cry. And as he cried, he sang,
a/n: this is the whole Highwayman song, by the way)
"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
Riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door."
Harry rose and took his wand from his pocket. He turned a stick into a shovel and he continued to sing as he dug beside Ginny.
"He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
Marching-marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlottlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
Tlot-tlottlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair."
Harry had a hole big enough to do what he wanted to do. He knew he was going to get in a ton of trouble for this, but he needed to do this. It was what needed to be done. He found a pile of sticks on the ground and conjured it into a coffin. He placed Draco inside and ever so carefully placed it into the hole. As he filled the hole, he began to cry uncontrollably. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been so self-absorbed in his needs and wanting Ginny so badly, she might still be alive. If he had only known that Draco wasn't a Death Eater, then he might not have flipped out so much. Wait, that's not true. He still would have flipped out, Death Eater or not, at the fact that Ginny wanted to be with Draco. Harry then started remembering all those times in Hogwarts; from first year to seventh, he hated Malfoy. But now to see him like this…It just wasn't right. And to know he was the one who killed Draco… it made him sick to his stomach.
The grave was done. Harry added the last touch- a grave stone that he carved himself. On it, it said,
'Draco Malfoy 1989- 2007: loved and misjudged'.
Harry got in his knees and placed a red rose on Draco and Ginny's grave. It was there Harry stayed till dawn, staring at their graves and thinking of the past, the present and the future with them in it. He thought of when he was with Ginny, he thought of when he was chasing Malfoy before he ran away with Snape, and he thought of the note that Draco wrote for Ginny. Harry took that little ring box from his pocket and placed it on Ginny's grave. He stood up to leave, but pulled out his wand one more time to make one more change.
--x-O-x--
Hermione's POV
It has been four years since the three of them left us. Four long, painful years. And yes, I said four. Harry disappeared not long after…it happened. No one knows where he went, or if he's still alive. Although, not long after his disappearance, less Death Eaters have been showing up, and You-Know-Who has not struck for quite some time. In fact, the War has not even begun. There have been rumours that the Dark Lord is dead, and Harry killed him. But if he did, and what the Prophesy said is true…I don't want to think it.
Lots of things have happened since…that. I have become a teacher at Hogwarts and head of house for Gryffindor. After overcoming the shock of his little sister's death, Ron proposed to me and we will me getting married in a year's time. Fred and George expanded their shop and are now richer than ever, Bill and Phlegm, hem hem, I mean Fleur, divorced after Fleur realized how difficult it was to have a part-werewolf as a husband (oh, and the fact that she was having an affair, but apparently that's "private" business). So apart from that, no one has changed. Wait, how can I say that? Everything has changed. There's no more Ginny. There's no more Harry, who would normally go on and on about how he hated Draco, who also isn't here. The wound from their deaths and disappearances is still really deep, even though it was so long ago. If Ginny were still alive, then she would have become a Healer, which is something she had wanted to do her whole life. And if Draco were here… well, he just might have… changed his ways. I mean, he wasn't a Death Eater, he didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps, and he loved Ginny. Shouldn't that be enough to change? Sigh. And with Harry- he would have been a great Auror! But then he had to throw it away. It was all his fault that Ginny and Draco are dead! It's all his fault that she will never walk down the aisle and get married, she will never have children, she will never be a Healer all because of Harry! Even if he was still here I wouldn't even look him in the face, let alone speak to him. He just didn't get the fact that Ginny actually loved Draco, and I didn't think he would ever get it, until I saw something very strange and very different that I thought I would never be able to see.
It was the day after the funeral, the day Harry disappeared. I went to the cemetery to see Ginny again and bring her flowers. I loved Ginny too much to let her go, so I tried to talk myself into thinking she was still alive. Well, being as logical as I am, it didn't last. But I did needed someone to talk to, and she was the only one I could turn to. As I got to her grave, I noticed something odd; there was another grave besaide her, one that wasn't there before. As I got closer I gasped- it was the grave of Draco Malfoy. I got on my knees and read it.
'Loved and Misjudged'.
I turned and stared at Ginny's gravestone. "GinevraMalfoy? But who-" I stopped. I knew exactly who did it. As I said before, besides those little changes I mentioned earlier, no one has changed. I was wrong. It was that moment that I realized he changed. It was at that moment I realized he knew what he had done and realized Draco actually wanted and needed Ginny. Who am I talking about? The young man who changed my life, the life of others, and history. The young man who up until that moment I laid my eyes on the newly planted grave I thought didn't give a damn about anyone's feelings but his own. And the young man that had placed Ginny's engagement ring on her grave. The young man I am talking about, of course, would be Harry Potter.
Fin.
--o-X-o--
a/n: Well there you have it, folks, there is my epilogue that I poured my heart and soul into. Wow, it almost sucks to let this story go…. But there is always more room for more fan fictions! As it is the summer and I have devoted my life to Harry Potter and story writing (which if you add them together you get fan fiction, so basically I'm devoted to you guys), I have SO many stories planned, including finishing up my story I already have going. So hopefully I'll hear your reviews in my ff's to come! Good-Bye!!
p.s. Guess what I'm doing tomorrow????? Well, since the LAST FING HARRY POTTER book is coming out tomorrow at midnight, I shall be down at my favourite bookstore getting my copy at midnight!! How cool is that? Wow, am I devoted or what?
Xox
- Squoxcoon