Warnings from the first chapter still apply. I do not own Harry Potter in any way shape or form. Thank you very much to Dramione Perfected and Lauren for the help with this chapter and a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favourite. I appreciate it so much and it really dose encourage me to write :)

I was nine when dad died. It was the year Al started Hogwarts, and when Teddy was training to be an Auror. Dad never really got to see me start anything, save my birth, let alone finish. He didn't get to see me off on the platform; didn't get a letter saying I was in Hufflepuff. He didn't get to scare my first boyfriend or see my first Quidditch match. Would he have been happy that I was a chaser? Or would he have been worried that I was acting so much like his wife?

I don't know and I'm never going to.

I barely remember that day. It's strange that, for the most part, the day my dad died had been a happy one, full of excitement and laughter. It had all passed by in delightful whirl and the only thing I remember now is the night. Granddad had taken us back to the burrow and we'd had hot chocolate and I'd laughed at the tales Gran told me about mum as a little kid. I'd gone to bed feeling happy and warm and safe. I'd dreamt of the magnificent ballroom we'd spent the evening in and imagined dancing with a handsome man one day; looking as graceful and beautiful as mum had in dad's arms.

However, my dreams were entwined with another scene I'd witnessed that evening; one that stood out for all the wrong reasons. I had been hiding, from Lorcan and Lysander, thinking they wouldn't dare come in the girl's toilets, when the door was opened and I'd heard a man's voice. Stifling a squeal, I'd ducked into one of the cubicles. I'd let out a relieved sigh when I'd recognised my dad's voice, quietly protesting at being in female territory. I'd smiled and had been about to jump out and surprise him when I'd heard my mum's irate voice,

"Who the hell does that tart think she is?"

"She was just being polite," my dad replied, trying to sound light-hearted and I'd wondered who they were talking about. I heard mum's heels click on the tiled floor, as if they were just as angry as she.

"She was all over you," she'd fumed.

"She never touched me!" Dad had protested. There had been nothing light-hearted about this, not the usual banter that existed between them - but it couldn't be an argument. My parents didn't argue. I'd never heard them argue.

"I suppose you like the way she says ''Arry'," she'd scoffed and I remember how surprised I'd been at the spite in my usually fair-minded mother's voice.

"She's just a friend." He'd sounded exasperated at this point, as if he'd been through this more than once with her. I'd decided to risk it and opened the door a crack. Mum's back had been to me and I could just make out dad as he'd leant against a sink, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

"You know her!" I couldn't understand the heat of the accusation: my dad knew a lot of people and after all, it had been a Ministry event. He'd shrugged casually.

"She's our Misuse of Muggle Artifacts liaison."

"I bet she'd like to do more than liaise with you!" I was only vaguely aware what she meant by that, and made a face. I couldn't blame mum for being mad if someone was trying to take him from her, but I didn't get why she was upset with him. It was hardly his fault; some women just acted weird around him. Dad had sighed, as if he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"She knows I'm married. She's seen pictures of the kids." His hand had wandered down to his pocket and I'd half expected him to get his wallet out and look through them. He'd done that often.

"That doesn't stop people like that." She'd dumped her bag on the sink beside him with a clatter and started rummaging through it.

"People like that?" I'd seen a look of annoyance cross his face before it became neutral once more. He'd taken a breath and his tone had turned placating again. "You've only just met her, Gin."

"And I saw her flirting with you and you-" she'd abruptly stopped her search to turn on him, furiously, "- going on about her dress." He'd held up his hands – a sign of surrender.

"I just said it was nice." His voice wasn't pacifying any more - it was emotionless, as though in the last few minutes his emotions had slid along a scale from happiness to nothing; as if the warmth had slid out of his very being.

"'Just something I threw on'," she'd mimicked in a sickeningly girly voice, turning back to her bag. He'd slumped back against the sink, letting her rant whilst looking like he'd wanted to fall into it and disappear. "Well it bloody missed her. And it's practically see-through."

"I hadn't noticed." He'd spoken in the same flat, emotionless, dispassionate tone, and it had given me shivers, a sickness to my stomach.

"Liar."

She hadn't even looked up at him at that and he hadn't said anything to oppose the hissed accusation. He'd stared down at his shoes and I'd wondered who these people were and what they had done with my parents. Hugo had told me about this comic he had read and I'd half-listened to him go on about pod-people. I wished they had been imposters. At least then I would have had a chance of getting my real parents back.

The crack had taken me completely by surprise. I hadn't even registered it being thrown 'till it ricocheted off the wall. "You're not listening to me are you?" It had sounded like she was asking about the weather and I was convinced I'd imagined the whole thing. Dad hadn't moved an inch but he'd seemed to pull himself together, as though coming out of a daze.

"I am, love. Honestly. Tell you what, let's just find the kids so your dad can take them the Burrow and then me and you can dance the night away or whatever it is you do at these things." He'd gently pulled her close to him and she'd wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Alright," she'd conceded, "But if she comes near you again, there's going to be trouble."

"I've only got eyes for you, Gin." He'd kissed her then and I'd looked away, sighing in relief. I couldn't help but feel like a Muggle bomb had been deactivated, countdown stopped on the last spare second before explosion. "Come on, let's go find our misfits," he'd said eventually, seemingly happy and cheery again.

"I'm surprised James hasn't pulled anything." Mum had sounded much more like her-self as well and I'd had to suppress doing a happy jig in the small cubical. Maybe the aliens had given me back my parents after all.

"Na, he's too busy flirting with Kingsley's daughter," he'd joked and I'd rolled my eyes. I'd heard the door squeak open and I told myself I hadn't heard them properly as they left.

"Like father, like son."

"Ginny, please."

I exited the cubical, and my eyes fell upon my mum's compact mirror, laying innocently on the floor. I figured it had just fallen out of her bag. I'd bent down to pick it up but stopped when I saw the crack running right down the middle.

It was at this moment I felt I was awake, seeing clearly for the first time that night. I'd lain there, thinking about the mirror in my hand; I knew mum would want it back but I was too scared to return it in case they knew I'd listened to them arguing. I'd consoled myself that they had made up and everything would be fine now. All the same, I hadn't been too happy with mum. I had always been told off for throwing things and I definitely hadn't wanted her throwing things at daddy. But that's not what happened, I'd scolded myself. It had just fallen out her bag, and I'd just imagined seeing the blur sailing over my father's head, through that crack in the cubical door. If it really had, dad would have been upset, or angry – at the very least commented on it -and mum wouldn't have sounded so calm. Not to mention the fact that my loving mum wasn't that kind of a person. It was these conflicting thoughts that kept me awake and the reason why I'd heard James creep down the stairs. He wasn't back by morning.

I remember that morning clearly enough. I can close my eyes now and I'll still see Hermione's pale face and drowning eyes; her trying to keep her voice steady and her hands from shaking – trying to be strong for me as she told me daddy was with his parents now. I remember the numbness and the confusion; not knowing what to say or how to act because surely it was all a strange dream. I'd sat on the sofa staring at the wallpaper, half-listening to Ron walking in and Hermione asking him about Teddy. Terror had washed over me: my dad was gone and now I didn't know where mum and James were and Teddy had 'gone into shock'. I hadn't known what that meant and I figured it would just be me and Al from then on; he'd looked like a breeze would knock him flat, so I hadn't thought much of our chances.

In the coming weeks I'd noticed strange men coming in and out; dressed in robes dad had used to wear. They'd looked grave and sympathetic and had given me small pitying smiles when they'd noticed me staring. They'd asked me such strange questions and I remember the frustration and confusion, because I'd wanted to help them get the bad guy who took my daddy away - but I hadn't understood their questions. Why did they keep asking about mum? Why did they ask if I thought they were happy together? If I had ever seen my mum mad at him? I'd thought of the evening before - the pod-people in the ladies loos, but I didn't say anything. I hadn't wanted her to be blamed for something that wasn't her fault. My mum was somewhere at home with a broken heart or looking for the monster who had taken her man from her.

We were offered the chance to visit her sometime later. James had stood up and left the room and I'd decided I didn't want to distract her from finding my dad's killer. I'd built up this little fantasy in my head by this point and was utterly convinced this was what she was doing and the sooner they caught him the sooner mum could come home, the sooner we could be a family again. As such, only Albus went and he wouldn't talk to any of us when he came back, except to quietly apologise to my brother for, what I now know to be, not believing him.

I know the truth now, of course. I still keep the article on my mother's sentence in a box, along with the broken mirror, in the bottom of my wardrobe. That way I can't delude myself any more. It's there in black and white: 'Domestic Violence', 'Spousal Abuse', 'Murder' – nothing I can dream away. It had taken months and months, court date after court date – a struggle I was blissfully unaware of. I like to remember now though, the day she was found guilty and the official day six become four. Teddy has stuck by us like glue, making as much effort as our aunts, uncles and grandparents to take care of us. I know this was partly because he's always considered us his siblings, but I reckon he feels a sort of debt towards dad, so he took care of us the way dad took care of him. As Al and James are now godfathers to Johnny and Ben, I can only hope this won't become a Potter-Lupin tradition.

We sat in the middle of a field in Godric's Hollow one night, my brothers and I, and talked. I don't remember very much of those nine years; only that I felt loved and safe in my father's arms. I feel as though he had a different nickname for me every week from Lily-Pad to Tiger-Lily and I remember the sound of his laughter, the smell of his cooking and every step of the last dance we had together. My brother's remembered different things. They told me that they'd seen the signs but never realized them for what they were. I can't see how they could of; until the Ministry event I hadn't had a single inkling. Dad hadn't kept us in the dark; so much as he'd tried to keep the darkness from us.

James had confessed to us what he had seen that night, something he had never done before, from when he'd snuck into our home to the moment dad had looked right at him; so surprised to see his son in the doorway that he hadn't seen the blow coming. Jamie said he would never forget the sound of dad's head hitting the kitchen counter, not for as long as he lived. He couldn't go on after that, and Teddy had covered for him by proposing a toast. We'd raised our Butterbeers to the brightest star in the sky, hoping that Sirius was keeping an eye on him, and cheered together,

"To dad!"

I'm going to be dancing very soon; dancing with my own handsome man. My very soon-to be husband. My Jake. I'm walking closer now, trying not to trip and I can't help but clutch Teddy's arm a little tighter. He smiles reassuringly at me; bravely doing another man's job. Who better than my oldest brother? James had politely refused. I think he still blames himself. I see him now, with his beautiful wife and three children, and Albus is sat next to him. Al waves at me and I ignore the tears in his eyes.

We're near the front now and I see Hugo give me the thumbs up. I've left him all alone, apparently; leaving him to be the last of us cousins to 'give in and marry'. There's a seat there – right at the front. It's empty. My dad should be there. I like to think he's watching anyway. The seat next-door is occupied by Hermione who gives me a watery smile and an encouraging nod.

Teddy pecks me on the cheek and soon Jake and I have our hands entwined. The ceremony is short but heart-felt and beautiful; I'm surrounded by my family and about to spend the rest of my life with the man I love. My vows: to love and to protect, will be honoured and I can only hope that our story ends the way my parent's was supposed to.

I won't end up like my mother.

And Daddy: I'll make you proud.