Epilogue

It was a beautiful Christmas Eve night, though very cold looking, by the snow that cascaded down through the night, spilling and swirling in a quiet dance from sky to earth, creating mesmerizing sculptures as the wind pushed the drifts this way and that. Nevertheless, in his comfortable bed in his farmhouse just outside of Hogsmeade, Ronald Weasley was very contentedly warm and fast asleep snuggled up to Mrs. Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger-Weasley.

It had been an exhausting night, laying out all the gifts for his four wonderful children and mesmerizing wife underneath the Christmas tree after they had all gone to bed, which, especially since three of the kids were teenagers, wasn’t usually until after eleven at night. Ron’s favorite part about Christmas, though, aside from strolling the streets of Hogsmeade caroling with the Hogsmeade Oratorio Society, for whom he and Hermione belonged, was dressing up as Father Christmas to deliver the gifts. Ron would magically expand their chimney so that he could easily slide down, carrying all his gifts for his family in a burlap sack. He would then proceed to role-play Father Christmas and lay down the gifts, and keep an eye out for his milk and cookies. He might have made a quick job of it, if Hermione hadn’t come down in her sexiest nightdress to deliver Santa his bakery-fresh milk and cookies. After that, things had ended up getting a bit playful.

Because of this, Ron had been very tired by the time his head had hit the pillow. Hermione had shown clear signs of wanting to play more, but Ron had only to put his head on the pillow before he was snoring loudly. It is the desire of most parents to be able to sleep in on Christmas morning, especially one who had been as playful as Ron had, however, Ron was the parent of four children, the youngest of who was only three years old.

Hannah Weasley had arisen at five in the morning, and had managed to control her excitement until about six-thirty, which probably set a record of some sort for her. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to go downstairs, she instead opted to run into her parents’ bedroom. She climbed up onto the bed, to take in her sleeping parents. Deciding they had slept long enough, she proceeded to jump on the bed.

“Up, up, up, daddy! Up daddy, is Christmas, is Christmas!” Hannah squealed excitedly. Ron grumbled incoherently, trying to roll over. Hannah, however, would not be put off.

“Up, daddy, up now! Is Christmas!” Finally, Ron managed to open his eyes, looking blearily at his youngest daughter. He sat up, yawning.

“Mmmm…Christmas, is it?” he asked her, rubbing his eyes. Hannah nodded vigorously.

“Presents to open, daddy, come on, get up!” She said, rather loudly. Ron smiled at her.

“I guess that means that on Christmas, as your daddy, I get to…TICKLE ATTACK!!” Hannah squealed and tried to avoid Ron’s arms, however, a career of professional Quidditch keeping had given Ron excellent reflexes, and he was able to catch his daughter before she made good her escape. He smiled and chuckled at her squeals and splutters as he lovingly, but ferociously tickled her.

“Oh yeah,” Ron said, suddenly seeming to think of something, “as it’s Christmas, and since I am still your daddy, I also have to get a big Christmas hug from my baby, right, Hannah?” he stopped tickling her, and pulled her into a big hug, enjoying the fact that even at three years old, she still smelt like a baby. He kissed her numerous times on her head, the only child that he and Hermione had conceived who had gotten Hermione’s brown hair.

“Well, if it’s Christmas,” Ron said, looking at Hannah, “that means we have presents to unwrap, right?” She nodded, Ron smiled. “Well, if you can get your mum up, we can go down to breakfast. I reckon everyone else is up by now.” Hannah moved over to Hermione’s side of the bed and started to try and get Hermione up.

“Up, marmee! Get up, is Christmas!!” Hannah called at Hermione, “we got gifts!”

“Mmf…you two g’wan ahead. Leemee time to rest.” Hermione muttered sleepily and rather incoherently.

“What d’ya think?” Ron asked his daughter, “should I tickle her too?”

“Ronald Weasley you wouldn’t dare!” Hermione said, suddenly sounding very much more awake and a tad flirtatious. She too finally sat up, and looked at Hannah.

“So, Christmas, eh bear?” Hermione asked lovingly, “well then, why don’t you come over here and give your mother a big Christmas hug and kiss, eh?” Hermione said grinning.

“Eurgh!” Hannah squealed, trying to look revolted, but sounding delighted, “I already gave daddy one!” Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be embraced in a rather tight, but extremely loving hug by her mother.

“Come on, marmee!” Hannah squealed after breaking free from Hermione’s embrace, “presents! Presents, Marmee!” Hermione grinned.

“Lead the way,” She said to Hannah, fixing a bathrobe around her nightdress, and then picking Hannah up, kissing her, and staring at her brown hair, feeling immensely proud of Hannah. Naturally, Hermione loved all her children, but there was something about having a daughter who looked so much like her, and though she was hoping Hannah would get a hold of how to say ‘mommy’ soon, she loved how Hannah called her ‘marmee’ because it reminded her of marmalade, her favorite breakfast spread. To be called something so similar to something she loved, by someone she loved so dearly, it warmed her heart.

Ron had been right to think that everyone else had gotten up. His other children were all seated around the tree. There was Clara, the eldest of Ron and Hermione’s children, who was an extraordinarily beautiful sixteen year old, who looked like a mix of her mother and her aunt Ginny. People were constantly saying that her eyes and hair were what made her look so much like her aunt, and while it was true that she had the Weasley hair and brown eyes, Hermione had to constantly remind people that both she and Ginny had brown eyes. After Clara were the boys, David and Carl. David was fifteen and Carl was thirteen. Ron beamed at his kids.

“Happy Christmas, you lot!” He said cheerfully, kissing each over the head. “Who wants a Weasley Christmas breakfast?” he called, making for the kitchen.

“Me!” Everyone, including Hermione called after him. Ron smiled and began pulling out various pots and pans. Hermione watched Ron, beaming at him. There weren’t many guys she’d known, especially before she came to Hogwarts, who liked to cook, much less be actually good at it. Even Hermione herself grudgingly admitted that her cooking couldn’t really be called stellar either, but Ron, whose mother could cook like no one else, had clearly inherited his mother’s gifts, which Hermione had assumed correctly, had come out of helping Molly Weasley in his pre Hogwarts days. Hermione sighed blissfully as the living room was now bearing all the smells of Ron’s cooking. Grinning, Hermione sat down on the couch beside Clara.

“Hey, mum, happy Christmas.” Clara said, kissing Hermione gently.

“Happy Christmas Clara.” Hermione responded, embracing her.

“Oh, mum,” Clara said, after Hermione released her, “Uncle Harry was in the fire just before you and dad came down, he said he’d be here…” she consulted a Muggle watch Hermione had given her as a off to school gift when she was accepted into Hogwarts “…well, he should be here now.”

“I hope he comes soon, he can share in this breakfast.” Ron called from the kitchen, “I daresay I’ve made a bit too much for just us.”

“I don’t know, dad, you know how Hannah likes to eat.” Carl said, suddenly, taking everyone by surprise. Carl was easily the quietest of the four kids, and liked to spend most of his time in his room, playing a guitar, a Muggle instrument his maternal grandmother had gotten him into, but when he did speak, he was easily the liveliest one, being a good conversationalist after the ice had been broken, very intellectual and had inherited the Weasley wit.

“Well, Hannah should eat a lot,” Ron said, coming back into the living room with a tea tray, “she’s a girl who’s growing, she needs nourishment.”

“Nah,” Carl said, “I think you’re just making excuses for the fact that Hannah got your love of food in her genes, especially chocolate frogs.” Hermione and Ron burst out laughing.

“Did someone say chocolate frogs?” Said a voice from the fireplace. A man with extremely untidy black hair, glasses, a lightning bolt shaped scar and startlingly green eyes was pulling himself out of the fireplace and approaching them, grinning from ear to ear.

“Harry!” Hermione called out delightedly, running forward to embrace her brother-in-law, “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.” Harry responded, hugging her and kissing her cheek. Harry moved on to embrace Ron while a stunning woman with flaming red hair that fell just below her elbows pulled herself out of the fire, grinning just as broadly as Harry had.

“Happy Christmas, Ginny Potter!” Hermione called jovially.

“Honestly,” Ginny said in mock anger, “when will you start calling me just Ginny?”

“Sorry,” Hermione said beaming, “I just can’t help it. The name sounds so cool.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ron said, embracing his sister, “I can’t get used to her no longer being a Weasley by name.”

“Well, I guess the name does sound kinda cool, doesn’t it, Hermione Weasley?” Ginny said, grinning even more broadly.

“Where’re the kids?” Hermione asked Ginny.

“They’re just coming. I swear, Jamie just can’t get out of bed in the morning.” Ginny said, shaking her head.

“David’s not great in that department, either.” Hermione said conspiratorially, “it takes a holiday like this to get him up early.”

“Hey!” David said indignantly from the couch, “I can get up any time I want!”

“Which, unless it’s a school day, usually isn’t until after noon.” Hermione said teasingly, smiling at her second child. David shook his head, turning back to his book. David, like his mother, had a burning love of books, and if you couldn’t find the two, chances were very likely that they could be in the family library, their noses almost literally touching the paper. Suddenly the flames of the fire turned green again, and Harry and Ginny’s son, Jamie stepped awkwardly out of the fireplace, in one arm bearing a shrunken burlap sack with their gifts, and supporting his sister in the other.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here,” Harry said, embracing his son and relieving him of his sister, “I was beginning to worry.” Jamie smirked, stepping back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had shrunk the presents? I spent half an hour looking for them. That of all things, is why I’m late. And where’s David?”

“I’m here mate,” David said. Jamie and David were the same age, and while David was a bookworm like his mother, he and Jamie were also the school pranksters, taking after their twin uncles, as well as star members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. David and Jamie embraced, sharing a particularly close bond. Clara came up to Harry, and looked at the little girl he held in his arms.

“Heya, my little Quidditch star,” Clara said, taking Mackenzie Potter from her reluctant-to-let-go father, “how are you, dear baby cousin?” Clara was rather famous for her already fine tuned motherly instincts. Hermione had often said that Clara would be like her grandmother, which was immediately obvious, if you observed Clara with Mackenzie, who was Clara’s favorite.

Mackenzie was only three months older than Hannah, and like Hannah was the only one with Hermione’s brown hair, Mackenzie was the only one with Harry’s black hair. Still, Harry and Ginny hadn’t as many bragging rights in that department, as they only had their two children, whereas Ron, the bearer of the ‘Weasley tradition’, was the one with four children, which made Hannah’s brown hair a little more of a standout than Mackenzie’s.

“So, we’re all here, what’s the plan?” Ron asked, laying down his complete breakfast, which included pancakes, toast, eggs, kippers and coffee, along with milk for Hannah and Mackenzie, not to mention sweet potato pancakes, a recipe that Ron had gotten from a Muggle friend, which had become an instant hit with his family.

“Well, I think we’ll do breakfast here, then head over to mum’s.” Ginny said.

“Why are we going to mum’s?” Ron asked, while Harry looked a bit confused. Hermione rolled her eyes lovingly.

“Honestly, you aren’t telling me you forgot about the party your mum was throwing?” Hermione said teasingly.

“Harry kept forgetting, even though I would tell him every other day.” Ginny said, shaking her head.

“I did not!” Harry said in mock indignation, “I just thought this was going to be a New Year’s party, to celebrate Voldemort’s downfall…”

“Dad, I know you were the one who brought him down, but for Merlin’s sake will you please not say the name!” Jamie said through gritted teeth. Harry smiled and shook his head, but said nothing.

“Well,” Hermione said, “that was the original plan, but Molly decided that rather than celebrate his downfall, we ought to have a special Christmas to celebrate the first Christmas we’ve had together since…his…downfall.” She looked nervously at Harry, who had been trying to encourage his children to call Voldemort by his name, and disliked people encouraging them to call him anything else, and yet Hermione didn’t think that she ought to test her nephew any more, not on Christmas day, and by the fact that his face seemed unchanged, she assumed that Harry thought so too.

Part of the reason that Harry had not decided to correct either Jamie or Hermione was that he wanted this Christmas to be a memorable one. As Hermione had said, and Mrs. Weasley was celebrating, was the fact that, for many different reasons, from house-shopping, to Mr. Weasley’s retirement trip (for two only; so it was just him and Mrs. Weasley) and everything in between, the Weasleys and Potters had not had a Christmas together since before Harry had brought Voldemort down.

Breakfasts together were always fun, but everyone agreed that the Weasley-Potter Christmas breakfasts were always the best. Hannah and Mackenzie would be in their high chairs beside each other, their mothers on their other sides, beside whom would be their fathers, and on the other side of the table, Clara, David, Jamie and Carl all sat, David and Jamie beside each other, chatting conspiratorially about the next joke they’d pull with Uncles Fred and George, or what new item they might suggest that Fred and George sell in their shop, while Jamie would joke with Clara about her being a prefect, and chat with Carl about Muggle music and Muggle instruments. Jamie himself was a big fan of Muggle drums, and had a collection at his house, and would frequently have jam sessions with Carl. Hermione would discuss the Ministry with Harry and Ginny, who were the only others besides herself who had jobs there, as Ron was still playing Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons. If the talk got around to Quidditch, everyone usually joined in, including Hermione, who’d boast about being married to a Gold Broom award-winning Quidditch Keeper.

Finally, the breakfast wound down. Hannah and Mackenzie easily finished first, and started squirming with anticipation about opening their presents.

“Well, shall we go over to mum’s?” Ron asked, having cleaned and put away the dishes with a wave of his wand.

“No, daddy, presents!” Hannah squealed, while Mackenzie nodded vigorously.

“We’re going to open them at your grandmother’s house.” Ron replied.

“No! We open them here!” Hannah said indignantly, while Mackenzie pouted.

“Well,” Harry said, “I suppose those two could open one or two here, and then take the rest to over to Molly and Arthur.” Ron nodded, it would work.

“Is that okay with you two?” He asked. Both Mackenzie and Hannah nodded, though it was clear that they would have preferred to get the present opening done at home, and then go to their grandmother’s house.

Hannah had opened a fairly small present from her parents, who had talked her into waiting on the big ones until they got to the Burrow.

“Don’t forget, your grandmother will want to open the big ones with you.” Ron had said, a reminiscent smile playing over his face. Hannah’s gift had been a wizard children’s book, ‘The Adventures of Sam Quaffle’, a graphic novel series Hannah had been after her parents to get her. In keeping with her nickname, Harry and Ginny had gotten Mackenzie a miniature toy broomstick like the ones Harry had seen when he was fourteen at the Quidditch World Cup. After the girls had played a bit with their new gifts and had said thank you to their parents at least twenty-five times, the two families prepared to go to the Burrow.

It was tough. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny would have preferred side-along Apparition, since they knew that, because of Hannah and Mackenzie having already opened some of their gifts, they were already a little late, and they knew that Mrs. Weasley would probably be starting to worry. Nevertheless, with two sacks of presents, and a total of six kids and only four legal, licensed Apparators, Apparition was quite out of the question. The only reasonable answer was to set up a Portkey.

Harry cast a duplication charm on a moldy old Wellington boot that Ron used as a doorstop for his screen door, and turned the duplicate boot into a Portkey. The others then crowded around and placed a finger on the Portkey, Hermione and Ginny holding Hannah and Mackenzie tight to them with their other hands.

After a few seconds of rough travel (due to the large number of travelers, the rate of shoulder-bumping had dramatically increased) the Weasleys and the Potters landed at the Burrow. Hermione looked at the rustic, rough, ramshackle house, feeling an overwhelming wave of emotions hit her.

She loved the Burrow. Loved it like no other place. It was here at this house that her life took off, and took on a meaning. She looked over at Harry, whose face showed the same feeling. Here, Harry had found a true family with his best friend’s family, and had found a place that had given him love, courage and support when he could not find any of those things within the confines of his own blood until much later, when his aunt had asked for his forgiveness for the way she had treated him. Most importantly for both Harry and Hermione, however, was that the Burrow had given them both the thing they so wanted—to have someone to love and share their lives with for ever and ever and on.

Hermione, however, loved the Burrow for different reasons. Unlike Harry, she had been brought up by parents who loved her, and had come from a stable, functional family, as opposed to Harry’s very dysfunctional one, but despite the love of her parents, she had, prior to meeting Ron, been a very insecure, rigid and unbendable person, only finding happiness in academic success. From the moment she started hanging out with Ron, even in the days before she started truly loving him, he had taught her that life didn’t have to be about following rules, and she found that she could loosen up a bit and be happier for it. Spending six summers with Ron at the Burrow had nourished her ability to loosen up, and she knew that, for that one simple lesson, she would be forever grateful to Ron, and to Harry, because between them and the rest of the Weasleys, and thanks to her summers with them at the Burrow, she realized that her life did in fact, have a meaning. Before going to Hogwarts, she really didn’t know what she was living her life for.

The Burrow was also about family—first and foremost—and Hermione not only started to love Ron, but she also realized that she was able to find, and cherish, a brother within Harry and a sister within Ginny, and as the four began to live their lives together, and eventually all become relatives, she realized that only her love for her parents would equal the love she felt for Ron, Harry and Ginny, and the Burrow was the place that encouraged, smiled upon, and nourished her love.

Most importantly, however, the Burrow was about memories—the time she first slept with Ron, the place she had been wed to him…heck, she had conceived her first child here!...the place she would not, could not, forget. As her eyes found Ron’s bedroom, she remembered the first time she and Ron had made love, just before going off on the Horcrux hunt, but remembered the even stronger memory of the first night they spent there after they were married. She and Ron were lying side by side, facing each other. She couldn’t stop smiling, and looking at her new ring. The simple gold band that meant so much. Ron, however, looked uncharacteristically pensive.

“You know,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling, “I was just thinking…Mione, I’ve loved you since…since I can remember! Every time Malfoy teased you…I had to stand up to him, for you. I didn’t know why, but every time he said something negative about you, especially when he called you ‘mudblood’…it was like…I dunno, my heart was breaking for you…or something. When you were petrified…I don’t even know how describe what I felt then…I guess it was almost like a part of me was petrified along with you…and then I was so jealous of my Quidditch hero…I hurt you so much when I was ‘dating’ Lavender…if you could call it that…was I that much of a git? Was I that thick? To have experienced it all, but not realize what it meant? It’s like I was playing with your feelings! Now look where I am, married to, and snuggled up with, the woman I love like no other.” Hermione could not reply. She merely moved as close to Ron as she could, no words nor kisses able to convey how much Ron’s words meant to her.

She remembered making love to Ron in the orchard where the Weasleys practiced Quidditch. That would be a day that would be impossible to forget, for it had been the day the two conceived Clara. It had been the day that Ron had been accepted into the Chudley Cannons reserve team, while a new department at the Ministry of Magic, the Department of House-Elf Representation and Legal Services, a department that was Hermione’s undertaking, had been successfully established. If Ron or Hermione had said, as they showered each other in kisses, and ripped off each others’ clothing in their jubilation, that that particular August 15th was the day that would change their lives forever, they were not considering what would happen to them a few months later. Hermione could vividly recall that day (May 10th) lying in a bed in St. Mungo’s hospital, screaming, sweating and crying, saying a lot of things to Ron, most of which she did not mean.

“You git!” Hermione had roared on a particularly painful push, “why did you have to do it to me in the orchard?! First the rashes from those plants, and now you’re putting me through this?! This is all your fault you great big, bloody wanker!” Ron, on the other hand, was most certainly sweating, and trying his hardest to keep his wife calm (while he himself was trying not to faint), sponging her forehead with a cool cloth. He had read a book that Hermione had gotten not long after she discovered, and announced that she was pregnant (another day she would never forget; Ron had stood stock still in front of her for a moment—she was terrified that he would be frightfully angry and leave her for good—and then gave her his lopsided smile she so loved, tears forming in his eyes, and hugged her like never before. “I’m going to be a DADDY!” he had roared, pumping his fist in the air). The book had said to expect such reactions from the woman as she labored, but even so, he hadn’t expected that…Hermione never swore! But then, she gave that last push…Ron had unashamedly wept as Clara gave her first cry, and as he handed Clara to a sobbing Hermione, felt like he loved the world, not to mention the most beautiful baby girl imaginable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Hermione said through her joyous sobs, looking at Ron through curtains of tears, a giant smile on her face as she kissed her tiny daughter, “and it’s all your fault.”

“Ronald! Ginevra! You’re late!” Molly Weasley’s voice startled Hermione back to the present. So lost in her thoughts, Hermione had failed to notice that Ron had gently steered her into the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley’s reprimanding tone was quite deceiving, for she approached the group with a great big, broad smile on her face. If possible, the broadest smile Hermione had seen her wear.

“Oh, dears, it is so good to see you! Happy Christmas!” Mrs. Weasley had hugged Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione twice, giving her own children a bonus hug each. Arthur Weasley quickly followed suit. What had very pleasantly surprised Hermione was to hear a screech of,

“Hermione, baby!” Followed by Hermione being smothered in the embrace of her mother.

“Mum! I wasn’t expecting you!” Hermione said, shock evident in her voice, but mostly delight.

“Thought I’d surprise you, baby!” Sarah Granger said gleefully, “since Arthur managed to get my house permanently attached to the…what is it called…floo network, he…er…called yesterday, asked me if I wanted to come to a little Christmas party he and Molly were planning. I said does Hermione know about it? He said yes, but she doesn’t know you’ll be there, I said, okay, I’ll be there then, and he picked me up later that day! And besides, what grandmother doesn’t want to spend Christmas with her grandchildren?”

“Oh, mum, that’s great! I’m so happy!” Hermione hugged her mother again, and kissed her.

“I wish,” Hermione said in a whisper, so that only her mother could hear, “that dad was here, too. He would have had so much fun.” Hermione broke her hug with her mother, tears beginning to fall, and looked at her mother.

“He is, baby, he’s here.” Mrs. Granger replied soothingly, her own eyes brimming with tears.

“Now, shall we get this party cracking?” Mr. Weasley asked, rubbing his hands together, looking excited. Hermione grinned. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were showing physical signs of age—What remained of Mr. Weasley’s hair had gone from very red to a very light blonde, as grey and white became the predominant color on his head, and Mrs. Weasley, while her hair was still red, though a couple shades lighter than a carrot, had shown every desire to run at Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, when they had entered just a few minutes ago, and though she had approached them as quickly as she could, she was showing clear signs of her arthritis—but they remained as young in spirit as though they were both still twenty-something.

And so the party commenced. Mr. Weasley had to magically expand the kitchen and living rooms, for not only were Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, the kids and Mrs. Granger present, but Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Fred, George, Angelina Johnson (who had begun dating Fred) and Alicia Spinnet (the same for George), Remus and Tonks Lupin, Hagrid and Amos Diggory as well. It was not hard to see why Ron had smiled reminiscently when he had informed Hannah that they would open their gifts at the Burrow, for when the children attacked their gifts, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley along with Mrs. Granger were in their element, at least as enthusiastic about the gifts as the kids were, laughing, oohing and ahhing along with them. There was good cheer all around, and many hours were spent just sitting around, catching up. Many visitors also arrived in passing. Neville and Luna had come around when Mrs. Weasley was making tea, and Neville gave Ginny some papers for a project on medicinal Herbology that he was working on with her, while Luna admitted to Hermione and Ginny that she was pregnant, and asked if she might stop by Hermione’s house and borrow some books. They ended up staying for Christmas tea. Penelope Clearwater made a brief appearance, thanking Mrs. Weasley for her sweater.

“It was nothing, dear.” Mrs. Weasley said to Penelope, “you were always as good as family to me. Percy spoke so highly of you when we were alone together.” Madam Maxime had stopped by as well, to say hi to Hagrid, and invited him to spend New Years with her in France, an invitation Hagrid had accepted. Madam Maxime left only after she had tasted, and complemented, Mrs. Weasley’s treacle tart.

After Madam Maxime had gone, it was whittled down to just family, the Lupins, Hagrid and Amos Diggory, and one of the most memorable moments for any of the Weasleys or Potters. Jamie and Carl had stolen their fathers’ wands (to avoid the Ministry of Magic detecting their underage magic) and had sneakily shrunk their instruments and carried them in their back pockets, while Harry had done the same with the piano he and Ginny owned. Ginny and Hermione had been very unhappy with their sons, but Harry and Ron had managed to get them to let go, in the spirit of Christmas. The three took out their instruments and brought them back to their original sizes, and had a memorable night of caroling. They had continued singing until about nine at night, by which time Hannah and Mackenzie had fallen asleep on their mothers’ laps, and a halt to the singing as Ginny and Hermione put their youngest to bed (they were going to spend the night at the Burrow) had to be called. From there on out, things calmed down a bit. The others congregated by the fire, swapping stories and tales, and just enjoying each others’ presence. Finally, at about 10:30, David and Carl announced that they were going to bed.

The others, however, had stayed up for a bit of a nightcap. For some reason, as the hour crept towards eleven at night, everyone seemed to be getting very sentimental, and everyone’s love for each other was more obvious. Ron coaxed Clara’s head onto his lap, while she stretched out so that she lay across Ron and Hermione’s laps. Ron held her to him, petting her hair and kissing his beloved daughter, while Hermione had one arm around Clara and the other around Ron, taking it in turns to kiss her child and husband, and Jamie was hugging Ginny, while Harry rubbed his back. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger were looking lovingly at their children, grandchildren and each other.

“You know,” Harry said, giving Jamie’s shoulder a squeeze and standing up, “we’ve just lived through our first Voldemort-free Christmas together, and I think that merits just one more song, don’t you?” he stepped over to the piano, and tapped it with his wand, and after the piano played a few bars of introduction began singing.

“Take my hand, and lead me to salvation…” he started in a crisp, beautiful tenor. Ginny, who had been cuddling Jamie, smiled. She could well remember him singing to her a few years back, during the war to help her relax and fall asleep, and though his voice had shown a lot of potential, it was still rough and untrained, but now, after singing with Ron and Hermione in the Hogsmeade Oratorio society, and singing lullabies to his kids, Harry’s voice had become much steadier and sure, and it was beautiful.

“Take my love, for love is everlasting…” Ginny’s soprano joined in with Harry, harmonizing perfectly.

“And remember the truth that was once spoken…” Ron and Hermione now joined, Ron having inherited his father’s soft, calming bass, and Hermione sang a wonderful alto to Ginny’s soprano.

“To love another person is to see the face of God…” Jamie and Clara joined in. Hermione moved herself in between Clara and Ron, putting her arms around each, while Harry and Ginny embraced Jamie in a similar fashion. Molly, Arthur, Remus, Tonks, Amos, Hagrid, Sarah and the others also jumped in.

“Do you hear the people sing

Lost in the valley of the night?

It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light

For the wretched of the earth

There is a flame that never dies

Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

“They will live again in freedom

In the garden of the Lord

They will walk behind the plough-share

They will put away the sword

The chain will be broken and all men will have their reward.

“Will you join in our crusade?

Who will be strong and stand with me?

Somewhere beyond the barricade

Is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing

Say do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future that they bring

When tomorrow comes!”

“Have I ever told you two how much I love you?” Hermione said, smiling at Ron and Clara.

“I think so,” Ron said, kissing Hermione and winking. Hermione proceeded to wrap her arms around Clara, while Ron put his arms around Clara and Hermione, and Sarah put her arms around Hermione and Ron, the group sharing a loving bear hug with each other.

“I’m trying my hardest not to cry,” Ron said gruffly, causing Clara, Hermione and Sarah to laugh.

“Do you know how much like your grandfather you look?” Harry asked Jamie, messing his son’s red hair, “but you got your mum’s hair, for which I’m not sorry.” He turned to Ginny, and embraced her, kissing her passionately and playing with her hair.

“Did I ever tell you that part of the reason I love you so, is because of a curse? The Potter family folklore says that for many generations now, we Potters have been doomed to fall hopelessly in love with redheads who have fiery tempers to match their hair. Apparently, according to Moony, my father considered it a blessing. I agree with him totally, and for the life of me, Gin, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It was another night (and a night at the Burrow, no less) that Hermione (and Harry) would never forget. It was the night that every dream she had since she had been a mere little girl just out of diapers had finally come true. Her life wasn’t a ‘happily ever after’ fairytale; she couldn’t have that, no one could. There were still dangerous people out there; there were still things that could go wrong, their family could still be torn apart somehow, but while there might be wizards and witches like Professor Trelawney out there who might be able to predict the future and tell her that her family was doomed to misery, why should she worry, when, as Hagrid had once said so wisely, what’s coming will come and she would meet it when it did, standing beside her children, husband, mother, brother(s), sister, and her mother and father-in-law. The ones who were important to her. And if they were lucky, perhaps, once again, Professor Trelawney and her fellow Seers would be again proven wrong and Divination would go back to wearing its label as one of the most imprecise branches of magic.

Alasdair Granger smiled. Tears formed in his eyes as he observed the party winding down. He looked over at the man beside him, and gave him the thumbs-up.

“Look at my little kitten…all grown up into a cat…”

“My little boy…survived you-know-who…and the Potter curse is still intact!”

“I love you, Hermione, my little kitten. May you and Ron live on in infinite happiness. I can give you nothing more.”

“I love you, Harry, my little snitch. May you and Ginny live in endless joy. She is a wonderful girl, and may she christen you a nickname like ‘Emperor Emerald’, or something stupid like that. After everything you’ve done, you deserve something that will make you laugh.”

Arm in arm, Alasdair Granger and James Potter blew their children kisses. Finally, at long, long last, there would be peace. For now.

“Do you hear the people sing,

Say do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future they bring when tomorrow comes

Tomorrow comes!”