All I Want Is You

By HPOD Sufferer


It was over.

Everything.

Ron panted, the door shuddering behind him. "Not long now." The sound of bangs, crashes and a high pitch whine came through the thick wood.

Harry nodded grimly, moving into the room. His footsteps echoed, dust rising from beneath his boots, which Harry was dimly aware of pinching his toes. He looked down and wiggled his toes, and winced.

"So," he murmured. "This is it. The great and mysterious locked room in the Department of Mysteries." He looked over his shoulder at Ron with an eyebrow quirked. "Not very impressive, is it?"

Ron shrugged, his eyes tracing the dark stone walls and floor, the plain white pillars supporting the ceiling. Frowning, Ron joined Harry. "Hey ... isn't that -"

"The Mirror of Erised," breathed Harry, jogging over to it. Hermione and Ron followed, slower than Harry, Hermione with a wary look on her face that only had a trace of its usual curiosity. The three stood in front of it, Hermione in the middle, hands at their sides. They were together after all that happened, yet split but their separate losses; together in their pain; separated by their wants. And the mirror showed it all - if one focused on the three of them, all they saw was themselves, battle weary and tired; but if they looked only at themselves, they saw their deepest desires come true. Ron glanced at the other two to see their reactions, and saw a tear escape Hermione's eye.

"Hermione!" He asked in a concerned voice perfected over hard times, "What's wrong?"

She wiped the tear from her eye with her sleeve. "Nothing - it's just ... I see us." Ron shrugged at her, to indicate he didn't follow her. "No - us. The real us, one where we're not covered in blood, one where we look healthy, and happy and -" she sobbed. "Oh Merlin, I'm pregnant."

"Really?" said Harry, peering down at her.

"Yeah," sobbed Hermione, and she turned away from her reflection to sob on Ron's arm. Ron awkwardly rubbed her back. "Come on Hermione, it's just a reflection."

"B - but I want - t it so much," she sobbed quietly. "And we're going - g t - to die!"

The boys looked at each other in confusion over her head, and Ron gave Harry one of his it-must-be-a-girl-thing looks. Harry smirked at him. "So, Ron, what do you see? Just yourself? I mean, you've been a prefect, won the house cup, the Quiddich cup, practically saved the world -"

"Shut it, you," Ron joked, and he felt Hermione giggle into his jumper. "You're the one who's about to save the world - no, listen to me, Harry, you are. We haven't really got time to argue about it anyway." Behind them, the high pitched whine grew louder. He frowned at his reflection. "Weird thing is, I do only see us, as we are. And I've still got dirt on my nose." Hermione giggled harder, and pulled back, wiping tears from her eyes still.

"So you want to die?" she asked watery fashion, giggles gone and sombre expression back.

"No!" Ron cried, staring at his reflection in alarm. "But, well, I guess," he hugged her to his side, "I just wouldn't want to be anywhere else. We'll be together, no matter what, the three of us, together. Like it's always been, and how it'll always be. For eternity," he said, his voice rising to try and make it sound like a joke.

"Amen," said the other two, but Ron didn't bother to ask.

"Harry?" questioned Hermione in a small voice. 'What do you - what's in your reflection?"

"Her," he said hollowly. Hermione smiled understandingly, glancing at Ron.

"With you?" said Hermione with a smile. "Are you old? Having your wedding? Is she pregnant?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Hermione. Just her. Safe, whole, and happy. Alive."

Ron and Hermione frowned. "But - wouldn't you want to be with her?" Ron asked, alarm creeping into his voice.

Harry shrugged, turning away. "Come on, we've got minutes left."

"You've as good as killed him," Hermione said. "There's no need for you to pull that killing-yourself-for-the-sake-of-the-world business on us."

"Anything could happen," said Harry, pretending he hadn't heard her. He positioned himself by the door, and then locked eyes with the pair of them. Ron still had his arm around Hermione. "See you at the end of all of this, where ever it is." He whispered, holding his wand up.

The door blasted open, wood splintering, flying into the room, and sound exploding into their ears. Ron squeezed Hermione's hand briefly. The light streaming into the room lost its brightness, and Ron gaped.

"Ginny?"

Ron's sister, no longer a girl but a radiant young woman of seventeen stood, staring straight ahead at the Mirror of Erised. Her flaming red hair was a halo around her head, her eyes shining unnaturally, her skin pale. She wore a set of Hogwarts robes. She moved into the room a few steps.

Then Ron gave a strangled noise - behind his sister was a person Ron had never seen before, but knew he really didn't want to see. Ginny's fierce eyes rolled back, and she dropped, cold, to the ground. Harry gave a scream of rage, Voldemort spun to see him, and there was a flash of green.


It was over.

Everything.

A woman with flaming red hair laid a flower onto the grave, kneeling on the soft grass. Behind her, her older brother stood with his hands crossed in front of him and his expression was sad, faraway.

Behind them, the sound of a young child laughing crossed the cemetery.

The woman raised her hand to stroke the gravestone lovingly, her dainty finger tracing the name. Harry James Potter.

A tear rolled down the woman's pale cheek, and she turned to look over her shoulder at her brother. "It's not fair, is it?"

"He had a good life," offered her brother lamely, looking over his shoulder at his wife. "Darling, keep the kids off Lupin's gravestone, will you?" His wife rolled her eyes, tugging a pair of twins from the marble.

"Trying dear!"

The woman shuffled across to the gravestone beside the one she was at, placed a lily in front of it, and pushed more tears from her face. Her red hair whipped about in the wind.

"Honey, I'm going to start back home - the kids are a bit – ah - Come back here!" called her brother's wife.

"We should be going too," her brother said, watching his wife walk down the lane, the twins, who were both seven, skipping happily.

The woman with red hair stood up, brushing down her dress. "I suppose." They linked arms, and brother and sister made their way to the gate of the cemetery. At the gate, the pair looked back.

She could still see them. They were two tombs of the purest white marble, which technically were one. A hand of carved marble protruded from each, and the hands were entwined.

The tombs of Harry James Potter and his wife, Ginny, were never separated, always joined by the hands. The youngest son and daughter of the couple looked away from the graves of their parents, and walked down the lane.


On the tomb of Harry James Potter, was this inscription:

Harry James Potter

Went onto the next grand adventure after a long, full life. Take that Voldemort.

A loving Father, husband, and the best man who ever lived…

He always said bedtime would be the death of him, but somehow maybe sleeping wasn't what he had in mind.

And on the stone belonging to his wife, a carver had painstakingly engraved this:

Ginevra Molly Potter néé Weasley

The little girl who left us as a woman after her fair share of time on earth, plus a few years more. And a Dark Lord once told her she wouldn't live past twelve, but that was before she helped kill him.

Sister, wife, and mother of twelve …

A long time ago, she told the man she loved she'd follow him to the ends of the earth. And she did.

And if someone bothered to tap on the entwined hands with their wands, a recorded message would come out, the two voices of the deceased persons.

"Is it on Mum?"

"Kids, get out of the room!"

"Aww- dad!"

"No, seriously."

"Fine!"

"Should we start Ginny?"

"Yeah, ok. If you're listening to this, then you're at our grave. We wanted something a bit more than a cold rock for our loved ones to remember us by, as we know how hard it is to tell a stone how much you love and miss them."

"What we want to say is; we did it. It was hard, wasn't it Ginny?"
"What, the battle?"

"No, giving birth. Of course I meant the war."

"Oh. Maybe we should have practiced this first Harry."

"No, we want them to remember us as ourselves, don't we? And we're both known for our on-the-spur actions."

"Darling, we should really get on with it."

"Sure. Well, it was hard, the war, but we got Voldemort in the end. You should have seen Ginny – she was amazing-"

"I was unconscious Harry."

"Small detail- and that's not what the Prophet reported. But we all know how reliable they are. Anyway, we won-"

"And as soon as I had woken up, Harry proposed. If any of you have been proposed to whilst bloody and in your school uniform, right in the middle of the atrium in the Ministry of Magic in front of everyone you know and a few hundred you don't by Harry Potter, the guy who just saved the world, then you might just be able to have a faint idea of how mortifying that was for me."

"Hermione said it was romantic."

"Moody said it was brash."

"He was joking."

"Anyway," said the voice of Ginny, cutting in, "we got married at the ripe age of eighteen-"

"And went straight back to Hogwarts to finish our seventh year together. Fun times."

"Yes," said Ginny dryly, "I particularly enjoyed doing my NEWTs whilst being four months pregnant."

"I had nothing to do with it."

"You, Harry Potter, had everything to do with it. On with the story though, that was James and Sirius who got born five months later- trust me, having twins on one's first pregnancy is not recommended, and I'm a Weasley."

"But we handled fine- by the time we were oh- fifty-"

"Forty eight," growled Ginny. "I was forty eight when I had Lily, our twelfth child."

"Lily was as beautiful as her mother before her, and with as much fire."

"I am not beautiful Harry, I am round-"

"You are always beautiful in my eyes Ginny. You were beautiful as fifteen, when I first kissed you. She was stunningly beautiful at seventeen, when we saved the world. Ginny was devastatingly beautiful at eighteen, when I married you. Undeniably beautiful at nineteen, when you first gave birth. And you have always beautiful after that."

"Oh Harry," said Ginny. "Let's finish this up- I've got to make the desert."

"Is it treacle tart?"

"Yes, it just happens that it is. Anyway, kids, grand kids, friends, family, loved ones, teachers… we want to say we love you. Where ever we are now, we're happy. We fought to make the beautiful world you live in now, and we entrust it to you, and hope you protect it with all you've got. But even if things turn bad, know that if you love someone, it'll bring some brightness to your life. Oh, and if you kids don't win that Quiddich Cup, we'll come back and show you how to really play!"

"Erm, yeah. Keep your eye on the ball."

"And that goes for all things in life," Ginny said, her voice softening, "Make sure you have a vision of the thing you want most in life, and do anything you have to get it."

"That's what got me Ginny," said Harry quietly. "So try, fight for what you believe-"

"And never lose hope!" The pair said together.

There was a flash of red light over the gravestones as the sun finally succumbed to the night, and the cemetery full of wizards and witches was cast into darkness, so that the inhabitants could finally rest in peace.



Author's Note: This was a little one shot that hit me a month or so back, but I left it to stew. It's how we want it to turn out, isn't it? Orginally, I put dates on the gravestones, but a few friends of mine were unsure about it. Plus, the legend of Harry Potter is timeless anyway.