A/N: Well I must admit that I'm honestly sad that we've reached the end. I've so enjoyed writing this fic, especially having so many wonderful people willing to come on this emotional, and at times turbulent, journey with me. The interest this story has received has been quite overwhelming. Know that I greatly appreciate every engagement, from those amazing people who have taken time to leave feedback to those who quietly jump onto each chapter as it's posted. I always plan a break between stories but it rarely happens. Writing has become a bit too therapeutic to leave for long so no doubt I'll be back some time soon. In the meantime, keep an eye out for 'Vati's Reward.' Take care and all the best, DSx

I'd like to thank the wonderful and ridiculously talented OracleObscured for singing and allowing me to post one of my favourite songs as a theme for this story: "Man with a child in his eyes" - originally by Kate Bush. She sent it to me as a surprise to cheer me up and I begged her to use it so thank you OO, you know I love you. Listen to her wonderful version here: /jmsbya0v

"Is that really what happened, Uncle George?" The wide-eyed little girl gazed up at the lanky redhead from her beanbag.

"Well, that's how I remember it." George Weasley slumped back on the couch and stretched his neck back until he was facing the ceiling.

"Daddy never told us a story like that." The girl's twin brother piped up, sticking his finger up his nose.

"That's because Daddy doesn't have a very good memory."

"How's it going in here?" Fred Weasley poked his head into the playroom. "Did Uncle George tell you a good story?" He looked suspiciously at his wide-eyed children. "It's been going for a very long time."

"Yes, he told us about Helen and Sebastian," his daughter spoke up.

"Who's that?" Fred frowned.

"They were at Hogwarts and they were very clever and tricked Mouldyvort." She giggled gleefully.

"Oh, okay. Well . . . it's probably time you both started getting ready for bed."

"Owww," the children moaned. "But the story hasn't finished yet."

"Yes it has." George sat up quickly, looking at his watch.

"Five minutes only." Fred raised a hand to indicate.

"Yay!"

George looked between the two eager faces. "It really has finished. There's nothing more."

"But I want to know what happened to Helen and Sebastian. Did they get married?"

"Well . . ." George sighed, settling back in his seat again. "Yes they did, in fact."

"Did you go to their wedding?"

"Uh, yes . . . I did."

"What did Helen wear?" The girl's eyes were shining.

"I believe it was a dress."

"What colour."

"Blue."

"Blue?" The girl frowned. "Wedding dresses aren't blue."

"This one was."

"Does Helen like blue?"

"I suppose she must. She was never particularly traditional."

Silence.

"What happened to Mouldyvort?" The little boy continued to pick his nose.

"Well, first of all, he picked his nose so much that it fell off." George looked at him seriously.

The little boy instantly snatched his hand away and hid it behind his back.

"And, second of all, he died."

"Like Bumbledore?" the little girl asked sadly.

"Yes, exactly like Bumbledore . . . except that no-one was sad."

"I'm sad," she said. "He was funny."

"Umm . . . he actually wasn't that funny."

"You did his voice funny."

"That's probably as funny as he got."

"Oh."

"That's right." The little boy looked up brightly. "You said he was a nasty bastard!" The end of the last word was muffled under George's hand.

"Pasty," George corrected him. "I said Nasty Pasty."

"No you didn't!" the little girl cried.

"Okay, I might have said the other word . . . but you have to say 'Pasty'."

"Why?"

"Because—" George glanced over his shoulder at the doorway. "Otherwise Daddy might not let me tell you any more stories."

"Oh."

"How did Mouldy Pasty die?" The boy's finger was back in his nose.

"Well, in the end it all happened quite easily." George folded his hands behind his head. "Helen and Sebastian came up with a very cunning plan and surprised him one night with a bunch of their friends."

"Were you there?"

"Yes."

"And Daddy?"

"Yes."

"And Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry?"

"Yes."

"What about Draco? Was he still being naughty?"

"Um . . . no. He became quite the hero in the end. He tricked Mouldy Pasty lots more times so that Helen and Sebastian could deliver the final whopping great trick that killed him."

"Is Draco your friend?"

"Yes."

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"No . . . we're just . . . friends. Why?"

"Does Vati have a girlfriend?"

"I believe so."

"Is Helen her girlfriend?"

"No, she married Sebastian remember."

"But you said that she wanted to—"

"Time for bed!" George interrupted, glancing over his shoulder again.

"I want to know what happened to Draco's daddy." The little boy crossed his arms. "He was a bastard too!"

"Pasty!" George frowned.

"He was a Basty too," the boy corrected himself.

"Yes. He was a bit. In fact, he ended up losing an eye. And . . . a part of his . . ." George's eyes flickered down to his crotch. "Anyway, he ended up slightly worse for wear."

"Did Mouldy do that?"

"No . . . I understand it was a gang of Muggle women in the end."

"Are Muggles dangerous?"

"Well this lot were quite . . . formidable . . . by all accounts. And remember, he had been a bit of a Basty."

The children nodded solemnly.

"Did Helen and Sebastian have babies?" The little girl's face suddenly brightened.

"Actually . . . it turns out that Helen is going to have some babies very soon."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Daddy's friend, Hermione, is having babies too!"

"What a coincidence!" George slapped his fist into his palm.

"Yes, she's having twins like us." The boy stood up proudly. "And she's fat."

"Do you . . . see her often?" George leaned forward with sudden interest.

"Sometimes she babysits us." The little girl clapped excitedly. "And Severus takes us for rides on his shoulders. He's got a big nose like Sebastian does."

"Oh . . . I didn't realise that you . . ." George rubbed his hands on his trousers. "Probably don't . . . you probably don't need to share any of Uncle George's stories with . . . anyone else."

"But she likes stories. She tells us lots."

George scratched his chin. "But they're probably a bit different to mine."

"Hers make more sense." The boy was pulling fluff out from between his toes.

George was taken aback. "Why don't mine make sense?"

"Who's Master Bates?" The boy looked at him.

"Oh . . . that. I mean . . . him. Well he's just a . . . he's someone you'll . . . meet . . . when you're a bit older."

"Is a pussy a cat?" The girl peered up at him.

"Most of the time."

"Why did he lick her cat?"

George stood quickly. "Because her cat liked it. Okay . . . time for Uncle George to go."

"But you missed out bits," the boy complained.

"Only the boring bits."

"But we're not tired yet," the girl whined.

"Well I am," George huffed. "Tired and emotional, in fact."

"George?" Fred's wife, Eva, suddenly poked her head in the door. "Can I have a quick word please?"

"Of course. Now you two get ready for bed." He mussed up their hair on the way out.

Eva took him a few paces into the corridor before leaning toward him conspiratorially. "We really appreciate you spending time with them. And they miss not seeing you with all the travel you do. And they adore your stories . . . they really do."

"But?" George raised his eyebrows.

"But . . . I think that concepts like 'tired and emotional' are probably a little heavy for them at this age. Perhaps you could keep things a little more age-appropriate for them?"

"Absolutely." George smiled genially. "I'll be sure never to use the words 'tired' or 'emotional' with them again."

She smiled dubiously in return—she knew that mock-placating tone from Fred all too well.

"Okay, my little Flobberworms, I hope you're both ready." Fred strode into the playroom.

"No," the little boy groused.

"Why?"

"Because I can't find my fucky pyjamas."

"You can't find your . . .?! George!"

"Gotta go!" George blurted, pecking Eva on the cheek and grabbing his coat before racing out the door.

Hermione lay the picnic rug on the grass while Severus helped the twins remove their shoes and socks and rolled up their trousers.

"Don't go in too deep," Hermione warned them. "Just stay by the edge."

"Yes, Mummy," they chorused as they trundled down the river bank, one black head and one light brown bobbing along together.

Kicking off her sandals, Hermione lay down on the rug while Severus uncorked a bottle of white wine and filled a glass for each of them.

"Happy anniversary." He chinked his glass against hers as he gazed deeply into her eyes.

"Happy anniversary." She smiled back at him. "Husband Beloved-Pants."

He smirked as he took a sip. "I didn't think there could be any more HBP references possible."

"Oh, don't you worry, I have plenty more." She took a long swallow before swivelling around to lay her head on his leg with a contented sigh.

Tunnelling his fingers into her hair, he massaged as she closed her eyes and groaned appreciatively.

"Daddy, look what I found." The dark-haired boy plopped something wet in Severus' hand.

"What is it?"

"A rock."

"Are you sure?" Severus asked, holding it up to the sun.

"Think so."

Hermione cracked open her eyes to see her son grinning excitedly, black eyes shining. He knew what was coming.

"Watch," Severus murmured.

Holding the grey stone in his palm, he tapped it with his finger. Instantly it turned pearly white.

"What is it?" The boy leaned close, clasping his hands together.

"I believe there's something inside." Severus handed it back to him.

Carefully the boy peeled back the fragile outer shell to reveal a beautiful blue butterfly. It flicked its wings once, twice and then flew onto the boy's hand. His mouth opened in delight as he twisted his fist around watching the butterfly crawl over him, its stunning wings tilting and righting as it moved.

"Look Mummy!" His wide eyes flickered to Hermione's for only a moment, he didn't want to miss a thing.

"It's beautiful . . . And I think it likes you." She smiled, caressing Severus' thigh with her fingertips.

The boy nodded happily as he wandered off back down the bank.

"They're either going to become very confused about the world or they're going to see magic in everything," she murmured.

"The world is confusing. It's frightening and unpredictable." Severus took another sip of wine as he resumed massaging her head. "But it's also magical. And . . . breathtakingly beautiful."

He gazed down at her with that look that still made her heart want to explode from her chest.

"Look!" The curly-haired girl now staggered up the bank holding something in her first.

"Is that a stick?" Hermione reached out.

"No. Daddy do it." The girl handed the stick to Severus who chuckled at Hermione's mock-indignation.

"What would you like? A wand?" he asked.

"No. Snake."

He ran a hand over his mouth to cover his smile as Hermione sat up.

"You don't really want a snake, do you?"

"Like it." The girl nodded.

Hermione gave Severus a look.

"We said that it would be their choice," Severus reminded her. "That we wouldn't influence them either way."

"Yes . . . but."

Severus ran a finger along the stick and suddenly it began to wriggle, a head forming at one end.

The girl clapped her hands excitedly as he placed the creature on her shoulder. It flicked its tongue out and she poked hers out in response.

"Sssss," she hissed as she patted it gently with a finger before turning and heading back to join her brother.

Hermione folded her arms in exasperation.

"Now, now." Severus leaned in close, his lips grazing her cheek. "She wouldn't be the first stubborn, single-minded, girl to fall for a snake."

Hermione's lips curled up despite herself. "Yes, but the snake I fell for was a hell of a lot bigger than that one." Her hand slipped into his crotch as she kissed him.

He pulled her onto his lap and they kissed and drank and watched their children playing happily in the river.

"I worried that I loved you so much that I wouldn't have enough love left over for them." Hermione nodded at the twins with a watery smile. "But I soon realised that love isn't a quantity, it's infinite. It doesn't need to stop. It can keep going on for . . . always."

It was his word. And she'd used it deliberately. But it was only because of her, because of his wonderful children, that he now truly understood what it meant. Placing his hand against her cheek, his deep black eyes fused with hers. "Yes . . . always."