Epilogue: 8 Years Later

Ginny Weasley picked her way up the dark, leaf strewn path to Harebell Cottage, stretching her muscles and mentally reviewing tonight's practice. Granted, coaching the Harpies wasn't quite the workout that her years as a Seeker had been, but today seemed close enough. There had to be a better way to train a new beater than offering herself as a flying target. Still, her bruises proved that Hensworth had been a good choice. Just three months out of Hogwarts, and the girl had more arm and aim going for her than any other player in the league.

Opening the kitchen door, Ginny promptly put Quidditch out of her mind and focused instead on the brown-haired beauty who sat curled in a chair by their hearth, her feet propped on a basket of laundry an open book resting on the swell of her belly.

"Good evening, love," she whispered warmly, slipping behind Hermione and planting a kiss on the top of her head, "Good book?"

"Good enough," the brunette smiled, twisting around to greet Ginny, "It's a history of European Child Welfare Laws, comparing muggle and wizarding developments since the beginning of the 19th century. A bit longwinded and dry in places, but the background will be helpful in informing the new legislation I've been writing.

"Here," Hermione continued, turning to mark her place in the tome and then standing to offer the chair to her wife, "You look exhausted. I've kept some dinner warming in the oven for you. It's roast chicken and potatoes again. Ron stopped by earlier and offered to run to the market for us, but I told him you already planned to go in the morning."

"Sit," Ginny told her firmly but teasingly, "I'm not too tired to grab my own plate, and you know the healer wants you off your feet as much as possible."

Hermione complied, easing herself back down to a sitting position at the table while the redhead moved about the kitchen, slicing some bread and pouring a cup of tea for both of them. "Merlin, I feel like a whale," she muttered, as she pushed the chair back slightly to accommodate her stomach. "I swear, if this little girl grows any more in the next 6 weeks . . . I already have to levitate my shoes on every morning . . ."

"Ah, yes, my wife, the whale," Ginny joked, joining her at the table, "remind me of which muggle animal that is again . . . I'm thinking something intelligent and majestic, a cross between a veela and a unicorn perhaps? Radiantly glowing skin, enchanting eyes . . . ."

"You know what a whale is," Hermione countered tersely, but Ginny saw the smile in her eyes and knew the compliments had found their mark, "now quit being a prat, eat your dinner, and tell me about your day. Feel ready for the game against the Magpies next week?"

"Ready enough," Ginny shrugged around a mouthful of potatoes, "How about you and the boys? They in bed already?"

"Yeah," Hermione answered, "Eliot wanted to wait up for you, but I promised him that if he went to bed, you'd wake him up extra early and make him pancakes in the morning. Oh, and Luca . . . I took the boys over to Harry and Roxie's earlier, for a playdate with James and Albus, right? Well, we're all having lunch, Harry's explaining something to El and Al about how to catch mokes, and out of nowhere, Luca pipes up and asks me, 'Mummy, how did the baby get in your tummy?"

Ginny sputtered, nearly choking on a piece of carrot, then found her breath. "What . . .," she laughed, "Did you come up with to answer that?"

"Well, naturally," Hermione responded, "I told him that when two people love each other very much, they make a date to go to Dervish and Banges and pick up a very expensive potions book. Then, they go home, and one mommy spends half the night brewing a DNA-merging potion while the other one flits around pestering her like a Cornish Pixie, asking if she's sure she stewed the wild yam root at the right temperature. Of course, the first mommy—who, by the why, got an O on her potions NEWT—knew she had stewed it perfectly . . . ."

"Okay, okay," Ginny stopped her, "You told our 4-year-old that his baby sister is the result of one mother's brilliance persevering despite his other mother's anxiety . . ."

"Well, no. I just told him it was 'magic,' Roxie gave him a biscuit, and he started asking me where chocolate comes from. A pretty easy question, considering he could have asked how Uncle Harry and Auntie Roxie's baby got in her tummy . . . which now that I think about it, isn't all that different from what we ended up doing that night, minus the five hours of potion making . . ."

Ginny laughed, "Well, I'm glad Luca had his more brilliant mother there to explain it to him. Magic. Really. I'm sure we'll be getting more questions from El about that answer later." She shook her head. Magic.

The redhead returned to her meal and found her thoughts wandering to when they had brought the boys home three years before. Luca had been no more than a swaddling babe, barely crawling yet, but he took to them both right away, slept through the night like a champ, and spent his days smiling, laughing, and drooling. Eliot had a harder time adjusting, having lived 6 years with his parents' abuse before a squib neighbor intervened.

She remembered how nervous and overwhelmed she had felt when Hermione first told her about the case she was working on, first mentioned fostering the boys and then adopting them. She remembered how her heart had succumbed the first time she held little Luca in her arms and he had clutched at a chunk of the bright red hair that matched his own. She remembered how her heart had broken the first time she tried to wake a trembling Eliot from a bad dream and he had cringed away from her touch. How much both of their little men had grown since then; she couldn't imagine her family without them.

"He reminds me of you," Ginny found herself voicing her thoughts out loud to Hermione, "Eliot does. Bookish. Inquisitive. Sometimes old beyond his years but with this incredible strength of spirit. And very much full of joy. He's so happy now . . ."

"And so protective of his little brother," Hermione finished for her, "always ready with a kind word or a hug. I think he gets that from you."

"Yeah, we're not too horrible at this whole parenting thing," Ginny laughed, putting down her fork and resting a palm on the swell of Hermione's abdomen, "seventeen or so more years and we might just be experts."

"I think I could stick around for several more decades of family bliss if you're up for it," Hermione assured her, "Grow old together, maybe corrupt a few grandkids . . ."

"Bring home a world cup for the Harpies . . ."

"Retire as head legal officer for the DYWWP . . ."

"Spend our golden years taking a floo-powder trip around the world . . ."

"Make love every night until we're senile and I have to remind you what goes where . . ."

"And we don't know who we are and we have to fall in love again, every day, over and over."

"I don't think there's a curse or charm in existence that could stop us," Hermione finished, as Ginny took their mugs to the sink and extended a hand to help her up from the table.

And Ginny could only smile, for she knew that it was true.

A/N:

And that truly is the end. I want to thank all of you who have stuck with me and this story for the past few years, as well as those of you who joined us along the way. I especially want to thank those of you who have taken the time to write reviews, as well as those of you who have messaged me privately to share your own courage. Your feedback has been inspiring and meaningful, and I'm always delighted to read it.

Looking back, there are a few things I would change, a few scenes I would rewrite because the emotional content or dialogue doesn't sit with me exactly how I want. But I guess you'll have that with writing. For now at least, I feel finished with it. Hermione and Ginny have found the happiness they deserve, which is all I ever wanted for them. I admit I had some guilt here and there for the things that I put them through.

Those of you I have corresponded with know that the story is purely fiction but that I've seen too much of the same kind of trauma in the real world, working with real men and women who have survived things no one should have to. I originally started writing this for the sake of hope, not just to give others hope but also to give myself control over one happy ending. Thankfully, I haven't always needed it for that. I see a lot of pain in my work, but I've been blessed in that I also get to see an incredible amount of well-deserved healing. The human spirit is an incredible thing, especially when we're given the empathy and love it needs to grow.

My own story is much, much different (and one I've thought of writing someday, in a different AU, from the perspective of Molly Weasley). I guess we all have our own stories. So again, I say, whoever you are, whatever your story is, I hope you find the empathy and love that you deserve. I hope you know that you are worth it; I hope this finds you well.

With love,

Penandpencil