A/N: After careful consideration, I have decided to write an epilogue. This really will be the ending, though, nothing more after this. I got the idea from a reviewer (just goes to show why you should ALWAYS review!), so thanks to Guest, who suggested this particular plot line. Enjoy!

Ginny Weasley was in utter raptures—and no, it had nothing to do with the pint of firewhiskey she had consumed (well, it didn't have much to do with that). Currently, she was in the Grand Hall at the Ministry of Magic, with hundreds of other witches and wizards, celebrating the start of a new year—another year without threats or death or war. Voices all around her counted down the final seconds before midnight, and as they reached zero, cheers and fireworks erupted throughout the hall.

Smiling to herself, Ginny retreated to a chair along the edge to watch the festivities, or, more accurately, to watch a certain couple enjoying said festivities. Harry and Hermione had been a couple for just a week, and already, Ginny could see that the two were happier than they'd ever been. They complimented each other; Harry with all his gusto and courage, Hermione with her sense and rationality. And they clearly adored each other. Ginny had no doubts that, very soon, they would be celebrating their wedding. She could hardly wait.

"You'd think they were the only ones in the room, wouldn't you?"

Turning toward the voice, Ginny was surprised to see Chelsea Jones standing a few feet away, a vision in her shimmery crimson ball gown, blonde hair piled perfectly on top of her head. Her eyes were trained on the very same pair Ginny was watching, a pensive expression on her face.

Squirming, Ginny looked back at them. "Yeah. They're like that all the time."

"I'm sure they are," Chelsea laughed, moving to sit beside Ginny. "They really are perfect for each other."

"Er... yeah."

"You were right to try and break us up, Ginny."

She felt the color drain from her face. "I—"

"It's okay," Chelsea smiled. "To be honest, I'd figured out I wasn't really the most important woman in Harry's life long before I even met Hermione. He talked about her constantly. At first, I just tried to convince myself that it was because they'd been through so much together. But when I saw them together at Christmas, the way they looked at each other... I couldn't deny it any longer."

Ginny gnawed guiltily on her lip. "You know, Chelsea... for what it's worth, I am very sorry for being so rude to you."

Chelsea shrugged. "You were concerned for your friend, and I was in the way."

"That doesn't excuse my behavior," she insisted. "I should have been kinder to you, especially since I knew nothing about you."

"Really, Ginny, it's forgotten," the blonde smiled. "You don't need to apologize."

They fell into silence, turning their eyes to Harry and Hermione, who were locked in an embrace that was slightly less than appropriate for a public place. Ginny grinned, feeling indescribably happy for them.

"Er, Ginny?"

"Yeah?"

"I just have one quick question for you."

She turned to her. "Okay."

Chelsea gestured with her head to something behind her. "Who's that?"

Ginny scanned the crowd for a bit, her eyes eventually landing on the person she must have been referring to. Dean Thomas was standing, his eyes fixed on Chelsea with a look of curiosity and... was that longing?

"That," she said with a smile, "is Dean Thomas, an excellent guy with a fondness for Quidditch and, as far as I know, absolutely no attachments whatsoever."

Chelsea giggled, and made her way over to Dean. Ginny watched as they engaged in pleasant conversation, their interest in each other clearly showing. They would be good together.

For the second time in under ten minutes, a voice startled her, this one male: "So I suppose you fancy yourself a brilliant matchmaker, do you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And a happy new year to you, Malfoy," she grumbled. "What do you want?"

"I want you to answer my question," he said plainly, moving to take the seat Chelsea had just left vacant.

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes again. "I like to think I have a hand in steering people in the right direction. I helped my brother pursue Luna Lovegood. I was directly involved in getting Harry and Hermione together. And now look! Chelsea is happily chatting with Dean, who is excellent boyfriend material. So yeah, I guess I do fancy myself a great matchmaker." She glared at him. "Got a problem with that?"

"Just one," he replied.

"Oh, really?" Ginny laughed incredulously. "Well, by all means, enlighten me."

"Who do you get matched with?"

She blinked in surprise. "I... what?"

"You heard me," he said evenly, his gaze piercing her. "When the great Maker of Matches has finished pairing her friends together, who does she go home to?"

Ginny stared at him. "I, er... I don't have anybody."

He frowned. "And how is that fair?"

Annoyed, she pointed a finger at him. "Okay, first of all, I'm not doing this for my own satisfaction. I do it because I want my friends to be happy. Second of all, life isn't fair, and anyone who thinks otherwise is in serious need of a reality check. And third of all, I don't need some bloke in order to feel complete. I'm perfectly happy on my own, and if I do find someone someday, it'll be because we like being together, not because we need each other, or feel lost without each other. Capisce?"

Malfoy gazed at her through narrowed eyes. "So you'd be perfectly happy living your whole life without anyone by your side?"

"That's right," she said stubbornly, though the thought didn't sit well with her. Sure, she didn't need anyone, but that didn't mean she didn't want someone.

He chuckled. "You're incredibly obstinate, aren't you?"

"Hey, I—"

"But despite that, I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me."

Her jaw dropped. "You were what?"

Malfoy smirked at her. "No tricks, no insults, just two people having a drink and enjoying each other's company. What do you say?"

Ginny was sure she'd lost her mind. Not only was she actually considering his offer, she found herself looking at the blond boy with a favorable eye. His hair fell across his forehead in a devil-may-care sort of way, and his stormy grey eyes, which were normally cold and cutting, were now twinkling with mischief. Undeniably fascinated with him, she abandoned all common sense.

"I'd love to."

He grinned and stood, holding out a hand to her. Curiosity prevailed, and she took the offered hand, allowing him to lead her toward the bar. Something about him pulled her in, and as they drank and conversed, she found herself actually enjoying herself. Who knows? she mused. Maybe this matchmaker has found her match.

She rather liked the idea.

A/N: I'm not so sure about that ending. I'll probably tweak it a little later. But here's the epilogue! Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed!