Joy and Woe Woven Fine

Life of my life, take not so soon thy flight,
But stay the time till we have bade good-night.
Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way
As soon dispatch'd is by the night as day.
Let us not then so rudely henceforth go
Till we have wept, kiss'd, sigh'd, shook hands, or so.
There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell
When once true lovers take their last farewell.
What? shall we two our endless leaves take here
Without a sad look, or a solemn tear?
He knows not love that hath not this truth proved,
Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved.
Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part,
Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart
Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none
To warm my breast, when thou, my pulse, art gone.

-Robert Herrick

"We are here to honor two very special people who have been guiding forces in so many lives over their lifetimes. Harry and Ginny Potter were people who had a huge capacity for love, and continually showed that love to everyone they came in contact with...."

The minister's voice droned on, but Lily was beyond hearing him. She sat in the front pew, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She wore a simple black dress as befitted her position as the deceased's firstborn. Her face was devoid of makeup--she hadn't even thought about it this morning when she had left the house. Beside her, she dimly sensed her fiancée's sideways, worried glances at her, but she ignored them. Instead she stared straight ahead, sure that if she did anything else then she would shatter. She stared dry-eyed at the two caskets that held her parents, and kept her mind blank. She didn't want to think. Thinking was dangerous. Thinking would make her cry, and she would not cry here. Would not.

A moment later, her fiancé touched her hands lying in her lap. "Darling," he murmured, "are you ready? You said you wanted to do something before we go to the grave site."

She didn't answer him, merely rose in silence, her movements awkward and lacking the grace that she had inherited from her father. She didn't look at the crowd of people that had come to attend her parents' funeral. Thousands had shown up, and those that couldn't fit in the chapel were standing outside to mourn. She ignored them. Even in death they would try to make her parents a spectacle, as they had done in life. She didn't even have the energy to be angry with them. She was deaf to the muffled sobs coming from the audience, and even to those from some of her brothers and sisters who were seated alongside her in the front pew.

She walked stiffly to a small vase that held two lilies, and picked them up. Her hands wanted to tremble as she did so, but she calmed herself and blanked her mind. Those are not my parents, she told herself. My parents cannot be dead. But as she stepped up to the open caskets, she started to shake.

Despite the fact that she was trying to hide herself away in blankness, a memory assaulted her. Her father had always called her his lily of the valley. And every time he said it, she had seen the sadness mixed with joy in his eyes. She had known from a young age that she had been named after her grandmother, and she bore her name proudly as a result. She felt her throat go tight and hot, but her eyes remained dry. Glancing down at the lilies, she tried to compose herself before she looked at her parents.

The lilies had been charmed so that they would never die. She had done it herself, knowing that it was for her own peace of mind that she wanted it done. Her parents might be dead, but the flower she would give to each of them never would. She had felt a little better knowing that. Lily couldn't stand the image of her parents lying alone in the ground, rotting away.

As the thought entered her mind, a strangled sob came from her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to breathe through the pain. When it eased, she opened her eyes, still shaking. She stepped closer to the caskets and looked down at her parents.

They lay in two separate caskets, but they were right beside each other. The Potter children had absolutely demanded that there be only one ceremony for their parents. Their parents had lived together for nearly fifty years, and they refused that their death should be any different. The one solace that the children had taken comfort in was that their parents had died soon after one another. Harry had simply 'gone on' because of old age, and Ginny had knelt by his bedside for two days. When Ginger, the youngest, had come in to give their mother some soup on the third day, she had found Ginny lying in bed with her husband. Her hand had been laid gently over his heart, and she had pillowed her head on his shoulder. And she had peacefully died in her sleep, refusing to go on without her beloved Harry.

Harry's hair had lightened as he aged, becoming a lovely silver color that his wife had always teased him over. Lily could clearly remember Ginny saying that Harry was starting to look like Dumbledore. And Harry had strode across the kitchen and caught up his wife in his arms, dramatically dipped her and then kissed her, leaving her breathless. Lily didn't notice the tears as they began to slip silently down her cheeks as she continued to stare at her parents.

Harry's face held lines--laughter lines as well as lines showing the sorrow that he had endured in his life. And yet there was a sense of peace about her father now. She knew that he had always been happy with his life. She had never doubted once that he loved her mother and his children with every fibre of his being. Yet she had always sensed that there was something searching about him, as if he wondered what lay over the horizon. He had never left them, never even expressed a desire to do so. And she had the feeling that if her father had gone anywhere, they would inevitably have gone with him.

His wand lay alongside him, a little chipped and beaten from years of abuse and use, but still whole; unlike her mother's, who had broken her wand at least every few years. On that thought, Lily's gaze turned to her mother, and the tears flowed faster. Unlike Harry, there were more lines in Ginny's face. She had been a wonderful mother, which was probably why those lines were there. Unlike Grandma Molly, Ginny had managed to juggle a job and her children until her fourth child had come along. After that Ginny had become a housewife like her mother. Even though Ginny had her hands full with a house full of Harry Potter's rambunctious children, she was still often called in as a consultant for St.Mungo's. Her mother had been one of the leading authorities on herbology, and St.Mungo's had refused to lose her despite the other constraints on her time and attention.

Ginny's hair had faded a little from its vibrant red, and become a shiny rust color instead, streaked liberally with gray. She also seemed peaceful, but the effervescence that she had possessed in life seemed to have deserted her now. Seeing her parents look so peaceful made something ease inside of Lily, even as her throat tightened more. She couldn't imagine her life without them. When she had gone off to Hogwarts, they had been standing there and watching, waving so enthusiastically and proudly that she had forgotten her fear.

When she had gone on to university in Paris, her mother had wept a little over her, then promised her that she would do brilliantly. And her father had warned her sternly about French boys, which had made her laugh. He had always known how to do that; to make her laugh to soothe away the tension. Maybe it was because over the years he had learned the value of laughter. Her father had had a hard life until her mother had come into it, and Lily knew it. But by the time she was born he had obviously mellowed. She had rarely seen her father in the wild rages that her mother had once confessed Harry was prone to after his godfather's death. The only time she had seen her father absolutely livid was when Cedric had climbed on the roof and tried to fly without a broomstick. And all when their cousin Chris, Uncle Ron's eldest, had been supposed to be watching Cedric.

That made a little smile curve Lily's lips. Softly, she laid one lily on her father's chest and touched his hand. She had to suppress a shiver at the chilled skin, but she grimly moved his fingers and wrapped them around the lily. Then she kissed his forehead, feeling herself start to shake again. "Goodbye, Daddy," she whispered hoarsely, then looked away before she cried. A moment later, she did the same with her mother. "I love you, Mummy," she sighed. Then she took a slow step back, and a moment later felt Jamie's hands on her arms.

"C'mon, sis," he murmured. "Let's get out of here." He gently led her to Alex, who enfolded her in a hug. She endured it in silence--not because she didn't want her fiancé's hold, but because she was trying desperately not to fall apart. Alex took her arm, and Lily dimly saw her family rise in silence, the rest of the room quickly following suit.

As Alex led her down the aisle toward the door, Lily heard the mournful dirge start. She had to bite her lip not to scream at them to stop. Her parents wouldn't have wanted such a dramatic affair. They had loved their simple life and their children. They had endured publicity all their lives--they would have hated this circus. But she kept her head down, unwilling to look into all the sympathetic faces that they passed.

As they came into the bright sunlight outside the chapel, the air erupted with soft murmurs of condolence. Considering how many people were outside, it quickly rose to a cacophony of voices, all telling her how sorry they were for her parents' deaths. She didn't even register that Jamie was telling them thank you, or that she should. She just followed her fiancé and let him lead her away from the church, the rest of her family trailing in silence.

***

"Lily, darling, you have to eat." Lily looked up into her Aunt Hermione's face blankly. "Lily," Hermione said again gently. "You can't starve yourself, honey."

"I'm not hungry," Lily murmured, her gaze moving slowly over the room. The Burrow's kitchen was filled with Weasleys and Potters. Although there were other close friends who were mourning as well, Hermione had quickly taken the situation in hand. She had firmly said that only Weasleys and Potters were coming to the Burrow, and that had been that. With Molly Weasley gone almost twenty years ago, Hermione and Ginny had quickly become the head matriarchs of the Weasley clan. Although all of Ginny's brothers had married, none of their wives had dared to try to take up the mantle of matriarch as Ginny and Hermione had. And now that Ginny was gone, Hermione was left to shoulder the burden alone.

Hermione studied her niece in silence. The girl was fast becoming skin and bones, and there was a dazed look in her eyes that hadn't fully faded since she had heard word of her parents' deaths. Hermione had done the same thing until Ron had held her last night. Then they had both wept for their lost friends.

Hermione glanced over at the corner where Alex was sitting in silence. She knew that usually Lily would have been making sure that Alex was comfortable and that no one was bothering him. Although he was a generation behind the rivalry that had existed between the Malfoys and the Weasleys, he was still Draco Malfoy's son. Some Weasleys hadn't forgotten that fact; despite that Alex seemed perfect for Harry Potter's eldest child. But everyone was naturally subdued, and she had yet to see anyone bother Alex, although he sat alone. She had even seen Ginger tentatively offer him something to drink.

Hermione let her gaze move slowly over the room, feeling her eyes fill with tears. This was her family, and had been for most of her life. Seeing the generations that had followed hers, seeing her children and Ginny's children intermingled with the other Weasleys caused a little ache in her heart. It was so fast how they had all grown up--years of family picnics that absolutely destroyed the Burrow's garden, and years of family dinners when the Burrow would be filled with children. But now their children were grown, and soon it would be Hermione's turn to pass on. Upon that thought, her gaze moved to her husband, and she quickly swiped the stray tear that had fallen to her cheek. She couldn't imagine living without Ron. He had been a part of her since she was eleven years old. Trying to separate from him would be like cutting herself in half. When she had heard that Ginny had died while holding onto Harry, she hadn't been surprised as almost everyone else had. She felt the same way about Ron--she didn't want to leave him, even in death.

As if sensing his wife's gaze, Ron's head turned from where he was speaking quietly to Fred and George. He quickly left them and came over to his wife, slipping his arm around her waist. Once he had made the physical connection with her--a connection that soothed them both--he looked down at his niece. His heart squeezed. She looked so unbearably fragile. Lily had always been the strongest child of the Potters. She had inherited both her mother and father's strength of will and mind, and he knew that Harry had been almost painfully proud of his eldest daughter.

Ron tilted Lily's chin up with two fingers so she would look at him. "You should eat something, little Lily," he said softly, and saw her eyes shimmer with tears for a moment before her eyelashes slid down to shield the expression. He sighed silently. Sometimes Lily's strength worked against her--she had always been the one that her siblings went to when they needed her. It was rare that Lily showed her emotions so that anyone knew that she also needed them.

"I'm not hungry, Uncle Ron," Lily whispered, her voice quiet and a little shaky. "I don't think I could keep anything down."

Ron glanced over to where Alex was sitting in the corner, giving his fiancée room to breathe, while he kept a watchful eye on her. Although Ron still didn't like Draco Malfoy, he had to admit that he liked the son. He wasn't sure where Alex had gotten his decency from--certainly not from Draco--but the boy was good to Lily, and that was enough for Ron.

Ron gave Alex an imperceptible nod, which Alex returned curtly. Then Ron looked back at his niece, and he felt a wash of pain come over him suddenly. It was a little painful to see the stamp of his best friend and his sister in her face. She had taken Harry's coloring, but her face was purely Ginny's. It was like looking into a mirror of time and seeing his sister when she was young.

He lowered his head to try to control himself, feeling his wife's arms go around him to comfort. He hid his face in her mane of hair that had been barely tamed over the years. He felt his scalding tears drop onto her skin, and her arms tighten around him. Why did they have to die? He wondered painfully. Gods, Ginny was only a year younger than he. And they had been young, by wizard standards. So why had they been taken from them? There were so many people that still needed them here.

Although he loved Harry as if he were one of his own brothers, he had been hit hard by losing his little sister. He had been closest to her in age, and closer to her than all her other brothers. She had been the one that he had played with almost until he had gone to Hogwarts. She was the one who he had weathered Fred and George's pranks with, the one who had got him out of trouble more times than he cared to count. He had shared his childhood with her in a way that he hadn't with anyone else. And now she was gone.

Lily looked up at her uncle with his face buried in her aunt's hair to mask his tears, and felt her heart tremble a little from the shields she had placed around it. She rose slowly, then touched his shoulder. He raised his head and looked at her, his face damp. He quickly swiped the tears from his cheeks, and Hermione smiled a little to see a gesture that he had kept throughout all the years she had known him.

"I'll try to eat something, Uncle Ron," Lily said softly, and saw some of the pain clear from his eyes. Ron had felt useless knowing that so many of his family members were in pain and that he couldn't ease it. So although Lily had no intentions of eating anything, it obviously made her uncle feel better to think that she would.

Ron nodded to her, and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, little Lily," he said quietly, and Lily smiled wanly, then kissed her uncle and then her aunt. She glanced a little helplessly around the kitchen and saw her fiancée sitting quietly and pensively in the corner. She felt a little pang of regret. She had almost ignored him throughout this whole horrid ordeal, and he had been wonderful about it. She headed for him, a little, sad smile on her lips.

From his chosen corner, Alex watched his fiancée start toward him. Every once in a while she was waylaid by a family member, whom she spoke to quietly, offering support, although she suffered in silence. He knew that she was hurting, and that she would never let it show here. She had always been the strong one of her siblings, and she wouldn't show them her weakness. Only he knew that it lay perilously close to the surface, and she was fighting it back with everything in her. He wanted to help her, but knew that if he offered her help she would crack. So he had kept his distance, offering his support unobtrusively. He didn't regret being the quiet observer. He was often cast in such a role, and it suited him.

His family was one that naturally observed people. Usually they used their observations for their own gain, and Alex wasn't above that. He was a Malfoy, after all. But now as he watched the Weasleys, he wondered what it would have been like to grow up in such a family. There were easily fifty people milling through the Burrow, and they were all related to each other. Two generations of Weasleys and Potters, who were really only Weasleys anyway, no matter what their last name.

He had watched as children comforted grieving parents, drawing heads onto shoulders that seemed too small to offer such strength. He had seen parents holding one another. Had heard stories told wistfully about Harry and Ginny and the life they had made together. He had known the pair only briefly, but he had admired them. He had grown up hearing stories about Harry Potter, and he had come to meet Lily's parents already disposed to disliking him. But there had been a quiet strength in Harry Potter that he had reluctantly admired. And the bond between Harry and his wife had been visible to anyone who encountered them. The first time that he had met Lily's parents, he had been struck by it. Harry had been sitting in an armchair, eyeing Alex suspiciously and with a steely look in his eyes that had made Alex shift uncomfortably in his own chair. Then Ginny had entered the room, giving her husband a reproving look. Immediately the look had vanished from his eyes, and he had grinned up at her unrepentantly as she laid one hand on his shoulder. Harry had reached up and laid his hand over his wife's, smiling up at her. And in that moment, Alex had seen what a marriage was supposed to be.

His parents had always had a reserved marriage, although he knew that they were fond of one another. But there were no gentle touches, and no playful teasing as there was throughout the Potter home. He had always accepted that that was what his own marriage would resemble. But when he had met Lily, there had been something about her that had attracted him from the first. Despite her initial reserve, there had been laughter that sparkled from her eyes. Over time, she had loosened his own natural detachment simply from her gentle personality and steady love. But it was her parents' marriage that had taught him what his marriage should be like. And he was grateful for that, because he would rather have had one marriage like the Potters' rather than a thousand like his parents'.

When Lily finally reached Alex, she sat down beside him in silence, studying her family as he had done. Finally she took his hand and held it to her cheek without looking at him. "Thank you for being here," she whispered, staring at her lap.

He gently turned her face to his and kissed her--a mere brush of lips, a gesture meant to soothe rather than seduce. "I wouldn't be anywhere else," he said quietly, and it brought a half-smile to her face. She pressed her lips to his palm, then leaned against his shoulder. His arm came up to curve around her shoulders protectively, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

From across the room, Jamie watched his older sister in silence. Although he didn't like Alex Malfoy or his family, he had to admit that the man was right for his sister. An exuberant, loud man would never have done for the quiet, gentle Lily. Alex was slowly but surely bringing her out of her shell, and Jamie was grateful for it. He turned his attention away from his sister when someone touched his arm gently. It was his cousin Genevieve, with her youngest propped on her hip. He smiled a welcome at her, although his eyes were unusually serious. He kissed her cheek, and she reciprocated the gesture.

"How is Ginger?" Genevieve asked quietly in her softly accented voice. Her parents, Bill and Fleur, had taken their children to live in France for several of their formative years, and as a result most of their children had a slight French accent. Genevieve was their eldest, only a little over forty. Yet her face was unlined; she was still as beautiful as she had been at eighteen.

In answer to his cousin's question, Jamie glanced over at his youngest sister. She was the one who had found their parents, and it had hit her hard. He slid a glance over at Lily a moment later. Although not as hard as Lily, he bet. Lily had always felt the most, and hid the most. He knew that she was probably ready to break, and he grimly hoped that Malfoy was there for her when she did. But, remembering Genevieve's question, he glanced over at Ginger again. She was crying quietly, but it wasn't the hysterical sobbing of several days ago.

"She's all right," Jamie told her softly. "She'll work it out her own way. She's actually doing fairly well, for Ginger." He and Genevieve shared a little smile. Ginger was the drama queen of the family, and Jamie had been a little surprised that she hadn't had hysterics while they were in the chapel. But obviously even Ginger understood that hadn't been appropriate.

He felt deep weariness drag at his bones, and obviously Genevieve sensed it, because she looked up at him through her lightning-blue eyes and her fringe of pale gold hair. "Jamie? Are you all right?"

No, he wanted to say. His parents were gone. He was the man of the family now. Granted, most of his family was already grown. Ginger was the youngest, and she was graduating from Hogwarts this year. His father had made it seem so easy to be the head of the family--he had settled squabbles fairly, and had always seemed to be prepared for the troubles that befell his wayward children. And not only did Jamie feel unequal to filling his father's shoes, but he didn't want to. He wanted his father back. He wanted to feel his father's strong arms go around him in a hug, or to see his mother's twinkling eyes as she rubbed a smudge of dirt off his nose. He wanted to smell his mother's cooking in the kitchen, to snag a cookie and listen to her scold him as he sprinted down the driveway out of the reach of her wrathful wooden spoon. He wanted to play chess with his father, and listen to his father's hearty laughter as Jamie beat him. He wanted to sit beside the fire again with his siblings and his parents, and listen to his parents tell stories. He wanted to be a child again; something he hadn't been for more than a few years. He was twenty eight years old--he hadn't lived in the Burrow for nearly ten years. And yet he wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and crawl into the bed that his parents had always kept for him.

As if she understood his inner struggle, Genevieve laid her hand gently on his arm. "It will be okay, Jamie," she whispered, then squeezed his arm and moved away, talking softly to those she passed.

Jamie took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, feeling the hotness in his throat. He didn't want to cry. He had never seen his father cry. He had once heard harsh weeping in his parents' bedroom one night, but he refused to attribute those desperate sobs to his confident, strong father. Jamie shook himself, then strode over to Lily. "Lil," he said softly. "It's time." She looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed as if she had been weeping. Yet her face was dry, and he knew that his sister would not show her tears here. She nodded jerkily, then took her brother's hand as he helped her up. Jamie curtly nodded to Alex, who nodded back, his eyes on his fiancée.

Jamie pulled Lily's arm through his to steady her steps as they moved across the room. As they passed, the room slowly quieted. When they reached the fireplace, they turned to face the crowd of family. Jamie's gaze moved slowly over each family member, noting the red eyes and damp cheeks, the dark clothes and muffled weeping. My parents were loved, he thought suddenly, feeling tears rush to his eyes. His parents had been the best he could have ever asked for. They had made him the man that he was, and he was proud to say that he was Harry Potter's son. And obviously his parents had affected others that same way.

He felt Lily's hand tighten on his arm, then she spoke quietly to the crowd. "Before she--died, my mother left this note. She asked that Jamie and I read it to everyone." She looked up at her sibling for a moment, and Jamie nodded to her, squeezing her hand supportively.

Taking a deep breath, she removed the thin sheet of paper that she had kept folded in her purse. She hadn't had the courage to do more than just look at the scrawling script that was her mother's handwriting. All it said on the front was: To My Family.

She took a deep breath, and looked up at Jamie again. She desperately wanted to hand it off to him, to make him read it. But she knew that it hurt him just as much as it hurt her. So she tore it open in one fierce movement, nearly ripping it. She steadied herself, and looked down blindly at the page. It was filled front and back with writing, but for one moment she couldn't read it.

"Let me read first," Jamie said quietly and firmly. For one instant, he sounded so much like their father that her gaze snapped up to him. But it was only her brother, with the dark hair of his father and his mother's chocolate eyes. Before she could offer a minimal protest, Jamie took the paper.

She saw his hands tremble once, and her hand instinctively reached out to hold one of his as she leaned against his body. His fingers clamped down on hers in a grip that was almost painful, but she didn't protest. Finally Jamie began to read. At first his voice was shaky, but soon it evened out.

My dearest friends and family,

I know that it must hurt you terribly that we've gone. I know that you'll say 'they were too young', or that it wasn't our time. But it was. Harry and I have lived a good life. We have six wonderful children, all of whom I have cherished with everything in me. We have a lovely family--my brothers and their families have brought us a joy that Harry and I could never have imagined. I know that Harry is gone even as I write this. And I also know that I will soon be gone too. Perhaps you think it selfish that I followed him. All I know is that I cannot bear to be parted from him. I have confidence in my children--I know they will understand, and that they will go on. They are all strong, capable adults, and I have faith in them. But I wanted to say a few things before I finish. I couldn't have told you these things earlier--I was too hurt over Harry's passing, and you would have been suspicious. But I want to say them now.

To Ron and Hermione: You have been the truest friends that I could ever have asked for. On Harry's behalf, I thank you for pulling him from the pit that he was in. Even before I was there, you were there for him. You were his friends when he had none, his family when he was an orphan. For that, I love you. Even without that, you are extraordinary people. You have courage, and bravery, and love. It has been a pleasure to grow old with you, to dangle your children on my knee and to share gossip in the kitchen with you, Hermione. Ron, I want to tell you that I will perhaps miss you the most. I will miss your quick temper and your overprotectiveness of your family. I will miss seeing you kiss Hermione in our kitchen. I will miss knowing that I danced at your wedding, and was there when your children were born. But I suppose such memories supercede death--and I will be happy to watch over you until you join Harry and I, for which I hope it is a very long time. Live life, my friends, as much as you may.

To my brothers: I could never have asked for better men as my brothers. You have watched over me and teased me for all of my life. I once thought that as I grew older that your teasing would stop, and a little part of me was sad about it. But thankfully that never happened. I will remember that just a few days ago that Fred blew up part of my kitchen. And Fred--I expect you to fix that. Don't try to weasel out of it. Your children have made my life both hell and heaven, much as I'm sure we made Mum's. I have thought of them as my own, and loved them as much as I loved my own.

To my nieces and nephews: You are all wonderful individuals. To name all of you would take much more parchment than I have here in this cramped drawer, but I can say collectively that it has been my honor to have watched you grow up. I know that you will go into the world and you will recreate it--you will make yourselves a new world and one in which you will thrive and be successful. That is my wish for you and my hope--to never stop trying and to be everything that I know you are capable of. And you, my dears, are capable of everything that the world has to offer.

To my children: I love you all so much. Even now I can hear Ginger in her room, singing to the newest Fiona Witchly song. Beastly woman. Ginger, you should stop listening to that stuff. Rots your brain. You are destined for great things, my daughter. Never let anyone tell you differently.

Simon--you are one of my greatest joys in life. A throwback to your Uncles Fred and George, but that only adds to your charm. You have made my life an adventure, my son. For that I will be forever thankful.

Emmy--my little Quidditch player. The first time I ever saw you on a broom, I thought--that's my little girl. But you're a lovely, strong young woman now. And when I saw your first Quidditch match with the Harpies, I still thought--that's my little girl. Because you'll always be my little girl, Emmy. No matter how old I get, or how old you get, whether I'm there with you in body or in spirit, I will love you. Know that if I could cuddle you on my lap one more time, I would be content.

Cedric--my little daredevil. How I shall miss worrying over you. I think you of all my children worried me the most. How many nights I sat at the kitchen table in my robe, worrying over you. And how many nights did you come in and give me a kiss on the forehead as you stumbled up to bed. I think you were one of my children who truly made me feel the pain of being a mother, Cedric. And since I could feel the pain of worry for you, the pleasure of knowing that such a strong, amazing young man was my son was all the more poignant. Thank you for that, Cedric.

Jamie--Gods, you don't know how proud I am of you. More than any of the other boys, you look so much like your father. You have his mannerisms, his humor, and his face. When you were born I held you in my arms and touched your little fingers, and thought that you were my own little angel. You have been the best son that a mother could ever want, James. And I know that you're scared now that we're gone. But I also know that you're more than capable of stepping into your father's shoes. So don't be afraid, my little boy. You're as big of a man as your father was, and I love you for it.

Lily--my baby girl. You were my firstborn, little one. You were my little angel, and a little mother to your brothers and sisters. Sometimes I would peek in on you while you were sleeping, and wish that I knew some way to help you. You always seemed as though you had an enormous burden on your shoulders, my daughter, and I would have given the very breath in my body to take it from you. To see your solemn eyes light up with laughter could make me smile for weeks. You were so fascinating to me with your dreams in your eyes and your strength. Don't forget to lean on others sometimes, my daughter. Learn to let others shoulder your burdens. It doesn't make you weak, baby. It makes you strong. To love is to be strong, to have something that others don't have. To love is to make yourself vulnerable, to open yourself to someone. But it is also the greatest pleasure that you can ever have in life. Don't let that slip away from you, my children. My greatest wish for all of you is to know the kind of love that I feel for Harry.

I am running out of space here, but I feel as if I could go on forever. There are so many things that I wanted to say, and yet I find that I really don't need to say them anymore. But I just wanted to tell everyone how much I love them. All of you who are listening to this have made my life a happy one--filled with joy and sadness in equal measures. Although I could have been happy with only Harry, you have all made me the happiest I could have ever been. So I want to thank you for that--thank you for being in my life. I love you all so very much. Never forget that.

Love forever,

Ginny Weasley Potter

Jamie stood in silence for a moment after he read his mother's name, his knees shaking so hard that he was sure he was going to collapse. Then Lily turned her face into his shoulder and burst into tears. Immediately his spine straightened, and he curved his arm around her. Hermione stood up from where she had been sitting with Ron's arm around her, her face stained with tears. Then she drew both children against her breast and drew them back down into their family. The family gathered closer to offer comfort. Ginger saw Alex sitting uncomfortably in the corner, and gently pulled him over to sit next to Lily, who clamped down on his hand even as she wept into her Aunt Fleur's shoulder.

And from the corner, two invisible, wispy white figures glanced up at one another and smiled. "That was well said, my love," Harry whispered.

Ginny smiled contentedly and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I just said what was in my heart, Harry."

"And a fine heart it is," Harry whispered, kissing her. Then he linked his fingers with hers in a gesture that was as familiar to him as breathing. "Come, my love. It's time to go."

The two looked at their family once more, then simply faded away.